…と思った

25, daisy @daisy-sweet alt/fic recs account

[daisy-milk]

Haiii dis Daisy , this is my alt account / fic recommendations and reblog account ^o^

feel free to chat with me here or on @daisy-sweet but be warned it’s a dark nsfw account :P you’ve been warned

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i do post some fics here and some may be nsfw so minors dni!!!

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tysm for reading!!

[melpmne]

Doctor's Orders

pairing: sungchan x fem!reader

warning: smut! Dubcon, medical malpractice, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, naive? reader, barely proofread

wc: 1k

a/n: forgot about this draft lol anyways happy kinktober ;P and fansite pics are from Tiny Confection!

There was something perfect about right now. Only a receptionist and some nursing assistants, maybe another doctor in the clinic. Sungchan was referred to you by your previous gynecologist, she mentioned how thoughtful and serious he was about his patients, always going above and beyond to ensure their treatments.

Sungchan was a professional and most importantly: a gentleman. He always gave space to his patients, some were skeptical of male gynecologists, others walked out on him. Seeing the patients who returned to his care always relaxed his shoulders. He made sure to stay patient with them, always doing procedures swiftly and painlessly. The last thing he wanted was a bad reputation.

And those good reviews handed over the best gift for him: you.

Shy and timid as Sungchan internally doted on you. You were flushed red as you were sitting in the paper gown before laying back and resting your legs in the stirrups.

Sungchan almost gasped as he saw you, feeling his pants already begin to tighten as he sat in front of your exposed pussy. Pretty lips that were already shiny, the cutest clit poking out of your hood. Everything about you was screaming for him.

“First, we should check your temperature.”

Sungchan snapped his gloves on, “I hope you don’t mind me checking the old fashioned way.”

“Through my?” You squeaked out.

“It’s typically more accurate, your mouth can be exposed to so many things that change it’s temperature. Same with your underarm.”

“O-oh.”

You heard the click of a bottle open and close before feeling two thick fingers begin prodding around your vagina. Sungchan was sliding the lube around, grazing your clit before sinking his gloved fingers into your pussy. His fingers stayed put before pressing deeper, curling around to feel as much of your pussy was he could. Your legs shook, thighs trying to close in as he continued stimulating you in the best way.

He pressed further, thumb pressing against your clit as your walls clenched around him, a small yelp escaping your throat.

“Does this hurt?”

His voice was stern, if you said yes Sungchan would be upset, playing with you has been so fun.

“No, it just felt weird. Not weird, but, different, you know?”

You were squeezing your eyes shut, cringing at yourself.

“You know, this isn’t quite enough.”

You heard a light zipper noise.

“You know, the penis is a great thermometer replacement.”

“Huh?”

You felt something prod at your pussy as Sungchan pulled your gown off of you. You were completely exposed as you saw him sink his dick further inside you. Bottoming out, Sungchan groaned, grabbing onto your hips to keep you flushed against him.

You were dizzy with lust, eyes focusing and unfocusing as you tried looking at him. Sungchan was still fully dressed, his zipper down and his cock deep inside you. 

Letting you adjust to his size as Sungchan was pretending to get a reading.

“Not quite there yet.”

His hips continued slapping against yours, his eyes watched your breasts bounce against his thrusting. His fingers moving lower to play with your clit, seeing it poke out it’s hood even farther now.

“Dr. Jung!” You yelp, “Is this normal?”

“Of course, it’s unconventional, but I’m still getting your temperature.”

Your legs twitched with every rub Sungchan made, feeling yourself grow closer and closer to cumming.

“Doctor,” You gasped, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Good,” He groaned, feeling himself grow close, “it’ll help me get that temp.”

Your legs froze, stomach tightening as your walls clenched and fluttered around Sungchan’s dick. Sungchan quickly pulled out, stroking himself before cumming on your vulva. He tucked himself back in.

“Now, your temperature is average.”

He sat down, leaning into your pussy, his gloved thumbs spreads your folds open as he looks around at your stretched out you are.

“Looks normal, I don’t see anything that would cause alarm.”

Looking up at you, “Have you had your mammogram, yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Here.”

He leaned in to feel your breasts. Your back began to arch, still sensitive and so needy for his warm hands. His fingers tweak your nipples, laying his hands flat across your breasts and squeezing around their perimeters.

“They feel normal, no signs of lumps or abnormalities.”

“Dr. Jung.” You whined, feeling cold when his hands left your body.

“I’m still a little worried about your vaginal health, do you mind if I take another look?”

You nodded, “Go ahead.”

He grabbed a stool, sitting eye level with your pussy, still covered in his cum, and he leaned in. Looking around your folds and stretching your entrance open to peak inside.

“In case of anything weird, do you mind if I taste you?”

“Taste?” You squeaked out.

“Sometimes things can go undetected because we rely on sight only, if I taste you I can detect if something is off.”

“A-alright.”

“Can I get your full consent?”

“You can taste me, Dr. Jung.”

“Thank you, y/n.”

He leaned in, almost teasing you with how long he takes to lick your folds. Feeling his warm tongue flick upwards, your legs try to close around his head. He grabs your thighs and stretches them apart, leaning further in to lap at you.

“You taste really good.” He compliments.

“Ah— thank you, Dr. Jung.”

You feel your hips rock upwards towards his face, his lips kiss and suck your arousal out of your entrance before he moves upwards to flick his tongue along your clit.

“Doctor!” you gasped.

“Are you close?”

“Yes, yes.”

You could feel your walls close around nothing, his tongue still lapping at your core as your high comes and crashes over you. Your muscles ache, panting and feeling fully spent.

You watch him pull away, grabbing a tissue to wipe your cum off of his lips and chin. He pulled his gloves off, disposing them into the trash bin.

“Everything seems perfect, nothing to worry about. Since this is your first time visiting us I would suggest another visit in six months, then a yearly exam.”

Your head was still spinning, lightly nodding to his words.

“I’ll put in the info for your next exam, we’ll send you a confirmation email.”

[sluttyten]

Flash Point

the smutty masterlist

Jaehyun + “who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it” + semi public/public sex + oral sex

You had this problem where every time that you saw Jaehyun, you ended up having sex with him. You wouldn’t call him a fuckbuddy or a booty call or a sneaky link. He was just the guy you fucked whenever or wherever you ran into him.

The first time it happened, you met at a bar. You recognized him as a celebrity, but you played it casual and cool. You didn’t overreact when he approached you. Over a game of pool and a not insignificant amount of drinking, you started to get to know him. You didn’t even bring up the fact of his notable fame until after he mentioned he was in the entertainment industry.

“You’re in NCT,” you say, stating the fact. “I’ve heard your music. Your solo stuff, too.” The bet on your game was already that the loser buys the next round of drinks, but now you grin at him and add, “If I win, I want a song. Sing for me.”

“And if I win?” He challenges, showing off his trademark dimples.

“Whatever you want.” You shrug. “Not that it matters.”

You beat him that game, and he buys drinks and sings to you with his ears blushing a pretty pink. He challenges you to another game for the next round of drinks. “And if I win this time,” Jaehyun says, “You get up there and sing karaoke to whatever song I choose.”

“And when I win again?”

“Whatever you want,” Jaehyun says, his eyes flashing with amusement.

After you best him at that game too, you’d begged him to fuck you in the tight bathroom of the bar. Jaehyun pounced like it had been his idea all along to have you bent over the grimy sink, his hand over your mouth. To this day, you’re still not sure who the real winner that night was.

The next few times were also at that same bar or the ones nearby. You’d walk in and see Jaehyun, your pussy would weep with her expectations for how the night would go, and Jaehyun never let her down. You fucked in the back bathroom, in the alley behind the bar, in Jae’s car.

And then you ran into him at a restaurant on Valentine’s Day. Your heart almost dropped when you saw him waiting for a table with a female idol you also recognized, but you quickly realized that there were a few other people in his party, and the longer you stared and eavesdropped, you eventually determined that he was filming some sort of content. When their table was finally ready, as the employee led them past you, Jaehyun’s eyes locked with yours. Partway through your Galentine’s dinner with your friends, Jaehyun walked by your table, exchanging a not-so-subtle amount of eye contact, and you excused yourself to quickly follow. You gave him a Happy Birthday he wasn’t soon to forget as you sucked him off in the men’s restroom.

You never planned any of your meet-ups. They were just chance encounters of a sexual kind. At bars, clubs, and restaurants. Spotting each other at the grocery store, in the mall, at an indie bookstore. Once you passed him on the street in the middle of the day as you were walking back to work from grabbing lunch down the block, and that had led to a quicky in your car.

It’s not serious, not at all. It is like the most casual that it can be.

Until Halloween.

You go to a new bar across the city, one that your friends recommend for their drinks and for the dancing. And because it’s Halloween, you attend in costume.

You arrive to the party dressed in a Wicked-inspired Glinda costume. A babydoll dress in pretty pink, heels that may possibly end up being a mistake if you get too wobbly after you’ve had a few drinks, and you accessorize with a wand and a tiara.

You’re not expecting to see anyone you recognize. This is an entirely different part of the city than where you usually hang out. But then, as if it was meant to be, you look across the bar, and make direct eye contact with Jaehyun.

He’s dressed as a cowboy, and like a cowboy, he raises his glass to you and tips his hat. You raise your shot glass too, and the moment that you toss it back, you know that the clock has started. It’s only a matter of time before you’re on each other.

Surprisingly, the time-clock runs for nearly an hour before zeroing out.

You’re in line for the women’s bathroom, chatting with your friend while she scrolls her ex’s social media, when someone brushes by you, arm knocking yours, fingers tugging lightly at your wand. You twist around to tell the person off, but Jaehyun is standing there, smiling at you and still holding the wand.

“Hey,” you greet him, tugging him back closer. “Jae, this is my friend.” You gesture to your friend who has looked up from her phone and is blinking dazedly at Jaehyun, struck by his hotness. You pinch her arm. “This is Jaehyun, my….”

He cocks his head, lips tilting with amusement. “Your…?”

“My bar buddy,” you decide on. “I see him out at the bars on my side of the city all the time. What are you doing here?”

Jaehyun steps closer to you, out of the way of a cluster of women passing by. “I could ask you the same. But a friend of mine is a bartender here. He’s been begging me to come by.” His hand brushes over your lower back. “I like your costume.”

“We went with a Wicked theme,” your friend says. She’s Elphaba, and she did a really good job with her costume, but Jaehyun doesn’t even spare her a glance, his eyes never leave you.

“Glinda the Good Witch,” Jaehyun teases. “I’ve never known you to be the Good Witch.”

“I’m not a bad witch,” you deny, pushing your hand lightly against his chest. Jaehyun’s fingers touch your elbow as he shows you his dimples.

Behind you, your friend scoffs. “Get a room, oh my God. Or, wait, is this the guy that you said—“

You turn quickly, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her next words.

Jaehyun laughs. “I probably am that guy, whatever it is.” His hand again skims your arm, his fingers circling your wrist. “Do you wanna dance?”

Jaehyun’s touch electrifies you. Your body is a live wire.

“Just go,” your friend says, pushing you lightly. You knock into Jaehyun’s chest. “I’m just gonna piss then rejoin the other girls. Go. Have fun, be safe, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Okay, yeah, let’s go.” You take Jaehyun’s hand, leading the way from the back hallway out to the bar.

There are quite a lot of people packed into the small dance floor, but Jaehyun parts the way a bit for you to make it somewhere into the middle. You don’t mind the crowd crushing around you, everyone is packed so tightly that bodies are brushing with people you’re not even trying to dance with. But then Jaehyun has his arms around you, has your back pressed against his chest as you start to dance.

The heat builds all around you. Lightning sparks through your veins as you grind against him, and you can feel Jaehyun growing harder with each pass of your ass. You reach behind you, press your hands to the back of his neck until Jaehyun ducks his head, and he gives in to your clear need to be kissed.

You’re surrounded on all sides, but you don’t care. No one is paying either of you any mind as you make out on the dance floor, as one of Jaehyun’s hands disappears beneath your dress. The music is loud enough to mask your moan as Jaehyun’s fingers dive inside your panties, finding you wet already.

You don’t care that this setting is a bit more public than your usual semi-public hookups. There’s nowhere more private in this bar at the moment, not with a line to the restroom a mile long.

The lights flash, the air throbs with bass, and your entire body pulses, thrumming, beating along with each push of Jaehyun’s fingers inside you. His lips are fire on your skin — trailing against your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, ghosting your lips and touching at your ear just long enough to whisper things that make your knees weak. Sparks float through your veins, your breath catching in your throat, your thighs quiver and quake as your wetness drips around Jaehyun’s fingers.

“Cum for me, my good little witch,” Jaehyun’s breath adds more fuel to the fire, and you’re about to combust. “We’d be ruined if we were caught right now. If even one person looked close enough to see the way I’m touching you, the way you’re looking so pretty while you try not to cum. Let go.”

Heat overtakes your body. Jaehyun tightens an arm around your waist as your body rocks, your pussy pulsing around his fingers as your orgasm burns through you.

You’re not even finished riding out your orgasm yet when Jaehyun asks, “Want to get out of here?”

You don’t usually make it out of a bar with Jaehyun. Everything you do happens within the walls or in the smoking alley behind it. You don’t really leave and go to a secondary location. But tonight, you walk out the front door of the bar together, a good witch and the cowboy.

“Where are we going?” You say, “I don’t have my car; I took the subway here tonight.”

“Shit,” Jaehyun rubs the back of his head, “I didn’t drive either. No car sex tonight, I guess.” And the air is a little too chilly for you to want to try fucking in the alley like you’ve done before.

Everything has always been casual, impromptu, rushed with you and Jaehyun. Theres never really been time to think about where you’re gonna fuck, you’ve just always grabbed the nearest possible semi-private spot. But now you’re outside the bar, unsure of where tonight is going to lead.

You shiver and fold your arms across your chest as a breeze whips by you.

“Oh, here.” Jaehyun pulls his brown suede jacket with fringe off, and he drapes it over your shoulders. He smooths his hands over the shoulders, brushing out the wrinkles so it lays over you just right. “We could just go to my place.”

“Like, where you live?” You feel stupid asking that, but you feel that you need the clarification. You’ve never even considered taking Jaehyun home with you, never thought he would take you to his home either.

He laughs a little, rubbing at his ear nervously. “Yeah, where I live. Unless you’ve got another idea?”

“No. No, like, I just didn’t think—“ you trail off. “Your place sounds good. Do you live close by?”

“Close enough.” Jaehyun takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours. “And honestly, I’ve kinda been thinking it would be nice to fuck around without rushing it like we always do. As much as I like doing things the way we’ve been doing them, and despite the fact that I just made you cum out there in a crowd of people, I do have to be careful. I have an idol image to protect.”

“Then by all means, let’s protect your image.” You lean against his shoulder, stealing some of his body heat as Jaehyun pulls out his phone to order a car to come pick you up. “You better not be a secret murderer or anything crazy like that, now that I’m letting you take me home.”

“I’m not. And you better not be a secret sasaeng, now that I’m showing you where I live.” He’s only teasing, but you wouldn’t blame him if that was an actual fear he had.

“I’m only obsessed with you the normal amount,” you joke. “And by that, I mean, mostly obsessed with your dick.”

You stay tucked against Jaehyun’s side and wearing his jacket to keep warm until the car pulls up a few minutes later. The ride to his place is quicker than you’d thought, and then you’re upstairs in his apartment, shrugging out of his cowboy jacket.

“Thank you, cowboy,” you say as you hand the jacket back to him. “How ever can I thank you?”

Jaehyun tosses the jacket aside without a second thought. “I have a few options in mind.”

You like Jaehyun’s apartment. It fits him very well, like you get a great sense of his personality from looking around. It makes you feel like you’re still wrapped up in his arms, like his apartment is just an extension of him. It smells like him, like the nice fragrance that you’d been trying to subtly inhale from his jacket the whole ride back here. You see his record collection, see photographs, a shelf of his group’s albums.

But you’re not here for the house tour.

You’re here to get dick.

Jaehyun wants it just as much as you, and under the guise of a very quick tour, he shows you to his bedroom. You kiss him as he’s in the middle of telling you something about the records he’s got in here, and the rest of his sentence is forgotten.

You push Jaehyun down onto his bed, paw at the front of his cowboy pants until he reaches down to help you undo the gaudy big-buckle belt, and then you’re sliding your hand inside, fisting his erection as Jaehyun moans into your mouth. You admire his restraint, seeing as Jaehyun is rock hard in your hand, the tip of his dick weeps pre-cum, but he doesn’t rush you as you slowly stroke him. Jaehyun lies there and kisses you, seemingly content to let you do what you want with him.

What you really want is to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, to satisfy the slight oral fixation you have when it comes to him.

Jaehyun’s chest heaves, panting and repeatedly saying your name as your mouth leaves his. He touches your back, your waist, your shoulders as you trail your mouth from his perfect lips down his throat, over the skin revealed as you use your free hand to deftly unbutton his shirt. You take your time moving down his chest. You brush the sides of the shirt away so you can tease his nipples with your tongue, loving the sounds Jaehyun makes for you — a deep groan when you suck one of his nipples between your lips.

You trace his abs with your tongue. Jaehyun’s cock throbs in your hand.

Lower and lower you move, shuffling your knees backwards on the bed until you’re face-to-face with his erection.

Jaehyun has his head lifted to watch you as you open your mouth, hold out your tongue, and tap the head of his hard dick against your tongue.

You hold eye contact as you push down on his cock, pushing to take him all in.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaehyun moans, his fingers gripping your shoulders. “Take it all, baby, that’s it. Ah, you look so pretty with your lips wrapped around me, like you’re just made to take my cock.” He moans again as you hit your limit, as you swallow around him and try to push a little deeper, wanting till feel him bruise the back of your throat.

You jerk back off his length, gasping for breath, coughing a bit, saliva stretching from your lips to his cock. Jaehyun’s hands are right there, wiping at the spot, smearing it on your cheeks and chin.

“So pretty for me,” he praises, “God, I wanna ruin you.”

“Then do it. I need it. Need to have you fuck my mouth, Jaehyun, bruise my throat.” You push back in, eager to have him in your mouth again. You’re pleased with yourself as you take him deep again, bobbing your head with the goal of having your lips touching your fingers at the base of his cock.

He’s more vocal than you’ve ever known him to be, but maybe it’s because you’re in private now, he has the liberty to be louder. Jaehyun moans and grunts and talks, praising you, talking dirty. Every new sound from him just makes you wetter.

You need something for yourself too, the arousal burning in your core demands attention, and since you’re already straddling his legs, you simply lower your hips and spread your knees until his calf meets your cunt. You moan around Jaehyun’s cock, still eagerly blowing him as you start rocking your hips, humping his leg.

“Definitely not Glinda the Good Witch,” Jaehyun moans, dislodging your crown with his fingers through your hair. “Naughty as fuck, pretty girl.”

You hum around the head of his cock, your hands working the rest of him for the moment.

You slip into a mental space where your only thoughts are sucking Jaehyun off and rubbing yourself against his leg. A happy place to be, for sure. You lose track of time, forget what Jaehyun is saying, and ignore that voice in the back of your head telling you to stop playing around and just sit on his cock.

It’s only when Jaehyun grabs a fistful of your hair and drags your mouth off of his cock, that you return to awareness.

“I’m so close,” Jaehyun moans, “But I want to fuck you before I cum.”

“We don’t have to rush,” you remind him. “You can cum in my mouth now, cum inside me later.” You can stay the night, have multiple rounds, still be here in the morning for more.

Jaehyun pulls you back up his body until you’re close enough to kiss. “No, I’m gonna cum inside you now. I’ve been thinking about your pussy on my cock since the last time we hooked up. We almost got caught, remember, and you ran out and left me with blue balls.”

From any other man, a complaint of blue balls makes you roll your eyes and is a huge turn off. From Jaehyun, it turns you into a simpering, apologetic mess, eager to rectify the past mistake.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, kissing him quickly. “Let me make it up to you. Fuck me, Jae, however you want me.”

He bucks his hips, and you drop your ass down to sit on him. You can feel the hard line of his erection throbbing against the center of your panties. You roll your hips, circling your clit against the tip of his cock. A moan breaks from both of you. Jaehyun’s hands fly to your hips, and for a few moments, you stay like that, dry humping his cock, making out again.

“Shit,” Jaehyun moans suddenly, breaking the kiss and pushing at your hips. “Get up, I want to see you take your dress off. I need to be inside you before I cum, and I want to see you naked beneath me when I do.”

You slide off his lap, feet hitting the floor. “You, too. We’ve never seen each other completely naked.”

You’ve been doing these random hook-ups for a little over a year at this point, and you’ve never actually seen all of Jaehyun’s naked body at one time. Just bits and pieces of him, and the same goes for you in front of him. He’s always fucking you with some amount of clothing still hiding your body.

But now you stand proudly in his bedroom as the Glinda dress falls. A pretty bra that keeps the girls in place and your Glinda-inspired panties (pink and lacy and barely-there) are revealed to Jaehyun’s eyes.

“Those too,” he says as he sits up and moves to the edge of the bed. “Take them off, too.”

You reach back and unclasp the bra. Heat tingles in your chest as your boobs are exposed, your nipples loving the attention. And then you drop your panties, stepping right out of them, and you stand there in front of Jaehyun, completely bare except for the look of desire for only him that you wear.

“Your turn.” Your core is burning. You need him to touch you now, to be inside you now.

Jaehyun ditches his shirt before he stands up, and then he shoves his pants down, his underwear. He stands before you like a fucking romantic Roman sculpture, carved to perfection and with a bigger dick.

You don’t know the moment that your body connects with Jaehyun’s, or the moment that he scoops you into his arms and puts you on your back in his bed. You just know that suddenly you’re there on your back, legs spread, Jaehyun’s body between your thighs as your mouths ravage each other in a fiery hot kiss.

You reach down, aching for his cock inside you. Jaehyun moans and curses at the tight feel of your hand around him again. You stroke him and guide his leaking tip to your entrance, rocking your hips up to tease yourself with what you desire.

“Fuck me,” you bite the demand against his lips. “I need to feel you inside me, Jaehyun.”

That’s all the incentive he needs.

Jaehyun thrusts forward, driving his cock deep inside you. You gasp against his lips, and he takes that welcome invitation to invade your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours. He reaches above you and drags a pillow down from the head of the bed to stuff one-handed beneath your hips, and that change in angle makes all the difference.

“Oh!” You cry out, throwing your head back. “Right there!”

Jaehyun straightens up so he can look down at your bare body exposed on his bed, so he can watch the way your tits move with each of his powerful thrusts, so he can see his cock disappearing inside you. His hands are on your legs, manhandling you a little roughly, but you like it. He bends you into a new position, with your hips still elevated on the pillow, and your feet are in the air, your legs both draped over one of his shoulders.

Each thrust glides against your sweet spot, a flint sparking against your core, ready to set you alight.

You bring your hands to your tits, massaging and pinching your nipples. Your eyes lock with Jaehyun’s, and your belly tightens, core clenching around his cock, trying to hold him inside you and keep him there. You want to feel him inside you forever, to feel his perfect cock spilling inside you.

A moan breaks from your lips. “I’m so close,” you announce.

Jaehyun splits your legs so each leg rests over his shoulders, and he pushes them achingly towards your chest as he sinks over you. “Then cum for me. You’re so pretty when you cream yourself on my cock.”

“No, I’m a fucking mess,” you cry out.

You once filmed yourself with an ex-boyfriend, and when you watched it back you were almost embarrassed to watch yourself orgasming. The way your body moved and the expression on your face, the sounds you made. It had taken you a while to get over that embarrassment, to not even think about it while you had sex, but Jaehyun’s words bring it to the forefront of your mind.

Jaehyun slows his thrusts, pulling back until just the tip rests inside you. He sinks in slowly, shallowly, then pulls back. “No, you’re fucking beautiful when you cum for me. Why would you say you’re not pretty? Do you know what you look like when you cum? Fucking angelic, like you’re on a plane of existence that I can’t reach, and trust me, I try.”

His hand slips down between your bodies, fingertips grazing your clit. He keeps talking.

“The first time I made you cum, in that bathroom at the bar where we met, I couldn’t look away from your face in the mirror.” Jaehyun’s touch on your clit is too light, his thrusts too slow. You’re going to combust. “You’re so pretty, and when you cum for me, I’m just so proud of my pretty girl.”

You want to voice your denial again, but the pleasure is approaching, a ticking bomb inside you that renders you speechless.

You’re on the brink, your orgasm almost within reach.

Jaehyun goes completely still, not touching your clit, not thrusting. Just sitting there with just the tip of his cock inside you. You want to scream and beg, want to flip him beneath you so you can ride his cock, so you can reach the orgasm that your body so desperately craves.

“Do you disagree, baby? Still don’t think you’re beautiful when you cum? Then maybe I shouldn’t let you until you remember.” Jaehyun’s hand leaves your clit, flying up to your face to squeeze your cheeks, making your lips pucker as you whine. You need him to move, need to feel him deep in your belly. “Who’s my pretty girl? C’mon, say it.”

“I’m your pretty girl, Jaehyun!” You cry out.

“That’s right,” he praises, rewarding you with his hips punching forward, filling you with his cock. “My pretty girl, I couldn’t stop looking at you at the bar tonight. Spotted you across the room as soon as you and your friends got there. Fuck, with your little dress, it makes your boobs look so good. I wanted to bend you over a table and take you right there, hear you moaning my name for everyone to hear, show you off so everyone can see how pretty you are, taking my cock like a good girl.”

“Jae!” You moan, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“Would you like that?” Jaehyun asks, rocking into you harder. “Would you want to show off to everyone just how pretty you are? Let them all know whose pretty girl you are?”

You whimper, eyes floating shut as Jaehyun pushes you to that place of bliss. “Yours, I’m yours! I’m your pretty girl!”

You ignite, pushed past the point of no return. The world flashes white as your orgasm burns through you. And you swear you have an out of body experience, that you’re looking down on yourself in Jaehyun’s bed, looking down at his body still moving above you. The muscles in his back and shoulders flexing, ass tightening as he rocks into you, and there you are, visible to yourself over his shoulder with your body moving to meet his thrusts erratically, beautifully. You move against him in a dance for just the two of you, and your face is held in an expression of bliss, beautiful bliss.

“Aw, fuck,” Jaehyun moans. “Look at you, you’re just— going mad for my cock, aren’t you?” His hand pats your cheek. “Don’t pass out on me.”

You’re not passing out, just floating high on Cloud 9 or maybe sinking into Hell on his sinfully good cock.

Your orgasm is still smoldering beneath your skin as you sink slowly back into your body, the pleasure still rolls through you as Jaehyun chases his own orgasm.

All you can do is moan and lazily roll your hips up to meet his thrusts, lift your hands to his face and guide his mouth back down against yours. “Jae,” you moan against his lips, “Cum inside your pretty girl. Cum inside me.”

He crushes his mouth to yours. His body presses in deep, flattening against you as he shudders and releases deep in your sweet, wet heat. Shallow thrusts and soft moans, your bodies slide and stick together, sweat making your skin tacky, but you don’t care.

You lie there locked together, touching and kissing some more, hands exploring bare skin.

When Jaehyun eventually pulls out and rolls off to the side, he lets a hand linger on your bare thigh, dragging your leg up to drape over one of his. “I think I’ve proven something about you tonight, and I hope you know it.”

“And what’s that?” You rearrange yourself so your head is resting on his chest, your body tucked against his side. “That I’m absolutely stunning when I orgasm?”

Jaehyun laughs a little and kisses the top of your head. “Well, yes, that’s a given. But I mean that you’re definitely not a good witch. Good witches don’t let their boyfriends finger them in the club or fuck them in any number of random public locations.”

Your heart stumbles. “Boyfriend?”

Jaehyun’s fingers had been absently tracing shapes on your upper back, but he falls still now. He stumbles over his excuses, “Or fuckbuddy? Um, random hookup. I don’t…. Uh—“

You sit up, peeling yourself away from his side as you slide over his lap. “Do you think of yourself as my boyfriend, Jung Jaehyun? You want to lock this pretty girl down? Is that why you invited me to come back here tonight? You want to finally make me yours?”

He looks up at you with wide, honest eyes. And then he nods. “I do. I like you. A lot.” His hands rest on your thighs and he sits up. Your chest brushes his, and he slides one of his hands up your back to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck. “I want your phone number. I want to take you out on a date. I don’t want to have to hope that I’ll see you by chance when I’m missing you. I want to be able to call you and ask you to go out or come over, to tell you all the time how much I like you and want you. I mean, shit, you’ve told me you listen to my music.” You nod, you listened to his mini album that came out a couple months ago, and it was beautiful. “I wrote a song about you on there.”

Your heart does this strange tugging sensation where it tries to drop into your belly but also tries to soar.

Jaehyun wants you. Not in just this way where you’re pressed skin to skin with your adrenaline still coursing through your veins. But he wants to date you, to explore the feelings he has for you. He wrote you a song!

Jaehyun nibbles his bottom lip nervously, closely watching your expression.

“Do you…. Feel the same?” His fingers gently knead the back of your neck. “Or has this just always been just sex?”

No.

“It’s always been more than that,” you confess, “You made falling for you very easy.”

Jaehyun grins. “Oh you’ve already fallen for me? Well, the job’s already half done then.” He moves forward, kissing you quickly.

For a while you’re distracted from continuing the conversation. You push Jaehyun back so his shoulders hit the bed, continuing to kiss him, his hands exploring your back and thighs and chest and your hair. When you feel him starting to harden against your thigh again, you touch him too before taking him inside you, riding him until you’re both cumming another time.

And in the aftermath, while you lie there on his chest, Jaehyun wraps his arms around you and asks, “So, can I be your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

a/n: this took me too long to write lmao I started it on Thursday, and it didn’t really go where I originally intended, but I’m happy with it! I feel like it’s been so long since I wrote for Jaehyun, and now I’m just missing him (he can’t be done with his enlistment soon enough 😭)

[kisspurins-deactivated20260103]

tw r*pe

love thinking abt rapist seokie who says if you're good enough that he might kiss you. fucks you like hes loved you for years but you're just another pussy to him :( thinking about eunseok depriving you of kissing as if you'd want it anyway (you do so so badly) thinking about eunseok holding you down when you start "bitching" and kicking at him because you just don't know what you really want or else you wouldn't have been teasing him !!! thinking about rapist eunseok who has such a fat dick everytime he thrusts its like hes purposefully bruising your cervix :( filling you out and telling you how you "love it" even though you're sobbing and begging him to stop !! thinking about rapist seok that leaves you wanting more. brain washes you completely the first time that you keep going back for him, for more and every time he just gets crueler. thinking about rapisy eunseok <3

[ne0pearl]

Dark stalker seunghan who stalks reader social medias and even irl. Once he saw her drunk, alone her feet stumbling and her skirt barely above her knees. He said fuck it and goes to fuck her in shady alley in her vulnerable state

I’ve never thought about stalker seunghan but honestly I kind of like it 🤤

TW: noncon,stalking,harassment

i’m thinking popular boy!seunghan who is just a tad bit creepy. a little weird when it comes to the girls he likes. but he’s handsome and charismatic so nobody really bats an eye when they see him trailing behind a girl,or when his hand goes up her thigh unprompted. and most of them let him. that’s why nobody says anything. they just assume this is what the girls like and seunghan is just seunghan.

he sees you at a party at first,you’re not his usual type. he brushes you off,not really paying attention to you. and then he sees you at another event. and another. and you slowly start to creep into his mind at night. and then during the day and slowly almost every other second. he doesn’t understand why,you’re not really the type of girl he goes for. you’re way different than him. but that’s what lures him in.

and over time he starts feeling more drawn to you. finding you on instagram just to see what you post. listening to every song on your story and watching every movie you post about. just to see what you like. he starts going to the places you post about just in case you’re there again. but there is one problem. you’re one of those people that post once in a while. and that really isn’t seunghans style. he wants to know everything. every little detail.

where you’ve been that day,what you’ve had for breakfast,what perfume you chose to wear that day. that need to be close to you makes him insatiable. so he finds out where you go to uni. then follows you to your dorm. then starts following you wherever you go,often neglecting his own responsibilities and needs. you go into a store to buy a croissant,he’s there a few minutes later buying the same thing. he doesn’t even eat it all,it’s just another thing that makes him closer to you.

it’s not like you don’t notice. you just don’t notice it’s him. you always feel like someone is behind you,the faint rhythm of his footsteps becoming a familiar sound as time goes on. randomly,you’d feel the hairs on your neck standing up,that primal fear of being watched kicking in as you turn your head frantically to look for the predator. you think it’s just from stress,or something else on your mind. everybody tells you not to worry,no ones there!

but he is there. he’s always there. a few steps behind,quietly observing. he’s observing you now as you walk out of the club all alone,in a tiny dress and a jacket that barely covers anything. you’re stumbling in your heels,the night air making you shiver. he gets to work walking behind you. in some way,he’s protecting you,he thinks. a drunk girl is not supposed to be all alone at night. anybody could take advantage of her.

anybody.

that thought makes his head explode,the thought of literally anybody just having their way with you makes him feel physically ill. he starts walking a bit faster. you still don’t notice,dazed from the vodka shots running through your system. and it makes him pissed. you’re so reckless,you’re practically asking for it.

as you take a turn into a secluded alley,his arms engulf you. “hey-“ you’re about to scream as he pushes you onto the ground and knocks the wind out of you. the predator straddles your waist,his weight crushing you. “let me go” you squirm,but he pushes your head onto the concrete scraping your face. “shh” the voice is deep,almost comforting. “you were being reckless” he starts,his hand going over your back,pushing your hair out of the way so he could see your face. he leans down,his mouth close to your ear. from your peripheral vision,you see him. the dark handsome stranger you thought was just a part of your hallucination.

you could feel his breath on your cheek as he spoke,”be happy that at least it’s me”. the sound of his belt unbuckling sends a jolt of fear and helplessness as his grip on you tightens.

[ne0pearl]

Dark stalker seunghan who stalks reader social medias and even irl. Once he saw her drunk, alone her feet stumbling and her skirt barely above her knees. He said fuck it and goes to fuck her in shady alley in her vulnerable state

I’ve never thought about stalker seunghan but honestly I kind of like it 🤤

TW: noncon,stalking,harassment

i’m thinking popular boy!seunghan who is just a tad bit creepy. a little weird when it comes to the girls he likes. but he’s handsome and charismatic so nobody really bats an eye when they see him trailing behind a girl,or when his hand goes up her thigh unprompted. and most of them let him. that’s why nobody says anything. they just assume this is what the girls like and seunghan is just seunghan.

he sees you at a party at first,you’re not his usual type. he brushes you off,not really paying attention to you. and then he sees you at another event. and another. and you slowly start to creep into his mind at night. and then during the day and slowly almost every other second. he doesn’t understand why,you’re not really the type of girl he goes for. you’re way different than him. but that’s what lures him in.

and over time he starts feeling more drawn to you. finding you on instagram just to see what you post. listening to every song on your story and watching every movie you post about. just to see what you like. he starts going to the places you post about just in case you’re there again. but there is one problem. you’re one of those people that post once in a while. and that really isn’t seunghans style. he wants to know everything. every little detail.

where you’ve been that day,what you’ve had for breakfast,what perfume you chose to wear that day. that need to be close to you makes him insatiable. so he finds out where you go to uni. then follows you to your dorm. then starts following you wherever you go,often neglecting his own responsibilities and needs. you go into a store to buy a croissant,he’s there a few minutes later buying the same thing. he doesn’t even eat it all,it’s just another thing that makes him closer to you.

it’s not like you don’t notice. you just don’t notice it’s him. you always feel like someone is behind you,the faint rhythm of his footsteps becoming a familiar sound as time goes on. randomly,you’d feel the hairs on your neck standing up,that primal fear of being watched kicking in as you turn your head frantically to look for the predator. you think it’s just from stress,or something else on your mind. everybody tells you not to worry,no ones there!

but he is there. he’s always there. a few steps behind,quietly observing. he’s observing you now as you walk out of the club all alone,in a tiny dress and a jacket that barely covers anything. you’re stumbling in your heels,the night air making you shiver. he gets to work walking behind you. in some way,he’s protecting you,he thinks. a drunk girl is not supposed to be all alone at night. anybody could take advantage of her.

anybody.

that thought makes his head explode,the thought of literally anybody just having their way with you makes him feel physically ill. he starts walking a bit faster. you still don’t notice,dazed from the vodka shots running through your system. and it makes him pissed. you’re so reckless,you’re practically asking for it.

as you take a turn into a secluded alley,his arms engulf you. “hey-“ you’re about to scream as he pushes you onto the ground and knocks the wind out of you. the predator straddles your waist,his weight crushing you. “let me go” you squirm,but he pushes your head onto the concrete scraping your face. “shh” the voice is deep,almost comforting. “you were being reckless” he starts,his hand going over your back,pushing your hair out of the way so he could see your face. he leans down,his mouth close to your ear. from your peripheral vision,you see him. the dark handsome stranger you thought was just a part of your hallucination.

you could feel his breath on your cheek as he spoke,”be happy that at least it’s me”. the sound of his belt unbuckling sends a jolt of fear and helplessness as his grip on you tightens.

[daisy-milk]

masterlist!!

key:

✩ - most popular/personal fav

♡- fluff

♪- angst

❗- smut MDNI!!

skz~

lee minho - non dimenticar ✩ ♡ ♪

han jisung - marooned.pdf ❗️

[yrfairy]

OMG HAII i love ur writing smmm 💖💖 but bro ok hear me out, imagine eunseok as reader’s longtime crush but she knows he’s out of her league and HE knows that too. like he knows that she thinks he’s too good for her and uses it to manipulate reader into like having sex with him and like being his little fuckdoll whenever he wants even when she doesn’t really want that- but like whatever it takes to get his attention…

hii tysm!! 🫶🏻 i have such a soft spot for insecure!reader😖😖😖 /pos

18+ ♡ eunseok x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, eunseok is really mean, coercion, intox, misogynistic themes, choking, manipulation, degradation, ‘princess’, groping, pinv, sungchan mentioned once, brief mention of cheating.

after striking out with some chick he met at the party a few hours ago, eunseok seeks you out. he’s frustrated, his ego bruised and his balls blue because he really thought he had her attention only for her to drop at the last possible second for his self control, that she had a boyfriend. if he’d known that four hours ago, he could’ve found some way to get around it but now he doesn’t want to have to keep working for it. she’s not worth it anyway, he tells himself.

‘come on, we’re going upstairs,’ he tells you, grabbing your upper arm and pulling you forcefully away from the little circle you’re standing in, chatting it up with a bunch of random people like you’re oh so good at making friends. you wouldn’t have even been able to get in the door if he hadn’t vouched for you. if he hadn’t told sungchan you were easy and wouldn’t cause any problems.

eunseok ignores your whimpered protests, writing them off as just you being drunk and stubborn. you’re always whiney, he’s just learned to tune it out. he kicks the door shut with a loud thud, not bothering to lock it before pushing you down onto the bed. he crawls on top of you, his hands immediately going to your chest. he grabs a handful of your tits at the same time, eyes closing as he imagines you’re the other girl for a second. just a second, until you open your mouth again and ruin it.

‘seok, i don’t want to do it here..’ you whimper, squirming beneath him as he releases his grip on your breasts in favour of sliding his hands under your thighs, lifting your legs upwards and apart to expose you to him. your skirt rides up towards your hips, panties stretched across your pussy and the slightly damp spot in the centre isn’t really pleading your case.

‘oh, is here not good enough for you, princess? you want it to be special?’ he mocks coldly as he pushes your thighs higher, making your muscles pull taut. ‘you want me to take you back to your dorm?’ he slips his fingers beneath the fabric, knuckles grazing your puffy folds before he yanks your panties down, seams tearing as he rips them free from your ankles.

‘girls like you don’t get to choose, you’re going to take what i give you because guess what?’ he says through gritted teeth, lining his already hard cock up with your slick entrance. he pushes in slightly just to feel your inner muscles squeeze as if you’re stupid enough to reject him. as if your body knows he’s more than you can handle but you’re going to take him anyway.

‘i’m doing you a favour.’ he tells you, leaning down close enough so his lips brush yours. one hand comes to rest against your neck as he uses the other to keep you open for him. he pushes inside you with one brutal thrust, fingers tightening around your throat as you try to gasp but he won’t let you. he only loosens up his grip after he buries himself fully into your tight heat, allowing you one desperate inhale before he seals his palm over your mouth, thumb and forefinger secured beneath your nose.

he moves slowly at first, rocking his hips against your pelvis with measured strokes. fuck, you feel so tight, like you’ve been aching for this moment for ages and the fact that he knows you probably have just makes him harder. even though you’re incredibly pathetic, have no social standing and can’t measure up to the girls he usually seeks out… there’s something to be said for you about how well you just accept him. yeah, you’re a fucking headache to deal with when he’s not balls deep in your soaked little cunt but you really show him another side of you when you submit. one that makes him think maybe you’re not completely worthless after all.

[daisy-milk]

this is peak ily

[calebsdraft]

caleb w a crybaby, clingy, needy little sister who needs to be comforted every time he’s inside of her bc hes js toooo bigg…</3

warnings : praise, crybaby!reader, stepcest, use of gege and pipsqueak, caleb brings up that y’all are siblings during sex, big dick!caleb, belly bulge, cumming inside, unprotected sex <3

౨ৎ au : 𝓼tepbrother!caleb x 𝓬rybaby!reader ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

𝒞aleb knew you were going to start crying before you even got to. you were more of the crybaby type, always crying to your gege about mean people, grades, sad animals… anything really. so he wasn’t surprised when you started crying during sex. he tried to start off soft, he really did—but you were just too good and wet, he couldn’t stop himself from going faster, deeper.

“shh… i know, baby. i know, i’m so big, aren’t i? you’re taking me so well,” he murmured into your ear. your wrists were pinned down by his large hands and your ass was up, chest against your back as he rammed into your pussy. tears and sobs started falling from the overwhelming pleasure. it was just too good and you could feel him everywhere.

his free hand came to rub your tears away softly and you felt his thrusts slowing down in a pace that wasn’t so overwhelming. “i know, pips. don’t cry, gege’s hear for you. you’re such a good girl.” you let out a small mewl at the praise, your walls clenching around his thick cock and he let out a groan.

“mm, yeah, that’s it. just like that—yeah, tighten around me,” he whispered into your ear gently and his thrusts got deeper now, reaching a spot that he didn’t reach when he was going fast. you let out a chocked gasp at the feeling, your body jolting as he hit that spot again. your eyes rolled to the back of your head and new tears started to fall—but they were from pleasure now.

“caleb! haah, right there! oh, mhm!” you moaned out when his head massaged that spot just right, making your puffy folds flutter around his cock. “fuck, that’s it, hm, baby? your big brother’s hitting that good spot inside of you?” your jaw dropped and you mindlessly nodded.

his pace started to pick up again and his grip on your wrists tightened. the bed creaked with each thrust and he shushed your sobs, whispering things like “there ya’ go,” and “yeah, just breathe. just like that.” you felt like he was splitting you in half but it was so good, you didn’t want it to stop.

until you felt that tug in your gut. he had made you come thousands of times and each time it was too overwhelming for you, trying to kick him off of you and almost fainting when you gushed around him. this is no different.

“caleb! stop! m’close! stop—i can’t!” you gasped out and he let out a low growl into your ear. instead of stopping, he did the exact opposite. he started to ram into you rapidly, causing new tears to quickly fall from your eyes. your body twitched and squirmed but you couldn’t get away from him, not when you were pinned down like this.

you felt closer and closer and your breathing picked up, whines and whimpers falling out of your plump lips. “shh… i know. jus’ let go for me. it’s okay, pipsqueak,” he mumbled into your ear and his free hand came to where the bulge in your stomach was.

you let out a loud moan when he started to press on the bulge, fresh new juices gushing around his cock. “there you go, cum for me.” your body fell limp when you came—hard. he helped you through your orgasm, trying not to split you in half with how much your milking him and the sound that you made when you gushed around his cock.

you expected him to stop when you came before you got overstimulated—just like always. but no, he didn’t stop. “ca-leb! sensitive! mph!” you whined out but it was like caleb couldn’t here you. “i know, baby. just a little more—i needa cum. fuck, i’m close.”

with your sobs and moans, reaching his orgasm was easy. with a few more thrusts, you felt something warm and thick fill you up. your jaw dropped at the feeling and your walls clenched as they got painted. “oh! mph, haah…” his cock slowly softened inside of you and so did his thrusts. all you could do was twitch and caleb abruptly stopped carrying himself above you.

you were being squashed by him with how large he was and you let out a tired squeak. he chuckled. “sorry, pips.” and with that, he turned the two of you over so you were lying on his chest. his cock was still inside of you, but you didn’t care. you were already on the brink of sleep, feeling warm and full.

[daisy-milk]

Non Dimenticar

three times in which you needed minho, though it wasn't in you to ask

➠ lee minho x reader

➠ wc: 1.7k

➠ summary: both you and minho are independent induviduals, and that aspect thrives in your relationship. though it makes it hard for you to reach out to him when you need it. you and him learn that sooner or later you both will have to learn how to ask for help.

➠ warnings: slight angst (maybe its normal level angst idk its pretty sad), mentions of passing out, mentions of injury, mentions of hosptial/emergency room, overworked reader

➠ masterlist

➠ a/n: i am currently a little tipsy and therefore this is not proofread

he gets it. he really does. he understands because he is the same way. all his life, he has had the same mentality, but now that he’s met you, he has learned; and perhaps it was because you were so similar in that sense that he learned what it looked like from an outside perspective. 

it was your inability to ask for help and openness to receiving it. 

minho, as well, struggled with this. throughout his life he had that mindset. one of, ‘whatever is happening will pass. you must power through. don’t drag others down with you,’ and he knew what it felt like from a personal level. pretty much, you both lived a very much ‘just thug it out’ lifestyle. minho never saw it as too much of a problem though. it didn’t seem to hurt others, in his eyes it kept them safe even, ignorance is bliss, no? but that was until he met you. 

minho saw in you, the struggle that was deep within him. the one many urged him to overcome, because he never would see any issue in it.

the first time he began to become aware was when the two of you were working out. you were both doing bicep curls, your attention on the mirror in front of you as you counted your sets. minho and you took turns and he was using a heavier weight than you, so naturally you dropped yours in favor of letting him switch the plates. you must have been distracted however, and in switching, you accidentally dropped the heavy plate onto your big toe. minho wouldn’t have even noticed if his eyes weren’t trained on you at all times. you didn’t even make a sound when it dropped on you, just an airy hiss, and through your reflection in the mirror you tried your best to play it off. the weight was heavy enough to raise concern, there was no way that didn’t affect you. therefore, minho spoke up,

“hey, you good? that looked painful” he grabbed your arm as you stepped away. 

you shook your head, “nah. i’m fine. i’ve had worse,” a chuckle leaves your lips in an attempt to put your boyfriend at ease.

minho gave you a look. one of uncertainty. though he didn’t want to pry. he knows that even if it was hurting there is a reason you aren’t asking him for help. 

perhaps he should have asked though. you didn’t say anything further but he couldn’t help but notice the quite obvious limp you wore as you walked out of the gym. he noticed, as he peeked at your uncovered foot when you got into bed with him that your toe began to swell and bruise a nasty shade of purple. he noticed the way, even after days, you struggle to put your full weight onto your foot. he urged you to see a doctor, but you brushed it off, saying that it’ll heal on its own, you’ve had worse. 

again, he didn’t pry and you never brought it up. though he knows now to keep a close eye on you at the gym. 

the second time was probably the most brutal. what started as a simple stomach ache soon became an even worse pain that had you doubling over in pain. be it cramps, your pesky lactose intolerance, or food poisoning, you always had an excuse for when minho began to worry. because naturally he would become worried at the sight of you rendering unmovable due to the pain. though no matter what, each time you would ease his mind with a new excuse and a wave of your hand. the excuses lasted a while. though it was only a matter of time until something worse happened. he had gotten a call from you late into the evening, “hey…” your voice was low, it sounded as if you were far from the mic, “can you… can you uh pick me up. i’m at that pho spot near your place. i’m- i… uh don’t think i can drive home.”

“did you drink?” he had asked. you had told him no, but offered no further explanation. he could tell there was something you didn’t want to tell him; he knew there was a reason you sounded hesitant to ask for his help. 

minho had been right because upon arrival he was met with your nearly passed out form, drooping from the driver’s seat of your car. he rushed to you, and you were conscious, luckily. though you did let out a loud groan in pain, your hand clutching your abdomen tightly. without another thought, he rushed you to the emergency room. 

fate was on your side that night. appendicitis. the doctors had told you that you were lucky that you hadn’t waited. if it were perhaps a day later, your appendix may have ruptured. the two of you shared a brief look as the doctor debriefed you. it was a knowing look. 

during your surgery minho thanked every star in the sky that night. he also made sure to schedule himself a check-up with his physician as well. he had to take care of himself to take care of you, is what he told himself.

the third time wasn’t a physical injury per say. minho caught you in your room. using the spare keys you gave him, he welcomed himself into your apartment as he normally did, though you weren’t expecting him this time. he wanted it to be a surprise. he knew you were studying hard and came in to surprise you with your usual coffee order and some homemade pastries felix made. 

instead he found you at your desk, uncomfortably splayed out before your computer. surrounding you were litters of paper and textbooks, most with notes and formulas, but as he looked closer there were papers completely scribbled out, torn, crumpled; it looked like a disaster. he couldn’t count the amount of tabs open of your computer, the chaos that reigned the screen made his head hurt just looking at it. there were at least 2 empty coffee cups on the floor and another on the table, the ice melting into the now lukewarm americano. his hand cropped the one he brought you a little tighter. 

“sweetheart?” he questioned carefully, kneeling down to reach face level with you. 

though you were curled up, he caught a clear glimpse of your face. you looked nearly lifeless and his heart shattered. minho knew it was just finals. he knew that you were probably fine, but what made him break was the fact you were going through it all alone. it had been days since you contacted him, and it wasn’t an issue for him, the two of you were good at maintaining your own personal time, and as per usual he never pried. but the thought of you, pulling through like this for days left his stomach falling into the deepest pits within himself. 

“my poor baby…” his finger traced your cheek, now squished against the table. your skin was dull, eye bags too present, day old makeup faded and smudged all over your eyes. minho kicked himself for not coming sooner. 

minho’s arms curl under you and he pulls your body into his arms. you’re so knocked out that you barely notice the movement. as if it were second nature, you curl into his hold as he hoists you up. his face softens a little as you do so, relieved that even in this state you know to trust him completely. his arms bring you to your bed where he carefully tucks you in, giving a gentle pat on your head as he moves to clean up your desk.

scattered papers and endless notes littered the surface of your desk. it wasn’t just your desk though. your room itself was left in a messy array, the days of stress piled up and you couldn’t bring yourself to clean, as litter and clothes became too much to handle. without a second thought, minho cleaned, folding clothes, tossing garbage until your room was spotless. he finished at your desk, beginning to pick up your papers as you woke.

silently, you approached him, your hand resting on his from behind as he gathered some sheets of paper, 

“minho…” you said groggily, “don’t worry about it… i-i’m not finished with those. gotta finish them then i’ll clean it up”

you attempted to grab the notes but he stopped you. his hand took the papers from your own. without a word he continued to gather the papers and pile them neatly to the side. you didn’t have any energy left to stop him, to argue. you just let him do this thing. after he powered off your computer, he finally turned to you. his hands now rested on your cheeks, gently brushing the soft skin on your face. his head tilted at you as if you were one of his cats, his thumbs brushing the crusty makeup around your eyes. 

“did you sleep well?” finally he spoke

”i have a lot to study…”

”did you eat today?” he continued 

“there’s only one more day before my project is due…” he remained quiet and continued to caress your face, “… i won’t have time to study after my classes and…” you began to lean into his touch, softening up from both your sleepiness and his affection, “…and…” you could melt into the way he looked at you right now, “…and i have to finish… i’ll rest when i…”

”you must be so tired, hm?” there was no other infliction in his voice aside from affection

“…yeah,” you admit, “…i’m really tired.” 

tears began to well in your eyes as you dipped your head down. he didn’t let you though, using a gentle finger to tilt your head back up. new tears traced down the same path as the ones that were now dried on your cheeks. 

“let’s go take a shower?” he asks and you nod. his hand leads you to your bathroom as he begins to use your makeup remover to gently wipe the makeup from your face. 

his hands are too gentle, you think, as he cleans your skin.

”after this, we can study in bed, yeah? together.” he gazes down at you as he tosses one wipe for another, “next time… please call me. i know you want to do this alone, i get it, i thought the same way too. but now that i have you, i could never want to be alone again. trust me when i say, i will never be tired of being with you, helping you, no matter what it is. just please, call me when you need me,” he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, “i promise i’ll call you when i need you too.”

please leave feedback please please please

[i-am-aprl]

For 153 days, we’ve seen Palestinians taking care of not only fellow humans by sharing food with each other, helping save people from under the rubble, carrying random bloody strangers to hospitals, and lending a helping hand at any given, but we’ve also seen them, constantly, taking care of animals during the genocide.

[daisy-milk]

MAROONED.pdf

➠ office_crush!Han x reader

➠ wc: 3.7k

➠ summary: your workplace becomes target to an unfortunate hostage situation. fortunately the assaliants don't seem violent, however unfortunately, you get shoved into a trunk with your office crush.

➠ warnings: smut, fingering, overstimulation, piv, mentions of a hostage situation, bondage

➠ masterlist

➠ a/n: had this for a while haha

“mmmff!!” 

you tried to at least sound assertive, but it was a bit hard with duct tape sealing your lips shut. however, that didn’t stop you from spewing muffled curses at the man who was currently dragging you to his car. you couldn’t do much but flail your zip-tie bound hands and growl unknown obscenities through your closed mouth, but somehow it seemed to have kept your assailant nervous. or maybe he was just like that from the start. 

“i-i’m sorry ma’am,” the masked person stuttered quietly. 

poor kid, you thought. he couldn’t have been older than 19 and it didn’t seem like he wanted to even be here, “w-watch your head…” the kid’s hand gently pushed your head down to try and shove you into the trunk of a small black sedan, but you resisted, easily shoving out of his grasp. you gave the assailant an incredulous look and his shoulders visibly slumped. suddenly, the kid’s eyes widened from under his mask and before you could even tilt your head in question, you felt large hands snatch your body, nearly folding you in half to shove into the trunk. you didn’t have any time to even react before another body was forced into the trunk with you. 

“you can’t do one simple thing, idiot?” you heard a new voice from outside the trunk. you couldn’t see who it was who threw you into the car, but you did hear a loud slap from where the two criminals stood, “get in the damn car and meet me at the location. and you better not fuck up again, hear me?”

the trunk was cramped, various tools and suspiciously full duffel bags crammed into your back and not to mention the body of another unfortunate hostage that was just shoved in blocking your view of your kidnappers. you writhed a bit, trying to shimmy over the person, but to no avail when the hood of the trunk was slammed shut leaving you in pitch darkness. 

you rolled your eyes and slumped back. there was a small sliver of light that peeked through the thin opening of the trunk, but the dim light was enough to finally realize who you were taken with. han jisung. to be trapped with anyone and it just so happened to be your work crush. the two of you had a little back and forth thing going on, one of you saying something mildly flirty and the other might respond with the same energy, but neither of you doubled down. it always ended how it started except for the fact that you both left with bright red blushes burning onto your cheeks. pretty juvenile for a pair of grown adults, many would say, but he was the reason you’d be excited to actually go to work. hell, today you even “unintentionally” brought that candy he had mentioned once, but it also just had to happen that your workplace becomes the target of a now hostage situation.

you glanced over at him and he was already looking at you. neither of you had much fear or anxiety written on your faces, despite the situation, but there weren’t any signs of a weapon on the robbers and they didn’t seem the type to kill anyone. you were just hostages. clearly, it was quiet between the two of you with the duct tape over your lips, but the sound of the engine starting had immediately alerted the two of you. you let out a loud sigh through the tape as you felt the car start to move. 

the both of you endured the drive. it seemed to be a getaway chase by the way the car was recklessly steering, throwing your bodies around with every bump and turn. one bump and you flipped onto your other side. another turn and you heard a loud thump followed by a groan, Han must have hit his head. a third and fourth and the two of you are flying every which way inside the crowded trunk space. the fifth time came around and you felt the car halt to a harsh stop. the momentum sent your body flying forward, groaning as you slammed against the wall of the trunk. not only you were affected of course, but Han’s body followed suit, his front being smashed into your back. it seemed that after the car had slammed on the brakes, the police had finally caught up. blaring sirens were heard from outside the vehicle and the loudspeaker from the cop car spoke, 

“PULL YOUR VEHICLE OVER IMMEDIATELY. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST,” you let out a breath of relief, but the second you did you realized how close Han was as you were able to feel his breath as well, pressed up tightly behind you. you couldn’t move away either, “STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR.”

moments passed and you vaguely heard the commotions of the arrest being made. though, you couldn’t focus on much that was going on outside due to your mind racing. how could you focus when you felt Han’s toned chest rising shallowly up and down against your back. the warmth from his body radiating through that thin button up shirt he always wore that may be a size too small. you always noticed that. if you were a normal person you could tell him that he might have outgrown his shirt when he started working out, his pecs giving the buttons that kept his shirt together a run for their money. but you never said a thing, drooling over the way the seams would fight for their life every time he would stretch at his desk. he was so close. your bare legs brushed against his slacks and your imagination ran wild. you tried to shuffle in your restraints, there was a dampness to your panties that you realized made you quite uncomfortable and awkward, especially with the man causing it right behind you. unfortunately for you, instead of successfully concealing anything, your pencil skirt began to scrunch up at the waist. right. it comes back to you, the fact that you chose to wear your shortest office skirt today to impress Han now biting you in the ass. you curse to yourself as your choice in outfit now backfires on you, and you were certain, with how close he was pressed up against you, that you were now staining his formerly clean trousers with your shameful arousal. at least you were lucky he couldn’t see the intense blush making your face grow redder than a tomato. for a moment, you had forgotten that your mouth was taped shut as you attempted to offer a quick ‘sorry’ for your tragic situation, but all that came out was a muffle. a muffle that sounded too close to a moan. and to think you didn’t think it could get worse. here you are, struggling against his frontside, dripping wet, and moaning with no way of explaining yourself. to say you were embarrassed couldn’t begin to describe how you felt. maybe you could use this whole hostage situation as an excuse to quit and move far, far away because there was no way you could face him ever again after this. speaking of the hostage situation, it had been way too long for the police to be making this arrest. was there more than just that one teen that was driving? you swear you heard several cops too… what could possibly be taking so long? snapping out of your moment, you tried to listen for anything outside the vehicle. nothing. had they not realized that you two were in the trunk? you listened in again. dead silence. just the sounds of cars driving by. 

‘theres no way,’ you thought, ‘did they seriously leave us here..?’

you tried to turn around, but as you moved it was Han’s turn to let out a loud groan. your eyes widened, worried that you might have unintentionally hurt him, you instinctively shuffled again to check up on him to no avail. however, this time you moved, he let out more of a whine. following that, his head dropped into the crevice of your neck and you could feel the beads of sweat that decorated his forehead. it soaked into your hair. you could smell him now. you could feel his heavy breaths through his nose on your skin. the whine, the groan as well, they weren’t noises in response to pain. you felt it now that he’s shuffling in discomfort. you felt him, rock hard, hidden behind the fabric of his pants. he was just as affected as you. yet again, forgetting you couldn’t move, you squirmed again, this time your back arching a little more to test the waters. your hypothesis had been right as his head that was buried in your neck now craned backwards, hips lightly meeting yours as he let out another muffled groan. 

maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that the cops had forgotten about you. 

spurred on by your hornyness and newfound confidence, you started to grind against him. his head that he threw back now shot back into where it was tucked into the place where your neck and shoulder met, and if his lips weren’t taped, you might have felt his soft lips press against your skin. his warm breath tickled your skin as you continued to move against his body, his hips now mirroring your actions. as you both desperately grinded against each other, you felt and heard his breaths grow more erratic. you could tell he wanted more the way his hips began to thrust at your backside as if he was in you. and how badly you wanted him to be. as time went on, he only grew more greedy and impatient with the way he humped against you. there was a dull thump every time his hips met yours causing you to let out an almost too dramatic whine. you weren’t quite sure what happened, but in that moment you heard a snap from behind you. somehow Han had managed to break the zip-ties that held his hands together and you knew that the way his hands immediately flew to your hips. next came the sound of him ripping the tape from his mouth. it almost sounded painful, but you didn’t have much time to dwell on that fact as you heard his deep voice purr against your ear, 

“you… dirty little thing,” his hands squeezed the flesh of your hips as he pressed his crotch sharply against your butt, “we were taken hostage and you still have it in you to tease me like a slut?” the lange hands that help you started scrunching up the material of your skirt even further, practically making it a belt as it rested around you waist, “look at you… should have known when you came to work in this tiny little thing,” and you were happy that he noticed, “if we hadn’t been taken, maybe i would have had my way with you in the storage closed. god knows how long i’ve wanted to.” he sucks in a breath against the shell of your ear, “sucks that this is how it finally happens, but i’m not complaining. gotta admit it's awfully cute seeing you all tied up like this. was thinking about being a gentleman and helping you out of these, but i think i really like seeing you struggle,” he murmurs, playing with the zip-ties on you. 

his hands wrap around your torso to hold you close, and for a moment, he pauses, “gotta know if you really want this though…,” you couldn’t see him, but you could hear the sincerity in his words, “if you want to keep going nod, but if you want me to stop kick me… or something. we can pretend this never happened if that's the case.”

you barely gave him the time to finish speaking and you were frantically nodding your head, whining desperately at the same time. he chuckled, “i figured. just had to ask, but with how wet you are,” he reaches down to feel your soaking panties, he groans, “i could have easily assumed. felt it through my pants ya know?”

you let out an embarrassed whine, squirming a little in his hold, “aw, don’t be shy. do you not feel how hard you make me? heh, i got pretty embarrassed too. couldn’t help it though… the way your cute little butt felt against me, i was losing my mind. i always lose my mind around you if i’m being honest…" Han didn’t give you much time to process what he just said as his slender fingers peeled the fabric of your panties to the side and plunged two digits into your sopping hole. you moaned out loudly through your nose. you arched against him as han continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, and you could feel the dull ache due to your hands being tied, but the pleasure from han’s fingers made you forget any other sensation. 

“you like that?” he practically moaned into your ear. his hips moved in synchronization with his fingers, every time his rock hard bulge pressed into you, he shoved his fingers deep into you. maybe he was possibly more desperate than you based on the way it seemed he was nearly cumming in his pants just by fingering you. because he was the only one not restrained by tape over his mouth, his throaty whines were loud and clear. and of course he was reaching places deeper in your hole that you have never discovered before, you should have known from all the times you have stared at his long fingers at work, imagining them inside you the way they are now. juices gushed down not just his fingers, but his hand as he sped up his ministrations. the warm, musky smell of it now suffocating the both of you.

“god i want to taste you so bad. eat out all of that cream you’re soaking my hand with,” you moan in response, “always wondered how good you taste. i’ll save it for next time. maybe in the breakroom? eat you instead of that gnarly cafeteria food?”

the thin layer of moisture that coated your skin was not forming little beads of sweat as it began to drip down you. your body jerked against him and he could tell you were getting close. his fingers curled and you let out an impossibly high pitched sound. 

“almost there baby?” he urged. he was now slightly propped up on his elbow as he dug somehow deeper into you. you could see his shoulder flex as he pumped brutally into you. your head craned back into his chest as more sounds released from you, “yeah? yeah? c’mon little thing, wanna see you drench me.” that was about all it took, his filthy yet delicious words, and you jolted. you came almost silently, you couldn’t even warn him as you pulsed around his hand. he held you body tightly to him as you jerked through your orgasm, “mmm there it is… yeah. fuck- god y-you’re so tight…” you sucked in a gasp as he worked you through your release, his fingers now overstimulating you and there was no way of telling him to slow down. you whine, as a way of telling him it was becoming too much, but he didn’t relent.

“is to too much baby? mmh one more please? we got time,” han coaxed in your ear, “one more and i’ll fuck you. please, please baby? wanna feel that little pussy clench one more time around my fingers.”

it wasn’t as if you had much of a choice anyways, but the way his words cooed into your ear and his undeniable skill, you weren’t really complaining much. you melted into him, trying your best to let him have his way with you. you couldn’t help the little jolts from overstimulation every now and then, but han was too blind with lust to even acknowledge it. he simply held you tight and continued to fuck you with his fingers. the way he moaned into your hair was as if he could feel what you were feeling himself. 

“f-fuck… c’mon baby, give it to me before i cream my pants… mmm please…” he was begging you now. his voice drenched in lust and desperation. if you weren’t close already, the way he twisted his hand and pressed against your mound added just the right amount of pressure to clit, to make you see white once again. 

“yes… oh yes baby give it to me,” he let out. your combined breath was shaky as he retracted his hand to lick his fingers clean. once again he moaned loudly as if he just orgasmed just by tasting you, “just as delicious as i imagined,” he chuckled, pulling you close to him and turning you over on your side to face him, “i’ll try not to be greedy and ask for another one.” he smiles at you, his little heart shaped grin melting your heart. to emphasize his statement, he gives you a little tease by pinching your clit, making you jump. your eyes squeeze shut, “heh… sorry, you’re just… so cute.” the last words coming out breathy, “god i just have to-”

with that he begins to peel off the tape covering your lips. it should have been more painful, but it could matter less with the way you were yearning for his mouth. it seemed as if he felt the same way with the way your lips smashed together after not even a moment to breathe. han’s tongue shoved into your throat as he devoured you, hands idly crawling up your body to hold you jaw, large thumbs resting on your cheeks as he maneuvered your head to match his kisses. you wanted to mirror him but you were still restrained behind your back. han looked down at where your hands were struggling and pulled away from the kiss. 

“oh.. heh,” he chuckled, “i uhm… don’t have scissors or anything. guess you gotta stay like that it seems.” 

“oh for sure, han,” you spoke your first words to him since being trapped in this car, “is that how you got out of yours too?” you questioned, incredulously. 

“guess he didn’t tie me well,” he grinned, clearly lying between his teeth. 

there was no response. instead, han pulled you back into him as he lifted your leg to wrap over his waist. all you could do was watch and lick your lips as he unzipped his fly. you wanted to be the one to free his hard cock, finally feel it for yourself, but yet again you were reminded about the stupid zip-ties holding you back. perhaps you’ll get him back for this someday. 

barely pulling his pants down, han finally pulled his cock out. his hands pulled your face again and once more continued to make out with you. your tongues fought hard against each other inside your warm mouths, and without warning you felt han line himself up with your hole. you felt him start to slowly inch in as he pressed his lips on you harder, as if to try to distract you. it felt as if he was never ending as he slowly slid in, already hitting your limit when you look down to see he’s only halfway in. he scoffs, “you can fit the rest in right?” han teases. you both knew you were going to. it was how long he would give you to adjust. you knew he was an impatient man though, so it was no surprise when he pushed the remainder of him a little too quickly. you felt filled to the brim, moaning out a stifled, slightly pained sound.

“alright baby? sorry… i couldn’t wait… had to be inside you,” his stilled, letting you adjust as his hands petting the back of your head as if to sooth you. his lips found your neck and began to bite and suck in the meanwhile, “you’ve been so good to me, baby. take your time, lemme know when you’re ready, yeah?” 

after only a few moments you felt ready. or at least that was what you convinced yourself, growing too impatient as well, the need for him growing too strong. 

“please move,” you sighed into the top of his head as he buried himself into creating dark hickeys across your neck. he smiled at you again. you could never get enough of his little grin. such a sweet smile he had, you couldn’t imagine it was worn by the same man who now started to pound your brains out in the back of a musty sedan after a botched hostage situation. 

han was all over you, his hands and lips roaming all over your body as he fucked you, and you would have reciprocated if you could, but you simple took it, everything he poured out to you through his actions. at this point you were drenched in each other’s sweat, the heat from the tiny space now catching up with you, but you could care less. you couldn’t care less in the same way you began to hear sounds right outside the car in the back of your mind. neither of you paid much attention to it, simply too caught up in each other to hear the loud clank and jolt of the car. han’s moans blocked out all the sounds from the outside world as his hips non-stop thrusted against you. you could deal with whatever was happening outside after you both came. 

“close, han” you mewled

“me too… come with me?” it was almost too easy for you to let go, already far gone from han’s prep barely an hour ago. the two of you hit your highs simultaneously. but in that moment, you felt the vehicle you were in tip upwards. right as han’s load shot into you, the both of you began to slide all the way to the back of the trunk. you landed on him, bodies smushed against each other from the momentum, but at least you both managed to come before it happened. it took you a moment, but you both regained your breathing and returned to normal. you looked at each other, your pupils dilated as you stared into him. 

“did they just…” he blinked, “tow the car with us in it?”

[daisy-milk]

Nocturnes Op.55 No.1 || TEASER

prince!I.N x assassin!reader - fantasy AU

✯ im so tired rn.... but i.n so sexy || banners/dividers from @cafekitsune

✯ SKZ_stories.masterlist main_masterlist

✯ warnings: mentions of violence, death, cursing? idk i forgot anyways... MDI tyyy

failure was never an option.

throughout your entire career, the thought of an assignment going wrong never crossed your mind. your skills were unsurpassed; there was never even a need for a contingency plan because, for you, failure was inconceivable.

so what do you do now that your own target has you at the mercy of his hand?

a stinging pain shot through your wrists, the sensation of your skin becoming raw due to the material of whatever was binding your hands together brought you to consciousness. your instincts finally surged, and you swiftly became alert. however, there wasn’t much you could do in your state. you became hyper-aware of your hands now tied behind your back, your ankles and knees bound together, and your mouth gagged by a rough piece of cloth. shame hadn’t caught up to you yet; you were simply in shock. what is the protocol now? as the target, your prey, now carried your body as if you were nothing, you recalled the countless years as an assassin and how everything, your entire career, is shattering before you. and you couldn’t even struggle.

in this moment, there was nothing you could do. nothing was salvageable, so you awaited your fate. no point in struggling, you remained still in his arms as he carried you from his bedroom, the place where you had intended to end his life, to his keep. all the while, the man who bested you wore a sardonic smirk on his perfect lips. a fury that was buried deep down began to bubble, a feeling you haven't felt in years now resurfacing. a fury so strong it could make one go mad. for you, however, it the fury that made you become an assassin.

“alright, my lady” he said as he unceremoniously threw your body onto the ground with a dull thud. you couldn’t even catch yourself as your body rolled to the side facing away from him. physically, you couldn't roll to face him, but you wouldn’t have anyways. clearly though, he wasn’t having that, as he pressed the sole of his boot against your waist and forcing you to turn over. you grimaced. in all your years, you have never been treated with such disrespect. it didn’t matter that he was a prince.

he still wore the same disgusting smile on his face. his satisfaction was made abundantly clear through that smile, his sharp eyes narrowing to an almost predatory angle with his grin. the outfit he wore wasn’t even scuffed, you had noticed, and it was even more to fan the flames within you. he kneeled beside your head. all you could do is stare at him as he reached for your face, perhaps praying that you had just developed a marvelous power to incinerate people with your gaze. unfortunately, it could never become true, and he took your face in his hand, gently as if he was cradling a baby, something precious, not an assassin.

“i take it, this is the first time you have been defeated?” he asks as if he could read your mind. long fingers caress your cheeks, “no hard feelings, yeah? funny enough, this isn’t my first time. is this the sixth? no… maybe seventh…” he counts aloud, “never could have guessed a prince might be a prime target for assassination, huh? though… this is the first time i have spared one of you…” the prince looks at you, there is a faux softness in his eyes, but you could see right through it, “you just so happened to be at the right place at the right time, my dear.” he looked at you as if he was going to let you answer. only instead he laughed out, a very youthful one that reminded you how young he was, probably around your own age, “i was about to ask you what you think, but i just remembered… you don't have a choice. i’d kill you but that’d be a waste. you’d like that too much anyways. putting you in prison would be a waste as well, and even if you do try to escape, where are you to go anyways?” his face inched closer to you, “you had failed your task. i know how your leagues work, you couldn’t return even if you wanted to. death and nothingness await you no matter which route you choose, so perhaps i am doing you a favor by giving you another chance. don’t you think, assassin?”

he was right. you wanted to take a dagger to your heart right now, but everything he spoke was true. even if you had a choice, it is already past the point of reconciliation for you. though you would never admit to it, he already saw in your eyes that you knew his truth. he could see the surrender.

“lucky me. for all the assassins i get, the chosen one happens to be quite beautiful,” he chuckles, brushing his fingers through your hair, speaking to you as if you weren’t a significant threat, but you know he’s trying to get under your skin. understandable he throws some jabs at you seeing you had attempted his life not more than a few hours prior.

the prince leans in closer, his voice now dripping with certainty and control, "you’re gonna help me now, assassin. whether by choice or coercion it really doesn’t matter in the end. consider it your penance for failure,” he grins, “a chance to redeem yourself in my service.”

you look at him with a glare that is questioning him of what he wants. of course, he reads you quickly, “regard this as an alliance of convenience. a means to an end. i have plans, though i need an accomplice. someone such as yourself. someone with skills who cannot and will not deny me. my schemes require finesse and loyalty, and you, my dear assassin, possess both in abundance. so…” he pulls your own dagger out and slices through both the rope and gag to free you. the knife is tossed carelessly from his grasp, within reach of you, to extend his open hand to you, “take my hand now, won’t you?”

yerp... thats the teaser. anyways good night :peace:

[daisy-milk]

GIMME DANGER _PROLOGUE.rewritten_

fighter/nomad!Bang Chan x fighter!reader (feat. Han, Minho) - Cyberpunk 2077 AU 

䷂ btw this is a rewrite of an old post... tryna get back into writing so im gonna try to power through all these stories bcuz im rlly hype about them ^_^ so im gonna go through all of them and i hope you all enjoy || banners/dividers from @cafekitsune

䷂ also as heads up there are a handful of terms used in the game for Cyberpunk 2077 so there is an index at the bottom of the story for some phrases and terms that are canon in the game :P

䷂ SKZ_stories.masterlist main_masterlist

䷂ warnings: heavy violence, blood, description of stitches, mentions of open wounds/bruises, cursing, Minho is a dick ;)

“800 eddies from bets alone tonight,” your friend chuckles, his eyes glowing a faint blue as he scrolls through the most recent fight’s revenue. you only groan in response, one hand pressing ice to your blackening eye and the other stitching up an open wound on your thigh.

“is that all?” you hissed as the needle sewed through your skin, “what are we getting from the venue?”

“a good 12 bands before fees…” he hummed, his eyes still focused on the numbers, “with a 60 to 40 split we-”

“70 and 30, Han,” you interrupt his thought, pulling the ice from your eye to make sure he can feel your glare.

“right…” he coughs, the blue light fading from his eyes to look at you, “with that agreement, we’ll be able to pay off this month’s fees with eddies to spare. why are you still looking at me like that?”

you pinch your temple as Han spoke, throwing the cold pack to the side as you stand up, slowly limping over to the large monitor showing a replay of your fight. “it isn’t enough. one of my damn implants got fried when that fucker socked me in the eye,” you snarl as you watch the scene unfold on the screen. blood and spit spatters against the camera as you see your own head snap to the side after a particularly brutal punch. “i need to get that replaced before i fight again. also i… uhm need to pay off someone.”

“…who do you have to pay off, y/n?” Han narrows his eyes at you.

“some valentino idiot. don’t ask.”

“jesus christ y/n. last month it was the tyger claws and now you have debts with the valentinos? we were almost done paying off the tygers too,” the brunette lectures as he begins to pace.

“hey, what are you talking shit for? you’re getting a share of my money. what are you doing to help pay off fees, huh?” your eyes narrow as you snatch a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“how do you think you are getting these fights?” he snarks back. it’s evident in his face that he will not let down this argument any time soon.

you roll your eyes, “you aren’t the one with a broken nose every other night.” jumping up onto one of the tables, you start to pour the alcohol on your now stitched up wound, flinching a little at the sting causing you to drop the bottle. now it was han’s turn to roll his eyes as he picked up the bottle and a towel, using it to wipe down the cut for you.

“maybe you should consider another line of work then,” he spoke casually as he patted away the dried blood on your leg, “you’re young. and smart. maybe if you saved up all this fighting money instead of getting new implants,” he narrows his eyes, pausing his work to glare at you, “...and getting on various gang’s nerves, you could, i dunno, go to school or something. i heard arasaka is-”

“what about you, hm?” you interrupt him for the second time this night, raising an eyebrow at him, “look han, this is all i have and i may not last long, but for now, while i’m still kicking, i’ll stick to the ring.”

han only sighs, now wrapping gauze and bandages over your thigh, “okay then, what about money? if this is your only gig, how are we gonna pay everything off? gonna start taking gigs?” he scoffs.

“pfft as if you could handle being a merc,” you tease, punching his shoulder playfully, “i’ll figure it out. maybe pick up more fights, who knows. everything will figure itself out.”

with that last reassurance and a pat to han’s back, you jump off the table. you attempt to give a quick thanks to your friend for bandaging you up when you’re interrupted by your apartment door being swung open.

wearing a shit-eating grin stood who might easily be your least favorite person in night city, lee minho. he wasn’t alone, however. standing next to him at about the same height was a man who looked as if minho had just plucked him from the street. you couldn’t get an immediate read on him, but one thing was quite apparent and it was how tired he seemed. all he had was a simple black t-shirt and cargo pants and to your shock, not a single cybernetic implant in sight. it’s been a while since you’ve seen a human without any cybernetics, you couldn’t help but stare. while scanning for any concealed implants, your gaze wandered, captivated by the snug fit of his shirt against his well-defined chest, you almost forgot minho was in your apartment. almost.

“wow, you look like shit, y/n. lemme guess, rough fight?” he snickered as he let himself in, “you’re losing it. i remember the y/n who’d win all her fights without so much as a scratch,” the man smirks, “what ever happened to you, y/n?”

“what do you want, minho?” han barked as you turned your gaze from the stranger over to minho.

“not in the mood for chit-chat today it seems,” he feigns a surprised expression, nudging the stranger, “alright then, i’ll cut to the chase. i want you to fight my friend, bang chan here.” lee know’s hands flourish out to showcase the man, resulting in unimpressed faces from both you and han, “go on, introduce yourself.” minho nudges him again.

“ahem… hi. you can- uhm, call me chan,” he says with an awkward thin-lipped smile. you stare at him for a moment you mind occupied with trying to deduce this stranger. perhaps you stared for too long, your gaze getting momentarily lost in his strangely handsome features. it would truly be a shame to have to do any damage to his sculpted features… that is if you were even considering minho’s deal anyways.

“no.” you answered bluntly, already preparing to force minho out of your space.

“oh come on y/n. can’t you do this one for me?” he bats his lashes, “my client really wants you to fight him.”

“and why would i do anything for you, minho?” you laugh incredulously, perhaps a little too loud as you start to walk away.

“well…” minho draws out his word in a sing-song type of way, “maybe not for me, but you’d do it for a hundred grand.” you freeze in your step as you hear the number. there was no way have heard that right, right? you cast a look in han’s direction and it seemed the two of you were on similar mindsets at that very moment. you turn around to look at minho in disbelief. he simply wore a smug grin as he continued, “as i said, this client really wants to see you go at it with chan.”

“why?” you ask, stepping forward.

“i don’t know,” the man shrugs, “all i got was the guy himself, and a number. so… what do you say now?”

“deal.”

“hold up,” han interjects immediately, pulling you aside by your shoulder. you wince slightly as he accidentally presses down on a bruise, “sorry, but what? you’re really going to take a deal from minho. lee minho. that jerk standing in your apartment?” han points a crude finger and minho returns with a little twiddle of his fingers. 

“do you know how many months one hundred thousand eddies will cover, han?” you urge.

“do you know that lee minho is an asshole who definitely does not have any good intentions with this deal?” he pressed, “this is too suspicious. and out of nowhere. we don’t take fights from randoms anyways. how do you know he’s not plotting something? maybe that chan guy is like a cyberpsycho in disguise or like an arasaka spy or something? i knew it… i said arasaka earlier and now they’re already onto our ass!” he rambles.

“hey hey hey, calm down. don’t worry,” you hold his shoulders, “i’ll do this fight. i’ll win. and we will get the money. we’ll pay off our debts and who knows, maybe i’ll even listen to you and i dunno… enroll in some classes like you said if we got leftover eddies. heard they got some of those trade programs one building over, hm?”

han looks down at you worriedly, “and what if you don’t win?”

“i will,” you chuckle, showing him one of the many hidden cybernetics you have in your arm, “by any means necessary. i’m undefeated, don’t you remember?” you wink before turning around to face minho and chan.

“how was your little pep-talk?” minho rolls his eyes.

“it was great. and we have a deal. one hundred thousand eddies, correct?”

“that is correct, my dear,” minho beams, a mischievous grin painted on his lips. you hold out your hand to shake, but minho shakes his head, pushing chan to stand in front of you instead, “shake with chan. he is the deal for you. i’m just the messenger. a soon-to-be well paid messenger.”

“alright, it is a deal, chan. pleasure to meet you,” you hold out your hand.

chan takes your much smaller hand, shaking it with an unsure expression across his features, 

“a pleasure for me as well, y/n.”

Cyberpunk 2077 index

Night City- The Free City of Night City (NC) is an autonomous city located on the border between North and South California, on the Pacific coast of North America

eddies- The European Currency Unit (symbol: § or €$; and abbreviated to ecu), more commonly referred to as Eurodollar[1] (ed) or Eurobuck[2] (eb), and colloquially known as ebuck and eddie,[1][3][4] is the main currency used by various countries in the Cyberpunk world

Arasaka- The Arasaka Corporation (Japanese: アラサカ社 or 荒坂社), is a world-wide megacorporation dealing in corporate security, banking, and manufacturing. It is one of the most influential megacorporations in the world

Valentinos- The Valentinos (Valentino’s) are one of the many gangs in Night City appearing in Cyberpunk 2020 and Cyberpunk 2077

Tyger Claws- The Tyger Claws (虎鉤衆) are a Japanese gang that can be found in Night City

feedback is always welcome! 

meow

[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

[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love- complete

"to love someone is firstly to confess : i am prepared to be devastated by you." Billy-Ray Belcourt.

genre : memory loss trope. angst and i mean lots of it. slow burn. basically unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

summary : if given the choice to, would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

general warnings : depiction of a car accident. physical wounds. mention of blood. themes of alcohol addiction. depictions of anxiety and depression. depictions of nightmares. reader has she/her pronouns.

Chapters :

i. to forget.

ii. to remember.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

quotes series masterlist

a.n : excited about this fic as it was very, very and i mean VERY challenging to write, but also rewarding to reread in the end! i hope you'd enjoy reading it as well <33 the taglist for the quotes series is open!

[hyunpic]

king of facial expressions