#I took inspiration from the fact that I had writers block

[shhh-secret-time]

hello ^^, i saw your secret soulmate au about craig, i don't have the words to explain how much i giggled, twirled my hair and everything XD! well, when you have the time, could you do a craig x clyde x reader smut? of course, if you feel comfortable with it! reader can be female or gn. it's practically normal smut but just craig fucking the reader from behind and clyde from the front, so that's it! tysm for reading, i love your writing too! <33 -✨️ Anon (I'm still new to tumblr so i might get confused on some things sometimes!)

Completely understandable, I too am confused with how tumblr works and I've been on this godless site since fucking Dash Con. I'm glad you liked the way I wrote those dorks! And thank you for fueling my Clyde agenda!

Warning: NSFW, Strong-Language, Dirty Talk, Slight Sub/Dom dynamics, blow jobs, orgasm denial, threesome

Pairing: Clyde x Fem!Reader x Craig

The sweet air of the votives swirls around the empty church. Empty except for the dim orange and red light that illuminates the book in the man's hand.

A woman at his feet, clothed in fine silks. A mix of reds and whites that twine together. Beautiful patterns of stars flow across the dress.

She dips her head in prayer alongside the man. The father of the church glides his fingers across her cheek as her mouth closes. Reciting scriptures of one's devotion for an unseen God. Everything in that moment was peaceful.

The warmth in the Father's eyes doesn't go unnoticed, the greens darken with a desire that he knows better than to have. It's difficult to hide the growing ache in his pants. More so when the woman's lips curl into a mischief smile, the warm glow of the candles makes them shine with an otherworldly glow. She looks up at him and her eyes fall deep into those pools of lust. Her hands break apart from that folded prayer and onto his black dress pants. They card up further against his thighs where they settle and clutch the material.

"Father, bless me...", a whisper that makes the Father groan.

Temptation never looked so sweet. This woman made his chest pound. Unholy thoughts flood his mind and go straight to his-

You let out a loud groan. Your forehead drops and hits the table beside your keyboard. The forgotten mug with now cold tea rattles.

Writer’s block, the very bane of any author’s existence. It's been haunting you for weeks now, making it impossible to get anything done. You've been stuck on this part of your romance novel the entire time. A part you were so excited to get to!

The buildup was perfect! You had calculated, plotted, and carefully crafted a budding romance between a witch and a holy man. A forbidden romance that took place within the walls of the church, the furthest outside the walls it went were the gardens that surrounded the area. The two fell in love after he saved her from the townsfolk claiming sanctuary.

Inspiration struck you like lightning after you fell in love with your partners. After publishing a sci-fi series, that honestly changed the name of how science fiction would be written forever, you met two fans at a book signing event. You had made a surprise appearance at a local library in some little town called South Park. Coming from the big city yourself, it was a huge surprise that anyone in the little town would actually be a fan of yours.

Apparently, you had quite a few. A man with bright red hair who had a black-haired man following alongside him. Both gushed about how the story inspired some kind of board game they played with their friends. A sweet blond woman who had the cutest southern accent you've ever heard. She gave you a piece of fan mail that had the most adorable sticker on it. Another black-haired man who dressed as Spock for some reason. He went on for a solid thirty minutes about a fanfic he wrote regarding the main character of your book and Star Trek's very own Captain Kirk.

Finally came the oddest duo you had ever met. The two were like day and night, a cat and a dog, fire and ice; the whole nine yards. A bright smile with baby brown eyes on one, and an ice-cold deadpan look with amber eyes to match on the other. At first you thought the brown-haired one was your fan and the man with the blue hat was just along for the ride.

"Haha! No way! I'm not into that..." He paused as if to stop himself from saying something he shouldn't, "...kinda stuff."

"That kind of stuff?" You repeat back at him, raising a brow.

"He means reading. He doesn't know how." The other spoke putting a hand on top of his head. With a little push he forced the brown-haired man's head down.

You giggled at that. The protests coming from the poor man was comical. You almost felt sorry for him, watching him struggle to move the taller man's hand off.

"Then I take it I'm signing this book out to you?" With a click of your pen, you look up at him.

The NASA jacket on the bright blue sleeves of his jacket should have given it away honestly. There's was a small tinge of a blush on his tan cheeks, almost hidden under the skin tone but you were able to make it out under the light. He looked away for a moment before nodding at you.

"Yeah."

"Name?"

"His name is Craig! He's a huge fan of yours by the way! So, if you could write something sweet for him that'd be awesome!" His friend chirped at you as he broke free from Craig's grip.

Craig's face twisted, those piercing eyes of his narrowed down. Before he could reach and grab him, the brown-haired man slid behind your chair. Putting his hand on your chair, he bent down to your level and tapped the blank white page.

"As you can see my big guy has a baaaaaad case of resting bitch face."

"Clyde..." the warning that slipped out of Craig's mouth made a shiver roll down your spine. It was even directed at you, and you felt threatened.

"So, you gotta imagine my surprise when he came home smiling! I was shocked! He didn't even smile when we started going out!" Clyde ignored him, an attest to his bravery. Or foolishness. Either way he continued, leaning down next to your ear. "Your book made him so happy, so it makes me happy. Think you could do that for me? Because he'll never ask you to do it for him."

You look up at him for a while, not even bothered that he had gotten closer to your face as he spoke. The browns in his eyes flickered with mischief but there were layers of love behind them. Chocolate that seemed to melt into tiny hearts when he spoke about Craig. It was honestly sweet, even if he was trying to tease his partner.

"How can I say no to that? I'd love to." You smiled at him and began writing on the empty page.

Yeah, who would have thought that fate would tie you to those two like that. Falling in love with Craig and Clyde was nothing like what they wrote in books or movies. It was a tornado of events that landed you in the eye of it all.

Despite their polar opposite personalities and looks, the two worked off each other well. Then when you got thrown in the middle, you filled in a little spot they desperately needed.

Clyde was social enough for the three of you. He was the one who reminded you and Craig that you needed to get out of the house. When you lock yourself away in your office, he would drag you out with a fun date idea. Movie nights, football games, arcade dates, and his favorite late-night walks. Doing the same to Craig who always seemed buried in work.

Craig gave off such scary dog privilege that you and Clyde never felt threatened. You could take those late-night walks with Clyde because you knew nothing would touch you with Craig following close behind.

That was nice sure, but under that scary looking shell was a soft teddy bear of a man. While he wasn't vocal with affection like Clyde, he was observant. Craig remembered everything, everything about you and Clyde's interests. If he saw something you mentioned in passing it was yours. Clyde needed new shoelaces because the ones on his favorite pair of red shoes were tearing? There was a new pack waiting for him on the table. You complained about the shift key on your keyboard sticking too much? An adorable keyboard that looked like a typewriter was found on your desk the next morning.

Then there was you. You have no idea how these two survived this long without you. Truth be told they don't either. Craig and Clyde couldn't cook to save their lives. Their diet consisted of diner food and Chinese takeout. While their house was clean enough, laundry was never put away or folded. Clyde was horrible at putting his dirty laundry in the bin and Craig was too tired most nights to even make it to bed. The final straw was when you took a shower, and their only soap was 3 in 1.

Absolutely not.

So, when you moved in things changed. When Craig was at work, you would take Clyde grocery shopping. Slowly you started him on simple dishes, working with him until he was comfortable in the kitchen. What was surprising was that he took to it quickly. He was a natural and before you knew it, he was cooking things you had never heard of. He had gone as far as looking up Peruvian dishes, practicing with spices and techniques that had your mouth watering. When you asked how he learned to do all of this, he gave you the biggest grin and told you it was YouTube.

When Craig came home that night to Chupe de Camarones it was the closest to crying you've ever seen from him.

Clyde really stepped up after that, feeling a sense of pride in taking care of you two. Seeing as you worked just as hard as Craig did. Clyde proclaimed something about being more than happy to be a malewife.

In return Craig started taking better care of himself, actually starting to care about his health. He stopped staying up so late and made use of the giant bed. Clean sheets and blankets that felt good on his skin. Even better that you and Clyde would be in it waiting for him. Clyde long passed out on your chest, a bit of drool sliding down the side of his face and onto your shirt. Not that you seemed to care as you just continued to read next to the little bedside lamp. Only pausing when you felt Craig's presence in the doorway.

Craig's smiles were rare, little treats from the universe to you. Ones like these where he smiles with love in his eyes. Where he kicks off his shoes and strips down to his boxers, crawling into bed next to you. Arms wrapping around Clyde and with a hand settling on your hips. A silent squeeze lets you know it's time to put the book down and join him.

How can you say no to a smile like that?

Of course, not every day was perfect. Your relationship took time to hash out. It was different being with two individuals at the same time, but you made it work. The three of you were committed to one another.

Now if only you could commit to this fucking scene.

Your head’s little meet and greet with the table must have been louder than you thought because whatever Clyde was yelling about in the living room stopped. It was one of the rare weekends where Craig was home and off work. Choosing to spend it watching some show with Clyde, listening to the man ramble on about something.

So wrapped up in your thoughts, you let out a scream when you finally lift your head and Clyde is right there beside you. His body bent over just like the day you met him. With his hand on the back of your chair and his face next to yours. Except instead of using, you as a shield from Craig, he's reading your computer screen.

While he doesn't understand what it takes to be an author, he sees the effect it has on you. Days like this where you take on the posture of a shrimp, forgetting to come out to eat.

His lips start pursed, but as he continues to scan over the screen they break out into a smirk. He covers his mouth in a fake surprise, a gasp with widened eyes.

"Babe! This is...scandalous! Spicy, naughty even! What are you doing writing something like this?" His dramatic act continues, forming some feign surprise.

"What are you doing using words with more than one syllable?" You shoot back with a little smirk.

It takes everything in your power not to laugh at the actual pout on his face. Try as you might, the giggles escape your lips, and it makes him smirk. He leans down and nuzzles his nose into your cheek.

"Maybe you're starting to rub off on me babe! I'm getting smarterer with you around!" You know he said that word wrong on purpose, just to get under your skin.

But he kisses you quiet before you can say anything. Holds your face in his hands so you can't pull away. You can taste the cherry chapstick on his lips, and the growing smile along with it.

"So, what's got you bashing your head into your desk baby? Craig and I heard a thump and got worried." He moves the kisses towards your forehead.

"Was it that loud?"

"Heard it over the tv." Craig's voice almost makes you leap out of your skin.

You bite your lip, looking down at the keyboard with a distant stare. The faded green and blue, spots where your fingers had smudged away the paint from typing so much.

"I'm just having trouble with this scene. I've been stuck on it for weeks now." You exhale softly.

Craig raises a brow and leans down on the other side of you. Both Clyde and Craig bent over to take a look at your screen. You're not sure why the fact both men reading your unfinished work makes you feel nervous, but it does. Or maybe it's the fact this is your first time writing a spicy scene like this.

"It's good. Never would have thought you'd go the Priest kink route." Craig says it so matter of fact, there's never hesitation in his voice. You can count on one hand the number of times you've seen him flustered, and even then, his tone is flat.

"I-I’m not into it! I just- you guys are only reading a snippet of my book! There's been a romance blossoming between the two the whole time!" You try to defend yourself, but it only makes Clyde's lips tug into a smirk.

The temptation to tease you was too great, it was being handed to him on a silver platter. Clyde leans up and walks next to Craig, leaning into his chest. The man wraps his arms around himself and lets out a dramatic sigh.

"A forbidden love! A tale as old as time! But what I wanna know babe-" Clyde stops and lets the tension build. It makes you glare at him as you turn in your office chair. "-is why the witch's descriptions are reaaaally close to mine."

"That's a woman Clyde! She's got short brown hair because it was cut off when she was running from the townsfolk! Brown eyes are common and beautiful! There's not enough representation for them!"

"Aaaaaand her dimples?" He points to his, the little spots in his cheeks that sink in when he smiles. "Plus, my eyes are totally beautiful."

"It's not you!"

"Oh, and the Father isn't Craig. Tan skin, black hair? You gave the Father green eyes but other than that, it fits Craig to a T." Craig actually nods along with what Clyde is saying. He's got his eyes closed as if this is some kind of philosophical debate.

"Are you serious right now Clyde?! This is why you two aren't allowed in my study!" Your face was burning now, hot and flushed from his teasing.

"What did I do?" Craig breaks the little fight with a simple question.

"Nodding your head along! You know what he's doing and you're encouraging it!"

"So, you took inspiration from your partners in your romance story. It's cute." He responds with a shrug. He looks down at Clyde who's still smugly leaning against his chest.

Your mouth falls open, you go to respond but nothing makes its way out. Your brows furrow. Arms crossed under your chest in a pout.

Had you unintentionally based your characters off your partners? Is that why the romance novel was easy to write up until this point?

Whatever the case may be here, you didn't like being called out. So, you do what you always do when they get like this, you turn in your chair and ignore them.

Usually this works, let's them know that you're not in the mood for their games. That you'd rather be left alone than entertain another minute of their shenanigans. But this time Clyde wasn't going to let you go. He grabs the back of your seat and wheels you back towards him and Craig.

"Baaaaabe don't pout. Look I'm sorry~." No, he's not. "But hey I've got an idea."

You let out a little huff, enough to where he knows you're not actually mad at him. If you were you would have picked your chair up and walked it back to your desk. Instead, you sit there and wait for him to continue.

"You're stuck on that scene, but I think you need a break. Sitting here and bashing your head against the table isn't going to fix that. Soooo..." He trails off, moving to stand in front of you.

His fingers glide across the side of your face, cupping your cheek so gently. Clyde guides your face up to look at him, behind that cocky smile of his he's got such love for you in his eyes. The way his thumb brushes across your cheek, making your heart flutter so slightly.

"What do you say Craig and I help you out a little babe?" Clyde guides your face up towards him. He presses his thumb against your lips just as his voice dips into that playful whisper.

You raise a brow at him in response. It's not until Craig puts his hand on your shoulders, that you piece together this wasn't just his idea. Thumbs pressed into your muscles working out the knots and tension. For such a hard worker, somehow Craig's hands always stay so soft. The worn-out oversized t-shirt you stole does little against his hands. The material is thin from how often it's been washed and worn.

His hands pull a soft moan from you, it feels too good to keep yourself silent. Clyde pushes his thumb past your lips and into your mouth, the digit presses down on your soft pink tongue. He all but purrs when watches you wrap your lips around it.

"See...let's work out some of that tension. We'll make you feel real good and give you a little inspiration." Clyde hums as he pulls his thumb out, smearing the saliva across your lips.

When he doesn't continue, you realize he's waiting for your confirmation. Waiting for you to agree to their little plan. But that doesn't stop Craig from bending down and placing a kiss on your cheek. He trails the kisses down to your jawline, using his nose to nudge your head to the side. Lulling your head to the side, you gave into the feeling. Craig's lips move to capture the exposed skin. You can feel just how eager he is from the way the kisses turn to nips then to full on bites. His teeth sinking into the soft parts of your flesh pulling another sharp gasp from you.

"Come on honey. Let us take care of you." After he's done leaving small love bites on your neck, Craig moves to your ear nipping the shell.

"Y-yeah that sounds...that sounds good." You move your hands up towards Craig, running your fingers through his hair. One of the rare moments he's not sporting his blue hat. "I could use a little break..."

"That's our girl." Clyde's praise goes straight to your core. He lifts you up from your office chair, hands cupping the back of your thighs for support. They give your thighs a little squeeze, digging his fingertips into your flesh.

Craig moves out of his way and goes to push your office chair back towards your desk. Clyde chuckles softly seeing the confused look on your face. Instead of protesting you wrap your arms around the brunette lazily throwing your arms around his neck.

"We're supposed to be relaxing, we're gonna get nice and comfy on the couch." He drops you down on the couch, making you bounce a bit. He laughs when you let out a gasp of surprise.

"You ass." Your grumbles fall on deaf ears. Clyde just runs his fingers through your hair and gives it a harsh tug. It makes you cry out, craning your neck up towards him.

"Sweetheart, that's not very nice. You're being a brat right now." He tuts, feigning disappointment.

"You dropped me on the-" You suck in another cry when he tugs your head to the side, that firm grip on your roots sending a shiver down your spine.

"Hm? You were saying something? I did what?"

Clyde's smug little smirk made your blood boil. But his fingers in your hair felt too good to protest further. Especially when he switched between tugging and massaging his fingertips into your scalp. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to behind you. Before you could turn around to get a glimpse of what he was staring at, Craig's hands slid down your back.

Gently, much more than Clyde, he pushes you down towards Clyde. His other hand comes down to grab your ankle, pulling your leg back towards him. Once your knee is tucked against the couch, he does the same to the other leg.

If your face wasn't burning up before it certainly is now. Just as you go to hold yourself up with your hands, Clyde removes his hand from your hair and takes you by the wrist. Guiding you up towards him, he places them on the hems of his sweatpants. The grey university sweatpants do little to hide his hardening cock, you watch it twitch against the fabric.

"This is about where you left off right? She was about to take the Father's cock out of his pants?" Clyde says watching as you slowly pull his sweatpants down. He lets out a low chuckle that turns into a moan when you slip your fingers around his cock. "That's it, now keep your eyes on me baby."

There's a moment of hesitation as you bring the tip closer to your mouth. The bright red tip glides across your plump lips begging for you to open. His hand returns to your hair, smoothing down your locks from his earlier manhandling.

The gentle touch makes you look up towards him, just like he requested. There really was something so intimate about those chocolate brown eyes of his. Past that smirk and layers of darkened lust, there was devotion. The feeling of your hands on him alone made him weak in the knees. You put that to the test, pressing just a little kiss on the tip. Dabbing your tongue against his leaking member. Just from that alone he's letting out the prettiest moans.

"Sh-shit, c’mon don't tease me." That cocky attitude of his melts. You almost laugh at how easy it is to break him down. He was puddy in your hands.

With a little hum you move your hand up and down his shaft, creating enough friction to make him buck his hips towards you. He nudges his cock further into your mouth, pushing past your lips. The underside of his cock glides down against your tongue, smearing the pre-cum along with it.

So caught up in your little game, you almost forgot about Craig behind you. Almost. It's hard to forget him when he's got his hands all over you. Large palms cupping any exposed skin. Craig takes his time exploring every curve he can get ahold of. His nose nuzzled into the back of your head. His breath tickling the shell of your ear. Just the sight of your mouth around Clyde's member alone is enough to make him growl.

Neither men are patient when it comes to you. Craig shoves whatever is left of your pajamas down and off you, he doesn't bother with your shirt as it'll pull you away from your lover. Instead, he decides it'll make the perfect handle. He bunches it up until it collects at the collar. His hands grip the shirt and tug it backwards, making your hips rock back into him.

Somewhere along the way he stripped away his pants. The barrier between the both of you was the thin material of your underwear and his dark blue boxers. While Craig wasn't as vocal as Clyde was, with his teasing and little whimpers, he could be just as unfair if not more.

Grinding against your cunt slowly, grabbing and groping at your ass the entire time. He digs his nails into your skin, leaving little crescent moons. Craig rewards good behavior not with sweet words, but by giving you what you so desperately want.

He waits until you've got all of Clyde's cock in your mouth before he finally shoves your underwear down. It makes it to your knees before he just decides to leave them there. Too many times he got impatient and just ripped them off, and too many times you scolded him for it.

The hand in your hair pulls you back from his cock. Clyde moves your head back just enough to where only the tip remains, then slowly he brings you back down. Pushing you all the way down his length until your nose hits his stomach. You watch as his muscles flex under his skin like he's trying to resist letting his head lull back. He needs so badly to keep his eyes on yours, loving the attention you're giving him.

"Your mouth feels so good." He whines when he reaches the back of your throat. You gag around him, and it pulls another whimper from him.

Your hand slides down his thighs, using it to hold you up. The other hand is still being held by Clyde's grip. His hand wrapped around your wrist, holding it up near his shoulder. Craig waits until Clyde rocks you back again, using the momentum to slip inside your wet folds. A pleased hum rumbles from his chest. You can feel it from how he's pressing his entire body against yours.

Just as slowly as Clyde moves your head, Craig pushes further into your cunt. The two find a slow and steady rhythm with one another. When Craig snaps his hips against you, it pushes Clyde's cock further down your throat. Your moans vibrating around him causing him to moan loudly in return. Clyde's whimpers and whines get louder when you dig your nails into his thighs. In return the grip on your hair is tightened. Creating this delicious cycle of pleasure.

"Baby, please. I wanna fuck your throat. You gonna let me? I need it so bad, please." Clyde's begging spurs something in you. Gives you the feeling of control even if you’re physically stuck between the two. From the beads of sweat that trail down his body and the way his body is shaking, you know he's at his limit.

You're able to pull back just enough, his cock springs up with a little bounce. Craig slows down just enough to let you talk, but you can tell he's not happy about it. The way his grip on your shirt tightens, you're sure he'll rip it soon.

"If I snap my fingers, you stop, okay?" You say giving him the okay. He caresses your face and presses a kiss onto your face, letting you know he understands the boundaries you've set.

At first, he's careful when he pushes his cock back into your mouth. You reward him with a swirl of your tongue, rubbing against the veins that are popping out.

"He's so needy." Craig huffs as he leans back up. The assault on your neck stops, but he's left it covered in bright red and purple marks. No amount of makeup will cover up what he's done.

You don't need to see him to know that he's smirking at it. Taking pride in the fact that he's marked you up. Or the pride making Clyde blush from his comment.  Craig's hips snap back into you, the force much sharper than his previous lazy thrusts. They're calculated, each time he pushes deep inside you he hits that spot that has you seeing stars. Clyde's hips take up the same pace, shoving his cock into the back of your throat.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks. Moans turn to muffled cries, yet everything feels too good to stop. They're rough paced fucking brings your mind to a haze. All you can focus on is feeling good and making them feel good.

Craig's close, you can tell from the way he starts to lose rhythm. He's having a harder time controlling those grunts and growls. A hard time not leaving bruises on your skin from how rough he's holding onto you. He's long since let your shirt go, instead grabbing onto the back of the couch. But he waits until he feels that familiar clench around his cock. The way your walls clamp down around him as you cum. The only warning being the high-pitched muffled moan that gets swallowed by Clyde.

His hips slam into you one more time before he pulls out. Grabbing the base of his cock, he shoots that hot thick load onto your back. Heavy amounts of cum drip down your spine making you whine and shiver. Clyde can't take his eyes off the way his partner paints your backside. It makes a trail of drool slip down his chin.

The poor man can't do it anymore, he can't stop his eyes from rolling up to the back of his head. Not when your moans vibrate up him and your throat tightens from choking on him. He needs this release.

"I'm gonna cum baby. Please, let me cum. Let me cum in your mouth." Clyde all but cries in between panting. His begging dissolves into your name and the word please over and over again.

His flickering eyes catch yours again. It's when you give him a little wink and a hum, his cock violently twitches and cum spills from his tip. His cum is sweeter than normal, it makes it easier to swallow.

Slowly he pulls out of your mouth with one final whimper. It isn't until Craig swipes his thumb over his cheek that you realize he had tears streaming down them. Clyde presses his cheek into Craig's hand and lets out a pleased sigh. Once he knows Clyde is okay, Craig stands up and goes to get a towel to help clean your back. He does the same to your face, swiping away the left-over tears.

"Feeling better?" Clyde asks as he helps pull your underwear up. "Nice and relaxed?"

You nod and rest your head against his chest. "You've got good ideas sometimes."

"I've got wrinkles on my brain." He smirks to himself, taking your little praise miles.

Craig comes back after tossing the towel in the dirty laundry with a large blanket. He throws it over both of you before climbing in next to you. He lays his head down on Clyde's and grabs the tv remote.

"Kitchen Nightmare or Hell’s Kitchen?"

"Kitchen Nightmares! I need some petty British accents after my orgasm denial!"

You scrunch up your nose at Clyde’s comment. Almost wanting to pull back. "Smooth brain behavior."

"Smooth brain behavior." Craig chimes in.

The three of you relax into the couch, almost ready for the group nap that comes with the afterglow of love making. That is until inspiration strikes you again. Your eyes light up and you go to wiggle out of their hold. But Craig's arms are faster, they keep you firm against his chest. Clyde's hands come down a moment later, cupping your hips.

"Nope. You're staying right here."

"Guys! No! I just figured out how I'm gonna get that chapter finished! You gotta let me go! I gotta do it!" Your pleads are wasted, like they're not even heard.

"No. You're warm and I'm tired."

"That's not my fault or my problem."

"I'm making it your problem. Sit still."

"You know Tucker bear isn't going to let go. You're fighting a losing battle babe." Craig at least has the decency to let Clyde finish before pinching him. You know Clyde's nickname for him makes him grumpy. His little yelp makes you giggle.

"Fine....at least until you fall asleep."

"Look if you think you can get out of his hold, then be my guest. You earned it at that point." Clyde's smirk returns. He throws his leg over yours and tucks it in between Craig's knees.

"Fuck you." Your eyes narrow up at him. He's not as slick as he thinks he is, trying to cage you in with a sleepy Craig.

"Again? So soon. You're insatiable babe. Let us recover first." Clyde presses a kiss into the top of your head, pulling back before you can headbutt him.

His hand guides your head back down onto his chest and he just chuckles. It doesn't take long before Craig is passed out with his head nuzzled into the curve of your waist. Holding you like a teddy bear against his chest. Clyde's smile grows when he sees you trying to fight off sleep. But it eventually takes you and you lose the battle. He turns the tv down just a bit, deciding to join the both of you.

That chapter can wait another day.

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [1]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 5k

haha heyy I'm back after a year. Still suffering from writer's block so here's the start of a series I created during it, forcing myself to actually write. There's no set schedule but I'll try my best to do it weekly. That is all and pre-save Neva Play :DD

MASTERLIST || Next>>>

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Maybe you should've cut off your mother before you went past the age for mark appearances.

If you had then maybe you wouldn't be suffering with the overcompensating rant about an unfortunate man and his bare minimum achievements.

What are you, Bangtan's—The current biggest boyband in the world—makeup artists since their era of wearing thick eyeliners to convey their passion and emo inspired hairstyles, doing, listening to someone's so-called gratifying achievements?

Staring at the source of the grating voice babbling nonsense, you refrain yourself from letting out a heavy sigh.

Jeong Binwoo is a stout man. His roundness is enhanced by the fact that he's an inch or so shorter than you on a good day. His face reminds you of a dumpling, especially now that he's stuffing it with a handful of greasy fries in quick successions. Despite his full mouth, he kept on speaking and you swore a few stray blobs had landed on your plate.

You've only just a week and a half before the start of their tour in Seoul and here you are wasting your time sitting in front of a man whose awareness is limited to only himself when you could've been at work or binging some stupid cliche drama.

Maybe you should've listened to Namjoon's statistical analysis of your dates this year and never bothered going to this meeting as well.

Your mother's recommendations so far had never brought you a man decent enough nor carry an ounce of respect your father has for your mother. Why you still try and date them is a question you've asked yourself one too many times.

His rant was the standard overcompensating life story of a man unfortunate enough to be given an ugly mug and an even uglier fate. A conversation topic you've been subjected to far more often than you'd liked but still smooths out your brain every time you're forced to listen to it. It might not be but it must've been an hour already since he started listing out the same adult milestones he achieved in his 28th year—you've done the same at a younger age, 20 to be exact.

Binwoo reached for your fries shamelessly when his fingers found his bowl empty and you couldn't stop yourself from grimacing this time. 

He was actually decent , compared to the other guys you've met before whose mouth spouted bullshit even the devil himself would gasp at. The man actually bought you a gift and opened and held the door for you.

'How disturbing that you think the bare minimum is a sign of a good man, noona.' A voice suspiciously sounding like Namjoon echoes in your head and you sighed for the nth time that afternoon.

If you weren't so weak against your mother's wishes, you would've been doing work instead of putting up with horrid dates over and over again. You'd willingly take on styling an energetic Jungkook at 6am trying to dodge your brushes and play fights with them then sit in front of another insecure man.

A clang of a metal utensil making contact on the tile took your attention to the two men sitting a few tables in front of you. Suddenly, you're reminded of the lovely bodyguards who have volunteered to watch the mess that is your love life for lunch.

You caught one of their gaze when he looked over his shoulder, pitiful, before kicking his friend's leg and picking up his phone.

Immediately, a vibration rang from your bag and you checked the message as discreetly as you could.

            [13:24] Mimi: I feel so bad for you, noona. Is this really how guys are like these days?             [13:24] Mimi: It's appalling how he thinks finally getting his own space at 28 is impressive.             [13:24] Tete: do you need help? Please say yes, I don't think I can sit through the whole date and hear this bull.             [13:25] Tete: Just seeing it is mentally scarring enough, I can't imagine how you're feeling as the one that has to actually listen.

"Hey, are you still listening? I hope I'm not talking too much." A voice interrupts before you could reply.

Looking up from your phone, Binwoo's face now displayed a sheepish smile, the smear of ketchup on the edge of his lips not going unnoticed. His greasy hand had reached behind his head to scratch the back of his nape and you had to gather every strength in your body to not grimace when the same fingers he ate with met scalp.

You try not to notice how oily and stiff his hair already looked. You really tried.

You shook your head despite wanting it all to end for the sake of appearing respectful and the man immediately continued his empty boasting, the same hand he scratched his neck returning to claw down at your fries without another thought and immediately your phone pings again.

            [13:29] Mimi: did he just              [13:29] Mimi: did he just eat with the same hand he scratched with? On your plate of fries?             [13:29] Mimi: I'm gonna barf             [13:30] Mimi: Please free us from this torture, noona. My heart can only take so much             [13:30] Tete: Screw this, we're going back. I can't do this anymore

A screech of a chair being dragged through tile took your attention back to the masked men in front of you and saw the tall and imposing form of Taehyung marching towards your table, brown beanie hiding his dyed hair and a black mask covering half of his face.

"The fucking gull you have to show your face here after you ran away with my heart last week!"

You sigh internally and hope he's not about to choose an embarrassing trope to follow through this time.

If he takes on another dramatic golden-spooned CEO character who throws tantrums when he can't do or get what he wants, you might just stab yourself with the butter knife next to you. Witnessing and being on the receiving end of his tantrums, even if it's acting, in such a public place like the park once is enough.

With a silent wish that Tae has picked a good trope to follow this time, you followed his lead.

Comically widening your eyes, your gaze bounced from Taehyung and Binwoo with a mystified look before sputtering out a reply.

"Wo-Wooyoung! I thought you went back to the states! How's being home again feels like?"

"Is this how you're gonna be? You're just gonna act like everything's alright after you took my youth ?!"

A couple of gasps erupted from the guests around you, in the seas of scandalized reactions there's a burst of hushed giggles from one guy in black from a particular table and you refrain yourself from glaring at his ducked head and shaking shoulders. The phone pointed in your direction didn't go unnoticed, no doubt recording it all from start to finish to send to the group chat as he always does.

Ever your biggest supporter.

At this point, everyone in the restaurant is looking at the three of you. A glance at Binwoo told you of how close you are to freedom. The man has hunched his shoulders, shrinking into himself, trying to disappear from the public gaze while his eyes busied itself by tracing the details on the tiles. He has long stopped from eating now as he hangs his head in embarrassment, ashamed to be associated with you.

"Hey, I'm sorry man. I didn't know you were like that, in your profile it said that you were experienced in hammering."

"I do woodworking, of course I'm amazing at it!"

You hear a dull thud erupt from two tables over. At the edge of your eyes you see Jimin hitting the table with a closed fist, his giggles a little louder; enough to gather a few confused eyes but quiet enough to limit the range to the patrons next to him.

"I-I'm so sorry."

Binwoo flushes before darting out, towing his black suitcase that looked suspiciously light, away from the eyes of everyone in the restaurant and relief floods your body, muscles relaxing as you watch his form disappear behind the partition between the tables and the exit.

You stare up at Taehyung to find him already looking back at you with crinkled eyes past the dim shades he was wearing, his cheekbones poking above the mask as he smiled.

With your date finally out of the shot, Jimin's laughter explodes into loud cackles of a mad man as he stands, stumbling before he manages to approach you both. When he was close enough, he latched onto Tae's arm to stabilize himself as he held up his phone with the camera app open. Immediately, everyone's displeasure echoed in the room at the implication that the intense scene they just witnessed was a part of a vlog.

Despite how much of a spur of a moment their plan seemed, the duo has managed to construct a simple start and conclusion to their plan and you couldn't be more proud of your smart boys.

Taehyung turned to the mass and bowed.

"I'm sorry for disrupting everyone's afternoon, I was just saving my sister from a bad date and decided to make a vlog out of it. We're really sorry." Taehyung exclaimed.

The disturbed patrons' voices grew louder and angrier, a few attempting to approach your little group to possibly get physical.

Next thing you know, Tae's grabbing the paper gift bag your date has given you earlier before reaching to your and Jimin's hand and pulling you both out of the restaurant at full speed with a wide grin, leaving behind indignant screams of 'YA!' . You couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling out of your chest as you three raced down to the stairs, taking the safer and the long way down. You'd regret the decision later once your age kicks in and the ache on your knees comes but the thrill thrumming under your skin keeps you occupied.

They'd probably ban you from ever entering the establishment but for now, you could care less, the place felt too pretentious for you anyways.

The laughter didn't stop even when you entered Taehyung's car, your joined delight bouncing off the small space and when it ceased, a satisfied silence followed. You and Jimin sag to your seats as the giggles die down, arms clutching your stomachs while Taehyung hunches over the wheel.

Even with how ridiculous the youngest decides on how to go about destroying a date, you couldn't deny the overflowing gratitude you hold for the guy for selling his dignity. Although as an idol with an interesting internet background, you doubt he still has one.

"Wow, that went better than I expected."

"I'm never taking you both to my dates again."

Jimin rolled his eyes at you, lips tugged into a grin. "You say that and take us anyways."

"I'm so glad Tae didn't pull another jealous CEO persona, I was so embarrassed that day!"

"Hey! I still got you out so it's not that bad!" Tae protests, turning to the both of you on the backseat. "At least I didn't act like an embarrassing ex that cried and begged on his knees by the outlook!"

Jimin's swat was quick and Tae hissed and gasped dramatically, cradling his arm as if it was broken by the slap.

"Now he's trying to hit me!"

"Nonetheless, we did so well ruining your dates this month, noona. I think we deserve some reward." Jimin's lips tugged up into a sly smile, eyes glimmering with mischief as he suggestively raised his eyebrows.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Before you returned home, you had Tae stop by the nearest grilling restaurant to treat the two of them to a couple of orders of meat. If Jimin looked like a kicked puppy upon realizing you've misinterpreted his words, you didn't say anything.

In your defense, he didn't specify what he wanted. Even if he did, you wouldn't have entertained his flirty jokes.

Not a minute longer since the three of you had seated yourselves at a secluded corner at the far back of the restaurant did Jimin's phone ring. You didn't have to look at the screen to know it was Jungkook, ever so eager to hear about how his hyungs managed to scare off your date this time.

He treats it like he was watching those public prank videos on the internet but instead of random targets, it was your dates.

When the video call loads in, you are met with the sight of Jungkook and Jin sharing half the screen while the stylists hands tend to their hairs, stuck deciding between leaving a strand astray from their elevated fringes or keeping it neat.

"Hyung, did you manage to do what you were telling me last time?"

Taehyung grinned. "You should've seen how they all reacted!"

As Taehyung recalled the event with exaggerated movements and expressions—with Jimin adding his extraordinarily unique perspective every now and then—the plates full of meat to grill and bowls of rice you ordered came. Immediately, they were recognized by the waitress who bowed her head at them before shyly asking for an autograph. If you felt her eyes burning a hole through your skull throughout the encounter, you pretend not to notice.

You've introduced yourself as their make-up artist early on in their career, sneaking into their hearts with behind-the-scenes photographs of their idols. A few photographs in exchange of their respect which the boys and the company allowed. Even then, you wouldn't be able to avoid exchanges like these.

Once the waitress was gone, the boys continued to delight the others with their tales. They laughed and expressed their disgust, picking apart your date piece by piece down to his last molecule but as they continued noting down their observations, you started to feel that they're making up random facts out of spite.

Like, what do you mean you saw the guy kept wiggling in his seat to subtly scratch his ass? How did you even see that, Jimin?

But due to them sneaking out to be your guard dogs, they were called to return soon by an unimpressed Namjoon who took over the phone call at some point, threatening them with Hoseok who just laughed in response. You didn't miss the opportunity to rub your week-long rest in their faces with a smile when Taehyung and Jimin tried pouting their way out of punishment.

They ended up being given the chance to at least finish their food before they're given the countdown when Jimin bribed them with takeout.

"Come with us to drink that memory away instead, noona! Hyung and I are better drinking buddies anyways."

You waved Hoseok off. "I don't think Sejin would appreciate me distracting you guys more than I already do."

"Look into my eyes and say that you don't want to drink the memory away!" Yoongi said matter-of-factly from somewhere in the background.

"We won't even drink much, promise!"

"Stop lying to yourself, Hoba. We know you'd tap out after the third glass."  Jin snickered.

"Hey, I've changed! I can do four now."

Before you could further shoot his idea down, your phone flashes open with a ring displaying your mother's name and your heart drops. As if sensing the change in the air, their heads perked up to look at you.

You knew she'll contact you eventually but seeing her name on the screen glare back at you, a shiver wracks down your spine.

"Who is it?" 

"It's my mom."

Jimin and Taehyung gasped, shushing the people on the other line like kids trying to hide a stray pet from their parents who came home as you answered the call.

"Hello my dearest daughter, tell me why the hell did Binwoo's mother just call me to tell me that you've been going around stealing people's youths?! I don't remember raising you to be such a person!"

Despite not having the call on speaker, her rage is loud enough for the other two to hear. Instead of sending pitying looks towards you like a proper friend should, they were grinning and trying to stop themselves from cackling. Your mother's screeching evolved into rapid fire scolding with barely any breathing in between, sending your companions into silent laughter.

You could only glare as Taehyung threw his head back as he guffawed noiselessly while Jimin had hunched over the table, his shaking shoulders being the only indicator that he too was laughing.

Kicking them both under the table, you gathered the courage to interrupt your mother so she could breathe.

"Mom, it was just a friend who wanted to save me from Binwoo."

"A friend?!? A friend my foot! He must be an-uh what do you call it these days—a friend with benefits! Here I thought you've been busy fussing over those Bangtan boys to fool around!"

At this, their ears perked up, attention falling to yours.

"God! If you just started dating them then I wouldn't have to stress myself over finding you a husband!"

Taehyung sobers up, playing with the meat on the grill as he whispers. "Oh I wish auntie but noona is too professi—ow!"

Your foot swiftly connects with his shin and Taehyung hunches over the table, hand disappearing down to cradle his foot.

"I assure you, Mom, if you've seen how he acted, you'd thank your daughter for dodging such a disgusting guy. He didn't even ask me permission to eat my fries!"

"Aishhhhh! If you were here I would've hung you upside down in a sack outside our house! God, I'm gonna have a cardiac arrest because of you!"

"The guy is really my friend, mom! It's the same guy who interrupted my dates before. Remember the crazy CEO?"

"I know I know! But with how picky you are, you'll end up alone! I know you're trying to wait for your soulmate but you're 26 now! You're way past the maximum marking age!"

Taehyung and Jimin fall silent as an awkward silence settles between your group, continuing to place their pork into the leaves and engulfing them almost meekly; almost because the way they ate the wrap is far from graceful.

You've known that for a year now, accepted your fate but the reminder made your heart ache. Imagine how it was for a hopeless romantic, who dreamt of fated meetings and whimsical red strings on your pinkie, to find out that they're untethered. Even then, a small part of you, a much younger version, keeps hoping for a chance that you're just a late bloomer.

Who wouldn't want true love for themselves?

Even a solitary man would crave affection.

"I-I know that. But you can't expect me to settle for less, you wouldn't want to see your dear daughter in a miserable marriage do you?"

There's a deep sigh from the other line and you could imagine your mom pinch the bridge of her nose before she spoke:

"I'm just worried, I hope you understand. I'm not getting any younger. Your older brother and sister already have their own family and seeing them happy while you're still on your own, it hurts this old woman's heart, you know?"

There's a quick succession of dull thuds from across the line and you assumed your mother was hitting her chest with her fist, ever the dramatic.

Jimin flips the newly added meat on the grill, taking the cooked strips to distribute between yours and Taehyung's bowl. It was such a small gesture yet it made your stomach flutter for a second. Always the caring and golden hearted boy you've met years ago that never hesitated to give you hugs and make you smile either with exaggerated movements or from touch alone.

If only there's more Jimin in the world, you would've been married a long time ago and you wouldn't have to deal with your mother's horrible matchmaking.

You sighed. "I know, I'm trying my best so don't worry too much."

"That's my youngest. Now, since you're trying, I have another—"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Mom, please."

"I swear this guy is better. He's a lawyer, 30 years old, and he's got a penthouse!"

There's a shrill ding! from your phone and you turned to look at your screen to find yourself staring back at a picture of the suitor your mother was just talking about. In a blink, Jimin and Taehyung have teleported  behind you with side dishes in hand as they peered over your shoulder to look at the photo.

The picture was roughly cropped and showed a man in a tailored black suit leaning against what looks like his mother from how similar the shape of their eyes and lips are. He had his coat hanging from his arm, giving you a full view of how his chest and shoulders filled out his white button up. With a narrow and refined jawline, topped off with good hair waxed into a small quiff and a pair of sunken dimples on each side of his bowstring lips, as an idol's makeup artist, you wondered how it is possible for him to be single.

But what distracted you more was how your mother has sent you someone visually appealing instead of the challenged men she had recommended to you. It's making the ends of the hair on your arm stand up.

It's new and it's creeping you out.

You make a mental note to ask your father about her strange behavior.

"His name is Yoo Guwon, isn't he good looking? His mother and I met at the salon by the market in front of your aunt Jia. I saw him once and he looks exactly like he does in that picture!"

"He looks good."

A hiss following a slap muted by thick clothing erupted from behind you, looking over your shoulder, you see Taehyung staring at Jimin with a shocked and betrayed expression.

"What are you doing?! You're supposed to be against this!"

"Well now that you've mentioned it," Jimin hums, crossing his arms as he leaned closer over your shoulders. "He does look like a manipulator. He has the eye and facial structure for it."

You turned to him with a puzzled expression. "What do you even mean—"

"No no no wait, I can see what you mean." Taehyung butts in, narrowing his eyes as he also inched closer to the screen on the other side of your face before reaching over to expand on the man's face.

You furrowed your eyebrows, still not seeing how a skull's formation could mean manipulator in their eyes. But before you could ask how they came to the conclusion, your mother gasped.

"Is that one of your boys? Taehyung and Jimin?"  

"Yeah, I took them out for some meat since they saved me earlier."

"Oh? Put me on speaker, I want to talk to them!" You obeyed her and hummed a confirmation before holding your phone towards them. "I hope my daughter hasn't disrupted your busy schedules to play jealous exes for her."

Jimin laughs. "It's nothing too much, auntie~ She took great care of us back then, it's just us repaying the debt! Besides, I like watching her fail her dates!"

"Oh aren't you quite mischievous?" Her tone was teasing and delighted as she giggled. "Don't enjoy it too much, okay? My daughter needs to get married soon!"

"Don't worry too much, auntie! I also want our noona to find a good husband!"

"What a sweet boy! Too bad company rules can't let you date, I would've loved you as my son-in-law."

A smile stretched across Jimin's face as he shyly laughed, hiding his delight behind a hand. "You can't say that and expect me to not try and court your daughter, auntie!"

"What about me, auntie? I sold my dignity just to push away her creepy suitors when hyung only sat back to record. I did a lot!" Taehyung jumps in with a pout, feeling left out of the conversation.

"Any of you boys are welcome in my family as long as my daughter is married and treated well! Ok, I'll stop now since I have some friends to meet up with. Visit me soon, my lovely daughter!"

After saying your goodbyes and your i-love-you's, the call ends. Immediately, your phone was fished out from your hands by Taehyung as the two boys returned to their seats, zooming in on Guwon's face and speaking in hushed whispers among themselves. At least until Jin and Jungkook's insistence to be included in the discussion came booming.

"Ya Taehyung! Aren't we friends for so long? Why are you not showing us the picture like a normal friend would do? Forward it to the GC!"

Even after forwarding the picture to the GC, they're still far from pleased after being ignored for so long. Jungkook and Jin didn't spare any words from expressing their wrath, especially the elder. A problem easily buried for everyone to forget with an offer of bringing food when they come home. Your mother expressing her openness to the idea of having any of your bosses as your husband seems to breeze past their heads. You do have an inkling they'll discuss amongst themselves later on.

Soon, Jimin and Taehyung are dropping you at your apartment building, parting ways with hugs before they leave.

Since you've finally claimed some of the absent days you've gathered throughout the years for a nice week off before the eventual tour, you decided to take full advantage of it by treating yourself with a nice night in, stuffing yourself with ice cream and an unhealthy amount of pizzas. Doors locked and blinds shut.

Just you and your TV.

And the generic drama that's playing before you.

It's about a poor girl who got rescued by a handsome rich man who has an obsessed admirer and a family who opposes their relationship despite the soulmate mark they both wore due to their different levels in society.

The trope has been overused but you indulge in it anyways.

But as the night gets deeper and the plot thickens to its climax, you find yourself slowly liking it. Watching the young couple be domestic around their apartment, your heart starts to yearn. Their kisses looked fantastical and sweet, as if the taste of each other could energize them for the whole month. 

You watched as brief passing touches scream louder than words, eyed the way their arms wrapped around waists with jealousy and wondered when you'd be able to experience such a thing too.

Emotional torture is what you're doing but you couldn't find it in yourself to stop watching it.

You remembered how realization felt like plunging into the darkest depths in the ocean, cold and harsh, the pain in your chest when your 21st passed by without any notable changes in your life. 

You recalled how you'd wake up and excitedly look over your skin for a hint everyday with no fail, hoping for a telltale sign that you weren't assigned to a fate of love bare of the genuine and rawness of a soulbond. The devastation gnawing at your dreams when your 21st ends uneventfully and the 22nd comes with the same nothingness still fresh in your mind.

There wasn't a cure for being untethered but you learned soon how to accept your fate. Having your friends comfort you through those years helped. From the maknaes' grounding tight hugs to Yoongi's silent support in the form of distractions and Seokjin's insistence on how unimportant soulmates are, healing came easier with them by your side.

Being untethered or alone isn't a disease cured by human medicine but you think your friends' support came close.

Your phone then vibrates, taking you out of the train of thought you got yourself into, screen lighting up to a message from an unknown user.

            [21:39] Unknown: Hey, it's me Yoo Guwon. Your mother gave me your number and said to contact you first because you might be busy with work.

None of the suitors your mother has brought forth has ever worked out. At this point, you should ask her to stop and try to find a good man yourself.

But none of them ever made the effort to reach out first.

But he's a lawyer and you know damn well what they're good at .

He looks cute and tall though, got a good background as well.

Everyone before him also had that.

With a heavy exhale, you picked your phone up and opened his message.

            [21:40] You: Hello, I'm actually on a week-long break so I'm just rotting on my couch instead haha

"That's too awkward." You muttered to yourself, subconsciously biting your lips as you rephrased the message a couple more times, frantically deleting and adding words onto your ever growing introduction message.

But then it's too wordy, it makes you sound desperate so you deleted it all again, starting once more from the beginning.

You didn't even get to send it when Guwon sent another message.

            [21:48] Yoo Guwon: I'm free tomorrow, I hope you are too. What do you usually like to do?

He's giving me options? You stared at the screen with furrowed eyebrows before narrowing at it suspiciously.

What's up with this guy? Why isn't he taking the lead?

            [21:50] You: I'm more often working and staying at home than visiting places so I don't know where ;-;. I'll go wherever you want to go.             [21:51] Yoo Guwon: It's fine, just send me your address and I'll pick you up tomorrow at 9am, dress formal casual.

Throwing your phone to the side, you reached for the canned beer from your table and took a long sip before titling your head back to stare at the ceiling. There's a careful rise in your heartbeat, a traitorous action of your body. It was hopeful and you hated how you felt like that, you sighed again for the nth time that day but for a different reason.

Your mind takes you back to the mischievous duo, wondering if you should take one of them for this date but find yourself shutting the idea down as quick as it came. The guy looks decent enough for a solo adventure, going alone shouldn't hurt.

Maybe this time will be different.

[chocosvt]

HER | teaser.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader teaser word count: 1.4k actual word count: 140k (yes, u read that correctly) genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings for the full fic: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: as i descend to one knee and cup my hands together at your mercy, i offer a tidbit to the wonwoo fic i have finally completed after two years (lol). i know i ALWAYS say this, but i truly wasn't expecting the fic to be THIS FUCKING LONG! thankfully, i planned it well and although i lost momentum countless times (nervously side eyes the approximate & several 5 month breaks i took in between), my dedication to seeing the characters through & "completing" their growth was smth that i could not leave behind!

not having posted a fic for two years is prob a little much :0 so hopefully the length of this makes up for it (?) usually my writing is just teehee silly little romance agonizing slowburn surface level dilemmas of the self BUT THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK!

so read it if you want! don't read it if you don't want!

hearts & flowers, xoxoxo (me :*)

UPDATE: read the first part here!

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed—a very short, disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

✧✎ a/n: tada!

this is the introductory scene! i think i've read it so many times that i could probably recite it from memory at this point ;_; anyway! as i mentioned, i know that it's been a hot minute since i last uploaded any scenarios. but one way or another this monster is getting posted! i did NOT have this lurking on my poor tired macbook causing it to overheat and sputter and spew FOR NOTHING!!

i swear that i don't plan for my works to get this goddamn long. before i hardly planned at all. maybe now i plan too much? i guess i have yet to find a happy medium!! but again, i do hope the size of the fic makes up for all that missed time :_( life has been ruff. but this fic was there as a handy distraction mechanism (when i prob should have been facing reality fhwejfhwk) so i guess it's been a double-edged sword!

also just want to preface that the reader goes by an alias throughout the fic. i'm not sure if this is like... a very huge or popular concept nowadays? so if it hits your reading ear a bit weird at first i apologize! but i swear it has purpose!! *chekhovs rule* *winkwink*

ANYWAY! no more rambling!

i'm pondering the idea of adding a taglist for those who are interested, just as i did with honey boy :3 so if that tickles ur fancy then feel free to each out!

BUT PLZ HEED THE FOLLOWING:

the fic in its entirety will be split across 6 parts

the word count of each part ranges from 22-24k!

i do not YET have a set posting schedule, simply bc i am unsure of how long it will take ppl to get through each part

(so that would be smth i'd have to gauge afterward)

REVISIT THE WARNINGS!!

i will not be flagging mature/nsfw/triggering scenes throughout the fic as the fic itself already has a heavy nature to it

so pls read the warnings!

if there's any additional questions i encourage u to swing by :3

*deep breath*

THANK YOU!!!!!

[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. 

-

TAG LIST:

@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

[folkloreandfable]

Redamancy (J. V)《《《

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Aunt!reader Warnings: None Tags: No dance AU, idiots in love, regency romance inspired Synopsis: Queen Alicent has arranged for her youngest daughter to find a suitable marriage partner, and Jace knows there is no better match than him. A/N: I wrote this drabble to get out of a writer's block. No beta as of yet.

Jacaerys Velaryon was in love with his aunt since their minority. It was no secret since he did a rather shoddy job of hiding his affections for the youngest, Lady Targaryen. They’ve exchanged missives over the years but have not seen each other since the incident in Driftmark. How he yearned to gaze upon her once more, see her smile, feel her warmth. For the past six years, he feared the possibility of her being swept away by another. Alicent Hightower would never wed her daughter to him if her saying no for Helaena was any indication. Though he was grateful for that rejection. He had several ideas, some involved asking his mother to petition King Viserys, who rarely refused her. Others involved stealing her away to Dragonstone in the dead of night himself. In her more recent letters, y/n mentioned that Alicent would be holding interviews for potential marriage candidates. At first it sent him into a panic until he realised the opportunity it presented.

»»———-　˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀　———-««

Marriage to a princess of the Dragon house was indeed a grave affair. Many assumed she would be wedded to her brother Aemond. And Alicent did wish for it as well, but Viserys shut down the suggestion. It would be more fruitful to use this as an opportunity to form alliances with other houses instead. So began the tedious process. You were halfway to sleep by the time the candidate from house Rosby left the parlor. Your options so far were too old, too lecherous, too vain or too unsightly. Most of them were all four. And you prayed for it to end. Alicent only gave you a sympathetic look, since her fate was not far off from what yours would be. She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, ready to call it a day, when a servant came knocking. “Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon seek an audience, my queen.” Alicent’s grip tightened on you, but she gestured for the servants to let them in anyway. And soon enough, came in Rhaenyra with Jace in tow. Your Jace, for whom you have longed for and pretended to not realise his longing for you. He has grown into a fine young man with strong features and thick black curls. “Your grace,” he bowed to Alicent before locking his gaze with you, which released a thousand butterflies in your stomach. “My lady,” he gallantly took your and placed a kiss on the back, which lasted a touch longer than appropriate. You felt your mother stiffen up, but decided to focus more on the lingering warmth from Jacaery’s lips. “Princess Rhaenyra,” Alicent flatly began. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Rhaenyra smiled in response, not at all bothered by Alicent’s disdain. “I heard you were interviewing candidates for my dearest sister. I could not possibly allow it to conclude before the most suitable one had a chance.” “Yes!” you blurted out, unable to stop the grin forming on your lips until you realised everyone’s eyes were now on you and you flushed in embarrassment but quickly regained your composure. “I mean, it would be an honour.” Jace suppressed the laugh forming in his throat so you did not think he was ridiculing you. In fact, he found your reaction very pleasing and adorable. “Tis settled then,” Rhaenyra declared to prevent any protests from Alicent, who she pulled along to give the young lovers some privacy. Neither of you says anything. Just content looking into each other’s eyes and smiling until your mouths hurt. What would you interview him for, anyway? You knew everything about him. From his favourite food to his deepest secrets. You knew him as a person. Jace is the first to break from his reverie and crosses the room again to kneel before you. “My princess,” he covers her hands with his own. “Before speaking the words burning within my heart, I must ask, do you love another?”

Your eyes widen briefly before yoy reassuringly smile and shake your head, to which you see him visibly relax. “Good,” he smiles back, tightening his grip ever so slightly. “The past six years I have ached in agony. Every waking moment, I wished to sleep so that I may see you in my sleep. Y/n Targaryen, I love you, most ardently. Will you do me the honour of being my bride and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?” You freeze as his words wrap around you and sink into your skin, sending jolts down every nerve ending. Who knew your patience all day would be rewarded so handsomely? “Yes!” You fervently nod, feeling tears prickle your eyes, and Jace also bursts into his own expression of joy. »»———-　˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀　———-«« Not long after, you find yourselves before the Iron throne, next to your respective mothers. Viserys sweeps between you four before gesturing you forward. “Speak, daughter.” You glance at your mother who took no pains to hide her disapproval, then to Jacaerys who gave you an encouraging nod before you finally face your father. “The candidates today have been the most…comely, but I love Prince Jacaerys and I wish to marry him.” You clear your throat. “With your majesty’s permission, of course.” With that, you quickly scurry back to your mother, feeling rather exposed with all the eyes on and you and notice a small smirk on Jace from your peripheral. There is few moments of unsettling silence before your father raises a hand. “This calls for a celebration!” “But, my love!” Your mother steps forward. “You wished to form new alliances–” “And we shall arrange the wedding to be in three moons.” He cut her off with finality before dismissing everyone. So the betrothal of Princess Y/n Targaryen and Prince Jacaerys was announced the following day. A joyous occasion that many hoped will mend the seam between the two families. Alicent, in time, has come to accept the arrangement after some consolation from Otto. As long as the Hightower blood sits on that Iron throne, it is all that matters. »»———-　˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀　———-«« Inbox: Open

[kakujis]

do you love me?; 4

synopsis: they wake you up and ask if you love them. 1 2 3

ft + wc: mistuya, draken, chifuyu. 3k.

warnings: gn!reader, swearing, miscommunication, workaholic bfs, tipsy chifuyu, slightly spicy in drakens! not proofread! thats it LMAO

a/n: hi. it's been a while! i took a writing break and i'm not sure if this means my writer's block is over, but here's the fourth and probably final part of this series (this is a lie im probs gonna write more when s3 comes out LMFAO) anyways, similar themes for mitsuya and draken, while chifuyu's is extra fluffy. the extra fluff was added in for @fuyuluvr btw.

mitsuya takashi has been busy. more so than ever, you’ll find him buried in his work til the early morning hours. this happens every time he’s hit with inspiration for a new runway collection and you often wind up feeling neglected. but mitsuya will always find a way to sneak time with you in, even if it means playing model for a little bit. 

his love comes out through his finger tips, when he’s laying the garment over you, light touches over your skin. it comes out in the way he silently works, looking you over every so often, smiling when he notices the way you furiously blush when he lingers for just too long. 

but this time is a little different. his fatigue clear on him when he crashes into the bed, mumbling a sleepy “good night” to your “good morning.” it’s jarring, how separate the two of you feel in the shared space of your home. 

mitsuya realizes something is wrong the first night you tell him you don’t want to model for him. “it was a long day… i’m just tired.” you had told him, hesitating before you placed a kiss on his forehead. you left shortly afterwards, leaving mitsuya in his office. 

the second night you barely touched your dinner, pushing your food around on the plate absentmindedly. when he asked if something was wrong, you told him that you weren’t hungry with a strained smile on your face. “don’t worry about me.” 

the final piece locks into place the night you push him away from you when he tries to sneak a kiss. “not now,” you said, unable to look at him, “my breath smells.” you both know it’s a pitiful attempt at a joke, but when he tries to pry, you ignore him. lavender eyes trail after your form, noting the way you bend into yourself as you walk, closed off. 

mitsuya’s always allowed you your space and this time is no different. except for the fact that he can’t focus at all, too distracted by the guilt gnawing on his bones. he has a deadline to meet, yet he can’t seem to care when his partner is upset with him. 

he removes his glasses before running his hands over his face. he mulls over the apology in his head, before he’s up and heading toward your bedroom. when he arrives, he kneels at your side of the bed, one hand caressing your cheek to rouse you from sleep. when you blink almost awake you’re met with his pretty face, guilt etched into his features. 

“taka..?” your voice barely louder than a whisper, you fight against the heaviness of your eyelids, the inherent need to see him reigning over the lull of sleep. you love him after all. 

“morning angel,” he starts, dragging his thumb over the curve of your cheek. “i’m sorry.” 

you open your mouth to speak, but mitsuya presses a finger against your lips, shaking his head. his silver locks move in tandem, his eyes peeking underneath them as he focuses on the hardwood floor. it’s hard for him to remember what he wanted to say, being in front of you much different than the scenario rehearsed in his head. at the end of the day though, mitsuya is a man of his word, whether it’s to you or himself, he’ll see it through. 

he steels himself, looking you straight-on as you blink at him, one hand placed over his. “i’m really sorry.” he reiterates, “for neglecting you. i’m also sorry for not noticing sooner. i shouldn’t have asked you to model for me when i’ve barely spent any time with you… i’m just.. sorry.” 

“can i speak now?” you ask, squeezing his hand and he nods. you push yourself up onto your elbows, before placing your hands on his shoulders. “i’m sorry for being selfish.” 

he shakes his head, “you’re not selfish, don’t say that. i mean, i could say the same thing right?” 

your expression is somber as you respond, “takashi… it’s your job, hon. it’s always been like this, it’s not like this is your first collection either.” 

but mitsuya can read you like a book, remembering that with each disagreement, you’ll hide your feelings in favor of his. he knows when you break eye contact, looking away, that you’re not saying what’s really on your mind. 

“do you love me?” he asks, before running his finger under the curve of your jawline. when you nod, he tilts your face back upward, forcing you to look at him, “then be honest with me.” 

“o-okay…” you sigh, “i hate your job.” 

he grins, “that was brutal.” but he still nods, urging you to continue. 

“i hate your stupid deadlines and i hate when you’re super busy, because i want to spend time with you. and also, i miss you all the time and by the way, that stupid runway coordinator called your cell and when i answered they hung up immediately! that’s so unprofessional! like, you should be grateful i even answered the damn phone! right?” you huff once you finish your tirade, your feet kicking up and down in annoyance. 

mitsuya can’t help but laugh once you’re done, it’s the most animated he’s seen you these past few days. he likes it. 

“don’t laugh!” you pout, puffing your cheeks out and your boyfriend has to bite back another laugh. 

“no, no, you’re right, how could they hang up on my partner?” he agrees and your face softens. “but damn, i didn’t think you hated my job that much.” 

you gasp, freezing for a moment, “ahh, well it’s not like i hate it-“ 

“you just despise it?” he quips, one eyebrow raised, interrupting you. 

“no!” you exclaim, continuing to pout. but you feel lighter, like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders. 

“you feel better?” he asks, taking your hands into his and pressing a kiss to them. 

maybe the two of you didn’t exactly solve the problem, but that’s fine, you can never stay upset with him for long. 

“a little bit.” you say, before tugging him upwards. “you know what would really make me feel better?” 

“hm?” he tilts his head, eyes soft. 

“if you cuddled with me.” you respond, tugging at him just a bit harder. 

he smiles as he climbs into bed, “as you command, my dear.” 

draken: 

sometimes, you think ryuguji ken would be better off moving into his bike shop. you don’t mean to be bratty, really, but you can’t help it. the countless nights of him coming home late have been taking a toll on you. it’s been worse since inui’s taken some time off which means draken and shinichiro need to take over, which means less time with your boyfriend. 

you check your phone one more time for the daily goodnight text, but when you see none, you quietly turn your phone off and close your eyes to try to get some sleep. 

but it hurts, like the prick of a thorn or the sting from a wasp, but you know when draken’s busy, it’s best not to bother him. still, you can’t help the tears that bubble up, spilling over like the flood of a dam as you hug yourself, burying your face into your pillow. when you finally settle, you hope he won’t notice puffiness of your eyes when he comes home. maybe he’ll keep the light off, you hope, as you drift into a deep sleep. 

when he finally gets home, smelling distinctly of motor oil, he tries his best to stay quiet, borderline tiptoeing his way to your shared bedroom. as he changes out of his dirty clothes, his eyes naturally trail to your sleeping form. there’s something off. 

if there’s one thing about draken, he can pick up on every subtle shift of your mood. after all, draken knows you best. 

he knows he should probably shower as you hate the smell of the oil and grease, but his body moves towards you anyway. he turns the bedroom light on before he climbs onto the bed, grabbing you and shaking gently. 

“baby?” he calls, watching as your face scrunches up.

“hm? what is it?” you murmur, a little irritated, but you let him turn you over anyway. 

“were you crying?” he asks and you force your sleepy eyes open. concern paints his face as he cups your cheek, “what happened?” 

“nothin’,” you lie, staring at his chest rather than his face. “i’m just tired.” 

“and your eyes are swollen just because?” he cocks a brow, already onto your little lie. 

“yep.” you quip, before pushing his hand away and sinking into your pillow. “it doesn’t matter, kenny.” 

“except it does,” he replies, moving down with you, “what happened?” he asks again and part of you feels like maybe it’s time to answer. until you remember the big race mikey has coming up, which makes you decide to keep your mouth shut. 

draken sighs, “alright, i won’t pry.” he stays there in his dirty clothes, yawning as he stretches and lays back, eyes closed.  

you scrunch your nose. “kenny… aren’t you gonna shower?” 

“yep.” he says, in the same tone you gave him earlier. 

“… and when are you gonna do that?” you press, silently thinking about the laundry you’re going to have to do later. 

“when you tell me what’s wrong.” he answers, head leaning back against the headboard. he peeks an eye down at you, smirking at the incredulous look on your face. “what? i said i wouldn’t pry, not that i wouldn’t wait. take your time.” 

“and if I decide I won't tell you anything all night?” you ask, slightly sitting up.

“like i said, take your time.” he shrugs. 

“you’re …insane.” you scoff, laying back down. you pull the blanket over you, back to him.  

“nah, just patient.” he corrects and the  two of you fall into another uncomfortable silence. 

for the next few minutes, it’s completely quiet and you think draken may have actually fallen asleep sitting up. but when you turn around, you meet his eyes, soft yet concerned. you know that he cares, it’s the essence of your relationship. so maybe, just this once, you could let him know. 

hesitantly, you open your mouth to speak. “if i asked you to spend less time at the shop and more time with me… would that be okay?” your voice is low, quiet, and unsure. 

instead of answering, he asks,“do you love me?” and you find yourself confused. 

“huh? that doesn’t-”

“just answer the question.” he interrupts. 

“yes, of course i do.” 

“then why wouldn’t it be okay?” he asks, pulling you into his embrace. “i didn’t have to pick up the extra shifts if you didn’t want me to.”

“and leave shin to die from overworking?” you joke, but in actuality, it is a ton of maintenance work. 

“why not?” he smirks and you laugh. “ah! there it is, your pretty smile.” 

“you stink.” you grumble, pushing away from him. “i’m mad at you.” but your heart betrays you and the pout you try to display is futile as the corners of your mouth curve into a small smile. 

“huh? you talkin’ about me or my personality?” draken quips, but he holds onto you tighter as you continue to try to push off. “don’t go anywhere, angel. you’re comin’ with me.” 

“what? where are we- ah!” you squeal as he gets up, taking you with him. you quickly wrap your arms around him, clinging tightly. 

he smiles, basically beaming and you realize that made you fall in the first place. draken is kind, selfless, even if he may not seem like it at first. he’s always good at making you feel better, even if you don’t tell him. 

“to shower,” he answers, starting the trek to the bathroom, “you keep saying i smell.” 

“i already showered.” you protest, but you rest your head on his shoulder. “but i guess i do smell like car grease now.” 

he stops in his tracks, his mouth pressed into a line. “shit. our bed does too.” 

“should we sleep on the couch?” you suggest and he starts moving again. 

“or we could crash takemichi’s place.” he says, pushing the bathroom door open with his shoulder. 

“and interrupt his precious time with hina?” you muse as he sets you on the counter. 

“isn’t that the point?” he asks, turning the water on before coming to slide between your legs, looming over you.

“what about mikey’s?” you ask, your hands naturally coming to help him take off his work jacket. 

“fuck no,” he groans, letting you turn him around so you can finish taking it off. “he’s gonna try to cuddle with you again.” 

“with us.” you correct and draken rolls his eyes before he shifts out his shirt. he dips down to press a firm kiss to your lips and you smile. “shower time?” 

“shower time.” 

chifuyu:

chifuyu matsuno curses under his breath as he races up the stairs to your apartment. he’d lost track of time, evening drinking turning into early morning. he hopes you won’t be too upset, hey, maybe he can blame it on baji. 

when he gets home, making sure to walk a little quieter, he peeks his head into the bedroom. the light is left on but you’re asleep. his heart thumps a bit more and a blush creeps onto his face when he notices you’ve fallen asleep in his shirt. 

his steps are light, springy even, as he makes his way over, plopping into bed beside you. you stir in your sleep as chifuyu watches you, his head leaning into his palm like a schoolboy in love.

“fuyu?” you mumble, as you stretch before turning over to face him. sleepy eyes meet pretty green and chifuyu thinks he’s in a dream... or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s still left in his system. 

“hey lover,” he smiles as he scoots closer before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “good morning.”  

“what time is it?” you ask, squinting, before adding, “hi to you too.” 

“like 3am.” he answers and you hum. 

“hm, tonight was that fun?” you yawn, trying your best to fight the drowsiness that's currently over taking your body. 

“yeah,” he replies as another peck flits over your cheek. “wish you went with me.” he thinks about how much fun it would have been if you went with him earlier. how he’d love to walk home with you, hand in hand, sneaking kisses under the moonlight. 

“‘m sorry, fuyu,” you mumble as your heavy lids close, losing the battle. “i’ll try to go next time..” you trail off as your body lulls you back to sleep.

the blond frowns, as cute as you are asleep, he wants your attention now. “oi, y/n. wake up.” he huffs, using his index finger to poke at your cheek. 

when you only make a slight noise, he pokes harder. “wake. up.” 

your eyelids flutter under his touch, but they don’t open and chifuyu sighs. “do you love me?” he whines, loudly. 

you force your eyelids open at the question, he’s cute when he’s whiny so you indulge him. “yes, chifuyu, i love you a lot.” you mumble, before tipping your lips up into his, giving him a soft kiss. 

you realize where the unusual clinginess comes from tonight as he tastes faintly of alcohol. normally, chifuyu would quietly get ready to bed before slipping under the covers to hold you as you slept. he wants you to get your rest and he’s fine with waiting til morning. although, there are some exceptions which almost always include a tipsy, pining boyfriend. 

you giggle when he whines as you pull away.

“stay here.” he grumbles, before he’s cupping your cheeks and kissing you again. 

“fuyu, i have work in a couple of hours,” you mumble between kisses.

“‘m sobering up,” he responds, “if i don’t do this, i’ll get a hangover.” 

“that’s not how it works at all,” you sigh happily, “but okay.” 

and so you let him. you let him kiss not only your lips but your cheeks, forehead, and even your neck. you giggle when he ghosts over a particularly ticklish area, but chifuyu is lost in you. lost in your scent, your voice, your everything. until suddenly, he’s not. 

“fuyu?” you whisper, your arms laced around him. 

there’s no response but the soft snores escaping him as his head is buried in your neck. you can tell he’s asleep by the way his body’s gone limp, the full weight on him bearing down on you. but it’s comfortable like this and you feel sleep beckoning you over. 

when morning and inevitably, the time for work comes, you try your best to move out from underneath him without waking up. the soft daylight pours in through the blinds, casting rays on your boyfriend’s sleeping face. 

you’re close, almost fully out from underneath him when an arm slings itself across your waist and pulls you back in. 

“stay.” he mumbles, voice deep and slightly hoarse from his half asleep state. 

“i have work,” you say, gently. “i’ll be back in a few.” 

“just call off,” he says, tightening his grip on you. 

“chifuyu-“ 

“please?” he pleads, one eye peeking up at you. the blush on his face this time isn’t from the alcohol. 

it tugs at your heartstrings and you give in. “fine. but if i get in trouble you owe me.” 

“you know, the pet shop is always hiring if you get fired.” he wiggles his eyebrows, throwing you a cheesy smile. 

“ha. ha. very funny.” you retort, rolling your eyes.

but the smile on chifuyu’s face doesn’t disappear, he simply tilts his head to press it against yours. 

“i’d take care of you forever, you know.” he says, completely serious and you feel your heart skip a beat. 

“i know.” you mumble back, closing your eyes. 

“i love you, y/n.” he says and you feel the tip of his nose brush against yours. 

“i love you too, chifuyu.” you giggle and he realizes he wants to listen to it for the rest of his life. but he has no ring, he’ll need to remember to get your ring size. 

“forever and ever?” he asks, his own heart fluttering to the timbre of your voice. 

“forever and ever.” 

[nightdivinity]

Drink Responsibly! Prologue

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only.

Platonic! Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Alcohol, bad choices, stupid choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o fic, there is slight blood and gore, it's a vampire au, age gaps, because they're all significantly older, it's going to get suggestive from here on out, reverse harem, slight proofreading

Writer's Note: I want to thank @sophiethewitch1 for inspiring me and talking me through posting my writing. I hope it doesn't let you down! This is also my first time posting my writing on Tumblr, please be gentle. English is not my first language. Also, this is a why choose fic. So, it's Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian x reader. Maybe even Duke. I think four is a lot. Got to draw the line somewhere. Chapter 2 will be posted tomorrow.

It was midnight when you finally stumbled out of the latest club. Your heels were long gone, as you had taken them off the first time they got stuck in a grate. You’re pretty sure you handed them to a nice girl in the bathroom while her friend held your hair as you threw up copious amounts of alcohol and bar food. She had been super nice, you liked the way her short black hair was spiked, and her blonde friend’s eyeliner was superb. Anyways, now you are shoeless and desperately looking for the next bar on your crawl.

Gin’s. Ooh, that’ll do. You reach out and grab your friend’s bicep, point at the neon sign, and do vague gestures. Of course, your friend is not as well off as you are, so it takes a while to get your point across. Only they start crying again over their bullshit bar fling, and the fact you have no shoes.

It didn’t matter, none of it truly mattered. Not a single thing. This was your one night off after weeks of back-to-back grueling shifts at a job that doesn’t care whether you live or die. Yesterday you even took a quick unintentional power nap on the toilet. All of this resulted in you being slightly crazed and a little deranged as your night progressed.

But hey, Gotham just brings that out in people. In your job's defense, no one could take any more sick or inclement weather days thanks to all the random villain attacks next to or at your office. You blame the monthly rut.

At least you didn’t get stuck on the subway taped to a bench by the Riddler this week as he awkwardly rifled through a notebook of pickup lines. Life was certainly looking up.

See, unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the propaganda you consumed, you were born an Omega. Which had never truly been an issue. Except for the fact that thanks to a few foul choices from the government, it was getting harder and harder to get access to affordable pheromone blockers. You wouldn’t have even chanced this outing if you hadn’t found that one pill that rolled a little under your cabinet. Hey, you were desperate for a night out.

“I’m going there”, you slur.

Yes, this was asinine, but you still managed to wheel yourself and your friend to Gin’s. You hardly noticed the dark shadows following you as your friends from the bathroom quietly herded you. As you and your friend jaywalked across the street, you didn’t notice the red-headed woman standing in the middle of the road, blocking traffic from actually hitting you. It also barely registered when the nice boy with flashing gold eyes took your hand and led you past the line and directly to the front. This. Was. Your. Night. Out.

“Hey man, she can’t come in here with no shoes”, the bouncer at the door complains.

He was going to say more until he looked at the man holding your hand so nicely. You could hear the slight choking noise, and in your drunken stupor, you stumbled a little into your guide.

“He’s going to shit himself”, you stage-whisper. Or what you think was whispering. You were screaming over the pounding bass spilling out of the door.

                “Shhh, Jackson, she’s with me”, your guide replies.

                “She can come in, her friend can’t. Sorry Duke, they’re way too fucked up”, the bouncer swears.

                You gasp and let go of Duke’s hand, instead reaching for your friend and pulling them tight into your embrace. While smashing their face into your chest. Even though you were the most drunk you’ve ever been, you didn’t miss the spike in pissed-off Alpha vibes that happened around you. Still, you smacked a hand against your friend’s ear in an effort to protect them from what was said. Then you got sidetracked by their hair. It reminded you that you wanted a pet. Although with your work and class schedule, it would probably die in a week. Three days tops. At least you had your emotional support friend.

                “I can’t leave them alone”, you say.

                “Hun, how about I call them an Uber, they look like they’re ready to pass out. They definitely can’t handle it anymore”, Duke replies.

                He gestures towards your friend, and you notice how they’re slowly swaying on their feet. Eyes half closed. Shit. It would be shitty if you left them passed out somewhere in the bar as you danced and drank. They were already on their fourth wind and fading fast.

                “Look, you see this nice car”, Duke continues.

                He turns you three, and suddenly you notice the nice black town car next to the road. You vaguely register the fact that it’s one of those high-roller cars. Ones that only the richest in Gotham could afford.

                “See, this is Killian, he works for Wayne Enterprises. He’ll make sure your friend makes it home. I’ll even have him text you when they get there. Won’t that be nice? You don’t have to worry at all (y/n).”, he tells you.

                You nod, and it all makes sense somehow in your drunken brain. He knows your name, so obviously you know him. He also knows your friend, since he rattles off their address and gently pries them from your clutches before handing them off to Killian.

You pay no mind to the mention of a name that would have sent shivers down your spine normally. Wayne. Mysterious and dangerous to all who get involved.

                “I need them back, don’t sell their organs”, you warn.

                Then he gives you a tight brisk smile as he turns away from you. A persistent thought is starting to nag its way through the cotton in your head. The slightest unsettling feeling. Maybe there was something wrong with that blocker pill you found on the floor of your kitchen. You were certainly feeling as though there were a lot of pissed-off Alphas near you. The undercurrent of anger was a tang you couldn’t escape. More and more you felt the need to run somewhere dark and quiet to hide.

                You ignore the persistent tugging by Duke as you watch your friend get loaded into the car and driven away. Well. That ends that.

                The next time Duke tugs on your hand, it causes you to slightly stagger. He easily catches you and spins you around and through the door before you can protest.

                “Can I have a Rum and Coke?”, you shout over the music.

                “Yeah totally”, Duke shouts back.

                It’s only until you are tugged past the bar that you realize that everything is not all sunshine and daisies. No. No. This is wrong. You want to go back.

                You put your heels in. Duke was not ready for resistance as your hand slid out of his grasp on the way to the V.I.P. section. He turns around to get a better hold of you, only to watch you slip into the crowd and get lost in the sea of swaying bodies. Fuck. He was told to bring you to them. You still had to be here, there’s no way you could have bumbled off far. Shit. One job.

                Duke ran a palm over his face as he scanned the crowd. There’s no doubt in his mind. Bruce was going to be pissed. He wasn’t supposed to know about your little excursion out. Everyone had agreed, they would watch over you as the day turned. You still weren’t used to Gotham; you didn’t know the sort of creatures that came out during the night. While the rest of the world was happy and filled with normal and meta shifters, Gotham was overflowing with the less-than-stable. All more than happy to take a bite out of the innocent. The only thing that kept it in check was the unspoken King and his disgraced hellions.

If you had been sober, you would have noticed the people slowly disappearing from the crowd. You would have noticed that tonight was absolutely not a good night to be out. One by one, shrieks of fear and pain were mistaken for fun. Jostling in the crowd was hardly registered as the violence spread. The whole night, you were in a sea of sharks feeding. Now you had finally ditched what you didn’t know was your only protection.

                 Not to worry, fear splashes hot and cold against your nerves as sharp claws grip your arm, your back slamming into the bar as a distended jaw hisses open in front of you.

                Yeah. Maybe you should have been drinking responsibly.

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

HELLO CAN YOu DO A PJO WHEN PERCY IS COMPLAINING ABOUT THE READER FAVORITE BOOK BOYFRIEND (peeta mellark or Thomas from the maze runner) LIKE THIS SIMP IS JEALOUS

TAKING INSPIRATION TO THIS PLEAAAAAAAAAASE 😂😂😂😂😂😂

Sorry 🌸

BUT I'M YOUR BOYFRIEND! .𖥔 ݁ ˖

paring: percy jackson x athena!fem!reader

warnings: swearing

a/n: this is such an awesome request i swear aksjdgajh. sorry this took me so long to get around to as well, writers block is a biiiitch

"y/nnnnnnnnn."

the whine greets you from outside your room.

"yes?" you ask looking up when percy enters your room.

"what are we doing tonight?" your boyfriend asks plopping down on your bed slipping under the covers next to you and ruining the quiet bubble you had created around yourself.

"i'm going to continue reading this book," you say returning to your reading.

percy apparently unsatisfied with that leans his head on your shoulder nuzzling into your neck.

"y/nnn," he protests.

"percyyyy," you groan right back. "i'm reading."

switching tactics percy moves from your shoulder to lay in front of you and look up at you with puppy dog eyes.

"you can read later, spend time with mee."

rolling your eyes you shut your book, put it down in your lap rest your hands on top of it and stare down at the toddler adjacent teenager in front of you.

"percy," you say. "you know i love you. but this-" you hold up your copy of the hunger games- "is my favorite series and you are currently ruining it by being a little shit."

"i am ruining it?" percy says in mock outrage. "i finally got a free afternoon from classes and you spend all my precious time on reading!"

"because reading is fun!" you explain with a grin, knowing you're riling him up.

"more fun than spending time with me?"

"currently? yes."

percy leaps up from the bed with a betrayed expression on his face. "i am hurt, actually hurt right now." he spins around and makes it to your dorm door. "i cannot believe you would do this to me."

"percy," you laugh, finally putting aside the book.

"no, we're not talking right now. in fact we're currently having a big fight."

rolling your eyes you escape the covers of your bed you make your way over to your pouting boyfriend.

"fiiiine, i'll spend the afternoon with you."

like a switch, percy's face goes from sulking to lighting up in cheekiness, before he lifts you up and tackles you onto the bed. "i'm your favorite again?" he asks with big, wide eyes.

"you never weren't you big baby."

grinning widely percy leans down to you and places a soft kiss on your cheek.

"okayy," you say when he pulls you into his lap and wraps his arm around your waist. "what do you want to do then?"

"read."

"PERCY!" you cry out. a string of swear words escape your mouth and you try and twist around but percy just tightens his grip on you and places a kiss on your neck- now that quickly placates you.

"read to me," he whispers in your ear, sending shivers throughout you.

"read to you?"

"yeah, lets escape to your favourite world together." he presses a kiss to your temple. "and so i can see about this so called peeta mellark."

"how do yo-"

"please, you think i don't know who my girl spends her time on?" a smile creeps onto your face at percy's words. "besides you fawn over him all the time."

"are you saying you're jealous over a fiction character right now?"

"you spend more time gushing over him than me."

"you're totally jealous!" you laugh.

"i'm your boyfriend not him!" percy protests.

opening your book again you pick up where you left off. "hush, if you want me to read, you must be quiet."

percy quiets and snuggles deeper into the covers, his arms tightly wrapped around you as you read to him, your voice lulling him into a comforting peace.

you love moments like these.

just the two of you.

its perfect.

[exorcqism]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

„𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘”

𝐂𝐖;; mature content. afab!reader, stoner!choso, non-curse/sorcerer AU, no uses of y/n. not proofread so i apologize in advance for any mistakes if they’re made.

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓;; choso’s mind has been spiraling for a couple days now. the fact that you wrote your phone number down on his hand had him going. he wanted to call you. he wanted to text you. but he just couldn’t. in order to be sanitary, he’d write the number down again on a sticky note and scrubbed the ink off his skin. he didn’t have time for a lover…but he felt like making time for you.

₊❏❜ ⋮ part one ⌒

. ݁ ࣪ ، ⌗ masterlist

: ̗̀➛ art creds by;; currently unknown. dividers are not mine, if you own these, you may claim them in comments.

: ̗̀➛ WORD COUNT;; 2.33K

dark mode recommended

do not copy this plot. i’m perfectly fine with inspirations but give creds. if this plot his stolen in any way, the post will be taken down and you will be blocked.

𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ✉️🖇️;; idk how long this story will stretch but if ya like it,, i’ll make more parts to it. not too many though. i wanna get to geto too (as promised). hope ya enjoyyyy. reblog to support meeee and if you want more :D (also lmk if you wanna be tagged for possible upcoming parts if i decide to continue)

another note: i finally made a masterlist. that shit took me 5 HOURS to make because i was fixing and adding so much stuff. i just wanted it to be pretty. ya should go look at it :P and should i make a AO3??? i see so many writers with them and i was wondering if i should do that too..

final note: guys,, remember this is my personal twist on the mid 90’s era so some things from current time will be put into the story (such as the ability to text without emailing one another or using a pager, familiar current time songs that are added into the 90’s era of this story, certain tv shows/movies that came after the 90’s)

₊❏❜ ⋮ continue to part three ⌒

“choso, we should make the house look like a haunted house!” itadori suggests. october was the season of spooks and scares (as yuji put it) and choso wasn’t into festivities that much but if he had to do it to make his little brother happy, he would do it.

the boys make their way to the nearby department store, letting yuji pick out what decorations should be put up in the house. for a little boy, choso didn’t even even pick up how significantly scary the items were because yuji wasn’t shitting himself out of fear.

“uh…yuji, i know you said you wanted the place to look like a haunted house…are you sure you won’t freak yourself out and start crying?” choso said, stifling his laughter.

“i’m not gonna cry.” yuji crossed his arms. “and i’m not scared of some dumb clowns. they’re just decorations, anyway.”

yuji was more mature than he looked…in the aspect of fear. he was a small boy but things didn’t scare him easily. you could say he’s a risk taker outside his moments of vulnerability. choso knew that he’d might jump back behind him, tightly holding the hem his tan sweater if he saw kechizu. the male finally smiles at the pink haired boy and nods.

“you’re right. they’re fake.” choso says calmly.

as they approach the checkout area, yuji sees the food area. serving simple things like pizza, hotdogs and drinks. the stuff you’d find at a concession stand of a sports game.

“can we get a pizza?” yuji asked. choso paused. he didn’t intend on spending 13 dollars on food from a department store. he had other plans anyway.

“you sure you want that? i was gonna get you a happy meal before we went home.” the male yawned, threading his fingers through his hair. the sudden mention of a happy meal excites yuji like a child on christmas morning.

“never mind, i don’t want pizza.” itadori quickly switches. choso chuckled, knowing how easy it was to get yuji to think about his choices.

“aw, cute kid,” choso heard a voice behind him. the male whipped his head around, his brown hair following along with him, only to see you standing there with a smile.

“is this your little brother?”

choso flushed a red color when he instantly remembered your face, almost making him feel bad for not calling you or texting you since you dropped off your number to him. he was feeling slightly embarrassed.

“uh..yeah, that’s—this is yuji.” he stumbles a bit, trying not to make his embarrassment known. itadori already knows the deal, so he waves at you with a big toothy grin, making you smile and wave back at him.

“um..what’re you doing here?” choso queried, trying to spark a conversation first for once. the male was obviously nervous and you could see his cheeks reddening the more he looked at you. if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he would explode right in front of your eyes.

“shopping, like everyone else,” you teased. “but really, i just gotta pick some stuff up for my mom and then i’ll be on my way.”

your eyes travel over to the shopping cart that yuji was clinging onto, looking at the halloweeny decorations and you smile.

“you don’t seem like the type to be into holidays really,” you start, “did your brother convince you?”

choso also looked at the shopping cart full of stuff and blushed even harder. he was already flustered enough. it couldn’t get any worse than this.

“oh—no..he didn’t,” he chuckled nervously, “i actually really like halloween. the scary shit—stuff…you know, the movies? they’re cool.”

you giggled at choso’s nervous attempts to speak to you about the festivities that he almost never participated in and the quick fix with his mistake of swearing in front of yuji like he wasn’t there.

“oh, so you like horror movies? yeah, you strike me as that kind of guy.” you said. you couldn’t help but notice his medium length hair, just like you had seen the other night when he was working, flowing in the wind that came through as the store doors slowly slid themselves open as customers exited the building.

the male wore an oversized tan sweater with a pair of joggers and some sneakers. you could tell this was a lazy outfit. something you’d call a ‘no one will see me’ outfit.

his eyes were tired and he had a stoic expression, aside from his profuse blushing that began to die down when he finally got the chance to relax, having his hands shoved down into his pant pockets. his irises were so pretty. a pretty shade of purple. you never seen anyone’s eyes look like his before.

the silence prolonged for a moment. the two of you suddenly ran out of things to say. this was perfectly fine for choso. he would’ve lost his mind if he had to keep talking. it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy talking to you. he was just too scared.

but it wasn’t long before that silence was disturbed.

“my big brother really likes you. he thinks you’re pre—” itadori starts before choso swiftly covers his mouth with his significantly larger hand, making you giggle once more.

“i’m sorry about that…yuji just likes to say random stuff when the silence is too loud for him.” choso said trying to cover up his embarrassment.

“it’s okay,” you smiled at him. your words seemed to ease his nerves a bit but it wasn’t enough to completely calm him down. you glance down at your phone when you feel it vibrate against your thigh.

it’s your mom texting you, asking if you’re on your way back.

“oh, sh—shoot,” you say, quickly fixing your mistake before you actually said it. “i gotta go. my mom just texted.”

choso is quickly snapped out of his embarrassment trance and his head swings over to look at you, his hair following along.

“you’re going?” he asked. through his dead and serious expression, you could see a hint of sadness. a very small change in his usual expression. you nod.

“yeah. but listen, you should call me. you don’t have my number just to stare at it.” you remarked before hurrying off, waving at him as you did.

once you were out of his sight, his eyes quickly struck down to yuji. he looked like he wanted to scold the poor boy for publicly embarrassing him in front of you but he decided against it and his expression softened.

“let’s just get home…” the male sighed.

choso was happy it’s his day off. he got to stay home with his little brother to help decorate their home with terrifying decorations for halloween. choso couldn’t help but smile at yuji’s futile attempts to scare him with the masks from the store.

“come on, you aren’t even a little scared?” yuji removed the mask from his face and shook his head to fix his hair, which was flattened and sticking to his forehead.

“not even in the slightest.” choso chuckled before ruffling itadori’s hair lightly. “what about your friends? you try to scare them yet?”

“megumi is almost never impressed. he’s kinda lame….and out of the question.” yuji hummed. “but i can get nobara. she’s always screaming.”

“well, you can do that tomorrow,” choso yawned, “you gotta get ready for bed soon. you got school in the morning and i don’t want you to be tired and falling asleep in class.”

yuji frowned before he’d hug choso. it took a moment for choso to process the moment, given that he wasn’t too used to being hugged. choso finally hugged the boy back before smiling softly.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

yuji nodded and smiled back at his older brother before making his way to his room.

when yuji had finally gone to sleep, the house was quiet, leaving choso staring at the ceiling with his hair in disarray and an unlit cigarette between his lips all while he laid on the bed, doing maladaptive night dreaming.

‘workin out’ by JID played softly from the small radio that sat on the windowsill. his eyes slowly traveled over to the shoe box that stood out from all the other boxes in his closet. there was a bright yellow sticky note at the top with what seemed to have your phone number on it along with your name.

the male sat up on the bed and walked over to the box, snatching the sticky note from the box then walking over to his laptop that sat on the umber colored desk.

choso opened the laptop and navigated to the facetime app and decided to punch in your number. he could feel his stomach turning as the low adverb jingling sound repeated itself.

while he waited for you to answer, he’d take one of the rubber bands off of his wrist and tie his hair back, leaving his bangs to hang down in his face. he even took the time to fix the violet eyeshadow that he always had around his eyes, staining his fingers each time he touched around his eyelids. and finally, he’d press down on the bandage over his nose to make sure it was still sticking.

you suddenly pick up, finally answering choso’s call. your room was a bit dark like his, except you had your tv going on in the background. it was loud enough for choso to be able to hear.

unlike choso, you were sitting on your bed with your laptop. you had your hair tied up in twin messy buns with a little bit of your hair hanging down in your face. you wore a black spaghetti strap tank top, revealing the tattoo on your shoulder, and a pair of grey joggers with mismatch socks.

“i honestly did not hear this thing going off,” you giggled as you pushed the hair out of your face. you had been downstairs grabbing yourself a drink while choso was calling. “i’m sorry i didn’t answer right away, though.”

“oh..no, it’s fine. you aren’t busy are you?”

“no, not really. i was thinking about finishing this show i was watching. have you heard of american horror story?”

“yeah, i heard of it. i just never got around to watching it. i’d rather watch movies than an ongoing series.” choso explained simply before he’d light his cigarette. you nod, completely understanding his side.

“shit, well, what movies do you recommend? horror movies, since we’re in spooky season.” you flash a cheeky smile at him. choso’s heart skips a beat when you finally ask him what he’s interested in. he pauses and begins thinking, taking drags from his cigarette.

“there’s one movie, i can’t tell you all of em off the top of my head,” he begins, “watch midsommar. it’s kinda disturbing but you might like it.”

“is it gory horror or..?” you ask before taking a sip of your drink as you began to type in the movie name into the search bar in another tab, scrolling through websites to catch any good details about said movie.

“you’ll have to see for yourself,” choso places two of his digits around the cigarette, gently adjusting it between his lips before it could slip out. you realize the longer you talked to him, the more comfortable he seemed to be but you could still see that he was nervous.

“maybe we can see about it together,” you suggest to the male. “whenever you’re free, of course.” you add quickly. all of a sudden, choso is blushing just as he did at the store earlier that day. you thought it was kinda adorable how he could look so disinterested to suddenly flustered and scared so quickly.

“i—well..” choso stammered, “yeah, sure…uh, we can watch tomorrow night when i put my little brother to bed. i don’t want him interrupting anything.”

you giggled, “aw, he’s so cute, though. but i get it. little kids can get in the way of a lot of stuff.”

the two of you conversed for what felt like hours. your voice was soothing to choso. each time you began to speak, he just imagined you calling his name…just once.

your call with choso ended around three in the morning, and your cheeks were pink, smiling to yourself as you remembered the random conversations that you two had not too long ago.

you hadn’t felt like this about a guy in a long time. while men were usually throwing themselves at you, choso was clearly the odd one out. he was a bit shy but assertive and smart.

choso’s voice was deep as it came from the depths of the ocean but his words flowed smoothly like butter when he wasn’t tripping and fumbling with his words trying to hide his embarrassment.

his style, his personality, the way he looked. in your eyes he was perfect but there were a million things stopping you from telling him you loved him.

what if he has a girlfriend already? what if he isn’t ready for a relationship? what if he doesn’t want one? he probably just wants to be friends.

aside from all those thoughts clogging your brain, you were aware that you’d be moving to fast by throwing that L word around loosely when you just met him a couple days ago.

“damn it.” choso sighed to himself.

‘you’re falling for her…but you don’t have time for her. what’re you doing?’ choso was beating himself up about the whole entire situation. another cigarette is taken out of the pack and lightened as he tried to calm his anxiety and spiraling thoughts.

he was going crazy. he didn’t know what he would do. he wanted you out of his head. he was starting to feel stupid for letting you swoon him as easily as you did at the bar.

part of him wished he never met you…

but he needed more of you.

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

⋆｡࿇ ·࣭࣪̇˖ 𖦹°༅༚

© EXORSIIAN | © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[breezy141]

INSPIRED - james marriott masterlist

any quotes in this are from pinterest !! i did not come up with any quotes or names of books !!

throwing your head back in annoyance you could not figure out what to write, to say you were currently dealing with writers block was an understatement. every time you thought of something to write, your brain would pick it apart and in the end it sounded absolutely ridiculous.

you were quite a popular author, you wrote books of quotes; some happy, some sad, some lustful, some angry and some romantic ones. you dabbled in full books, but they took more of a creative mind and you didn’t believe you were ready for that level yet.

the series of books was under the name the smell of books, they are the most popular amongst the more young people. people often posted pages on their insta stories, tagging you in them, which helped gain you a little more popularity.

but right now, you were sat at your desk, head thrown back and eyes closed. it was hard being an author, sometimes you will have moments where you are full of creativity and excited to write, other times you dread sitting down with your book and pen as you have nothing to jot down. it was already late at night which was only making you more anxious.

the sound of the door being pushed open startled you a little, turning around you saw your sweet boyfriend. “oh! i’m sorry i didn’t know you were in here, thought you were in bed” smiling to yourself, you shook your head.

“it’s okay, i came to write but i don’t really know what to write. you came to stream?” you asked leaning back in your chair further. he nodded softly, “if that’s alright with you darling, i don’t want to distract you or anything”

“it’s okay, i promise james.” he nodded and gave you a kiss on the forehead as he walked by, he sat at his own desk and set up a couple things.

“so, no inspiration at all?” he spoke looking over at you, you shook your head feeling quite annoyed at yourself. you used to be so good in thinking of things on the spot, you loved it but now it was almost like you were running out of fuel.

“i’m sorry angel, i wish i could help; i believe you will figure it out though, you have a creative mind and always find a way” smiling sweetly at him, you thanked him for his kind words and went back to staring into space thinking.

after a while, james began speaking to his twitch chat and reacting to tik toks sent to him. it was funny watching his reaction, but what was even better was watching him laugh at such silly things.

you caught yourself smiling at the fact of him laughing, it was a cute laugh, one that could immediately light up a room. his outgoing and precious personality was so attractive to you, whether it was for a camera or not. he was amazing and extremely perfect to you.

as you watched james many ideas came to you, you picked up your pen and began writing with ease.

“he looks just like a dream, the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen”

“he found his happy in me. like i found mine in him. in us. in this.”

“a may be the writer, but you’ll always be the words”

“home is whenever i’m with you”

“when he calls me pretty i feel like i’m floating”

and many more.

giggling to yourself, you were happy you managed to get more then 2 quotes down. james noticed your sudden happiness and smiled to himself, remembering to ask you about it all once he was done.

you closed up your book and put your pen in the mug james hand painted for you as a random gift one day. stretching your arms above your head, you dragged yourself over to james and gave him a kiss on his cheek before waving him goodbye and dragging yourself further to the bedroom.

-

you were all cozied up in bed, one of james large t-shirts on paired with some cotton pink pj shorts. otto laid on your stomach giving you your own personal hot water bottle, and a large fluffy blanket was lazily thrown over you. focusing on the book in front of you, you didn’t even realise james had opened the bedroom door and made his way over to the bed.

jumping at his presence, he chuckled a bit. “i noticed you had managed to get a couple things wrote down” he got into something more cozy and had slipped under the blanket with you.

“a couple is a understatement, i got loads wrote down. loads of inspiration too” you placed your book on the bed side table and cuddled up to james, otto soon jumped off of the bed and found his way into his own bed.

“oh yeah? what kind things did you write?” he asked genuinely curious. “hmm, you can’t know yet. just know it was heavily influenced by you” he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“your adorable, i love you” he said kissing you slowly, it was full of love and passion. “i’m proud of you for sticking to your job, instead of giving up like some people do” snuggling closer, you breathed in deeply, breathing in his musky scent. a scent you loved always.

[zelda-cooper]

Character Ideias - Darkwing Duck (aka Drake Mallard)

This blog is for Darkwing Duck writers who plan to write a fanfic, comic or anything that directly or indirectly involves the character Bushroot. The ideas may not be for everyone and everyone has their own different vision of the character, but this blog is for those who are experiencing writer's block or any other creative issues. I hope you understand and, if you use any of these ideas, please give me credit. Thank you for understanding.

Yeah, I know... It took a while but it's here... Sorry for the delay, it's just that my hyperfocus on Loonatics is back and it really messes with my reasoning...

"Excuse me, let me introduce myself..." •pushes me away• "HELLO, MY DEAR FANS!!! I, the great Darkwing Duck, managed to convince you to finally write a blog about me! You lucky ones, hearing only things about me! HAHAHAHAH!"

Sure, sure... Is the speech over? I have to get back to the blog, I'm completely out of patience today...

"Yeah yeah yeah... You know, guys? She lost the first version of the blog because of Tumblr's problem... And probably incompetence..."

I HEAR THAT YOU S-

"Anyway, keep the blog!"

Character's Past

This part is one of the ones that I think won't be that much of a problem regarding the origin of "how Drake became a superhero", because there are a lot of origins that he told in the original series... Even though I think that the ones he told in the episode "The Secret Origins of Darkwing Duck" are all lies and one of the only reliable ones is from "Clash Reunion".

"Wait a minute, are you calling me a liar?!"

I'm not calling... I'm sure...

"HEY HEY HEY!!! REPEAT IF YOU HAVE THE COURAGE!!!"

The fact is... Darkwing Duck's origin does have a basis and foundation, you can choose whether he incorporated the persona as a child or at the end of college in his fight against Megavolt. Now, when we talk about the Reboot... We have a small problem... We do know how he became Darkwing Duck in Ducktales 2017, the hero was his idol since childhood and he became an actor for that, then after the event with Jim Starling, he decided to incorporate the heroic persona into his life. So far, so good... But Drake's family was never exactly shown. And, I know, his ancestors were shown, but I mean HIS PARENTS. In this one, it really is a very free path for interpretation, however, I have some suggestions.

- Orphan

There's no way to escape that much, especially because Darkwing is inspired by Batman, and we already know what happened to Bruce... I'm not saying it should be the same, but at least have something similar.

- Toxic or problematic family

This is another factor that could be interesting and, if you want to consider the original version of the series that Negaduck is an alternate version of Darkwing Duck, it's a good starting point. I've seen some people use this and, honestly, it's valid. It could be one of the factors for Drake to actually be overprotective of Gosalyn and, at times, be a jerk to her (example: "Slime Okay, You're Okay").

- Normal family, but...

Now a more interesting one... We can consider that Drake did have a normal childhood, his parents were present and stuff. However... Why doesn't he talk about his parents? And why did he never introduce them to Gosalyn? Maybe he had a fight with them? Did he cause an accident that made him distance himself from his family? You can interpret this part however you want, whether it was Drake's fault or not, but considering his difficult personality... Maybe it was his fault... Speaking of guilt...

The Problems of a Problematic Personality

Now the fun begins... We all know that Drake is not exactly the nicest person in the world... In fact, he has a lot of problems... Whether it's his ego, his character, his relationships, his self-esteem, probably traumas he suffered... But let's start slowly... What are the consequences of Drake's personality? Let's start with his relationships...

- Complicated Relationships

I want to start with this factor because Drake definitely has problems here... First, we have Megavolt/Elmo, who, I know, was never mentioned in the original series, but in many headcanons people say that they were childhood friends. And, yes, it's cute and even cool to think that... But have you seen what Drake's CURRENT friendship with Launchpad is like? They are indeed good friends, but there were many times when Drake treated Launchpad badly, like in "Jailbird" and "Quack of Ages". If he treats LP badly, imagine Elmo, who at that time was also a person with no self-esteem and who was constantly bullied. We already know that Drake sometimes tends to be a coward (not like Bushroot, but he values his life a lot), so he probably didn't protect Elmo. Speaking of friendships... Now, if we take it to a romantic level, it doesn't improve the situation one bit... I've already written a blog about how Drake and Morgana's relationship is too problematic, so I won't repeat it... Now, regarding the Gosalyn issue... Even though he's a good father in certain aspects, he's also not... Whether it's because he's a jerk to her or because he's too overprotective... So, yeah... Their relationships aren't good... Worse than that, is the issue of his hero life.

- Failed Heroic Life

Okay... Where to start? Maybe the fact that he's mostly lazy and not very competent? Sorry, guys... But you have to agree that Drake is really very incompetent! He may have good intentions sometimes and even do the job right sometimes, but most of the time he only cares about fame and is driven by it, sometimes also driven by anger when someone underestimates him. So you can get an idea... Even as a VILLAIN, even if as a disguise, he is incompetent in and of himself, because instead of committing crimes, he ends up solving them unintentionally. Again, there are times when he does manage to do the hero's job right, but in the original series that's not the case. And I know it's a comedy series, but still, his deeds aren't exactly good...

- Psychological Effects

In addition to work relationships and personal relationships in general, there is another factor here... Drake has extremely low self-esteem and this causes the chain reaction that is the egocentric and temperamental personality that makes him problematic. But have you ever stopped to think about how this also affects him mentally? Let's be honest, the life of a hero probably causes Drake a lot of trauma, whether it be stress, burnout, relationship problems and, mainly, a feeling of failure. Drake Mallard, as a civilian, is a mediocre person (in the sense of being a totally average person with nothing special), but when he is Darkwing Duck, he manages to have the self-esteem he always wanted. And therein lies the problem... Staying comfortable in a fantasy, in a persona, is not good... Keeping the mask of confidence when your inner self does not have it and embracing arrogance has a big impact. You end up hurting yourself and the others around you and end up pushing them away, making you feel alone. And, as we can see, Drake does not exactly do well alone...

Eh, I... I think Drake is not well mentally... So let's try to talk about a lighter topic...:'3

Character Development

The character development in the original series is a bit messy, but it's easy to draw a line under it. An arrogant and lonely person who, with the help of people in his life, ends up changing and, even with adversity and internal problems, ends up becoming a better person and a better hero. It's a very basic line of reasoning and a "cliché" character development, but it's effective when done correctly. So, I'll just give you a few tips to help you with your writing.

- Work on the character's psychology

This may require some psychology study, but it's not that complex... Basically, you'll end up acting like a therapist/psychologist for the character. What are his fears? Why does he act the way he does? Why is it difficult for him to change? Use some base episodes if you can; the more you study more about the character's psyche, the more capable you'll feel about writing about him.

- Parallels of the hero and his villains

Again, this may require some in-depth analysis, but like Batman's villains, Darkwing's villains (depending on whether you're going to rewrite them or not) end up having small parallels to Drake. To give you some basic examples... Quackerjack could be a representation of Drake's "mask", how he performs his actions as a hero just as Quackerjack performs his actions as a villain. Bushroot could represent Drake's insecurities and his fear of being alone. Liquidator could represent how his ego and hunger for fame can lead him to be a despicable person. And Megavolt represents Drake's demons from the past, how his personality affects others and turns them into enemies or just hurts them. It's up to your interpretation.

- How Relationships Affect Drake

I've already said how much he affects people, but what about the other side of the coin? We know how much being Gosalyn's father affected him in a positive way, he started to care and have a more noble cause for himself. Lauchpad was a friend for him to vent and talk about his problems. Morgana, in my view, would end up becoming a safe place for Drake to be himself. Now, as for the Justice Ducks... You can interpret that however you want... But, in general, it would make Drake start to have a greater sense of leadership and more responsibility. However, there is one last topic that... This one, although optional, is one of the most interesting to explore...

The Trinity of Alternate Darkwing Duck Versions

This topic, as I said, is completely optional, but if you want to play with multiverse or alternate versions, I have some comments about that... Again, I'm going to play with Undertale's routes.

- Dictator's Route

Let's start with Darkwarrior Duck's route, who is a character that I find, honestly, very interesting... He's still Drake, but at the same time, he's not him anymore... And all because he lost Gosalyn... He lost the person who made him see beyond his greed for fame. But now... She's no longer by his side... You can say that she died (because alternative futures are something that's complicated to work with and, honestly, I don't have the patience to work with time travel) or something else, but the loss of Gosalyn will result in him becoming a dictator who probably killed ALL of his villains and has a completely distorted view of "justice".

- Negative Route

This is his route based on the Negaverse. You can consider Negaduck to be like the original and he's an alternate version of Drake. But if you take into account the 2017 version, you can play with the concept... You can make Jim a good person in the Negaverse and Drake a bad person here. I'm not saying to turn Jim into "Darkwing Duck", no... But making Drake a villain is an interesting idea in the Negaverse, regardless of whether this universe will have a "Darkwing Duck" or it will be just the Friendly Four who stop him. There are thousands of reasons you can give to make Drake become "Negaduck" here, it's just up to you to choose.

- Archer's Route

To finish the trinity, I wanted to talk about an alternative version that only appeared in the comics: Quiverwing Duck. This version of Drake also lost Gosalyn, but also... We didn't see the "Launchpad" version here at any point, so... It could be that he didn't just ask for Gosalyn, he could also have lost Launchpad. We can consider that this Drake lost his support network for some reason, but unlike Darkwarrior, he remained at least sane. He kept his true sense of justice... However, he is still lonely... In this version, you can explore Quiverwing Duck's loneliness and how much this trauma of losing his loved ones affected him.

Reference Suggestions

As a side topic, I will recommend some characters that might be interesting to use in writing your version of Drake Mallard/Darkwing Duck.

- Batman from DC Comics

It's the most obvious choice, since it's inspired by Batman (in part), and it could also be interesting to explore the psychological side of the character.

- Caitlyn from Arcane (Spoilers Alert)

One of the most recent, let's say... Although her arc was "weak" in the end, she's still a good choice. Whether it's to show Drake's inexperienced side at the beginning or his downfall when he becomes a dictator.

- Blitzø from Helluva Boss

A character who struggles with his relationships and has a toxic personality, who is struggling with this side of himself and has to face the demons of his past. Could it be more perfect for Drake? -w-

- Pink Diamond/Rose Quartz from Steven Universe

One of the most complex characters in fiction, one that you can either love or hate, but it is the perfect representation of a problematic person who also has to fight against these problems and who hurts people without even realizing it. It is really essential to work on this side of Drake and his constant struggle, also the side of him being "truly neutral".

- Azula from Avatar The Last Airbending

A recommendation that is unusual, but can be a good basis, whether for the version of Drake as Darkwarrior Duck or him as "Negaduck", his decline into insanity.

Conclusion

So, are you happy now?

"Of course! Worthy of me!"

Do you want to finish it for me? I really need it...

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Just this once..."

Well, my dear fans! Thank you for your patience in waiting for my wonderful blog to arrive! It had to be rebuilt from scratch due to some technical issues, but now everything is fine. Again, thank you for coming this far and leave in the comments any suggestions, opinions, compliments for me and other things. Now I have to go, the villains of Saint Canarian don't rest day or night! Goodbye and, don't forget... Stay Dangerous!

[heartofwritiing]

Dance with me

paring: musicianbur x fem!reader

summary: you’re at a music festival with lovejoy, you and wilbur can’t help but be pulled together when a certain song from your favorite band plays.

authors note: I got inspired by this clip I think it’s from ash’s tiktok, its one of my favorite wilbur clips and for some reason the idea of dancing with wilbur at a music festival sparked within my weird little brain lmao. enjoy this quick fic as (i like to call them) my writers block is killing me ughh

warnings: none, just fluff, established relationship, reader is a member of lovejoy, very short, and unedited!

Sweaty bodies screamed around you, shouting back lyrics to the band that was preforming on the main stage you were just on hours before.

It was one of your favorite bands Arctic Monkeys. you still couldn’t believe you were here, only dreaming of performing on stage in-front of big crowds like this when you were little, putting on concerts in your living room for your family members. It was all thanks to the band you had joined a little over a year ago.

Lovejoy was looking for a keyboard player to only do live gigs. After some time and getting to know them more and more, watching them grow into their style and become best friends with all the band members. You had unofficially joined the group along with the other respective trumpet players joining on tour.

Now you were traveling the world, getting to see new places and having an experience like no other.

Wilbur and you had only met three years ago during quarantine, almost right away you knew he was the one. You had joined in on a call with a mutual friend to play some online game. since then, you had met in person several times, moved in together, joined his band, and the rest was history. Getting to travel the world with your partner was an absolute plus.

You rocked along to the rhythm of the guitars, the beat of the drums pounding through the speakers stimulating your brain. Ash and Mark, were standing to your right, bobbing along to the music with grins on both their faces.

Ash was filming the stage, panning around to show the camera Mark, who was watching the stage intently. Ash unexpectedly moved the camera to you noticing you looking at him and now was your opportunity to show off your goofy side. While still dancing, you started making faces, this caused Ash to hold back laughter.

You continued this, oblivious to the fact Wilbur was sneaking up behind you. You missed Ash's quick glance behind you, and a pair of arms came around your waist, pulling you flush against a person's chest. You let out a surprised yelp, you almost were about to elbow the person in the ribs for grabbing you but the smell of musky cologne flooded your senses. it instantly made you discover who it was. Ease came over you knowing it was Wilbur.

Taking a breath, a smile inched up your lips as he placed his chin on your shoulder and rocked you side-to-side to the beat of the music. You said nothing as you crept up your arms to rest on top of his, lacing your fingers together in a tangled mess.

Wilbur hummed as you leaned into his touch once the song ended, cheers erupted around you but soon died down due to the next song starting up with the rift of the gutair. Letting out an audible squeal you recognized the track, quickly spinning out of Wilbur’s arms to face him he saw the evident smirk on your lips as you took his hands in yours once more.

“Dance with me?” you asked playfully.

How could he say no to you? Wilbur noticed how your hips started to move with every beat of the drum, taunting him to move with you. Your eyes sparkled mischievously casting a spell and drawing him to your further.

Wilbur took your left hand and placed it on his shoulder. Then your other hand is in his. You felt his arm go around your waist and he began to move in a sway.

The crowd around you appeared to vanish. Having your arms around your lover was the only thing that mattered in your mind. He took you into a swinging step as the music got faster, and you wondered when the crowd had dispersed to make more room for you.

Wilbur spun you around quickly by the arm, causing you to trip over your feet. With a gasp, you collided with his chest. Giggles crawled out of your chests. He helped you stand upright as your eyes crinkled with happiness.

Your laughter died down, and he leaned his head to your level to press your foreheads together in a blissful moment of contentment.

Taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @scenefaez

if you want to be added or removed let me know!

[kasagia]

Bring me a dream pt. 1

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/general Kirigan x fem! sun summoner! reader Summary: Everyone has their soulmate—someone they are meant for. This was due to Sankta Maradaia, who decided to connect two souls destined for each other during their sleep to show them their other half, Sankta also sent them a tattoo of their loved one name, so that souls thirsting for each other can finally be united. Aleksander never had even one, short dream about his soulmate. Just a tattoo that has taunted him for ages. The Darkling believes this is his punishment for creating the fold, another privilege of being condemned. To never know his soulmate. But one day, a dream about a sun summoner comes to him. Someone equal to him. Someone meant for him. And he promises himself to find you at all costs. Not just because of your powers. Nonsense from me: This is an request from @morrigan-crowmwell I hope you like it! 💙🖤 P.S. I know it took me soooo looong again and I'm so sorry. I'm trying to fight my writer's block. 😅 I used a quote from Taylor Swift's Blank Space. Inspired by the song Mr. Sandman - SYML Wairning(s): mentions of blood, abuse, fighting, violence Word count: 6,7k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @morrigan-crowmwell ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

I've been waiting a long time to meet you in my dreams…

"My soulmate is great! I've seen her fight with a REAL sword! Can you imagine that, guys?! My father still teaches me on that wooden. Ugh! I envy her so much."

"Mine swims faster than either of you! Of course, he's not as good as me, but I've seen him shoot a bow. What I'd give to join him on a hunt!"

"And you, sahdow-boy? You sit more quietly than usual, don't be shy! Show off what she or he is like."

Aleksander tensed up, feeling the other boys' eyes on him. The young shadow summoner felt a blush of shame appear on his face. He hated such conversations. He already couldn't fit in with a group of other kids, and he was constantly reminded that he was different. Weirdo. Proteus.

"I… I haven't dreamed of her yet. But I know her name!" he tried to reply in a tone of voice that mimicked their enthusiasm. He couldn't show them that he was weak. That the fact that he had never seen his soulmate before hurt him. That he was a changeling again.

"My father also started dreaming about my mother late. Maybe she just wasn't born yet?" his only friend put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He thanked the saints for Ivan. He was a light in his darkness for now. And heartrender wasn't talking about his shadows at all...

"Did you hear, guys?! Shadow-boy will be dating a baby!"

Aleksander was furious. He felt anger rise up in him as the other children laughed at his soulmate. Without knowing when, he summoned his shadows and plunged the clearing into darkness, stopping the laughter of the other children.

"Hey, take it easy, shadow-weirdo! We're just kidding!"

"The freak, as usual, can't control himself."

Voices came out of the darkness, and the footsteps of children receding were all Aleksander could hear before he was alone with his shadows again.

Even Ivan's hand disappeared from his shoulder as shadows blanketed the area.

He was utterly alone. And he hated it.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, smiling.

18 birthday. Your big day.

You adjusted the necklace your grandmother had given you around your neck, proudly displaying the amulet with your birthstone. Your mother's earrings hang proudly from your ears. Nostalgia is starting to get to you. You so wish she were here.

"I've lived in this world for so long that, for ages, I've felt that time moves infuriatingly slowly. But ever since you came into the world, I've felt it slip through my fingers. You've grown up so fast... you look like your mother." the woman sighs as she stands behind you in the mirror and looks at you tenderly, fixing your braid.

"I wish a madraya was here." you say sad. Grandma puts a hand on your shoulder and turns you around to look her in the eye.

"She is here, my sun. In our hearts and memories. As long as you can picture her before your eyes, she will always be with you. Watching you from heaven." you both stand in silence, remembering your recently deceased mother.

"I have something for you." the woman speaks as she pulls a beautiful gold bracelet engraved with your family symbol from her sleeve.

"Oh, grandma, you didn't have to… it's beautiful."

"And practical. Materialnik made it specially for me. Thanks to this, no one will see THAT on your wrist."

"Why should I hide it?" you ask, confused, when she helps you fasten the bracelet on your wrist where was your soulmate's name on it.

"I want you to be careful."

"Careful of what?"

"Powerful men." she replies seriously, stroking your cheek tenderly. "There is nothing worse in the world than the greed of men. Than their excessive ambition. We are the sun summoners, honey. You are my blood, my pride, and my only solace in this world. The love of men is fatal. You don't need it, and trust me, you don't want it. Promise me for your dead mother and my daughter..." your grandmother grabbed your wrist, turning it so you both could see that the black ink, that showed up this morning, disappeared. Aleksander Morozova. "Do not seek him. Avoid him. Treat him like the plague. Do not repeat the fate of your poor mother. I couldn't stand losing you because of another man's lust for power."

"I promise you, babushka. I will not share my mother's fate." you promise with tears in your eyes. Your mother trusted the wrong person... you were not going to repeat her fate.

"And you will always wear a bracelet and necklace from me?"

"Yes. I promise." you solemnly promise, while looking into her eyes. You two were one of a kind. Summoners of the sun. Long-lived. Powerful. You have to stick together if you want to survive in this cruel for Grishas world. "Can I go now and enjoy the summer solstice festival?"

"Yes. Have fun, sunshine. And return home no more than two hours after dark!" she screams after you as you run to get some freedom... to forget who you are for a while.

"That boy keeps staring at you!" your friend shouts through the crowd of people having fun and nods her head at the boy by the fire.

You glanced at the side she indicated. She is right. A handsome brunette with dark eyes looks straight at you. He looks away when he sees you noticing him and pretends to be talking to the boy next to him. You roll your eyes at your friend's behaviour and continue drinking your beer.

"And what do you think I'm supposed to do about it?"

"Go and have fun!" she says, offended that you don't know. "I've known you since you came here. You haven't had a single boyfriend, you're shooing all the suitors away. You're 18. Go and flirt with him, or I'll take care of this handsome one."

You are laughing at her words. You look at the boy again, and you can't deny that you feel a strange pull… a bond that wants you to come to him. But you don't listen to it.

"So take him. I'm going home," you say as night falls completely. The flame of the torch and bonfire is the only source of light.

"Really? Will you waste an opportunity like this?" you just laugh with a shrug at her words and make your way to the path through the woods leading to your house, pushing your way through the crowd of people.

You leave the clearing where the festival is taking place and enter the forest. You sigh with relief to be alone, away from people's voices. You walk confidently into the darkness without being afraid of it as you watch the stars above you.

You are walking down a familiar path when suddenly you hear the crunch of leaves and branches behind you. You turn slowly with your hand close to the hidden dagger at your hip.

You see in front of you the same boy who was staring at you by the fire. You watch him warily, waiting for his move.

He takes one slow step towards you, his dark eyes never leaving yours. Without knowing why, you stare spellbound into his eyes again, unable to utter a word. It's only when he crosses halfway between you that common sense returns to you and you raise a dagger in his direction.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you." he says, stopping and staring at the blade glistening in the moonlight. "Of course, only if you don't hurt me either."

"Why are you following me?" you ask without lowering your weapon, still holding it as a warning between you two.

He frowns, looking from the dagger to you. "I have no bad intentions. I saw you going this way and this forest… is not the safest place."

"I know. Nowhere is safe." you reply coldly, eyeing him carefully. "Which doesn't answer my question. Why did you follow me in here?"

"I wanted to make sure you made it through safely." you snort, amused, not for a moment believing the stranger's concern for you. He stays where he is, not moving for a moment, undaunted by your reaction. If anything, curiosity only grows in his eyes. "You haven't experienced much kindness from others, have you?"

"I'm not going to answer a stranger's question like that. You do not know anything about me."

"I can see you're too distrustful, and if the lack of trembling in your dagger hand tells me something, it is that you've threatened someone more than once."

"That's right… shouldn't you run as far away from me as possible, then?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him as you watch his impassive reaction…but you certainly didn't expect him to raise the corners of his… pretty mouth in response.

"I'd rather walk you out and make sure you're okay... or anyone who dares stand in your way." you bite your lip, holding back a smile so you don't react to his teasing.

"I doubt you'd be able to do anything."

"I'm tougher than you think." he says, answering your challenge with a mischievous smirk. The sparkles in his dark eyes shine in the moonlight… and you involuntarily agree with your friend. He was handsome… and dangerous.

"I don't need a man to play my prince on a white horse. I can be my own knight."

"Well, if you want my opinion…" you cut him off before he could finish.

"No, thank you. I have my own." he laughs at your words, shaking his head in amusement as he licks his lips.

He stares at you intensely, and you know that if you were anyone else, you would have pounced on him by the campfire. But you were a sun summoner. You couldn't trust someone like that. Even if you wanted to...

"Very well then... but, I'd feel better walking you through the woods at least. May I?" he asks, extending his hand towards you. "Or are you too afraid that you will enjoy my company?"

You snort, placing your hand in the crook of his arm. You could have let him. Clearly, he has had no ill intentions so far. You glare at him defiantly as you see a spark of amusement in his eyes and a wild smile on his lips.

"What?" you ask dryly.

"Nothing. I just thought you couldn't look prettier… you seem to glow even more when you prove people wrong."

"I'm too smart to be seduced by you." you warn him, looking at him carefully as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You feel your cheeks blush slightly.

"Maybe that's why I'm so drawn to you?" he asks, whispering, staring into your eyes.

You're drowning in the moment. His smell, the depth of his dark eyes… and without knowing why, the feeling is… actually the opposite of what you felt when others tried to flirt with you.

"Careful... you've stared into my eyes for too long to say you don't care." he says, sparks of malice appearing in his eyes. You snort and are about to respond to his taunt when his expression suddenly cools and he pulls you into his chest.

You're about to yell at him and attack him when suddenly an arrow flies right over where you used to stand. You recognise its distinctive arrowhead. "Drüskelle." you whisper.

You don't waste time. You back away from him and grab your daggers. You can't show the world what power you wield, so you limit yourself to melee combat. You're also not sure if your companion is Grisha.

You kill the first of them, and next to you, you hear the sounds of your companion's fight. He's doing fine. You deal with most of the Drüskelle pretty quickly when suddenly one of them comes up behind you. Before you can engage, your companion pulls you back to his chest. You see nothing. He makes sure of it when you hear Drüskelle's desperate cry from behind you, who wanted to kill you as well as the others who managed to stay alive. Suddenly it's quiet again... but it's darker around you than before.

You gently pull away from him as he releases his strong grip on your hair. You look around, seeing Drüskelle's bodies as if they were… cut.

"I… how?" you ask, dumbfounded, not believing what you see. You turn your gaze back to him. "Are you a Grisha? Heartrender maybe?"

"It's... a little more complicated." he says, looking down at your hands and bloody daggers.

"I'm guessing you're not a Grisha, then?"

"It's a little more complicated." you say, repeating his words. He looks up and stares into your eyes again. Without knowing why, you both giggle. "I... thank you. I wouldn't handle them all alone."

"No problem." He says, still staring at you. Without knowing why, you lean towards him.

You swallow, smelling his scent again, involuntarily remembering the warmth and safety his arms gave you. You shouldn't feel that way about a stranger. And yet...

"I… I should probably go now."

"Me too." he whispers back, but you're both too hypnotised to move. Not thinking much about the bodies around you or the blood on your clothes.

For some strange reason, the eyes of the other and this closeness seem much more interesting to you both than the world around you.

He leans towards you too. A short distance separates you as you both stare at each other in silent anticipation and excitement. However, that moment is effectively cut short as you hear another movement around you.

You both draw your daggers and aim at where you heard the movement. There is a woman behind you. Her dark eyes are remarkably similar to those of your companion. You are surprised to see how his irises have already been etched into your memory.

"You find yourself a friend?" the woman asks him mockingly, staring at the two of you.

"I'm going, mother." he says, obviously waiting for her to leave. But she stands there, watching you curiously. He sighs in annoyance and turns to you. "See you soon." he whispers, placing his dagger in your hand.

You shiver at the skin of his hand on yours as unimaginable power rushes through you. But that's not what keeps you staring at him speechless… and you think you both know it as he gives you a wistful, longing look before turning away.

You can only stay there and stare at the receding silhouettes of the two of them. Then you are all alone again. You turn around and continue on your way home. With a small smile, you tighten your hand around the black dagger.

You were coming home to your grandmother. It was winter, and it was getting harder and harder to drive through the snow from town to your house. But someone had to do the shopping.

As you walked, you heard the sounds of a struggle. Interested, you veered off the path to the house and walked slowly through the snow, trying not to alert anyone to your presence.

You froze as you saw a group of teenagers fighting the same boy who gave you the dagger and helped kill Drüskelle.

The rational part of you told you to get out of there and not deal with this stranger. And you almost did, but then you saw one of the girls stab him in the back and shove him into the ice hole.

You threw the wicker basket with your groceries in the snow and ran towards them. You used your light and stunned them all into unconsciousness. Not enough to kill them, but enough to make their heads hurt for days and some of them lose their eyesight.

With your light, you melted the ice in the river and pulled the mysterious boy out of it by his shoulders.

You held him close as he coughed, spitting water into the snow. You only let him go when he's back to normal.

"Do you attract trouble, or do you just like getting into it?" you ask him with a laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere. You take off his soaked coat and cover him with one of yours.

"Both, I'm guessing." he says, still shivering. You don't know if it's from the cold or from the attack.

"Get up. We need to keep you warm." you speak and help him stand on two legs.

If he notices the bodies of his unconscious tormentors, he decides not to say anything or ask how you did it. You pick up the basket you dropped earlier and guide both of you to your house.

Surprisingly, he doesn't protest when you enter the house, and luckily for you, your grandmother hasn't come back yet.

"Stay here for a while. I'll go get some dry clothes for you." I speak as I disappear into the other room for a moment.

"How did you overpower them?" you hear his question. You swallow and try to think of an answer as you walk back to the main room.

"It's... complicated." you reply, handing him the clothes. "You can go there and change. I'll put some water on for tea."

He nods and takes the clothes from you. He wants to say something, but instead he sighs and goes to the next room.

You place the kettle over the hearth and wait for the water to boil for tea for the two of you.

"Do you often save people from trouble?" he asks jokingly as he joins you. You smile when you see that he's feeling a little better. He still has a red nose, though. And you're pretty sure if you took his hand, he'd be icy.

"Selected only. Feel honoured." you snort, amused. His laugh makes you shiver. A strange warmth begins to spread from your chest.

"I am." he replies, looking deep into your eyes. He leans closer to you, examining you intently, searching for any reaction from me that would indicate that you are uncomfortable with him.

He finds nothing.

So he leans in a little more. Your noses brush against each other as he waits, giving you the option to either kiss him or pull away from him.

You feel your heart beating fast... you know that if he was a heartrender he would have leaned forward and kissed you a long time ago. You also know you should back off, he was a stranger, a man, you shouldn't trust him.

But after the look he gives you and a glance at his enticing pink lips, you lean forward and press your lips uncertainly to his.

His cold lips warmed up.

You close your eyes as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer with one hand on your waist and the other in your hair. You sigh, feeling how wonderful it feels, how proper it is to kiss him even though you don't even know his name. What's undeniable, however, is how great you feel around him.

But you feel something else… like an unimaginable amount of power flows into you with his touch. How your light calls for release. And for a moment, you feel like you're going to lose control if you keep kissing him.

Fortunately, before you stupidly reveal your powers, you pull away from each other, startled by the sound of a whistling kettle.

You both laugh, resting your foreheads against each other. You eventually pull away from him, take the kettle off the hearth, and shift your gaze to it. He's warmer from your kiss than from the fire.

You shift your gaze towards him. And experimentally, you take his hands in yours. You feel the surge of power buzzing through your veins again. Your gaze returns from his warming hands in yours to his irises, and you get lost in his dark eyes again.

"You... are the amplifier." you whisper as you look at him. "That's why they wanted to kill you... they wanted your bones."

He swallows, moves his gaze from your eyes to your joined hands. He doesn't take them out of your warm embrace as he nods, trembling without looking at your face.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asks, realizing full well that you must be Grisha to sense his ability.

The very idea that you, the only person who has shown him any kindness (not knowing him at all) will suddenly want to hurt him after what happened between you two a moment ago makes him sick.

But Aleksander has been through it more than once. Last an hour ago. Despite everything, he still holds a strong grip on your hands, trembling unconsciously.

Your response is to pull him close to you in a tender embrace.

"You're safe." you say simply, and from the way he holds his breath before burying his head in your neck after a few seconds of complete shock, you know that you must be the first person in a very long time to show him such affection.

And you're realizing that you don't need to know his name to know that it's good to hold him in your arms.

And Aleksander feels warm for the first time in a long time. He feels like he's holding the sun. But the most striking thought for him is that he is no longer alone...

"Is that all, General?" Ivan's question pulled Aleksander out of his thoughts. He stopped stroking the tattoo with his soulmate's name hidden under his kefta and glanced at the heartrender.

"Yes, you can go." he sighs, shifting in his chair and rubbing his eyes with his hand.

Ivan looks like he wants to say something but changes his mind at the last moment and leaves the war room, closing the door softly behind him.

Aleksander sighed, staring at the map in front of him. The king was going to bring down Ravka. Only his Grishas were able to hold Ravka's borders. He shuddered, thinking of all the good soldiers the Fjerdans, Drüskelle and others had taken from him. He felt powerless. And if he knew anything in his centuries-old life, it was that he hated that feeling.

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at his watch on the wall. It was long after midnight. He sighed as he got up from his chair and walked towards his bedroom. He won't help his army if he's barely conscious. He took off his kefta and pushed the books to one side of the bed. He lay down in the free space and fell asleep as soon as his head rested on the pillow.

Something was different… otherwise, Aleksander could sense it the moment his dream began.

There was a strange feeling in his bones; his heart was beating much faster, excited, as if it couldn't wait for what was about to happen.

He was alone again in the deep black shadows. He took a step, and suddenly the shadows parted. He looked up and gasped as he saw a figure in a black-golden kefta in the distance.

He'd had that dream many times before… especially when he was a little boy. That he was irretrievably lost in the darkness.

He had never met anyone in the depths of his shadows before. He took another hesitant step towards the mysterious figure, not taking his eyes off it, afraid that it would disappear at any moment.

But it's not.

A figure in a gold-black kefta stood with its back to him.

Aleksander is afraid. He's afraid that it's just another trick of his mind, that as soon as he utters the name that has haunted him both asleep and awake for hundreds of years, you'll disappear, leaving him utterly alone in the darkness of his shadows again.

But Aleksander had been patient enough for a long time... maybe he could finally give in to what he most wanted, what he missed most, what he craved for like a foolish boy.

He came over to you. Hesitantly and slowly. As if he could spook you at any moment. He raised his hand, but instead of touching your arm, he met air as you took a step away from him and slowly turned to face him.

He held his breath in anticipation, waiting for you to pull down your gold-black hood to reveal your face to him. He watched in fascination as golden threads of light slowly began to flow from your hands.

He had been accustomed to the darkness for centuries. But he couldn't take his eyes off you as your threads of light slowly grew stronger. He watched in utter awe as your light changed from gold to pure white after dispelling the shadows around you two.

His eyes widened as your hood fell back to reveal your familiar, beautiful face. He sighed, letting out a long-held, shaky breath.

And when you took his hand, which he still held out to you, and ran your thumb over his palm? He completely lost himself in your irises, feeling your light grow stronger through its amplifying powers, enclosing the two of you in a silver and gold orb.

But before he gets a chance to reach out to you and caress your cheek tenderly, to feel again that warmth he always felt from you and which turned out to be your light, you suddenly disappear. And with you, your warm light.

His cold shadows enveloped him again…

He wakes up and finds himself in his bed, in his chambers. But for the first time in a long time, instead of being disappointed that he didn't dream of his soul mate this time, he's relieved. And happiness. Excitement. And something he's clung to so desperately all these centuries, much to his mother's taunt... he feels hope.

He doesn't know what has changed. Why suddenly did the saints decide to reveal your face to him after you had met so many centuries ago? For a moment, the bitter thought crosses his mind that he could have had you by his side much sooner. That together you could carry the weight of eternity... but he shakes his head.

He had a chance to implement all his plans now... and to meet his soulmate, whom he had missed for so many centuries. All he had to do was track you down.

And he's not going to lose.

"I'll find you... moya solnishko." he whispers to himself, fondly stroking the tattoo on his wrist. "And when I do, I'll make sure you'll never hide from me again." he promises, placing his lips on the tattoo on his wrist.

He would do anything to finally have someone to call his own…

"I was hoping to find you here." Aleksander turns around in surprise when he sees you standing behind him.

"How did you know?" he asks, putting the book back on the shelf. You see the title out of the corner of your eye.

The Lives of Saints

"I know many things." you say, leaning against the shelf. "But honestly? I didn't take you for someone who prays to saints. Or maybe your ego and ambition are so big that you want to become one of them?" you say teasingly, smirking at him. He rolls his eyes and takes your hand, leading you out of the library. You let him lead the two of you into the woods.

"You must have wanted something if you took your precious time to find me." he starts when you both walk a familiar path. This is where your strange "friendship" began, if you could call those stolen moments, kisses, and nights between you two like that… how poetic that it will end here as well.

"I am leaving." you speak briefly without looking at him.

You feel him tense up. It was probably not the answer he ever expected. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him swallow.

He clears his throat, trying to look composed. However, his dark eyes, as always, reveal his true feelings to you. You wonder if you're the only one who can read him like that. "Why?" he whispers.

"Apparently my warning was… not strong enough. One of the people who tried to kill you complained to my grandmother. I have to leave."

"I can talk to her…"

"No!" you cut him off quickly, letting go of his hand and standing in front of him. The last thing you need is his intercession with your grandmother. "I know you mean well, but it's the final decision."

"I see." he says coldly, looking away from you. "Is there anything else you wanted?"

"Yes." you say, pulling his dagger out of your sleeve, handing it to him. "I wanted to give it back to you."

"It's a gift. I'm not in the habit of taking back what I've given someone." he snorts, offended, at which you giggle, amused. He turns his gaze back to you, raising an eyebrow.

"I knew you'd say something like that. That's why…" you pull out a second, identical dagger to the one he gave you. The only difference is that the dagger's handle is decorated with a sun… an eclipsed sun. "I did it." you say, handing it to him.

He takes the dagger from you and examines the engraving. "Why it?" he asks curiously. "Why the eclipsed sun?" his gaze is burning, inquisitive. You know there's no turning back now. You take a step back, his dark irises following your every move.

You shrug. "Guess, shadow summoner."

He stares at you in shock. A thought… a ridiculous and beautiful thought crosses his mind. He knows there's no point in chasing after you. You'll run away from him anyway. But he can't help but scream after your receding silhouette. "What's your name?!"

You're smiling. But you don't turn around to look at him one last time, to steal one last look at his dark, piercing eyes, to get one more moment... Instead, you scream over your shoulder: "Call me sunshine!"

You disappear from his sight. Deep down, you know you'll meet again… But you weren't going to share your mother's fate… even for such mesmerising, dark eyes as his.

After hundreds of years, you've become accustomed to dreamless sleep.

It was your conscious choice. A promise to grandma, mother, and you. You didn't pray to the saints to bring you a dream about your soulmate. You didn't want him... even though his name on your wrist, hidden by your grandmother's bracelet, had tormented you for hundreds of years.

That's why, when your first dream started, you knew it was something bad. You knew your grandmother's necklace had somehow fallen off your neck. And so, you were dreaming. You dreamed about him... and he probably dreamed about you.

You galloped on a horse. It was early morning. The clearing where you galloped was shrouded in mist. The cool wind hit your skin, and your cloak billowed behind you as you tried to lose the black rider following you.

People usually run to their soulmates. They wanted to meet them at all costs. Not you. But the saints have never been merciful to you… maybe because you never prayed to any of them.

Or have they stopped letting you prolong the inevitable.

That's why the black rider soon caught up with you. He rode by your side for a moment, then shot forward. You knew he was trying to block your way, so you sped up and managed to catch up with him for a moment. You rode side by side for a while, but you didn't dare look and atface.

But your wishes no longer mattered.

He sped up ahead of you and stepped sideways, causing your horse to stop and stand on two legs. You held on tight to keep from falling. It wasn't until your horse had calmed down and stood on all four hooves that you loosened your grip on the reins.

"Moya solnishka..." his whisper made you shiver. You lifted your head and looked into those familiar, damned dark eyes that were the cause of all your troubles.

You sat still as he rode his horse closer to yours so he could touch your cheek with his hand. His thumb caressed your skin gently. "I've been waiting a long time for you."

You shivered, hypnotised, as you watched him lean closer to you. A familiar warmth spread through your body as you felt him amplify your powers. But his lips were too close for you to notice anything else than him; his touch and dark eyes, which were looking only at you...

You wake up suddenly. Your hand goes to your neck. Panicked, you discover that your grandmother's necklace is not there… you must have lost it in a fold.

"Fuck." you whisper, running your hand through your hair. The only defence against dreaming about your soul mate is gone. And now he knew who you really were... just as your fears were confirmed.

He was your soulmate. General Kirigan, Darkling, Black Heretic, the boy who was your first kiss hundreds of years ago…

The monster who created the fold…

And as it turned out… Aleksander Morozova.

You look around the room, realizing you're in a tent. And the red keftats of bustling healers confirm your worst fears.

During your journey through the fold, the ship was attacked by volcra. And you, obviously not wanting to die or let other people die, decided to use your power. You've done it hundreds of times before. Only much more discreetly… and you've never fainted from using so much of your power.

Your grandmother must be cursing you from the grave. She warned you a thousand times not to go near Ravka or the fold… and even after her death, you didn't listen to her. Now you have to sneak out of here somehow before word about the sun summoner spreads around the world. Hundreds of years of hiding will be wasted just because you weren't careful enough…

He was excited. He couldn't stand still.

His soulmate, his sun summoner, the solution to all his problems, his little sunshine was here.

He had been waiting for this moment for centuries. He had imagined it thousands of times. However, he never thought that his soulmate would be brought to him by his heartrender after they captured her after rescuing a ship full of people from the fold.

He dismisses everyone from the tent. Only he and she remain.

"It's been a long time, solnishko." he speaks softly. He is prepared for her silence and gives her a moment to process the situation. But he hoped to see a little more enthusiasm from her...

So he takes the time to look at her. On noting all the changes he might notice in her… her cool, indifferent look in those eyes that captivated him so much is one of the worst changes.

He clears his throat. You are still silent. You still ignore him. And Aleksander can't stand it.

"I had an interesting dream recently…" he begins, but you don't pick up on it. You don't really take your eyes off the floor… he's starting to get annoyed.

"You won't look at me?" he asks, waiting for your reaction. However, he finds nothing. Just a blank stare at the symbol he has chosen over the course of several hundred years. Eclipsed sun.

"You won't even comment on that? What a pity. I've always liked your sharp tongue." he says, taking a step towards you. You watched him carefully. He's a little triumphant to see that he's managed to catch your eye. Saints… he missed those damn eyes. "The cat stole your tongue? Or did they finally cut your tongue out for your insolence?"

"I thought you liked my sharp tongue." you snort sarcastically, avoiding his gaze as you realize he won't come any closer.

"She can talk!" he says, clapping his hands. "I was afraid something had happened to you, sunshine." you flinch at his words.

"Don't call me like that." you growl angrily, turning your stern gaze on him.

"You told me to call you that yourself. Don't you remember?"

"And now I take away your right to do so, Black Heretic. Or maybe you prefer a Starless Saint? I think I remember that you wanted to become one; what a pity people didn't even try to remember your name." you taunt him, and for a moment you see that he is offended, even hurt by your words, but his eyes quickly become blank, unmoved by your words.

As if he had heard them hundreds of times before and gotten used to them…

"I don't remember you being so… hostile to me before. What has changed?" he asks instead, watching you carefully and looking for answers in your eyes. But after all these years, you too know how to hide your emotions behind a stony mask of cold indifference.

"Maybe you didn't know me at all?" the question hangs between you for a while. You see for a moment that he hesitates with his answer, but his indecision is quickly replaced by a mocking, derisive smirk.

"When I heard about the mysterious Grisha, who can summon light and was stupid enough to throw herself into battle against hundreds of volcra, I immediately thought of you. And guess what…"

"At least one of the two of us should be concerned about Grishas' welfare. Why am I not surprised it's me and only me?" you see him clench his fists in rage when you insinuate that he's selfish, that he doesn't care about his people.

"Or maybe you don't know me at all?"

"I know men like you."

"There are no men like me. There are no others like us. And there will never be. I thought you had enough time to accept and understand it." he says bitterly, staring at you, disappointed. "Anyway, I have to go through the formalities. Your sleeve, please."

You stand still, too stubborn and angry to cooperate with him. He snorts, expecting your reaction, and takes two steps over the distance between you. You lift your head slightly, giving him a defiant look. He just gives you that irritating, confident smirk and grabs your hand gently, rolling up your sleeve himself. His dark eyes never leave yours. Even when his ring pierces the skin of your forearm.

You're so intent on each other that there might as well not have been that beam of light between you that shot the moment he made a small cut on your arm. It's just you and him. And from the unreadable smirk on his face, you might as well expect anything.

If you used to do it easily, now you can't read his eyes anymore. A skill he had to acquire over time. Hiding true emotions.

You both have changed. Each in its own way. He was no longer the nameless boy you met. And you weren't the mystery girl he used to know. He became the darkness he so often summoned... and you became the light you were meant to carry. If you once had anything in common, now you are completely strangers. Time heals wounds... or deepens them, but it always and undeniably changes people.

But neither of you could deny the connection between you. Even after all this time and even after what happened. It was a bound that was pulling you both towards each other…

"You and I are going to change the world, Y/N." you shivered hearing your real name for the first time come out of his mouth as lightly as if he had always called you that. Like he's always known you by that name deep in his heart.

Even if you didn't agree with him, you have to admit that he was right...

It's gonna be forver or it's gonna go down in flames...

[adrienneleclerc]

JJ Maybank fanfic idea

Calling all JJ Maybank writers!!

This idea contains spoilers from season 4 part 2 so if you still haven’t seen it…

I have a fanfic idea where when JJ saves Kiara from Groff, it’s the reader instead. NOW instead of hugging her like he did in the show because keep in mind, GROFF HAS A FUCKING KNIFE, JJ stands in front of her, blocking Groff from getting to her, they do fight a little, Groff manages to cut JJ again, but YN knocked him out with some brick she found.

Noticing he’s cut, she calls out for John B and Pope while applying pressure to his wound and leaving that place with the crown she took from Groff, holding up JJ. John B asked what happened, she says that it was Groff and that we need to get JJ some help, they do, but JJ is pretty much out of it because the person who’s fixing him up is saying the first wound is infected, YN is worried AF.

While JJ is knocked out, he dreams of an alternate reality where he stayed with Wes and Larissa and was raised as a Kook, Groff was kicked out of the Genrette residence, he was raised as Jackson, being friends with Topper and Rafe, going to Kook Academy, and only sees the pogues once in a while. He sees John B whenever he’s on Ward’s boat with Rafe, sees Pope when he delivers groceries, sees Kie at the Wreck and during her Kook year, but he has never come across YN at all, until the kegger at the boneyard from season 1.

Instead of Topper saying “stupid pogues” because JJ didn’t give him the beer, he said it because Y/N spills beer on him BY ACCIDENT, someone bumped into her and made it spill. She’s apologizing profusely, Topper not taking it, she keeps saying it’s an accident, John B has his hands on her shoulders saying to forget about him, Topper says “stupid pogues”, him and John B fight, “Jackson” tells topper to leave them alone, topper tells Jackson that he’s a kook, he was born a Kook, he was raised a Kook, and he’ll die a Kook

JJ wakes up, says that he had a terrible nightmare, he was friends with Topper, and says that he’s glad that Groff handed him for to Luke because despite the fact that his father was shitty, he had the best friends ever, his real family, and being a Kook didn’t feel right. Mainly because he never got to meet YN who he is madly in love with.

Just a little idea, if y’all like it and want to use it, please tag me! It’s inspired by a Switched At Birth episode

[sockslikeautumn]

Please write more of yandere golden boy (Julian Peyton) and his transformation into a golden boy.

Julian Peyton

Yandere golden boy aftermath

Male original character x gender-neutral reader

SFW, 0.7k+ words, kinda angsty, addiction, trauma, reader, and OC are 18+!

Read the first chapter for more context!

Trigger warnings: Suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentions of self-harm, depression, implied turning yandere/obsessed, cigarettes addiction.

The reader has suicidal thoughts mentioned here!

You are entirely responsible for what you consume.

Thank you so much for requesting this! I literally cried when I read it because I had been struggling with writer's block for months. This isn't all that much of a chapter, but it is important so Julian's character doesn't feel rushed or out of place when becoming our yandere golden boy.

Reading the first chapter again, it does feel like I was creating one of those unique-esc OC's, like "Oh, he's also a lost child from the royal family and oh, he's also a half-dragon, half-demon mermaid!" But I rolled with it either way this time even though a part of his and YN's lore felt a bit too inspired by my own life than it should have.

If my one, and in fact, first ever fan and anon that I don't know personally wants another chapter added, I'll make it special just for you :)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Walking into his house didn't feel dreadful for the first time. Sure, the familiar scent of nicotine didn't fail to hit his nose, but he didn't feel like running away instantly. 

He took off his shoes, old and worn-out. His footsteps creaked on the floorboards and he missed the feel of not being barefoot. Vulnerable. Usually, his head would snap to the living room to see if Mason was still breathing, but now that was the least of his worries. The bedroom door shut behind him. 

Trash, musty clothes, and cigarette packs brushed under his feet. It hadn't come to him that he could possibly cut himself on any glass from the empty bottles, without his will this time.

His safe haven didn't feel the best anymore. Something else felt much more inviting and more… pleasant than the feel of his dirty sheets and the darkness around him. 

You. Little ol’ sweet you from class.

What was your name again? He knew the professors often praised your name but he couldn't remember it.

It was average, you were average. Always trying to act like a know-it-all kid, blending into the group of people he never cared to look in the eyes. Though, now you couldn't seem to leave his brain.

Why... Why did you stop him?

You didn't have to, who would've even forced you to help him out? You weren't lying to him, were you?

No. It was too sincere. Too real to be fabricated.

You described yourself as worthless. You had perfect grades, friends, and a family that cared. What would you be struggling with? You weren't poor, you weren't bullied all your life and you didn't have to worry about someday living on the streets. Yet, you were so similar. 

You were suicidal, you were cutting yourself, seen on your wrist, and you were clearly going through a lot of pain. Was that why you felt inclined to help him? 

He glanced at his bed stand where his phone was, sunlight was trying to creep through his window curtains uninvited. With a groan, he went to grab it, the thing feeling like a brick in his hands. His eyes burned under his glasses at the light.

A solid 46% percent was in the corner and after a couple of minutes, he found the Facebook of his school. It didn't take long to find your face posted on the account, his starting to burn.

You weren't average-looking like he previously thought. Dorky smile, pretty eyes, and a diploma stating second place in your hands. It had your name written. 

Y/n L/n...

Blood rushed to his cheeks like never before. An unfamiliar part of him stiffened, a type of stiffness that was itching only for you. Yearning for the first time.

You were so beautiful... You had these sparkling eyes, silky hair, pearly teeth that he wished were like his, and soft lips he'd one day run his tongue over.

“Fuck..” He groaned from the bottom of his throat. He imagined his thumb was running over your cheek and not the many cracks on his phone screen.

What were you doing to him? He's never felt the need to feel someone's embrace, touch them, maybe even kiss them…

Whatever it was, he didn't want it to ever end.

Will he ever see you again? He did have school tomorrow, would you feel excited to know he hadn't killed himself when you left? Would you feel excited to see him?

He knows he shouldn't feel this way, you were just like the rest of them. Making him feel wanted, loved. But maybe now, he'd find a way to keep that love for himself. Keep you for himself.

Maybe tonight he'd finally clean his room, brush his teeth, and clean his messy hair. You'd like that for him, right? You'd want for him to not fetch his favorite razor and watch the skin roll between the blades, right?

His dry lip rolled between his teeth, your voice playing in his head like a broken record.

"Please, Julian, let me help you."

So shaky, like how the touch of your hand felt.

"Please, Julian."

Just his name alone on your tongue would have prevented his death.

"Julian..."

Just his name would do wonders for him.

Masterlist for Julian

I'm open to all constructive criticism, not bullying!

[bookishtheaterlover7]

How Long Could We Be A Sad Song?

a/n: Well, it's here! The fic that I'm most anxious to write and post. Honestly, I wrote this and got inspiration when I was in my most upset and angsty mood. Which was a few months ago, and it's been sitting within the pages of Maddie (my writing notebook), and my drafts. And somehow through a very frustrating bout of Writer's Block, as well as, the fact that I was reminded and paired my own feelings to "Taylor Swift's You're Losing Me", put it into a moodboard and boom! This fic was born.

Normally, I'd dedicate this to a special friend. But this time, I'd like to deviate, and dedicate this to myself. Weird, I know. This time though, this fic will remind me that every emotion, and every feeling is valid and if vented properly, can and will flourish into something productive and beautiful.

Alright. That's enough talk from me. I hope you all enjoy the fic. And I also hope I didn't crush you, cause well... it's angst, what else can I say? 😆

Chris Evans x Secret Girlfriend!Reader

Requested: No

WARNINGS: Panic Attacks, Angst, Established Relationship, Relationship Drama, Sad Chris, Sad Dodger

Heartbreak Divider by @firefly-graphics

Enjoy!!!

*Y/C/F/M = Your Close Family Member

Outside, the night was quiet, and peaceful. The crickets calling into the night air, frogs singing in unison, adding to the ambiance. Even the noisiest neighbor seemed to have taken some time off from being the thorn on everyone’s side. But while the world seemed almost frozen, Y/n sat in her living room, her heart pounding in her ears, and a knot forming in the pit of her stomach after she told the Love of her Life that she wanted to end their 6-year relationship. The sad part was, Chris seemed so lost as Y/n’s words hung in the air.

“I-I don’t understand...” He finally said, looking up at her from resting his head between his legs, across their living room. The space feeling more like chasm the longer this dragged on.

“I know you don’t, Chris.” Y/n sighed, getting up from her chair, and kneeling beside Chris, before taking his trembling hands in hers, hoping to give him some comfort, knowing that he could spiral into a Panic Attack in his fragile state. She knew because, if she didn’t do it for herself, she’d do the same.

They let the silence of their built home surround them, like a warm blanket. Both knew that they were only delaying the inevitable, but they selfishly wanted to hang on to what little time they had left together.

Time felt like it slowed, as Y/n’s gaze remained focused on their joined hands. Taking her back to a time years ago, on a bench, when Chris first saved Y/n...

She had been touring New York with her family, unfortunately, the crowds were too overwhelming for her, and while they were forming their lines to enter the theater of some play, Y/n couldn’t focus her breathing long enough to look at the marquee, and her chest felt tighter and tighter, as she told *Y/C/F/M that she’d like to grab a bite from the stall she saw near a bench, a few ways back, and left before he/she/they could protest.

She took advantage of the open air, and tried to regulate her breathing, by taking slow deep breaths, before arriving and collapsing on the bench. Resting her head against the back of it and feeling and inhaling the passing fresh breeze. The tightness in her chest was still there, and she continued taking deep breaths in order to regulate her breathing, not even noticing the handsome stranger, standing next to her.

“Uh, hi! Excuse me? Miss? Ar-are you okay?” He greeted, his blue eyes gleaming, as Y/n took a big breath before answering.

“Huh. Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine, Sir. Just feeling a little overwhelmed. Is all.” She laughed, wiping her cheeks. Just noticing that there were tears running down them.

“I get that. No matter how many times you do this, or come here, it can still get overwhelming... May I?” The stranger asked, gesturing to the empty space next to her. To which she nodded and scooted over a little to give him some room.

He put his bag down between his legs, opened one of the pockets and pulled out a couple of tissues, before handing them to her. That Y/n gratefully accepted, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

“The city is actually quite beautiful, but I’d prefer it if it didn’t have so many goings on, you know?” She said, breaking the comfortable silence that settled over them.

“Oh, I definitely know. It’s places like this right here, though, that helps.” He said, admiring the way the bench overlooked a cluster of buildings in the most picturesque way.

“Is that an invitation to meet here again?” Y/n laughed.

“Maybe... Are you going to take me up on it?” The stranger laughed, his face expressing hope.

“I might...” She smiled, holding her hand out, now being able to breathe easier.

“Y/n.”

“Chris.” He replied, taking it and shaking it.

It wasn’t until Y/n returned to the theater that she realized WHO she had just met. And it definitely took her a while to shake it off, and, even if it seemed like a fluke at the time, she was pretty sure that Chris winked at her from the stage that night.

She was thankful for how he helped her. And it just became a thing for them to do the other, even a couple years later, when Chris was presented a way to possibly earn money during the pandemic.

Y/n focused her gaze on the mantel, her mind wandering to when she and Chris first made this place into their home. Moving things around, deciding which items gets put on display, what color the walls are gonna be... Back when everything was possible.

“How time flies...” She trailed off.

“Y/N/N. Baby...” Chris cried, his voice breaking at the end. Which caused Y/n to swallow a sob too.

“How can I make this better? I can fix this for us.” He said, hopping down from the seat onto Y/n’s level on the floor.

“That’s the thing, Chris. You can’t.” Y/n cried, pulling her hands away, and wrapping them around herself, in an attempt to give herself some comfort, as well as ground her.

“This is the most cliche thing that I’ve ever said, but it’s not you, it’s me. I can’t handle it... It’s getting too much for me, and the sad thing is, it’s not even your fault, because it’s my own feelings, and you’re just doing your job...” She ranted, her heart going a mile a minute, her chest feeling tighter.

“Hey. Hey.” Chris said, gently taking her hands, placing one on his cheek, and cupping her cheek, allowing her to follow his breathing, slowing hers down.

They let time pass, just holding the other close. Letting the other’s presence bring their calm. Like always.

Chris has just realized how much of a colossal fuck up he just made. How the fuck did he not notice?! That Story went from wholesome to “What did I just do?!” in just a few hours.

His heart was racing a mile a minute, and he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. Pacing back and forth on his balcony, the fresh air rendered useless in relieving him.

“Hey. Chris, everything’s going to be alright, okay?” Y/n said, putting one hand on his shoulder, getting his attention on her.

“Deep breaths. 2 seconds in, 3 seconds out. C’mon, Babe. Do it with me.” She smiled, helping him breathe through his attack.

Some time later, Y/n helped him onto their couch. Dodger hopping on next to Chris, allowing him to pet the little guy. She had left the room to grab him a glass of water. Which after handing it over to him, she sat down behind Dodger, hand on Chris’ knee, letting her presence and silent assurance say what words may fall short on.

“We can do this, Baby. We can work through this, fight it.” Chris said, pulling back to look at Y/n’s eyes, determined.

“No, Chris. We can’t. I can’t.” She said, pulling away, and standing so that she was facing away from him, the view from their window her only comfort in this moment.

“I know that you want to make this work, because you’re you. But I can’t let you. Do you really want to stay, when I feel like a ghost in my own relationship? I literally could send you the biggest most obvious sign, and I don’t think you’d hear me.”

“But I’m here, Y/N/N. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Chris pleaded.

“Yeah. What happens when you need to go, Chris? When they need you to do something, again. And I have to see pics of you and her, knowing full well that that’s supposed to be me. On your arm, announcing our love and our relationship to the world. Taking on every comment, every hate, every piece of scrutiny, together. Instead, the world believes in that sham, because they don’t know I exist in your life.” Y/n cried, turning towards him, not even bothering to hold her tears back anymore.

Chris tried to reach out for her, but she took a step back. Not letting him hold her, knowing full well that if he did, everything will feel right, and she won’t be able to do what she needed to.

“This is just temporary, Baby. It’ll soon end, and at some point, we can walk out of those doors, and be able to show everyone.” Chris said, tears shining in his own eyes.

“You’ve been saying that for years. And honestly, you don’t even know when will it end exactly. And it’s destroying you. I know that you only did this to help your family, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your own happiness.” Y/n said with conviction, her gaze filled with so much intensity, Chris avoided it and made his way to their room.

“You know, I’m right, Chris.”

“Well, has it ever crossed your mind, that maybe, I’m doing this for us? That maybe, it isn’t just for myself and my family? But for our future together?” Chris yelled, exasperated.

“And you know, that I have never cared about any of that! I don’t care if you’re some world-famous actor, or some rich gazillionaire, or whatever. I care about you, Chris. I don’t know why you could never see that.” Y/n sighed in disbelief, turning away from Chris, heading out the door to grab her bags and leave, forever.

“Wait. Baby, please wait.” Chris said, grabbing her wrist, and holding it gently, not wanting to hurt her, but make one last stitch effort to make her stay.

“I love you, isn’t it enough? I’m all yours. No part of me is ever not going to be yours. We just need to hang in there a little longer.” Silence filled the air, Y/n remaining silent for what felt like hours, until she finally spoke.

“You know I will always love you, too, Chris. But I can’t stay and end up hating you as a result. I wouldn’t be able to survive that. I’m sorry.” She said, looking at his gorgeous eyes, committing them to memory, before pulling away, and continuing her short walk to the door.

She had one foot out the door, when she felt a small tug on her pant leg. Looking down at a sad Dodger, whining, begging her to stay.

“Hey, Bubba. Don’t be sad. I will never not love you. And I need you to make sure, your Daddy remembers that too. Can you do that for me?” She said, kneeling down and petting him while smiling through her tears, as Dodger barked in reply, licking her face.

“Alright. That’s my good boy.” Y/n said, giving him a final pet before nudging him away from the doorway, and closing it behind her.

The silence wasn’t as comforting without her there. Even as Dodger assumed his duties, nudging against Chris, as he petted him. He felt numb, like a huge chunk of himself was removed and no way to fill the hole.

“It’s just you and me now, Bud... Just you and me.”

a/n: You guys still good? I hope it wasn't too bad. I may need to write something to balance out the angst, but that'll be a while... 😬

Special thanks to the best girls in the world for encouraging me, and getting me through my panic attacks to finish this. I couldn't have done it without you. Love y'all! 🥹❤️

And I'm also pretty sure that this'll be the only Chris Evans as himself fanfiction I'll ever write or post... We'll see.

But will this be my last Taylor Swift x CE/Character song fic? Definitely not 😉

Until the next one! Stay safe and sane, Everyone 🫶

❤ Booky

Main Masterlist

Chris Evans Characters Masterlist

Taylor Swift x CE/Characters Songfic Masterlist 😉

Taglist: @nescavaneck @jiyascepter @royalwriteroftheuniverse @femefetalelevelingup