#in my room there's a desk built into the wall. its too low for me

[skunkes]

going to be trying to fully organize/clean my room soon (maybe) and why's getting rid of stuff so hawrd like what if i really really want to reread thru books i read in middle school someday

[fishyvamp]

“make me small”

Dead by Daylight Pairings: The Executioner X GN!killer!reader Rating: M | Mature | NSFW 18+ Word count: 1.5k+ CW: degradation, heavy consensual violence, light fingering, sub!reader, monster fuckery, choking, denial, subspace, thigh fucking Summary: You're pent up and need someone to put you in your place.

The rage feels like fire in your veins as you stalk through the dark fog, Knives along your chest feeling just a bit too heavy. The dark voice inside you purred and praised you for your good work. You felt too big, as if the space inside you wasn’t enough to contain the fire that threatened to spill out and burn everything in its path. Mindlessly you had found yourself in front of Midwich, the elementary school decrepit and falling apart even if it was in better shape out of trials. You rolled your shoulders, the realization whispering exactly what you needed, Him. 

Mind singularly focused, you stormed in growling lowly clothes still soaked in blood from the trials. You could tell He had visitors. You’ll just chase them off, tell them to find somewhere else to loiter. Someone else to waste their time with.

Pyramid head sitting down, sharpening his blade, on a chair comically small compared to his mass frame. Head tilting upwards instantly knowing why you were here. The room feels colder, his visitors bolting from the room, the legion members jumping windows and fleeing. You did wonder why they were here, but the thought vanished the moment the large man stood up jamming his blade into the floorboards before approaching you with heavy boots thumping with each step. 

Your eyes are wild as you look up feeling ready to explode. The Executioner was unphased by your posture, everything at this moment was routine. When you first arrived no one would go near you. The blood lust built up after each trial with no downtime, no way to get it out, and no real release like you had in your world, the rage lashing and attacking anything that spoke or so much as moved in your direction.

The only one who made any headway in calming you was Him. He pushed you harshly against the wall, a massive hand drifting up your throat, and pressing harshly, you gasped for air, but you didn’t fight. You never did, but the lack of oxygen brought a warm fuzzy feeling in your head that had your eyes fluttering, “Tell me what you need.” he growled, voice echoing in the steel frame.

“I’m too big,” you grunt, “make me small.” the words would almost be a plea if your face wasn’t twister anger, and rage. You can hear a huff echoing against the steel, the clock tower chimes air raid horn going off, the pound of the bell loud and clear shaking the school, echoing in your chest. ”Beg,” his voice low and breathy. Your skin prickles as a shiver overtakes you.

You close your eyes focusing on your breathing, on your heart, on the way the cold air of the destroyed classroom felt. “Please…” you speak softly, your body relaxing, he presses into you harder. It’s like he wants to crush you. “Please what?” He demands squeezing your throat tighter. “Please, use me. Fuck me. Crush me, choke me. Just please remind me of my place.” You look up desperate, eyes half-closed as you struggle to breathe. “Where is your place?” he asks, loosening his grip just ever so slightly.

“Under you,” you manage to breathe out. Your core clenches hearing him laugh, grabbing you by the throat and slamming you onto the teacher's desk. You watch as he removes his frame a black dripping shapeless void where his head should be, glowing white eyes, a long tongue flicking around wildly trapped in his mouth with teeth too sharp to be human. The large man grabs your thighs pulling them apart just so he can grind into you feeling the heat of your sex it has him throwing his head back groaning. 

“This what you want?” He growls leaning forward, elbows resting on the creaking wood, caging you to the desk. You nod your head silently, craning your neck to look at where his eyes should be. “This all you good for.” he hisses as if this very request offended him. His hips grind harder, one hand supporting your back while he rough grips the back of your skull. “Just a nasty whore.” Your eyes close softly, gasping for breath you focus on the way his clothed cock rubs against you. The way it nudges against your sex. Grinding through the very fabric that separated the two of you.

“Sinful,” Pyramid head gunts slamming your hips together. His tongue coaxed your mouth open pushing in, wet appendage filling your throat, you gag and buck. Eyes watering as you try to swallow all of him. Desperate to please him. Desperate to make today the day he finally fills you with that heavy cock.

The Executioner purs feeling you choke on his tongue, exploring deep inside you stopping before he tastes the acid of your stomach. He enjoys the way you struggle to breathe with him inside you. The tasty feeling of you fighting yourself not to try and get him off of you. He enjoyed the conflict that rooted itself inside you. He enjoyed the way that bloodthirsty monster inside you fades the more he forces you down. Forces you to take him and everything he gives you. The giant man twists and curls his tongue inside you, the appendage curling up and bulging in your throat. His gaze was intense as he glowered down at you. Watching you try to claw at him, try to breathe, everything about you desperate.

He pulls out of you softly. Chuckling at you, watching you gasp for breath tears staining the corners of your eyes. Beautiful, he thinks flipping you onto your stomach and yanking your pants down just enough to expose that pretty ass for him. His fingers dipped down to trace your hole pressing in slightly as he just shook his head. He can feel that you’re trying, that you want this, but not yet. 

You whine feeling him press a thick finger into you curling and twisting hitting your sweet spot having you arch your back mewling loudly, desperately clawing at the desk struggling to find purchase anywhere. “Quiet,” he growls, pressing your head into the desk. Large hand pressing almost painfully down, You can hear him shifting fabric before a heavy cock finds its way to the curve of your ass gliding between your cheeks. Slow and gentle, your mind focuses solely on the feeling as you try to lift it.

“Please,” you whine, face tight as you fight your body trying to not come off as pathetic as you feel. “Please,” you repeat. He leans forward pressing you down with a large hand still pinning your face harshly against the desk. “No,” you moan, feeling the way his voice rumbles against his back. 

“Not this time.” His fingers leave your hole, making you whine in discomfort from not being filled anymore. you have to bite your lip to stop the desperate sobs that threaten to escape. The beast shifted once more, pressing himself between your thighs. “Be good and squeeze for me.” he hisses thrusting slowly pre cum lubing between your thighs as he moves slowly groaning darkly as his hips move. His long tongue falls out feeling you press your thighs together tightly. Sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. You need this, you need him. You could feel your empty hole twitching desperate for more than the finger that has long left it.

Pyramid head just chuckles, his hips moving at a steady pace, the cock was easily the size of your forearm, you didn’t care if it wouldn’t fit, you still wanted it, still wanted to feel it burn as it stretched you. Still wanted to have it split you open like the needy whore you were. You just had to settle with feeling as it rubbed against your sex. Your juices leaked onto it as he continued to thigh fuck you. “Please,” you were starting to feel like a broken record. He picks your head up slamming into the desk, pain blooming from your head. “No!” he growls, moving faster, cock twitching between your thighs. 

“You listen the first time I tell you.” His words were dark, the world spinning. That actually fuckin hurt. You gasp for breath feeling him falter. He must be close, the thought all but confirmed as you are yanked off the desk and forced to the floor the cock inches from your face. A thick hand frantically stroking the cock while the other held you in place. You look up, tongue falling out as you anticipate what he wants you to do cum splashing on your face as he covers you with his spend.

It doesn't take long before he pulls against his groin, growling at you, “clean your mess up whore.” He speaks in such a dark and low tone you can feel it vibrating down your spine. You look up, eyes half-lidded as you begin to lick the softening shaft. The Executioner groans as you work your magic. This was just the start of a very long night. You were completely feral when you came in and no doubt would need a lot to silence that pesky voice in your head. He'll take his time, and you'll enjoy every second of it.

[bullet-prooflove]

Past Mistakes Part 5: Choices - Mike Duarte x Reader

Tagging: @nessamc​   @xmoonknightlyx​   @jayblackpanther​   @crazy4chickennuggets​   @annetje​   @mysoulisasunflower​    @littleone65   @thesandbeneathmytoes​    @storiesofsvu​   

Part One: Try  

Part Two: Hope (NSFW)

Part Three: California

Part Four: Favours

McGrath’s office was larger than Mike expected however he could still see the echoes from his tenure as Deputy Chief of the Bronx Gang Unit. The walls were painted navy blue, the hue making the room feel more enclosed, suffocating. The commendations were framed, the stark white certificates practically shining against the paintwork. The American flag sticking out from beside the mahogany bookshelf. Each and every single one of the books was a leather bound classic he had never read. The desk was large and ostentatious, neat, and orderly unlike his own. Everything seemed to have a place, and nothing deviated from it. Mike fought the urge to pick up the stapler, he knew how McGrath hated others touching his things.

The other man was standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared through the blinds at something on the street below.

“It’s been a while.” McGrath said, inclining his head towards Mike

“Over two years since you were promoted and moved to Manhattan.” Mike responded, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. “Shall we get this over with?”

“You wanna tell me what this is all about?” McGrath asked before returning to his seat. The chair was tall backed and made of brown leather. It was built like a throne and when McGrath sat in it, he clasped the arms of it like a monarch overseeing his territory.

“Three years ago, you wanted me to confess, to tell the truth about what really happened when I was under.” Mike reminded him.

“And you didn’t.” McGrath recounted stiffly. “What you did almost cost me my career.”

Mike leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on the surface of the desk. “I am willing to give you what you want, I will talk to IAB, I am willing to go to jail if that is what it takes but you need to let her go.”

McGrath tipped his head back and laughed. It was a harsh sound, it grated across Mike’s nerves causing him to grind his teeth as McGrath rose to his feet.

“Do you think you’re that important?” The left side of his mouth tipped up into a smirk as he shook his head. “That this is all about you?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Mike said quietly, his dark eyes boring into McGrath’s. “What this is all about?”

McGrath stared back.

“She made the choice…” he began.

A choice…

You’d had no choice. He knew McGrath well enough to know how the options would have been presented to you, the way he would have twisted those words. He’d had you between a rock and a hard place and you’d picked the only way out you could live with. It infuriated him because he should have known, he should have had some sort of grasp on the situation, but he’d been ruined after that last stint undercover, too self-absorbed to see what was happening right in front of his eyes. At the time he thought he deserved the punishment, that you’d finally seen him for who he was in the aftermath of the assignment. He thought that was why you’d left, and it had sent him careening off the deep end.

“What other choice did she have?” Mike snarled, jabbing his finger at McGrath. “Turn on me, the man she loved or end up dead or brutalised by the First Nationals.”

“Love?” McGrath snapped with indignation. “You think she loved you? A Lieutenant in the Bronx Gang Unit, what did you even have to offer her? A ride in your vintage mustang?” Mike felt the muscle in his jaw twitch, a low growl escaped his throat, it was everything he could do not to wipe that smug fucking look off of McGrath’s face. “She was fucking me, a Deputy Chief, a man who was going places. She took the assignment because I asked her too, because she wanted to please me.”

Fury tore through him like a concussive wave, threatening to destroy everything in its wake. His fist clenched, the skin over his knuckles turning white, his muscles taunt as the rage simmered underneath the surface of his skin.

“You’re lying.” He said, his voice raw with emotion.

“She tasted like cherries.” McGrath’s forefinger glided across his lower lip as if in memory. “She smelt like Dior perfume. And she felt like a fucking dream.”

Each word was like a gunshot to Mike’s heart, because every single one of them was true. It was like the other man had jammed a Colt 45 between his ribs and pulled the trigger. It was agony, it was anguish, and it was grief exploding through him like an IED. He could see a glimmer of the truth now, that crucial piece of information he had been missing.

“When I told her to drop you, she did it so fast it was pitiful.” McGrath’s smile twisted cruelly across his face. “You were like a fucking dog, pining for her. It was pathetic.”

“You’re right.” Mike said quietly. “This was never about me.”

He could see it clearly now, how it had all played out. When he’d come back from those few weeks undercover, he had been a mess, too blinded by his own demons to see what was going on with you. He remembered the way you looked that night, when he’d come home to find you in his apartment, you’d let yourself in with the key he had given you. Your skin was pink from too much hot water. Your eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. Allergies you had told him at the time. When he curled up with you that night your scent had been different, instead of the fruity shower cream you used, you smelt like his soap despite the fact you complained it dried out your skin. You were wearing his clothes, his sweats from the academy and one of his V-neck t-shirts. He’d found your dress in the trash a few days later, he thought the chiffon must have torn when you’d caught it on something.

“This was about punishing her because she didn’t choose you.” Mike said as he fixed McGrath with a scathing stare. “I remember that you don’t like being told no, and you certainly don’t like other people touching your things. Even when they don’t actually belong to you. That’s what happened isn’t it, Tommy? She said no.”

There was silence between them. Two wolves, locked in a battle of wills, each one vying for the prize. McGrath was the first to look away.

“You’re disgusting.” Mike spat as he turned his back on the other man.

“Don’t ruin your career for her Mike, she isn’t worth it.” McGrath warned him as his hand enclosed on the door handle. Mike twisted his head, his eyes burning with ire as a savage smile crossed his features.

“The both of us wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

Love Mike Duarte? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[competitive-potato-farmer]

Curious as to why you would love to live in the converted drs office if u dont mind sharing

hello! i don't mind sharing at all. (the converted dr.'s office in question, for those who haven't seen it)

firstly, i am just tickled by the novelty of living privately in a building that is so obviously designed "for the public".

but specifically, "public use" buildings like this one have features that genuinely appeal to me, because they're designed as working spaces. in my current bedroom (and the rest of my house), i often feel like i don't really have a great work space --a lot of my art supplies and things like that have to be stored in a way that makes them somewhat inaccessible or invisible, and i don't have a nice big table, workbench, or countertop to sprawl over. the converted doctor's office building has that lovely office space with an enormous desk and cabinets (that could easily have their doors removed to make their contents visible). this 'house' would be great for someone like me who hopes to build a career that primarily involves work-from-home. built-in cabinetry and counters in most rooms, including bedrooms, appeals to me for other storage and functionality as well. the reception window in the waiting room provides a compromise between the breeziness of an open floor plan and the guidance of a wall, which i think contributes to good furniture placement and a really cool vibe as a social space. the checkered linoleum and low/no-pile carpet are intended to be durable and easy to clean, even under lots of foot traffic, and the drop ceilings, as well, are designed for ease of maintenance.

certain features of the building are not for the employees, but for the customers: the hydraulic self-closing door, the lit exit sign, the bathroom handrails. those features wouldn't be bad to have in a private home, either! the building also has its own parking lot. as someone who loves hosting guests for parties, this would be really convenient for me and my friends.

i will acknowledge the obvious lack in the bathrooms and kitchen. however, i don't think it would be too unreasonable to have a shower or two installed to make (at least one of) the restrooms into full bathrooms, and the kitchen is even easier to rig up with appliances that you can just plug in and use, like a portable cooktop (or multiple) and a toaster oven (or multiple) --and, of course, a refrigerator, which you often have to provide when you buy a regular house anyway. the sinks in the breakroom, exam rooms, and lab area are not huge, but they're definitely big enough to wash dishes in --possibly even laundry, although i would probably just take my clothes to the laundromat if it were impossible to hook up a washer and dryer in the building.

so those are my thoughts on the clinic-turned-house! thank you for asking. i was really excited to give a thorough answer!

[bitchassbucky]

.exe

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: stalkers, bucky being a creepo, reader being a creepo. dark!IT!bucky x dark!reader :-) female & male masturbation, voyeurism (i think), cyber crimes being committed.

A/N: this is my birthday gift to @babyboibucky <3 to my boo, I love you and you have a special place in my heart. this is gonna be a multi-part thing, it's too long to be considered as a one-shot, oops.

please enjoy! :D

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist

CTRL moodboard

4:49 PM

Just 11 more minutes until he can pack his bags up for the weekend.

One new ticket - URGENT

Goddamn it.

Bucky pulled his earphones out in annoyance, just another office idiot who doesn’t know how to print A4 sheets. If the office were to be held hostage and printing out was the only thing that can save them, half of the floor would be dead.

The new name caught his eye, Y/N Y/L. A new hire, it seems like.

Subject: One new ticket - URGENT

Hi, this is Y/N, employee number 0008675309. I’m new here and was told to send a ticket for the equipment request.

Thank you and have a great weekend!

Oh, Bucky’s gonna have a great weekend indeed. Out of pure curiosity, he’s already pulled up your employee file. A cute smile to a cute name. His annoyance dispersing already, just by thinking of ways how he can spend time with you.

Hey, Y/N! Bucky types into the text field, Welcome to the company. I’m Bucky and I got assigned to help you get settled. Do you prefer having a desktop or a laptop? I’ve attached a form in this thread, send it to me once you’re done.

Have an awesome weekend too!

As much as he hates sending out chirpy emails, he can’t help but to smile when you immediately send a reply back.

Thanks, Bucky! So sorry for sending in the request super late. Got caught up with the onboarding. Is it okay if I use my laptop until we can get a unit to my place? PC or laptop is fine with me.

Best,

Y/N

Bucky fights off another smile, rubbing his hand over his stubbled cheek as he carefully types out a reply. Unlike other days, he doesn’t mind staying beyond 5 PM today. It’s not like he has other plans for his Friday night.

No worries, Y/N. He’s already loving your name. Happy to help!

Do you have your laptop with you? I can set it up before you go home for the weekend. I can probably send in the ticket to the guys so you can have your work equipment next week.

His deft fingers are dancing over his mechanical keyboard, clacking away while the clock ticks closer to the weekend.

A ping, another reply from you. You’re new, you’re still excited to make friends in the office. If you only knew how stupid they are, though.

Yeah! I have it on me right now. I actually work on the same floor, I can drop it off there right now.

Bucky glances around his office, looking for any reflective surface he can check himself on. He runs his hand through his hair, taming any stubborn locks that fell out of his low bun. His shirt hangs just right against his huge frame, his pants hugging his figure, accentuating his silhouette even more.

Just as the clock ticks 5:00, a soft knock raps against his door, “come in!”

You are cuter, prettier in person. Your perfume hits his nose and he’s floored—metaphorically.

“Mr. Barnes,” you say, your demeanor somewhat meek and shy. Well, of course, you are. Your frame is nothing against the hunk of the man who just stood up to greet you.

“Bucky.” He prompts, smiling. You reciprocated the smile, but you really weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe a scrawny little dude mousing away on a keyboard?

“Bucky, thank you so much for doing this. I know you’d rather get off of work since it’s Friday and all.”

He hums, taking your laptop in his hands. You notice the rings adorning his fingers—complementing his tanned skin tone and—it’s not appropriate to stare at a stranger’s hand.

Heat creeps up your face as he turns to look at the stickers stuck to your laptop, “you know, I like this band.” Bucky says, pointing to an old sticker, he carefully sets down your laptop on his workstation.

“They’re great,” you muse, taking a seat on a plastic chair by the door.

You take a gander around his small office. There was nothing out of the ordinary but the big black server blinking at the back, so why do you feel trapped?

“Sorry about the temp, we have to keep the room cold for the server in the back,” Bucky explains, noticing how your arms are crossed over your chest. The skirt you’re wearing isn’t doing you any better too.

You stammer out an it’s okay with a small smile.

Bucky worked on your computer quietly, using a USB stick to load all the applications you need to set up a temporary work account on your laptop. After a few minutes, he beckoned you to come here. You scoot over to his desk, rolling the chair forward and beside him. Not too close though.

“So, this note has all your generated passwords. Type those into the app when you first log in, then you can change it if you want to.” Bucky explains, the cursor idles on the screen. He tries not to get too close to you, to give you personal space. It’s a professional workplace after all.

“This app,” he drags a window, pulling up an application, “tracks your hours and your keystrokes. It’s company-mandated because managers want to micro-manage their people, I guess.” Bucky shrugs, his disdain showing through his voice. His tone shifting lower than what you’d expected.

“Sorry, I just hate their new protocol,” his face and voice softening as he looks at you, “it’s a total privacy breach if you ask me.”

You’d normally disagree but something tells you that maybe he’s got a point. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leans closer as if to whisper something, “this note right here? It’s a nifty thing, a little script so your computer doesn’t go to sleep when you’re away. It enables and disables your numlock pad so it counts as a keystroke.”

A smirk finds its place on your face, “well, that’s…something, isn’t it?”

Never in your life would you find yourself flirting with a co-worker but there’s something about Bucky that made you excited. Interested. Intrigued.

Bucky nods, rolling his chair away to fetch a pad of sticky notes. “Another thing from your friendly neighborhood IT guy,” he peels off a leaf and sticks it on your laptop’s built-in camera, “keep your cam covered.”

You give him a chuckle and a playful salute, “yes, sir.”

Bucky’s a modern man. He sees a pretty girl and he gets giddy. He talks to a pretty girl and he gets flustered. But you—you make him feel more than giddy and flustered. There was something familiar about you, and your eyes. Has he seen you before? Met you, even? No, that’s impossible—if he had met you before, he’d surely remember you.

It was 5:34 PM when he gave you your laptop back and sent in an urgent request for your equipment. While taking down the elevator to the lobby, Bucky gave you a few tips on how to ‘survive’ working in the office. According to him, as far as you go in on time and kept your head above the rumors, you’d do fine.

He asked about your first week and he told you about this joint near the building that serves the best burgers and fries.

You’ve got a good feeling that you just made your first friend.

—

The sun was already setting down when you pulled into your apartment’s parking lot. At the very last minute, you turned into a drive-through and got some food on the go. The side trip took out 10 minutes of your time but at least you dodged the awful traffic that was building up by the highway.

Along with your laptop bag and your food, you trudge up to your third-floor apartment. It wasn’t what you wanted—the windows faced the street, the screen door doesn’t lock all the way—but it’s the one you got. As long as it’s got four walls and a roof, right?

You slip out of your work clothes and into some comfy jammies after a rewarding shower; the sooner you can get your food heat up, the sooner you can eat, and drink and then go to sleep.

So while waiting for the microwave to beep, you pry open your laptop. You told Bucky not to shut it down after he worked on it as to not lose your work on another profile, which he understood.

The work account he set up greeted you, along with the bright pink sticky note he stuck to your webcam. That wasn’t real, was it? All those cautionary tales of hackers using webcams to peep on you. Maybe he’s just trying to scare you, like some kind of initiation. Without a second thought, you took off the sticky note. It was kinda annoying anyway.

Clicking the Log Out Work button, your personal account popped into the frame. Your opened apps and documents displaying themselves for you to use. You pulled up Spotify and clicked on the first playlist you saw—which happened to be your intimate playlist.

Sure, the Pavlov reaction is real because halfway through the first song, you already found yourself getting all hot and bothered. This one’s your favorite song too.

You groan in annoyance, your food’s no longer a priority.

Picking up the laptop from the table, you walk to your bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. You live alone, it’s fine. You put the laptop on its loudest setting, setting it on your desk and you plopped down on your bed, the pillows and the comforter pooling on one side.

Your room is illuminated by a streak of light from the street. Your curtains flowing softly with the breeze that just came in.

Glancing at your laptop, you remembered Bucky. How his office smelled when you first walked in. How he stood tall when he greeted you. How he smiled. Those goddamn rings of his.

Before you caught yourself thinking rationally, your fingers are already splayed even over your thighs, caressing the soft flesh of your legs.

Bucky’s smirk and his cologne finding purchase in your fogged brain. Thoughts of him pulling you aside into his office to fool around—voices above hushed whispers as your skin erupts in goosebumps, the chilled air of his office finding its way up to your spine.

Oh, fuck it.

You undress fast, flinging your shirt over your head, dropping it somewhere below the bed. The air in your room making your nipples hard and erect as you pinch them. You breathe out a sigh, the heat of the moment creeping up your torso.

The material of your panties dampening as you imagine yourself bent over his desk, your skirt bunched over your hips as he laps your sopping cunt. Bucky’s tongue exploring your folds up and over until your pussy’s a quivering mess of drool and spit.

Your fingers slip past the band of your underwear. Even you surprised yourself by how wet you are.

God, you met him once and he’s already inching his way into your mind.

But who could blame you? You’ve been all over his Facebook profile when you learned his name via the office’s organizational chart. The first time you saw him, walking around the office with a laptop in his hands, you already knew you wanted to at least formally meet him. A scroll on his page, you found a band that you could tolerate listening to. (They’re okay, just not your taste in music.)

A plan came to mind when your department head told the team that you can work from home from time to time—only if you agreed to use a work laptop, a company-owned one. Your manager advised you to put in the request as soon as you can, for you to secure a unit before the on-hand supplies dwindle.

Deliberately sending in the request late—way, way later—than what your manager told you just so you could pull up the ‘new hire’ card and act dumb.

And it looked like he bought it too.

The image of him fucking you quiet while he grabs you from behind played inside your mind like a memory—a vision. Of how his thick cock would fill you up until your pussy is clenching around him. Would he pinch your throbbing clit, making you squirm and cream around him?

Your fingers are compared nothing to his, that’s for sure. But it does the work for now.

A breathy moan comes out of your mouth as you play with your clit, your cunt dripping down wetness as you continue to fondle your tits.

His hands would make a great addition to your chokers.

Your toes curl and your breath quickens, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening—white-hot heat creeping up your limbs.

Oh, fuck, Bucky!

—

His ears perked up as he heard you moaning his name.

Bucky was busy watching you enjoy yourself when he got caught in the moment and decided to enjoy himself too.

He was barely keeping himself behaved when you first walked into the floor wearing a button-up and slacks that accentuated your backside. Bucky wished he was the one who gave you the tour and know your name for the first time, but that was impossible—he was in the IT department.

So when he got the news that new hires will be given the chance to work from home, he hoped that he gets to be the one to help you set up.

He was losing hope by the time he got your request, he thought that you opt not to work at home but then there you were, sending him an apologetic email on a late Friday afternoon.

Of course, he happily obliged. He even set up himself a little virtual camp in the background of your computer just so he can continue spending time with you.

Just thinking about you is already making him hard again. Bucky already came in hot spurts of white as he watched you desperately undress earlier. What can he say—he was waiting for you to show your tits already. As such, he correctly guessed that you’d be annoyed with the glaringly bright sticky note he used to ‘cover’ your webcam with.

But seeing you fingerfuck yourself all alone just wasn’t enough for him, he has to have you all by yourself.

[colossal-fallout]

Mercy ☄

Fem reader X Erwin Smith

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW. 18+ only. Smut. Slight daddy kink and slight degradation.

Tagging: @clovertitan & @jour-de-printemps I know someone is on my veteran tag list, but I've lost it. Please submit it again via the ask box.

You weren't sure exactly what you were doing.

It was as if you were on autopilot; your mind a haze as your heated, desperate body took over - possessed by the succubus demon residing deep within your soul. So much pent up sexual frustration has broken the barrier between your common sense and sheer hysteria. You'd been touch starved for weeks. Your lover far too busy at all times for such interactions. Especially this month with the upcoming expedition. You craved his touch, the firm yet gentle grasping of your flesh and how oh - so - attentive he was to your needs. How he's mapped your body, knowing every single week spot you have an exploiting them with a venomous greed; one nip from his fangs injects you with his own poison, paralysing you with lust.

Yet here you were, tears almost forming in your eyes from how hungry you were for him. For your lover. Who, as you approach the study, is just now behind that solid oak door.

And God, you could go on forever about how magical is cock is. So large and fat, built for nothing but giving pleasure and releasing his own pressures out from his large, testosterone filled sacks. Ones built for impregnation and nothing else. As soon as that large dick pushed its way into you for the first time, you were hooked. The sweetest dose of Heroine known to mankind as his shape dragged against your walls so perfectly, each push of his hips is like a small orgasm within themselves.

And yet... here you were almost a month without him. Your trembling fist ready to alert him of your presence outside of his office. Your thighs squeeze together as your warm, dripping cunt begs to be touched. Your panties stick to you uncomfortably, the thick liquid of your arousal slowly seeping through the cloth as you tap the door with your knuckles.

You don't know if you could take rejection. If he turns you down, you're not sure what you'll do. Scream? Cry? It was anyone's guess. All you know is you don't think you'll survive another night without his knowing invasions of your body.

"Enter."

Even just his low, rumbled voice sends vibrations through the air and between your legs as your breath hitches and you hurriedly enter inside the room.

His head snaps up from his paperwork - as if sensing who it was before locking his orbs onto your form; his thick brows raising in surprise.

"Your name, I wasn't expecting to see you tonight."

Your mouth opens, yet your reply is a choked silence. Asphyxiation entwined your throat as your once well constructed sale's pitch of your body turns to mush at the sight of his large form, the authoritative aura flowing off him and rolling across the room.

You silently close the door, not yet giving up as you approach him, your eyes already watering, begging him for mercy.

He waits patiently, sensing something was obviously wrong.

You crumble. Your plan in smouldering ruins as you slam both hands onto his desk.

"Erwin. I know you're busy. But please... God I need you. Take me. I'm begging you."

He blinks in perplexion for a moment, before his face rests into a smirk. A low chuckle vibrating his broad chest.

"You're that desperate, are you?"

The tone of his voice is a little cold. Cruel even. His own spark of lust igniting behind his ocean blues at the sight of you squirming so needing before him.

Sitting back in his chair, his large legs splay open, the hand that was free from his quill patting his thigh.

"Come. Let daddy make it all better."

Your elation at his words couldn't be hidden as you whimper almost pathetically; scurrying around and straddling his leg, his arm snaking around your lower back and gripping your hip.

"Go right ahead. Use me." He instructs as he refocused on his work.

You didn't care - you were just glad to have something of him; your hands grabbing his leather jacket as you immediately begin to rock your hips against his thigh. The warmth of him seeping up through your material and onto your twitching pussy as you grind, already panting like a bitch in heat. His thick, solid thigh feels so damn good against you, the muscle definition could be felt with easy through the cloth.

Your pleasure builds up pretty quick, your heated face burying into his chest as you whine, knuckles tightening and your breath hitches as his free arm absent mindedly begins to assist your movements.

"Oh, Erwin... Erwin..." you whisper as you glance down and see the buldge in his trousers growing bigger and bigger, snaking down his other thigh.

It's becoming increasingly harder to focus on his work; instead, opting to sit back and enjoy the view of you humping him like a pathetic little dog. Feeling a little pang of mercy, his fingers begin to unbutton your shirt at a painfully slow pace, your entire body aflame and begging to feel his touch.

Eventually he frees your breasts, his large, broad shoulders hunching over as he takes one into his warm mouth - your head throwing back as his wet muscle flicks your nub, sucking and nipping, your rhythm picking up and stuttering.

He removes his mouth, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to you for a moment as he sits back, holding your wrists and pulling your hands onto one of his leather leg straps of his uniform.

"I said use me."

You nod, holding onto the strap like a cruelly place rein on a steed as you use it as leverage to rock harder, his leg slowly raising and lowering you up and down as he watches with a clouded amusement.

"Ah, Erwin... I'm close..." you whine. "P-please, touch me again. Please..."

"You want me that bad, darling?" He sighs, thumbing your nipple.

"Yes!"

Your need for him reaches a critical breaking point.

Without another word, he grabs your hips and lifts you onto the desk with ease - pushing papers onto the floor as if he hadn't just spent all day carefully and meticulously keeping them neat and ordered. His large hand pushes you onto your back and before you could blink, he's pulling off your trousers and soaked panties off your legs - your pussy gleaming, overjoyed he's seeing to your needs.

Taking his two fingers, he slips them into your beckoning entrence, his mouth enclosing onto your clitoris, immediately sucking and assaulting it with his tongue.

Your hands grab at his perfect blonde strands, your climax immediate at his touch. It felt like you were swelling; larger and larger before you imploded.

You weren't sure what left your mouth, but it was something loud - swirling colours and sensations embraced your entirety, your body leaving this world for a few moments as your insides squeeze your lovers digits, filling his palm with a small puddle of your water.

An animalistic growl leaves his vocal chords at the sight of you; a total mess coming undone upon his desk. His tongue rolls over his lip in starvation as he removes himself, fiddling with his trousers and freeing his huge cock.

The smell of his precum snaps your hated attention - you could cry with elation that he was about to push his amazing dick into you.

"Good girl." He mutters as he presses his swollen head against you. "Nice and wet for me."

It's a tight fit as he slowly pushes into you. Your back bends and your mouth hangs into a silent scream as your insides slowly take him, ingesting him like some snake slowly digesting its large prey.

He's not even halfway in as he grunts, fingertips harshly digging into your thighs, head lowering with the overwhelming sensation of you pulling him in.

"You always look so pretty. But you look so much better with me splitting you open like this."

Every single spot within you is being hit, stretched and stimulated as that mystical dick finally is fully in you, pulling and pushing against your internal ridges. The desk begins to clank against the uneven flagstone flooring, but his grunts is all you care to focus on as his hips collide with yours again and again.

"So tight. So perfect, darling. I would never turn you down. All... ah~ all you had to do was ask... I'll gladly see to your needs, my love."

You whimper in response - it's all you can do as his shape pulls and pushes you, dragging along your walls perfectly as usual.

His name leaves your mouth as your eyes roll, the gratifying waves of your second climax faster approaching.

"Where do you want me to finish, darling?" He leans over, sliding his tongue into your mouth for a moment, catching your lips in a tender kiss. "I won't last long this time. You feel too good and it's been too long."

"F-fill me up, Erwin." Your eyes match your pleading tone as he nods, nuzzling into your neck, his tall form covering you with ease.

His pace quickens, hands now on either side of your head as he begins to groan, your orgasm hitting you just as hard as the first - sucking him in deeper. Your walls squeeze so tightly, he's clamped into place, his loud, gruff groan music to your ears as his thick, hot cum collides with your cervix, the huge unloading of Erwin Smith filling you so much so, you're leaking with his mess within moments.

You feel lighter, as if you were floating as you made your way back to your shared quaters, the sweet promise of more later tonight already having you a giddy mess. You were glad you didn't bump into anyone on the way back; your hair a mess and a mark already appearing on your neck. You weren't even sure when he did that.

Once again, you were well and truly fucked into oblivion, your insides sore from his size but already looking forward to later tonight...

[quokkacore]

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee​ for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday. 

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00. 

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak. 

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM] 

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY 

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM] 

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear 

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late 

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid. 

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me. 

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range. 

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. 

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly. 

[7:57 AM] 

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took. 

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School. 

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.” 

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation. 

  A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.” 

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement. 

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.” 

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon. 

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking. 

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored. 

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him. 

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you. 

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry. 

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.” 

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front. 

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since. 

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her. 

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today. 

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

 “I don’t like her, Yeeun.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark,  Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken. 

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it���s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.” 

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club. 

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you. 

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice. 

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?” 

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” 

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled. 

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately. 

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?” 

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’. 

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. 

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy. 

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time. 

 Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord. 

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends. 

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?" 

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

 The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!” 

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me 

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving 

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months. 

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung. 

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung. 

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history. 

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since. 

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything. 

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration. 

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to. 

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel. 

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face. 

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also. 

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college. 

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing. 

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!” 

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss. 

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either. 

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only. 

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters. 

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked. 

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—” 

 The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit. 

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here." 

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things. 

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious. 

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Perfect.” 

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things. 

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed. 

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?” 

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!” 

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.” 

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?” 

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.” 

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out. 

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry." 

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me." 

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change." 

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult.  You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?" 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year." 

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal." 

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist. 

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether. 

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly. 

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed. 

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

 “Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.” 

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them. 

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was. 

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before. 

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped. 

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him. 

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered. 

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came. 

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground. 

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!” 

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault. 

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station. 

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could. 

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up. 

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs​ @crescentjen​

[dystopia-fantasy]

Always read the job description -Part 1

Max was a fit, well built man. He had been body building since he was 14 and now In his early 40s he has the body of a god, but is slowly getting to the age when he needs to find another way to make money. He knows he can't take part in his competitions anymore, and needs to take it easy. He got great grades in school and college, proving people wrong that you can't be a nerd in a jock body.

Max had some money saved and was able to keep up on bills for a few months but needed a job to keep his large house, in the rich area of the city. He got a call from a business he applied to a couple of days ago, telling him to go in for an interview tomorrow, and if it goes well he will be sent straight on a trip for the company. He gets his new blue suit ready to be worn the next day.

The morning arrives, it's 5am, and Max wakes. He does his normal morning routine, making breakfast, working out, taking a shower, then gets his suit on ready for his early morning interview. Driving to the office building in the middle of New York, it's at least 50 stories high, and is made of mostly glass, and is one of the newest modern builds in the city.

On arrival a large man in his late 60s wearing a suit greets him, "hello sir, you must be max, Sir Mammon is on his way down to collect you, may I say what an amazing suit you have on today".

Max looks the man up and down, seeing the man's huge belly flowing out from under his dress shirt, showing a massive W shape, "thanks mate, you might want a bigger shirt" then points to his belly.

"sorry if I offended you sir, but all clothing has been chosen by Sir Mammon himself" Mammon is the big boss of the business "if you would like to make a complaint I can print you a form".

Max laughs, "No thanks, I'm gonna sit over there, tell Mammon im there".

"will do sir, have a great day" the man says while max walks away paying no more attention to him.

About 15 minutes later a young handsome slender man walks over. "Max is it?" He says behind Max.

"yes.." max says confused.

"I'm Mammon, nice to meet you" he smiles holding his hand out for a shake.

"oh hello Mammon, is wasn't expecting someone so young, no offence of course" max shaking his hand.

Mammon let's out a little laugh, with a little grin "it's ok max, people don't expect someone like me to own such a remarkable company like this one would you like to follow me, we can go up to my office, this is Mark by the way, he's my Butler". Mark is another large man aged around 50, he has a massive belly stuffed into his suit, hes huffing and puffing, like he ran a marithon, "don't mind him, most of my staff are..."

Max cuts him off "fat?"

They both laugh, "you could say that Max" the elevator arrives and they all walk in, "now max, you did read the whole advertisement correct?".

Max didn't, it's was 48 pages long, who would read it all? He just looked at the wage he would get, it started at $100,000 per month. "Yes, I did".

"that's good, most guys are more keen to keep their body's but I guess if your struggling you'll do anything."

Max now confused just nod's and watches though the glass elevator as they fly up to the top floor.

"where here sir" Mark the butler says peacefully in his British accent.

They walk into the room, and Mammon sits at his desk pouring himself a glass of wisky, and Max one too. Max looks around in aww, the room was covered in art work, with the walls painted in golds and whites and had its own bar. "How do you have all this money?" Max asked.

"a mix of many things, this company, and a few investments paid for this whole building, I have many other ways but we're not here for that." Mammon points at the seat," take a seat max" Max sits the chair is made from leather and is very comfy. "So, max, I've gone through your file, I think you're perfect for the job."

"so, does that mean I have the job?" Max replies confused, expecting to be asked a question.

"well yes, if you agree to the terms"

"terms?" Max still confused.

"well yes, you expect to be paid 10times the amount the normal person for this job without any terms or conditions?"

"well I didn't know.." Max gets cut off.

"Max let me simplify them for you. You sacrifice your body to the company, and in trade you get, $100k X the amount you weigh paid into your account per month, So if you weigh 450lbs, you get $450k a month."

"what the fuck? That's sick, I'm not doing that, I'm leaving" and with that Max got up from the chair and stood face to face with Mammon, with the desk all that is separating them. "Your sick, you fa**ot".

With that Mammon's eyes glow a bright red. "I'm a what?" Max got through back against the chair by an invisible force. "Max you could have just left with your freedom, but now look what you've gotten yourself into".

"Let me go, What the fuck?" Max says while traped against that chair, it chreeking with the force of his muscle.

"I'm a fucking demon max, I'm never going to 'let you go'" he took a second break to mock max, "now, what did you say? Fa**ot, was it?".

"fuck, I didn't mean it" the force pins him down harder, trapping his arms against the leather chair arms, and pushing his legs against the underboard. "Please let me go home, I won't do it again."

"shut up max, the process is already starting".

Max looks down to see his body deflating, his pecs turning from mountain peaks to a flat surface, his giant powerful arms turning weak and light. And then looking up he sees a whole new man infront of him.

"Not as big as I thought I would get, but boy I'm big" he took a break to admire his new giant arms and pecs.

"what the?" Max looks in confusion, "how did you do that? Give me them back".

"what are you gonna do max? I'm an infinitely powerful being and you, your an old man, or at least your going to be."

"I'm only 42, what do you mean, going to be?"

"you see I don't have my infinite life span on earth, so to stay alive and in this fit body, I absorb anything a guy has and I want. In your case, these massive muscles, but then I need to absorb their life force as well, in order to make sure I don't age."

"what do you mean life force?"

"well, you have roughly 50 years, worth of life left, I'll drain about 20 years leaving you in your future crippled body at around age 60, force you to work for the company for another 20 years, then when your 80 drain the rest of your life, which after you get fat won't be much, then you got to hell."

"man your sick, let me go, LET ME GO!".

A bright red light shoots from Peters hand enveloping Max's whole body, and he starts to age, his face wrinkling, skin dropping, eye sight worsening, hearing getting muffled, and mind changing a little. "Max, you ok old man?".

"yes sir" max was confused in his mind, why did he say sir?

"max, you ready for your Cruise? You can have tones of food for the next 6 months."

"Yes sir, I'm ready" max lifts his head, opening his eyes to see a new blurry room from his new old eyes.

"you're gonna need these from now on" Peters eyes glow and a new pair of glasses appear on Max's face he can now see clear.

"thank you... Sir", max blinks seeing Peter infront of him, "what have you, done to me".

"Max, I've turned you into the perfect office worker, old, brainiac, who is soon going to get fat and live the rest of his life, in an office chair for me, don't worry for accomodation you live here now, we have apartments on floor 30 to 40, all workers live here, it's policy, we have also sent a team to your house to, well, blow it up, that way nobody is going to be looking for you, becuase we can plant a body"

"give me... My.... Body back, give me... My.. life back."

"Max we both know that will never happen, now enjoy a life of gluttony, and prepare yourself for hell, that's gonna be worse then anything I can do to you." Peter snaped his fingers and a red glow enveloped max.

Recovering from the glow max sees two men infront of him with a trolly of sorts between them. "Is he awake" one says,

"I don't know" said the other.

"im- awake" max said in a much older raspy voice.

"good we can now start the feeding" the man on the left said, his body as muscled as a god, ripped from head to toe, and we can see everything.

Max rubs his eyes under his glasses and opens them again, "Fucking hell, put some clothes on both of you".

Both men where nude, one a ripped god, another muscled up but with a big gut. "Clothes are banned here mate" the beefy man said in a type of Australia accent, "you cant say much fella, look at that tiny pecker".

The men laughed pointing at Max's shriveled up old cock and low hanging balls, "what the fuck"max tries to move his arm to cover him but his arm doesn't move, he looks down to see him stuck in a chair, with a cut out hole under his ass, and straps tying him down, trapping him. "What... Are you gonna do to me?" Max asked sceared.

The men laughed at him again, "no need to act to sceared, we're here to feed you for the next 6 months".

"but... Sir said..." Max get cut off.

"he said you'd be going on a cruise? Fucking hell are you dumb? He's a demon, you shouldn't trust a demon" The muscled guy says.

"bro let's start the feeding we have 50 other guys to see and I wanna watch football Tonight." The beefy guys says, and in unison both their eyes glowed a bright red, showing they where demons too.

The trolly between them had several items on top, one long tube, which floated in the air for a few moments before shoving itself down maxes nostril and deep into his stomach, his head flipped back trying to wriggle it out, but it was stuck. Another item moved into his frame, a IV bag holder, holding a giant barrel type object made of glass, and two large bags floated of the table again and started to drain into the barrel, and the tube connected itself to it, starting a flow of the liquid into maxes stomach.

"done" the beffy guy said. "Now we'll be back tomorrow to refill your barrel, and clean you up if you make a mess, but youll basically be unconscious for the next 6 months, due to the drugs were feeding you."

"so enjoy your sleep mate, you'll litterally wake up a different man." The two men laughed and walked out, max tried fighting the restraints but in his crippled form could do nothing. The door slammed and locked, and the room fell dark, max screamed begging into the darkness to be let free, and to have his life back, which he had only an hour before, but nothing happened, nobody came. He felt the drugs taking effect, but tried to fight back, but it was useless, his body slumped and loosened. His mind fell blank as he drifted of into his 6 month hibernation.

[gureishi]

Your writing is amazing, and all those prompts are great! :) Could I request number 17 for Saeyoung with a female MC? Hurt/Comfort, and NSFW, please. Thank you so much, have a great day!

THANK YOU! <3 

So here, let me tell you what happened...

I looked at this prompt and I thought about Saeyoung (let’s be real, I’m always thinking about Saeyoung) and my brain screamed CABIN, CABIN, and I realized...oh my god, in all the thousands of words of Saeyoung X Reader fanfiction I’ve written, I’ve somehow never written my version of their (probably) canon first time.

So I DID IT! And it’s long af cause...well, of course it is.

seventeen: i came here for sanctuary

Saeyoung X Reader, E (M/F sex), words: 6930 (!!)

Smut warning, proceed with caution ♡

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The sun sinks behind the trees, the last streaks of yellow melting from the sky. Gravel crunches beneath the sleek little car’s wheels as it slows to a stop. The only light is from the phone in your hand—you can’t see anything outside the windows but dark, dark, dark.

“Wait,” Saeyoung whispers. “Just a minute.”

He turns off the car and without its rumbling the silence feels louder. You sit absolutely still and your heart pounds.

Saeyoung holds out his hand and, wordlessly, you pass him his phone. He pulls up a new GPS, one you don’t know how to read; zooms in; breathes a sigh of relief.

“Okay,” he says, louder. “We’re safe here.”

With that, he flings open the door, and you realize you must have absolute trust in him after all as you follow suit, stepping out into the unknown.

Outside, you can see a little more. There’s no moon tonight, but the stars are huge here, and by their light you make your way around the car, stand beside Saeyoung as he opens the trunk. He passes your backpack to you and slings the other, larger bag over his shoulder. He does this quickly, quietly, as if it’s a routine. Finding a safe house in the dark, unpacking the car in silence—for him, you suppose, it is a routine.

“Um, maybe we should—” He hesitates, awkwardly holds out a hand to you. You grin.

“Do you still need an excuse to hold my hand?” You slip your hand into his larger, warmer one, and he interlaces his fingers with yours.

“I’ll take any excuse I can get,” he says, winking, and you feel calmer. You’d follow this man to the ends of the earth, you think.

Hand-in-hand, you walk up the gravel path. You can see now that he’s parked beside a smallish cabin—it looks built by hand, the kind you’ve seen in reality shows (“fashionable young couple leaves it all behind for a rustic cabin in the woods!”) You weren’t sure things like this existed. Of course they do, you tell yourself. Stupid.

Saeyoung pulls a ring of keys you’ve never seen before out of the side pocket of his bag and spins it around, inserting a little, unlabelled key into the door. You raise your eyebrows.

“Come here often?”

He laughs and the sound warms you up from the inside: you loved his laugh the very first time you heard it, what feels like a lifetime ago. You love the way he giggles when you tease him and the way he cackles when he’s proud of himself and the way he laughs like this—bubbly, like he finds everything you do and say impossibly delightful.

“It’s actually an old agency hideout,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea at first, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s been here for years.”

He pushes the door open and you follow him inside; you’re immediately hit by a wave of cold and a damp, musky scent. You don’t mind it—it reminds you of the basement of the home you lived in as a child.

“I think there’s…somewhere around here…” He pushes ahead, muttering to himself, and you wait in the doorway, keeping it cracked so he can see by the lights of the stars. “Ah-ha!” A dim light flickers on.

Saeyoung sighs, turning around to survey the room.

“This isn’t a place for someone like you,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the furnishings—it’s a single room, with an out-of-use fireplace and some boxes full of you-don’t-want-to-know-what stacked in one corner. There’s also a little work station and (you feel a little thrill dance up your spine) a single, slightly lumpy bed pushed against the back wall.

Nice bed. Plenty of room for…activities, whispers a voice in the back of your mind—it’s a gremlin, you think, a silly, horny gremlin, hiding in the recesses of your imagination. Shut up, you tell the gremlin.

“I like it,” you say aloud. “I could live here.” You shut the door and the click echoes in the little room.

You feel Saeyoung’s eyes on you and turn; he’s still standing in the middle of the room, watching you with a sort of reverence on his face.

“You’re amazing,” he says.

Leap into his arms and kiss him breathless, the gremlin says, and you bite your lip, hushing your inner voice. Your neck feels hot.

“You’re the amazing one,” you tell him. For some reason the air in the cabin is reverberating like a plucked string and you’re afraid if you get any closer to him the string will snap. You edge around the outer wall, drop your backpack on the bare mattress, perch on the edge of the bed. “You got us this far.”

He turns to follow you with his eyes, watching as you nervously fiddle with the straps of your bag. There’s a strange expression on his face and you don’t know what to do with your body.

He shakes his head as if to clear it and then abruptly turns from you, crosses to the little desk on the opposite wall, starts pulling things out of his bag with a little too much fervor.

“Will you be okay for a while?” he asks quietly, his back turned. “I just have to…” He waves a hand at the two laptops he’s set on the desk.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He turns to look at you now, and he’s still got that strange, conflicted look on his face. He starts to say something, stops himself. Swallows.

“You can try and keep yourself warm,” he says. “The fireplace would be too big a risk, if it even still works, but check the closet by the bathroom. I think there’s a space heater in there, and there should definitely be blankets.”

And before you can respond he’s all business again, plugging things into other things; there’s already a low hum emitting from one of the computers.

So you do as you’re told: slip out of your shoes, pad across the unfinished wood floor in your thick socks. Open the closet, start peering into the mysterious boxes there. Find, by some miracle, the old, dusty space heater. Get it going.

You wrap yourself up as tightly as you possibly can in one of the thick, stiff blankets you found neatly folded in the closet and curl up on the bare mattress. And you wait.

Time passes.

The sound of his keyboard is like a lullaby to you, nowadays, and you drift between sleep and wakefulness, your head swimming with thoughts of him: the beautiful curve of his cheekbones as he drives into the sunset, the buzzy delight of his fingers on your thigh, the cautious way he brushes his lips over yours on those brief, stolen moments of rest between driving, driving, driving…

The typing stops and your eyes fly open, blinking at him through the flickering light from the single lamp. His back is straight; his fingers aren’t moving.

You call his name. Repeat it. 

“Yeah?” His voice sounds rough and you untangle your legs from the blanket. You want to ask if he’s okay but already know the answer.

“How’s it going?” you ask instead—vaguely, lamely. You twist the thick fabric of the blanket in your fingers. What a silly, meaningless question.

“We’ll definitely catch up to him tomorrow,” Saeyoung says hollowly. You consider going to him, wrapping your arms around his tense shoulders, but you don’t know if he’ll let you—the physical affection between you is so new, so tenuous. 

“I’m glad,” you say, because it’s the truth.

He twists around in his chair to peer at you. There are familiar dark circles under his eyes, worry written on his soft features.

“You’re not scared?” he asks.

“A little,” you tell him. “But I trust you.”

He sighs, pushes his glasses up, runs one shaky hand over his face. “You have too much faith in me.”

“You’ve given me no reason not to have faith in you.” You unwind yourself more from the big blanket. The space heater has worked, filling the room with smoky warmth. “Are you scared?” you ask.

He cocks his head to the side as if he’s considering it and, with some surprise, says, “Yeah, I think…I am.”

“What are you scared of?” you ask, not sure if he’ll tell you.

He drums his fingers on his knee, looks around the little room as if stalling for time. “Disappearing,” he says at last.

Oh, how you want to run to him. Kiss the lines of worry off his face and hold him till he melts into you.

“I’m not going to let you go anywhere,” you tell him firmly. You’re not sure why, but you feel very confident about this.

“Thank you,” he says. “But…” He’s looking down at his lap now. “I set up my life so I could disappear without a trace whenever I needed to. So if I do…go away…there’d be nothing left of me. It’d be like I was never here.”

That’s it—you can’t take it anymore. You’ve got no more patience—not when he’s got that frightened, empty look on his face. 

“Come here,” you say, and you open your arms. His cheeks immediately flush pink, and you’re relieved to see embarrassment take the place of hopelessness on his face.

“O-onto the bed?” he stammers, and you grin—because the capable, strong man who you trust with your life is also this hopelessly innocent, charmingly awkward boy, turning bright red at the mere thought of letting you hold him.

“Only if you want to,” you say in your sweetest voice, and he quietly groans.

“Who could say no to that?” he mutters to himself, and you try to stifle a giggle as he swings his leg over the chair and stumbles the few feet to the bed. You wait for him patiently, arms open—cautiously, avoiding your gaze, he crawls toward you, and as he nuzzles his head hesitantly against your chest you fold him into your arms.

“Better?” you ask him.

“Yes, and…no,” he says. You can feel his heart pounding through both his t-shirt and hoodie, and it seems like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. One rests just above your hip, just barely touching you, like he’s not sure whether or not he’s supposed to.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him. With one hand, you play with a stray curl that’s fallen over his face; his skin feels hot on your fingertips.

“I don’t wanna say,” he murmurs.

You brush the hair off his forehead and then, because you just want to, you press a single, soft kiss to his hairline. He shudders.

“Tell me,” you say. Saeyoung has been still as a statue this whole time; now, his hand shifts, putting just the tiniest bit of pressure on your hip. He’s still barely touching you but suddenly you know what he’s thinking, and it’s like an electric current runs through your body and sets your blood on fire. The gremlin chants its encouragement from deep within your mind.

“If…” he says cautiously, and you feel his lips through your shirt as he speaks softly into your chest. Your heart misses a beat. “If tonight is our last night, I just…want to do one thing.”

“It’s not our last night,” you tell him, and your voice sounds too loud, and somehow your focus is narrowing, narrowing so all you can feel is his hand against your hip. You continue working your fingers through his hair, a little more roughly now; he squirms against you and grips your hip harder, harder.

“I hope not,” he whispers. “But if—just in case—can I…be a bit selfish to you?”

You’ve got goosebumps. 

“You can do anything you want to me,” you say, and as soon as the words are out of your mouth you feel you’ve gone too far. The gremlin is roaring.

His head shoots up and suddenly you’re overwhelmed by the intensity of his eyes, his face mere inches from yours.

“Wh-what?” he stammers. His face is flushed and his pupils are huge; he’s looking at you like he’s never seen anything quite like you before. And maybe his shyness emboldens you, or maybe you’re drunk on the burning feeling of his fingers on your skin, but you take a deep breath and plunge ahead.

“You can do anything you want,” you repeat slowly, looking down into his beautiful, molten eyes. “To me.”

He audibly gulps. There’s a hard, desperate look on his face. You’ve caught glimpses of this expression before, when he’s kissed you, hands at your back, breathing hard against your lips—but he’s always pulled away, cut things off before they went too far.

Now, he’s not pulling away.

“I want to kiss you,” he breathes.

“So kiss me.”

And he does, slowly closing the distance between you, brushing his lips against yours with so much tenderness and care. He’s holding back, you can tell—wound so tight he’s barely moving, as if he’s terrified of whatever lives underneath his carefully curated exterior.

You part your lips and he trembles and—keep going, hisses the gremlin—you deepen the kiss, sweep the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip.

“Mmmm,” you hum, relishing the sweet-salty taste of him, and you weave one hand into the base of his messy curls.

This breaks him. He swivels abruptly, crashing his hips into yours, kissing you harder now—clumsy, rough, electric, wonderful. Delighted by his sudden ferocity, you mold into him, raking your hands down the back of his neck.

He pulls back a fraction of an inch, panting, a wild look on his face.

“I…s-sorry…” he pants. “I c-can’t…”

“Tell me what else you want,” you say. You run a hand up his chest and feel his muscles tensing, his body vibrating.

“I—I want to…” His eyes roam your body and he’s never looked at you quite like this before and—oh god, you think, you didn’t know you could want somebody this much.“I want to…touch you,” he says, his voice low.

The gremlin cheers.

“Touch me where?” you whisper. You roll your hips under his and he moans, grasping desperately at your shoulders with bruising fingers.

“N-not fair,” he hisses. Then he’s kissing you again, more confidently this time, lips parted and hands skimming down your arms, across your torso. Your shirt has ridden up and his calloused fingertips graze your bare skin, making you dizzy, so you wrap your legs around his waist, pull him against you—he groans, kissing you ferociously, breathlessly. Every point of contact between you burns icy-hot.

You break the kiss and gasp for air. Saeyoung looks totally undone, his eyes unfocused, pupils blown huge as he hovers over you. More, screams your mind gremlin, and you silently agree. Your fingers rove over his chest, under his unzipped hoodie.

“Can I take this off?” you murmur. He nods, looking dazed and a little helpless, and you slip it easily off his shoulders, run your hands down his arms. He’s got goosebumps, too. “Is this okay?” you ask him, fingers dancing over his torso now, under his t-shirt.

“Yeah,” he pants, following your questing hands with his eyes. “Um, can I…?”

“Please,” you say. You lean back a little and he cautiously slips a hand under your shirt. His fingers tickle—you giggle—his face breaks into a smile.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, exploring the sensitive skin of your belly with one tentative hand. You moan softly, encouraging him, and his hand slides over your ribcage—pausing when he hits the lacy bottom edge of your bra. He looks down, his cheeks reddening again. “I don’t…know what to do with this,” he mutters. It’s your turn to grin. The genius secret agent slash hacker, taken down by a bra.

“Here,” you say. You pull yourself into a sitting position and he rocks back on his heels; you grab your shirt with both hands and easily lift it off, toss it aside.

Saeyoung looks positively enraptured.

“Y-you are…” he stammers. His awe is adorable and charming but the gremlin yells touch me more, dammit, so you take his hand and guide it to your skin, stroking down from your throat all the way to your belly button.

“Now what are you thinking?” you ask him. You lean back and let him explore you with both hands—he is meticulous, running his fingertips over every inch of exposed skin.

“I’m thinking…” He’s red again. “To be honest, I kind of never thought I’d be in this position.”

You giggle. “S-sorry!” you say. “I just…looking at a girl in a bra?”

He chuckles awkwardly, his hands at your waist, his eyes lowered. “Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.”

“Oh, then boy do I have a surprise for you.” Before he can respond, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him again. He kisses you back hard, grasping at your sides as if holding on for dear life. You trust his grip and slip your hands behind you, unhooking your bra.

Saeyoung realizes what’s happening just a beat after it happens, and he breaks the kiss, pulling away as if he can’t help himself—eyes unabashedly roaming over your body. You slip the straps down your arms and toss the bra aside. For a moment, it seems as though you’ve rendered him speechless.

Then: “Wow,” he says softly.

You grin, propping yourself up with both hands and arching your back, taunting him a little. “That’s all you have to say?”

He chokes on air, lifts his hands to his hot, flushed cheeks. “You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

His worshipful attention emboldens you. “Your turn,” you tell him, sliding your fingers up and under his t-shirt again. He lifts his arms—obediently, as if in a trance—and you pull the shirt over his head. It gets caught for a moment on his glasses and he absently tosses them aside.

“Careful—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says gruffly.

The shirt is off—at last—and you explore his torso with eager fingers. His skin is warm and malleable under your touch; you can feel where there were once defined abs, trademark of years of rigorous training. Now, there’s a layer of softer flesh over those muscles, evidence of his more recent lifestyle.

He winces a little as your fingers graze his belly.

“Not much to look at,” he mutters. “Especially compared to you.”

You shake your head vehemently, tracing the contours of his chest with your hands. “You are so beautiful,” you tell him in a reverent voice. And he is—the muscles in his arms ripple delightfully under his skin as he adjusts his position, sits cross-legged in front of you. His body is perfect, you think—firm and yet soft, sculpted and yet supple.

He looks sideways and down, made embarrassed by your scrutiny. You run your fingertips over a long scar you’ve never seen before, cutting diagonally across his chest and onto his shoulder.

“What do you want now?” you ask him, leaning forward to brush his neck with your lips. He’s breathing heavily and he’s got that look on his face again—like he’s just barely keeping it together.

“I want…you,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut, and you’re not sure if there’s more to the sentence than that—but you can’t stand it anymore, so you climb into his lap, wrapping both legs around his waist. “Oh my god,” he hisses as you adjust in his lap; you press your lips to his neck again and graze the gentle skin with your teeth. His hips shudder underneath you and the friction makes your head swim.

“C-can I…” he whispers throatily, “do that too?”

You giggle, because even with you half-naked and straddling him he’s still got that adorable naïveté and you just want to smother him with affection.

“Do what?” you murmur in his ear, and then you catch his earlobe between your teeth. He groans, low and longing.

“I-I want—” he begins, but then you grind your hips against him and his words crumble into another desperate moan. He grips your hips with both hands, tries again. “I want to…leave evidence,” he rasps, and he’s holding you so tight you’re sure there will be fingerprints on your hips and thighs in the morning. Good, whispers the gremlin. “I want to leave evidence on you that I existed,” he says.

Your breath hitches and you don’t miss the unspoken “in case I disappear tomorrow” and you lean back in his lap, baring your throat for him.

“Do it,” you say.

He kisses your lips and then, so slowly, flutters kisses across your cheek, your jaw. He parts his lips and you can feel his teeth on your skin.

“Tell me how,” he whispers.

“Lower,” you say, and you feel his lips drift down your neck. “Open,” you tell him, and his lips part. You stay very still, legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Suck,” you say, and he does, tugging your skin into his mouth. You feel the sharp pressure on your skin and you feel a swooping in your stomach, a neediness at your core. “One…” you count, and he sucks harder, his teeth against your flushed skin. “Two…three. Now.” He pulls back, panting a little, surveying his work with curious eyes.

“It’s red,” he says.

“Good,” you tell him. “Again.”

Without hesitation, he brings his mouth to your neck again, following the muscle that wraps around the front of your throat. He takes your skin between his teeth with more confidence this time and sparks fly behind your closed eyelids.

He meticulously progresses down one side of your neck and up the other, leaving a trail of tender, bruised skin in his wake. It doesn’t hurt much, but the gentle pain is enough to stir up something strong and mysterious inside of you. The gremlin in your mind swims in a sea of pleasure. 

Saeyoung bites you just under your left ear and you can’t keep still anymore, your hips rocking against his, seeking new sensations.

“Saeyoung,” you hiss, and he licks your neck—you know he can feel the way your nails scrabble at his back—your longing has made him bolder. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Am I?” He nibbles your jaw and grins against your skin as you moan. “Should I drive you crazier?”

You are going to lose it, you think. You are going to topple off the cliff of sensations that are barraging your mind and you are going to fall apart entirely.

"You don’t wanna see what will happen if you do,” you mutter.

“I do, though,” he teases, and then he bites your earlobe—hard—and for a moment you can’t see straight. 

You asked for it, you think, and then—before he can react—you slither out of his grip and dart off the bed. Too late, he reaches for you, but you’ve already found your footing, sliding easily to your knees. You grip his waist with both hands and pull him toward you and he follows, automatically, unthinking. It’s only then that he looks down and sees the position you’re in.

His eyes widen and his face flushes a shade darker than his hair. “You’re…that’s…uhhhh,” he manages. You loop two fingers through the waistband of his jeans and tug him closer to the edge of the bed and he goes with you, letting his legs dangle off the side. He opens his mouth as if to say something else. Swallows. Closes it again.

You run one hand over and around his thigh and then, achingly slow, over the obvious bulge in his pants. He makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a squeak.

“Will you let me do this?” you ask, fingers drifting up to the button of his jeans. He tries to speak but fails again. Instead, he nods frantically, and you undo the button, pull down the zipper. His erection springs free, now constrained only by the more forgiving fabric of his boxers. “Help me with these, babe,” you say, tugging at his pants, and he complies eagerly, pulling his jeans off his hips with shaky hands. You guide them down his legs and then you palm him again, through his underwear, thrilled by the way his cock jumps in anticipation at your touch.

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper, and he mutters a string of incoherent syllables, his hips shaking uncontrollably under your ministrations. You slip his boxers up and over his erection, down his thighs, and bend slowly forward, exhaling onto him. His cock jumps again as if seeking out your lips of its own accord. So you bend over further, bring your lips to his tip, dart out your tongue and lick all the way around.

He groans low in his throat and then his hands are tangled in your hair and he’s pulling your head back.

“No?” you ask, and he whimpers as if stopping you is taking all his strength.

“I…want you to, god I want you to…b-but…” His voice sounds weak and his eyes are shut, his head still tilted back. “If you do that, I won’t…uhhhhh, I won’t be able to…l-last. Very long. At all.” He finally opens his eyes and gazes down at you with such neediness it makes you tremble.

“You don’t have to, baby,” you purr, and he shuts his eyes again with a moan. “Trust me, you’ll…come back around, if that’s what you want.”

He mumbles something and your lips quirk upward as you feel him gathering your hair behind your neck with his hands.

“Then…please,” he hisses, and the gremlin jumps for joy. You round your lips, carefully taking his tip between them; you wrap one hand around his base and slowly, slowly pull him into your mouth.

He utters a totally indistinguishable string of sounds and you suction your lips around him and arch your back, taking him deeper and then slipping away, licking all the way up his length. You grip his base with your other hand and slide your lips over him, in and out, mouth and hand working in tandem. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t last long, you think—his hips have started to shake in a telltale way and so, back arching, you suction your lips around him tighter, rocking forward on your knees. You cup his balls with one hand and breathe in, pulling him further into your mouth—and he comes, hard and fast, wiggling beneath you as he relinquishes control. You open your throat, swallowing everything.

He gasps for air and, gradually, the erratic movements of his hips slow. You pull away from him then, licking the last of the saltiness from his tip, and he lets out a low, hollow moan.

The heat between your legs is almost unbearable now—there was something about making him dissolve in pleasure that completely overwhelmed you and now you feel dizzy.

You pull yourself back onto the bed, crawling to his side and stroking his cheek. His eyes flutter open and he looks ravished, you think, his gaze totally unfocused and his hair beautifully disheveled.

“I…that…” he pants. You kiss his collarbone. “Th-that was…”

“Better than when you do it yourself, huh?” You giggle against his skin and internally beg your gremlin for patience, trying to ignore the steadily growing need at your core.

“I…literally cannot put into words how much better,” he says. “You…”

“Give great head? Are impossibly sexy and cool? Deserve a blessing from God Seven?” You can’t help but scoot closer as you tease him, grinding your hips—still in your pants, dammit—against his side.

“God Seven isn’t worthy,” he says. His eyes rove over your body, and—yes—land on your still-clothed lower half. “God Seven has found a new purpose in life.”

“And that is?” you purr. You shamelessly rub your hips against his side again. You keep your voice level; internally, you’re at the eye of a storm.

He props himself up on his elbows. Maybe he can tell that now you’re the one who’s falling apart; maybe he’s just finally starting to relax (he certainly should feel relaxed, after that, you think)—but you sense that he’s taking control.

“Well.” His tone is commanding, almost intellectual. “The first step is to get you out of these pants.”

“Yes!” you cry, and he chuckles as you enthusiastically undo the button, already pulling them down your thighs. “Finally!”

He waits for you, sprawled sideways across the bed, looking for all the world as if he does this everyday. You wriggle out of your pants and throw yourself onto your back beside him.

There’s a hungry look on his face as he leans forward and runs one large, calloused hand up your thigh, parting your legs. Desperate for him, you lean back into the mattress, breath already coming hard and fast. “You’re so wet…” he says in awe as he reaches your panties and hesitates, his hand tantalizingly close.

“Of course I am,” you tell him. “It’s because I need you to touch me, Saeyoung.”

His eyes go wide.

“Teach me,” he whispers.

You rip your underwear off with one hand and he helps you, pulling it down your legs and over your feet with gentle hands. You catch his hand in your own and guide him up, between your thighs—separating out his long, flexible fingers, bringing the pad of his index finger to your swollen, needy clit.

“Like this,” you murmur, and you flick your own finger over yourself, hot and trembling, unable to repress a moan at finally getting some satisfaction. He watches you with thoughtful eyes and you can practically see the gears turning in that genius brain of his as he memorizes your movements.

Then he copies you, moving his finger softly against your clit—and it’s different when he does it, of course, his fingers nimbler, his skin rougher. He mimics your motions with absolute precision and you let your hand fall away, the mixture of pleasure and desperation and relief threatening to drown you.

He takes note of every response from you: the way you moan as he moves faster, the way your thighs clench around his hand as he experimentally makes a little circle with his fingertip.

“You are…amazing,” he says, and he’s gazing down at you in wonder, and—oh, he’s got a new toy to play with, you think groggily, your head swimming—he’s found another thing he can manipulate with his fingers, and that’s his speciality.

“Thank god for computers,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re saying, the room swimming around you as you forget to breathe.

“Thank god for…computers?” he asks, eyebrows knitted in confusion—but even as he speaks, his movements don’t slow, his finger flitting against you with the same precision and gentleness you’ve seen him apply to his keyboards, or the little cat robot.

You somehow manage to laugh through the blinding heat behind your eyes. “Because…” you gasp. “B-because you’re good at…computers…so you know how to…”

At that moment, he curls a finger inside of you, his eyes growing huge as he realizes he has another weapon at his disposal. You lose track of your words entirely, taken by surprise, stammering out his name as his index fingers continues its endless stimulation of your clit and his middle finger slides deeper inside you. 

Your toes curl. He bends over you and his teeth graze your neck where it’s already tender from his earlier attentions and the heat is blinding, blinding you, and you swear your body actually levitates, the cold, scratchy mattress disappearing entirely as the pleasure swells within you. You come violently, shaking, anchored to reality only by his fingers at your core.

You hear yourself gasping his name as if from outside yourself, and he rides it out with you, pushing you deeper and farther into the bright, hot recesses of your mind.

And slowly, the feeling fades: the mattress is firm and steady beneath you and you grasp clumsily for him, stilling his fingers with your own.

“Fuck,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “Fuck, Saeyoung.”

You try to focus on his face. He’s hovering over you and he looks adoring and thrilled and—proud.

“Am I amazing at that, or what?!” he sings, and you burst out laughing.

“You’re a genius, babe,” you tell him. You still feel a little woozy.

“I know I’m a genius,” he crows. “But who knew I was a sex genius?” He’s all energy now, bouncing on his heels, rocking the bed a little. You push yourself into a sitting position, giggling.

“God Seven, God Seven!” he’s chanting—so you do the only reasonable thing and tackle him, knocking him flat on his back, snaking your arms around his neck.

“There’s still something I wanna try with you, genius God Seven,” you purr into his ear, and his demeanor shifts almost immediately, a little shiver running through his body.

“Yeah?” he murmurs—and all his bravado is gone, and he gazes at you hungrily. You maneuver yourself so your hips are hovering just over his, and you can feel that he’s hardening again, his tip grazing your belly.

“Choi Saeyoung, for the love of god, please fuck me,” you say. He exhales sharply, grasping at your sides with both hands. “I’ve only been imagining it since the day I met you.”

“You have?” His voice is low and throaty and you grind your hips against him, pinning his cock between you. He’s totally hard now, and shivering, that dizzy look returning to his face—like he doesn’t quite know where is or how he got here.

“You have no idea,” he mutters. “But…hang on…I have—” He pushes you off him reluctantly, and you sit back on the bed.

He has…?

It dawns on you, and you watch in wonder as he slides from the bed, practically runs to his bag which he’s left beside the desk. You’re a little ashamed to admit that you hadn’t even thought of it.

He rummages around in the bag and you watch—he has, you think, an excellent butt. Triumphantly, he pulls a little roll of condoms from his bag; you smirk.

“Why do you have those?” you ask, trying to keep the laugher from your voice.

“Don’t…read anything into it, alright?” His face is flushed again as he returns to you, crawls back onto the bed. “I just…you know, need to be prepared. For things. As an…agent.”

“As an agent?” You lean back against the wall, legs long in front of you. You can see little finger-shaped marks already forming on your thighs and the sight alone makes your head spin.

“Yeah, it’s…y’know…safety?” he mumbles, coming to sit beside you. He rips off one of the little packets, tosses the rest aside. His face is still flushed and the dim light from the lamp casts shadows over his prominent collar bones and you just want to bite them.

“Saeyoung, how long have you had the condoms?” you ask.

“Not…long."

“So not like, years, right? Cause they expire, you know.”

He growls playfully and nips at your shoulder; you squeal. “Not years, silly. Like…days.”

Ah-ha. You’re a little relieved to know you’re not the only one who’s been obsessing over getting him naked for the last few days.

“So,” you say, voice low.

“So,” he says.

You turn and kiss the base of his neck and he hisses in pleasure. You trail kisses down his chest, over his belly, his hip. Up the length of his cock, holding it gently with one hand.

“G-go easy on me,” he groans, and you laugh. You reach for the packet and he hands it to you; you tear it open and ease the sticky plastic over his tip. You roll the condom onto him slowly, caressing him with both hands, bending to pepper little kisses around his base.

“Ready, baby?” you whisper, looking up at him. He meets your eyes with his own, dark and dizzy and dazed.

“I-I just wanna…” he mumbles. “Just wanna remind you that I have no idea what I’m doing…so…”

You put both hands on his chest and straddle him. 

“What happened to God Seven, sex genius?”

“He’s…still here, but I…ahh.” He moans as you position yourself over him, using a hand to guide him toward you entrance.

“I love you,” you tell him. And before he can answer, you slide onto him, slowly, gasping at the relief of finally feeling him inside you.

His hips stutter frantically against yours and you still him with a hand on his chest. His eyes are shut and his jaw is fixed, like he’s fighting desperately for control.

You wait for him to take a breath—and when he does, slowly, shakily, you start to move. You lift your hips and he moves with you, lower them and he follows you. You feel a sharp clenching inside you, a delightful explosion of sensations, as you fall into a rhythm together.

You moan and he reaches for you, grasping at your sides, your arms. He’s growing more confident now, rocking into you, and you clench around him, pulling him deeper.

His eyes fly open and you see something snap in him—do it, you think—and he does, using both hands to flip you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. His eyes scorch you as he slips back inside you, thrusting into you a little harder; you meet him halfway, lifting your hips, deepening the angle. He’s panting and you can tell he’s still trying to hold himself back and you want to tell him to let go, it’s okay, but there’s fog swimming in your brain and then a huge wave of feelings crashes over you, breaking around you before you know what’s happening. You come quickly and unexpectedly this time, rays of pleasure piercing your body as you lose control of the rhythm and fall to pieces beneath him.

And through the daze of pleasure you see his face shift as he gives in, lets go, thrusts into you faster and harder and with unbidden need—and so you throw your legs up around his waist and pull him into you. His eyes widen and then he comes, too, chasing you, rocking into you frantically, breathing hard through parted lips.

You come down together, trembling and panting, his beautiful faces inches from yours—and then he kisses you hard. You clench around him again and he whimpers.

“You just did that…on purpose,” he gasps.

“I did.”

He laughs a brand new laugh and this one, you think, is your favorite. He slides out of you and sits back, pulling off the condom with a hiss as his fingers brush the sensitive flesh.

“I don’t wanna be dramatic,” he says as he catches his breath. “But I think I just died and then was born again. So.” He giggles and you collapse against him, pressing a hot cheek to his chest. He wraps his arms around you.

“Do you think,” you murmur, “other agents have also done it in this bed?”

He squeezes you tight, still laughing. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“How could you not?”

He hums thoughtfully, combing his fingers through your knotted hair. “I kind of doubt it,”  he says. “Secret agents have way less sex than people think we do.”

“You don’t,” you say.

“One time,” he mutters, nuzzling his face into your hair. “I’ve now had sex one time.”

You twist to look up at him: there are curls falling messily over his forehead and his face is flushed and pink and so kissable. You crane your neck and kiss the underside of his jaw.

“I have this strong feeling that you’re gonna end up having a lot more sex,” you tell him. “Probably kind of soon.”

He cackles and dips his head and covers your face with kisses; you squeal as he flips you over onto your stomach, tossing your hair to the side and nibbling the back of your neck.

“…didn’t leave…enough evidence?” you pant, giggling, squirming.

“Oh, I’m not worried about that anymore,” he says, pinning you beneath him and licking the back of your ear.

“You’re not?”

“Nope!” he sings. “I am one hundred percent confident that I won’t be going anywhere any time soon.” His energy shifts as he kisses across your shoulder, down your back. His fingers drift to your sides, caressing you slowly, making you tremble. “I am never,” he whispers into your skin, “going anywhere without you.”

“Promise?” you pant, squirming as his kisses drift lower, lower.

“I promise,” he whispers, his lips burning your lower back, “that I won’t ever leave your side.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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The White Room

The Better Love Series || Join My Tags

a sequel to Shit Hits the Fan

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Bill Stechner makes his move. You never even saw it coming.

words: 6.1k

warnings: 18+, plot, a little angst, a little fluff. 

notes: unbeta’d. this is a big one. notes at the end.

<< Shit Hits the Fan || These Hands are Magic >>

MASTERLIST

You take the embassy steps two at a time, wishing you’d have been notified about the change in your schedule just half an hour earlier.

You’d gotten a page just as you were headed out the door of the apartment. Stechner has decided to pull you from Centra Spike’s night flight over Medellín. He wants you at headquarters this evening instead. He didn’t say why. 

Part of you isn’t sorry. Escobar has been getting desperate lately, and between the outbreaks of violence in Medellín and the continued bombing campaign in Bogotá, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Javi, too. He’s been spending more and more time at the base in Medellín, and you’ve been spending more and more time in the skies, pulling random shifts through all hours of the day and night. 

It hasn’t put a strain on your relationship, exactly. In fact, in some ways, the little moments that you steal with Javi when your schedules just happen to mesh are all the more precious because of it. You’re both exhausted and a little cranky, but there’s been an underlying desperation to your recent interactions that’s only served to stoke the flame that flickers between you. 

It’s a bittersweet feeling. You cherish the time you get together, but on the other hand, it seems like even when Javi’s right there next to you, you miss him so much that your chest aches.

Which is why you’re miffed that Bill couldn’t have shuffled you around a little sooner. Javi’s been in Medellín for the past two days. He’d caught an early flight back to Bogotá just as you’d been finishing up another late shift flyover. You’d just happened to run into him at the embassy airstrip, a perfect coincidence. Your eyes had met over the tarmac, and like a pair of magnets, you’d crashed into one another. Javi had wrapped you into a fierce hug, and you’d pulled him into a heated kiss, and the two of you had spent a good five minutes canoodling in a hidden corridor near the water fountains, kissing and whispering and grappling for position as he’d pinned you against the wall. He’d breathed you in, and you’d reveled in the taste of him on your lips, each of you pressing frantically against the body of the other as if it had been weeks and not mere days since you’d been together. 

“I’ve got to go,” Javi had apologized into your mouth, breathing the words between a series of soft, desperate kisses. “Fucking… fucking early meeting with Martinez.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you’d reassured him, feeling very much like it wasn’t okay. You hardly get enough of him as it is. This tiny little taste had only deepened your aching need, and you’d felt your heart splitting in two as he’d pulled away from you, a small little grimace of frustration twisting his face. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you’d called as he’d hurried away, and he’d responded with a tight lipped smile and another dark look of longing. 

Now, you round the corridor toward the DEA office, walking as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Javi is working late again. If you hurry, you’ll have twenty five uninterrupted minutes with him before your night shift starts. 

“Ears!” You stop in your tracks, a little shudder of resentment flashing down your spine at Bill’s overeager greeting. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting to see.”

You school your face into a neutral expression of polite interest. Most days, you like Bill just fine, despite the fact that you really don’t trust him for shit. 

Today, damn him straight to hell.

“What’s up?” you ask, quirking your lips into an intrigued little grin. There’s a certain informality and blasé banter that Bill’s grown to expect from your encounters, and he’s sharp enough to sense that something’s off if you don’t perform.

“Oh, loads and loads,” Bill says, leaning casually against the corridor wall with his arms folded. 

You bite back a sigh. You really, really don’t have the patience to dance around him today. “Oh, really?”

Bill arches a questioning brow at you, and you remind yourself to be convincing, dammit. Usually, this isn’t an issue. Most days, you like your job, and your boss, just fine. 

Most days. 

“You’re bored, aren’t you, Ears?” Bill continues, pitching his voice deep, those probing eyes piercing straight through you.

“I -” you start. Bored isn’t how you’d describe it, lately.

Tired, more like. 

“No, no,” Bill’s expression is patient, endearing. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been watching you. I know that hungry look when I see it. You want more. You came to Colombia to do something important with your life, I can tell.”

Six months ago, hell, even three months ago, Bill’s words would have been true. Now, the very thought of more is enough to send you crawling into bed and sleeping for a week. 

‘Isn’t tracking down Pablo Escobar pretty fucking important?’ you’re half tempted to ask. You hold your tongue.

Obviously, it’s not to Bill Stechner.

“What do you have for me?” you say instead, hoping you sound intrigued, carefully not confirming or denying Bill’s suspicions. 

“Real work,” Bill says with a sharp smile. Something cold jolts down your spine at the his use of the word ‘real.’ 

As if everything until now has been a sham.

“Follow me,” he beckons, and you have no choice but to obey.

Bill leads you past the DEA offices. You catch a glimpse of the top of Javi’s head from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his desk, pouring over an open manilla file. You can barely see the deep furrow in his brow. He doesn’t notice you pass by, and you don’t pause to acknowledge him.

Something throbs in your chest at that.

You follow Bill through a few more winding corridors, down into the basement, past Centra Spike’s room, right up to an unassuming little bookcase built into a nondescript wall in the middle of nowhere. 

Bill pauses here, turning to look at you with shining eyes. 

You meet his stare, giving away nothing. 

With an enthusiasm that borders on theatrical, Bill huddles over a little keypad that’s tucked away at the edge of the bookcase. He punches in a series of numbers, glancing over to confirm that you’re still watching. 

You definitely are.

Bill steps back, and like something from an Indiana Jones film, the entire fucking bookcase slides aside, reveling a reinforced steel door built into the wall. 

“Whoa,” you can’t help but breathe.

Bill’s eyes glitter. He’s eating this up, impressing you. 

And truly, you’re impressed. That little spark of interest that had died in the past months of your burnout has flared with a vengeance. 

This is the shit that you joined the CIA for, and Bill Stechner knows it. 

“Welcome to the white room, Ears,” Bill announces lowly. It’s the soft, knowing voice of a man sharing a deeply guarded secret. He opens the steel door with a flourish, and it swings slowly aside, heavy and creaking, as if its weight alone could announce the gravity of what you’re about to see. 

Carefully, you step inside the room, ducking a little to avoid knocking your head against the low hanging doorway, crawling past the steel corridor entrance before you can straighten.

You blink, astounded at what you’re seeing.

Of course, you’ve heard whispers of CIA’s fabled “White Room,” a repository of classified files tucked away somewhere in the embassy basement. Even Javi’s mentioned it a couple of times, always with a hint of resentment, like he’d give his left arm for even a glimpse inside. Rumor is, Steve Murphy’s been in here before, but just once, and he was heavily supervised the entire time. It’s a fucking goldmine of intel, stacks upon stacks of carefully organized file folders, all at the fingertips of the few individuals who are important enough to be need-to-know. 

“Okay,” you whisper beneath your breath, taking it all in. Reality is a little different than you’d pictured. The entrance is impressive, sure, but what you’re staring at is even more so. Box after carefully labelled box is packed atop one another, stacked six deep on a never-ending series of steel shelves. 

You could spend an eternity here learning all of the secrets of Colombia. The implications are mind-boggling, and distantly, you wonder how many other well-hidden rooms the CIA has tucked away across a spread of foreign countries, a never-ending fountain of secrets related to god-knows-what.

Your brain stutters at the thought.

You realize suddenly that Bill is watching you carefully from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction as if he’s surreptitiously taking notes on every thought that flits across you brain. Again, you school your expression, reverting to that practiced, dead-eyed stare of careful neutrality. 

“Cool,” you say, a little breathlessly, knowing that Bill’s eager to wow you, and not seeing any reason not to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, you’re pretty fucking wowed. You turn to face him, ignoring the temptation to sweep your gaze over the many, many labeled files at your eye level. “So, what are we doing here?”

Bill laughs. “I’ll show you.” He leads you past the shelves, and now that you’re behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from tracking over the labels at your eye level. You’re appalled by what you see. 

Shelves upon shelves devoted to Escobar, and even more to the Cali Cartel, all broken down into sections of the individual godfathers. Rodriguez, Herrera, Bejarano, Moncado are all names that catch your eye. There are folders on each major sicario that you recognize from Javi’s info board: Mosquera, Lucumí, Vásquez, Gaviria... the list goes on. Even more files files are labeled Castaño. There’s a whole series of boxes on M-19, and a little past that, an entire shelf devoted solely to FARC. 

It’s more than your mind can possible comprehend in one quick sweep, and hell, that’s just what you could catch at eye level. 

It occurs to you that this is what Steve and Javi are always bitching about. Sure, you’re aware of the ever present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA, but it’s always been peripheral information to you. Steve in particular is pretty vocal about his frustration with the ‘fucking CIA.’ “Goddamn file’s so redacted that it might as well be scrap,” you can just hear him muttering. 

Christ, if this is the kind of intel that the CIA has open access too, you can kind of see his point. 

Bill stops at a table in the center of the room, indicating it with a sweep of his hand. Reluctantly, you sit, a little annoyed that you’ve got your back to him now, but not feeling comfortable enough to twist around to track what he’s doing. Your instincts are screaming at you that this is a test. A big one. So you wait demurely in your tiny plastic chair, your hands folded primly in your lap, listening intently as Bill shuffles for something behind you.

After a long moment, Bill leans his hip heavily against the table, just a hair too close to your shoulder for you to be totally comfortable. You don’t have time to think on that, though, because he’s sliding a black and white photograph under your nose for you to view.

The man that leers up at you has a pinched face beneath a deep brow. His nose is long and lopsided, as if it’s been broken at least once. His thinning, limp hair hangs low over his eyes, giving him a mysterious, almost rebellious look. His mouth is wide, crooked teeth exposed in an open-mouthed grimace. He’s angling toward the camera, obviously unaware of its existence, leaning forward with a machine gun cradled to his chest.

“Feo,” you say instantly, your mouth working before your brain can catch up. You recognize him from the evidence board in the DEA office, and even more from your conversations with Javi. 

Feo is a low level sicario, one that’s just now caught the attention of Search Bloc, mostly due to the recent chatter that Centra Spike has picked up. You’ve yet to get a positive ID on his voice, but he’s been mentioned in several conversations lately, always in reference to ‘drops.’

Javi’s been working deep in the night to decipher these conversations, eager to learn what ‘drops’ Escobar and his sicarios are so desperate to come by.

“Feo,” Bill drawls, a hint of something sharp licking at his tone. You glance up at him, curious. “That’s an unfortunate nickname.”

He’s staring down at you with eyes that are too aware. Probing, assessing. 

Fuck.

“I’ve seen him on the DEA board,” you explain, grateful that you can provide an answer so quickly. You don’t like the way Bill is looking at you, like he’s daring you to confess a sin. 

“I didn’t realize there were many photos of him floating around,” Bill says casually. But you aren’t stupid. You read the threat in his statement, loud and clear.

“It’s a new one,” you reply automatically, feeling as if you’re scrambling to claw yourself out of a hole. 

But this is also true. Feo has been an ongoing mystery to Search Bloc, one that they haven’t taken seriously until recently. You wonder what it is about this man that’s got Bill so on edge. 

Bill hums. “Good eye.”  He hunches over the photograph, so close that you can feel his body heat against your neck. 

“This is Raul Manriquez.” Bill taps the forehead of the man in the photograph, then turns to leer at you. “Apparently, he’s known to his friends as Feo.”

He’s watching you for a sign. You refuse to give it.

“So,” you ask after a beat. Bill folds his arms across his chest, waiting for you to continue. He’s not giving any signs either, the dickwad. “What does the CIA want with Raul Manriquez?” 

Bill has never behaved this way with you before. There’s a certain weight to the way he regards you that hints at paranoia. He’s deeply, almost obsessively interested in this man, and it doesn’t make sense. 

Feo is a sicario, sure. But sicarios are far, far below Bill’s pay grade. The thought is laughable, even.

Something drops in your stomach. If Feo is more than a sicario, as it seems he must be, then it is far, far above your pay grade to be this involved.

Bill pulls out a chair beside you and sits heavily. He leans on his elbow, swinging his legs so that his knees brush your thighs. 

You echo him, carefully positioning yourself so that you’re facing one another, but no longer touching.

“We have intel to suggest that Raul Manriquez is connected with a Russian weapons ring,” Bill starts. You notice for the first time that he looks tired, too, his eyes a little bloodshot, heavy bags dropping darkly beneath them. 

Something clicks in your brain. “He’s Pablo’s weapons guy,” you breathe. The pieces fall together with startling clarity. The drops that the sicarios had mentioned. The fact that Feo seems to stay at the periphery of things, not nearly as involved with the day-to-day bullshit that other sicarios seem to thrive on. “He’s running guns.”

“Among other things,” Bill drawls, seeming thoroughly bored by the turn in the conversation.

You ignore that. Your thoughts are spinning wildly, forging connections, solving problems. Escobar’s got to get his weapons from somewhere. In the back of your mind, you’ve always sort of known this, but the significance of it has stayed firmly out of sight, swamped by other things that, at the time, had seemed far more important. 

But if you could catch Feo… If you could choke off Pablo’s lethality directly at the source…

“We could end this,” you whisper, sitting up to look Bill directly in the eye. Your voice rises. “Bill, if we neutralize Feo, Escobar’s lost his access to his guns.” Something swoops in your heart, and you feel brighter, more energized than you have in weeks. “We can end this war!”

“Oh, the fucking drug war.” Bill scoffs, waving his hand in a casual gesture of lazy dismissal. He looks frustrated, disappointed. “Ears, broaden you horizons a little, sister. Escobar is on the run. When he’s gone,” Bill leans in, the glint in his eye damned near dangerous. “And he will be gone, Ears, trust me.” He huffs a deep sigh, shaking his head as he pitches away to balance on the far feet of his chair, rocking back and forth in a way that reminds you of a restless kid in a elementary school classroom. His eyes are sharp, possessive as they pin yours. “What then?”

You stare at him flatly, a little miffed to have nearly a year of your life’s work brushed aside as if it’s just petty bullshit. 

You shake that emotion away, blinking hard, reminding yourself of where you are, of who your boss is. With the lines as blurred as they are in Colombia, and your unique position dancing between Centra Spike, the DEA, and the CIA, and Search Bloc, it’s easy to forget that ultimately, it’s Bill Stechner who owns you.

For the first time, that thought deeply unsettles you.

Bill falls forward heavily on his elbows, looking at you with a furrowed brow, and you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that this meeting is a performance, one that you’ve utterly and completely bombed until now.

You brain spins, processing the little bits and pieces of information that you’ve been given. Bill sees Escobar’s fall as in inevitability, inconsequential, even. He’s concerned about Feo in the context that he’s connected to the weapons trade in Colombia. 

Quickly, you consider what you know about Bill Stechner. A CIA big wig with a shady-ass military background. A man who’s mind lives in the future. 

A future without Escobar. He’s made that much clear.

“You’re looking to fill a power vacuum,” you announce suddenly, knowing instinctively that you’re not far off the mark. Bill Stechner is a man who is always thinking ahead, studying the political chessboard to analyze his next move, and the one after that, too.

And that truth bomb jars free even more thoughts that have been floating untethered in the back of your mind. When he’s not skulking around his office, Bill is gone for weeks at a time, supposedly off in depths of the amazonian jungle, brushing shoulders with his right winged military buddies. 

Commie hunting.

The pieces fall perfectly into place, painting a sobering picture, and all the while, Bill watches, a sharp little grin playing at his lips as you connect the dots. 

“Bill,” you say, refusing to accept any bullshit. You thump your finger hard against Feo’s leering smirk, pinning Bill with a dark stare. “Is this guy connected with FARC?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward, and he leans back, looking at you with a new light in his eyes. You get the impression that once again, you’ve impressed him. 

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I don’t know, Ears,” Bill admits, glancing away to his hands, which are suddenly curling into fists in his lap. You can tell it really grinds his gears, the uncertainty. “That’s what I want to find out.” 

You consider him carefully, keeping your face expressionless. This is the most open response you’ve ever gotten from Bill, and you file away that information along with everything else you’ve learned today.

It’s a lot.

“What do you need from me?” 

It’s a valid question. Part of you, the part that is equally intrigued and enraptured by Bill Stechner and the CIA as a whole, genuinely wants to help. 

The rest of you is just desperate to get out of this room.

Bill’s lips slide into a knowing smirk. “Well, Ears,” he drawls, eyeing you in a way that makes something sink in your gut. “I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m listening.” You deliberately leave off the ‘sir,’ that you’re tempted to tack on to the end of that statement. Damn your army background.

“This is the moment that we’ve put you in place for,” Bill confesses, hunching forward on his elbows. Again, you get the impression that he’s trying to reel you in, seducing you with a show of honesty. 

You brace yourself. 

“The DEA is interested in this man, too,” Bill starts, shooting you a pointed look that says ‘I know you already know this.’ You keep your face carefully blank, so Bill continues. “I know that they’ve been working to track his location.”

Something cold coils in your heart. “Are you asking me to spy on Search Bloc?” you ask point blank. 

Bill shakes his head. “No, no, no, Ears,” he chides with an expression of extreme patience, as if you’re a child to him. “That would be counterproductive. We’re all on the same team, after all.” He pins you with a dead-eyed stare that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m asking you to fully engage in your position with the CIA.” Bill stresses the last point, again reminding you of who you are, who you answer to. “You’re a liaison.” He hums a little, all casual disinterest, disarming you, reinforcing the bonds of loyalty that he’s forged with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “So, liaise.”

You realize with a starling, icy jolt of clarity that Bill Stechner has tolerated your relationship with Javier Peña for this very reason, that he’s garnered your favor - accepting your transfer request, giving you a raise, buying you drinks, playing your buddy - all in preparation for using you as his own personal mole in the ranks of Search Bloc.

And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Your throat works hard to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I understand, sir.” 

For the first time, Bill doesn’t correct your formality. You hardly notice the shift, though. You’re still reeling from the implications of what he’s asking of you, of how he’s exploited you, taken advantage of all of your vulnerabilities.  Suddenly, you feel as if you’re choking, like a noose is tightening, tightening around your neck. You have to stop yourself from reaching to massage your throat, clenching your hands into tight firsts into your lap instead.

Bill watches it all in cool amusement. “Atta girl,” he praises, and you swear you taste bile. He stands, and you copy him absently, feeling detached and awkward, walking on legs that require all of your attention to keep from trembling. 

Bill claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. His eyes flash with something like pride, and you decide in that moment that you hate him, this motherfucker, almost as much as you hate yourself for falling for his bullshit. 

Goddammit, you’re so fucking stupid.

“Good talk,” he says, and you nod in a way that you hope is contemplative without being telling.

You follow Bill out of the room on wooden legs, your mind spinning with the implications of your conversation. He nods to you as the bookshelf slides shut behind you, and you nod back, relieved to see that he turns to head the opposite direction from the DEA office. 

You glance down at your watch. You’ve got ten minutes if you hurry. With all your heart, you hope that Javi is still working. 

You need to see him.

You push past his glass door, swinging it open hard enough that it bangs ominously against the wall. Javi is still slumped over his desk in the exact same position as before, studying a jumbled series of papers, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips.

Your breath catches at the sight of him. 

His head snaps up at your noisy arrival, dark eyes narrowed at the intrusion. His expression softens when he sees that it’s you. 

“Ears.” His voice is a sigh, a release of that same tension that you feel leaking from you own bones, and you dart forward, heedless of who might be watching beyond the glass walls.

“Hey,” you say, shoving aside an opened manilla folder to create a bare space for you to lean against. Javi doesn’t seem to mind that in the least, so you flop up onto his desk, pressing your thigh against his elbow, enjoying the feeling of just sharing the same space.

Javi glances at you, and your something lurches in your chest as you take him in. He looks haggard, exhausted, dark bags gathered beneath his bloodshot eyes like he hasn’t had good night’s sleep in far too long. 

“Another little chat with Stechner?” he grouses, peering up at you with narrow gazed suspicion. 

Your heart sinks, and you have to blink hard against the onslaught of his ire. Javi’s always been grouchy when he’s tired, and there’s nothing that drives him into a funk faster than any mention of Bill Stechner. It’s as if he has a sixth sense in that regard, like he can smell Bill on your skin. 

And that’s a gross thought.

Until now, Javi’s attitude had irked you, and you’d written it off as petty, just another brand of that delightfully obnoxious possessiveness that he’s continuously displayed since your apartment was bombed.

But dammit, you’re the moron here, not Javi. He’d been right not to trust Bill.

You shut your eyes tightly. You wonder if Javi should even trust you, given your most recent assignment. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, not knowing how to put your many worries into words, and Javi must read your conflicted mood, because he lets the subject drop. He huffs, his attention falling back to the open file on his desk, his long fingers working little tapping patterns into its intricate woodgrain.

You follow his gaze, noticing that he’s been pouring over the same photograph that Bill had shown you in the white room. Feo’s ugly mug leers back at you, a knowing, secretive smirk playing at his upturned lips, like he’s mocking you, the motherfucker.

A flood of emotions swamp you. You’ve watched Javi squinting down at this same photo for days, his mind spinning as he attempts to tease out connections, completely stumped as to how this unassuming, ugly man fits into the bigger picture of Pablo Escobar and his sicarios. 

And now you know, but there’s not a damn thing you can say about it. Bill’s going to be watching you. Hell, he’d admitted as much today. Verbatim. If he thinks that his little spy is sharing classified CIA intel with her DEA boyfriend… 

Well, honestly, you’re not sure what would happen. You just know that it would be bad news for you, and probably even worse for Javi.

You release a deep, broken sigh, exhaling though your nose. You wonder how you’re going to balance it all, working for Bill without betraying Javi.

Well, you absolutely refuse to do that. Fuck Bill Stechner for even asking.

But now, watching Javi huddled over his messy desk, squinting in the dim light because he refuses to wear his fucking glasses, frazzled and careworn and a little cranky, something pulls at your chest. 

Refusing to share this intel feels a lot like a betrayal already, and suddenly, you’re desperate to confess it all to him, to crawl into Javi’s lap and spill your guts and cry and beg for his forgiveness for blowing off his concerns about Stechner, for even entertaining the thought of withholding information from him.

Just as you feel like you’re ready to burst, Javi sighs deeply, flopping the file shut. He grinds out  his cigarette and turns to glance at you, his eyes dark with need. 

Your breath catches.

Then, without a word, Javi pitches forward to rest his head against your thigh. He nuzzles there for a moment, and you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair, helpless against the temptation to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long moment.

“Shh,” you whisper. Guilt gnaws at you. You’re the one who should be sorry. 

But Javi huffs a hot little breath against your leg, and you brush aside all thoughts of who should trust who, of loyalty and ethics and treason and chain of command. Right now, your entire universe is resting his head in your lap, and you’re determined to enjoy this moment, fallout be damned. 

“Baby,” he murmurs into the rough denim of your jeans, and your heart flutters. You bring your opposite hand to rest at the back of his neck, savoring the softness of his skin there, winding your fingers through the curls that brush against his collar.

Javi shudders at your touch, and you remember belatedly that you’re stroking at his number one erogenous zone, teasing him mercilessly without meaning him to. 

Reluctantly, you pull away, resting your palm at the slope of his shoulder instead. “Whoops.”

Javi snorts, craning his neck just enough to arch his only visible eyebrow in your direction. The rest of his face is squished into your thigh.

It’s fucking adorable, and it reminds you all over again how little you deserve him, this precious, perfect man. 

“What’s wrong?” Javi asks, like he’s sensed the direction of your thoughts. He twists further to frown up at you. One hand comes up to rest at the juncture of your hip, his thumb pressing deeply into your skin. 

It’s a comfort. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, because you can hardly say ‘everything.’ You busy yourself with working little circles at the base of Javi’s ear, hoping it’s enough to distract him from his line of questioning. 

 It’s not. Javier Peña has a mind like a steel trap, and he notices everything. “Bull,” he breathes, shutting his eyes despite his best efforts. “You’re worried ‘bout something.”

God, he looks wrecked. 

“I just…” You struggle for the right words to to offer him, come up empty. “God, I hate this.”

That one dark eyes flutters open again, soft with concern. 

“I miss you,” you blurt before he can dig any further. And oh, god, that’s not a lie. You miss Javi so much it fucking burns, even with him nuzzled right here in your lap.

Javi draws a deep breath, rolling over to expose the entire left side of his face. His opposite arm comes up to wrap around your waist so that he’s almost hugging you, his fingers digging gently into your flank. “What time is your shift over, baby?” he mumbles, his one visible eye glinting, nearly feverish with need. 

“Mmm,” you hum, your pulse hammering away in response to the how he’s looking at you. “I can probably be home by eight,” you say sadly. 

And really, that’s pushing it. It all depends on what you hear over the frequencies, and how quickly you can vet it. Anybody’s guess at this point in the game.

Javi blusters a deep sigh that prickles hotly at your inner thigh. “Dammit,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s your morning like?” In the craziness of the past few days, you’ve completely forgotten his schedule. 

“Early,” Javi mutters darkly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Fuck.” 

“Hardly,” he pouts against your jeans.

And god, you can’t blame him. Resentment wells hot in you. You just want a break, dammit, just a single fucking day to spend with the man you love. 

Is that so much to ask?

Suddenly desperate for more contact, you bend down to drop a gentle kiss at his temple. 

Javi inhales sharply as your lips meet his skin, and you lay there like that, contorting over him in a way that makes your sides ache and probably displays half of your bare back to anybody who happens to walk past the glass walls of the DEA office right now. 

You don’t fucking care. You need this. 

“Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” you ask as you finally pull away. You haven’t bothered glancing at your watch, but instinct is telling you that you’re already running late for your shift, and your back is killing you.

Javi sits up, slumping against his office chair with his legs splayed sideways. He’s all wild hair and furrowed brow, and if you weren’t at work, you’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss that contemplative look right off his face.

“That might work,” he says slowly, licking his upper lip a little in that way that means he’s thinking hard. Something coils deep in your belly, and you have to shake your thoughts away from those lips and that tongue, and what all they’re capable of. 

Javi cocks a brow at you, tilting his head a little. “What are you thinking?”

Fuck it, it’s late. You slide off his desk, planting yourself in his lap with your legs spread across his, grinding subtly against his thighs. His belt buckle digs into your belly, but you don’t give a shit. You tilt his face to yours, reveling for half a second in his confused, awestruck expression before you plant your lips on his for a deep, gentle kiss. Javi moans a little at the contact, plaint and responsive against your advances, his hands coming to graze at your back reverently. 

“I was thinking I’d ride,” you whisper against the stubble at his lower jaw just as you lean in to suck at it. 

Javi twitches against you, a tiny jolt of his hips, like he’s tempted to take you right here in his rickety office chair, damn the glass walls. 

“I need to see your face,” you continue, pulling his hands up to rest at your ribs as you rock gently against him, a subtle preview of tomorrow’s menu.

Javi shudders beautifully beneath you. “What, this ol’ thing?’ he teases, nuzzling against your breastbone. You can tell that he’s pleased by the thought. 

“This pretty thing,” you correct, working your way back to his lips. 

Javi bites back a groan as you kiss him. “Was asking about food,” he murmurs against your mouth. “But this is better.” 

“Don’t worry about food,” you say, falling forward to nuzzle against his neck. “I’ll take care of it. And it will be perfect.”

Javi snorts. “Better be takeout, then.” He gathers you against his body with strong arms, cradling you close. You breathe him in, reveling in the distant smell of coffee and stale cigarette, all mixed in with a hint of musky sweat and something smoky and dark that is uniquely Javier Peña. 

“God, baby, I’m looking forward to it,” he confesses against the hollow of your throat, and you throw your head back, shut your eyes and let him ravage you there, just for a moment. 

Javi pulls away far too soon, and you shudder at the loss of him, your body damn near trembling with need. 

He rolls back in his chair, glancing up at you with an apology in his eyes. “It’s eight oh five,” he tells you somberly, and you wince, disentangling yourself from him, stumbling out of his chair and straightening your shirt and threading your fingers through your wild hair in an effort to smooth it down. 

“How do I look?” you ask after a moment, backing up enough to give him the full effect of you. 

Javi’s eyes are burning as he takes you in, damn near shimmering with want and exhaustion and pent up emotion, and you curse Bill Stechner once again for butting his big nose into your relationship, for complicating things that should be so fucking simple.

“Perfect,” Javi says lowly, his lips pursed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with some thought that you can’t name. “Fucking perfect.”

Something wrenches in your chest, and you catch your breath, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. You suck them down, frustrated at how often life in Colombia seems to draw your emotions to the forefront. 

Nobody needs that. 

You lean forward, unable to resist dropping one last, chaste kiss to Javi’s forehead. “Go to bed, Javi,” you whisper against his skin. You pull away, a gentle, teasing smile spreading across your face. “Seriously, baby. It’s just getting stupid now.”

You wink at him, and Javi huffs a little laugh. “Get out of here, Ears,” he grouses, waving a lazy hand at you, but his smile is gentle and soft, and you know that he’s recognized the reference for what it is.

Feeling lighter than you have in days, you shoot him one last cheeky wave. Javi blows a little kiss at you in response, and your heart stutters at the gesture. 

God, he’s such a sap.

You damn near dance to the Centra Spike office, slipping into your headphones a full ten minutes later than you really should. Nobody bats an eyelash, though, and you busy yourself with the normal nightshift bullshit, sipping your coffee and switching to the proper frequencies, the promise of tomorrow glowing in your heart. 

♠

notes/confessions:

I struggled so hard with this. I still don’t love it, but I’m sick of looking at it, so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay, I know I have thrown some massive plot things at you this week. I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s a lot. Feel free to ask me questions. I’ve tried to make things as clear as possible, but I’m only human, Narcos is complicated af anyway, and Better Love is even worse, probably. 

Look for updates to slow back down again, because a) I actually do have a job, and b) we’re getting close to the point where I’m going to have to start posting If I Fall, and I want to have my chapters outlined a little better and maybe even a few deep before I do that. Look for a few little fluffy one-shots scattered between then and now, but guys... for the most part, the pieces are in place, and we are in the home stretch - of the setup, that is. 

Holy fucking shit.

Tags:  @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @hotspacepilots, @mostly-megan, @starlight-starwrites​, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty, @lv7867, @pascalisthepunkest, @sarahjkl82-blog, @corrupt-fvcker, @artsymaddie, @leonieb, @justanotherblonde23, @princess-and-pedro

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me, @mandoandgrogu, @hybrid-in-progress, @va-guardianhathaway, @speakerforthedead0, @feminist-violinist, @herefortheart, @dontmindifidontt, @blo0dangel 

[passable-talent]

Request for a Zuko blowjob.... Our fire prince receiving? However you wanna do it 💜😝 I'm just thirsty af

y’all are gonna get me horny. all characters are of age.

happy 1000 follower special, sorry it took a while, hope it was worth it.

Fire Lord Zuko needed a break- you could tell.

It was one of the things that he liked about you, that you could just sense it, when there was too much energy or stress in his muscles. It was like an innate superpower of yours, or maybe you just spent a little too much time paying attention to him and so you learned his body language.

You were a servant at the palace, high in the ranks through sheer hard work. You had been born with no status in your blood, and so you kept your head down and proved your worth, your talent, your skill. You’d been brought to the palace of the Fire Lord when you were ten to study under some of the more important servants there, those entrusted to keep state secrets while passing them between generals and sometimes even the Fire Lord himself.

You’d crushed on Prince Zuko from afar. You’d witnessed his banishment. You waited for him to return, knowing, hoping, that he’d be the one of royal blood to fix the monstrosities hiding behind these walls.

And when he came back, eight years after you’d first come to the palace, he was pretty much everything you’d hoped he would become.

The thing about being a high ranking servant is that you can sometimes subvert the delegated work patterns. For instance, on days like this, you often used the evenings that you weren’t required to work to snatch the Fire Lord’s dinner from the servant who was supposed to bring it to him, and took it to him yourself.

Genius, isn’t it?

“My Lord,” you said, head bowed respectfully at the doorway of the Fire Lord’s study. He often spent his evenings here, catching up on the schooling he’d missed, spending three years at sea. Even now he looked stressed, his shoulders tight as he leaned over the dark wooden desk. He looked up to see you, and the slightest bit of relaxation let his arms lower, but there was still work to do.

“Come in, Y/N.” You stepped into the room, placing his dinner before him on an empty portion of the desk. Every staff member who worked with him personally, he knew by name, but his knowledge of you went a bit deeper.

You turned, putting your back to the Fire Lord just briefly to slowly close the door. It made a soft noise, soft enough that it wouldn’t draw attention, nor did it shatter the atmosphere of the room.

“You have a lot on your mind, Fire Lord Zuko,” you said, leaning back against the door with a bit of a smile on your face as you looked at him. He ate lightly, delivering the chicken filled dumplings to his lips even as he continued reading the parchment strewn about in front of him. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his mouth- he had nearly colorless lips, which would make one think that his lips were thin. But you knew better.

You stood against the door, patiently, as he finished his meal, though his focus was on his paperwork until the very last morsel. Once he had, you pushed off from the wall with your shoulder blade and approached his desk.

You could be much bolder, now that this was an established pattern. You knew your forwardness was accepted, even appreciated.

When you reached the desk, you let your hips press against it, leaning over. Your left hand boxed in the dishes his meal had left behind, and with a tilt of your head you pressed a finger to his papers, though not the one he was currently scribbling on. You moved it around, slowly, catching his attention, bringing his gaze up to your sly smile.

“I really don’t have the time,” he said, and his voice was quiet enough that you could tell he regretted turning you away.

“I was merely collecting your dishes,” you answered cheekily, lifting up the tray you had set down and walking back to the door. When it was halfway open, he called out.

“Wait,” he said, and paused to lower his volume. “You’re going?”

“I thought you said you didn’t have any time?” You asked, coyly, and reveled for a moment’s pause in the red that rose on his cheeks. “Don’t worry, your majesty, I’m coming right back. After all, I’ve heard that something very important needs to be discussed with you.”

He recognized the meaning of the words. It was your own personal code, a phrase that you often used when trying to hide your true intention.

You knew better than to sprint. It would draw attention, and leave you out of breath. But you wanted so desperately to hurry, to return, and so you took every shortcut you could manage, tightly rounded every corner.

When you returned, you found him once again engrossed in his papers, but with your arrival he brightened and his focus shifted to you. He stood, grace aiding his movements, but you recognized the rush that normally accompanied this kind of meeting. You closed the door, and practically dove around his desk to slot your lips with his.

You wanted to pull and tug at his hair, but you knew better. So you let your fingertips play in those strands that hung loose from his topknot and let the rest of your hands frame his face, holding his jawline. His hands, too, started at your face, but as the insistence of the kiss built he let them wander down, to where he tucked them into the curve of your lower back, pulling you closer to him. With a quick smirk you pressed into his mouth, you used the opportunity to roll your hips into his.

He didn’t quite... moan. But he broke his mouth from yours and looked down, pressing his forehead against yours briefly while seeming to catch his breath.

You smirked.

“Yeah, you need this,” you said, voice low but all the same confident as you shoved his shoulders back, moving him out of your space. You took stock of his robes, recognizing the royal outfit and how to properly dismantle it. Though you were nearly an expert in fire nation royal clothing by now, it didn’t stop you from only taking it all halfway off.

Why do the whole job when half is enough?

His hipbones were close to the surface of his skin, though his muscular physique would prevent from calling them ‘defined’. Nonetheless, you took hold of them and spun him, pressing him back against his desk. This gave him something to lean against- which he needed, as you sunk to your knees.

It was a slow, purposeful movement, your descent to the floor, your eyes not breaking his for an instant the whole way down. One hand held onto the desk to keep your movement smooth but the other left it’s trail from his hipbone, down over his thigh, even as it intersected with drooping fabric.

His eyes were almost wide as he watched you, but his heartbeat was steady- he trusted you. He knew you well, and you him.

“Okay?” You breathed, a straightening of your back bringing you closer to where he wanted you, where you wanted to be.

“Yes,” he breathed, and finally you broke your attention from his eyes and focused it wholly on his dick. He was half hard already, something you would work with. You had a tendency to tease, to string him out, make him wait. There was almost a philosophy behind it- the more worked up he got, the more stress the subsequent relief would wash away. And so you never went right into the main event, instead choosing to spend plenty of time in the preliminaries.

First, you decided to break the perfect, pale skin. You dug your fingernails into his hipbones and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his v-line, the flesh there soft and hydrated, but just underneath was firm as iron. His fingers curled around the edge of the desk, keeping his hands out of your way and anchored, as though keeping him grounded in the moment here and now. You sucked, insistent, for a few seconds, leaving the beginnings of a mark before moving on. Really what you wanted to pay attention to was a little higher, at the base of his abs, and you caught just a bit of skin between your front teeth and tugged forward, letting it release on its own with a quick exhale from Zuko, and you could hear in the raspiness from deep in his chest that he was getting quite worked up. Satisfied with the small teeth marks you’d left, you moved on.

A snaking hand of yours slid up his thigh and back to his hip bone, the skin so smooth and soft, and you watched as his member jumped in reaction to a hand coming so close. You smirked, and a brief glance up to his face confirmed what you already suspected- his eyes were closed, emotions such as pleasure, temptation, frustration, and resistance flitting through the expressions he made. It made heat pool between your hips- but this wasn’t about you.

You decided to give him some relief, and one hand wrapped around his member slowly, fingers curling one by one, the delicacy of such a movement ubsurd for the situation. He let out the air in his lungs in the form of a moan, breathy and subtle, but music to your ears all the same. You began sliding, back and forth, grip strong but not tight, leaving him in the perfect limbo between pleasure and frustration. His abs stretched further as he leaned back, hands leaving the edge of the desk to brace his shoulders with his palms flat on the surface of the wood.

You felt little twitches in his hips, like he wanted to pick up the pace, and with a devious smile you loosened your grip.

Immediately his gaze connected with yours.

“What?” He asked, and you smiled.

“Taking a small break, you don’t mind?” The teasing lightness of your voice made him all the more frustrated, because he knew you weren’t being serious, as he was rock hard against his own abs.

“A break? Y/N, please.” And though that was the word you wanted to hear, the statement-like delivery of it made you want more, and you stood up, your closer hip pressing against the desk and leaning over him, taking his member back into your hand with slow, languid strokes.

“My lord,” you said, voice low, seductive, smooth, “you’re at my mercy, tonight, aren’t you?” His gaze searched yours, golden eyes looking up at you with an expression as though he were trying to read your mind behind your eyes. Finally, he broke eye contact, and looked down at your mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered, and it brought a smile to your lips.

“Then you need only ask,” you said, picking up speed with your strokes to bring panting into his breathing and moans into his words.

“Please,” he moaned out, and you sunk back to your knees again, your hand stilling at his base while you looked up at him, and smiled.

“Yes, my lord,” you said, and slipped your mouth over his member. You didn’t take it all the way, not at first, merely brought it to your tongue and began wetting it with saliva, giving the head a bit of suction from where it sat just behind your lips. His moan, at that moment, was louder than any other from the night, and if it wouldn’t have ruined your technique, you would’ve smiled.

With every bob of your head you took in more of his member, readjusting the position of your tongue. At first it became a barrier in the back of your mouth, but you fought your impulse and slid it along his undervein, making his back arch even further. His thighs flexed and tightened under your fingers, telling you along with his nearly constant thread of moans how much he was enjoying your treatment. You twisted your neck upon the final pull up and the opposite way on the sink back down, increasing the friction that he experienced. You still didn’t quite reach his base- he was just a bit too big for that.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, and a smile tried to pull at your lips, even though you were otherwise occupied. His moans were almost constant, broken through by your name. Finally his hand left the desk and buried into your hair, gripping tightly but not painfully. He began tugging, but instead of pulling you closer, as you would’ve expected, he was pushing you away.

“Y/N, I’m gonna-“ You realized the point of his motions and fought them, the stinging of your scalp nearly pleasurable as you battled to stay close to him, sinking your lips over as much of him as you could access.

“Y/N-“ he began, attempting to warn you again, but you once again pressed close and recieved it as he came, in the back of your mouth. You took it, as usual, and swallowed before it could hit your tongue. Slowly you pulled off and waited until he cooled down before standing. He had let his head droop back, hanging limply off his shoulders, chest rising and falling with labored, intense breaths. He didn’t re-emerge into reality for a good many more seconds, and when he did, his shoulders were noticeably looser than they had been in the afternoon.

“Sleep well, your majesty,” you said, and it was more an order than a well wish. You pressed a kiss to his temple as he panted, and you left him alone to deal with cleaning up the mess.

-🦌 Roe

[thedeviousdo]

Just As Usual..A Space Saga

Part Seven

Minseok, Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Jongin appeared in the middle of the main desk. Jongin let go of the others' hands and instantly collapsed into Kyungsoo’s side, body no longer able to hold him up. 

"Woah Jongin!" Kyungsoo quickly wrapped his arms around him, gently bringing him down to the ground. 

"T-too much too fast." He whispered. 

“Baekhyun, get us as far away from here as you can… fast.” Minseok ordered.

Baekhyun’s eyes were wide as he whirled around to his controls, and within moments the ship started off towards a chosen destination. “Min what the fu- Chanyeol!" Baekhyun yelled, jumping up from his seat as Chanyeol fell to his knees, hands pressed next to the hilt of a blade sticking out from under his ribs. 

Minseok got to Chanyeol just as Baekhyun did, both helping him lay on his back before he collapsed instead. He barely let out a pained groan, his eyes fluttering to stay open. 

"We have to take it out." Baekhyun said, removing his jacket to press at Chanyeol’s growing red wound. 

"N-no...don't. Too m-much blood loss." Jongin tried to stand but his legs gave out after rising only a few inches. He ignored the grumbled curse from Kyungsoo to stay still. "Get us...to the med-medic station."

"I've got the stretchers!" Sehun ran up to them, two stretchers floating behind him. 

"Help them, b-be careful, do it smoothly." Jongin nodded towards Chanyeol, sighing when Kyungsoo went over to help lift him on the stretcher. 

"On three." Minseok watched for everyone to nod before he started his countdown. 

They lifted Chanyeol onto the stretcher swiftly, Baekhyun keeping pressure on the wound the whole time. Kyungsoo came back to Jongin’s side, lifting him effortlessly onto the second stretcher. 

Jongin listed off the few things to prepare for Chanyeol to Sehun so he could run ahead, the others going as fast as the hover stretchers allowed, followed behind. They entered the medic station shortly after Sehun, Yixing instantly getting up from his bed.

"What happened?" Yixing asked.

"Detain him." Minseok said, as they walked Chanyeol’s stretcher to the operating table. 

"What?" Sehun asked as he turned around to look at Minseok. 

Minseok looked up from Chanyeol’s side, "I said detain him. Now. It's an order." His voice was low and clipped. He kept his stare on Sehun before he moved into action.

Yixing didn't say a word as he silently put his wrists out to Sehun when he pulled a hidden set of cuffs from a nearby drawer. 

"Sit on your bed until we get things under control." Minseok watched Yixing nod and sit down before he turned to Jongin. "What do you need so that you can help Chanyeol?"

Jongin looked up from his own patient bed that Kyungsoo got him on. "Sehun, th-the yellow needle, give that to Minseok. Use... it anywhere in his up-upper arm, Min. Then use those scissors… and cut away his shirt. Kyungsoo... get the antiseptics and b-bandage supplies." He waited as everyone did as they were told, taking deep breaths as some of his energy slowly started to come back to him. 

"What happened? How did you get here? What happened to those two? And why the hell did he have to lock up Yixing?" Baekhyun asked as he watched Minseok inject Chanyeol’s arm, saying sorry when he groaned. 

"Later, once we get these two patched up." Minseok gave a hard look to Baekhyun when he started to object then turned back to Jongin. "What now?" He asked before starting on cutting away Chanyeol’s shirt. 

"I need a half dose... of adrenaline, then I c-can take over."

Kyungsoo looked away from Minseok and the others towards Jongin. "You need rest." he said sternly, ignoring the eye roll from Jongin.

"I will, after." Jongin sat straighter in the bed, "the blue capped needle in that dr-drawer."  He pointed to the long set of cabinets along the far wall. Baekhyun rummaged through the drawer before bringing the syringe to him. "Soo, you know where it goes… I can't do it… myself."

Kyungsoo gave him a pointed look before taking the syringe from Baekhyun. He waited for Jongin to pull aside his shirt above his heart before he brought the needle down hard on Jongin’s chest. 

"Oh shit that hurts more than I was expecting." Jongin gasped, rubbing his chest once Kyungsoo took the needle away. He felt the drug work its way through his system, taking several deep breaths he got to his feet. 

~

Jongin helped Chanyeol sit up, moving the back of the bed up to a reasonable position that wouldn’t hurt his injury. “It will heal by tonight, but for now you need to stay in bed. No major movements. Let the meds work."

Chanyeol nodded, color was returning to his face and lips, though he still looked drawn and tired. “Thanks, Nini.” 

Baekhyun sat at the end of Chanyeol’s bed, looking between all of them and Yixing, who had been sitting silently on his bed for the last hour. “Some explanation would be great.” He looked towards Minseok, “You two went down to see Junmyeon and Jongdae and twenty minutes later the four of you are on the main deck. This one nearly dying from over exerting himself and this one having a freaking dagger stabbed into his body.”

“We noticed the comms were down and went to look for Kyungsoo but couldn’t find him or Jongin.” Sehun added, still standing his guard next to Yixing’s bed. 

“I was able to teleport down to the planet to grab them.” Jongin said calmly as he took a seat on the bed he used earlier. 

“Bullshit.” Baekhyun and Sehun both said at the same time.

“We don’t have our powers...not anymore.” Baekhyun said, obvious hurt in his voice. 

“It’s true, Jongin was able to use his and so was I.” Kyungsoo said from his spot against the wall next to Jongin’s bed. “Yixing was able to give it back to us.”

All eyes turned slowly to Yixing, he hadn’t moved or said a word since Sehun had to put the cuffs on him. He looked at all of them in turn before stopping at Minseok.

Minseok took a few steps until he was standing in front of him. “Time for some answers.”

“It’s true… I was able to heal them.”

“How? Start from the beginning.” Minseok said as he crossed his arms. 

Yixing looked down at his hands, taking a few breaths he said, “The Red Force is behind all of this." He slowly looked back up, "I was on Harmaa, I had found some wildlife and decided to follow them, maybe find more of their kind. But I found a hidden building instead, it was built into a giant black mountain. If I hadn’t followed those animals I probably wouldn’t have seen it. I found a way in, at first I thought it was abandoned but then I saw him.”

“Who?” Sehun asked, he had let his hands fall to his side, no longer near the weapon that hung from his belt. 

“Junmyeon. But… he looked different, even walked differently.” Yixing shook his head, “I shouldn’t have called after him but I was shocked to see him there and yelled his name before I really thought it through. He gave me this smile… and I knew at that moment I wasn’t walking out of that building. He tapped something on his wrist and that’s when Jongin appeared. He looked different too, he had me thrown to the ground in a blink of an eye, laughing as he pushed my face into the floor.” Yixing paused, taking another few breaths as a few of the others cursed under their own. “I don’t remember much from those first few days or weeks, they kept me drugged or-.”

“What?”

“A few liked pain… I-I don’t need to give you details on that.” 

“Min… let me take the cuffs off.” Sehun turned to look at Minseok, eyes pleading.

Minseok gave a tiny shake of his head, “Not yet. I’m sorry.” He said the last part to Yixing when he caught his eye. 

Yixing gave him a knowing nod before he continued. “After that they finally started testing on me. Taking my blood mostly, but they hooked a wire behind my ear.” He lifted his hand, fingers grazing the tiny pinpricks hidden in his hair. “There was a doctor, someone I never saw before, named Burrs. He was the only one I saw for the majority of the time. He said I was special, not many of our kind are Healers… he was delighted I was there. At a point I guess he felt comfortable around me because he started to talk more, answer some of my questions. He said the Red Force was able to shut off our powers, he had designed a chemical they were able to deposit into the atmosphere and anyone on the planet for a certain timeframe would be affected.”

“Why though?” Chanyeol asked, voice barely a whisper. “Why take it?”

Yixing gave a small shrug, “Because they didn’t have any themselves and they wanted the upper hand. Apparently they had been making clones for years, that’s why it felt like no matter how many times we won against them there was always more.”

“That’s true, their planet is small compared to the armies they had always been able to assemble.” Kyungsoo said, rubbing his chin, “Even with the alliances they’ve been able to make. The numbers never made sense.”

“Okay, but how were they able to clone us?” Jongin asked. 

“Burrs said something about breaking into one of our command locations, they were able to steal some of our blood from records there.” Yixing looked around the room, “I don’t know which of you they were able to clone, I only saw some of us.”

“Baekhyun was on Leavale along with Jongin, JD and Junmyeon, so we know of four.” Minseok rubbed his neck. “Did you see anyone else?”

Yixing shook his head, “No.”

“How did our clones have powers?” Chanyeol asked, wincing when he took too deep of a breath. Baekhyun helped reposition his pillow before sitting back down beside him.

“I’m not fully sure, from what I gathered, they had a few of our people before that they tested on, when they first made they made the chemical to take it away. Burrs had said they had been trying on their regular clones to give them powers, a reversal of how they took them away but it didn’t work. They got lucky when they tried it on a clone from our planet, they used a Healer to keep that clone alive through the transfer of powers. I was able to get my hands on some of their records before Junmyeon caught me." Yixing paused as a shiver ran down his back. "But, powers have to stay in what the clone of the person had. So water to water, fire to fire etc and the Healer keeps them alive to make it work.”

Jongin gave him a long look, “What happened when you were caught?”

“He let a few have fun, only order was to keep me alive enough.” 

“How did you end up on Caldor? How did you get your power back?” Minseok asked quickly, not wanting Yixing to feel he needed to explain more. 

“Burrs said he needed to slowly bring it back so that they could use me to transfer powers to more clones. I acted like it wasn’t working, I was hoping that would trick them into giving it all back. I knew at a point I nearly had it all back and that’s when they said they needed me as bait for all of you. They need you for something. They drugged me… heavily and left me on Caldor for you all to find. They underestimated you guys though and we got away. But that also meant the drug was never lifted the way they had planned. Burrs said the drug basically was a virus and needed an antidote to reverse what it does. Coma like stasis and memory loss, just in case I woke up somehow I still couldn't tell anyone about anything. I think with how long I was on the planet and them never giving me the antidote, I would've died if I didn't have my power back."

Jongin nodded, "You had high levels of carbon dioxide and several others in your system when I got you back to the ship."

"And giving Jongin and Soo their powers back?" Baekhyun asked.

Yixing gave a tiny shrug, "It was a hypothesis I had, if a healer was used in the transfer of powers, to heal it as it goes, then they should be able to heal the powers that were there already."

Minseok took a small step toward Yixing. "And how do we know you're not a clone?"

TBC

Masterlist

[bluefuckboy]

@slackslumber @king-queenie

This baby deserves its own post.

I’d like to say Incubus Kiri’s look is based heavily off his hybrid dragon form in the fantasy au

And with that I give you over 4K words of smut

Bakugo tossed another dirtied tissue into the wastebasket next to his desk. It joined the pile of similarly stained tissues and Bakugo felt a twinge of shame as he leaned back in his chair and sighed. The video on his computer was still playing and the sound of porn stars fucking now echoed a bit in his dorm room.

Bakugo hit pause and let his head fall onto the keyboard. Nineteen years and he was still in a steady relationship with his right hand. It was sad, but what was even worse was the fact that every time he tried to muster up the courage to finally go out and find someone to fuck, he would end up chickening out before the date even started.

It also didn’t help that he was into guys. It just made things harder since every guy he’d tried to hook up with thought Bakugo was ready to spread his ass for them no sweat. Like hell he was. He was the one who would be doing the fucking.

He sighed and picked up his phone to scroll through the group of apps he’d downloaded for the sole purpose of finding someone to finally lose his virginity with. All of them were a no go tonight and all the messages were just horny guys telling him how good he’d look pinned under them.

He was about to call it a night when his phone dinged with a message from an unknown sender. It dinged again, and again, and again, until Bakugo shut the sound off to silence the chorus of bells. It was the same message, sent to all the dating apps he had.

Of course his first thought was to delete it since it obviously must be some sort of spam, but he was curious too. He glanced at the message header.

Mistress Midnight’s Midnight Delights

The font was large and gothic and Bakugo’s curiosity got the better of him as he opened the message. It was a link to another app, which Bakugo downloaded for the heck of it since the description “Pleasure with the press of a button” had piqued his interest.

The app was set up like any other dating app would be, except there was no place to fill out a profile. Just categories which included Vanilla, S/M, BDSM, and one called V Card Removal. Bakugo clicked on it and was taken to a page that was exactly what he was looking for. It was a section dedicated entirely to first timers.

He was impressed with the frankness of the app as he scrolled through descriptions ranging from “soft and sweet” to “XXX.” He stopped at one that read “D/S.” He clicked on it and was greeted with several photos of gorgeous guy sprawled out in various positions.

There was a tall, lean guy leaning against a wall with a distant look on his face. His hair was two toned, half white and half red with what looked like a birthmark around one eye. He was very handsome, but Bakugo got the vibe he was probably under the Dom category and he was definitely looking for a Sub.

He scrolled through more photos. There was a guy with crazy yellow hair that looked like he’d been hit by a lightning bolt. He was even wearing what appeared to be a Pikachu costume, complete with ears and a tail that was clearly an anal plug. It made Bakguo’s cheeks hot, but it still wasn’t quite his type.

Another guy who looked the Sub part caught his eye. He was doey eyed with green hair and a spray of freckles over his nose and cheeks. He was laying on a bed, everything visible except for the goods, which were covered by his hands in Marilyn Monroe-like pose. There was even some sparkly linen covering one of this thighs.

Bakugo scrunched his nose up. Definitely not his type. That guy would probably cry during sex and then tell you he loved you as you were trying to sneak out the door the next morning. Bakugo wanted someone who would gladly suck his cock or ask him to fuck them and make him feel like this wasn’t a desperate final attempt to no longer be a virgin.

He scrolled past green haired boy and stopped as the next photo made him do a double take. It was a red haired guy, well built with a coy, toothless smile that made Bakugo’s stomach drop slightly. He was super cute and dressed in what appeared to be a doggy kink get up.

A bright red collar circled his neck and he was holding a bone in one hand while the other rested on his knees, which were pulled up to his chest, showing off just enough of his firm thighs to make Bakugo want to grip them tightly as he made the guy whimper like a naughty puppy.

Bakugo clicked on the picture. A pop up appeared.

Would you like to summon, Red?

Red must be what the guy went by, which was fitting. Bakugo found the wording a bit strange, but the slight sparkle in this guy’s eyes made Bakguo’s throat tighten up. He slammed his thumb onto the “Summon” option.

To his surprise the phone became searing hot in his palm. He cursed and dropped it onto the floor. It started vibrating violently and Bakugo was sure he must have just downloaded a virus. But then it stopped and the air seemed to thicken.

It felt like it was weighing down on Bakugo making it hard to breathe. The phone was buzzing again, but rhythmically this time. The screen was glowing red and it got brighter and brighter until Bakugo had to cover his eyes when it became almost blinding. There was a sudden rush of air from nowhere and the atmosphere changed from suffocating to calm. There was even a scent that reminded Bakguo of a high end cologne.

He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the afterimage of the bright light from the phone. The room had gone dark again as Bakugo had the lights dimmed for his me time. As his eyes adjusted his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. There was someone standing in the middle of his room.

He nearly fell over in his attempt to scramble away from the large, imposing figure. He groped for something, anything that he could possibly use to defend himself. He ended up ripping the keyboard from its spot next to the monitor, holding it in front of him like it was some sort of shield as he spoke in a shaky voice.

“Who the hell are you? How the fuck did you get in my room?”

The figure didn’t reply. There was what sounded like a snap and the room was suddenly bathed in soft lighting from sources that seemed to appear out of thin air. There were candles that had popped into existence, flickering slightly.

Now that there was adequate light, Bakugo could see that the hulking figure was none other than the guy, Red, that he had hit “summon” on. But he was far different from his photo.

For starters he was jacked as shit, way more muscular than the photo had let on. He was wearing what appeared to be tight leather pants that revealed he was packing some major heat. He had leather boots that stretched nearly up to his knees and he was completely shirtless.

Bakugo noticed there was a tattoo on the guys left shoulder that looked like the Roman Numeral for 5. In looking at the tattoo, Bakugo’s eyes couldn’t help but wander over the bulging bicep it was above, which flexed as the guy crossed his arms.

“You called?”

His voice was dangerously low and gravelly. Bakugo’s eyes darted up to his face. He was handsome for sure, but his features were sharper than Bakguo had expected and there was a scar over one his eyes, which were a deep, dark color that Bakugo couldn’t quite make out in the low lighting.

They seemed to glint a bit as the guy cocked his head and growled, “Come on kid I haven’t got all day. What’ll be?”

Bakugo’s mouth gaped open and he managed to stammer out, “You’re that guy from the app? Red, right?”

Red nodded, but his expression was bored. “Yeah that’s me. But you can call me whatever you want to tonight, sweetheart.”

Bakugo eyes widened and he was about to give an angry retort, but Red was suddenly in front of him. It was too fast for a normal human. He was simply just there, mere inches away from Bakugo, who found himself pinned against the desk. He panicked and shoved the wireless keyboard into Red’s broad chest in an attempt to push him away, but it was entirely useless.

Red’s chuckle sent a chill down Bakugo’s spine and he shimmied the keyboard out of Bakugo’s shaking hands, tossing it to the side.

“Hey!” Bakugo yelled, “That shit’s expensive you ass!”

He could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins now and it gave him a momentary bout of courage to say, “I clicked on a cute submissive guy, not you, you crazy shithead.”

Red looked confused for a second, but then his face broke into a grin. His casual laugh caught Bakugo off guard and Red said, “Shit. That’s my bad. I forgot to update that photo.”

He was suddenly too close for comfort and Bakugo could feel his hot breath against his face as Red crooned, “I used to play the sweet puppy act, but now I’m more of an alpha.”

He grinned again, this time showing teeth which were unnaturally sharp. Bakugo shivered as Red whispered, “I can be the Big Bad Wolf if you want, babe.”

Bakugo felt the edge of the desk dig into the small of his back as he tried to lean back as Red came closer. He loomed over him and Bakugo felt small and almost vulnerable. This wasn’t what he wanted, and the taunting smirk on Red’s face was making him even more pissed off.

He somehow managed to wriggle his arms up and pound his fists into Red’s chest, which was sold as a rock. It was enough to provide a small sliver of space for Bakugo to shimmy out of Red’s grasp and stand in front of him.

“Go back to wherever the fuck you came from and get the fuck out of my room.”

Red cocked an eyebrow. “Aw you’re kicking me out? But I’m just getting started. We pride ourselves on service at Mistress Midnight’s. So I’m not leaving until you’re satisfied.”

Red was suddenly right next to him again. Bakugo didn’t have time to try and maneuver out of the way as the man’s wide palms were at his hips, holding him in place. That heavy, almost suffocating feeling was in the atmosphere again.

“Let me go!” Bakugo growled, struggling in vain, his fists pounding against Red’s chest.

One of Bakugo’s wrists was grabbed by Red and yanked back so that they were pressed flush against each other. Red’s other hand was now on Bakugo’s ass and Bakugo could feel the heat between their bodies.

The hand on Bakugo’s ass slipped into his boxers. Red’s palm was like fire against Bakguo’s skin and he hissed slightly as he tried to pull out of Red’s vice like grip. The air grew even thicker and Bakugo’s lungs felt like they were about to cave in, but then everything seemed to stop as Red pressed their lips together.

Bakugo wasn’t just a a virgin sexually. He had also never kissed anyone before. The sensation was strange, a tingly feeling that had him focusing on the soft give of Red’s lips instead of the hand kneading his asscheck slightly.

Bakugo inhaled sharply as something wet came to tease at the seam of his lips. Red’s tongue slipped past Bakugo’s lips, snaking it’s way past his teeth and forcing Bakugo’s mouth open. Bakugo panted into Red’s mouth as Red’s tongue caressed every inch of Bakugo’s mouth, until Bakugo’s knees began to shake.

When Red finally pulled back Bakugo was gasping for air. He knew kissing was supposed to be good, but this was on another level. His lips felt swollen and he flinched as Red dragged a thumb along his bottom lip, gathering the bit of spit that coated it. Bakugo watched with wide eyes as Red sucked the saliva off the pad of his thumb with an obscene pop before smacking his lips.

“You virgins always taste so sweet,” Red commented.

Bakugo flushed and he looked down sheepishly at his feet. In doing so he noticed the boner he must have popped at some point during their make out session. Out of habit he tried to cover himself with the hand that wasn’t being held by Red, but it was snatched away so both his wrists were in Red’s grasp.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. This the whole reason I’m here, remember?”

Red punctuated the statement by grinding his hips into Bakugo’s. Bakugo let out a very unmanly squeal as he felt Red’s own erection press against him. Red made a strange noise, but Bakugo didn’t have time to register it as he was suddenly being slammed into the wall.

His back hit with a solid thud and the air was knocked out of him. He gasped for breath, but then forgot how to breathe entirely as he saw that Red’s eyes were glowing, the pupils thin slits, almost reptilian.

But it wasn’t just Red’s eyes that had changed. His teeth were sharp like a shark’s, glistening in dim room. Black horns topped his forehead, fitting perfectly with the spikes of his red hair. The tips of his ears had elongated slightly, ending in distinct points. The hands that came to cup Bakugo’s ass again ended in sharp points that stung as Red dug his nails in. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Red had suddenly sprouted wings. Giant, leathery wings that looked bat-like. They were folded, but flared out slightly as he grinned at Bakugo wickedly. Something caught Bakugo’s attention from the corner of his eye. There was also a tail flipping back and forth behind Red, which ended in a heart shaped spike.

“Y-youre a demon?” Bakugo gasped, shaking even more now.

Red’s wings flattened agains his back. “In broad terms sure. But the correct word is Incubus.”

“Incuwhat?”

“To put it very simply, a sex demon.”

“S-sex demon?”

Bakugo’s whole body was hot. Red’s now inhuman appearance was frightening, but there was something also oddly erotic about it. His eyes seemed to draw you in and despite how dangerous they looked, Bakugo found himself wanting to delve his tongue into Red’s mouth now, tracing the points of those teeth. Said teeth were suddenly nibbling lightly at Bakugo’s neck, down his collarbone which Red laved his tongue over, dipping into the hollow and making Bakugo’s body spasm.

He’d been turned on plenty of times but this was different. It was like his body was craving more each time Red would touch him. He wanted to feel Red’s naked chest against his own, and he found himself clumsily trying to yank his shirt off.

Red chuckled and the garment was discarded along with Bakugo’s boxers, leaving Bakugo entirely exposed. Red’s eyes flicked over Bakugo’s trembling body and it felt like everywhere he looked became hot. Bakugo’s cock was already fully erect and Red’s eyes lingered on it.

He pursed his lips, as though in thought, and then he was kissing Bakugo with such force that Bakguo thought he might suffocate. Red’s mouth was wet and hot, but there was something snaking up his leg, winding round his thigh, dancing lightly over the dip in his pelvis until he felt it coil round his throbbing cock.

It was Red’s tail, wrapping Bakguo from base to tip, making him mewl into Red’s mouth. The pressure around his cock was just enough to make Bakugo want more, it was almost a tease, but then the tip of Red’s tail flicked over the head of Bakugo’s cock.

It was a completely foreign feeling, rough, but warm, and agonizingly stimulating. Red’s tail tightened around Bakugo’s cock and he began to pump him slowly while he teased Bakugo’s slit, which was dripping precum onto the leathery skin.

Red separated their mouths briefly and Bakugo gasped for air. Red’s eyes were hypnotizing and the slow fuck of his tail around Bakugo’s cock had him close to orgasm. But then the sensation was suddenly gone and Bakugo made a disappointed noise.

Red chuckled, “Don’t worry. We’re only getting started.”

Bakguo was swept up effortlessly by Red’s strong arms and deposited on his bed, still very much naked, and still very much aroused. Red stood over the bed, looking like a predator deciding how to devour its prey. His wings flexed slightly.

“You know what, I’m feeling generous tonight, so I’ll give you some special service. But first I wanna see you on your hands and knees.”

Bakugo’s brow furrowed. “My what?”

Red’s eyes began to glow brighter. “I said get on all fours.”

It was an order and Bakugo scrambled to position himself on the bed. He looked up at Red, who tutted at him before bending down so their faces were level. Bakugo’s eyelids were heavy and he opened his mouth eagerly for Red as they shared a languid kiss.

But then another order came. “Turn around.”

Bakugo hesitantly maneuvered so his backside was toward Red. He couldn’t help the blush that spread over his cheeks and all the way down to his chest. He could hear Red make a noise of approval and then Bakugo’s head was being shoved down into the sheets so his ass was in the air.

“Now be a good boy and stay still.”

Bakugo flinched as Red cupped his ass. The claws on his fingers dug into the skin ever so slightly and Bakugo tried to move away but was stopped with a hard slap to his left cheek followed by a growl from Red.

“I said don’t move.”

Bakugo’s heartbeat was pounding in his ears. The sting from where Red had slapped him was turning him on even more. He wanted to feel more so he purposefully pushed himself up from the bed.

Red’s claws dug into his scalp almost instantly, forcing his head back down as the satisfying sound of Red’s palm hitting the creamy skin of Bakugo’s ass echoed through the room. Bakguo moaned slightly and the grip on his hair vanished.

He could feel Red’s hands cup the angry red marks he’d left on Bakugo’s ass. Near perfect handprints. But Red was far from done as he spread Bakugo open. It was what Bakugo had wanted to do to the cute boy in a collar. But instead he was being worked open by a demon whose hot breath beat against his quivering hole.

Bakugo buried his face deeper in the the sheets, balling them up with his fists as he felt something wet flick at his entrance. Red’s hands tightened on Bakugo’s cheeks and then Bakugo cried out as Red’s tongue pressed into him ever so slightly.

Bakugo had tried anal play once, just to see if it was anything he was interested in. He’d managed to get two fingers in, but could never find the sweet spot he’d heard about, which was part of the reason he wanted to top.

But now, as Red’s tongue circled rings of muscles, any remaining wishes to top were long gone. In fact he found himself trying to lean in closer to Red, who was fucking him slowly with a tongue that was far to long for any human being.

It was reaching places Bakugo didn’t even know he had. Red curled his tongue slightly and Backugo let out a muffled scream of pleasure. He had the sheets between his teeth now, biting down in an attempt to keep quiet as this was a dorm.

But Red seemed to have other ideas. His tongue was pulled out, making Bakugo’s body shake. He felt the bed dip and then Red was draped over him, his chest pressed flush against Bakugo’s sweaty back. Somehow Red’s pant’s were gone and Bakugo could feel something firm and hot slide between his cheeks for a moment.

Red yanked the sheet out of Bakugo’s mouth and replaced it with two of his fingers, hooking them into Bakugo’s bottom jaw. He couldn’t feel the points of Red’s claws, but sharp teeth came to nibble on his ear as Red whispered.

“I want to hear you beg for me to fuck you.”

Bakugo’s last bit of sanity snapped as he felt the tip of Red’s tail suddenly slip inside of his quivering hole. The fingers in his mouth were making him drool onto the sheets. The flared tip of Red’s tail had slid in surprisingly easily and Bakugo clenched around it.

He let out a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making as the tip of Red’s tail brushed against an area that had Bakugo seeing stars. He heard a growl of approval, and the fingers in his mouth were taken out.

“Tell me what you want,” Red asked, his voice a low rumble.

Bakugo’s voice shook as he found himself saying, “I want you to fuck me.”

Red smiled devilishly. “Good boy. Now scream for me.”

The tip of the tail pressed right against Bakugo’s prostate and Bakugo let out a high pitched whine. It didn’t seem to satisfy Red though and his tail was slipped out quickly, leaving Bakugo’s hole clenching at air. But then the solid head of Red’s cock was there.

Red pushed in ever so slightly and Bakugo whined.

“You want more?”

Bakugo could only nod, his head bobbing up and down erratically as he panted into the sheets. Red’s tail wrapped around Bakugo’s right leg, almost holding him there as he positioned himself at Bakugo’s entrance.

In one thrust he entered him all the way and Bakugo did indeed scream. It felt like he was being ripped apart. Red’s cock was huge, filling him up in a way he never knew he wanted. He cried out again as Red pulled out before slamming back in.

Bakugo cummed as Red’s cock hit his prostate. He could feel himself clench around Red and it was almost too much as Red pulled out again and started fucking him hard and fast. Bakugo’s muscles relaxed slightly after his orgasm and somehow Red slid even deeper into him.

A low growl rumbled from behind Bakugo’s head and he felt wet strands of saliva dripping onto his back. He somehow managed to glance up at Red and the sight pushed him forward into a second orgasm.

The incubus looked like an animal in heat. He was salivating, panting heavily as he fucked into Bakugo. His wings had spread out so they filled the cavity between the bed and the ceiling. They trembled with what Bakugo hoped was Red’s own pleasure. Red’s tail tightened around Bakgugo’s leg and then Red came.

As he did he dug his claws into Bakugo’s hips, but Bakugo didn’t register the pain. He was entirely fixated on the feel of Red’s hot cum filling him up. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before and it was amazing. Red was still thrusting and Bakugo didn’t expect to feel even more spurts of cum shoot inside him. It was like Red was trying to pump him full.

With a loud moan Red’s forehead fell to rest on Bakugo’s shoulder. Bakugo could feel breath beat against his skin, cooling the saliva sticking to it. When Red finally pulled out Bakugo felt slick sliding out of him. He shuddered and tried to look up at Red again, but he couldn’t.

He was feeling strange all of a sudden. Like his body was being dragged down into the bed, his limbs becoming heavy. It was becoming hard to focus and a soft buzzing was starting to fill his head.

He was lifted like a rag doll and plopped back onto the bed. Red’s wet tongue swept up his abdomen and Bakugo shivered. He groaned as he felt Red’s mouth at his cock for a moment, licking up the cum that had dribbled down. He felt a strange sensation at the jut of his hip. It burned slightly but then it was over and exhaustion and post coitus bliss washed over him, drowning him into a deep sleep.

He faintly heard Red say something to him, but he was out before he could understand what it was.

When he awoke the next morning he was tucked into bed. His phone was on the nightstand, sheets neat and clean as though last night had never happened. Bakugo wondered if that was the case. It could have been one hell of a dream, and probably had to be.

An incubus fucking him senseless? That was the stuff of fiction. Bakugo sighed. He didn’t deny the fact that part of him wished it had been real. He could almost feel the burn from Red’s hands on his ass. As he shifted slightly, he did feel something with his ass however. It was a numb feeling and he sprung up, regretting doing so as his back throbbed painfully.

He tore the sheets off and waddled over to the mirror hanging on the closet door. Sure enough, as he yanked his boxers down there were distinctly shaped red marks on each cheek. It made Bakguo’s heart flutter for some reason, but then he noticed something else.

There was another mark on his hip. It was writing. He craned his neck down to make it out. It looked like it had been written with a sharp object and was more of a scar than anything. Bakugo’s eyebrows raised at the words.

Property of Eijiro

Eijiro? Bakugo didn’t know an Eijiro. He was thoroughly confused but then the moment before he passed out came rushing back. Red had carved this into him. He’d also whispered to him words which made Bakugo shiver remembering them.

“Next time I want my name on your lips as you cum. You’re mine now.”

[alittleinkspill]

High School Writing #3: Room Description

I felt the warmth of the doorknob in my palm as I twisted the sphere and swung open the door enough to get in without letting much of the warmth out. The heat was welcome compared to the blistering cold in the corridors of the house. My nearly frostbitten, bare feet stumbled off the dark oak floor and onto the plush carpeting covering the expanse of my room.

I shut the door behind me and stood there for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, the faint smell of burning logs filling my lungs, and allowing the warmth from the fire in the hearth to curl around me like the fuzzy dark blanket sprawled and distorted on my bed, the red sheets still marking where I laid a couple minutes ago, my novel open and upside-down on the bedside table between the two oak-wood single-beds, one mine and the other my brother’s.

My brother’s bed was painted a dark shade of brown, with gold-painted floral patterns carved into the wood. We both had the same patterns on our beds, but where his was normal oak, mine was dark oak; his sheets and pillows were a soft shade of red, mine were crimson; his blanket was covered with bright floral patterns, mine was plain, and a brown so dark it was barely distinguishable from black.

I detested the floral patterns carved into my bed, but in a couple months the beds would change, having lasted us three years already. I owe that change to my brother who played so aggressively on his bed that it now lays below our standards, and it was made of some really sturdy wood.

My brother was not in his bed tonight, the eight-year-old was snoozing soundly with my parents in their bed, cradled between the two.

I made my way around his bed over to my book through the dimly lit room, my feet sinking into the maroon carpet, examining the room as I went, the bright wood walls, the four metres on the left of my bed covered with bookshelves seven feet high. The wall in front of my bed was just closets built into the wall, blending in seamlessly except for the silver, metal handles.

The room lacked pictures, once again because of me, and it lacked a bathroom, that was not my fault, but part of the architecture. It was right outside my room, a door in the wall. I passed by the hearth, the logs cracking, a sound I found comforting. The cobblestone amongst the wood walls seeming odd but nonetheless remarkable. It had a very low railing, bright gold in the light of the fire. I moved past.

My gaze found the study tables, one for my brother, one for me. Modest tables, the flat top light brown and polished, while the rest was painted a dark shade of brown. It had no carvings nor designs. Two drawers rested in the table, one significantly wider than the other, the remaining bottom empty but walled on all three sides leaving the front. Our chairs were also identical, like the ones found in a computer lab, I always struggled with describing them.

The desks were set up parallel to the wall adjacent to the bookshelves, my brother’s next to mine, both desks currently bare.

As my hand now reached for the book, I looked up into the mirror hung flat against the wall, its base touching the table as though it was propped up on it. It was intricately made, with a wide top, narrowing as you went lower. The mirror, too, had no carvings nor designs.

I looked at the clear glass framed by the dark wood, and the boy stared back at me. He had dark, rough hair, and sunken eyes, once a bright, blue ocean. There was a light stubble on his chin, and his lips were completely dry. Light acne dotted both of his cheeks.

‘Teenage,’ I shrugged, and grabbed the book as I collapsed onto my brother’s bed, picking up where I had left off from between the around 500 pages. It was one of the novels I do not speak about, as I tucked my, now much warmer, feet into my brother’s blanket. They were aching from that bare foot expedition to the kitchen for a glass of water in the cruel rule of winter, but the ache was wearing off.

As I read on, I made a mental note of wearing my slippers the next time I felt like braving the cold.

- 29/08/2019

[ditttiii]

Kintsugi. | 0t7 (m) || 01 |

◈ Hybrid AU || Ot7 x Reader 

◈ Summary:  Life is neither fair nor what you had dreamed that it would be, but the hand that fate had dealt them was worse than yours. 

When you get a chance to adopt seven hybrids, all a little rough around the edges, do you take it? Will this last-ditch attempt at doing something right, end with you buried six feet under the ground or will it finally give you the family that you have always secretly hoped for?

◈ Genre: eventual romance || hurt/comfort || angst (with a happy ending) || eventual smut || will in due course dive into discussions of abuse, however nothing too gruesome. 

◈ Chapter One (Introduction || prologue)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: None (sfw)

◈ Masterlist  (all available chapters will exclusively be linked here only.)

Thank you so much @today-we-will-survive​ for somehow understanding my very incoherent, very vague idea and articulating it into this gorgeous mood board. It is everything that I had hoped for it to be, and I am in love. 

The room you are in feels cold, its interior bathed in a kind of sterile whiteness; that makes it seem oppressing and detached. The man who sits in front of you is blank-faced, thin-rimmed glasses perched low upon the bridge of his nose as he shuffles through the documents on his desk. 

When neither of you speak, the only sound that breaks the stillness is the shuffling sound of one paper against another. 

There is a sense of gradually increasing weight on your chest, as though you are helplessly choking under the crushing pressure of the air, the white walls around you endlessly tall and almost unbearably blank. Not a single chart or degree hangs on any of the four walls that enclose you, only the stark whiteness glaring back. 

The man clears his throat and your eyes snap back to him, hands clenching the rough fabric of your denim; palms cold, sweaty and numb. He asks one more time if you are sure, and with your heart in your throat, you choke out a "yes."

 "Alright then, if you would please follow me." 

 His words are polite but distant, walls built around whatever last speck of humanity he has left inside of him. Or maybe he doesn't have any left; you think you wouldn't either if you did the things he did, had seen the sights he had. 

 Not knowing how to respond, you nod and stand to follow him, the padding of your feet muffled by the converse you chose to wear today. Then, digging your hands into the deep pockets of your hoodie, you clench them away from any prying eyes. 

 Contrary to the affirmation you had shown just a few seconds prior, the truth is that you are not sure. Not an iota of you is convinced of your decision, but you still don't back down. You don't turn around, don't run away, no matter how much your feet are tingling to—brain screaming to. 

Instead, you wordlessly follow the man as he fulfils his end of the deal. 

 Closed metal doors pass you by, fluorescent white lights above your head flickering now and then. It's so quiet, a pin could drop, and you'd hear it loud and clear. 

Judging by the sheer size of the facility you saw from outside, you think you two aren't the only ones here. A distant voice in your head supplies that you know better; as it happens, you are on your way to meet seven others, but the silence that curls around you is loud, so so loud. Maybe that's why the voice doesn't berate you too much. 

 You can't help but think that if an apocalypse were to hit, this is what the aftermath would feel like—lacking any noise, colour, humanity. 

 The man finally stops in front of a closed metal door, this one no different than the many others you just passed and you wonder how he knows this is the right one. But instead of inquiring, you stay put, quietly watching him scan his fingertips then eyes before the door finally unlocks with a quiet click and slowly swings open. 

 The hallway outside is cold, but the air that gushes out from inside is freezing—the sort of frigid that leaves you shivering even under the thick wool of your hoodie. 

 Unconsciously, you burrow your nose lower under its loose, high collar. 

 The door whooshes shut behind you, locks with a click again, and suddenly you are looking at a sight that makes you want to run—bolt away. 

 Opting to ignore your frozen figure, the man remains silent and just moves ahead, passing the heavy steel table in the centre of the room before walking to the back. Your gaze, however, is locked onto the long table, and after a closer look, you realise instead of one long table, they are two steel tables pushed close together, seven metal chairs—empty metal chairs, placed behind. 

 He disappears into a narrow, dark hallway at the end of the room, and you stay put. Something tells you it'd be better if you don't follow him this time. So instead, you walk to the shared table. A trembling hand slips out from the safety of your pockets and moves to touch the table. Feeling the sharp, cold edges under your fingertips, you flinch. 

 The metal, much like everything that you have encountered so far in the facility, is cold. 

 The room is desolate, endless bleak white walls, white fluorescent lights flickering incessantly, the air in the room stifling and foreboding—the same grim atmosphere as the rest of the facility inhabiting this room as well. 

 Whatever warmth this building once had was now leached away; in its wake is left a bitter, cruel, unending cold. 

 Hearing the almost muffled padding of multiple feet against the icy, white tiles, you hastily move back closer to the entrance. Stuffing the hand that had caressed the surface of that frosty table back into your hoodie's deep pockets, you rub it against the fur from inside. Just a touch has left you feeling colder, the warmth of your hand sucked away into a frozen abyss.

Your gaze locks onto the dark hallway, and you wonder how anyone can walk without tripping in that kind of darkness, but you don't move to check. Feet glued to the ground, blood roaring in your ears, you watch with clenched fists as the man from before walks out, followed by seven hooded figures. 

 Breath caught somewhere deep in your chest; you root your feet to the ground. 

 No backing out now.

 A/N: ‘Kintsugi’ is not a story about a hybrid owner falling in love with her hybrids. It’ll, before anything else, be a story about how one broken girl and seven broken men, come together and find ways to heal together. There will be discussions of abuse (mental & physical) // anxiety and other issues. The rating is M for a reason, if you are a minor, do not continue reading. I will be putting specific warnings at the top of each chapter, so if you have an issue with reading about a particular scene, you can shoot me an ask and I’ll direct you through the chapter without you having to read the details. There won’t be any gruesome mentions, or gore. 

I appreciate all your feedback, so if you are interested in reading more, please do let me know! Thank you ❤

[hoedorokishoto]

Trust - Part 5

Shoto Todoroki x Reader 

+ Minors DNI 

previous | part | next 

My lids felt heavy as I struggled to open my eyes to the bright room. The furniture in Hitoshi’s room becoming clear as my vision cleared, and I could take in all my surroundings. A very silent and stoic Mr Aizawa standing by the door, arms crossed, his face unreadable. I pulled the blankets up, becoming aware that I currently only had one of Hitoshi’s shirts on over my underwear. Something I was comfortable showing Hitoshi, but not so much the Erasure Hero.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice deep and even though I knew he wasn’t accusing me of anything I still felt like I was in trouble. Guilt still seemed to be the only emotion I could manage.

“I feel fine. I didn’t have much to drink at all last night.” I answered, trying to laugh off his question.

“Even though I’m not thrilled about the underage drinking, I think you know that isn’t what I meant.”

I knew what he meant, my head dropping to my bare thighs where I fidgeted with the hem of the shirt. Memories of last night came flooding back and I couldn’t help but cringe at the feeling. The feeling of being overwhelmed with all those emotions, feeling things that I wasn’t meant to be feeling.

“I- um, I’ve got it under control now, I’m sorry about what happened last night. I should have um- I- It’s all my fault.” I barely got out before a tear ran down my face.

“Y/N. What happened wasn’t your fault, you and Sen are both almost adults and weren’t doing anything wrong. I think there was just too much alcohol and not enough communication which was the cause of the outburst. Don’t blame yourself for the actions of others.” Mr Aizawa said lowly, walking over and sitting on the desk chair across from me. Despite his gruff exterior, he was one of the most noble men you had ever met. Also, one of the best heroes.

“Um, did… Todoroki. Is he okay?” I asked, heat rising up my neck and making its way across my cheeks. My body betraying me and my intentions of trying to come across cool, calm and collected.

“He went to shower; he didn’t leave you at all last night. I’m sure it was quite cozy with all 3 of you in here last night.” Aizawa stated, standing, and making his way over to the door. He stayed? Why? What could Shoto Todoroki gain from laying on the ground like a dog and guarding me? Was he worried that I was going to have another meltdown and his ice would be able to help?

“Put on some pants, come downstairs. Everyone was worried about you, and they made breakfast.”

“I have to go finish some paperwork because Bakugo and Denki decided to defend you honour last night. Noble but stupid.”

My eyes widened; they really did that for me? I wanted to smile but thought it best to wait before the teacher was out of the room.

When the door clicked, I jumped up and found some spare clothes that I kept here. A pair of leggings that covered my bare thighs and a sweatshirt that added warmth to my cold body. I thought it best to have a quick look at my appearance before leaving the room and scaring any students. Knowing that sometimes my hair could be exceptionally large and in charge. Pleasantly surprised that someone, I would guess Hitoshi had taken off my makeup, and left a thick hair tie on the corner of the mirror, the tie perfect for restraining the small afro that had started to form on my head.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I left the room and headed to the direction of Todoroki’s dorm, wanting to thank him for all his help. My body moving before my mind could decide this might be the worst decision I had ever made.

                                                            *

The knock on the wooden door seemed to echo throughout the hall. The only noise in the empty hallway.

“It’s fine, just say thank you then leave.” I said to myself. Eyes closed and breathing in heavily. My anxiety through the roof. Caught between wanting to thank Todoroki for all his help but also never wanting to see him again because the last time I did, our faces were inches apart and I was hysterically crying. On the verge of an actual mental breakdown.

“Leave? You only just got here.” The voice shocking me out of my thoughts. My fidgeting hands stopping by my sides and going completely still. Maybe if I didn’t move, he wouldn’t notice me, and I could make a quick escape I thought to myself. My eyes still looking down at my feet, seeing Todoroki’s bare feet opposite mine.

“I hope you don’t think that if you stand still, I won’t see you.”

Feeling defeated, I looked up slowly. Taking in the sight before me. There was Shoto Todoroki, still dripping wet from the shower, towel hung low on his hips. Almost everything on full display. His whole body was toned and clearly built to be a Pro Hero. I didn’t think I had seen anything so sexy. The muscles of his body clearly from all the years of training.

“I- um. Thanks.” I choked out, trying to keep still, my eyes travelling up and down his body. Wanting to take it all in, knowing that I’d never be seeing this again.

“I told you I could see you naked.” I said quietly, recalling the conversation we had in my workshop. Wanting to relieve some tension. A hearty chuckle leaving his lips and reaching my ears.

“Do you want me to drop the towel? Technically I’m not fully naked yet.” He said back, voice flirty and lighthearted.  For a second you forgot the awkwardness you were feeling moments ago and laughed. His hand coming out and resting on your elbow.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the mood shifting again, becoming serious. His hands still firmly on me, warm to the touch. I hardly knew him, but he was comforting, his presence very quickly becoming one you didn’t know if you could live without.

He was charming, funny, smart and dedicated. All facts you had learned from him being in your workshop every afternoon for the past week. Both of you learning about each other, casually flirting and making jokes with each other. He had definitely come along was from the little first year who thought that if he smiled people would die.

“Thank you, seriously. I’m glad you were there.” I said honestly. Not sure what would have happened if he didn’t find me and help me get a hold of my quirk. The thought of feeling all those emotions for any longer making your stomach drop and fill with dread.

“You also didn’t have to stay with me last night, I know those cots aren’t too comfy.” I said, playing with a stray curl that had fallen out of the tie awkwardly. You felt bad for him really, you knew how small and not suited for someone so tall and broad they were.

“I wanted you in my room but Shinso took you off me. I didn’t want to let you go.” He admitted lowly, dropping his head and bringing it down next to my ear. His breath warm on the side of my face. My cheeks heating up, stepping back and out of his grip.

He looked sincere, his eyes honest as I looked into them, but I couldn’t fall for it. I wanted to believe him but deep down I knew how people really were. I knew that I couldn’t let anyone else in.

My friendship quota full, no matter how wet and handsome they currently looked standing before me.

“I’m going to wear you down Y/N.” He almost whispered, stepping out of his room to make up the space I made between us. His body pressed flushed against mine, the water from his torso wetting the material of my sweater. His hand came out and played with the bottom of the sweater, toying with the material between his fingers.

“Wear me down? Don’t say it like it’s so easy.” I admitted, looking up but not moving back. Our bodies, still pressed up against each other.

“I like a challenge.”

“I’m nothing like any of the villains you’ve face before.”

“I’m excited to find out just how different you are.” He said lowly, small smile on his face as his hand shifted under the sweater and rested on my waist, his other hand coming up and resting on my cheek. Holding me in place.

“I can feel it, this wall you have put up. From a past heart break or family drama, doesn’t matter. I’ll learn soon enough. Just know that I’m going to break it down and you are going to want to be with me just as badly as I want to be with you.” He stated so surely, his mouth inching closer to mine, his breath fanning my face. Stopping short of our lips touching, Todoroki shifting and kiss the corner of my mouth, right on the cheek.  

“We should go get some breakfast. Give me a minute.”

Without another word Todoroki turned and went back into his dorm, closing the door slightly to get changed. No, evidence on his face about what had just happened, or almost happened. Definitely the opposite of me who was beyond flustered, cheeks red and a little turned on.

                                                              *

The common room and kitchen looked different from when I saw it last. The couches were pushed back together, no empty bottles littered the floor and the space was completely bare of drunk teenagers unlike how it was when I left last night.

“Girl… so how are you feeling?” Mina asked, sitting next to me scooping food onto my plate.

“I have never been better; I feel so good about everything in my life right now. So balanced.” I said, looking over at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Sarcasm isn’t real humor extra. If you feel like shit you should just say it!” Bakugo said from the other side of me, nudging me with his arm. I had already thanked him for last night, feeling honored that he would stick up for me like that whereas Denki’s thanks would have to wait until he decided to emerge from his room.

“You have no reason to feel shit by the way. He is a fuck. He deserved the punch he got.”

“Not that I don’t agree with you, but I definitely think I should be held accountable for some of it. I mean he wouldn’t have acted like that if we weren’t sleeping together.” I stated, shrugging my shoulders and scooping food into my mouth.

“Just because you guys had sex doesn’t mean he can touch or talk to you like how he did. Once a dickhead always a dickhead.” Bakugo said back, sipping his tea.

You had to agree, the situation you were in last night had scared you. Watching Sen act like that startled you and reminded you that anyone was capable of anything under certain conditions. Before you could reply two large hands came down on your shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Morning Y/N, sorry about last night. Sorry I couldn’t be there to help.” Kiri said sadly, concern clear in his tone.

“Where were you last night shitty hair?!” Bakugo yelled.

“I was with um Aiko… and Kameko and um whatever her twin sister’s name is.” Kiri said nonchalantly, scratching the back of his neck and sitting down in one of the spare seats at the table. I almost choked on my coffee, the fact that Eijiro Kirishima was casually talking about having a foursome over breakfast blowing my mind.

“Dude, you are my hero.” Mineta said, practically drooling as he looked at the red head.

“How do you even make that happen? What do you say?” Mineta asked.

“I do this thing called um respecting women and being a top guy. Something you clearly haven’t grasped.” Kiri said, slapping Mineta’s hand away that was held out for a high five. Bakugo chuckled to himself, turning back to his food as Mineta still probed Kiri for details. Which the latter absolutely didn’t divulge.

The mood felt nice. Comfortable. I was grateful to call these people my friends and know that we could talk and be like this together. As I looked around I didn’t miss Todoroki who kept his eyes firmly on me, which he seemed to be making a habit of and Momo, who had her eyes fixed on him