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slushycoookie · 2 months ago

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Three's Not a Crowd ~ Miguel O'Hara x Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 7.9k

✩ Content: Citizen!Reader. Logan can be which ever one you think of, I didn't go into much detail. Deadpool shows up for a little bit. Miguel and Logan tussle before we get to the dirty stuff. Protected Sex (I make Logan wrap it up once again). P in V. Oral sex (fem receiving). Vaginal sex. MINORS DNI!

✩ A/N: It's a crime that I haven't seen a lot of Miguel and Logan fics so I'm fixing that rn. Enjoy!

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“You know what you’re doing, right?”

You shoot him a look, “I know you did not just ask me that.” Miguel stuttered, not realizing that his words might’ve offended you.

“No, shock, sorry, I was just-”

“Miguel, chill.” You playfully punched his arm. “I got this.”

“You do. I didn’t mean to doubt you.”

You knew he didn’t mean that, but you wouldn’t tell him you were a little nervous. It would be your first time working the Go Home machine alone without help from Margo, who was planning to go on more missions for Miguel. You knew your way around regarding technology—making your position at Spider Society a very helpful one.

For someone who didn’t have any superpowers.

“Just don’t press the ‘blow up HQ’ button and you’ll be straight.” Margo added in, making sure you were all set by putting the last of her console commands.

“Why would I even want to press that button?”

“Just in case you get bored. Like I do.”

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, “Do you think it was a good idea to say that in front of your boss?”

“Yes.” Margo winked, making him shake his head at her antics.

“Just call one of us if you do need help.” Miguel assured you with a hand on your shoulder. You tried not to focus on how huge his hand was on you. How close he was to you. How good he smelled at that moment. Like sandalwood. Good thing you had the best poker face in the world, otherwise your crush on him was going to show.

“I will, don’t worry.”

You had a system for sending anomalies back through the Go Home machine. You tried to get the ones brought in order so they wouldn’t spend much time inside the building. Some were antsy, primarily the villains, so you always did your best to get them out immediately. Otherwise, they'd cause problems.

Your stomach growled when you glanced at the time. It was almost lunch. Miguel was still on a mission, so you figured having lunch with him was off the table. You tried to ignore the disappointment in your stomach when you thought about being unable to eat with him. Especially since you brought him a sandwich you made this morning. He said he liked your food.

A portal emerges, and there you see Miguel and Jess with two anomalies in tow. One was webbed up and unconscious, while the other was happily following them, taking in the sights.

It was a Deadpool and Wolverine, anomalies you've never seen before. The most you've gotten were villains, other spider people who weren't a part of the Society, and random citizens. You knew there were other heroes within the universes, but you'd never thought you see them.

“Oooh it's so shiny!” Deadpool admired the other cages filled with anomalies. The one he was looking at contained a gigantic Vulture. “How did you bring this son of a gun in here?”

“Hey.” Jess called, “We agreed to let you look in exchange for voluntarily locking you up.”

“I know, I know.” Deadpool held out his arms to carry Wolverine, who was across Miguel’s shoulder. Miguel sighed before handing one of the X-Men over, like a bride in Wade's arms.

“Uh, what happened to him?” You asked as you locked the two heroes up.

“Knocked him out with my bike.” Jess informed you, “Kitty cat was getting a little crazy, so I had to calm him down.”

“He didn't have his morning coffee, that's why.” Deadpool started stroking his friend's hair. “Big guy needs his caffeine mixed with two shots of bourbon.”

Miguel sighed, “Just what I needed, a Deadpool and Wolverine. You know they usually come in pairs?”

You didn’t know that.

“Better than dealing with a Green Goblin.”

“Anything's better than dealing with goblin.” Deadpool said, “It's like witnessing therapy 101 when talking to that guy.” You bit your lip to hide your amusement while Jess and Miguel didn’t indulge in him. “Tough crowd. I thought all Spidey's are supposed to be funny.”

“Not him.” You pointed at Miguel, “Hardly a funny bone in his body.” Jess chuckled at that while he rolled his eyes.

“Someone has to be serious around here.”

While putting the two heroes on the list for the Go Home machine, your stomach growled once more. Now that Miguel was back, hopefully you two would get lunch and eat together in his lab like usual. It's almost as if he read your mind when pulling you aside.

“Hey, I'm not eating lunch now. I have a pile of reports I need to sign off on and it will take me a while.”

“Oh.” You ignored the disappointment in your chest. “It's okay. Work comes first.”

Miguel smiled, a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Thanks for being understanding.”

Once taking his leave, you sat in a chair by the Go Home machine, eating your sandwich. You only had forty-five minutes, but with Miguel, it was usually close to an hour—perks of being a leader of Spider Society.

“Where the fuck are we?” You heard from one of the enclosures. Wolverine was finally awake.

“The future.” Deadpool said, “It's not all that. I didn't see a Taco Bell in here.”

“The closest thing to that are the tacos in the cafeteria.” You stood, tossing the wrapper from your sandwich away.

“Oooh, what about Mexican pizza? We don't even have those in our dimension because they keep taking it off the menu. Capitalism.”

“Can you not focus on food right now?” You see Wolverine shredded the neon webbing to pieces, understandably pissed off. “We need to get out of here.”

“Oh, I wouldn't do that.” You advise, “Not unless you wanna deal with hundreds of spider people as soon as you escape.”

“Yeah, we should sit this out, peanut.” Deadpool patted Wolverine's head, “Unless you wanna embarrass yourself again like when you fight Magneto.”

He growled, kicking the neon webbing away as if he had a personal vendetta with it. “Well, how long are we going to be stuck here?”

“Not long!” You look through your anomaly list, “After two Rhinos and one Mysterio.”

Wolverine sighed, his stomach growling, “Then is it possible to get some food? I'm fucking starving.”

“Are Mexican pizzas still on the table?” Deadpool rubbed his stomach.

“Sorry, I can't let you guys out.” You then look at your lunchbox, remembering the extra sandwich. Miguel wasn’t going to be able to eat it today. “Would a sandwich work?”

“I'd eat anything.”

“I believe him.” Deadpool added.

You slipped the duo the extra sandwich by partially opening up the cage. You told them to enjoy before going back to work. At least briefly before Deadpool started talking to past the time before you eventually had to send them home. You realized the man would keep going and going and going. Funny enough, it didn't bother you, considering working the Go Home machine tended to have a lot of quiet moments.

“I will say, despite being locked up in another dimension that's not my own, I would do it again if I had that hunk come get me every time.”

You lit up at the mention of Miguel. " Are you talking about the guy in the blue and red suit? Strong muscles? Arms you can get lost in?”

“Yes, him. Dude has an insane build. I'd like to have a party with him and two other guys. But you know what they say, four's a crowd.”

“…I thought the phrase was ‘three's a crowd’?”

“Not in this story it isn't.”

Wolverine roughly pushed Deadpool to the side, “Ignore him.”

“It's hard to when his voice resonates across the room.” You said with a hint of amusement.

“Now you see what I deal with every day.”

“I know, poor Wolverine.” You playfully pout, earning a sharp chuckle from him.

“By the way, thanks for the sandwich. It was good.”

You weren't expecting a thank you from the rugged hero, but you appreciated it.

“You're welcome.”

After meeting the infamous Deadpool and Wolverine, you were sure you wouldn't see them again. You couldn't help, but be disappointed by it. Working the Go Home machine all by yourself tended to get lonely. You got occasional visitors like Margo, Jess, Ben, Miles, etc. Miguel was busy as usual.

So it was nice to have some company besides the usual anomalies who were either too dangerous or too confused to speak to.

Maybe it was pure luck when Miguel came in one day with a sigh, carrying the same Wolverine through the portal—no Deadpool, though. Once again, Wolverine was unconscious due to Jess when they put him in the cage, covered with webs.

“Looks like we got a repeater.” You put down the hero's name on the list.

“I'd rather take him over Deadpool.” Miguel stretched and you tried not to focus on his v-line, burying your face in the tablet.

“I don't know, he's pretty funny.”

“Replace that with annoying.”

Once Miguel lowered his mask, you noticed his exhausted eyes. The red was not as bright as it usually was. “Go take a break.”

“I can't.” He ran his hands through his hair. “So many mission reports, new dimensions, new anomalies.” He motioned over to the still knocked-out Wolverine. “It doesn't make sense to take one right now.”

You glared at him, “Go take a damn break, or else I'm blocking you from my watch.”

“You can't do that without administrative controls.”

“I'll ask Lyla to give them to me.”

On cue, Lyla appeared above your shoulder. “I'll do it, Mig. You know I'm always down for a little fun.”

Not wanting to deal with that, Miguel stands down, following your advice to take a break.

“I'll see you?”

You motioned around you to prove a point. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Miguel’s lips curled up briefly, shooting you through the heart. You etched his small attempt at a smile in your mind, wishing you had Lyla quickly take a picture to send it to you. This crush was so stupid. Why couldn't you get yourself together? You would never be with him anyway, considering that Spider Society was first—no one else.

“Not this again…” Wolverine woke again in the same predicament as before, just without his friend.

“Sorry. At least you know what to expect now.”

“And you think that makes me feel better?”

“…yes? You saying you didn't miss me?”

Wolverine shook his head, not wanting to show you his slightly amused face. “I didn't say that, princess.”

The nickname makes you pause, blood rushing to your cheeks. It was nice to hear.

“We’re already on a nickname basis?”

“I can take it back.”

“Oh no, no need, Wolverine.”

“Logan. Rather have you call me by my name if I'm gonna keep coming back here.”

“Who's to say this won't be your last time here?” You asked while getting ready to put the next anomaly to the machine. “Also, I knew your actual name, by the way.” You wiggle the tablet in front of him.

Once again, you were under the impression that Logan wouldn't come back. Except he did the next day. Willingly, as well. Not knocked out or tied up with webs. He just walked through the portal with the other spiders and plopped down in the cage, pouting.

You thought the situation was odd, so you asked Margo to come down for a minute to see if this happened before with other anomalies.

“Oh yeah, all the time.” She said while observing Logan. “Had this Black Cat that kept showing up for a whole month once. There was no glitch, no secret dimensions collapsing. It was weird.”

“Yeah, that's…very weird.”

“You telling me I'm gonna keep showing up here for a month?” Logan asked, obviously not happy about that.

Margo shrugged, “Maybe? It could be much shorter, but we'll have to see.”

She showed you the statistics of Logan's original dimension, and you noticed how everything looked normal. The numbers weren't off, and the citizens were okay. It was nothing to bring up to Miguel that would cause concern.

“Let me out of here then.”

You and Margo glanced at each other, “We can’t. It's against the rules since you're classified as an anomaly.”

Logan huffed, “Didn’t think you were such a rule stickler.”

You weren’t. You didn’t want to upset Miguel. If Logan kept returning, you might as well skip all the rules. At least make him more comfortable until the system got itself together.

You messed with the tablet to let him out. Logan and Margo were shocked at your actions, and the latter quickly pulled you to the side.

“So, you're gonna take the heat, right? If Miguel gets mad at you?”

“He’s not going to get mad.” You paused momentarily, “I don't think.”

“Y'all might be tight, but he won't let this slide.” She looked over your shoulder to watch Logan, who stood by the opened cage, tapping his foot while waiting.

“I got it.”

Your plan was simple: have Logan keep you company until it was time for him to go home. You weren't going to admit to anyone else that it was a task trying to get some of the bigger anomalies in the machine. The spider mechanical legs were hitting their limit, and you didn't want to put them through maintenance, somehow still proving to Miguel that you couldn't handle it.

Margo let you do your thing when you gave Logan his day pass to stop him from glitching until he went home.

“No fancy watch?”

“No, sorry. Keep in mind this is only temporary.”

Logan nodded before searching the premises, “Any booze around here?”

“There’s the spider bar, but it's not open now.”

He let out a short laugh, “Really? A ‘spider’ bar? You’re shitting me, right?”

“Uh, this is coming from the person who rides in a X-Jet.”

You hold back in grinning when he blinked, “Alright, you got me there.”

Logan was a big help in helping you take the anomalies back to their respective dimensions. He hardly complained once you told him you'd grab him a couple of beers from the bar. And he kept you company, which you never thought you needed in this line of work. Working with technology tended to be a solo job. You just got lucky when Miguel noticed you and saw your potential. He helped you grow into the position you are in now. So, in a way, you wanted to prove he didn't put you there for nothing.

However, you felt all that crashing down when Miguel stormed into the room, seeing Logan was out of the enclosure.

“Care to explain why we have an anomaly out and about?”

You held the tablet close to your chest as you tried to devise a good excuse. Despite his rushed actions, you knew Miguel wasn’t upset as his brows weren't creased.

“He’s not out and about. Logan is under my supervision.”

Logan grunted in agreement, downing a beer you rewarded him.

“You know that's not part of protocol.” Miguel said, hands on his hips. The typical leader pose.

“Relax, bub. She's just doing me a solid.” Logan cut in, and you tried to hold in your surprise of how quickly he downed that beer. “By the way, you need to get better beer. This is shit.”

“We've hardly had any complaints from other spiders.”

“For a bunch of guys that can't get drunk, it's really easy to not give a fuck. ”

Miguel’s face twisted in mild annoyance, and you quickly stepped in front of Logan to save him.

“Look, I know I'm breaking some rules here, but this is just until we figure out why he keeps popping up in other dimensions. I'll be careful.”

You strained your neck to look up at him, his eyes searching yours. He was so close to you. His breath brushing along your head, raising your heartbeat. Miguel suddenly backed off, his face a little annoyed, but he'll get over it.

“I trust you.” You relaxed your shoulders, glad he didn't demote you. He then focused his attention on Logan. “Watch yourself.”

Logan scoffed, “What, you think I'm going to steal her from you?”

“You did not just say that.” Your head shot back at him and you could see the amusement on his face.

“Big guy's acting like I'm hogging all the attention.”

Miguel pinched his nose, “Just make sure he gets home.”

You watch him storm off, unsure how you made him upset once again. Actually, it was Logan's fault this time. Yet Miguel didn’t say anything about his comment. It could've been a one-off. He's big on avoiding questions he didn't want to answer.

You decided not to dwell on it.

You jotted down every time Logan came through as an anomaly. It was like a game. You mark the day he comes through that portal, his face in his usual scowl. That quickly fades away once he sees you. You give him a few beers and he continues to complain about how terrible they are. Or how they're not as bad once you give it to him.

Whenever a villain anomaly needs to go back, Logan acts like your bodyguard—standing behind you to assert dominance. To not mess with you. They always intimidated you since you're among the few people in the building without superpowers. And you didn't want to bring that up to Miguel either. Luckily, Logan being there relaxed you.

In fact, despite his aura of not wanting to be messed with, he was delightful to talk to. Easily being engaged in the conversations you two have. There, he knew about your civilian life and how you decided to work at Spider Society to help make a difference. You didn’t expect to be in your current position, but you were grateful for it.

And you knew more about him. Every time an anomaly comes through, you get a dossier. Standard knowledge on whoever needed to get back home. But it never ran any deeper than that. Never gave you additional information about who they were as a person. Logan allowed you to see his other side when he told you about his dark past.

Somehow, you felt closer to him.

Miguel started acting strange whenever Logan was keeping you company. Before, you could count on one hand all the times Miguel came to see you when you started working the Go Home machine. Now, he was there a lot more than usual.

Saying he was checking up on how you're doing. If Logan was giving you any trouble, which the man didn't like that one bit. Making sure you were keeping to the daily quota of sending anomalies away. Playing into his boss role.

“Don’t forget to send me the system checkups before you leave for the day.” You gave him a thumbs up at Miguel’s reminder and said goodbye as he left for what seemed like the hundredth time today.

“I swear to god if he shows up here one more time...”

Logan unleashed one of his claws for emphasis and you got the point.

“He’s just doing his job. He can't have Spider Society start to slack. Otherwise-”

“The multiverse would start collapsing blah, blah, blah.” He grabs another beer, popping off the top with a slice of his claws. “I got it, sweetheart. I can still fucking complain about it though.”

You ignored your heart fluttering whenever Logan gave you nicknames like princess or sweetheart despite his relaxed tone. You found yourself eying his physique while he kept you company—especially those bulging arms. You weren't immune to how a man displayed his strength.

Your stomach churned when you tore your eyes away. You couldn’t be developing a crush on Logan too. You liked Miguel! And what was with you pining over men you never even had a chance with?

Speaking of pining for men you probably couldn’t be with, Miguel was finally free. After saying goodbye to Logan, he sent you a message asking if you were available. This was good; it was an excellent chance to see if your crush on Miguel remained since you two had been apart for a while.

Or maybe it wasn't good because once you walked inside, his face lit up at the sight of you. You hoped he hadn't heard your increased heartbeat.

“You wanted to see me?” You asked while trying to remain calm.

“Yeah. I wanted to see if you could keep me company.” Miguel said, “I've got to sign off on paperwork and you know how much I despise it.”

“Oh yeah.”

You got comfortable on the platform as he raised it, your legs dangling below. Miguel sniffed the air and grimaced at you.

“You smell like him.”

You purse your lips. “Smell like who? Logan?” Miguel grunted and you tried to hold in a laugh. “Well, he has been hanging around me almost every day.”

“I know.” His muscles tense up at the conversation. “I don't like you hanging around with him.”

You tilted your head, “Why?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

Miguel remained silent, signing off on some more paperwork. You wish you had enough strength to knock him upside the head and quit the mysterious act. You'd be very successful, considering the lack of spider sense.

“Mig, how am I supposed to know what's bothering you if you don't tell me?”

You notice his shoulders tensed up more.

“He’s a drunk, too relaxed in his line of work, not serious when it comes to helping you with the machine.”

“He's been fine to me. And you know he can only get drunk, but for so long.”

Miguel sucked his teeth, brows furrowed. “He flirts with you.”

You wave him away, “It's harmless.”

“Not to me.” He's looking at you now. Serious. “He may have some underlying intentions.”

“What?” You start laughing, desperate to make this conversation feel like a joke. “Like he wants to get in my pants?” Miguel nodded to solidify it. “You know I'm a grown adult, right?”

“I'm only saying this as-” He paused as if he’s trying to figure out the right words, “as your friend. I know how men are.”

“So do I. I'm trying to understand what you gain in telling me this.”

“I don't gain anything. I'm looking out for you.”

“Bullshit.”

You wanted to leave his lab now. Miguel saying that too only made your crush on Logan even worse. Your mind now realizing that there's a possibility Logan likes you, but you were frustrated since you were so close to saying to Miguel that you like him. Just to see what he would say.

You grab his remote to the platform, lowering it to his surprise. You had to walk away and calm yourself down.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“It's getting late and I should go home.”

You try to step off, but Miguel’s in front of you, panic in his eyes. “Don’t leave.”

“You were trying to convince me that another guy I've been around only wants to get with me. For what reason? Because you’re my friend? Don't play with me, Miguel.”

You try to go past him, but he's quick, taking your hand and spinning you around. You almost fall against his chest, but he keeps you upright, looking up at him with confused eyes.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you angry at me. I just-” Miguel bit the inside of his cheek, words at the tip of his tongue. You don't say anything, waiting for him to say what he wanted to say. “I'm only saying this because I…I have feelings for-”

“Miggy!” Lyla called from above his shoulder, “We just got information back on-oh.” She noticed the two of you. “Oh no, was I interrupting something?”

“Yes.”

“No!” You quickly pull your hand away from Miguel’s. “He was just seeing me off. I'll head out now.”

Miguel called your name, “Don't go yet.”

“It's alright! I don't want to take you away from work.” You say goodnight to the two of them, booking it out of his lab.

Was he about to confess?

Confess what? That he liked you? It was absurd. Impossible. Miguel didn’t want you that way. At least you thought. Yet, when you came in the following day, he barely looked at you. He only said a simple good morning before continuing his leadership duties.

If he liked you, then why was he avoiding you? None of it made sense and you were trying to figure it out.

“You alright?” Logan asked, taking you out of your thoughts. You’ve been staring at the list of anomalies to send home for the day.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

You proceeded to get rid of your confusion about the man that was Miguel O’Hara by bringing up the next anomaly. Logan doesn’t accept your words when he placed a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t know about that. The big guy didn’t stop by today to annoy the hell out of me, so something’s up.”

You grimace, thinking about the conversation last night. Would it be okay to tell Logan what Miguel told you? As you’re aware, your crush for the hero with the metal claws was blooming too. You thought you were handling it relatively well compared to your one with Miguel. Maybe it’s because deep down inside, he might be right about Logan when it came to you.

“It’s stupid now that I’m thinking about everything.”

“Well?” He folded his arms, waiting for you to continue.

“We got into a disagreement last night. Miguel thinks that you’re being so flirty to me because you want to have sex with me.”

Logan sharply laughed. You tried not to let his apparent amusement sting your heart.

“Somebody’s jealous.”

You shake your head, “That’s not jealousy. He said it was out of concern.”

“And you believed him?” Your silence told everything Logan needed to know, making him chuckle once more. “I get it. You’ve seen yourself, princess?”

“I-huh?”

“You heard me. You’re not bad to look at. I’m surprised he’s taking so long to confess to you.” Logan struts over to you, your back against the console. He’s not trapping you, but the distance was closer than what you two have had before. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“And how does he look at me?”

Logan’s eyes were filled with want as he traced your body. You didn't want to admit how much it was turning you on.

“He looks at you the way I am now.”

You bit your lip, holding in a rising smile. You just received an indirect confession from a hero from another dimension. And an unspoken one from another hero in your universe. You can’t believe it.

“He doesn’t look at me that way.” You try to shut it down and not get ecstatic at the idea of two men pining over you.

“Wanna bet?” Logan gets closer to you now. You allow him, taking in hints of the whiskey you were able to swing him from the bar. “Kiss me. See how he acts then.”

You let out a surprise snort. “Like he’s watching us right now.”

“You think he isn’t?”

You purse your lips, knowing it’s not uncommon for Miguel not to watch over areas of Spider Society to make sure everything runs smoothly, including your space. Logan lets you make the move, your hands moving along his yellow suit, feeling his pectorals. His dark eyes watch you intensely when you slide up to his neck, draping your arms around it. His gloved hands rest on your sides and it unironically makes you shiver. It's the most interaction you’ve gotten in a while.

“Go for it, sweetheart.”

So you kiss him. The taste of alcohol on his lips incites you further. Your body pressed along his to feel more of his body. Logan’s hands map out your sides as if he doesn’t want to touch you further than he is already.

That’s when a rush of air goes by you. Logan is gone, his body against the wall, cracks forming around where he landed. Miguel’s imposing frame towers over him, arm tight on his neck, keeping him there.

“Guess I was right.” Logan strained, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Oh yeah? And I was right about you. Wanting to fuck her.”

“Before you could?”

Miguel growled, his hold on Logan getting tighter. “You really want to do this?”

“Buddy, I’ve been wanting to kick your sorry ass since the day we’ve met.” Logan’s claws unsheathed and panic started to set in. You did not want them to fight right here.

“Hold on, can we just take a minute to-”

They weren’t listening to you when Miguel was flown back, slamming into a console. The electricity slightly glitched his suit as he gathered his bearings, eyes on Logan the entire time. The Wolverine crouched, arms out wide in his battle stance. Miguel’s mask was up, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Guys, please don't do this. I don't wanna see you two get hurt-”

You took cover behind a console as they started to fight. Bits and pieces of technology flown everywhere. Strands of Miguel’s webs on the side. Marks from Logan’s claws all over. Bits of blood staining the floor and you weren't sure who it belonged to.

To say you were scared was the wrong word to use. Because you weren't, despite your head filled with your fast-paced heartbeat. Oddly, you were flattered.

After all this time of thinking you weren't the person Miguel wanted, the person Logan was into changed in a moment. They were fighting over you. You.

You liked it but didn’t want them to kill each other over it.

“Lyla?” You called the AI, who showed up in an instant.

“Hang on, I'm getting several system failures from the Go Home machine-oh my god.”

“Yeah. Can I get some help in here, please?”

Not long after, the men were separated. Some spiders held Miguel back while Logan had to be locked up once again to calm down. All of your coworkers were shocked at the destruction those two caused.

“Uhh what happened?” Jess asked Miguel, who didn’t say anything. He brushed by her to cool off. So she asked you, and you tried to come up with an answer that didn't sound weird.

“Miguel and Logan just had a misunderstanding.”

She pointed to the torn-up console that was currently being repaired, “How is that a result of a misunderstanding?”

You shrugged, struggling to say something cohesive. “I don't know. It's like I blinked and they started trying to tear each other’s throats out.” Because of you, but you didn’t add that part.

Jess rubbed her temples, “Alright. I'll talk to Miguel later. Are you okay, though? They didn't get you, right?”

“I'm fine.” You show her that there wasn’t a scratch on you. “Is it okay if I leave early though?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

You decided to stay home after that day—more out of embarrassment than anything. No one at Spider Society probably knew about the reason Miguel and Logan were fighting yesterday. Well, Jess might, but not anyone else. It felt embarrassing because you secretly liked it. Two incredible men in their respective fields want you, a random citizen.

You didn’t say a word to them when you left, so you couldn’t leave them high and dry.

That’s why you called Lyla, giving her instructions to have Logan stay until the end of the day if he showed up again and to call Miguel back to the Go Home machine around the same time. You needed to get yourself ready for what you wanted to say.

Time went by so fast for you.

It did not give you enough time to properly rehearse or to calm the anxiety stuck in your throat. Your shower went on forever, and you were sure you sat in your room for almost an hour trying to figure out the clothes you would wear as if you needed to woo them more than you’d already had.

You steeled yourself when walking into Spider Society, settling on a simple hoodie and jeans. You could barely hear yourself think as a few spiders greeted you, some asking why you weren’t here today. You didn’t have much time to talk, so you used an example of taking a mental health day. Because you absolutely needed it.

That’s when you walked to the machine room and saw Logan there, just as you expected. Margo was there too, and she was showing him how to play one of her favorite mobile games, which involved slashing fruit.

“Hey.”

Miguel appeared beside you, almost scaring you. “Oh geez, hey.”

“Are you…did you want to-?”

“Hey, hey!” Margo interrupted, greeting you with a wave. “I heard you were sick.”

“I took a mental health day.” You explained, “Sorry, I should’ve told you.”

“It’s alright.” She waved it off, “I was playing games with this guy all day.” Margo motioned to Logan, who didn’t say anything, folding his arms.

“Go home. I’ll take Logan back for you.”

You can see Margo wanting to question it despite hearing you needed a mental break. But there was an unknown tenseness in the air, and she was a smart girl.

“Uh, okay. See ya, Logan. Bye bye, boss.” Her avatar dissipated, leaving you three alone.

“You alright?” Logan asked to cut the silence.

“I'm fine.” You reassured.

“Are you sure?” Miguel stepped closer to you, “A lot happened that day, and part of it was my fault.”

“Don’t hog all of the blame.” Logan grunted, “It was my fault too.”

“You're both okay.” You reached over and took one of their hands, squeezing them affectionately. “I just didn't want you two to kill each other.”

“Like he would've tried.”

Miguel side-eyed Logan momentarily, “I could've given different circumstances.”

“Sure, bub.”

“Okay!” You focus their attention on you, not wanting to cause another fight. “I wanted you two here to address the giant elephant in the room.” Their intense eyes on you make you a little nervous, sweat clinging to the nape of your neck. You weren't sure what their reactions were going to be. If, after all of this, you needed to find a new job.

“I like you, " you say to Miguel. A light flickers in his crimson eyes, and you notice him trying to hold back a smile.

“I like you too.”

That confirmation boosts your confidence a little.

You then turn to Logan, “I like you too.”

“You're not too bad yourself.” He casually said. “Don’t know how the big guy is gonna take it.”

“I'm right here.” Miguel scowled at him before focusing on you. “What are you trying to say?”

“What I'm saying is…I want you both.”

It was a big risk saying something like that to both of them. None of them appeared to want to share their partner with another. Unless it's under specific guidelines. You didn't have any, but you knew how you felt. And if they didn't agree, maybe you were better off not being with anyone.

Miguel appeared to be hesitant, while Logan was hardly phased. “Not the first time I've had this offer.”

“It's different, but I know what I feel for you two is real. And I'm open to trying.”

The gears are turning in Miguel’s mind as he’s thinking it over, his hand never leaving yours.

“Okay. I'll try for you.”

You shimmied with joy, pulling both of them in for a hug. You felt their hard bodies and tried not to focus on how different they were from your own. There were many rules you probably needed to set, but for now, you wanted to take it as is.

When pulling back, you stopped short between the two of them. Miguel captured your attention by turning your head towards him with his index finger.

“Can I kiss you?”

You darted down to his lips before nodding. Miguel quickly captured your lips with his. You thought your kiss with him would be gentle and light. Instead, you felt the desperation of finally being able to taste you after all this time. His groans resonated across your ears, letting you know how much he wanted you.

Miguel kissed you so much that you felt dizzy when parting, but Logan's chuckle brought you back to reality.

“Was he better than me?”

Miguel sucked his teeth when you pretended to ponder, “I think I need another reminder.”

Logan kissed you, parting your lips to slip his tongue inside. He also groans in your mouth, a steady hand on your hip. You had to grip Miguel’s shoulder to keep balance when you parted again, also dazed.

“Well?”

“It's about the same.”

The two men groaned simultaneously, hoping you would say which one was better.

“You look pretty like this.”

“For once, I agree with him.”

That's when they began their journey of your body. Logan latched on to your neck, kissing and sucking on it while Miguel peppered your face with kisses, managing to capture your lips a few more times. They lingered on their respective sides, caressing your breasts, fingers tracing down your back, groping your ass.

Logan took over momentarily, your back against his chest while he sucked on your neck again. Miguel’s kisses on your lips silenced whatever escaped from your own. Their movement were picking up in speed, and you faltered trying to keep up with them.

“Fuck.” Logan paused, sniffing the air. “You smell delicious.”

You started getting flustered, “What? Don't tell me you can…” You squeezed your thighs together.

“I can smell you too.” Miguel sniffed, his being a bit more discreet.

This was about to be a problem. If you didn't say anything, you were sure clothes would be thrown all over the consoles. You didn’t need yet another scandal in the Go Home machine.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.”

That's how you managed two superheroes in your apartment. Two horny ones at that. Some part of you wanted to pinch yourself to wake up from a dream. The way their eyes stared you down, blown from lust, standing so close to you that you could feel their body heat. But this was real.

“If any of you guys are uncomfortable-”

“If we were uncomfortable,” Miguel started, unzipping your hoodie and tossing it to the side. " We would've said it, right?”

Logan grunted, coming around from behind and raising your arms. He pulled your shirt off in one motion, leaving you in your bra.

“You okay with this, princess?

His whispering made goosebumps form on your skin. “Obviously, since I started all of this.”

“Just checking.”

Logan picked you up, angling you in a way that allowed Miguel to remove your shoes and jeans. When he settled you down, Miguel wanted to admire more of your exposed skin. His fingers circled along your plush thighs. Logan's centered along your breasts, pushing them up against your bra and making you sigh in relief.

You didn't want to get too caught up in your pleasure, noticing the guys still had on their suits. You reach over to Miguel, feeling his chest to see how to remove the suit, but he stopped you with his hand on top of yours.

“I got it.”

With his watch, his suit is gone. Only leaving him in his boxers.

Logan grumbled, “Show off.”

You turn around, your back against Miguel’s chest. You felt his lips on your neck as you went to help Logan with his suit. Having a little difficulty with the multiple kisses he gave you on your lips, forehead, and cheeks. He helped you by guiding your hands to his zipper. As you pull it down, Logan pressed against you, practically sandwiched between two half-naked, bulky guys. Who couldn't stop kissing and touching you.

Your hands brushed along their hairy chests, noting how Miguel’s was softer than Logan's coarse strands. Suddenly, you were being picked up and laid flat on your comforter.

Both men were on each side of you, the bed slightly creaking from the extra weight.

“Whoever breaks my bed is gonna pay for it.”

Logan tsked, “Say that to money bags over there.”

“I'll take responsibility and get you a better one if it happens.” Miguel reassured you.

As they spoke, your bra was removed with one hand by Logan. Your panties were pulled down and thrown away by Miguel. Cold air hitting your cunt told you exactly how wet you were, aching for more.

“I'm eating her out. Since you stole my kiss.”

Miguel told Logan, who scowled, clearly not happy about it. But got over it once his lips trailed down to your breast, taking your nipple in his mouth. Miguel matched him, latching on to your other breast. His hands trailed down your stomach and to your aching cunt. You felt him falter when his middle finger went in your soaked hole.

Logan wrapped his arm around your thigh, spreading you wider for Miguel to continue pumping into you. You were having a hard time keeping quiet between Miguel lazily pumping two fingers into you while Logan was determined to create marks on your skin. Hands tangled into their hair, tugging on it occasionally to replace your moans. The action spurs them on even further.

Miguel trailed his lips down, across your stomach, appreciating the fat you have and running his tongue along your naval. So slow. So agonizingly slow. He gives you mercy by continuing his journey down, kissing on your inner thighs. Logan maneuvered so he was behind you again, your head resting comfortably along his chest while you were spread wide for Miguel. He’s hovered above your aching cunt, eyes glazed over at the sight of you.

“Let me know how she tastes.” Logan said while nudging into your head. His large hands cupped your breasts.

Miguel groaned against your sex when he dived in. His tongue parted your folds, his lips closing in to suck on your clit. There was no point in being quiet anymore, you moaning loudly as Miguel ate you out. One hand slid down his curls, creating a solid grip that could pull his hair out. Logan wasn’t missing out as he continued to massage your breasts, his beard scratching along your face. You grip the nape of his neck, pulling him into a messy kiss. Tongues dancing amongst each other.

You were getting double the attention. Your body heating up at the pleasure. Miguel groaned against your drenched cunt, not stopping once to take a breather. He made sure your legs remained spread with his hands holding you down.

Even Logan didn’t let you try and move to escape your impending climax. Your breaths picked up, your lips wavering against his, your eyes rolling back. Miguel kept going as your body exploded with immense ecstasy. Your cries being a work of art and an indication of how good both of them made you feel.

You felt like you were floating as they kept prolonging your orgasm. Miguel lapping at your sex and Logan pinching your nipples.

“That means I can fuck her, right?”

It was Miguel’s turn to scowl at Logan. “No. I’m already in this position anyway.”

“But you got to taste her. Now, I get to fuck her.” Logan proceeded to move you around, but Miguel stopped him with a hand on your ankle.

“No way.”

“Guys…” You mumble, slowly gathering your bearings. You feel eyes on you when you roll over to the nightstand, pulling out your box of condoms. You toss them to Logan before giving Miguel a sympathetic look.

“Next time, okay?”

Before he could express his opinion, you crawl over to him, tracing your fingers around the lining of his boxers. You wiggle your ass and glance back at Logan, permitting him to pounce on you. You notice the apparent tent in Miguel’s boxers before pulling them down. His cock was huge with a slight curve, pre cum leaking from his tip. You make kitten licks around his lip as Logan gripped your hips, his cock rubbing against your ass cheeks.

He sunk into you, causing you to shiver in ecstasy. You moan against Miguel’s shaft, licking up and down. His hand had a gentle grip on your nape as he watched you.

“Tan bonita, nena (So pretty, baby)…”

You whimper when Logan slid out of you before thrusting back inside. The thrusts strong enough to have you jolt against Miguel’s cock.

“Fuck me…” Logan grunted, creating a delicate rhythm with his hips. “You feel…oh fuck…”

You moan while taking Miguel in your mouth. You try to take as much as you could while stroking the rest, matching the rhythm Logan created. His grip on your hips get stronger as well as Miguel’s on your neck.

A symphony was conducted in the bedroom. Your moans blended in with Miguel and Logan’s, who were the main stars. Their grunts and groans as they filled you up on both ends played well with each other. All you could do was take it, drool seeping down Miguel’s cock, creating more lubrication for you to stroke.

Logan’s grunts change pitch, getting deeper. His thrusts were getting disorganized, desperate to reach his peak. Miguel was on the same end. His hips push forward in your mouth, not enough to make you choke. Both of his hands are on your neck now, creating a faster rhythm to finish.

You wondered who was going to finish first.

“I’m about to…” Miguel warned you, ready to pull out, only for you to keep him there, still sucking his soul out.

“S-So am I-” Logan’s grunts turn to outright whines when he comes, latching on to your hips. Miguel isn’t too far behind when after a few more thrusts, his cum coat your throat. You swallow it all, not missing a single drop.

As Logan pulled out of you, Miguel moved you to rest your head, his bicep under it. Your hand grazing Logan’s chest when he lies beside you, capturing your breaths, allowing the space to reach a comfortable silence.

You tried not to let your thoughts wander to what would happen next. If all of this would be a one-time thing and everything would go back to normal tomorrow, you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“I…” Miguel spoke against your head, “I thought we’d go on a few dates before this happened.”

You snickered, “We can still go on dates. Since this is going to be serious, right?”

“Right.” He kissed your forehead.

“I’ve always wanted to go to the aquarium.” You then smack Logan’s chest to capture his attention. He was on the verge of falling asleep. “Hey, you wanna go to the aquarium one day?”

“Anything you wanna do, I’ll do too.” He said with a short shrug. “Just give me a heads-up first.”

“Got it.”

Getting an overwhelming sense of gratitude, you gently kiss Miguel’s lips before leaning over to do the same to Logan. Your heart was whole and ready for this new chapter in your life.

Tags: @ghost-lantern @monarchberrysblog

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #miguel o'hara x black reader #logan howlett x black reader #wolverine x black reader #miguel o'hara x logan howlett x reader #x black reader #x reader #miguel fanfic #miguel smut #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #logan howlett #wolverine

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rafedarling · 2 months ago

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𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰

pairing: drew starkey x reader

based on this request: Drew and reader! After watching Outer Banks season 1, out of curiosty because the reader finds him attractive, she goes on his instagram but accidently presses ''Follow'' but panics and unfollows. She wants to play it cool you know, and not be that ''fangirl'' incase she ever bumped into him. Not that she thinks she would ever have a chance, but you know? She is surprised when he follows her a few hours later since she is just a 'normal person' and not a celebrity or influencer. He sends her a message and kind of jokingly being like ''Was I that boring to follow'' or something and a conversation just takes off | word count: 1,2k

warning: english is not my native language.

au: like, reblog, comment & feedback are much appreciated 🥹 | taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @mileyraes @akobx @noobmazter69 @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @littlelamy @enjoymyloves @stuffyownswrld

You had just finished watching the first season of Outer Banks, and to say you were hooked would be an understatement. The show had everything—drama, adventure, and a cast that was undeniably attractive. But there was one character who had particularly caught your eye: Rafe Cameron, played by the actor Drew Starkey. You weren’t sure if it was the intensity he brought to the character or just his piercing blue eyes, but either way, you found yourself thinking about him long after the credits rolled.

Out of curiosity, and maybe a little bit of a crush, you decided to check out his Instagram. You were sure it was just harmless fun, a way to see what the actor was like off-screen. After all, it wasn’t like you were ever going to meet him in real life. You were just a normal person, living a normal life, far removed from the glitz and glamour of Hollywood.

You typed his name into the search bar and quickly found his profile. As you scrolled through his photos, you couldn’t help but notice how different he seemed from his character. He had a warm, genuine smile in most of his pictures, and the captions were often humorous or thoughtful. It was refreshing, and it only made you like him more.

Without really thinking, your thumb hovered over the “Follow” button. Before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed it—almost instinctively. But as soon as you did, panic set in. Oh no, what did I just do? Your mind raced. I wasn’t supposed to actually follow him!

In a frenzy, you quickly unfollowed him, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you couldn’t believe you had been so careless. What if he saw? you thought, mortified. You weren’t trying to be that person—just another fangirl who accidentally reveals her crush on a celebrity.

You put your phone down, trying to distract yourself with something else, but your mind kept drifting back to that split-second decision. He has millions of followers, you reassured yourself. There’s no way he would notice one random person following and unfollowing him.

Hours passed, and you had almost managed to forget the whole thing when your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced at the screen and froze. It was a notification from Instagram: @drewstarkey followed you back.

Your heart skipped a beat. Wait, what? You stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. Drew Starkey, the Drew Starkey, had followed you? But why? You were just an ordinary person, not a celebrity or influencer. The thought that he might have actually noticed you made your stomach do a little flip.

Before you could fully process what was happening, another notification appeared—a message from him. With shaky fingers, you tapped on it, your heart racing.

Drew Starkey:

Was I that boring to follow? 😅

You stared at the message, completely floored. He noticed. He actually noticed. And not only that, he had messaged you, joking about it. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry, but one thing was certain: you needed to reply.

Taking a deep breath, you started typing.

You:

Oh my gosh, no! It was totally an accident. I swear I’m not a weirdo or anything…

You paused, rereading the message. Great, now I sound like a weirdo, you thought, rolling your eyes at yourself. You quickly added:

You:

I was just checking out your profile after watching Outer Banks. But then I got nervous and unfollowed because I didn’t want to seem like a fangirl.

There was a brief moment of silence as you watched the three little dots indicating he was typing. Your heart was in your throat, and you couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Drew Starkey:

No need to be nervous. I’m just a regular guy who happens to play a crazy one on TV. 😄

You felt your nerves ease a little at his response. He seemed so down-to-earth and genuine, which only made you like him more.

You:

Well, you’re really good at playing the crazy guy. I didn’t think I’d ever root for Rafe, but you made him so compelling!

Drew Starkey:

Thanks! That means a lot. It’s always fun to play characters that are so different from who I am in real life.

You:

I can imagine. It must be challenging, though.

Drew Starkey:

Definitely. But it’s also rewarding when people like you notice the work that goes into it. By the way, what did you think of the show?

The conversation was flowing so naturally, it was almost surreal. Here you were, chatting with Drew Starkey like you were old friends, and he was genuinely interested in what you had to say.

You:

I loved it! It was such a wild ride from start to finish. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. And the cast is amazing—I can tell you all have great chemistry.

Drew Starkey:

We really do. It’s like a little family on set. I’m glad that comes across on screen.

There was a brief pause, and then another message came through.

Drew Starkey:

So, since we’re already chatting, mind if I keep following you? 😉

You couldn’t help but smile at the cheeky tone of his message. He was clearly teasing you, but there was something sweet about it, too.

You:

Well, I guess I can allow that. 😏

Drew Starkey:

Good to know I’m not banned from your profile. 😄

You:

Not at all. But now I feel like I have to step up my Instagram game. 😂

Drew Starkey:

No pressure! I’m just here for the good vibes and dog pics, if you have any.

You laughed, feeling completely at ease now. This whole situation had gone from panic-inducing to utterly charming in a matter of minutes.

You:

Well, you’re in luck. I do have a dog, and she’s very photogenic.

Drew Starkey:

Now I’m really glad I followed you. 🐶

The two of you continued chatting for a while, sharing stories about your pets, favorite shows, and the little things in life that made you happy. It was easy, comfortable, and fun—like catching up with a friend you hadn’t seen in a while.

Eventually, you noticed the time and realized how late it had gotten.

You:

I should probably let you go. I didn’t mean to keep you up all night!

Drew Starkey:

No worries, this was fun. I’m glad you accidentally followed me. 😁

You:

Me too. Thanks for being so cool about it.

Drew Starkey:

Anytime. And hey, don’t be a stranger. Feel free to message me anytime.

You:

I will. Goodnight, Drew.

Drew Starkey:

Goodnight, Y/n.

You set your phone down with a huge smile on your face, your heart still fluttering from the unexpected turn of events. What had started as a simple curiosity had led to something much more—an actual conversation with Drew Starkey. And the best part? He’d followed you first.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x y/n

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naughtyjjk · 4 months ago

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cockwarming nanami kento

characters: nanami x fem reader warnings: 18+, smut, cock warming, dirty talk, orgasm delay/denial, teasing, creampie, use of aphrodisiacs notes: this is a companion fic to testing nanami's self control where nanami gets his revenge on the reader, but you don't need to read that one first if you don't want to!

it’s getting late, almost midnight, and both you and nanami are feeling horny—it’s been a stressful week of work, resulting in the need to release all the tension that’s built up. this is how the two of you decide to each eat one of the small chocolate aphrodisiacs that you’ve been saving for a special occasion.

you don’t know what it’s going to do, exactly, other than the fact that it’ll help you get even more in the mood and possibly spice up your sex life. while it works its magic in your system, you lean against nanami on the bed, feeling comfort in being wrapped up in his arms. there’s a movie playing on the tv in front of you, a random film that you chose on a whim to pass time. so far, nothing noteworthy has happened.

though maybe you spoke too soon, too naïve about what even the smallest bite of an aphrodisiac is capable of. half an hour later, your body feels warm, getting warmer by the second. a certain, familiar sensation is stirring between your legs. and you can tell that nanami must be feeling the same way when a light pressure on your neck pulls you out of the immersion.

you turn your head to see nanami leaning in, sucking on your skin, trailing kisses up to your mouth. automatically, without any hesitation, you meet him halfway and let yourself relish in the feeling of nanami’s lips against yours. the kiss is different than usual, like it’s a need that your body requires. you need him.

soon, it turns heated and you’re fully making out. the movie blurs into the background and your head swims as you feel nanami’s hands roaming your body, sliding up your shirt to brush his fingers against your breasts.

god, you think. those chocolates must really be working.

“i want to tease you,” nanami murmurs as he trails kisses down your neck. it’s impossible to resist him when he gets like this. “i want to watch you come apart and have you begging to be fucked. would you like that?”

“fuck, yeah, that sounds hot,” you admit. his words go straight to your pussy, arousal growing, and you’re dangerously close to letting out a moan from just hearing what nanami plans to do to you.

“come here.” nanami breaks away to guide you onto his lap. a hand snakes around to reach between your legs, rubbing you between your legs, making you wetter each time he does it. the action draws out a groan, you hissing as he palms at you between your legs, over your pants, skillfully moving his fingers back and forth.

behind you, nanami’s own erection is filling out, pressed against your lower back. you’re both still fully clothed, but arousal stirs hungrily inside you by how much it turns you on to know that nanami is already half hard. you start to move your hips, grinding your ass up and down the tent in nanami’s pants, seeking more stimulation. you hear a sharp intake of breath and have to suppress a shudder of your own.

“did you get this horny just from watching a movie? from the aphrodisiac?” nanami’s mouth is dangerously close to your ear, occasionally licking with his tongue. “couldn’t even hold it in for an hour?”

you swallow thickly, eyes fluttering shut. you buck your hips shamelessly in search of more friction. “you—you started it.”

“but i’m not the one rutting against my hand. look at you.” nanami pulls down the zipper of your pants, undoes the button, and removes the rest of your clothing swiftly. your panties are damp with your desire and it only makes nanami smirk. “look at how wet you are already.”

gasping, you throw your head back when he pulls your panties to the side, tracing a finger down the center of your pussy. he spreads your wetness and it makes you breaks off into a whine, before he removes it completely. “kento, i—ohh, i need—”

“need what?” nanami pauses long enough to take off his own clothes as well and bucks into you without warning, grinding filthily on your pussy. he drags his length up and down, brushing past your entrance each time.

“y-your cock,” you choke out. “need your cock in me.”

“do you, now?” nanami feigns disinterest, though he never once stops his movements. “but what if i said that i still want to watch the movie?”

arousal mixes with the effects of the aphrodisiac inside you and you don’t even bother trying to hide how eager you are now. “who cares about that? let’s just—ah—let’s get on with it.”

“i care.” he pulls away. “mm, no. you’re distracting me.” when you try to swivel your hips some more, nanami holds you tighter in place. “god, you’re so desperate already. alright, i have an idea. why don’t you keep my cock warm for me while we finish the rest of the movie?”

you barely have time to consider that proposal before nanami is grabbing the lube from the nightstand and probing a slick finger by your entrance. he pushes in to the first knuckle, further, then draws back out, repeating the motion to pump into you a couple of times. a second finger breaches joins soon after, stretching you open even more.

“ngh—want you, kento,” you say, panting. “w-want you in me.”

turning back, you see that nanami is using his other hand to wrap around his own cock, bringing himself to full hardness and coating the entire length with lube. the sight alone is enough to have desire building inside you. you’re unable to look away, gaze following every action nanami takes as he strokes himself, working himself up. his hand rolls over the cockhead, face contorting with pleasure, and it seems to take conscious effort for him to let go of his cock.

“think you’re ready for me, baby?” the fingers inside you are still moving back and forth. you nod, impatient, and feel him slowly start to pull out completely.

nanami lines up his cock by your pussy, at first simply rubbing the tip at your entrance and teasing your sensitive folds. the tension drags on and you think you’re going to lose your mind from the sheer anticipation of it. you’re shaking a bit, trembling with need, pussy aching and wet and so fucking turned on. but all nanami does is wait, hands held firmly on your hips, telling you to be patient.

a whimper catches in your throat and you have to bite your lip in order to stop yourself from begging. fuck, you groan. nanami is right there, hard cock rubbing teasingly against you, and you really will go crazy if he doesn’t push inside you within the next second—

“ah!” you gasp, finally feeling the head of nanami’s cock penetrating you. but it doesn’t stop there; he continues to push himself in, taking his time to make sure that you feel the slow drag of it against your walls, until you’re sinking down on him all the way, enveloping him fully.

“fuck, you’re still so tight. so hot inside,” nanami murmurs, leaning in to suck on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “now—stay still and don’t move. got it?”

you nod vehemently, barely even registering the words. you think you’d agree to pretty much anything he tells you at this point, given just how turned on you are.

a low, pleased sound rumbles by your ear before nanami is whispering directly into it. “good. if you can wait until the movie is over, i’ll fuck you properly like how you deserve.”

the sweet promise of a reward has you shuddering with your whole body. you breathe in, slow and shaky, arousal shooting between your legs. “i-i can do that.”

“of course you can. look at you, taking me so well,” nanami murmurs, fingers teasing at the outside of your pussy where he has you stretched around his cock. “already this worked up, hm? sure you’ll be able to last?”

you whimper, unable to deny how you’re burning with arousal, but still, you let out a breathy yes.

chuckling, nanami indulges you. “alright. just remember—no moving.”

the first few minutes are the worst. even though you’re both sitting still, there’s no way you can just ignore the fact that nanami’s cock is currently buried deep inside you. you can feel how hard he is, how you’re being filled in the best way. every once in a while, nanami will throb within you, and your pussy aches in response.

you can’t tell how much of it is your own arousal and how much of it is the aphrodisiac amplifying your desires. but either way, it’s torture. it’s heaven. you never knew it was possible to be this fucking horny.

soon, you start to relax a bit as you get used to the sensation. you direct your focus back to the shifting images flashing on screen and almost manage to forget the lust and need coursing through his body. but that’s when nanami’s hands begin to roam—his strong arms circle around your waist, sliding up your stomach to your chest.

he grabs both of your breasts in his palms, massaging them. gentle fingers latch onto sensitive nipples, pinching lightly. you shudder at the contact, instinctively leaning into his touch. he plays with your nipples mercilessly: rolling them between his fingers, flicking them, anything to get your more riled up.

one hand makes its way back down, lower, lower. the first touch on your clit makes you gasp, and as much as you want to pretend that you’re calm and collected, your body doesn’t lie. nanami continues with barely-there touches on your clit, grazing his fingers past the sensitive nub, light as a feather. you curse him in your head, resisting the urge to buck up and chase after the stimulation. you just know that nanami is getting off to tormenting you like this, driving you slowly insane in the best way.

in attempt to distract yourself, you try your best to think about something else, anything else. it works for about half a second before nanami touches a particularly sensitive area on your body and your brain unhelpfully supplies you with nothing but fantasies of nanami finally fucking you, dragging his cock in and out, pushing deep enough to make you feel it for days after. nanami rubbing your clit in tight circles, going fast, hard, until your thighs shake and you’re coming from his hand, unable to stop your release even if you wanted to…

a moan escapes you just thinking about how good it would feel. you’re so fucking wet and your pussy is throbbing from nanami’s skilled fingers. more noises slip past your lips as a sense of desperation unfurls inside you. fuck, you could have already reached your orgasm by now if nanami wasn’t so cruel, so turned on by denying both of you of what you clearly want.

at some point, you’re hardly able to hear the movie over the sound of your own moans. but you can’t help it—it’s so unfair, so frustrating, entirely not enough. you want nanami to stimulate your clit more, want nanami to thrust his cock into you like he fucking means it until you’re squirming helplessly in his grasp. you want to come, and shit, that’s when you know you’re already too far gone.

somewhere through the haze in your mind, you hear nanami whispering against your neck, “shh, you’re being so loud. i’m trying to pay attention.”

nanami is putting on an act of indifference, seemingly entranced by the movie. he might be in a better state than you are, but it’s obvious that he isn’t as composed as he pretends to be, not with the way his cock is twitching every so often inside you. he also took the aphrodisiac, after all. it must be affecting him as much as it’s affecting you.

“come on, you want it too, don’t you?” you turn your head back to kiss the corner of his mouth. you spread your legs wider, trying to invite nanami to touch you more. “stop resisting, kento. i know you want to feel me clenching around you as you fuck into me… how tight I am for you...”

it’s a pretty compelling argument if you say so yourself, and for a moment, you think you’ve actually managed to convince him. visibly, nanami falters, breath hitching and eyes fluttering shut to hide how much his composure has fallen. but then he growls, looking at you intensely.

“bad girl. so fucking naughty.” the next time nanami speaks, his voice is stern but also slightly strained. as much as you would like to push him further, you know a warning when you hear one, groaning in frustration when he makes it clear that he plans to see this through to the end. “stay still.”

fine, you think. you may be turned on beyond return and growing more desperate by the minute, digging your nails into your thighs to prevent yourself from bouncing on the deliciously hard cock inside you, but you’ll play this game if that’s what nanami wants. you’ll play this game and win. the confidence you feel all of a sudden is admittedly unfounded considering how you were more than ready to give in to your own arousal a few seconds ago, but you’re determined now.

that is, until a few minutes pass and you jolt when you feel nanami moving under you unexpectedly.

you gasp as his cock pushes deeper into you for half a second before it settles back down. there’s no sign of acknowledgement at all from nanami when you glance over at him, so you exhale, and eventually force yourself to relax. but then—

it happens again. a full thrust this time, deliberate and intentional. every nerve ending in you ignites at once and you catch the slightest hint of a smirk making its way onto nanami’s otherwise impassive expression.

you have to bite back a moan, body arching on instinct. you’re trying not to move, fuck, you’re trying, but it’s near impossible when you can feel everything so clearly—nanami bucking into you, cock throbbing against your walls. and just when you think that it’s over, nanami will prove exactly how merciless he can be.

“a-ah—!” the next thrust is a filthy grind that makes you twist helplessly as nanami manages to brush against your g-spot before retreating. almost immediately after, it’s followed by another delicious roll of the hips, leaving you so damn wet and desperate, delirious for his cock. you want to be fucked so bad.

nanami’s hand wraps around you again, rubbing your inner thighs and hums, refusing to give any stimulation to where you need it most. “something wrong, darling?”

“y-you asshole,” you manage to choke out once you realize that nanami is probably enjoying this far too much. he’s so cruel and you hate that you’re finding the whole situation hot. “just—ngh—just fuck me already. please.”

“i will,” nanami says, a growl directly into your ear. it has absolutely no right sounding as sexy as it does, sending shivers down your entire spine. “if you’re good for me.”

shit, you let out a broken a moan. it’s hard to hide just how much those words affect you. you have to clench your hands around the bedsheets, going against every instinct in your body to grind back down against nanami’s hard, tempting cock. your body burns. your muscles are tense, fighting to hold yourself back, to follow the orders you’d been given. through it all, you feel high-strung, nerves alight, so sensitive to every touch like a livewire. it’s utterly maddening how nanami’s cock is right there, but you aren’t allowed to take what you want.

how long has it been now? twenty minutes? thirty? you don’t know but it feels like hours.

the next time nanami not-so-subtlety thrusts into you again, you break. something inside of you snaps. it’s like you’ve completely lost control as you start rambling, obscene moans falling uncontrollably from your lips in stuttering breaths. you tremble on the spot, thighs quivering, desperate and begging for some relief, anything.

“k-ken—kento, fuck, i-i can’t take it anymore, i need you—please just—fuck me, kento, fuck me—”

“god,” nanami curses, fingers digging into your hips like he’s on the edge too, trying his best to hold back as well. “i love hearing you beg. it’s so fucking hot, you have no idea. who would’ve thought that you’d get this horny just by having a cock stuffed inside you, hm?”

you barely manage to keep it together when you feel nanami smooth his hands up your spine, along the planes of your back. the way he rubs circles there isn’t even inherently sexual, but you can’t help but shudder, entire body visibly tense in effort to hold yourself still. to deny yourself of what you so badly want.

a single finger circles around your clit again, and you shudder with anticipation, thinking that he might finally be giving up on this stupid challenge. “yes, fuck, yes—more—”

but that’s all you get, and nanami’s hand moves away, taunting you from a distance. “there are only a few minutes left,” he murmurs, and you had forgotten all about the movie. “you can hold out a little longer, can’t you? be a good girl for me.”

you whimper, swallowing a protest that rises up in your throat. fuck, you want to be good, you really do, but you’ve been pushed to the limit, and you don’t know how much longer you can stand it.

after that, nanami stops playing dirty; there are no more thrusts, both of you too close to the edge now to take any more risks. but even if he doesn’t move, you can still feel him inside, hard and aching, just shy of grazing against your sweet spot. it’s agonizing torture, and you’ve long since given up on trying to control your breathing as your chest heaves. you’re so far gone that you think you only need one more thrust, one single touch of a hand on your throbbing clit, and it would be enough to make you come.

fuck, you want to come so fucking bad.

the rest of the movie goes by in a blur. you have no idea what’s happening on the screen anymore, hardly even remember what it is that you’re watching in the first place. all you know is that you’ve been brought to the edge and teetering on the brink for so long now that you can’t even think straight anymore.

by the time the credits finally roll across the screen, you’re absolutely wrecked. your eyes are half-lidded, pussy spasming around nanami’s cock, and your body is begging for release. you resist the urge to buck up into nothing, and you just about lose it as you feel nanami twitching inside you again.

“shit, look at you.” nanami’s voice sounds strained, giving away just how much this has affected him too. “good girl. you did so well. i didn’t think you would last the whole time.”

“k-kento… please…”

“i know, i know,” he murmurs reassuringly. “fuck, you’re so good for me, baby. you’ve earned your reward.”

fresh arousal washes over you upon hearing those words. you allow yourself to be flipped over so that you’re lying on your back, sinking into the mattress as your lips meet nanami’s for a kiss. it’s almost enough to distract you from what he does next.

inch by inch, nanami pulls himself out until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance, before thrusting back inside with full force. you nearly scream when he does it again and again, moaning into his mouth, arching forward. it’s the first time tonight that you truly feel the thick drag of nanami’s hard cock inside you, finally, finally fucking you with proper intent and it’s so good you think you’re going to lose your mind.

there’s no more teasing now. the pace gradually increases, both of you worked up beyond control, impatient and desperate for release. you let out an obscene whine before gasping when nanami manages to hit your g-spot head on.

“o-oh, fuck!” your hips move in rhythm with his, purely on instinct now. “oh, holy shit, kento—right there—”

“yeah—hah—you like that?” nanami grunts when he feels you clench around him, snapping his hips into you over and over, hand reaching down to find your clit as well. “you don’t have to hold back anymore. let me hear you.”

and you moan, loud and unfiltered. the deep thrusts combined with the frantic pace nanami has built up drives you crazy, makes all of your thoughts dissolve away in an instant. heat pools in your lower stomach when nanami aims for your spot once more, causing your entire body to jerk forward, arching beautifully off the bed. needy sounds spill from your mouth. the hand on your clit speeds up and you know you won’t last. it won’t be long now.

“i-i’m—ah—hng—i can’t—oh my god, kento, i’m s-so—so close—”

“s-shit—” nanami stutters, but his pace doesn’t falter, each thrust going deeper than the last. “that’s it—ngh—you feel so good around me. taking me so fucking well. i wanna—wanna see you come apart.”

that’s when you make the mistake of looking down, eyes fixated on where your bodies connect, watching as nanami’s cock disappears into you over and over again. the sight is so obscene, so filthy, so unbelievably hot. and when you feel him thrusting into your harder, you can’t help but gasp aloud. “h-hah—! kento, oh god, fuck, i-i’m—i can’t hold—i’m gonna—”

“then come,” nanami whispers a low breath right next to your ear. the words send tingles all the way up your spine, thighs shaking at the command. “be a good girl and come for me.”

“ngh, f-fuck, oh, fuck—” you spasm with the force of your orgasm, finding yourself completely at his mercy. it’s entirely unfair that nanami knows exactly where to aim, how to break you. your pussy aches, clit pulsing, and suddenly you’re coming so hard that your vision blurs. your hips bucks forward, mouth falling open to let out a guttural moan.

you hardly even register nanami following with his own release soon after, a couple more thrusts and spilling deep inside you, head thrown back to ride out his orgasm. the shape of your name forms around his lips along with a low groan as he stills, breathing heavily.

hissing, nanami pulls out and falls onto the bed next to you. your eyes are closed, head still spinning with the aftershocks of pleasure. and holy shit, you think. the orgasm is fucking worth it, after making yourself wait so long. it’s almost unreal. you turn your head to take in the sight of nanami beside you, looking like how you feel, all fucked out and in a state of bliss. his cock gives one last twitch. between your legs, you can feel his come dripping out of you.

once you catch your breath, you frown and say, “i can’t believe you made me sit through the entire movie like that. you’re evil.”

a slow smirk spreads across nanami’s face and he’s so fucking handsome it’s not fair. “i love it when you beg for me. but you know i'd never do anything that you don’t like.”

it’s true, and that’s the hardest thing for you to admit: that you like the challenge, you like cock warming him, you like being pushed to your limits until you break. you can’t really complain, not when he made it up to you by giving you one of the best orgasms of your life.

“do we have more of those chocolates?” you ask, referring to the aphrodisiacs, and you can tell that nanami is thinking the same thing. they really are magic, and this is definitely something that you’ll revisit again later.

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian @l0rdgeosupport3rr @minni-creations @fos-tis-zois @the-reas0n-is-y0u @cantfeelherface @rxmbzzz @lysaray @zelzablues @str4wbrrycandy @that-goth-bisexual @simping4u @iminlovewqr0w @sharks31 @pseudowho @jisoonunn @outkasti @anathemaspeaks @fushigur0slut4 @barryatsumu @d0nk3y-k0ng @shasaaa15

(comment to be added)

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk men #jjk smut #jjk imagine #nanami kento #nanami smut #jjk nanami #naughtyjjk #nanami x reader

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ode2rin · 9 months ago

Text

SAY YES TO ME ~ ❀ ·˚

𓆩♡𓆪 in which: your husband, reo, just knows exactly how to make you say yes.

For the first time in his life, Reo had never been happier to be the CEO of his company.

He couldn't recall feeling as alive even when he first inherited the position. While he appreciated the benefits and authority, nothing compared to the freedom of controlling his own time.

As soon as the clock struck 12 pm, Reo sprang to his feet, driven by a sense of purpose akin to a man on a mission. His determined strides echoed against the perfectly marbled tiles of his office floor as he made his way to the elevator. It was five hours earlier than his usual clock-out time, but today was an exception.

Because today was Valentine’s Day— and he had better plans than sitting around skimming through papers that hardly made any sense anymore because his mind was already consumed with thoughts of you, as if he didn’t spend most of his time doing exactly that anyway.

Before finally leaving his office floor, Reo made a beeline for his secretary’s desk to ensure the finishing touches were being made according to his instructions.

“Everything must be ready before we arrive,” he declared to his secretary, his tone more of a command than a request. This was serious business, after all. In fact, none of the investor deals he signed earlier this day would measure up to the importance of this one task at hand.

“Yes, sir,” his secretary replied cautiously.

Satisfied, he stepped into the elevator. His eagerness to see you was so evident— anyone can tell. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying one bit to do so. From the way he pressed the lobby button twice, checked his watch incessantly for the past few hours, and tapped his wingtip against the elevator floor as if its speed could hasten his journey home— everyone can tell that his very own company building was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Well, he supposed anyone with someone precious waiting for them at home would understand his seemingly pathetic behavior.

Pathetic, lovesick, whipped— you’ve reduced him to every synonym for such.

Not that it concerns him; what's more concerning is that he's not bothered by any perception tied to it. If he hadn't outgrown that teenage angst and was still chasing bits to fuel his ego, then it would have been a different story. He would have been hypersensitive to what bystanders thought of him. Now, older and wiser, he couldn’t care less about what they meant to prying eyes or big tabloids. None of their opinions were yours, so none of them mattered.

The journey back home was tenfold more insufferable than the time spent in the elevator. He kept his eye on his chauffeur in the rear-view mirror, and if he squinted enough, he could see the beads of nervous sweat forming at the poor man’s temple. He sighed to himself, seemingly reprimanding his own improper behavior. Hell, what was happening to him? He wasn't even an impatient man to begin with. All because of Valentine’s Day—all because he couldn’t wait to see you.

He got it real bad, as his longtime best friend would like to say. One he couldn't find it in himself to deny. It was true, anyway.

He didn't know when or where it started, but one random night four years ago, he woke up in a cold sweat, and the realization that he was hell deep in love with you gnawed on his center to his throat. So in love it set his heart on fire, all while being in love with the one person who lit the match.

Rumors were true— love never aligned with logic, intricate planning, none of what he excelled at as a businessman. And so, he abandoned logic and acted exactly as his heart had been urging him to.

The very moment the sun peeked over the horizon that fateful day, he was on his feet, his jet waiting to fly him to wherever the finest diamond engagement rings reside.

It was the best decision he had ever made in his life because if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t be standing at the entrance of your shared home, his grin widening with each approaching step he hears. You’re bustling around the house just to welcome him home—so, no, he couldn’t have it any other way. The mere thought of doing things differently made his heart leap into his throat, while a hollow feeling settled in his chest.

“Love! Welcome home!” you greet him, your lively voice warming Reo’s heart as it makes its way to him.

Even before you could throw your arms around his shoulders and kiss him senselessly to welcome him home, you're met with a bundle of red roses he had taken from his back.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” you blushed, resembling the vibrant flowers he bought on the way home.

“Nothing is ever a bother when it comes to you,” he mused, big amethyst eyes sparkling back at you.

Ever the sweet talker, you looked at your husband who was now peering over you and the roses you’re cradling.

“Okay, Mr. Charming. To what occasion do I owe this?” you play pretend, your voice tinged with playful curiosity.

Instead of an immediate response, you felt his hands traveling to the small of your back, pulling you close against his embrace. His lips grazed your cheek, before whispering in your ear, “Be my Valentine?”

Here he goes again, you thought. “I’ve been married to you for the last four years, if I remember correctly,” you pointed out to him, keeping your smile to yourself.

That’s not a yes. Huffing, Reo pulled back from your hug to look you in the eye, “Your point being? There are no rules in marriage that say I can no longer ask you on Valentine’s day– if I remember correctly,” and he even had the pettiness to mock your tone.

“Wow, my husband is a bit sassy today, isn’t he?”

My husband, he repeats in his mind, and just like that, all sassiness and pettiness came flying straight out of the window. “I love being your husband,” he blurted out, totally unrelated to your previous banter.

“Oh, really, now?” you teased, feigning the warmth it sent to your chest.

He does, truly and definitely. A man like him is widely known for what he has– for the possessions under his name and for the power it holds. Yet here he was, wrapped around your arms, and suddenly, being your husband has been the best he has been called and known for.

There was no weight, no expectations, and no pressure tied to it— just love dripping in every letter. There’s no one he would rather be.

“Yeah, am I doing a great job?” smiling at you, he asks, “I’m not losing the charms, am I?”

“Trust me, you’re very much good at it,” you fondly brushed the strands of hair covering his eyes, “and you’re not losing the charms,” you quoted.

“Really? So if I were to ask again, would you say yes?”

“With or without your ‘charms’, you know exactly how to make me say yes.”

Reo let out a hearty laugh at your remark. “You’re right,” his fingers reached out to your left ring finger, where his oath of forever lay glimmering.

God— he really did that. He put a ring on it. It was his name next to yours, his rings on your hand, his bed you share, and his forever you spend with. Four years and more to come, but Reo was certain he would never get over it.

Before his rationality left him and wrecked his own plans, Reo caressed your back, his hands moving dangerously low down your hip and giving it a squeeze, “Still wanna hear it from you though,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “So, what do you say in letting this poor man take you on a date as his valentine?”

You drew closer to his hold, your arms finding their place around his neck, hands occupied with the flowers now resting on his back, “I say,” you pressed your lips as if trying to think, “I’d like some kiss and maybe hear a please first—”

You couldn’t even finish teasing him because in a heartbeat, Reo closed the distance, seizing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss drowning out the sound of words with an intensity that left no room for second guessing his invitation. Nothing about Mikage Reo was silent and subtle– not even when he kissed you. It had to be breathless, deep, urgent, and parting your lips in surrender.

His hands found their way, trailing with purpose along your spine, while his other traced the curve of your jaw with a feather-light touch. Teasing fingers then tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, desperate for more.

He pulled back first, leaving you light-headed. He flashed you one smirk, lips almost melting into yours.

“Please?”

Fuck. You didn’t need to be asked thrice. You nodded your head aimlessly, earning a chuckle from him. “Go then, pack some clothes. Our jet is waiting for us.”

“Jet? Did you mean car?” Where the hell was he taking you to use a jet for?

Seemingly reading the question on your face, he answered, “I know what I said, love. We’re going to Paris.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, squirming from his hold completely, “We could just dine somewhere close, Reo.”

Now, who told you he only had dinner in mind? Who did you take him for? You shouldn’t be surprised anymore— there’s nothing in this world that would come close to the satisfaction he got from spending lavishly on you. It was a reminder that he could and most certainly would give you everything you wanted. “You don’t like Paris?”

You tried to reason, heavy on the try so it seemed because you soon realized it was a mistake clarifying your point, “I mean, I do but—”

“I think I heard enough, love,” a sheepish smile formed on his lips, “I’ll wait for you here, alright?”

You rolled your eyes at him before retreating to your shared bedroom to prepare for freaking Paris. Of course, you're going. There’s really no winning against him, you’ve known that ever since. He longed to prove to you that he always had the irresistible charm of making you say yes.

Not that you'd ever thought of saying no. The ring weighing your finger down could attest to that.

note. been seeing people saying their partners no longer ask them valentines bec they're tgt alr... reo would never do that btw do better

another note (pls tolerate me). i'm pretty sure i'm fighting for my life when this gets posted (it's qd!!) so here's me wishing all of you a happy hearts day 🩷

#💌 valentine's special '24 #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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sweetimpurity · 6 months ago

Text

“I don’t know why you kept running, I always catch you!” Miguel yells. He’s got you cornered in a dead end hallway on a random floor in HQ. After a long and tiring chase through HQ’s halls and vast spaces, you’re both here. It was a fight that started this. A fight about Miles and the fate of the multiverse. Where you seem to agree with Miles and want to help him, Miguel disagrees.

Peter and Jess will never understand the perpetual cycle of need and hatred you both feel towards each other. The two of you always butt heads on everything. From who’s leading what mission to the font on mission reports. Everything has to be a fight, an argument, a screaming match. It’s a miracle you haven’t quit yet, or that Miguel hasn’t thrown you out the window by now. And yet every time you storm off, he always chases after you.

“You are so stubborn it’s exhausting!” You yell in his face, watching him stalk towards you as you’re desperately trying to catch your breath from running so fast. Leaning back against the wall, your lungs burning from the exertion. “Maybe if you’d just agree with me, just once, then we wouldn’t have to waste our time running around!” He yells, his voice booming back down the empty hallway. “Instead you have to act like the little brat you are, a little princess!” He spits with venom, trying to break you down.

“You’re the princess! You need everyone to just do what you say all the time, you’re just… you-” You yell, stammering over your words a bit and he presses one hand to each side of your head against the wall. You don’t even notice at first, you’re so wound up, but he’s trying to intimidate you with his size. “Yeah say what you need to say, princesa, I’ll wait.” He says mockingly, watching you unable to find the proper words as you’re still simultaneously catching your breath. “Shut up!” You yell, slapping him hard across the face.

He’s stunned for a second. It wasn’t hard enough for him to really be affected by it but he’s not just gonna let it slide “Did you just slap me?” He yells. “Yeah! I slapped you! And you deserve it!” You squirm to escape the enclosure of his body but he puts his hands on your hips to stop you from moving, his thighs on either side of yours to keep you from leaving. “Stop moving around!” He yells as you squirm, his frustration growing. “Let me go, asshole!” You slap him again, and his grip on you tightens, grabbing your wrists to stop you from doing it again. “Princesa, you’re acting crazy right now.” His voice drops an octave, his cheek growing slightly pink from your hand across it. “I’ll do it again.” You threaten, and his eyes flash with something. “Do it again.” He demands, letting go of your hands to give you the option. But you know it’s not that simple. “Do it again and see what happens.”

Your eyes narrow, wondering what the catch is, knowing there must be one. His eyes burning holes into yours. “No.” You huff, crossing your arms defiantly. “C’mon, princesa, I’m giving you the green light, slap me again.” He says mockingly. “Stop calling me that.” You demand, scowling up at him. “Slap. Me. Again. And see what happens.” He practically growls, staring you down. You have half the mind to just do it. What would he do? The worst he can do is hit you back, right? And you’ve fought countless villains before, this shouldn’t be too different.

The silence is heavy as the tension is between you. His eyes just daring you to do it. “Come on princess!!” He shouts. And your hand meets his red cheek for the third time.

Smack! And it’s all happening at once, you slap him, he makes his move, smashing buttons on his watch and your holographic spider suit disappears. Leaving you completely naked.

“Ahhh!” You scream, instantly covering up, a flush on your cheeks and goosebumps over your whole body. “The fuck is wrong with y-” And his mouth is on yours, his hands grabbing at your hair, keeping your mouth locked with his. His tongue in your mouth, his talons pricking at the back of your neck. He’s not kissing, he’s devouring, pressing you up against the wall, pressing his knee between your legs, his clothed thigh against your bare beating pussy.

You want to yell at him more, cuss him out, punch and scream. But all you can think is “thank Jesus… finally…”

Moans leave your throat, escaping into his mouth, his body moving to press into you more. He manages to press some more buttons, his own suit disappearing in an instant, and you feel his warm skin on yours. He’s so warm, in fact, he’s sweltering hot. You remember him giving you that suit. One of nanotech like his own. He said it was because he needed you to not be reckless and get yourself killed. He needed you to protect the multiverse and this suit offered much more protection than the old spandex. And while that was true, he also gave it to you so he could monitor your body. Like knowing when your hormones change or when you’re hurt. And like right now having total control and instant access to you and already knowing that you’ve been dripping wet for him ever since you stormed out of his office.

“I told you… something would happen… you never listen…” He pants between suffocating kisses, moving to your neck, his teeth biting marks into your skin, sucking and kissing all your sweet spots he’s able to find in seconds. You just moan at this, hands running up his bare arms, eyes closed but you’re able to feel every sculpted muscle, the hair on his forearms, the veins bulging. “So wet, princess…” He whispers, hand moving down between your flushed thighs and playing with you, collecting your slick on his fingers and running his fingertips down your slit to where you need him most, plunging two fingers inside with no warning.

“Ngh!” You whine at the instant stretch and slight burn. Slapping the back of his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin. He looks down at you, grinning evilly. “Fuck you…” You groan, knowing he did that on purpose. “But you’re dripping princesa, they just slide right in…” He mumbles, smiling at your pout, and his lips are back on yours, sucking at your lips and the tip of your tongue. His fingers start their rhythm, pumping in and out, curling at just the right time to hit all the perfect spots. “M-Miguel!” You gasp, head throwing back against the wall, hips rolling up into his hand. You just can’t help it.

“Feels good?” He grins, kissing over your cheeks and biting at your jaw. Teasing you as your walls melt down. “F-fu-uck y-you…” You breathe out, withering away from his touch. Bound to become a puddle on the floor. “Good…” He hums, flicking his fingers inside, feeling for when your walls squeeze and continuing that motion the same way over and over again. His thumb presses to your clit as his fingers work inside, your beating bundle of nerves soothed and stimulated by the pad of his finger working in small controlled circles.

Eyes closed, kissing him back sloppily, you reach down, finding his dick hard and heavy for you against his stomach, feeling its length and size in the palm of your hand. Hearing his breath hitch against your lips as you grip him, pressing your thumb to his tip. “Ugh.. turn around…” He husks, pulling back and pushing you to face the wall, your breasts pushing up against the cold metal, his hands on your hips instantly. “Haaa….” He breathes out in relief when his tip runs through your puffy folds, just dripping for him as always. But you’d never let him know that before.

Without another word he slowly sinks in, relishing in the gasps that escape your kissed lips, his hands moving all over you, feeling all the nerves in his body exploding and tingling at once. “M-Mig- ah!” You gasp and whine, reaching behind you, grabbing onto his wrist, his fingers soon entwining with yours. One hand in yours and the other reaching around, splaying out on your stomach as he starts pushing into you, pulling out and back in again. “Haa… so warm princesa… so tight…” He groans next to your ear as he makes shallow thrusts within you, stretching you out, his tip gradually delving deep enough to hit your cervix. You whine at the slight sting, back arching and pressing your chest and face to the wall in front of you, and he plants kisses on your shoulder, moving to your neck and biting down on your skin. It all descends into madness, his hips snapping into your ass, both his hands entwining with yours, holding them behind your back. Panting like a hound and humping into you against the wall. Neither of you are able to care about any unlucky spider-people who would potentially walk down this way.

“I-I’m gonna cummmm…. Miguel!” You whine, gasping and flushed all over, losing your mind on his big dick. “Not yet… not yet.” He scolds softly. You whimper, already feeling that ache in your tummy, the one that tells you you’re close. He keeps going, grunting and growling in your ear. “Wait wait- someone’s coming!” You whine, your spider sense suddenly alerting you to someone walking up the stairwell that leads to this hall. “No one’s coming.” He husks, his lack of spidey tingle keeping him unaware. “No no really!” You whimper, your knees buckling when his fingers come back in contact with your clit. He only believes you when his super sensitive hearing picks up on the click of the door latch at the end of the hall. Grabbing you and pushing through the door to your right. His security clearance opens the door right away and you both burst inside. A vacated office, dark and littered with old boxes and filing cabinets. He’s grabbing you, your chest pressed to his now and your fingers in his hair, kissing him deep and sloppy, your orgasm dying down the longer he’s not inside anymore. In his haste, you both bump into a filing cabinet, the metal making a loud crash and bang once it meets the floor. The box of old tech falls on the floor adding to the noise. He lifts you onto the big metal desk, shoving everything off, the smash and thud of everything just adding to the cacophony of sounds from inside this room.

“Stop breaking everything!... fucking animal!” You yell and frown at him, smothered by his lips and his hands all over, his strength pressing you down flat on the desk. “Just hold still! Squirming all over the place!” He scolds, a smile on his face and you swear you heard him giggle. This beast of a man giggling as he mounts the desk hovering over you. You can’t help but smile and try to stop yourself from laughing. “C’mon…work with me here…” He pants, pushing his hair back and out of his face as he nestles his hips between your thighs, his big dick slipping in so deep and easy. “Ah!” You squeal. “Mmm!” He grunts. And you’re both moaning, groaning, grinding into the other, chasing that sweet release as any sense of reason flies right out the window.

…

“Should we go check on them?” Jess sighs, glancing at Peter across the desk. The two of them waiting in Miguel’s office, patiently all this time, assuming the two of you would return at some point and you could continue with this meeting. “No, I’m sure they can handle it… they just need to work things out.” Peter says optimistically, fidgeting with a random piece of machinery that was laid out on Miguel’s desk. The two of them just fiddling their thumbs and waiting for you two to come back.

“D’you try that new burger in the cafeteria?” Peter asks. Jess shakes her head, checking the time and crossing her arms. “It’s the Spider-Ham… burger…” Peter laughs. Looking pretty proud of himself. “Did you come up with that yourself?” She raises a brow, eyes narrowed, unimpressed. His smile fades. “No.”

“Hm.”

…

“Mm fuck… take it all… all that fucking cum…” He grunts in your ear, pumping his second load into you as you’re pulsing from your third orgasm. By this point you’re ass up, titties smushed on the desktop, his enormous size humping over you, the arch in your back almost painful with how hard he’s giving it to you. “Ahh-hhh…” A fluttering moaning sigh escapes you, riding out your last orgasm but he doesn’t stop and you feel the next one building up already.

“M-Mig… mmmm…” You moan and hum, cockdrunk and soft like silly putty, malleable for his use. “You sound so pretty…” He breathes out, panting but it doesn’t stop him. “Pretty little slut…”

His hands go in your hair again, pulling it back just so he can hear you whine again. “Mmm-ah!” You whimper and gasp, jaw falling open as he pounds into you as if you haven’t been going at this for four rounds straight. He pushes into you, in deep, toe curling pulses, his dick gliding perfectly past all the spots that have you melting.

Squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak. The desk adds to the noise. The structure shaking with his unending, ever powerful thrusts. Squeak squeak creak creak pop! And you’re both gasping as the desk gives out from under you, one side going down as you both slide down the desktop tilting towards the floor. It all happens in a blur of seconds and as he pushes on top of you, his dick goes deeper than ever. Ripping a gasping scream from your throat. “Mm-AHH-hhhhaa!!”

He manages to catch himself by the time you both slide to the floor. The arch in your back even deeper as your lower half is elevated on the slanted desktop. But it doesn’t stop Miguel. He keeps pounding you, grabbing at your hands and pulling them back.

“I can’t… I can’t ah!” You whine, completely overwhelmed and fucked out. Eyes rolling back as he reaches unimaginable depths. “I win…” He grins, panting and trying his best to keep fucking you with all his might. “I won, say I win.” He chuckles, his hand rubbing over your back in a stark contrasting tenderness. “I win.” You smile deliriously, knowing that’s not what he wanted to hear. His hand meets your red and raw ass cheek. “Mm! Fuck!” The gasp fills your chest but the slap makes you squeeze around him, your orgasm burning in your thighs and your stomach. “You never learn, do you?” He rasps in your ear, leaning over you, his chest pressing down to your back as his hips piston into you with undying fervor. “No…” You sigh, eyes fluttering closed and moaning sweetly as the waves wash over you, his face falling into the crook of your neck as your bodies move as one, a live grenade about to blow.

“Ohhh… Miguel!” Your moans really are music to his ears and with a few final thrusts he’s pushing deep inside. Spurting right at your cervix, pumping you full and raw for the third time as you tremble and pulse around him. Legs like jello and shaking all over. “Haa…” He sighs, arms wrapped around you as the movement eventually and finally stops. The room stilling, coming down from madness as you both come down from all that just happened.

“Oh my god…” You sigh, sweating and worked out. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, looking around to try and move from this precarious position half propped up on the collapsed desktop. He carefully pulls out and lifts your hips to lay more comfortably flat on the floor. “Hey. You okay?” He asks again, sitting up next to you, brushing some hair out of your face as he looks over you. “Mm… yeah” You sigh, catching your breath as the aftershocks pulse through your nerves.

He leans down, kissing your shoulder a few times, resting his head in one hand and laying beside you, looking down at you. Among the mess and disaster this room has been made into. “How’s your back?” He asks and you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “Broken!” You whine, slapping his arm with the back of your hand. He giggles, hiding away from your gentle slaps, knowing he really pushed your limits just now. Soon he grabs your hand, pulling to his lips, kissing your palm and the backs of your knuckles. The line between loving and hating him getting thinner all the time.

#please i need him #i need him so bad #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #artists on tumblr #miguel fanart #miguel spiderverse #artists on tiktok #smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara smut #miguelohara #miguel ohara fanart #miguel x you #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut

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ilythena · 10 months ago

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𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 || 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

★SUM when you decide to break up with your boyfriend, you never thought you’d end up sleeping with his enemy.

SMUT!!!! Fem reader, one night stand turned lovers, oral (F and M receiving), sloppy make outs, cheating (reader and her bf are cheating on each other), mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t actually happen, hangover sex, creampies, phone sex (readers bf calls and they pick up mid deed), Jack doesn’t give two shits lmao, he’s kinda switchy???, “I can treat you better than he can” trope, reader is a celebrity but her personal work is not mentioned, use of y/n, unhealthy relationships, Jack does not live with Luke in this fic, readers ex boyfriend is not named and can be whoever you’d like it to be.

WC of 3.2K, not proofread 😥

♪ Practice - Drake

“All I want to do is go out and you’re already acting like a bitch.” Your boyfriend says as he buttons up his shirt

“You promised this time we would stay in.” You said from your spot in the room as he shifts his eyes to look at you from the mirror and his brows furrow “so what? You want me to be inside all the time and be boring? I have a social life I have to keep up with, y/n. You can either stop being a pain in the ass about it and come with me or stay here by yourself.” He says as he walks out the room and with a heavy heart you follow him outside.

Sitting in the passenger seat silent he drives you both out to some random club with random people and quickly ditches you without even saying goodbye

Your boyfriend immediately left you in the corner as soon as you both got there, and there you were standing there like you knew you would be. Everyone's drinking and smoking who knows what and it makes your skin crawl at the fact that you have no clue who your even around right now.

"Hey beautiful. What're you doing here alone?" Some random creep says to you and you have to physically hold back from cringing into your skin, the alcohol evident on his breath.

"Sorry, I'm not looking for anyone" you say and quickly down your drink to move to the dance floor to get away. Bumping into strangers you realize the alcohol kicks in quicker than you thought it would. Eventually finding your boyfriend and rolling your eyes at the way he’s obviously flirting with another girl, you quickly realize you’re gonna have to find another way home tonight.

Trying your best to forget about your shitty excuse of a boyfriend, you very quickly start to dance with some random. Though the lights are extremely dark, you could tell he was handsome.

Told you he’s seen you around before, and than he’s been plotting on you for a while. His offering of a drink somehow turnt into you grinding against him and in the blink of an eye you’re stumbling into his apartment, drunk and insanely horny.

Lightheaded. That's the only word you could use to describe how you feel so early in the morning.

Forcing your eyes open you see the man who’s name is apparently Jack laying on your chest-knocked out asleep. You sigh and grab your phone to check the time: 5:30 am, you have a few notifications from the group chat you and your friends share; most of it just your friends being they’re usual crazy selfs with your other friends entertaining it.

Your hand finds itself into his hair, stroking it while he lets out quiet snores against you. The buzz from the alcohol must've followed you into the next morning cause you still feel so relaxed, head spinning but in a good way. You feel jack shift against you to pull you closer and you look down at him.

His eyes are on you now, mumbling a "good morning" while his hands run down your back and he presses a kiss on your collarbone. The action makes your heart flutter and you whisper "good morning" back to him, hand pushing the hair out of his face while he scoots up to lay his head in the crook of your neck.

“Jack, I really shouldn’t be here-“ “I know you have a boyfriend, pretty girl. I don’t care about him. He doesn’t deserve you.” He cuts you off with a mumble of the last part and you’re stuck in minor shock

You don’t protest his statement knowing that he was right. If your boyfriend can have some fun why can’t you?

You two have simple conversation, him asking what time it was and how you were and you responding. You scrolled through instagram seeing yet another picture of your boyfriend leaving the club with some random woman and he watched silently while rubbing his hands onto your waist. He suddenly hums and makes small pecks into your neck, kissing around until he finds a spot that makes you breathe a little heavier and leaning your head to the side so he can get better leverage at the spot.

"What're you doing?" You whisper, curious but making no effort to stop him. "Kissing you." He replied blankly, mumbling small praises in between the kisses. You move his head so you could kiss him on the lips— sloppily but passionate. He pinches your sides to make you gasp so that he can slip his tongue into your mouth, groaning into the kiss.

He moves a knee between your legs so you don't close them, moving your shirt up so he can kiss down your torso until he gets down to your pants. He looks up at you; asking with his eyes if he can remove them and you nod. He wastes no time taking your pants off and removing your underwear, dick twitching when he sees how wet you are.

'''S all for me?" He mumbles into your thigh and you nod again, breath hitching in your throat. "Use your words." He says, kissing up and down your thighs-both arousal and nervousness pooling in your stomach at the sight of him kneeled down in front of you. "Yes. All for you." You say, and you could barely get another word out before he begun to lick a stripe up your slit.

An audible gasp left your mouth while a groan left his, and your hand—that was previously holding your shirt up—flew to his hair and gripped onto it for balance.

"Why didn't you tell me you tasted so good?" Jack said, words coming out slurred due to him not bothering to stop the attack on your pussy. "H-when was I supposed to tell you tha- oh my god." you said, words getting cut off when his tongue circles your clit.

He's really eating you out now, head mushed between your thighs, licking and sucking every part of you his tongue can reach. You don't know how he became so alert so quickly, he just was damn near asleep barely even half an hour ago. The feeling becomes too much, you squirming around and him grabbing both of your thighs to bring you back to him, mumbling a "stay still for me" into your core as he continues.

It's only a few more moments until you get closer to the edge, whines and moans increasing in pitch as Jack inhumanly speeds up. " Jack, I'm close" you whine, and he just hums as he continues. Your thighs closing in on his head as you cum and him groaning, trying to practically drink it before you have to forcefully remove his head from your pussy. His eyes are low, filled with lust and you're panting, trying to catch your breath.

“I’m not done with you, pretty. Let me fuck that loser boyfriend of yours out of your head, hm?” He says as he drags you closer to the middle of the bed, near his now hard dick that was now very obviously poking through his shorts.

The fact that he’s not wearing a shirt makes this process much easier, as all he had to do was slide down his shorts and kick them off. You’re staring at him and you don’t know what to think right now, he’s huge. He looks at you for a brief moment before smirking, “you like what you see?” He says and your face gets a little hot when you realize you’ve been caught. He spits down into his hand and gives you a little show, jerking himself off and teasing his tip on your slit.

“I wanna suck you off” you suddenly blurt out and he can’t help but chuckle a little. “Next time, lovely. If I don’t fuck you right now I think I might explode.”

“Jack please don’t tease me” you whine and he kisses up from your collarbones to your ear, and whispers a beg for it into your ear. “Please, please, put it in. I need to feel you.” Was all it took from you before he put a hand next to your head and he was pushing himself into you.

He pushed in slowly, part of it wanting you to get you to the stretch, but the other part of it was for him to not cum quickly. “You’re so fucking tight y/n, god.” He groans out and you moan out when he finally bottoms out inside of you.

Jack doesn’t waste any time pounding into you as you quickly grab onto his shoulders for support. “Oh!” You cry out and he grunts in reply, “so fucking wet too. This turn you on? Having a real man take care of you like this.” He says as he grabs you by your chin so you can look at him and you sob out a yes for him.

“Feels so good, Jack. So full of you, fucking me so good” you whine out and he lets out what would seem to be a quiet whimper “keep talking to me like that and I’m definitely not gonna last long, baby.” He licks his thumb and brings it down to your clit to rub it in fast, tight circles that makes your jaw drop and your toes curl.

“Oh fuck! Jack!” You say as your back arches off the bed and he puts his other free hand on your back for support. “Come on baby, let go for me. Cum on this cock.” He whines into your neck and with a few more thrust you were creaming all over him. He keeps going and you quickly get overstimulated while he holds your hips down into the bed

“Just a little more, pretty. I’m gonna cum so fucking hard into you. Fuck.” He pants out and like he said, after a few more deep thrusts, he cums inside of you.

He gently lays on top of you as you both catch your breaths and come down from your orgasms. He kisses your temple and whispers about how he’s going to run you a bath and bring you some water.

“What am I going to wear? And as much as I would love to stay here I have to go home.” You whisper and he tells you not to worry about it, that you could take one of his shirts and he’ll take you home his self. You don’t object when he carries you to the bathroom and sets the water temperature to warm.

Begrudgingly getting out of jacks car and giving him your number, you grab your keys and walk into your very empty apartment. Usually you’d be upset, however this time you’ve never been more grateful. You wash your face and put on a movie to lay on the couch and rest.

You’re rudely awoken when your boyfriend walks through the door at 11:30 am and you don’t even bother to ask him where he’s been when you know exactly where he was.

“Hey babe.” He says and you hum a small “hey” back to him. He doesn’t even know you didn’t come home last night and you plan to keep it that way.

“What’s up with you? All relaxed.” He says and you shrug “I was taking a nap…” you say and he side eyes you. You don’t usually sleep unless he comes home but he lets it go as you were probably tired.

It’s been a few weeks of you and Jack sneaking around while your boyfriend doesn’t have a clue. And a part of you feels bad about it but then again he’s cheated multiple times and you’re simply not in love with him anymore.

Tomorrow, your boyfriend has a game against the New Jerseys devils which excites you because then you get to see Jack again.

“Why are you so happy to go? Never seen you this excited to see me kick some ass in a game before.” Your boyfriend chuckles as you mentally groan and put on a fake smile “just happy that I get to see my boyfriend play.” You lie straight out of your teeth, well not really. You are watching your boyfriend play, just not him. he smiles at your statement. “You know, recently you’ve been acting different. And honestly, I love it so much. You’re so much more calmer and it just makes me happy that knowing you regained that trust in me.” He said and you didn’t even respond. Just smiled like you didn’t know what was happening

“Only thing that’s pissing me off is that Jack kid” he says and you freeze. “…What do you mean?” “I mean like, he’s just some pretty boy who thinks he’s the shit. Thinks he can do whatever he wants and tonight I’m gonna beat his ass in this game tonight to show him who’s boss.” You don’t say anything once again and you’re left with your thoughts while your boyfriend flips through the tv to find a channel to watch.

By the time you left the house, your boyfriend was already on the ice getting ready to start his match. You’re about to sit down next to your friend when a text comes through your phone.

Jack 🤍

Come meet me after the game.

You shoot back a 👍 before putting your phone down and talking with the girl beside you.

It was obvious who was going to win. A devastating game for your boyfriend with a 4-0 to The new jersey devils but a celebratory one for your affair partner. Your boyfriend doesn’t even look at you, just gets in his car after taking off his gear and goes home. You don’t even care anymore, and after you see all the boys leaving the opposite teams locker room, you text Jack asking if it was okay for you to come to his apartment and he immediately sends a yes.

You walk into the place and immediately you’re hugged by him, which sends butterflies to your stomach and a bright genuine smile to your face.

“Missed you, gorgeous. Saw how I kicked ass out there?” He says as he pulls away to look at your face and you smile even harder “I did! You played so good, super proud of you” and he gives you a deep kiss as you both giggle.

“You have to stop! What if you leave a mark?” You whisper laugh and he nips at your ear “don’t care anymore. Let them know how much I love you.” He says and you suddenly feel flustered “Jack….” “Y/n. You don’t have to be with him anymore. I can take care of you so much better than he can and you know that.” He says with so much seriousness in his voice that you’re left speechless

“Jack-“ “I genuinely love you. seriously. I want to be with you.” He says and you have no words so you just kiss him again. The kissing turns into him pinning you against the wall and the grinding and groping is very evident.

“Take all this off baby. I need you right now” he says as you’re quick to push him down onto his couch. “Not this time. It’s your win. Let me take care of you” you say and he whispers a fuck while his eyes run along your body.

You take off your top and after a few minutes of kissing and grinding, you drop to your knees and he lets out a gasp of pleasure at you palming him.

You unzip his pants and he’s breathing heavily, anticipating what you’d do next. You spit onto his dick and roll your hand around it for a few strokes before giving gentle kisses to his tip.

“Baby don’t tease, thought you were taking care of me?” He whines out as you giggle “I am. Be patient for me.” You say and his next words fall flat on his tongue as you start tonguing his head.

Finally granting his wish, you dip your head down and take him fully down your throat. Your cheeks pulling in to suck him tighter while your head dipped up and down. A groan of surprise leaves his mouth as his eyes immediately become hooded.

“Fuck, angel. Such a nice mouth you have on you” he groaned out. But his muttering and whining was quickly cut off with the way you sloppily put your tongue on his balls

“Holy shit. Oh my fucking god baby. You’re incredible” he moans out as you continue to jerk him off while popping of on his balls out of your mouth and moving on to the one beside it.

You took him back into your mouth and your hands worked around what you couldn’t reach, the head of his dick kissing the back of your throat in a pleasureful burn and you can feel tears swelling in your eyes when he gently grabs your head and begins to start fucking his full length down your throat.

His moans and whines become more desperate every second and it’s obvious he’s close to cumming. Although you’re enjoying your time here, your phone suddenly starts ringing. It’s your boyfriend. Jack groans out partly in annoyance and in pleasure and then he gets an idea. “Wanna show your boyfriend how pretty you look when I cum down your throat.” He almost cries out and you moan around him “please baby, can I pick up the phone at let him he- oh fuck, let him hear how well you take me?” He says as he struggles to keep his composure with the way you’re deepthroating him, cutting himself off with his own moans

You hum in approval and Jack doesn’t waste any time picking up that phone and putting your boyfriend on speaker.

“Hey. Where are you-“ and all that’s heard is a loud gag through the room and the sloppy noises of your mouth on jack’s cock.

“Fuck baby. Keep going please. I’m so fucking close, oh my god.” Jack says as he throws his head back, face flushed and neck red as you hold his hips down and begin bobbing your head up and down again.

“Y/n?! What the fuck is happening?! Who is that?!!” Your boyfriend frantically says as Jack takes the phone. “She’s a pro at sucking dick. Honestly I have no clue how you could even let her out of your sight” Jack grunts out and hangs up the phone, not even wanting to bother with him right now.

A few more bobs of your head and Jack is cumming down your throat. Chest heaving as he does so. “Oh fuck, you’re so perfect, holy shit.” He whines out and you’re determined to clean him up completely, continuing to suck him off until he was completely finished

“Fuck- you trying to kill me over here? God” he says with a small laugh as you finally pop off his dick, catching your breath.

As you and Jack bask in the afterglow, your boyfriend is blowing up your phone and before you can reach for it, Jack stops you.

“You don’t need to worry about him anymore. You’re mine now.”

#jack hughes x you #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #jack hughes #jack hughes x y/n #new jersey devils #ꨄ angie’s works.

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disneyprincemuke · 7 months ago

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too young to know it gets better * fem!driver

there has to be someone out there that can snap her out of it, right?

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver

notes: HI AFTER THIS THERE's one left and i promise that's not AS angsty as this one and i'm thinking of adding one or two more bonus chapters?? lolsie but idk we'll see!

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

rockster has disconnected.

that’s the notification that had brought logan and oscar together some random afternoon. they stand in the confinements of the elevator in silence, not a single word uttered since they’d met one another in the lobby after sending a simple text out.

but they know what they’re here for.

logan hadn’t moved that fast in concern for her, dating back 3 years ago when mick had supposedly texted him about marrying his crush in vegas. he had sprinted 2 blocks from his apartment building to hers in the span of a couple of minutes.

and oscar had been running errands with lily prior to getting the notification. when she’d noticed her boyfriend staring down at his phone with distress all over his face, she’d immediately pushed him towards the exits to attend to the girl. she’s also a close friend, so she notices.

if you asked oscar, he’s been worried for months. but with her tendency to keep rejecting his initiation for small talk, it’s difficult to try and find the words to try and pry a confession out of her. but this disconnection from an application they’ve had for years raises red flags that they didn’t even know were possible.

“we’re not overreacting, right?” oscar mutters as they step out of the elevator at her floor.

logan nods, lips pressed into a thin line as he counts the steps he takes down the familiar hallway. “she dropped kidnapper off at my apartment like a week and a half ago. i haven’t heard from her since.”

oscar turns to him. “you’ve heard from her?”

“barely,” logan grimaces with a shake of his head, eyes trained on the hallway. “i invited her in for snacks but she declined and left immediately.”

“i haven’t seen or heard from her since the summer break began.”

“she hasn’t been picking up my calls either.” he turns to oscar. “that’s weird, right?”

logan almost wants to laugh at their conversation. if he didn’t consider that their best friend was the person at stake, he would have laughed the loudest he’s ever. they simply sounded like they were answering one another for copium in hopes that their best friend hasn’t lost her mind just yet.

when he unlocks the door to her apartment, they’re taken aback by the sight they’re immediately greeted with. and for logan, it’s whiplash — he’s only ever had fond memories of this apartment. to find it absolutely thrashed almost breaks his heart a little bit.

in his mind, he can hear the girl always scolding him for being messy when they were living together.

the curtains, typically letting the sun seep into the room, are drawn in to block the light out. the floor is littered with her things and there’s a chair toppled over on the ground. a picture frame on the entertainment system beneath the tv is faced down against the counter and if logan can recall perfectly, it’s their picture from when they were kids.

“what happened in here?” oscar mutters, stepping around the items of stray pieces of clothing on the ground. “should we call someone? do you think someone broke into her apartment?”

“let me call her and see if she’s alright,” logan sighs, fishing for his phone in his back pocket.

he hadn’t expected the situation to be so concerning. have they really let her run rampant on her own all this time?

he dials her number, just about to press the call button when a lock clicks and a door opens.

the girl, albeit slightly unrecognisable at first, steps out of her bedroom. she’s still in her pyjamas, cheeks wet and eyes puffy with her hair in a messy ponytail talling apart on her shoulder.

“who- rocky?”

she flinches back at the voice, catching her off-guard. she sighs tiredly as she pushes her hair out of her face, wiping her cheeks dry on the sleeve of her pyjamas. “what are you guys doing here”

“what are we- when did you get back?” logan tilts his head in confusion. he gestures towards the mess around them, “and what happened? have you been crying?”

she sighs again, eyes fluttering as she turns to look away from them. “you guys should really go. it’s not a good time right now,” she says softly, gesturing them towards the front door of her apartment.

“we can stay and help you clean everything up,” oscar mutters, mirror logan’s stare at the ground, “we’re just curious. you don’t typically let your apartment get this messy.”

“mate,” another sigh comes with her pinching the bridge of her nose, “it’s really not a good time right now.”

oscar’s head snaps up. “are you avoiding us?”

she stares at him tiredly. “what? no, it’s just-”

“you are, aren’t you?” oscar cuts her off, feeling an overwhelming wave of frustration takes over him. months of what feels like a one-sided friendship finally catches up to him.

every single rejection of plans reminds him how neglected their friendship has been, every time she’s ‘forgotten’ to look for an ice cream parlour makes his blood boil. it is such a one-sided friendship as of late and it feels like she’s no longer honouring the years of friendship they have.

“but why? did we do something? did we say something to upset you?”

she slouches her shoulders. she takes a deep breath to recompose herself. “please just go,” she croaks out, feeling a knot in her throat at the realisation of where this entire conversation might be heading. “not now.”

“but what is it? is it us?” oscar frowns. “at least tell us before you start ignoring us.”

she clenches her jaw as her patience runs thin. and she tries to hold on to the last string of patience she has. all these past months, she’s tried her damnest not to be this way to anyone that’s involved in racing.

just to save some face, to show that she’s not completely lost her mind. apart from the fact that they’re all practically colleagues, they’re also her friends.

but as oscar continues to edge her on for an explanation for her behaviour, it’s increasingly getting more difficult to keep her outbust at bay.

“rocky,” oscar calls out to grab her attention. “what is it? i’m so tired of you beating around the bush; if we did something to upset you, speak up. it’s not fair — what you’re doing. you’re cancelling plans, you’re bailing, you’re leaving us hanging… we’ve known each other half of our lives. you can’t just do this.”

logan shifts uncomfortable where he stands. “do you hate us?”

she tries to stop herself, really. but she should be allowed one outburst in her life.

“yes, yes, i actually do!” she admits, venom lacing her words as she starts to explain herself. “it sucks. i’m so fucking jealous of all of you right now. i’ve tried to feel happy for you guys but honestly?” a dry laugh passes her lips, tears falling out of her eyes. “i resent all of the success you’ve found this year.

because you’re doing great and i’m not. it’s annoying because i should be doing great too. because between every single one of us, no one’s worked as hard as i have to get to where i am today. you’re my best friends but i can’t get myself to be happy for you and i hate myself even more for it.”

oscar blinks blankly at her. her chest heaves as she finishes speaking, fists clenched by her side as she starts to cry a little harder.

she’s swallowed down every single drop of resentment she feels towards her friends, all doing well while she’d sunk deeper into the trenches of her own demise.

speaking ill of them that one time they achieved a podium without her haunted her for weeks on end. she couldn’t get herself to speak to them like she hadn’t spent 20 minutes speaking behind their backs about how much she hates that they’re on podiums without her.

“it was easier to avoid you than say things i can’t say.”

it was truly one of the last times she spend with them; the guilt of speaking on them ate her up. she’s apologise out of the blue and they’d have no idea what she was talking about.

admitting it now feels like their friendship would truly never be the same. like this is the one fight that’s been waiting to happen after their years of friendship and would lead to her eventual loneliness.

but she doesn’t expect oscar to start laughing. “are you fucking stupid?”

“excuse me, what?” she scoffs, throwing her head back slightly.

logan sighs next to socar. “come on, don’t be like that. she’s clearly having a hard time right now,” he mutters, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

oscar turns to logan, pointing a hand over to where the girl stand by her bedroom door. “really, logan? you don’t think she’s being so mind-numbingly stupid right now?” he glances at her then immediately looks away. “she’s so insensitive right now. the last thing she should have done is isolate herself but she’s gone ahead and done exactly that.”

oscar huffs and turns back to her with a frown. “you would think that she would fall back on the people who understand her the most. and you still don’t believe she’s being stupid?”

logan sighs again. “oscar.”

“you don’t fucking get it!” she screams.

“we’re the ones who don’t get it? out of everyone you know, we’re the 2 people who understand the most!”

he has a point, she starts to think. but it’s not the same — they’re not the same. their predicaments are different.

they never had to go through and be on the receiving end of words that tried to tear her down as she grew up.

“no, you don’t!” she says with slight amusement. “you’re oscar piastri. everyone’s kissed the ground you’ve walked on; you came into the sport and everyone’s been acting like you’re a prodigy changing the course of the sport. you don’t know what it’s like to be this way!”

“and you thought that pushing away every single person who wants to help you is the solution to your problems?” oscar snorts. then it hits him. “is that why i haven’t seen matt around lately? you drove him away? finally cracked, didn’t he?”

“you don’t know the half of it,” she scoffs. there’s no need for oscar to remind her of the cardinal sin she’d acted upon to drive matt away.

she lives with the repercussions of it every single day: coming back to an empty apartment. just an apartment, a shell of what used to feel like home.

“all of this over a bad couple races?” oscar rolls his eyes and another mean scoff passes his lips. he was unaware how bad it had gotten for her. “how immature. there’s more to fucking life than your position in f1.”

she sucks in a deep breath. “you’ll never understand.”

“oh, i do,” oscar points out with a small grin. “i grew up with you, rocky, i know how you operate. you break down the minute you’re not the best at something. you get scared and hide away when you don’t feel like you’re on the top of your game.”

“what do you know about what i feel?” she tilts her head with a small smile. “that’s so fucking pretentious of you to say so, oscar.”

“you’ve already made it to the top.” he picks his feet up and starts to walk over to her, shoving away logan’s hand that tries to stop him from threading any further. “it’s unnecessary that you’re still this hard on yourself. you’ve proved everyone wrong by making it this far. there are people on your side,” he jabs a finger into her shoulder and she stumbles back, “there are people who miss you- we miss you!

“do you even realise how lucky you have it right now? you’ve got sebastian helping to push your narrative because he believes in you. do you think everyone’s got that luxury?” he points back at logan. “do you think he had that luxury fight for his life in this sport? did that even cross your mind or are you just so far into your head?”

“oscar,” logan repeats. oscar glances back at logan who has his lips pressed into a thin line, unamused by the scenario he’s choosing to bring up. “don’t even go there.”

but oscar ignores him. oscar turns back to the younger girl and grabs her shoulders, squeezing them firmly as he draws a soft sob from her.

“i thought that because you weren’t entirely alone, it was okay that we take a step back and stopped meddling with your life. i thought you were going to be fine; i thought you knew ho to handle yourself and continue to keep your feet on the ground.”

she shakes her head, bottom lip pouted out. “you don’t-”

“i don’t understand?” oscar scoffs. “how far into your head have you gone to push yourself into a corner? do you realise that you’re in the trenches because you put yourself in there? have you looked in the mirror and actually,” oscar shakes her, “looked at yourself?”

and it seems that something finally clicked in her head. she stares blankly up at him, tears finally running down her cheeks. her chest heaves with constant sobs as she no longer can find the words in her head to prove her point.

“okay, that’s enough,” logan mutters, yanking oscar away from the girl. he shoves the younger boy towards the kitchen. “go and get some air and drink some water — you’re scaring her.”

oscar sniffles, wiping his eyes and stumbles towards the kitchen. he spares her one last glare before turning his back on her. “whatever.”

logan can only sigh when he looks down her head. she’s got her head in her hands as she sobs. she lifts her eyes to look up at him and scoffs. “what? do you have something to say to me? about how deranged i’ve gotten?”

“i don’t know what got into you to think we wouldn’t understand how you were feeling,” he says softly, tears flooding his eyes.

it’s difficult to watch someone you think is so strong be half the person you watched her grow into. he pulls her into his arms, squeezing her into a tight hug and rests his chin on her head.

“i’m sorry,” she cries in staggered breaths into his chest. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know. i didn’t-”

“it’s okay,” he mutters, squeezing her tighter. “we’re here.” he pulls away slightly and cups her cheeks, wiping her tears away with a small grin. “we’ve got you, okay? we’re here now.”

she nods through her tears, “okay.”

“we’ve got you, i promise,” logan hums, pulling her in again. he sways gently as he feels her sobs slowly dying out. “you’ll be okay.”

logan turns around at the sound of things shuffling about. oscar has a trash bag in his hand, picking up empty bottles on the ground and throwing them into the bag silently. she pulls her head back and watches oscar slowly navigate her littered apartment.

sensing their stares, oscar glances over his shoulder. “are you going to help me or are you just going to let me do this by myself?”

she glances up at logan with eyebrows raised and in return, he shrugs with a small smile.

for the next 2 hours, they clean up her apartment in silence. no music, not an utter of another word, just a heavy silence pushing down on their shoulders as they shift about her apartment like a well-oiled machine.

oscar throws his dirty piece of tissue into the bin right by the coffee table and sighs, leaning back into the couch he’s sat on. he’s in a single seater while logan and her share the bigger couch.

her apartment finally looks the way they all remember it. pristine with all her things neatly slotted into their respective slots.

oscar hasn’t spoken to her much since he’d gotten the bright idea to start helping her clean the apartment for her. he’d briefly asked her if she wanted pizza for dinner, to which she simply shrugged and said okay, then asked which toppings she wanted. then they returned to their silence.

he picks up her can of pepsi, popping it open before extending his hand over to her. she turns stiffly and looks at his offer with a blank stare. “oh, thank you.”

she takes it into her hands and glances over at oscar who turns away from her immediately to grab logan’s drink next. “i’m sorry,” she says first, just barely above a whisper. her head is dropped slightly, eyes trained on the slicer of pizza in her hands.

truthfully, she’s not very sure how to apologise for her behaviour. while she’s broken down over things said about her and her progress is a sport that barely had a spot for her, it’s never gotten this bad.

she hadn’t even realised that they still cared with their own lives now.

“no, i’m sorry,” logan says immediately, turning his head to her. “that we didn’t foster an environment where you felt like you could come to use and be honest about how you’re really feeling. you did it for me all the time when we first started out and i’m sorry i couldn’t do the same for you.”

“it’s not even your fault,” she sighs shakily. “i pushed away everyone who tried to extend their hands out to me to help. oscar’s right.”

oscar sighs audibly, sinking into his seat. he turns his head to look at her and purses is lips. “i’m sorry i called you stupid,” oscar says, “we grew up together… i just thought that if you didn’t feel right, we’d still be the people you know you don’t have to put up a facade with. be brutally, disgustingly and painfully honest with.”

“i really didn’t wanna worry anybody,” she frowns. “you have your own lives now, you know? i thought i could handle it on my own.”

“don’t even say that,” oscar turns to her with furrowed eyebrows, “you’re practically my little sister — i’ve driven you to the hospital after you writhed in pain from dislocating your shoulder playing volleyball. i’ve beaten up guys from school for you so of course you’ll always have a place in our lives.”

“i didn’t want you to know that i was a sore loser,” she shrugs with a small grin. she gestures towards logan. “he took our first 2 years in the sport so gracefully. it was embarrassing that i couldn’t do the same when it was my turn.”

“what?” logan scoffs. “you seriously think i wasn’t jealous seeing you guys being glorified by everyone? i felt like shit watching you guys get accepted in the sport with open arms and make new friends without me.”

he gives her a knowing stare when she turns her head to look at him. “i lvoe you, but i seriously despised you so much for being better than me at everything. i felt like the smallest man who’s ever lived when i was next to you. and dude… we were always together.”

she chews on the inside of her cheek. “i didn’t know that… i’m sorry…”

“but at the end of the day, you were always there for me,” logan frowns, poking her arm gently. “i’m sorry i couldn’t give you the same level of comfort to not spiral this bad. the only reason i hadn’t was because you were there for me all the time.”

“well i’m sorry that i was so mean to you,” oscar sighs. “but you know you needed it, right?”

“i know,” she shrugs, “thanks.”

“i don’t wanna be the one to bring it up, though,” logan hums as he reaches forward for another slice, “but what happened with matt?”

she chuckles with a soft snort. she lifts her head and puffs her cheeks out. “i wasn’t very nice to him when everything was falling apart,” tears flood her eyes, “he called for a break. but honestly, i think he wants to break up with me.”

logan raises an eyebrow. “he asked for a break, didn’t he? that’s not a breakup, mate.”

“you weren’t there. i wouldn’t want to be with me either if i had to endure what he went through with me,” she admits with a sigh. she wipes her tears away from her eyes and smiles slightly. “i think he’s just trying to soften the blow.”

oscar laughs. he laughs the loudest and heartiest he’s ever since he’d bolted from lily while they were running errands together. “do you seriously think that?”

she blinks at oscar. “i thought we were done being mean to me, mate.”

“we are!” oscar beams, forcing himself to falter with his laughter. “i’m sorry, i’m not trying to make you feel worse. but do you seriously think that matt — the guy who’s in your garage every single weekend, literally comes into the paddocks with ice cream for your entire team, texts logan and i to ask about things to surprise you with — wants to seriously break up with you?”

“well, you weren’t there,” she explains with a frown. “well, you were, once when i was crying in the paddocks. but i was so mean to him.”

“but a break isn’t a breakup,” oscar explains as he points at her knowingly. “you were arguably at your worst, i doubt that he wants to leave you when your mental was that bad. it happens, you know?”

“if he didn’t want to be with you, he would have broken up with you instead of asking for a break,” logan sighs, patting her on the shoulder. “just approach him.”

“i don’t know how to,” she admits, sliding down the couch to lie down slightly. “there’s no gesture big enough to makeup for the things i said… the way i treated him…”

“say you’re sorry,” oscar says with a small grin and a nod. “start there and i’m sure you guys can work it out from there, you know?”

“i’ll try.”

“okay, enough with this,” logan throws his head back with a grunt. “let’s go karting!” he stands up and smiles at her widely. “you sound like you need your edge back. i’ll even let you win this time.”

she scoffs, “as if i’d ever lose to you in equal machinery!”

“aw, she’s back! she’s fighting back now!” oscar cheers, hopping up as he claps his hands. “come on! then let’s get ice cream where we always get it! i haven’t been there in forever.”

“okay, okay!” she laughs, watching the 2 of them jump to their feet and start to clear out her table. she feels a warmth in her chest watching them in her living room. “just let me shower, okay? we kinda cleaned a lot tonight. i won’t take less than 15 minutes, i promise!”

there’s a chorus of heavy sighs and arms thrown in the air. “we might as well cancel karting.”

“but you take forever to get ready!” oscar jokes with a frown. “if you pass 15 minutes, you’re paying for ice cream.”

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sailorrlino · 9 months ago

Text

Rodeo | lmh (m)

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

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

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249

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

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

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

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

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

𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024

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

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

Any work is good work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s so goddamn sore.

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

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

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

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

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

Whichever comes first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Any work is good work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nightcrawler.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

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

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

“Who is to say?”

“Just tell her I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“But you’re so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder.

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

“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When is the last time you slept?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, and that she chose to leave him.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not in danger here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My watch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the point, though?”

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

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

“And purple?”

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

Minho stares. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

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

“Do you see a price tag?”

“You can’t give me this for free.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up.

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

“Collection accepted.”

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

Any work is good work.

Minho leaves the apartment to take another life.

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

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

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

If the knife had been one of yours…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was crazy, and then there was that.

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

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

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

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

He remembers almost every one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight.

Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irreversible.

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

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

Now he’s supposed to murder you?

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

Will he or won’t he?

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

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

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

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

What was it that Jisung said about panic?

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

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

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

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

It’s clinical.

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

Any work is good work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s even a combination.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.”

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

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

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

“I need to speak with her.”

“No.”

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

“Didn’t say you were.”

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

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

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

“Listne, Nightcrawler-”

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

“I’d never hurt her.”

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

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

“You’d be surprised, Collector.”

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

He’s that confident in beating me.

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

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

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

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

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

Act of faith.

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there a way through that door?”

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

“Does she have a way out the back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s hardly less settling.”

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

“One is legal, for starters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert.

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

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

“I was never going to kill you.”

“Hard to tell with you.”

“I… don’t have an argument.”

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

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

“They’re on the house?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?”

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

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

An act of faith.

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

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

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

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

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

“Who owns that place, anyway?”

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

“You keep unusual company.”

“Better than none.”

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

“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”

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

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

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

“Where are we going?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it now?”

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

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

“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.”

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

Minho bites back a grin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a kind of art.”

“I suppose it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a child!”

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Swan likes strays.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minho, there’s a-”

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

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

“Mostly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is the most unprepared he has ever been.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”

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

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

A little braver.

“I never had a chance to thank you.”

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

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

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

“And now?”

“I realize it was silly.”

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

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

“Why’d you offer me that armor?”

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

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need it.”

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

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

“Hmm. Sweet.”

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

“True,” he agrees, leaning forward.

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What a stuipd man I am.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it with you and rodeos?”

“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.”

“Oh?”

“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.”

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

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

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

“That joke was terrible.”

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

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

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illusioninfnty · 1 year ago

Text

party hard ↠ day 20 ; cock worship

↠ rafe cameron x reader

fandom: outer banks word count: 1.5k warnings: nsfw 18+, lots of dirty talk, mean!rafe, degradation, intoxicated sex, blowjob, possessiveness, maybe ooc rafe bc i have not actually seen the show

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

It was no secret to your closest friends that whenever you drank at parties, you got really horny. Go figure that out of all of your insanely wild friends, you would be the one who gets utterly humiliated by grinding up on random people. It was why you always volunteered to be the designated driver. Yet you couldn’t help but admit that the payoff was sometimes worth it.

But of course, one can never say no to Rafe Cameron. Your boyfriend had yet to see what you were like when you were drunk, and that only happened once he convinced one of your friends to steal your keys and give you more than a single drink.

“You taste so good, baby,” you whisper in Rafe’s ear, craning your neck to reach. The party at Topper’s house was probably at its peak, people from all over the island swarming the house in droves. But you don’t care about anyone else right now. You press sloppy kisses on your boyfriend’s neck, sucking hickeys in certain spots. Your hands run down his sides, stopping at his ass to give it a squeeze.

It was clear that your boyfriend also had quite a bit to drink, his cheeks were flushed and his always tense body had relaxed ever so slightly.

As your kisses get more heated and you begin to grind on him, Rafe raises an eyebrow and looks down at you, removing your wandering hands from his bottom and placing them higher on his waist.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Your hands turn their focus to his chest, caressing it, and you look up at him with slow blinks as a sly smirk crosses your face.

“Hopefully you, later.”

Rafe’s eyes narrow at your comment, and he lets out a faint laugh. He pushes against you until your body is up against a kitchen cabinet away from most of the other party guests.

“You're acting like a little slut today, aren’t you?” He grasps you by the chin, forcing your gaze onto him. With his other hand he presses into your hip bone, forcing them to still. You whine at the loss of contact.

Perceptive as ever, Rafe notices your problem and sighs mockingly. “Guess I’m gonna have to treat you like one too.”

He pulls you out of the kitchen and up the staircase, ignoring the hoots and hollers of those who notice you two leaving.

He tugs you into the first room you come across—a bedroom, no surprise. It’s definitely not Topper's; the setup and color scheme is a simple pale beige, much too classy for a guy like him.

Rafe shuts the door behind you as you go to grab his neck and pull him down for a kiss. He stops you, grasping the back of your head to restrain you.

“Baby,” you draw out as you lock your fingers behind his neck. “Let me make you feel good.” He shakes his head at your failed attempt to appease him.

“If you really want to make me feel good, then get on your knees.”

You eagerly comply.

Now eye level with his crotch, you can see the tent that was straining against his shorts. Without being prompted to, you push him down onto the bed as you begin to undo the button and zip on his cargo shorts and tear down his boxers. His hard cock bounces from its confines and you grasp it, practically drooling at the sight. Precum is already beading at the head, and you press a finger to it, pulling away to see it follow you in a long strand. Rafe moves his hand to the back of your head, guiding your motions.

“I’ve missed your cock,” you moan out. You trail kisses up and down the length, mimicking what you were doing to your boyfriend’s neck just minutes ago. Rafe hisses above you with the sudden contact, and you squeeze him ever so slightly. Your other hand trails to his balls, fondling them. “I’ve been missing these, too.”

Rafe’s hips jerk involuntarily. “Fuck baby, you’re always so good to me. You love my cock, don’t you?” As you glance up at him, you see that his eyes are already on you. They darken as they meet your own, and you could feel your cheeks heating up with the intensity of his stare. The sight of your boyfriend’s enjoyment makes you only want to pleasure him harder.

“I do,” you coo, giving the head of his cock a single, long lick, flattening your tongue on the surface. He groans and the grip he has on your hair tightens.

The sensation has your heart racing, and you moan loudly against Rafe’s cock, catching his attention. He sneers at you from above.

“I bet you’re fucking soaked down there, huh? Am I gonna feel your pussy all wet if I stick my fingers in it?”

Your pussy throbs at his demeaning words, begging for attention. But all that matters to you right now is Rafe, so you hum in agreement at his words and focus on his length.

“Don’t care about that right now.” Your words begin to slur, practically cock drunk as you nuzzle into him. “Only care about you.”

That sends him into a spiral. His nostrils flare and he slaps his cock against your cheek, keeping your head in place.

You chase his warmth, hands touching whatever they can with your limited sight. His balls feel heavy in your hand, and you so desperately wished that Rafe would let you do more than just touch.

He pulls you away from his cock and tilts your head up. He’s panting as much as you are, the red in his cheeks harsher than before. His arousal practically mirrors your own, and the thought of how much he wanted you in that moment makes your body ache all over.

“Get to sucking, slut.”

Your wish is finally granted and you enthusiastically swallow his cock, gagging on the long shaft in the process. Your throat burns and your eyes water, but all you can think about is the heaviness of it on your tongue, the salty precum coating the inside of your mouth. Your vision goes blurry from the tears that leave your eyes yet you can only moan at the feeling of it.

“Feel so good, babe.” Rafe’s praise is surprising and it causes you to suck him harder, taking him deeper into your throat. He hisses at the sensation. “This mouth was made for me. It’s all mine, right?”

You release him with a pop to answer him. “Only yours, Rafe.”

His eyes narrow and a dark chuckle leaves his lips. “Say it again.”

Your heart is racing in your chest and your pussy aches with need. You thrust in the air against nothing, silently begging for some sort of release. Rafe’s words stir up carnal need within you.

“Only yours!”

“Better fucking be.”

He jerks his hips back up and you take him in your mouth again. You bob up and down his shaft furiously, desperate to give him some pleasure. The remaining length that doesn’t fit in your mouth is taken into your hands, fondled and stroked as your full attention remains on his cock.

There isn’t a single part of Rafe that isn’t being worshiped by you. Drool leaves your mouth as you hum against his cock, refusing to let it go. It feels hot in your mouth and you try to take it even deeper, your gag reflex mildly suppressed by the amount of times you’ve already tried this with him.

“Fuck yeah,” he jeered. “My little cock whore has to get her whole fill, ain’t that right?”

You whimper instinctually, the possessive growl in his voice practically making a puddle form beneath you. Rafe’s words egg you on and you take him all the way to the base, nose hitting his pubic hair. You can feel him twitching, nearing his end and that only makes you work harder. You move your head even faster, swirling your tongue all along his length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rafe pulls you off of his cock as his cum releases all over you, the sticky liquid splashing onto your face and dripping down your chest. You sweep a finger across some that landed on your cheek and put it in your mouth, swirling it around. The taste is so familiar, so him. You moan at it, smiling up at him. You relish in the sensation of him all over you.

Rafe leans back panting with a matching grin. His pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed; if he looks like that, you don’t even want to imagine the shape that you’re in right now. He caresses the back of your head and you nuzzle into his thigh, mumbling an I love you that you’re not quite sure he hears.

Rafe’s eyes gleam as he smirks down at you.

“God damn, babe. You gotta start drinking more at parties.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron smut

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 months ago

Note

Can we get a part 2 of "get off the floor" ? It was sooo good

you know what? why the fuck not.

get off the floor, m | jjk >> get on the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get on the floor. He says, “Make me.” You make him get on his knees. The exact place he wants to be and the perfect place for him.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK get a damn room because they are not-safe-for-public, traumatizing some elevator patrons in the process; public teasing; smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, begging, biting, marking, spit kink, f and m-receiving oral, slight degrading talk (not really), whipping JK with his own belt, cowgirl, cock-and-ball torture, edging, forced multiple orgasms) ft. a cameo of certain lil meowmeow chastising them for being horny ;)

“Mine or yours?”

You watched him run the scenarios in his head. “Mine.”

“Ah,” you mused. “Mine then.”

He ran to catch up with your quick strides, looking just about as done with you as you had with him less than twenty minutes ago when he was laying on the floor being insufferable. Deserved. He grumbled under his breath. “Why ask if you’re just going to ignore me anyway?”

You turned and faced Jeon Jungkook, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks and almost collide with you. His white dress shirt was barely buttoned. At least he had the decency to fasten the black vest back up and haphazardly shrug on his blazer. You looked up at him, pointedly, although it was more to fluster him with the lines of your collarbones and cleavage. Instantly wiped the frown from his expression and replaced it with the struggle to focus on your face.

“Why follow if you’re against it?” you asked, completely blocking his path.

“I…” He fumbled with his words. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

You both stood in the hallway, so close to the lobby that you could hear voices. You watched Jungkook bite his lower lip, the awareness that if anyone happened to walk by – hotel staff, wedding guest, random patron – would bear witness to you slowly backing him into the wall, expression unchanging, until your chest was pressed against his chest, the smooth curve of your breasts brushing against his bare skin.

You narrowed your eyes.

“You have another thing coming if you think you can take advantage of me,” you breathed. Slowly and with venom.

He seemed genuinely shocked. “No way.” His youth shone through despise his mature appearance. “I want you to take advantage of me.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook seemed to realize that he blurted out his secret desires a little too loud. His ears began to singe bright red. He tried to raise a hand to cover his face. You slapped it down. He whimpered, pressing his lips together so that only you could hear it vibrating from his chest to yours. You saw his eyes dart about to check if anyone was around.

You grabbed his chin with three fingers, dragging his face back down.

Dark brown orbs shaking, his pink lips parting as you forcefully brought attention back to you. You leaned in, your lips moving against the side of his open mouth, whispering to his lip piercings.

“Then why your hotel room?” you asked rather calmly.

Hesitation. Then voices seemed to be moving towards you both. Panic. Jungkook attempted to escape your grasp, but you gripped his chin harder and shoved your torso into his, stepping between his legs to imprison him against the wall. He gasped in your ear. Hot and saturated with desire. You began to slide your thigh up between his and Jungkook couldn’t speak fast enough, his hands finding your hips and trying to keep you away from his growing erection lest he lose his common sense and give in to all he wanted.

“I wanted to see you in my clothes after,” he whined, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid your stare. “In only one of my t-shirts… And… M-Maybe we could s-share in a b-bed – please, s-stop… I can’t–”

You backed away.

He had not even registered your body heat left until a second later, bolting upright as a group of women turned the corner. Other wedding guests in fine dresses and holding cute colorful purses, deeply engrossed in conversation and fits of giggles, heading to the restrooms presumably to freshen up. You were already walking the opposite way, towards to lobby and the elevators.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you heard Jungkook bolt into a run to catch up.

Careful of your skirt, you stepped into the metal box with a few other hotel guests that seemed unrelated to the wedding. The doors began to close. A tattooed hand smacked the edge of the metal and the elevator stuttered, opening back up again to a red-faced Jungkook in a three-piece black suit with his white dress shirt half-open suddenly confronted by a scattering of startled faces.

And your enigmatic smile.

He weakly apologized and slunk into the elevator.

Now everyone was trying not to make eye contact with you both.

You tugged on the hem of his blazer and pulled him closer to the corner. He could do nothing but obey. From this angle, the rest of the elevator couldn’t see your expression due to his broad shoulders crowding you. Only Jungkook could. He, however, had a harder time of hiding, due to his height and his slicked-back black hair. The elevator carriage began to rise. You spotted him reaching up to smooth back a few stray strands in attempt to disguise previous dishevelment.

You raised your hand.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shot towards the action, warning you and mouthing, “Don’t.”

You traced the line of his pecs. His jaw clenched. You broke into his personal bubble to murmur, “What floor was the hotel room on again?”

Confusion clouded his features. His hand slid to the back of his head. The doors were opening and a few people stepped out. The rest were subjected to the sexual tension brewing in a corner. You smiled up at him, as innocently as a trickster could. Jungkook raised his other hand, probably to point to you to wordlessly ask what floor your room was on, but you scooted forward, grazing hip to hip, causing his hand to ghost your ass. Scarlet alarm rushed to his cheeks.

Your fingertip snuck closer and closer to his nipple.

His right arm dropped hastily and he mashed the button for the nineteenth floor, trying to push your hand down, inadvertently causing your nail to scratch against his already-erect nipple.

It seemed to take everything in him not to moan.

The doors slid open to the tenth floor and another couple hurried out. You gave Jungkook the devil’s smile. He glared at you. And shifted awkwardly. You glanced down. Then back up. He was trying not to look at you while also staring down your chest. Or maybe at the bulge in his slacks.

You paused as you felt his hand settle on the small of your back.

Now when your eyes rose, his did too. Somewhat uncertain. You didn’t move away. He seemed to be searching for something. You didn’t have anything to hide, so you let him look. You saw his lashes lower. He pulled you slightly closer. Leaned in, still searching, and you let him approach, the edge of your lips faintly rising.

A harsh ping interrupted.

“I would tell you two to get a room,” a dry, raspy male voice cut in from behind you.

The metal doors slid open. Jungkook started, backing off, revealing the unintentional audience. Dark olive-green jacket. Black beanie with black hair sticking out from the back. Black track pants and sandals. The pale man was carrying a plastic bag that seemed to be full of ramen. He glanced from Jungkook to you. Shook his head and walked past you both, smelling like fresh-cut pine.

His cat-like eyes found yours as the elevator began to close.

“But I assume that is what you are about to do.”

The not-so-strange stranger’s smirk disappeared as the doors shut.

The light from the panel of buttons switched only once. The doors opened again, to floor nineteen. Only you and Jungkook were left in the carriage. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the hallway, practically flying down the halls as quietly as he could. You were still a bit taken aback by the cat-like man who spoke with faint Daegu intonation, but were broken out of your thoughts as you saw Jungkook drop his room card, scramble to catch it from the air, succeed, and then fail to have the card reader scan it because he was pulling out too fast.

Hm.

You placed your palm in front of the reader.

His hand was shaking. He shot you a lost and frustrated glance, but you simply took the hotel key and inserted it into the slot, letting it turn green before removing it and opening the door. You stepped in, followed close by Jungkook. So close his crotch hit your ass. Subtle. The heavy door slid shut, automatically clicking. And then.

Darkness.

For a breathless second, the world was completely, utterly still.

You heard his breathing quicken, as if he finally realized the implications of everything up until now. It was easy to want, Jungkook learned, but much harder to do once the miracle came true. Perhaps that was too nice of a way to put it.

His idea of paradise was clearly not heaven sent.

You caught his hand in the dark, lacing your fingers in his to draw him away from the light switch.

Your name on the tip of his tongue before you kissed him deeply.

In the dark, he hadn’t noticed your body twist, silent as a snake, slipping the hotel keycard back into one of the font pockets of his slacks, and now you gripped his hand, holding it up and out of the way as your other hand roamed his skin, sliding up his collarbone and fanning over his neck. Devouring. You swallowed his gasp and tilted your head, softly coaxing his cries as you pressed your fingertips into the sides of his neck, relishing in the solidness of his muscles and the fragility of his sanity.

“A-Ah…”

You turned your head and used your hand to pivot him the opposite way. His wispy moan breezed past your cheek. It wasn’t quite as important to be silent anymore, but darkness had the ability to hush all, snatching vision away to amplify touch and sound. Your hand cradled his head and forced him down, your lips feathering over his cheekbone.

To his ear.

You circled your tongue, tasting the curve. Jungkook’s moan pitched. You felt him fighting his blazer as you kissed his ear, whisper light, almost noiseless, licking up his neck to feel his pulse against your tongue. Exhaled. His entire body quivered. He threw the blazer down onto the floor and grabbed your hips, almost lifting you in his pleasure, bringing more of his ear to you.

You bit down.

“Oh, fuuuuck…”

His fingers glossed over the slinky fabric, one hand on your ass the other creeping up your back, stroking your skin to guide delightful shimmers up your spine. He provoked you to bite his neck. You teased him with small kisses. Wet tongue, subtly writing your name onto his neck with your spit. A momentary tattoo only you knew. He was impatient, digging his blunt nails into your flesh.

You couldn’t resist teasing.

“What’s the matter?”

His trembling breath drifted down to your shoulder.

“B… Bite me.”

You stepped forward with one leg, smiling as you felt him press back against you, his hardness slipping into the divot of your thigh and crotch. Too many layers of clothes. Just the right amount of not enough.

“I can’t,” you hummed, running your tongue over the line of his neck muscle. “What if you have someone?”

Jungkook sounded a little bit offended and a lot whiny.

“There’s no one but you.”

Before you could become giddy over that – and, anyway, nothing was stopping him from lying – you bit the side of his neck, just under his ear. And sucked.

Hard.

It was an intimacy high unmatched. Skin between teeth, digging your fingernails into his chest, dragging down, scratching him as you bruised him, feeling his embrace loosen because the bliss of pain seized him. A gasping, weak groan fluttered from his lungs, up to his throat, leaving his lips in a drawn-out, sensual song of your name, lazily thrusting up against your thigh. Sweet friction. You lashed your tongue over the hickey. Left a constellation of bites surrounding it. Jungkook whimpered, stumbling as you caught his ear with your teeth and lightly tugged, subtly repositioning your bodies.

You flicked on the light switch.

The sconces on the walls lit up in a soft, pale white glow.

You looked down and the bruises were red-purple, a lasting mark beginning to deepen in color.

Your eyes shifted and Jungkook was staring back at you, panting. His carefully done hair was getting messier with every minute he spent with you. His vest was somehow on the floor. His dress shirt was barely hanging on his shoulders, the spread collar framing the top of his tattoo sleeve. The only reason he wasn’t completely shirtless yet was because the bottom was stuck in the top of his slacks. His belt was still buckled.

You smiled. He seemed flustered by it.

You placed a hand on his bare shoulder.

“Get on the floor.”

His dark eyes glittered. He couldn’t help himself.

“Make me.”

Your smile became a little more sinister. He balked and then buckled when the toe of your heel hooked into the back of his knee, making him lose his balance. You pressed down, firmly, pushing him to kneeling position. Your heel clicked back onto the tile floor as he caught himself, keeping steady as he realized you were using his body to balance yourself.

Jungkook lifted his head. Eyes wide. Hair over his forehead.

You looked down at him with a devil’s smirk.

“I thought you said… That my suit was too expensive to be on the floor,” he mumbled in meek protest.

He tried to be cheeky with it. His deep voice fluttered like butterfly wings.

Instead of truly replying, you stepped a little closer to his spread knees. You watched him hold his breath, then stiffen as you placed your right foot on his thigh. The slit of your dress parted like liquid violet, the deep color catching the light at the high points of your hip and the top of your thigh. You removed your hand from his shoulder, thoroughly keeping him in place with your high heel, and slipped your fingers at the apex of the slit, hiking it up. The heavy scent of your arousal was inescapable. Heavy and musky sweet. His eyes dropped down at the grand reveal, then widened as you traced the edge of the leg opening of your panties.

You curved your fingers and pulled the thin fabric aside.

Jungkook was now face-to-face with your glistening pussy.

“Hungry?” you teased.

His pleading gaze shot back up to your amused expression. You held it in breathless anticipation. Then you answered yourself.

“I hope so.”

Then you grabbed his head and shoved it in between your legs.

You caught a glimpse of his lips parting, pink tongue extending, and then you felt the warmth envelop you from below. His hand slid up your leg, leaving sparks after his trailing caress. Pleasure like soft petals closing in, and you rocked your hips into his face, feeling his tongue spread your folds apart and dip inwards. His wanton groan made your body vibrate. You gave in, riding his face with your head tipped back, closing your eyes. Rather than hearing the wet sucking sounds, you felt them electrify your nerves. From bud to blossoming bliss, causing you hiss with desire, crowning his head with your spread fingers and holding up your dress with the other. Jungkook tilted his head, closing in around your clit while lifting your leg on his thigh, and now the back of your knee was resting on his shoulder, the adjustment spreading your legs further and giving him the space to press his tongue flat to rub more roughly.

You moaned his name, low and seductive, and felt him shudder under you.

You leaned more of your weight on him and he received it well, holding your legs with his hands, licking, sucking, following the thrust of your hips into his face. You could feel your arousal dripping down, sticking to the inside of your thighs and his cheeks. He moaned in his chest and it radiated through your core, crawling closer and closer to the crescendo, ah, almost, your lashes fluttering, your grip on your dress tightening as orgasmic gravity began to pull you down.

“Fuck, Jungkook, I’m going to cum on your face,” you sighed out, twisting your fingers and pulling on his hair.

His muffled whimper sent you over the edge.

You set your jaw and exhaled heavily, bucking your hips into his mouth and spilling onto his tongue, electric elation clawing up your ass and back. Your body tensed up, completely focused on the surge of pleasure rippling through you, pressing your thigh against his ear. Your hand on his head slid down, holding him in place while your rode it out, smearing your release on his lips. You could, just barely, feel his piercings indenting your skin.

You almost didn’t let him breathe.

Then you let go.

Your head rolled back. Opened your eyes to look down, and Jungkook shuddered, his hot breath warming your heat. He leaned in again. Kiss after kiss, his tongue sliding out and licking up, closing his eyes to savor your taste, sending tingles after the high, before slowly opening those dark orbs to look up at you. You brushed his hair back from his forehead to fully appreciate the view.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

You untangled your leg from his shoulder and stepped back, taking away his pleasure.

His hands slipped from your body. Jungkook was distraught, desperation flaring in his eyes, about to crawl after you, but your swept down, flourishing your right hand and catching his chin in your palm, tilting it up.

His lips shone with your cum.

He froze.

You bowed, disrespectfully, bringing your face to his level, breathing in the perfume of your sex mixed with his cologne. You raised an eyebrow back at him even though he was back to being frozen in awe.

“Tongue-tied?”

You taunted him. Jungkook didn’t have the sense or sanity to have a smartass comeback.

“Take mine,” you offered.

And tilted your head to taste yourself.

In. Out. Your tongue outlined his moaning lips and dove back in, thrusting steadily, turning the kiss messy with your release drying on his cheeks and your saliva smearing down his lower lip. You flicked the tip of your tongue just under the center. His eyes were barely open, pupils blown out, unfocused, letting you claim his lips with no regard to himself except for sucking on your tongue when you allowed it.

You heard him swallow.

His eyes rolled back, and his entire body trembled with a breathless gasp.

You drew back to admire Jeon Jungkook on his knees, his white dress shirt pooling at his wrists and waist. All tan skin, gleaming muscles, and stunning tattoos.

His dress shoes and your heels were tossed into an inelegant pile quite unbecoming of you both.

Lust did that.

“Do you have a condom, by chance?” you asked.

You gave him a little bit of shit for having one buried in his suitcase. His toiletries bag shaped with a pink bunny motif, for fuck’s sake. He tried to hide it from you, as if you would find cute offensive. Had he ever looked in a mirror? But you let him be. His occupied hands gave you a chance to free yourself from your dress. You had paid for it to be tailored to your body, eliminating the need for a bra as it was already built in. Your hotel room key was tucked into the padding of the left breast. Creativity had to happen when there were no pockets. You didn’t have your phone or wallet. The wedding had a strict no-phone policy and the meal was complimentary, so you had left your personal things behind in your room. You were careful to hold onto the cups as you unzipped. The thin straps naturally slipped down your shoulders, no longer supported by the tension. The dark purple fabric slid down your body gradually with some help from a light shake of your ass.

You stepped out of it and lifted the dress up, draping it over one of the chairs in the hotel room.

You turned and Jungkook was staring at you with jaw dropped.

Hm.

He had managed to pull his shirt out of his pants. It lay on the floor, its white crispness rumpled with impatience. You pointedly glanced from the shirt to his naked chest. He held the line of condoms with one hand, the foil packaging shining in the light. Your eyes went to his face. He seemed taken aback. Suddenly nervous. You said nothing. With a tick of your head, you bent over and slid your thumbs under the sides of your bunched-up panties and glided them down your legs. Caught them in the air as you stepped out of them.

And placed them on the hotel dresser, right on top of Jungkook’s cell phone that happened to be there.

Your fingertips strayed on the edge as you face him again.

“Oh, fuck me,” he whispered under shallow breath.

You smiled with the innocence you stole from him and advanced.

You wondered if he meant to say it out loud. Didn’t mind his little slip-ups though. His ears reddened as you stopped in front of him. You stared into Jungkook’s eyes. He held his breath. You reached low and unbuckled his belt, gently teasing it apart and pulling from the buckle. It snaked around his waist, freed from the pant loops. The last of it fell into your other palm.

With a swift flick, you drew the buckle and end together, snapping the leather loop sharply in front of Jungkook’s chest.

“A-Ah!”

He came back to life, freezing immediately when you touched the loop to his pecs. It was a smooth grain leather. Very high quality. You grazed it over his skin. Turned it slightly as you neared his nipple, brushing the hard edge over the hard nub. He moaned in your face, biting his lip once he realized his impoliteness. You did it again. His eyelids fluttered, lowering to half-moons, clutching the condoms.

From your periphery, you witnessed his other hand sneak down to palm himself.

You turned the belt in your hands. You held the buckle with your left.

The look in his eyes was divine, craving punishment.

“You like pain,” you whispered. “Don’t you?”

Jungkook gave you the faintest of nods, sinking his teeth into the side of his lower lip, revealing the tiny mole underneath.

You smacked the smooth leather of the end of the belt into his chest.

“Answer me.”

He hissed, clenching his jaw while rubbing the highest point of the bulge in his slacks. You let him enjoy it. You were too busy enjoying the glassiness of his dark eyes.

“A-Ah, y-yes… Please…”

You slapped the leather against his other nipple. He gasped at the sharpness, ducking his head and seeing the slight red mark before you closed the distance, circling your tongue around it and making eye contact. You let your saliva drip. His breathing quickened, watching your every move. You drew patterns on his tense abs with the end of his own belt as you delicately bit down. Switched begin a light tap and a hard spank, all the while kissing his chest. You folded back the belt in your hand so it was easier to use the one end, alternating hits over wet skin and dry skin. His heartbeat raced under your lips. He let out a soft mewl, and then immediately tried to cover up such embarrassing noises, only to be reduced to puppy whimpers as you repeatedly smacked his nipple before roughly sucking on it.

At this point, Jungkook was practically humping his hand.

“Take it off.”

You warmed his shivering torso with your harsh command.

“Stroke your cock while I abuse you.”

Jungkook whined, incomprehensible. He was already doing his best to undo the button. You heard the zipper go down as you straightened. You whipped the belt over his bunched pecs. He gasped, almost a scream, shoving his slacks and boxer briefs down together. You had about a half second to appreciate how hard and how red he was before he wrapped his hand around his girth, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head, and he began to fuck his hand.

His pants didn’t even have time to fall down his thighs.

You did exactly what he wanted.

Licked up his chest. Spanked across the red trail, leaving a reddened mark. You did not give in to the adrenaline, keeping each hit within measured force, switching between hard and soft, not allowing him to become desensitized. The pain was unpredictable. The contrast made each loud slap seem worse than it was. His skin turned red. His eyes glazed over. His head tilted back slightly, the volume of his moans rising, his body rigid. You wondered if he knew that would help disperse the pain, but didn’t ask. The desperate lust was making him drunker than the alcohol he had consumed earlier.

The muscles of his neck tightened.

“Don’t cum,” you warned.

“P-P-Please…” He seemed on the brink of losing it. “Don’t… d-do this…”

You waited until the last second.

Then you shifted the belt in your hands, holding onto both ends, and tucked the loop under his balls, forcefully tugging upwards.

“Drop it.”

He obeyed instantly despite the tears on the edge of his eyes. The heavy weight of his hard cock struck the belt, dipping it down. You lifted the leather to fully cup his shaft and, while holding his terrified, eager gaze, slowly crossed your hands over, trapping his cock in a makeshift leather ring with his belt.

His cock throbbed so strongly that you felt it almost dislodge your work of art.

You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook panted, waiting for your next order.

You glanced at the dark red-purple tip. It was shiny with pre-cum. Your gaze raised. His eyes were begging yes. His mouth kept up the act.

“N-No, don’t… please…”

“Touch it,” you murmured with the sweetness of a succubus.

His fingertips ghosted the sensitive skin and he almost buckled, shaking his head. You kept your grip on the belt, preventing him from lowering too much. If he wanted to escape you, all he would have to do was back up. But Jeon Jungkook did not want to escape you. He wanted to stare into your eyes and tease the leaking head of hic cock, shuddering and melting under the heat of your gaze, his body surrendering, subservient to your sublime, stinging conquest.

His hips were slowly thrusting.

His palm was against the tip, using the dripping pre-cum to stimulate himself as his fingertips rubbed along the underside. His lashes fluttered, doing his very best to not look away from you while also almost hitting the high of rolled-back eyes. The strong scent of his pre-cum and your arousal mixed together, saturating the air with pure sex. You took in every detail of his face, witnessing his fall to orgasm.

Almost.

You relaxed your hold on the belt.

“Fuck!”

Jungkook bit back his tongue and shot you his most helpless, longing expression. Probably two beats away from pleading you to whip his dick if only for the mere chance of release. It almost worked. Those big eyes truly were your downfall. You forced yourself to step away with a slow exhale, dropping the belt with a clunk and pointing to the bed.

“Lay on your back.”

You barely got the words out of your mouth. Jungkook nearly ripped the clothes off his body. You might have heard a seam pop. You pointed to the row of condoms in his hand and didn’t have the chance to ask before he separated one and ripped it open. On one hand, you wanted to reprimand him. On the other hand, the situation between your legs was getting rather dire.

You, too, were losing patience.

You stood on the edge of the bed, carefully observing Jungkook.

Those eyes trusted you a little too much after you whipped his chest red.

You decided to trust him too.

Slid onto the bed, crawling forward with immoral intention. In between his legs. He hesitated just before putting the condom on. You breathed out over his twitching cock. He whimpered. You loved it. Your tongue extended. With each throb, the head hit the flat of your tongue, transferring strings of spit down his length. His eyelids fluttered. You closed your lips around his hot, thick cock, unable to resist a taste, pressing him to the back of your throat, already addicted to the way he filled your mouth. You thought about edging him again but your pussy was pulsating with need.

You lifted your head, whispering darkly against his wet, shuddering cock.

“Fuck me.”

It was almost a growl.

The condom rolled down and you straddled him for the second time that night, using two fingers to hold him steady before sinking down, arching your back at the slick, full feeling of his cock entering you. It was a long-awaited reward, almost making you dizzy from the finality of it. Both of you moaned in unison. His hands found your thighs, kneading them, and you could feel him watching you, drinking in every detail with his eyes as you sank down, locking your hips to his.

Your gazes connected.

You couldn’t resist.

“Say please.”

His brows knitted together. You clenched around him. The defiance was instantly erased, replaced by submission.

“A-Ah…! Please…” The way your name dripped from his panting mouth was intoxicating. “Please…”

You rolled your hips into his with a firm smack.

The pleasure was glorious, direct, shooting through you from below. You drew up and thrust him back into you, again, and again, your breathing laboring as you rode him, drawing him and you to the abyss of lust. His gaze lingered on your bouncing breasts and he reached up, unsteadily, intoxicated on this feeling and refusing to sober up, sinking his fingers into the soft curves. You exhaled hard, blood tingling, moaning softly as his thumbs ran over your hard nipples, rubbing them in time of your rhythm. His fingertips were rough in the most arousing way, adding to the sensations amplifying each other, and so you let him touch you all over, feeling the edge of your lips tick upwards as your orgasm neared.

“I told you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

With half-moon eyes and a drawn-out moan, his hands slipped down your sides. Grabbed your hips and thrust up, making you both gasp. Hard. Slow. You pushed back down and both of you built to a brutal pace, your hands on his abs, digging your nails into hard muscle, and Jungkook was losing his mind, throwing his head back into the pillow, dripping sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. Your core burned, chasing the high, your back arching as well, matching each loud obscene smack with a satisfied cry, closer and harder and skipping breaths to withhold the faintest bit of oxygen.

Searing tension overcame your thighs.

You moaned to the ceiling and came all over his jerking cock, his groan pitching to a whine as he was suffocated by the spasms. You felt your pussy pulsate, dragging you into wave after wave of blistering bliss. The exertion had rendered you airless, gasping, squeezing Jungkook’s hips with your legs while you felt his grip on your ass tighten, sinking his spread fingers into the softness.

You froze, suspended.

Dying that little death.

You were still for a good thirty seconds. His cock throbbed inside you. You lowered your head, drifting down, down, meeting a fucked-out expression and unfocused gaze.

You smiled.

There was something so dangerous about it that it broke Jungkook from his reverie.

You lifted yourself off him, causing his length to slip out with a wet slap to his lower abdomen.

“W-What…?”

You made sure he saw you do it. Your hand extended, rolling up and he begged, “O-Oh, d-don’t… Please, you’re c-crazy…” and paying his words no mind as you dropped the used condom onto his stomach. You wrapped your hand around his slippery, sensitive cock covered in lube and cum.

Held him in panicked anticipation.

“Say it,” you demanded sternly. “You know what you want.”

The reality of his fantasy devoured him, and Jungkook desperately moaned.

“Please jack me off. Hard. Fast. Don’t stop.”

You gripped tightly and let the adrenaline flow. Power surged through your veins as he flinched, groaning into the pillow, his fingers digging into the sheets. His shaft felt hot, slick, stiff. You kept up an intense, harsh pace, and Jungkook cried out, almost thrashing, loudly whining as he came again. Cum pooled at the purple-red head, foaming as you continued, rising to press your knee to his lower ribs, holding him down. He was losing his mind, too oversensitive, whining, “Please, one more, o-oh fuck, f-fuck, please,” and you reached between his legs, tactfully pinching his scrotum and pulling on his balls with just the right amount of measured force.

Jungkook howled and slammed his head back into the pillow, thrusting up into your hand and orgasming so hard his own scream was cut off.

You ceased all movement.

His throbbing cock shivered and spat out a dribble of white that pooled around your fingers. You relieved his chest from the pressure of your knee. He coughed, sucking in greedy inhales, grabbing your calf as you dismounted. You turned your head. He was incredibly sweaty. His chest was tight. He looked like he had run a hundred kilometers.

Or like you just run him through.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I-Is it c-crazy…” Jungkook panted, staring into your eyes. “That I… Want you to d-do that again?”

There he goes again with his antics.

“You really are a pain slut.”

His lips curved into a daredevil, open-mouthed smirk.

“I like that about you.”

His ears flustered red at your compliment. You held his stare there for another uncomfortable second – on his part – and then looked down at the messy, drenched sheets before finally returning to his face.

“You’re sleeping on this side,” you declared, sliding off the edge of the bed to wash your hands.

You spotted his open suitcase on your way to the dark bathroom. It was crammed with clothes. You bent down to pick up one of his t-shirts, a white Calvin Klein, slipping it on over your naked body. Flicked on the light and turned your head to glance over your shoulder.

Jungkook was staring at you from the bed. Big eyes wide. Jaw slack. Black hair messy and all over his sweaty forehead. Naked and oh-so-very hot and perfectly enthralled by you while also being head-to-toe trouble for you, specifically.

Yes, you thought, I’ll keep him.

You smiled with a different kind of genuine pleasure and stepped into the bathroom, hearing the hotel bed fly into disarray as he chased after you.

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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