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onlymingyus · 4 months ago

Text

Beautiful Liar

pairing; kim mingyu x f!reader

genre; smut (minor dni), toxic, angst, dark content, fluff

summary;��Kim Mingyu's life has always been complicated, but you just add another layer. At least he is a beautiful liar.

dark content/content warnings; mafia au, murder, guns (used/sold/bought), cops, gun dealer!mingyu, mafia boss!jun (shut up), second in command/drug dealer!minghao, lawyer!wonwoo, blood, fighting/beating, drugs mentioned, smoking (cigarettes), alcohol, alludes to alcoholism, depression/anxiety, toxic relationships, commitment issues -- best friends sister to lover, bosses sister to lover, jun's sister!reader, soonyoung, dino (chan), vernon as side characters, names eunseok and haneul used (have no connection to riize and kiof), crying, food and drink as always, mentions being sick, doctor!reader, medical terminology and medical procedure/wound described -- as always i'm certain i have missed something. if there is anything glaring send me an ask.

smut warnings; dom!mingyu, mean dom!mingyu, brat!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, pulling out, creampie, cum on skin, cum play, cumming untouched, cumming in pants, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjob, edging/orgasm denial, degradation, pet names/degrading names, praise, impact play, pussy slapping, biting, crying from pleasure, dacryphilia, aftercare. as stated above, i am sure there is something i am forgetting. send an ask if it is glaring.

w/c; 25.6k and some change (2.8k extra words for patreon bonus)

beautiful liar - monsta x

a/n; thank you to my @junkissed for proofreading for me once again, i love you forever. i hope you all enjoy this one. i missed my boy so much and i wanted to expand a bit on gyu from shut up. give him a bit of life. its not the end of some of these characters, but we will see where they pop up in the future.

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

“Put that box over there.” Wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, Mingyu sighs out his words gesturing with his free hand as Lee Chan and Kwon Soonyoung lift the large box full of guns from the back of the trailer and onto a table in front of him. It was hotter than usual today and Mingyu didn’t want to be at the bar on his Saturday, but yet here he was, ever diligent.

“What did you buy me?”

Taking a breath to the sound of his boss, Mingyu puts on a good face before glancing towards Wen Junhui and letting the corner of his lips pull up, at least on one side. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jun, it was more that he was tired. Jun had gotten breaks over the past few months after a run in with Park Bonhwa, but Mingyu hadn’t. Things hadn’t gotten much better on the back end, they had just gotten quieter.

Pointing at the box in front of him before picking up a pry bar, Mingyu grunts as he loosens the nails and takes off the top for Jun to see.

“This one is Glocks and revolvers.” Gesturing with the pry bar towards where Chan and Soonyoung were pulling the other box from the truck, Mingyu tilts his head. “Should be rifles, mostly AKs. Just like you asked for, boss.”

Jun knew what he had asked Mingyu to acquire for him, he just liked to see a job well done and Mingyu rarely disappointed, especially as of late. Slapping the larger man’s shoulder, Jun reaches in with his free hand to take out one of the revolvers, a Smith & Wesson, to test the balance in his hand. “It’s good work, Gyu. These should hold us over for a few weeks.”

Putting the gun back into the box, Jun reaches up to scratch at his eyebrow as he glances towards Xu Minghao, his second in command, with a sigh on his lips. “Listen, speaking of. I’m going out of town for a few weeks. Gonna take Kitten on a little vacation.”

Making a bit of a face at the pet name, Mingyu lifts his brows as Minghao rolls his eyes and speaks up, leaning against the table beside him. “Couldn’t call her anything else? She has a name.”

Shooting his best friend a look, Jun scoffs and tilts his head. “Not any name that matters; I’ll call her what I want. The point stands, we are going out of town. Hao, you are in charge and Mingyu...”

Hearing his name, Mingyu straightens his back and meets Jun’s eyes, uncertain what is about to be said, but his anxiety seems to know before it’s even out of his mouth.

“You’ll take on second. Don’t let my bar burn down.”

As if he didn’t have enough of his plate already. Seeing the look in Jun’s eye, Mingyu puts on a good face and nods. “Got it.”

Mingyu was a complicated man. There were some who knew him as a cheerful person, most of those people got to know him when he was drunk. There were those who knew him as threatening, those were the people who got to know him on a bad day, and then there were people who had known him for most of his life—those people could tell when he was bluffing.

Following behind Mingyu after he had checked the last box and sent the others home for the day, Minghao watched his friend closely before finally speaking up, knowing they were alone, at least enough that he didn’t have to worry about being heard. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t already do while Jun’s out of town, Gyu.”

Leaning his head back in annoyance, Mingyu stops in his tracks at the sound of Minghao’s voice. He should have known he wasn’t alone and if it had been anyone else, he probably would have. Xu Minghao, however, was quiet, and that’s what had made Jun interested in him in the first place.

Turning to face the man, Mingyu puts on the same face he had given Jun before shrugging. Even if Minghao gave him more to do, that wouldn’t be the end of the world; it wasn’t like he had a life outside of this bar anyway. Mingyu had known what he was getting into all those years ago when he took that first wad of cash from Jun.

“I don’t care. You could send me to the moon to buy you a 1911 Colt and I’d make it fuckin’ happen.” Minghao could hear the stress in Mingyu’s voice and it caused the corners of his lips to turn down as he took a step closer to his friend. If anyone needed a vacation from here, maybe it was him, but he knew those were few and far between—Jun got what he wanted when he wanted it, but that was owner privilege.

Reaching up to rub at his neck, Minghao glances back towards Jun’s office, hearing him talking low on the phone. He knew Jun’s schedule and what he could get away with and in theory, what Mingyu could get away with, at least for the time being. “Take tonight off. Jun doesn’t leave until tomorrow night. I’ll need your big ass here then, but I can’t have you tired and moping around the door like this tonight.”

Scoffing, Mingyu shakes his head and tosses the towel he had been using in the warehouse into the laundry room as he starts to walk away from Minghao as he speaks up a bit louder to make sure he’s heard. “We don’t get nights off, Hao. I’m fine. I don’t trust anyone else at the doors. Anyone could walk in.”

Mingyu had already thrown out five people and the night had barely started. Minghao already felt like ripping his hair out as he heard another disgruntled patron trying to drunkenly state their case to the large man as he hauled them back towards the door. While Minghao didn’t disagree with most of the people that Mingyu had thrown out, some of it was for petty shit that on most nights they would look in the other direction of—like this one.

“Man! What the fuck? I said I was sorry. My hand slip—slipped.” The man hiccuped through his explanation, but clearly Mingyu wasn’t hearing any of it as he pushed the door open and started to toss the man out towards the ground.

Sighing, Minghao grabbed Mingyu’s arm, feeling the larger man push back against him, fire in his eyes, before he realized who had a hold of him. “What? Are you gonna punch me? Throw him out and meet me in the back. We need to talk.”

The sound of the man’s body hitting the concrete makes Minghao shake his head as he hears those waiting in line let out a reaction. Some of them are amused and others seem shocked or horrified. Throwing up his hands, Mingyu meets some of their eyes before slamming the door and rolling his neck as he follows Minghao back towards the warehouse, feeling his blood boiling.

“Can we make this quick? I really don’t trust Soonyoung on the door alone. He lets any chick through the door if she flashes her tits…”

Shooting Mingyu a look, Minghao scoffs at the man’s words before running his hand over his face out of stress and impatience. “You used to too, Mingyu. Cut him some fuckin’ slack… matter of fact, cut everyone some slack tonight.” Minghao’s words are strained as he meets his friend’s eyes, seeing the same look he’s seen for weeks.

Shaking his head, Mingyu lifts his hand to run it through his hair before turning away from Minghao to take a deep breath. He could feel himself getting angry at his friend and he didn’t want to let his anger get the best of him. He wasn’t like this all the time… just when he was stressed or tired and lately that was all he knew.

“What—you know what, Hao? We spend all fucking night catering to these drunk assholes who grope the girls or pick fights with us and you expect me to just cut them some slack?” There was a layer of resentment in Mingyu’s voice as he finally turned back to face Minghao and meet his eyes.

Throwing up his hands, Minghao groans, feeling his own frustration coming to a boiling point. He had tried to get Mingyu to take a night off but the big oaf had been too stubborn; now they were all paying for it.

“I’m just saying that you need to chill the fuck out. It’s either that or you can go the fuck home. You understand me?” Watching Mingyu’s jaw clench, Minghao clenches his own and takes a step closer to the man he has known for the better part of a decade. “Go out there and enjoy this job—at least pretend to. Find a girl and get your dick wet—something! But stop walking around like you are going to knock everyone’s head off.”

Mingyu wanted to. He really did. He had been spending more and more time in the gym with a punching bag in front of him, to the point that his knuckles would swell and bleed. Right now, he wanted to put someone’s head through a wall, but even thinking about it made his skin crawl. Minghao was right; he even knew this wasn’t like himself. He felt like he was drowning.

Taking a shaky breath, Mingyu takes a step back from Minghao and runs his hand over his lips before looking around the room. “I just… I’m not sleeping. I’ll call it for the night, alright?” Mingyu didn’t look for sympathy and he didn’t want to look weak because he wasn’t. So even now, as he felt Minghao get closer to him, he wanted to bolt out of the room as bile rose in his throat.

“Like I said—get your ass out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The sound of his phone going off made Mingyu feel like his head was going to explode. He had done what he said he was going to do after leaving work. He had gone home and gone to bed. It hadn’t been his fault that his sleeping partner had been a fresh bottle of Jack and that bottle now lay empty next to him.

Smacking at the nightstand with a large hand, Mingyu swipes the phone from it and puts it to his ear with a groan as he answers it. “What?” His voice is deep, full of sleep, as Mingyu rests his forearm over his eyes, trying to block out the sun that dares to peek around his black out curtains.

Jun smirks against his thumbnail as he hears the sound of Mingyu’s voice. He knew Mingyu had gone home early the night before and he had assumed that the man would be all bright eyed and ready to get on with his day; instead, he sounded like he had just crawled into bed.

“Morning sweetheart. Did I wake you?”

Whining to the sound of Jun’s voice, Mingyu turns to his side, laying the phone on the pillow next to him for a moment before putting it back against his ear and forcing his eyes open. If it were anyone else, he could tell them to shove their phone up their ass and not call them back, but no, it had to be Wen Junhui.

“It was a long night. Do you need me? I can be there in like—” Mingyu starts to count up how long it would take him to shower off the stink of whisky and to get dressed when Jun smiles into his words and saves him the trouble. “I do need you, Gyu. I always do, but I’m already on the way to the airport. Much to my surprise, I need you for other things.”

Furrowing his brows, Mingyu sits up with a pained groan, feeling the blood rush from his head and eyes. He knew Jun was picking on him, but what could he possibly need help with if he and his lady were already going out of town? Blinking a few times, Mingyu slides off the bed and rubs at his neck with his free hand as he trudges towards his kitchen.

“What things? Guns?” Mingyu sounds confused and tired as Jun listens to the sound of him rummaging around his apartment. Turning to look at Haneul, his fiancée as he runs his fingers along her cheek, Jun sighs and shakes his head. “No, that’d be easier. I got a call earlier from my sister. She’s landing in a couple hours.”

Taking a large gulp of water, Mingyu pauses midswallow, only to get choked at the thought of Jun having a sister. Did he know that? Had he met Jun’s sister? What did this have to do with him? Coughing, Mingyu shakes his head and takes a breath, barely hearing Jun sigh in annoyance until he catches his breath and wipes at his lips, his voice a bit strained. “Sister? Landing? Like a flight? Where?”

“You are learning new words, Mingyu?” Feeling Haneul smack at his hand and telling him to be nice, Jun sighs and purses his lips before rolling his eyes and explaining. “Yes, my sister, Y/N. Her flight lands at Incheon at 4:45 pm. I want you to pick her up and take her to the family penthouse.” Pinching his brows, Jun shakes his head and lets out a breath. “She didn’t tell me until this morning she was even coming or else I would have... it doesn’t matter. Just keep her entertained until I get back.”

His mouth felt dry as Mingyu nodded along with Jun’s words, as if they were a language that he understood. First he learned that Jun had a sister and now he was learning that he had to pick you up and keep you entertained. How did one entertain their boss’ sister?

“Wha—sure…okay. What does Y/N like? Should I just take her to the lounge—-”

“Fuck no. Don’t you fucking dare take her to the bar. She’s a respectable woman, Kim Mingyu. Keep her away from anything that is remotely underground, understand?” Waiting to hear Mingyu agree with him, Jun nods along with his ‘yes’ before continuing. “Also, keep it in your fucking pants.”

Opening and closing his mouth a few times, Mingyu tries to speak and come up with what to say in response to that, but the line goes dead, with Jun hanging up on him. Lowering his phone to the counter, Mingyu looks at the time and shakes his head. 2:15 pm… he had a little time to make sure he didn’t look like garbage.

“I don’t even know what Kim Mingyu looks like, Minghao.” You pout into your words as you roll your carry-on next to you towards baggage claim, your phone resting between your ear and shoulder.

Minghao smiles at the sound of your voice as he shakes his head and sits down behind Jun’s desk at the lounge to turn on the laptop in front of him. “Look for a big idiot with nice hair. I’m sure he will have a sign with your name on it, honey.”

Wrinkling your nose, you lift your eyes towards where most of the drivers and families were waiting, managing to see one man who stood out amongst the rest. He was tall, muscular, and gorgeous. Biting your lip, you try to see who’s name he’s holding, but the writing is messy, making it almost impossible to read unless you get closer.

“Wow, is he really, um–” You try to think of how to ask Minghao about Mingyu when you sigh and bite the bullet, laughing. “Hot?” Lifting his brows, Minghao hears how you laugh and it makes him curious and a bit worried. He had already been told to tell Mingyu to behave, but did he need to tell you the same thing? “He’s... decent looking for an oaf, Y/N.”

Nodding, you smile at the tall man as he glances down at his sign and back up at you, tilting his head like a puppy. “Then I found him. Talk to you soon, Minghao.” You hear Minghao try to speak, but you are quicker to end the call. Getting close enough to read your name in the chicken scratch on the piece of paper in the man’s hands. You laugh softly and look up at him with a sigh. “You must be, Mingyu.”

Fuck. Fuck! That’s the only word that is repeating in Mingyu’s mind as he looks at you. He had to be decent. He has to respect you, but fuck! You are so beautiful. Swallowing hard, Mingyu nods before lowering the paper in his hand and nodding. “Miss Wen… I’ll get your bag. Jun told me to take care of you and get you to your family’s penthouse.”

You watch as Mingyu turns his head away from you, quickly making your lips pull up in a curious smile. Following him towards the luggage carousel, you can’t help the way your eyes move along his body and land on his biceps as he pulls your suitcase from the track before turning back towards you and reaching out for your carry-on.

“So... you are a driver for my brother?”

Your words cause Mingyu’s brows to furrow, his breath getting caught in his throat as he walks with you towards the parking garage, being careful of traffic. Glancing towards you, he offers you a smile before tilting his head as if trying to think of the right thing to say before letting out a breath and finally speaking. “Uh, sometimes. I do a lot of things for your brother.”

Reaching the G Wagon with him, you purse your lips, surprised not to see something different even as Mingyu loads your luggage into the back and moves around to open his passenger's side door for you. Seeing the look on your face, he lifts his brows slightly and presses his lips together, glancing at his car and back at you.

“Is... is this not okay? Do you want to sit in the back? Do you not like my car?” Scratching the back of his head, Mingyu watches your lips pull up into a smile as he rambles. “Jun just told me to pick you up, so honestly, I don’t know much about what you do and don’t like... Miss Wen.”

Finally laughing, you slide past Mingyu and climb into the car, glancing up at him as he rests his hand on the door, giving you a curious look. Letting out a breath, you lean your head back into the leather headrest and reach for the seatbelt as Mingyu keeps his eyes on you, even as they move along your face and down your body before he quickly moves them back up, realizing what he is doing when you finally speak to him. “I don’t like being called Miss Wen. Just call me Y/N, please.”

Swallowing hard, Mingyu then rubs his lips together out of nerves before lowering his head with a laugh. He just didn’t want to piss Jun off and while trying not to do that, he was being weird around you. Patting the top of the door frame, Mingyu nods before taking a step back to close your door. “You got it, Y/N.”

Glancing around the large living room, Mingyu glances towards you as you drop your bag onto the couch before moving towards the floor to ceiling windows. He knew he really didn’t have to do much more for you. Yes, Jun had told him to keep you entertained, but he had done the first part. He had gotten you from the airport to the penthouse. The bar was going to open soon.

Biting at his lip, Mingyu takes his phone from his jacket pocket and checks his messages when you glance back to look at him in the hallway, your luggage on either side of him. You could see his brows furrowed even from across the room. He had seemed so tense the entire drive from the airport and you could barely get him to open up to you. He was like a puzzle that you were dying to solve.

“Talking to your girlfriend?”

Your words pull Mingyu out of his haze as he reads Minghao’s text and back into the present with you. Lifting his brow, Mingyu scoffs but quickly clears his throat before shaking his head and sending a quick text back to Minghao. "No, I don’t have one. I was just letting Minghao know I had you here. Seeing if he wanted me at the loun—at work.”

You watch as Mingyu quickly changes his wording and clears his throat once again. Stepping closer to the middle of the room, you can see the way he swallows hard and you know it’s because he’s trying to hide something from you. Smirking, you nod and gesture towards your bags before pointing towards another hallway. Mingyu’s eyes follow your hand before finding your eyes once again when you speak, some teasing in your voice. "Well, before you leave me for my brother’s shady bar, can you put my stuff in my room?”

Mingyu feels his stomach in his throat as you mention the bar and start to walk towards the bedrooms. Groaning, he closes his eyes, feeling his phone go off in his hand, finding himself unwilling to look at it right away as he listens to your high heels click against the floor.

So you knew about the lounge. Jun had told him you were a respectable woman. Mingyu had done his own research. Respectable was putting it simply. You were a doctor and where Jun might have lined his family’s pockets in his own way, you were like a beacon of joy for them, with your face in scientific journals and standing in front of hospitals with sick children. The lounge was so far away from who you were.

Looking around the master bedroom, you nod before glancing back towards the door when Mingyu moves into the doorframe, only to stop and clear his throat as if asking for permission. He was not only breathtakingly handsome, but one of the most adorable men you had ever seen. You knew he worked for your brother in some capacity and in his less than desirable business adventure, but you couldn’t imagine it right now. Mingyu did not seem like the type of man to work for your brother. Then again, at one point in your life, you said the same about Minghao.

“You can come into the room, Mingyu. What did my brother say to you to make you so afraid of me?” You smile, a small laugh in your words, as you take a step backwards to sit on the end of the bed as Mingyu puffs up his cheeks.

Pushing your suitcases into the room, Mingyu looks down at you on the bed and he feels the image being burned into his brain as he tries not to imagine you lying back on it as he—sighing—shakes his head and lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair. “He told me to take care of you. Entertain you while he was gone, but he also told me to behave... in not so many words.”

Biting at your lip, you laugh once again, lifting your leg to cross it over the other, feeling Mingyu’s eyes drop to your legs before he has to force himself to look away, pulling out his phone once again to check his messages. “Behave, huh? And what does that mean? Are you bad, usually?”

Feeling heat rising in his neck, Mingyu swallows hard, not only at the text messages from Minghao but also at your words. What were you trying to do? You were obviously testing him. You were teasing him. He should run for the hills and a cold shower.

Laughing, Mingyu focuses on his phone, sending one last text to Minghao, pressing send harder than necessary as you watch him closely. “Who are you texting, Mingyu? Still talking to Minghao? I might start to get jealous. I thought you were supposed to entertain me.”

Glancing at you over his phone, Mingyu sees the smirk on your lips. You were causing some intense feelings for him. He was afraid of you for so many reasons already. You were bad for his job and his friendships. You were a brat and he could tell you were having fun, seeming to know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Minghao: Don’t need you tonight. Jun wants you to get some shit and guard Y/N

Mingyu: You gotta be kidding me.

Minghao: I don’t need to remind you, but I will, because she’s like my sister too

Minghao: Keep your dick in your pants

Mingyu: I’m not an animal

Minghao: Yes, you are. Don’t let anything happen to her

Minghao: Understand me?

Mingyu: I understand!

Giving you a strained smile as he shoves his phone into his pocket, Mingyu takes a step back from you and lifts his shoulders with a deep breath. “Which room is mine?”

You had already known that Mingyu was going to be assigned to be security for you until your brother got back, even if you had told Jun and Minghao that you didn’t need a babysitter. At the time when you said it, you hadn’t known who Mingyu was or how much fun it might be. Now you are happy to have company.

Smiling, you slide off the bed and up to your feet, glancing around your room with a teasing smile as Mingyu lets out a breath, afraid of what you are implying. Stepping past him, you glance up at him, letting your fingers trail over his hand before moving to the door. “Follow me.”

Mingyu’s skin felt like it was on fire where your fingers had brushed over his. He was being stupid with just a small touch, but god, you were driving him crazy. You knew exactly what you were doing; it was going to take everything in him to keep some professionalism about him during this. He was already counting down the days, hours, and minutes until Jun would be back and this job would be over.

Following behind you, Mingyu lets his eyes move down your back and over your ass before he glances off to the side when you make a quick right turn into the room right beside yours and nod. Glancing over your shoulder at Mingyu, you lift your hands to do a quick eye to hand measurement of his height before doing the same for the bed and making an unsure sound. “You might fit, big boy.”

Unable to stop the scoff before it starts to leave his mouth, Mingyu walks past you into the room and looks at the bed. It wasn’t a small bed, and he wasn’t that big. Meeting your eyes, Mingyu watches you smirk at him before you glance around the rest of the room and pout your lips at him. “You didn’t bring anything with you? Maybe I could take a ride with you and stretch my legs while you pack a bag.”

You knew he didn’t have anything else with him. Clearly, he hadn’t been planning on staying, but you seemed to have known he was going to be sticking around before he did. Sighing, Mingyu scratches at his eyebrow before gesturing towards the door and giving you a strained smile. You could tell you were wearing him down. You wanted to crack him. Get to the real Kim Mingyu, not this professional mask he was wearing for the sake of your brother.

Mingyu hadn’t expected you to follow him up into his apartment, so when you did, he could feel the heat rising in his neck and face. His apartment was nothing compared to the penthouse you were staying in or the penthouse that Jun owned. All Mingyu had was a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment in a decent part of town and he kept it pretty clean. Thank god.

“Uh, I’ll be quick. Just—” You watch as Mingyu hurries past you into his living room to swipe a gun from his coffee table, a few bullets hitting the floor as he curses under his breath, leaning down to pick them up. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” Glancing over his shoulder at you, Mingyu pushes the bullets into the magazine in his hand before pushing the magazine into the pistol and hearing it click.

Your brows were raised and you were watching him curiously. He hadn’t planned for you to be in his space. He had been cleaning one of his guns the night before, well before the bottle of jack, but normally people weren’t inside his apartment. Especially people who looked like you and were decent, normal people.

Following Mingyu with your eyes, you watch as he leaves the door crack, probably to listen to in the other room as he grabs a bag and starts to fill it with various things. You weren’t surprised that he had a gun and it didn’t bother you; in fact, it made him even sexier somehow. You felt a bit safer around him knowing that he was armed, especially if he was supposed to be taking care of you.

Looking over the books on his shelves, you tilt your head and smile at the titles. They weren’t what you would expect someone like Kim Mingyu to have. As that thought crosses your mind, you think to yourself that it isn’t fair of you to think that. You didn’t know him well enough to judge his reading habits or intelligence. You just hadn’t expected to see The Count of Monte Cristo sitting on his shelf with the binding broken as if it had been read several times.

Pulling the book out, you hold it delicately in your hands as you flip through, reading over the words—some you remember, others that you hadn’t forgotten, having not read it in so long. What makes you smile are the notes in the margins in the same chicken scratch that you had seen your name written in at the airport.

Grabbing a few things from his bathroom, Mingyu zips up his bag and checks his pistol before sliding it into the holster under his jacket. You were quiet in the other room and that was making him nervous. He had tried to be quick while packing, but he had no idea what to bring, so he went simple and only took what he needed.

Turning the corner into his living room, Mingyu stops in his tracks, seeing you standing in front of his bookshelf with one of his books in your hands. You were gorgeous in the evening light pouring in from the decently large windows he had been blessed with, and you had the prettiest smile on your lips as you ran your fingers over the margins of the book. He could already tell what book you were looking at before even getting closer. It was his favorite, but that was probably easy to see, which is probably why you picked it up. It was obviously the most well loved book on the entire shelf.

“All human wisdom is contained in these two words–Wait and hope.” You read the quote from the book that Mingyu had re-written at the top of the page before glancing up at him as he watches you carefully. Closing the book, you slide it back into his place and take a breath before offering him a smile. “Are you a tortured soul, Kim Mingyu?”

Laughing into a scoff, Mingyu adjusts his bag on his shoulder and shakes his head. “I just enjoy the idea of revenge being fulfilled, I think.” Mingyu watches you nod and take a few steps closer to him, the air feeling thicker as he tries to take a breath only to get a deep breath of your perfume.

“And it has nothing to do with the love story attached to it? That isn’t why you’ve read that book so many times that the pages are falling out.” Mingyu’s eyes fall to your lips as you speak and he has to force himself to look back up to your eyes before pulling his gaze away from you and towards the window with the golden light.

“It’s just a story.” You think to yourself as you hear the words come out of Mingyu’s mouth—what a beautiful liar he is.

Leaning back in the chair, Mingyu glances around the penthouse as you open the fridge and sigh. He wasn’t sure what you had expected to be in there. From what he understood, you hadn’t given Jun much of a heads up about this visit so it wasn’t like he could have things stocked and ready to go for you. Obviously, there wasn’t going to be a fridge full of food just waiting for you to use.

“What is your favorite food, Mingyu?” Closing the fridge, you turn back towards the living room to lean against the kitchen island to face Mingyu. He looked surprised by the question, but you already had your phone out and were ordering groceries while waiting for him to answer you.

“Whatever you like.”

Smirking at his answer, you glance up from your phone and tilt your head before stepping around the island and into the living room to sit on the couch closest to the chair that Mingyu had chosen. The moment you had gotten back to the penthouse, you had opted to change. Your flight had been long; you were ready to get out of your clothes and into something more comfortable, so now you were in leggings and a tight tank top that Mingyu was having a hard time not staring at.

“Oh? You like all the foods I like now? Have we reached that point in our relationship, darling?” Teasing him, you smile when Mingyu rolls his eyes and runs his hand over his mouth, opting to lean forward and look down at his knees to keep himself in check. You could almost see the stress rolling off of him; he needed a massage, maybe a vacation, but he for sure needed a good fuck before he suffered a heart attack. “I’m just picking on you, Mingyu.”

He knew what you were doing and he wasn’t an idiot. You weren’t some angel like your brother and Minghao thought you were. Shaking his head, Mingyu glances up to meet your eyes before leaning back in the chair and laying his head back against the back of it. “Anything with meat. I’m not a fucking rabbit. If you need me to go get food, I can. Just give me a list.”

Lifting your phone, you show him the groceries you had ordered and then swipe over to the delivery app to show him where you had chosen to get dinner from. “Work for you? We’ve already been out enough today. I’d rather we both stay in for the rest of the evening.”

Mingyu couldn’t argue with you on that. Nodding to the choices, he stands to take off his jacket, drawing your attention to not only his arms under his t-shirt but also the gun holster on his side. Feeling your eyes on him, Mingyu takes a breath and shakes his head as he takes the pistol from the holster and turns it to the side to show you his thumb resting against the safety. “It’s on. I know how to use it, or else your brother wouldn’t have asked me to be here.”

While you were curious about how and why Mingyu was so comfortable with the gun, you just nodded and leaned back on the couch, crossing your legs as he moved to put his gun down on the dining room table so he could unhook his holster and take it off.

“I wasn’t going to ask if you knew how to use it, Mingyu. I mean, clearly, you do. Dressed like that.” Meeting your eyes briefly, Mingyu smirks as you glance away quickly and back to your phone as he lays the leather holster down on the table next to his pistol. Maybe it was that he had been with you for so many hours and that he was still feeling hungover, but what could it actually hurt to give you a taste of your own medicine. “Yeah, dressed like what, sweetheart?”

You close your eyes, feeling yourself clench the moment Mingyu calls you sweetheart and his voice drops an octave. He was fighting dirty now and your body was a traitor. Shifting your legs, you tighten your thighs and clear your throat as you tilt your head, letting out a scoff. If he wanted to play, you could play.

“Like that, you know, like a bad boy.” Giving Mingyu a once over, nice and slow, you finally meet his eyes and find that was a mistake as he lifts a brow and grins at you. Taking a deep breath, you think you turn your head away slowly, coolly, calmly, and collected—but Mingyu sees you panic and look away, making his ego grow.

“What if I am a bad boy? Is that what you asked me before? If I was bad? If I misbehaved?”

When had his voice gotten so low and sexy? When did Mingyu get so close? You could feel his hands on either side of you on the back of the couch as he leaned over you, standing behind the couch, but you didn’t dare look up. Instead, you focus on your phone even as you tap your foot against the floor, trying to hide how you are pushing your thighs together. Shrugging, you sigh, but it comes out shakier than intended, especially when you speak up. “I—well, I did ask that, but I was teasing you.”

Grinning, Mingyu leans down to speak next to your ear, his eyes on your lap as he does. “And I’m teasing back. Can’t handle the heat? Stay out of the kitchen, baby.” Blowing a kiss next to your cheek, he laughs before standing back at his full height and stretching, pulling his arms behind him as he walks around the couch and towards the hallway. “I’m gonna take a shower; let me know when dinner is here.”

You could feel sweat running between your breasts and your neck at how hot Mingyu had literally made you. Swallowing, you run your tongue over your lips and lean your head back against the couch, hearing the door to his bedroom shut, giving you a moment to finally catch your breath. God, you were in trouble. It had been fun at first, but now you wanted him. You wanted him badly.

The rest of the night had gone fine. Even sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his—that was fine, but what wasn’t fine was waking up and walking into the kitchen to see you barely wearing anything. You were standing in front of the fridge, one hand on the door, the other pulling the carton of juice out, as you ran your toes along the back of your exposed calf. Mingyu couldn’t help but let his eyes run along your bare legs up to where your tiny shorts barely covered your ass.

“I—aren’t you cold? I mean standing in front of the fridge like that.”

Mingyu wasn’t much better than you were. He hadn’t opted to put on a shirt, so when you looked over at him, ready to give him some smart comments back, you almost lost grip of the juice in your hand. Choking on your words, you close the fridge and turn towards the kitchen island, reaching up to pull down two glasses, sneaking glances towards the man as you pour juice in both. “I—no. No… I’m not cold. It’s the summer, Mingyu. Clearly, I mean, you’re running around half naked.”

Looking down at his torso, Mingyu shrugs, moving closer to the other side of the island, reaching out for one of the glasses of orange juice as you slide it to him. You had a point, but in his opinion, it was one thing for him to be shirtless and it was another for you to have your ass hanging out and your tits—god, your tits—just on display through that thin little tanktop.

Swallowing his juice hard, Mingyu looks away from you, trying hard to think with his brain and not his cock, even as he feels it threatening to get hard just looking at you. Keep your dick in your pants. That’s what he had been told twice by Jun and Minghao, and yet you had been looking at him like he was a fucking three course dinner from the moment he had picked you up at the airport. How was he supposed to keep it civil with you when you were acting like you wanted to fuck him as badly as he wanted to fuck you—and he barely knew you. Did that even matter at this point? It had never mattered before with any other girl.

You were doing your best not to ogle Mingyu, but it was easier said than done. With your glass against your lips, your eyes walked the line from his face to the top of his pajama pants, where they hung low on his lips. You could trace the line of his v-cut and you could imagine doing it with your fingers or your lips, it was only when he cleared his throat, sat his glass down and moved around the island towards you that you were startled enough to stop staring.

“What are you doing?” Shifting out of Mingyu’s way, you watch as he opens the fridge and mutters to himself, ignoring your question as he pulls out a few things and sits them on the counter. Giving you a smile, he furrows his brows and opens a few of the lower cabinets until he finds the pots and pans he wants. “Making breakfast, sweetheart. What’s it look like? Didn’t look like you were gonna do it. I figure bigwig doctors don’t have to cook for themselves anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you shift slightly, letting Mingyu pull the drawer open next to you as you feel his body pressed against yours. His skin was hot to the touch, and while his words frustrated you, having him so close made you struggle not to grab him.

Taking a spatula from the drawer, Mingyu winks at you and pushes the drawer shut, stepping back to hear you let out a slow breath. He could tell you were irritated with him. He liked it. You were a brat and he was enjoying pushing your buttons. It didn’t matter if you were this smart as fuck doctor who could probably run laps around him when it came to most things, he could still teach you a few lessons.

“What? What’s that look for? Am I wrong? You don’t have a personal chef?” Cracking a few eggs into a bowl in front of him, Mingyu watches you cross your arms over your stomach as you scoff. You weren’t able to say anything, which told him he wasn’t that far off. “Or you do. Is that a doctor thing or a Wen thing?”

“You are so fucking annoying... I hope you cook as well as you run your mouth.” There was some fire to your tone of voice and it was going straight to Mingyu’s cock again. Smirking to himself as he pours the eggs into the pan, he adjusts the heat and meets your eyes only for a second before taking a few slices of bacon from the package and adding them to another pan.

“Afraid I’ll try to put something in your mouth you won’t like?” Mingyu’s words make your cheeks heat up. Scoffing, you try to think of the right thing to say, but nothing comes to mind quickly enough so he fills the empty space with his irritatingly handsome laugh. “Come on, you know that was funny. I have to tease you a little bit. You’ve been keeping me on my toes, sweetheart.”

Pushing your tongue against your cheek, you meet Mingyu’s eyes as he puts the bacon next to the eggs and puts the pan back on the stove, only to rest his hand on the counter next to your hip. “Keep lookin’ at me like that and you’ll make me think you want me to do more than tease.”

“Yeah? And what happened to behaving?” You smirk, looking down at Mingyu’s hand, then back up at his eyes as he takes a step closer to you. Both of you knew this was a bad idea, but as you bite at your pretty bottom lip, letting it get caught between your teeth as you smile at him, Mingyu’s resolve breaks. Stepping in front of you, he puts his other hand on the other side of you to keep you pinned to the island as you take a deep, shaky breath. “I think I’m done trying to behave. How ‘bout you, sweetheart?”

Mingyu had put the ball in your court. He wasn’t touching you yet. If you wanted to get away from him, you could. He would listen to you if you told him to get away, but those words never left your mouth. Instead, you whine his name, reaching up to grab him by his neck and pulling him down to your lips. Mingyu groans into the kiss, feeling your nails scratch at the back of his neck and into his hairline. It had been a while since a kiss had made him feel like this. He usually avoided kissing his hookups, but occasionally they would whine about it enough that he’d give in and they were nothing like this. They were nothing like you.

Sliding his hands from the counter to your hips, Mingyu nips at your lips as his fingers dig into your flesh through your clothes and he lifts you up and onto the counter. Stepping between your legs, he smiles against your lips before licking the seam of your lips, asking for permission until you give it to him, parting your lips. His tongue glides along yours and he groans to the taste of your mouth as his hands pull you forward and into his hips, letting you feel his cock hard between your legs.

Furrowing your brows, you lean your head back to take a breath, hoping your mind might clear—that you might come to your senses—but Mingyu’s lips move to your jaw and then your neck. He only makes you want him more. You weren’t like this usually. No man could make you throw yourself at them, but there was something about Kim Mingyu. Maybe it was being away from home and having no one around to tell you to be perfect. You felt like you could go on desire instead of common sense.

“Oh my god, Mingyu...” You sound so desperate that it makes Mingyu groan against your throat, his hands finding the counter under you once again. He feels his cock twitch in his pajama pants at the breathy moans leaving your mouth and every single lie that he will have to tell Jun and Minghao feels worth it.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty. Just like an angel.” Taking a step back, Mingyu runs his fingers along the sides of your legs, feeling chill bumps spread along your skin until he meets your shorts. Tilting his head, he licks his lips and meets your eyes, looking for you to give him permission as he pushes his fingers into the top of your shorts. Nodding, you lift your hips and press your lips together when Mingyu tugs your shorts down to your thighs with a groan. “Baby, you’re trying to kill me. You knew what you were wearing when you came into this kitchen. You were asking for me to fuck you, huh?”

Shaking your head, you still smile as Mingyu lifts your legs and drops your shorts onto the kitchen floor at his feet. You shiver at the feeling of his nails lightly scratching along the slides of your legs as he steps back between your legs, his eyes falling to his prize. “‘Course you were. It’s okay; you can tell me, angel. Have you been this wet the entire time?”

Lifting his hand to his lips, Mingyu runs his tongue along the pad of his thumb as you watch. Keeping his eyes on you, he uses his thumb to spread your wet folds, searching for your clit. When you arch your back, pushing your hips toward his hand, Mingyu smirks and draws a circle around the small bundle of nerves.

“Please, please, oh my god.” Your voice goes straight to Mingyu’s cock. He feels himself start to leak against his pants as he turns his hand, brushing his knuckles against your folds when you lift your hips, trying to get more from him.

“Please what? You know... you haven’t been very nice to me, Y/N.” Mingyu meets your eyes, and as he pouts his lips, his words almost sound sad. Scoffing, you glance down at his hand only to have his free hand grab your chin, bringing your eyes back to his face. “Eyes on me. You have teased me since you got here. You might be pretty as an angel, but you are a brat. I need to teach you a lesson, baby.”

Whining, you lean your head back, a pout on your lips this time as Mingyu’s fingers move from your pussy to your leg. “No, no… I’m sorry. Touch me. I can be good.” Mingyu’s lips pull up in a smirk as he tilts his head, listening to your begging. He could get used to the sound of that, but it wasn’t good enough. All he had done was threaten, and he had to follow through.

“Are you scared?” Strong hands grip your hips as Mingyu slides you to the end of the counter. You meet his eyes and try to think about how to answer him. Swallowing hard, you nod, and Mingyu nods, lifting one hand up to cup your cheek. Taking a step back, he leans in and kisses you so sweetly that your head spins, only for you to gasp into a surprised moan when his other hand comes down in a sharp slap over your wet folds. “Want me to stop?”

Breathing hard against his lips, you close your eyes tightly to the strange feeling of pain and pleasure as Mingyu’s fingers run through your folds once again. Pushing his index finger into your tight hole, he keeps his eyes on you, waiting for your answer, but you only shake your head. “Words, angel, or I will stop.”

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you push Mingyu’s finger into you further and he groans on your lips, meeting your eyes. Leaning in a few inches to press your lips to his, you speak between kisses, keeping your eyes on his. “Don’t stop. Teach me a lesson, Mingyu.”

A deep groan comes from Mingyu’s throat, almost a growl as he leans his forehead against yours, hearing those words come out of your mouth. You were where this untarnished, this perfect white rose… and he was going to ruin you.

“Oh, I’ll teach you something you’ll never forget, baby. You're dripping down my finger, just like a little whore.” Gasping not only at Mingyu’s words but also at the feeling of a second finger pushing into you beside the first, you grab at his wrist again. Mingyu grins, an almost cruel laugh on his lips, as he rubs his fingers back slowly towards his palm, feeling your soft walls on his fingertips. “I thought you were supposed to be respectable. That’s what your brother told me.”

Trying to lift your lips, you whine Mingyu’s name when his free hand pushes your hips back down on the kitchen counter. Tsking at your behavior, he leans his head back and meets your eyes as he lifts his brows and slides his fingers out almost all the way. “I’m talking, angel. Stop being so fucking impatient. You told me to teach you a lesson, so listen to me.”

Fingers plunge back into you, causing you to choke on a moan. Mingyu relishes the sounds coming from your mouth as much as he enjoys the feeling of your pussy sucking his fingers back in with every thrust.

“Please… please. I’m good. I’m listening.” Your words are almost incoherent babbling and Mingyu can’t help but smirk. Were you that drunk off of him already? He had barely started. All you had gotten from him was a kiss and his fingers fucking you, and you were struggling to remember how to speak.

“So fucking pretty and making such a mess.” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment because you know that Mingyu isn’t lying. You can hear how wet you are as his fingers fuck into you at such a brutal pace that you are seeing stars.

Unable to keep yourself up anymore, you slide your hands back, only to gasp in surprise when you hear the sound of glass hitting the floor and shattering. Mingyu laughs, his eyes on you, as you try to look for what fell. “Who the fuck cares? I don’t even want breakfast anymore. I got mine right here.”

Running your hand over your face, you struggle to catch your breath as you lay back on the counter, feeling Mingyu’s fingers slide from you, leaving you right on the edge of your orgasm. If you were any more coherent, you would have yelled at him for not finishing, but you didn’t have time to come to your senses or to be angry. The feeling of Mingyu’s tongue taking the place of his fingers has your stomach in knots. Trying to push your thighs together, you find it impossible as a strong hand holds one leg up, and Mingyu’s face grinds into your pussy.

There were few things that Mingyu loved more than getting his dick wet, but eating pussy was one of them. The feeling of a woman’s thighs around his head, having to take deep breaths between groaning against her soft plush folds—that was better. Mingyu could feel himself getting close to his own climax. He knew he could ask you to let him fuck you, that you’d probably agree, but this was it. This was what he had wanted the moment he walked into the kitchen and saw your ass peeking from under those little shorts.

Digging his nails into your skin, Mingyu nudges his nose against your clit as he sucks at your pussy, enjoying not only your taste but the smell and feeling of you against his mouth and skin. Yes, this was one of his favorite things to do, but with you? This was fucking heaven. You were heaven. He had been calling you an angel because of how you were moaning his name, but tasting your cum on his tongue and feeling you grind against his face? You had to be his one gift from God.

You weren’t sure how many times Mingyu had made you cum on his tongue. You had never felt anyone use their mouth like him and by the time that you had your fingers in his hair pulling him from your thighs, you were sobbing and your legs were shaking. Meeting your eyes, Mingyu licks his lips before glancing back down at his prize with a groan. You were beautiful. From the top of your head to your toes, your pussy—wet and swollen from his mouth was to die for.

“I need—I wanna help you. God, you are trying to kill me.” You watch Mingyu run his fingers through his hair, a sheepish grin on his face as he stands up between your legs. You were out of breath, you looked exhausted and pliant. Mingyu shakes his head as he wipes his mouth, feeling your fingers tugging at his hand, only for him to wrap his fingers around your wrist and keep your hand still.

“I’m good. You did help me.” Shaking your head, you move to your elbows and whine, reaching for Mingyu’s pajama pants, when you realize he’s not hard anymore. Furrowing your brows, you meet his eyes once again to see his brows lift as he licks his lips. “I came, baby. ‘Sides... told you I had to teach you a lesson. It was a lesson in what happens when you tease me.”

Mingyu watches a pout form on your lips. You were devestantly cute and it was bad for not only his job but his health. Jun and Minghao were going to kick his ass or they might just kill him. Shaking his head, Mingyu leans down to press his lips to yours as you whine his name and slide your fingers along his sides, feeling a thin layer of sweat under your hands.

“I know I need a fuckin’ shower now... and you need to eat. I’ll clean up the glass. Don’t step on the other side.”

He was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Watching Mingyu move away from you, you furrow your brows as he picks up a dish towel and leans down to clean up orange juice and broken glass. Just moments ago, he was calling you a little whore, and now he was worried about you getting hurt and needing to eat. Biting at your lip, you swallow hard and slide off the counter to pick up your shorts and put them back on as you listen to Mingyu pick up the pieces of your cup.

“Should we—I don’t know, should we talk about what just happened?” Your voice makes Mingyu want to laugh as he puts pieces of glass into the dish towel and tries to avoid cutting his fingers. You seemed confused or maybe even like you regretted it. Shaking his head, Mingyu lets out a breath and moves to the trash with his towel, dropping it all in before meeting your eyes. “Do you wanna pretend it didn’t—”

“Oh my god! No… I liked it. I just—Jun and Hao. Should we talk about—” Lifting his hands, Mingyu laughs, making you stop before you spiral. Moving back around the counter, you watch him take in a deep breath and it draws your eyes to his chest once again. God, he really was the most beautiful man you had ever seen and you had just had his face between your legs. Your mind was spinning.

“It’s between us. I won’t tell them if you don’t. I’d actually prefer to keep my cock attached to my body.” Smirking, Mingyu tilts his head, reaching up to grab your chin, making you meet his eyes instead of looking at his chest. “You seem to be interested in it too, so... deal?”

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He was so lewd. He went from being almost sweet to making you feel like you were dirty. Nodding, you feel Mingyu’s thumb run over your bottom lip as he hums happily. “That’s a good girl. I’m gonna shower, eat what I made, even if it’s cold.”

Dropping his hand, Mingyu lets his fingers trail over your hip as he walks towards the hall, leaving you alone in the kitchen with your head spinning and your thighs aching.

You had hoped that Mingyu would act differently after the morning’s extracurricular activities, but as soon as he got out of the shower and you were back in the living room with him, you found him with his phone in his hand. You were starting to hate his phone. He sat with you on the couch and didn’t care when you tried to lean in close to him, but he didn’t attempt to make any more moves on you.

It was like night and day.

Sighing at his phone, Mingyu shifts against you as you watch tv. Glancing at his wrist, he rolls his eyes and slides letting you unceremoniously fall against the cushions. Pushing yourself back up, your eyes follow him as he moves to pick up his leather jacket and pulls it on before glancing at you with an unsure look in his eyes. Words on the tip of his tongue before he finally bites the bullet, “I have to go into work. It’s gonna be busy, I can’t let Minghao cover that shit alone.”

Sitting up, you glance around the room before meeting his eyes once more as he waits for you to give him permission, though he knows he doesn’t need it. Yes, he was supposed to keep you safe and “entertained”, but what all could happen to you in a cushy penthouse. “So… be a good girl, and I’ll be back in the morning.”

Your mouth falls open and you are on your feet before Mingyu takes the first step. You weren’t going to be a good girl, it seemed. Sighing, Mingyu runs his fingers through his hair. He had a good idea what you were about to ask, but hearing the words come out of your mouth didn’t make them easier to hear or to decline. “Can I come?”

Shaking his head no, he moves past you, feeling your hand grab his wrist as you stomp your feet and whine his name. He had been told explicitly not to bring you to the lounge. Of course, he had already broken some rules with you, which made it harder to look you in the eye.

“Your brother told me to absolutely not bring you to the lounge. Y/N, baby, please. Just stay here and be good. Place isn’t for women like you anyway.” Mingyu’s words make you scoff. Women like you. What did he think you were? Some saint? Trying to jerk Mingyu’s arm back towards you, you aren’t surprised when he is able to pull free with little effort.

Mingyu hated saying no to you, especially with how you were looking at him. He could tell you were upset with him, but he’d rather you be a little irritated than have you being felt up by some low life at the bar. Reaching up to grab your chin between his fingers, Mingyu presses his lips to yours, feeling you pout into the kiss for just a moment until you relax. You couldn’t stay mad at him. It wasn’t like he could just put his life on hold for you, though you desperately wanted him to.

“Mm, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We’re closed… I’ll treat you so good.” You could feel your knees go weak at the smooth tone of Mingyu’s voice as his fingers traced your jaw. He was playing you like a fiddle and you just nodded like the pathetic girl you are before kissing him once more at the door.

Watching the door shut, you whine and throw your head back dramatically before picking up your phone and laying on the couch. You knew Mingyu was probably right, but that didn’t make it any easier to feel like Rapunzel stuck in a glass tower.

Y/N: [picture attached]

Mingyu sighs out a breath of smoke as he uses the palm of his hand to pull his G-Wagon into his usual parking spot. It was already getting late in the afternoon so getting to the lounge this late was like getting to class after the bell.

Taking one last pull from his cigarette, Mingyu tosses it to the pavement before pushing it into the concrete with his boot as he takes his cell phone from his pocket to check his messages from you. He knew he had a few. You were tempting him to come back to the penthouse and as much as he wanted to bring you along, or get back and throw you on a bed, he had a job to do.

Mingyu: That doesn’t look like a good girl. Just a pretty slut with great tits.

Mingyu smirks to himself as you send a string of dramatic responses before he slides his phone back into his jacket and makes his way towards the building. You’d be fine. You were safe and away from the shit that your brother had hoped to keep secret from you. It wasn’t Mingyu’s fault you knew about it, but he could at least do what he was told and not bring you in right under Minghao’s nose.

“Hey man, I thought I was gonna have to do this shit by myself again.” Taking a deep breath, Mingyu shakes his head at Soonyoung’s words as he slips by the smaller man at the door. There were already a few people lined up waiting to get in. He had been in Soonyoung’s place before, and while he could handle it by himself now, he remembered the stress of being newer and being left to the dogs.

“Nah… I’m here. Sorry about last night. Had something else the boss wanted me to do.” Mingyu grabs one of the glasses from the bar and pours himself a shot of whiskey as Soonyoung nods along with his words before droning on about the night before. He liked Soonyoung, but he could already feel a headache behind his eyes as Chan turned up the volume at his booth, the bass causing his ears to ring.

“So, I’m just sayin’... there are some real pricks comin’ every single fuckin’ night.” Leaning his head back, Mingyu winces at the burn of the alcohol before nodding, not even meeting Soonyoung’s eyes. “I get it. Don’t fucking worry about it. If they show up, I’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soonyoung’s shoulders relax at Mingyu’s words. He was happy to have him back. He could do his job and Vernon was decent help, but there wasn’t anyone like Mingyu. It was different when you had a 6’2” wall next to you who wasn’t afraid to put someone in their place. “Cool, cool, alright, man. Thanks.”

For the first couple of hours, Mingyu felt like he could fall asleep at the door. It was mundane and he was beginning to wonder if this was actually a Saturday night or not, but by hour three, he was eating his words. After four bar fights and a debate on whether one man needed an ambulance or not later, Mingyu was taking a much needed smoke break.

Scrolling through texts from you, he found himself smirking at how needy you were being. It wasn’t just that you wanted him to come home and fuck you—it was that you were bored and spoiled. All he had done was play around with you a bit, fuck you on his tongue and fingers and you were already a spoiled little princess.

Mingyu: Baby… I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t you remember what I said? Trying to make me regret it?

Mingyu: Want me to take it back?

Pouting at your phone, you push your head back into your pillows as you kick your legs from under your blankets. You couldn’t believe he was actually going to stay out all night. You couldn’t believe that Minghao would keep him out that late, knowing that you were here, but you also knew you were being unreasonable. You knew that Mingyu had a life before you got here, and he’d have one once you flew back home.

Y/N: No… Just miss you. It’s lonely in this big, ‘ol apartment. How’s work?

With his cigarette between his lips, Mingyu scoffs softly, almost feeling a bit soft at your response. You were so sweet, it was frustrating. You made him feel a bit crazy. Mingyu knew you weren’t his for long. You shouldn’t be his at all… he had made promises, but you had landed in his lap and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

Mingyu furrows his brows at the sounds of footsteps behind him as he looks down at his half written response to you on his phone. It could be anyone; he was behind the building, but not many people came out unless they were doing exactly what he was doing or they were looking for someone. Someone looking for him? Soonyoung? Minghao?

Turning his head and starting to speak, Mingyu feels the breath get knocked from his lungs as the cigarette falls from his lips to the ground along with his phone. Concrete bites at the heels of his hands as Mingyu hits the ground, the sharp feeling of a boot hitting his side knocking any chance of a full breath from his lungs.

“Get up, motherfucker.”

Mingyu groans, tasting copper in his mouth, his head lifting just in time for him to react and use the strength he has to catch the foot aimed at his head. Twisting hard, Mingyu rolls his body over, pulling the man down until he is under him, bringing his elbow down across the man’s cheek with a loud crack.

Neither notices the doors to the building opening until the light spreads over the ground, letting Mingyu see who had attacked him. Lee Eunseok, one of the men he had thrown out earlier in the night for starting a fight, and more importantly, one of Park Bonhwa’s faithful followers.

“Gyu! He’s down, it’s done!”

Minghao’s voice rings in Mingyu’s ears as he lands another punch to the side of Eunseok’s face, feeling muscle and bone give under his knuckles. He only stops when Soonyoung, Minghao, and Vernon pull him off, leaving the other man to catch his breath and bleed on the ground.

Tugging his arms away from his friends, Mingyu’s voice comes out as more of a growl as he feels his lungs and stomach twist in pain. “Get the fuck off me!” Hands move from him, but they stay close, keeping him from going back to Eunseok as he rolls on to his side, laughter escaping his cracked, bleeding lips between words. “Such a little bitch, Kim.” Sliding his hand towards Mingyu’s phone, he looks at the screen at your name before holding it up to show it to Mingyu and the others with a look on his face that makes Mingyu feel sick to his stomach. “Your girlfriend? Should I call her and say hi?”

Minghao moves forward before Mingyu can, grabbing the phone from Eunseok reading your name and turning off the screen. His eyes meet Mingyu’s and it tells him everything he needs to know. Not only had Eunseok struck a nerve, but there was plenty to talk about later.

“Get this son of a bitch off the property.” Mingyu’s eyes never leave Minghao's, even as Soonyoung and Vernon move to lift Eunseok from the ground and drag him towards the parking lot. Offering him his phone, Minghao gives Mingyu a once over shaking his head as the larger man takes it and spits blood onto the ground to clear it from his mouth.

“I don’t wanna talk about—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want to talk about. What did I tell you?” Sucking in a breath as he lifts his hand, running it through his hair, Minghao curses under his breath, pointing towards the doors for Mingyu to move. In theory, Mingyu knew he could tell him to shove it up his ass. He could walk away, but he also knew that would be the end of his life. Jun wouldn’t let him just walk away. So Mingyu put his head down like a child in trouble and walked towards the building as Minghao followed in tow.

The sound of the office door closing only makes Mingyu’s head throb more. He felt like he could finally catch his breath, though he knew he had bruised ribs. He could still taste the blood in his mouth and all he wanted to do was go after Eunseok and finish what the man had started. It wasn’t in Mingyu’s nature—at least as of late—to just “let it go”.

Sitting down against the desk, Minghao runs his fingers through his hair, giving Mingyu a good once over. He had seen him be careless the last few weeks, but directly going against orders—even that was bold for him. He knew that you were attractive and could be a tease, that didn’t excuse Mingyu from thinking with his dick instead of his head.

“If Jun finds out—”

“Why does he have to?” Rolling his neck from side to side, Mingyu lets out breath before lowering himself into a chair in front of Minghao. To him, this was simple. He knew that Minghao was Jun’s best friend, but he was also supposed to be his best friend. Where was his protection? Where was his bit of grace when he fucked up? He never got that. He just got sent to a corner or told to clean up someone's shit.

Scoffing, Minghao rests his hands on the desk under him, studying Mingyu. “You think it’s just that easy? That I can lie to Jun about something to do with his sister?” Minghao shakes his head and looks towards a painting on the wall as Mingyu shifts in the seat, feeling anxious, ready to get up and leave.

“Not like I’m knockin—” Before the rest of the words are out of his mouth, Minghao’s eyes are back on Mingyu and his mouth shuts as he rethinks his words again. “It’s just fun. It’s fun for her. I wouldn’t do anything to fuck it up. I’m not stupid.”

That was up for debate as far as Minghao was concerned, especially with what had almost come out of Mingyu’s mouth. Just the idea of him getting you pregnant was enough to give Minghao a migraine and for him to watch Mingyu out of his sight. Lifting his hand, Minghao rubs at his eyes with a groan of annoyance as he shakes his head. His words are strained, and he regrets them as soon as they are spoken. “Just keep it to yourselves. I don’t want to see it and I don’t want to know about it. Jun will break your fuckin’ neck, Gyu.”

Lifting two fingers to his forehead, Mingyu gives Minghao a sarcastic salute as he sighs and pushes out of the chair. “Got it, boss. I’m cuttin’ outta here early. I think getting the shit kicked out of me gives me a pass, don’t you?”

There was something eating at Minghao about how Mingyu was acting, but he couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave a couple of hours early to get some rest after what had happened. Taking a deep breath, he nods before saying Mingyu’s name, watching the large man turn back towards him with a clenched jaw. “Text me when you get home. Just wanna make sure you're feelin’ okay. You were spittin’ up a lotta blood before.”

Waving Minghao off, Mingyu mutters under his breath as he pushes the door open and his eyes move right for the exit. Minghao would be waiting a bit for that text.

Mingyu wasn’t thinking clearly; he was just seeing red as he drove towards where he suspected Eunseok to be. Throwing his car into park, Mingyu winces as he looks at the back of the blacked out Cadillac. He knew he was in the way as Eunseok put the Cadillac in reverse and cursed under his breath while watching Mingyu get out of his vehicle and walk towards his door.

“Get the fuck out.” Point his finger towards the window; Mingyu doesn’t need to see Eunseok’s face to know he can hear him. When he doesn’t open the door immediately, the red Mingyu had been seeing goes to black as he jerks the door open and reaches for the man. He grabs Eunseok’s shirt under his hands and Mingyu grits his teeth, seething as he tries to pull him from the car. Falling back, he feels searing pain in his right arm.

The sound of the gunshot doesn’t even register as much as Eunseok’s panicked breath and the way he fumbles the gun. Taking a step back, Mingyu looks down at his arm, the blood running along the brown leather and he acts before he thinks. His fingers wrap around the grip of his gun and before Eunseok can get off a second shot, Mingyu pulls the trigger, watching the man fall back across the center console.

The ringing in Mingyu’s ears dulls to a low hum as the world seems to slow down. Calming down, his breath slowing, the pain in his arm becomes all the more apparent. Hissing under his breath, Mingyu rolls his shoulder before looking back into the Cadillac at Eunseok’s limp body. He was half expecting the man to move and to groan in pain, but nothing happened.

Taking a step forward, Mingyu furrows his brows as he looks at the blood splattered across the dashboard. His eyes fall to Eunseok and the blood seeps from the wound on his chest. Wiping his hand across his lips, Mingyu groans, stopping himself from reaching for the door to steady himself. He hadn’t meant to kill him. It was self defense—instinct, but that didn’t stop the bile in his stomach from churning.

“Fuck…” Glancing around the parking lot, Mingyu rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to keep himself calm, though his heart was beating hard, causing blood to seep even quicker from the gunshot in his bicep. There wasn’t a lot of time to stand and ponder, so acting on instinct once again, Mingyu reached for Eunseok’s jacket and took out his wallet. Pulling the cash from it, he pockets it and uses his shirt to wipe his prints from the leather before laying it on the man’s lap.

It wasn’t perfect. If he had more time, he’d get rid of the car and Eunseok’s body completely, but the sun was going to rise soon, and Mingyu was bleeding too much. There was already a chance his blood was somewhere and if the cops looked too closely— no, he wouldn’t let himself think about that.

Slamming the door shut, Mingyu wipes down the door handle and stumbles backwards, feeling the loose concrete under his feet as he takes one last look around. There had been many times when he had fucked up, but this time really took the cake. Mingyu slides behind the wheel of his car and winces in pain as he shifts it into reverse, the wheels spinning the gravel as he speeds off towards your penthouse.

Minghao: Has Mingyu gotten in yet?

Y/N: No, he said he’d be back in the morning.

Staring at your phone, you felt a sense of dread in your stomach. Why would Minghao be asking you about Mingyu? And why would he be asking if he was back yet? Something felt wrong.

Pressing down on Mingyu’s name, you put your phone to your ear, listening to the sound of it ringing as you bite on your lips. If he were at the bar, he might not answer you. He had stopped answering your texts, but you had assumed he was busy. But then there was that text from Minghao. Wasn’t he also working?

No answer. You start to pace, your lips starting to feel raw as you hit Mingyu’s name again and listen to the three rings and then Mingyu’s voice tells you he can’t come to the phone. “What the fuck, Mingyu?”

Leaning against the door to the penthouse, Mingyu groans, feeling his phone go off in his pocket. He didn’t know if it was Minghao, Jun, you, or worse... but he just had one thing on his mind, getting inside. You drop your phone on the couch as you hear the sound of the door opening, rushing towards it. Stopping to lift your hands to your mouth in shock as Mingyu moves through the door and leans back against it to take a deep breath.

Your eyes follow the blood as it drips from his jacket onto the white tile, keeping you frozen in place for only a moment until you rush forward and push at his jacket, trying to get it off. “Let me see it.” Shaking his head, Mingyu knocks his head back against the door at your panicked voice. In that moment, he forgets who you are, besides the girl he’s been flirting with. All he can think is that you are being dramatic, but your fingers on his face pulling his attention to you brings him back to reality. “Take off the fucking jacket, Mingyu. I need to see what happened. Is it a gunshot? I need to see if it went through or if I need to get the bullet out.”

Mingyu’s brows furrow as he shrugs his shoulders, letting you remove his jacket and tossing it to the floor. You’re a doctor. That realization comes back to him as you tug his t-shirt sleeve up and carefully inspect his arm. “Gunshot.” One word. That's all Mingyu can manage, but it’s enough for you. Meeting his eyes, you nod and take his left hand, leading him through the living room and finally to the couch.

“Sit down. I need to get a few things.” Pointing at the couch, you wait for Mingyu to sit, but when he doesn’t right away, you sigh and push at his chest to guide him down. “Y/N… I can deal with it myself. You don’t gotta—”

As if you know what Mingyu is going to say, you give him a sharp look, leaning to press your lips against his, silencing him. Leaning back just enough to look him in the eye, you furrow your brows and let out a slow breath. “Stay here and stop fucking complaining.”

Leaning his head back on the back of the couch, Mingyu takes a deep breath, feeling the throb in his arm. Without his jacket on, the pain was even more intense and it felt like you were taking your time. In reality, you were going through your bag as quickly as possible to find what medical supplies you had the forethought to pack. The gunshot on Mingyu’s arm wasn’t life threatening, it wasn’t even something you hadn’t dealt with before, but it was more that it was him.

Your slippers hit the floor as you quickly make your way back to Mingyu, finding him already getting antsy. You knew he could be reckless but now he was being willfully ignorant. Mingyu clinched his teeth as he pushed the skin on his bicep together as if he were making anything about his situation better—as if without any tools he could mend it.

“What the fuck are you doing, Mingyu?! Get your dirty hands off. I swear to God, are you just being stu—” You stop mid sentence when you meet Mingyu’s eyes, seeing what you swear are tears on the rims of his eyes. You knew he was in pain; he had to be. It was one thing to be shot, the bullet to go straight through, but whoever had shot him had almost missed him and the bullet had cut through muscle and flesh, leaving a good two to three inch gash, dripping blood angrily down his arm.

Sitting beside him, your eyes follow Mingyu’s shaky hand as it drops to his lap, blood covering his fingers. “I’m not tryin’ to be stupid. Just… it fucking hurts, Y/N.” Your stomach twists at his words, but you keep your head pulling a pair of gloves on and moving closer to get to work.

You didn’t have everything you would have in a normal hospital setting. There was no anesthetic. You didn’t have anything to make your needle less painful as you worked it through Mingyu’s skin, and yet he didn’t complain. The most you heard from him were sharp breaths and the occasional grunt, but when you put in the final stitch and meet his eyes, Mingyu gives you an exhausted nod.

“It’s not the best work I’ve ever done. If you had gotten here sooner and didn’t fuck with it, I might have been able to save you from some of the scarring, but—” Mingyu’s eyes follow you as you take off your soiled gloves and put them into a bag, along with a few other things, and your voice falls off into a soft breath. He didn’t care about the scar. He had plenty; another one wasn’t going to change anything.

“Thank you. I’m sorry if I scared you.” Mingyu’s words cause you to scoff. Moving to your feet, you carefully discard the items you used before making your way to the sink to scrub your hands. He had no idea how much he had scared you and how much it frightened you that you felt anything about it. “Comes with the job. I mean, not all the time. Shit happened tonight. I didn’t mean—”

Lifting your hands, you look up at Mingyu and shake your head, watching his mouth close, his explanation go unfinished. “I’m not sure I want the specifics. I’m just glad you aren’t any more hurt than this. When I saw the blood—” Letting out a breath, you turn off the sink and lean over the counter, looking down at the white quartz countertop under your fingers. “I know you are used to getting hurt, but it scared the shit out of me, Mingyu.”

The bile that Mingyu felt after seeing what he had done to Eunseok churns in his stomach once again as you speak. His eyes move over your pretty face as you look at the countertop, as if it will ground you. This was why he didn’t get too close to people. If he got hurt or killed, no one would care. No one should care. Why would you care? But if you got hurt, the idea of it—thinking about you hurting like he was tonight—made Mingyu want to scream.

“Well, I’m fine, baby. You patched me up, and if you think I look bad, should’a seen the other guy.” It was a bad attempt at de-escalating the situation and Mingyu knew it. He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Shaking his head, Mingyu looks down at his blood stained fingers as you take a sharp breath, seeming to realize the magnitude of the situation. Mingyu had been shot. Someone had to have been firing that gun. What had happened to the one holding it?

“What about the other guy, Mingyu?” Moving around the kitchen island, you wait for Mingyu to answer you, but instead he stands up and winces at the way the muscle in his arm pulls. Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, looking towards the hallway, before bringing his hand up to his lips to start to wipe them, only to smell the copper and stop. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep. Thanks again, Doc.”

Leaning his head back into the stream of water, Mingyu sighs, feeling the stress of the day weighing on him. He had thought that things were getting better. You had been a great distraction for a bit, but today was a painful reminder that his life wasn’t going to change. The pain radiating down into his fingertips was enough of a sign that this was all he was going to get.

There was a reason that Mingyu was the way he was. He didn’t speak to his family. He didn’t keep women around for more than a night. The friends he had were all in the same line of business as he was and he wasn’t sure if things came to push or shove or if some of them would take a bullet for him. Mingyu was good at keeping people at a distance and it was for a good reason.

You had been in his life for less than a week; barely anything had happened between the two of you, and already Mingyu was stressed over you getting hurt. He didn’t want to hurt you or be the cause of it. That had been the main reason he had gone after Eunseok the way he had. If Eunseok hadn’t seen your name, maybe Mingyu would have come back to the penthouse and called it a night. Maybe he could have let everything go, but seeing that smirk on the man’s lips and thinking of a dozen things that could happen to you had sent him over the edge.

Leaning his forehead against the shower wall, Mingyu runs his tongue over his lips, collecting the water from them as he curses himself mentally. What would you think he told you about why he had killed a person tonight? What would you think if you really understood that he had killed someone? You’d be terrified of him, and rightfully so, but that was Mingyu’s life. That was this life that Jun was trying to keep you from.

Hitting his head lightly against the tile as he groans, having made up his mind, Mingyu stands at his full height and reaches over to turn off the shower with more force than necessary. Things had been fun while they lasted but if he was going to keep you safe—safe from him—he needed to distance himself from you. Jun would be back in another week and you would be out of his hair. He just needed to do the bare minimum and keep you out of trouble. You weren’t important to him.

Even thinking the lie made Mingyu feel sick to his stomach as he swiped his hand across the mirror, wiping the condensation from it. His eyes move to his arm and your careful work. While he was in pain, Mingyu knew it could be much worse. He had been in worse situations before, with hack-job doctors patching him up, leaving him with infections. Being careful not to touch the stitches, Mingyu furrows his brows as he runs his fingers along his bicep and sighs your name under his breath as if it will make his plan any easier.

A towel around his waist, Mingyu pushes the door to his bathroom open, still going over what he’s going to say to you once he’s dressed, only to stop in his tracks when he sees you sitting on his bed. Every thought of pushing you away almost instantaneously slips from his mind when you give him a sad smile, lifting your shoulders as your eyes move over his body finally landing on his arm.

“I wanna wrap your arm. You need to keep it clean and dry.” Looking down at the gauze in your hand, you try not to focus on how Mingyu’s body makes you feel, because in that moment, it’s not why you are there. You had come to his room to help him and to tell him something important; it wasn’t your fault that he was wet and almost naked. Clearing your throat, you nod, still looking at your hands and listening to the sound of Mingyu’s feet on the wood floor as you speak. “And I wanted to apologize for what I asked earlier. It’s not my place to question your job. I know you are doing your best. Mingyu—”

Fingers slide along your jaw and the heel of Mingyu’s hand lifts, tilting your head up towards him as he stands next to the bed in front of you. You can see the sadness in his eyes and it makes you want to question him, but instead you just whine his name one more time, breaking his resolve completely. There was no staying away from you, no doing the bare minimum—that was the stupidest idea Mingyu had ever thought of. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of your soft lips against his as he leaned over you.

Your fingers flex in the air before you reach for something in front of you, one hand finding Mingyu’s waist and the other his forearm. The feeling of his damp skin under your hands grounds you and reminds you why you were there in the first place, giving you the strength to pull back from the kiss even as Mingyu chases your lips. “Wait, no, I want it. Please, Mingyu… I want this. I just—let me wrap your arm first. Okay, baby?”

Baby. Hearing that name on your lips causes Mingyu to shudder, his mouth falling open as he nods silently. You tug gently on his arm, bringing him towards the bed, feeling shy under his intense gaze. Your touch is gentle as you work the gauze around Mingyu’s bicep a few times, covering the wound completely. Mingyu smirks to himself, watching how your brows crease in the middle when you concentrate, being careful to place the medical tape in the right places before finally meeting his eyes.

“Am I allowed to kiss you now? Can I move?” You make an unsure sound at Mingyu’s question even as he takes the roll of tape from your hands and puts it on the nightstand beside you. “I—yes, but you have to be careful, and... take these first.” Dodging another kiss, you listen to Mingyu groan in frustration as you swipe two pills from the nightstand and offer them to him along with a glass of water.

“What are they?” Furrowing his brows as he looks at the pills in your palm, Mingyu extends his own hand for you to drop them into before popping them into your mouth without hearing the explanation first. “Vicodin… I don’t have a lot with me, but I keep a few things... just in case.”

Taking a gulp of the water, Mingyu nods along with your words, feeling grateful. He knew he would have had his own way of coping with pain, but your way seemed safer in hindsight. Letting you take the glass of water back, Mingyu tilts his head, waiting for you to stop him once again, but a small smile on your lips causes one to pull on his own. Using his left hand, Mingyu wraps it around your waist and tugs you down in bed, relishing in the sound of your surprised breath as he leans over your body and smiles against your lips.

“Be careful… don’t pop your stitches.” Lightly running your fingers along Mingyu’s right arm, you stay away from the end of the gauze as Mingyu moves his lips to your jaw, speaking between kisses. “‘M fine. I don’t need that arm for this. Just need your clothes off.”

Your mind felt clouded from the moment that Mingyu’s lips were on your skin. You couldn’t think of anything other than him. You were enjoying the warmth of his breath on your neck, the way his nails scratched at your skin as he pulled your clothes from your body, and how big he felt against your thigh under his towel.

Tracing his side, you arch your back as Mingyu’s lips brush over your nipple, his teeth catching the bud between them with a groan. Your fingers push into the top of the towel wrapped around Mingyu’s waist and a soft chuckle against your breast tells you everything that you need to know. Glancing down at where the towel had once been, Mingyu shakes his head and tosses it to the ground, letting you feel his leaking cock against your skin.

“If you wanted my cock out all you had to do was tell me, sweetheart.” Your eyes fall to where you feel Mingyu rut against your leg and your lips fall open in a soft moan at the sight. He was perfect. Everything about him. From his face, to his body, to his cock… he was everything you wanted in a lover. “Oh my god, Mingyu. Let me ride you.”

That hadn’t been what Mingyu had expected. Smirking, he presses a soft kiss on your chest as he meets your eyes and tilts his head. “Yeah, that’s what you want? You don’t want me to fuck you into the mattress?” Whining, you lean your head back, trying to escape his eyes, only for Mingyu to reach up with his left hand to tilt your head back towards him before he works his kisses along your stomach, downwards. “Asked you a question, pretty girl.”

Lifting your hips, you whimper, feeling Mingyu’s breath fanning across your folds as he moves your legs apart so he can rest between them. Putting one leg over his left shoulder, the other bent up and resting to the side, he keeps his eyes on you as he runs his index finger through your wet folds, waiting patiently for you to speak.

“Yes… I mean—fuck, Mingyu. Can’t I ride you tonight? You can have me anyway you want later. Rest your arm. Let me sit on it.” The more you speak, the more embarrassed you get, and your voice gets meeker and meeker. You watch as Mingyu’s smirk spreads into a grin and he leans to press a kiss on your inner thigh before nipping lightly at the soft skin.

“Mmkay, angel. You can sit on my dick, but first I gotta make sure you even can.” Before you can speak, question him about what you already know he’s going to do. Mingyu runs his tongue in a long stripe from your dripping hole to your clit with a groan. Choking back a moan, you grab at the comforter under you, getting flashbacks at how hard he had made you cum at breakfast with his tongue.

“Please, please, please...” Mingyu wasn’t sure what you were begging for, but he wanted to give it to you. He didn’t want to make you wait for an orgasm tonight because, in his mind, that only prolonged his and he was already leaking obscenely as he rocked his hips against the bed under him. The sound of you moaning his name alone was enough to make him feel like he was going to cum, but this time he was determined to feel your pussy around his cock.

Working two fingers into you, Mingyu pulls back from your soaked folds to watch your mouth fall open with a silent gasp at the intrusion. You were so tight that even two fingers were stretching you out. He was bigger than two of his fingers, and you were making his mind spin with how you were fucking yourself on them, begging for more.

“Yeah? More? Fuck, you are such a pretty little slut. Taking my fingers so good in this tight cunt. What if I—” Pushing a third in beside the first two, Mingyu groans, resting his forehead against your thigh when your moan raises an octave, your walls closing around his fingers like a vice. “That’s my girl… Want you to cum for me. You want my cock? You better cum for me.”

Throwing your head back against the pillows, you scream Mingyu’s name as your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave. Even if Mingyu hadn’t told you to cum for him the moment his fingers had filled you the way they had, you were a goner. He seemed to know what made you tick and exactly what to do to make you fall apart, and he did it so well.

Chuckling under his breath, Mingyu brushes his lips along your jaw before pressing a kiss to your lips and nodding to the feeling of your cum soaking his fingers. After a few more thrusts of his fingers, he carefully slides them away from you and groans to the feeling of your body trying to suck them back in. “You are so fucking greedy, angel. What are you doing to me?”

Shaking your head, you whine out Mingyu’s name, trying to answer his question, but you don't know the answer. You weren’t necessarily trying to do anything to him, you just wanted him more than anyone you had ever wanted in your entire life. Groaning on your lips, Mingyu trails his wet fingers along your hip to your side, pushing you down on the bed until you push at his chest, making him laugh. You were persistent.

“I know, baby. I promised. It’s yours.” Licking his lips, Mingyu turns to roll from laying on top of you to resting beside you, adjusting a pillow behind his head. When you meet his eyes, you can’t help but roll your eyes at how cocky he looks. You watch as he licks his fingers clean of your cum and smiles around them, lifting his brows as he waits for you to get moving.

“You are insufferable.” Mingyu laughs at your words, his eyes moving along your body as you move to your knees and slide one leg over his thighs so you can sit over them. Even he had to admit that it was a beautiful fucking view. He could feel his cock jerk and leak from just the sight of you; he couldn’t imagine what he was going to do once he was inside of you. “Yeah? Maybe, but you are the one who’s gonna be sitting on my cock.”

Mingyu’s fingers slide along your thighs as he smirks up at you. He looked too good to be true, lying somewhat impatiently under you. It was almost unfair how perfect he could look even with the gauze wrapped around his arm, a bit of crimson seeping through from movement. Grabbing his right hand, you pin it to the bed gently as you shake your head and wrap your other hand around the shaft of his cock, stroking him slowly. “Keep this arm down.”

Groaning, Mingyu lifts his hips towards your hand and flexes the fingers of his right hand, tightening them into a fist as he grips at your thigh with his left. He both loved and hated this. He loved your hands on him, but he wanted to be inside of you so badly that he wanted to put you back on your back. He wanted to have you on his cock and screaming his name, but instead you had him whining yours.

“Fu—fuck. Don’t tease. I haven’t… I didn’t tease you tonight. Said you wanted to ride me, so ride it.” Mingyu’s strained words have your eyebrows lifting in surprise. Pre-cum was running along your fingers with each stroke of your hand and you were beginning to wonder if you kept doing this for too long if he’d cum. From the sounds leaving his lips, you were almost certain he would.

Moving to your knees, you press your hand to the center of Mingyu’s chest as you use the other to keep his cock exactly where you want him. Your eyes never leave his face as you slowly take him inch by inch until you are sitting flush against his hips, your mouth falling open in a soft moan.

Mingyu tried to keep his hands down and do what you had told him to do, but the moment he was inside of you—feeling you around him for the first time—he felt like his brain was going to explode. Hands grab at your waist as Mingyu groans, trying to sit up and move you over him, desperate to get some relief.

“Why can’t you do what I told you? Be good, Gyu.” Your words were driving him insane. You had to know what you were doing. Your soft fingers trail over Mingyu’s arm, putting his hand back on the bed next to him as your other hand slides up his chest, forcing him back down on the bed.

Rolling your hips down over Mingyu, you have to close your eyes and take a breath, feeling just how much his cock is stretching you. You knew he was big. There was no way you hadn’t noticed, but seeing it and feeling it was different. There was so much about Mingyu that you were getting used to and you were becoming addicted to the feeling.

“I just—fuck, Y/N. Feel so fuckin’ good. Ride me, baby. Bounce on my cock, huh? You are squeezing the hell out of me.” You knew you were doing it even before Mingyu told you. No matter how much you tried to relax, it was hard to do as you felt him rutting his hips up towards yours.

Bracing yourself with one hand on Mingyu’s chest and the other holding his left hand, you nod and fall back to your knees, lifting yourself up before sitting back down. The feeling is overwhelming in all the best ways. You can feel how deep Mingyu is inside of you. You can feel the pressure building in your lower abdomen and rising even towards your chest as tears coat your eyes.

Mingyu furrows his brows, his eyes fixed on your face, as you get into a rhythm moving over his cock. Each time your ass meets his thighs, he thrusts his hips up hard, listening to you cry out in pleasure.

“Please, it feels so good, Mingyu. I need to cum.” The words are almost spoken on a sob as you start to slow down, getting tired. Mingyu can tell you are frustrated not only by getting tired but also by your desire. Using his left arm, he wraps it around your waist and flips you on your back, reaching between the two of you to push his cock back into you in one fluid motion.

Surprised, you reach for Mingyu’s right arm, only for him to pin your hand to the bed with his right hand and thrust into you hard and deep. “I’m fine… just need you to cum on my cock. That’d make me feel better. Wouldn’t it make you feel better, angel?”

Nodding, tears running from your eyes towards your temples, you whine Mingyu’s name as his thrusts become urgent, almost desperate, pushing you over the edge. Lips find your throat, a deep groan of pleasure leaves Mingyu’s throat as he slips from you and you feel warm, sticky cum spill from him on to your stomach.

Running your fingers through Mingyu’s hair, you lick your lips while trying to catch your breath, feeling him do the same in the crook of your neck. It takes a few minutes before he finally sits back and his eyes move along the length of your body, finally resting on your stomach, where his cum paints your body.

Shaking his head, Mingyu doesn’t even try to hide his smirk as he pushes his index finger through the cum, spreading it over your skin and enjoying seeing it on you. “That feels gross.” Chuckling under his breath at your complaint, Mingyu lifts his brows, dragging his finger up towards your breast, stopping short and moving his eyes to yours. “But you look so fucking sexy covered in my cum, sweetheart. Almost hate to wash it off of you.”

Lowering your eyes to where his fingers rest on your ribs, you let out a faux annoyed sound that makes Mingyu laugh once again, his lips meeting yours as you smile, speaking between gentle kisses. “Then I guess you’ll just have to fuck me more often, Kim Mingyu…”

With a gentle nip at your bottom lip, Mingyu pulls back to look down at you once more before finally moving to stand at the side of the bed and reaching for his discarded towel. You suck in your stomach at the feeling of his fingers pushing against it, cleaning his cum from your body so delicately as he purses his lips. “Maybe I will.”

Despite pain being what wakes him up first, Mingyu finds himself staring at you as you lay facing him in the low light of the bedroom. It didn’t matter if he felt like shit; if his arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, he still managed to turn on his side and lift his left arm so that he could carefully touch you.

In Mingyu’s opinion, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. You made him jealous of the sun as it slowly creeped along your exposed skin. He couldn’t help but give in to his temptation, gently following the light with his fingers as he walked them along your skin. You made him wish for more; you made him wish for this… Things that seemed so far from what he knew. Life with you seemed like it could be so simple and more importantly, it seemed so warm. Mingyu had never felt so warm.

All of those feelings are ripped away from him by the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the nightstand. It wouldn’t be his mom or his dad. It wouldn’t be his sister or an aunt calling to ask if he was having a good day; there were only a few people it could be and as he turned over to pick it up, the searing pain in his arm and blood staining the sheets from where it had leaked through the gauze reminded Mingyu even more that his life wasn’t simple and warm. He was cold and impossible. This with you was an impossible, stupid, childish dream, and Mingyu needed to wake up.

Giving one more lingering look at you lying peacefully in bed, Mingyu grabs his phone from the nightstand, a pair of pants from a chair, and moves into the living room. “Yeah?”

That wasn’t how Minghao expected or wanted Mingyu to answer his call, but it didn’t surprise him. Nothing did anymore. At least he was alive, even if he did sound worse for wear. “So you do know how to pick up the phone. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Sitting down on the couch, Mingyu glances over at his arm, his brows knitted together at not only Minghao’s nagging, but also the feeling of the gauze sticking to his stitches. Pulling at the tape, he sighs and balances the phone on his left shoulder as he unwraps his arm, realizing he had forgotten to call Minghao the night before. “I just got busy—”

“Fuck you. I know exactly what you were doing.” At first, Mingyu wonders if Minghao knows about you and him, but when Minghao continues, it’s even worse. “Lucky for you, the dumb ass cops in that district actually believe it’s a mugging gone wrong. At least you aren’t a complete fuckin’ idiot.”

Wadding the gauze up in his hand, Mingyu leans his head back and lets out a longer sigh. Minghao was worse than a parent when things happened that weren’t ideal. No, killing Eunseok wasn’t ideal, but it had happened and now, in Mingyu’s mind, at least the cops weren’t looking for him. At least they didn’t think it was linked to the lounge. "Well, thanks; it means a lot coming from you. Sorry I inconvenienced you, Hao.”

Minghao had heard of Mingyu’s pity parties and been there for his mental breakdowns, but this one was the worst. Lifting his hand to the bridge of his nose, Minghao shakes his head and sighs. The call suddenly becomes quiet, causing Mingyu to shift on the couch anxiously. As much as he put on a brave face and stood up to Minghao, he still didn’t want him to be that disappointed in him; he didn’t want to cause major problems.

��It—look…I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix it. I can’t really fucking fix it. It happened so fucking fast.” Mingyu knew he was rambling, but the self loathing that he always felt was bubbling to the surface. He felt the disappointment even through the phone. “He shot me and I reacted—”

“He shot you? What the fuck? Are you okay? I fuckin’ told you to call me Mingyu!” Hearing the sound of Minghao moving around, grabbing keys, and god knows what else, Mingyu sits up, his voice strained as he tries to calm his friend down. “I’m fine! A bad graze, but... it’s fine. I should have called. You don’t have to come here. I can come to you if you want.”

Stopping in the doorway of his apartment, Minghao narrows his eyes and grips the doorframe tightly as he sighs and takes a step backwards. “You need to get one of Jun’s guys to look at it. You can’t just hold it together with shitty tape like you tried to do with your leg—”

“I’m not! Y/N…” Minghao has to listen even closer to hear Mingyu when he speaks softer, his volume dropping almost to a whisper, as if he’s afraid you might hear him. “Y/N, she stitched it up.”

Minghao isn’t sure if that is better or worse. The fact that a doctor—a real hands to god doctor—had taken care of him but that same doctor was you. You had seen some of the worst parts of what he and Jun tried to keep from you. Mingyu was reckless and stupid. “She’s supposed to be kept away from this shit, Mingyu. Remember that? Or is that something you forgot, like keeping your dick in your pants?”

Leaning forward, Mingyu rests his head in his hand. The words should have made him mad, but after waking up and having his own coming to Jesus moment, he knew that Minghao was right. “I know. I fucked up. She’s too good for this, she’s way too good to be messed up with a piece of shit like me.”

There was truth to Mingyu’s words, but there was also a lot of self loathing mixed in that made Minghao even more pissed off and concerned about him. It wasn’t that he wanted Mingyu with you, but he also didn’t think that he was the biggest piece of shit that you had ever had the misfortune to lock lips with. There were worse choices, even if this choice was a walking headache at the moment.

“She is good. She’s too good for all of us, Jun included, but that doesn’t mean—” Mingyu listens to Minghao sigh loudly, cutting himself off. “Nevermind, lay low. I don’t want you in or around the bar for a while.”

The last thing that Mingyu wanted to do was avoid the bar. He wanted to keep his mind busy and not dwell on what had happened, but even as he starts to argue, Minghao is quick to shut him down. “I’m not asking! Jun left me in charge, so you’ll do as I say. If the cops come snoopin’ around, I don’t need your big dumb ass here.”

Of course, Minghao would pull the ‘I’m in charge’ card now. Mingyu knew he was right, it would be stupid to go to the last place that he and Eunseok were seen together, but it wasn’t like him to hide. Groaning under his breath, Mingyu nods before sitting up and letting out a deep breath. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

Minghao hated benching Mingyu; he needed him at the bar in reality, but he had done this to himself and now he had to clean up the mess. “Glad you understand. I’ll call you later.”

You smile softly, feeling warmth on your hip and walking along your side. In your head, you picture Mingyu’s fingers causing that warm feeling. You can see him lying beside you, his eyes moving along your body as you slowly wake up, but when you open your eyes, you only see a bit of blood on the white sheet where he had been. Your smile is quickly replaced by a look of concern as you sit up and look around the room for him, only to see a pair of pants you had seen yesterday missing from a chair.

Running your hands along your arms, you realize how cold the room suddenly feels without him. One more look at the splotches of blood tells you his gauze needs to be changed out and his stitches checked, but maybe he was taking care of something. Looking for your cell phone, you grab it from the nightstand and furrow your brows at a missed call from Jun. It had been a few days since he had checked in, and you find yourself missing him. The trip had originally been to see him and catch up, but the timing had been off.

Glancing down the hall, you hear Mingyu’s voice low and a bit tense as he talks to someone on the phone. Wanting to give him time and privacy, you turn towards your bedroom and put your phone on the nightstand, hitting Jun’s name and putting it on speaker phone so you can talk to him and get dressed at the same time.

“Sleeping in late on your impromptu vacation?” At first, Jun’s voice makes you smile until you hear the strain in it. There was a layer of anxiety that you could pick up on even in another country or through a phone call. “A little bit... what’s wrong?”

Jun wanted to be in the pool with his fiancée. He wanted to be enjoying the island and getting drunk, but instead this afternoon he was trying not to rip his hair out. “Just wanting to check on my sister. Is that a crime? I miss you.”

While you could believe most of what Jun was telling you, the way his voice sounded kept you on edge as you pursed your lips and pulled a pair of jeans up your legs. “I miss you too. How’s your vacation? How’s Haneul?”

Jun watches the sun move across the water as Haneul moves through it with a smile on her face, unaware of the situation, just as he likes it. Meeting her eyes for a moment, Jun winks at his pretty fiancée before leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “She’s perfect. The island is nice. You should have just met us here; there’d be less idiotic temptation.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff at hearing what you think is the main reason why Jun sounds like he does. Obviously, he had heard something about you and Mingyu. Your scoff doesn’t go unnoticed by your brother, who lifts his brows and lets out his own scoff before starting to scold you. “I told you to be good while I was gone. You insisted on this trip even though you knew I wasn’t going to be there. I knew leaving you with that whore was a mistake.”

Hearing Jun call Mingyu a whore makes you stop what you are doing as you laugh at how ridiculous it sounds. Tugging your shirt down your torso, you shake your head before looking up at the ceiling and starting to tell him as much when Jun speaks first. “I know it sounds funny, Y/N, but I’m not kidding, okay? He goes through women faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. He’s not good for you. He’s dangerous.”

Jun telling you that anyone was dangerous also seemed like a joke, but you had spent the night before putting stitches into Mingyu’s arm, so you knew there was a layer of truth to it. Swallowing hard, you look back down at your hands, shaking your head once more. “Jun—I… come on. He’s so sweet—”

“So he can get in your pants, Y/N! Use that smart brain of yours. Have your fun, but know that he’s not serious and he really is dangerous. I’m not joking about that.” You try to come up with the right words to tell Jun that you don’t care, that you aren’t afraid of Mingyu, and that he can change. But feeling eyes on you from the doorway, you turn to meet Mingyu’s gaze. The look in his eyes is disappointed but resigned and it breaks your heart.

“I gotta go.” Jun tries to argue with you, telling you that he needs to know that you understand, but you are quick to end the call, watching Mingyu shake his head and turn from your room, moving towards his own. “Mingyu! He’s–where are you going? Don’t worry about what Jun says. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Mingyu knew you’d say something like that. You were a good person, a sweet girl, but your brother was right. Grabbing a shirt, Mingyu pulls it over his head and runs his fingers through his hair as he hears you move into the room behind him. “You should listen to him. He’s my boss for a reason. I’m trouble, just like he said.”

Reaching out for him, you get your hand around his waist only to feel his shirt slip from your fingers as Mingyu scoffs and sidesteps out of your grasp. “Y/N, grow up. If last night, seeing that shit didn’t prove it to you, you must be fuckin’ stupid.”

Turning to face you, Mingyu isn’t surprised to see a shocked look on your face at hearing him call you stupid. His words bite at your confidence, but mostly at your heart. You can see the look in Mingyu’s eyes—how he is trying to push you away by hurting you—and it only makes your heart hurt worse.

“Stop it. Why—no, I’m not stupid. I know who you are. Don’t do this, Gyu.” You sound so desperate and almost like you are in love with him that Mingyu’s chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to give into you, pull you into his arms and tell you how sorry he is for calling you stupid, but that isn’t how to fix this. He had to keep you safe, and safe is as far away from him as possible.

“Do what? Tell a little girl the truth. Wake the fuck up, sweetheart. Use those brains you claim to have. I got fuckin’ shot yesterday. You think that’s a one time thing?” Watching tears coat your eyes, Mingyu takes a step towards you, even as you take one backward. “You think you are special? Like you are the only girl I’ve fucked? Nah, another notch in my belt.”

Mingyu’s words are like a gut punch and as much as you know he is trying to hurt you, he is succeeding. Once he has walked you out into the hallway, Mingyu gives you one last look. The pain of seeing tears running down your cheeks is unbearable, but he keeps himself stone faced as you follow him into the living room, watching him pull on his damaged leather jacket, wincing in pain. “Where are you going? Do you think it’s a good idea to go out?”

Speaking between sniffing back tears, you aren’t even sure Mingyu hears you as he shoves his gun into the holster on his side until he gives you a passing glance. Shrugging, he grabs his keys, shoves them into his pocket and lets out a deep sigh. “Who gives a fuck?”

Sitting at the bar of the Dovetail Casino, Mingyu taps the glass in front of him to signal to the pretty bartender to fill it back up. He was on his fourth drink and had no intention of slowing down. Beside him, Jeon Wonwoo watches as Mingyu’s phone goes off for the umpteenth time. Someone was trying to get into him desperately and clearly Mingyu had no intention of picking it up as he once again reached over to decline the call.

“Don’t wanna talk to Y/N?” Scoffing at hearing your name on the lawyer’s lips, Mingyu rolls his eyes and smiles at the bartender as she fills his glass up with whiskey once more. “You shouldn’t read other people’s phones. Don’t they teach that in lawyer school?”

While Wonwoo didn’t know who you exactly were, it didn’t really matter; you clearly mattered to Mingyu, and the two of you were having a fight of some sort. He had been a lawyer long enough to recognize that, though anyone with eyes could probably tell that Mingyu was getting drunk for a reason. “Girlfriend?”

Shooting Wonwoo a dirty look, Mingyu tips his glass back, ice meeting his lips, slowing down how quickly the alcohol can pour into his mouth, but only by a slight margin. The sound of the glass hitting the wooden bar makes Wonwoo hiss, knowing he was either on the right track or he had hit a nerve.

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just some stupid girl with some idea of me that she’s made up in her head. She thinks she’ll get some white picket fence with me.” Gesturing towards himself, Mingyu scoffs and Wonwoo gives his friend a once over sigh, knowing what he is trying to say as Mingyu continues. “She’s an idiot to be so fucking smart and beautiful…”

Wonwoo brings his own glass to his lips, nursing it much slower than Mingyu was. Mingyu was already getting drunk, while Wonwoo was barely filling a buzz. Wonwoo could see what was happening even if Mingyu didn’t want to. Just from the brief description of you that he had gotten, he knew that Mingyu was full of shit. You might not “be his girlfriend,” but that didn’t stop Mingyu from being into you.

“Why is it bothering you so much? This is the girl you’ve been watching.” Watching Mingyu nod and look at his now empty glass, Wonwoo sighs as Mingyu lifts his hand, asking for a fifth drink. “Just have Minghao take over. It’s that easy, right? Then you don’t have to be with her all the fucking time.”

It could be that easy, but hearing Wonwoo say it made Mingyu want to throw up. Maybe it was all the whiskey on an empty stomach, but Mingyu didn’t want anyone else watching over you. He didn’t care if Minghao was like family to you; he had been asked to do this and he wasn’t going to just give up.

“What—no. Just admit I’m a failure. Do I look like a fuckin’ failure to you?” Hearing Wonwoo sigh, Mingyu looks back down at his empty glass, the ice melting, wishing the bartender would be a bit quicker about filling it up. “She leaves next week.” His words are quieter than they had been the entire time the two had been sitting at the bar.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but he hated the idea of you getting on that plane. He hated that you were sitting at home pissed off at him and worse, he had made you sad. Yes, he had done it on purpose, but he had his reasons. If you were mad at him, if you distanced yourself from him, it would be easier to watch you leave him.

Nodding, Wonwoo furrows his brows, seeing the pain on Mingyu’s face as the bartender tells Mingyu he’s reached his limit and she won't give him another for a while. It was for the best, he could tell Mingyu didn’t need anything else to drink; he was staring at the empty glass like it was a life preserver, even though the alcohol that had been in it was only helping him to sink further. Wonwoo understood the feeling better than Mingyu probably realized.

“My advice, whether you want it or not, get your shit together. Don’t lose her because of your pride and because you think you know best.” Furrowing his brows, Mingyu glances over at Wonwoo, trying to figure out how he’d know so much about what he was thinking about, but the look on his friend’s face, the pain written in his eyes make him stop and just listen. “Trust me, I understand something about losing someone who means so much to you. Wishing you could go back and change who you were… Don’t fuck it up like me.”

Mingyu wants to ask what happened, who Wonwoo had lost, but he watches as Wonwoo tips his drink back, draining it before putting it back down on the bar with a sigh. He had never seen Wonwoo look so sad and stuck in the past before and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to again.

Digging the spoon out of the ice cream once again, you bring it to your lips as you sniff back your tears, your eyes not really focusing on what is on the television in front of you. After Mingyu had left, you had resorted to a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream while sitting on your bed and trying to become one with it.

You had been through plenty of breakups in the past, but Mingyu’s words hurt you worse than any other man’s ever had. You knew he had been trying to hurt you and you also knew he was full of shit. He didn’t really mean it, even if he was trying so hard to convince himself that he did. For some reason, he wanted you to hate him and the longer you sat in bed, the ice cream in your lap disappeared. You felt like it was a possibility.

But as much as you wanted to give into that feeling, just hate him, you could still feel how good it felt to be in his arms. To feel his lips and fingers on your skin as he made you feel comfortable and safe. So instead of hate, you just felt depressed. You were beginning to wonder if you should look at available flights to leave early.

Standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, Mingyu watches you pout into your glass of wine before you follow the sip with a bite of ice cream. You were adorable as you paid more attention to what was on your phone, sniffing back your emotions, than you did to whatever you had playing on the television.

He knew he should just make a right into his room and leave you alone, but all Mingyu can hear are Wonwoo’s words echoing in his mind. ‘Don’t fuck it up like me.’ You drove him crazy. No other woman had made Mingyu feel like this. He knows he could keep lying to you, keep making you cry and watch you get on that plane in a week, but just the thought of it makes Mingyu’s stomach churn.

Taking one step after another, Mingyu moves into your bedroom, drawing your eyes up from your phone to him. You can’t help the surprised look on your face as he reaches for the remote, turns the television off and tosses the remote into the chair without a second glance. “Mingyu…” Your voice is soft, confused, and full of hurt. The sound of it breaks Mingyu’s heart and his resolve as he takes the ice cream out of your lap and puts it on the nightstand with your wine before sliding his hand along the side of your face and pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss isn’t rushed and it is so different from every other kiss that you and Mingyu have shared up to that moment. Mingyu’s tongue glides along yours as you moan softly into the deep kiss, your fingers grabbing at his jacket, tears already running down your cheeks as your emotions get the better of you. Leaning back, Mingyu brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, then presses kisses on each one before standing up to his full height and taking his clothes off piece by piece before repeating the process with you.

You feel your head spin once his lips are back on yours and your back is on the mattress. Mingyu’s body pressed against yours. He groaned into your mouth, feeling your hand slide along his hip towards his cock before leaning back to wrap his hand around yours, bringing your fingers to his lips.

“Just let me...” The sentence seems unfinished, but you nod, feeling Mingyu’s fingers slide along your forearm as his lips find your jaw and work to your neck, leaving you breathless. He had kissed you before. You had felt his lips almost all over your body, but this was different. He was almost worshiping your body this time and he wasn’t in a rush.

It was as if Mingyu was seeing you—really seeing you for the first time. He was taking the time to touch every mole or scar on your body and then kiss it before meeting your eyes when you sighed out his name. If Mingyu hadn’t been addicted to you before this, now there was no way he could deny it.

“Fuck, you are so beautiful. Sound so pretty for me. Wanna… just—” Mingyu was talking to you—or more so, he was talking at you as he worked his kisses along your leg and towards your inner thigh. When his lips meet your wet, soft folds, you lift your hips off the bed and Mingyu groans quietly, gently pushing you back down. Any other time he would have pinned you to the bed and devoured you but this time his touch was gentle; you were floating from it and the feeling of his tongue circling your clit.

It doesn’t take long before your thighs are closed around Mingyu’s head, his groans muffled as his hands grip your hips, holding you close to him until you fall apart on his tongue. When your legs start to tremble, you let out a sob of Mingyu’s name, your fingers running through his hair as you push your hips into the bed, asking for mercy. Smiling against your now swollen folds, Mingyu presses one more kiss on your pussy before pushing himself up on the bed with his left arm to watch you try to catch your breath, coming down from your orgasm.

“Taste so good, baby. I could do that all damn night.” Shaking your head, you reach for Mingyu, whining as he laughs and moves up in bed between your legs. His lips once again find your neck and you try to continue to come down from your orgasm, but when Mingyu nips at your skin, you moan his name, making him smile. “Love hearing my name on your lips so fuckin’ much. Wanna hear it all the time. Can I?”

At first, you aren’t sure if he’s asking for you to say his name again or something else, but his fingers brushing through your sensitive folds before he does the same with the head of his cock makes you understand. He hadn’t asked any other time; why this time? Did it even matter why? It seemed to matter to your heart as your chest tightened when you nodded and whispered out your pleas for him to get inside of you.

Carefully pushing the head of his cock into you, Mingyu closes his eyes and groans to the feeling of your warmth pulling him in. He feels the urge to just bury himself into you in one hard thrust, but instead he prolongs it. Meeting your eyes, he watches your mouth fall open in a moan as slowly, inch by inch, he pushes into your walls, letting them hug him tight. “Holy shit. That’s my girl. Holding me like you don’t wanna let me go, huh?”

You didn’t. You never wanted him to leave you, both in bed and in your life. You loved the way he was looking at you. You loved the way he was kissing you and the way he was making love to you. Every other time he had fucked you, this was making love. Even if he probably wouldn’t admit it, you knew the difference and you knew that he did too.

Mingyu’s forearms rest under your arms, his hands on either of your shoulders as he presses his forehead to yours. Each one of his thrusts is deep, powerful, but slow, as if he wants hours of you in this bed. Nudging his nose against yours, Mingyu smiles, hearing your choked moans as he pushes one of his knees into the mattress, changing the angle of his thrusts so that his cock perfectly rubs against that spot with each movement. “All I want is one more. Just love making you feel good, angel. Love hearing you sing for me, feeling you all over my cock.”

There was dirty talk and then there was Kim Mingyu’s dirty talk. He could be almost lewd at times, but this was completely different. He had made your skin feel like it was on fire—calling you a whore or a slut, but this—loving everything about you, wanting to hear you sing for him, making you feel good? This was pushing you over the edge, possibly even more than the feeling of his cock brushing against your g-spot over and over again.

Scratching at Mingyu’s sides, you tighten your legs around his hips, feeling the pressure that had been building in your abdomen give way. Your orgasm rips through you and Mingyu can barely move with how tightly your walls close around him. Gasping into a groan, he tries to get a full breath and keep himself from losing control.

Trying to pull from you to keep himself from cumming inside of you, Mingyu meets your eyes, sees the pout on your lips and feels your legs hold him tighter. You didn’t want him to pull out. He never came inside of girls. That was another one of his rules, a way to keep himself from catching feelings or any trouble, but with one more deep thrust, Mingyu breaks that rule.

Groaning your name against your lips, Mingyu is the one who feels like he’s losing his mind with how good it feels to be inside you and to feel your warm, soft walls around him as his cums. He loved seeing his cum on you, but this was special. It’s like you were made for him and made to take everything he gave you.

Running your fingers through Mingyu’s hair, you close your eyes, letting him rest his cheek against your shoulder. Both of you slowly come down from your euphoric highs. A smile pulls at your lips when you feel your lips press against your throat and Mingyu’s hands slide from under you so he can carefully pull from you and look down at you.

“Was—is that okay? What happened?” You could see the concern written in Mingyu’s eyes. Lifting your hand, you brush your thumb over his cheek and feel your chest once again tighten as he rests his face in your palm, waiting for you to answer him. “Of course it was. I wanted it. I wouldn’t have let you if I wasn’t on birth control and sure, Mingyu.”

Taking a deep breath of relief, Mingyu nods before turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. You watch as he slides from the bed and rubs his lips together, glancing around the room before landing on the door to the bathroom. Smiling, you let your eyes follow him as he moves into the ensuite before you hear him turn on the tap in the shower.

Coming back into the bedroom, Mingyu rubs the side of his neck with his right arm as he offers you his left hand. Though you take his hand, sitting up, ready to go with him, you can’t help the way your eyes migrate from his face to the angry stitches on his right arm. Furrowing your brows as you stand, you mutter his name and carefully touch the hot skin around the wound before meeting Mingyu’s eyes.

“I’ll clean it and wrap it after the shower, okay? You have to take better care of this. It’ll get infected, babe.” Letting go of Mingyu’s hand, you don’t see the way his brows furrow and how his breath gets caught in his throat when you call him babe. His eyes follow you into the bathroom as you open a bag on the counter, digging through different pill bottles until you find the one you want and say his name once again.

“I have some antibiotics. They should help… if I can talk to someone here in Seoul, I can get you an actual script.” Looking around for Mingyu in the bathroom, that’s when you realize he’s still standing in the bedroom looking at you, almost dazed. Lifting your hand out for him is what brings him back to you and gets his feet moving.

Sliding his fingers along yours, Mingyu swallows hard and looks at the pills in your hand when you offer him two, ready to tell him to take them after the shower, only to watch him dry swallow them. Scoffing, you shake your head and sigh, knowing you were falling hard for him, as Mingyu simply smiles at you and guides you towards the shower with him.

A week later, you found yourself settling into a routine with Mingyu. It was a confusing existence, but you were happy even if Jun wasn’t. He had cut his own vacation short to see you before you were planning to head back to China, and finding you and Mingyu playing house didn’t sit well with him. It took a lot of convincing and reminding him that you weren’t a child for your brother to let you “make your own mistakes” and let you see this through.

It wasn’t like you could just look at him or Minghao and give them an easy explanation of what was happening. You weren’t even sure. There were no labels for what you and Mingyu had. You wanted to say that you were with him, but were you?

The sex was mind blowing. Mingyu was the best lover you had ever had in your entire life, but more than that, you would fall asleep in his arms every night and wake up to a kiss from him every morning. That bliss would quickly end if you brought up the question of who the two of you were and where he wanted this to go. Mingyu was a great liar and he was good at changing the subject.

You were just happy that the two of you had been happy. The tension in the penthouse had been low and there had been an air of “ignorance is bliss”—at least there was until the night before your flight.

“Baby, does pasta aglio e olio sound good for dinner?” Mingyu’s voice carries through the penthouse from the kitchen as he purses his lips at what ingredients he has on hand. Hearing your muffled answer from down the hall, he smiles, shaking his head before heading towards you. “What did you say? You good with—”

The words get caught in Mingyu’s throat, seeing your suitcase on your bed and your clothes in piles on the bed as you work to pack for the next day. He knew it was coming, but seeing it firsthand was like a stab to his gut.

Glancing up, a sad but thoughtful look on your face, you look over Mingyu’s expression when he stops mid sentence. You had heard his question, but you were trying to get through a task that felt impossible. Packing meant you were actually leaving and it was breaking your heart, but Mingyu hadn’t asked you to stay.

Staying would take work, but if he really wanted you to... if he asked you to do it, you had decided in your mind that you’d figure out how to do it. That was why you had asked him so many times what he wanted from the relationship, what he wanted from you, but every time he avoided it—that told you he wanted you to go home.

“Dinner sounds good, Gyu. Are you okay?” Mingyu could hear the changes in your voice. You didn’t sound like the happy, carefree girl that he had just made love to the night before. The sound of your voice makes his chest feel tight and reminds him that he promised to drive you to the airport. How was he going to do that? How was he going to stand at that gate and watch you walk away?

Mingyu’s mind quickly puts up defenses, doing what it has always done best—it builds walls. Hurt and pain are on the horizon, so a wall goes up and he’s reminded that this is for the best. He’s bad for you. You have an entire life back in China. You have a clinic and patients who rely on you. He’s selfish and pathetic. He’s dangerous. You stitched him up and watched him shatter. He’s going to get you killed or make you miserable.

Shaking his head, Mingyu quickly follows it by scoffing and putting on a fake smirk. “Uh yeah, yeah. I’m good. Uh…” Gesturing towards your bags, Mingyu reaches up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair, something you’ve realized he does when he’s stressed. “When’s your flight again?” He knew what time the flight was. He had looked at the booking hundreds of times but you were looking at him to say something and this was the only thing he knew to say.

Stepping towards Mingyu, you watch as he takes a step backwards and it makes your heart rise towards your throat. You knew what he was doing. You have already done this. That tension was back and Mingyu was pushing you away again. He was afraid, but so were you. “It’s at 1, but you know that. Mingyu, talk to me.”

Taking a sharp breath when you take a step towards him, Mingyu feels the door frame behind him as he looks away from you and laughs. The laugh is hollow and fake. You know that it’s supposed to be painful and it is. It hits right at your heart and makes you feel almost sick as you watch him turn from you and head into the hall, his words carrying back to you. “Just needed the time, Y/N. Finish packing so we don’t have to fuckin’ rush in the morning.”

There it was. Mingyu was purposely trying to be cold and mean again. You had drunk your weight in wine last time; this time you followed him. He didn’t go back to the kitchen; instead, Mingyu turned into his bedroom. Staring at his back, you try to keep the tears at bay, but taking a deep breath, you quickly lose that fight when the first words leave your mouth, anger and sadness coming out in waves.

“No! You don’t get to do this again, Mingyu! Why are you closing me out? Just…” Mingyu closes his eyes, hearing the sobs between your words. “Please? Why can’t you ask me to stay? Huh?”

Tears threaten Mingyu’s eyes at that. He wanted to so badly but that wasn’t fair to you. His brain was repeating it all on loop for him.

You’re selfish and pathetic. You’re dangerous. You’re going to get her killed or make her miserable. You’re selfish and pathetic. You’re dangerous. You’re going to get her killed or make her miserable. You’re selfish and pathetic. You’re dangerous. You’re going to get her killed or make her miserable…

The words in his mind are so loud that even as you move close to him and push at his back, inching him forward, Mingyu stands still. Your choked sobs are what bring him somewhat back to the present, only for his heart to shatter one more time. “Mingyu! Why can’t you ask me if I love you? Tell me that you love me!”

It takes everything in Mingyu not to turn around, wrap you in his arms and apologize. He isn’t even sure if he wants to apologize for not doing what you’ve asked or for making you feel the way you do. He just doesn’t want you to feel like this anymore, but if you are in this much pain, maybe he can make you hate him. “I don’t love anyone, Y/N.”

Hearing Mingyu speak, you let out one more painful sob and punched at Mingyu’s back, your words weak. “I hate you so much. God, I—why did you make me love you?” Turning to face you and hearing what he wanted, Mingyu closes his fists tightly so he doesn’t reach out to grab on to you. The look on your face shatters him further, but he tries to cover it, even if his eyes give it away. You see the despair written in them, though his mouth stays shut firmly, his jaw is set tightly.

Smacking your hands at his chest weakly, you try to hold on to your anger as you meet Mingyu’s eyes. Shaking your head, you finally lift your hand and start to bring your palm across his cheek when Mingyu finally moves, his fingers wrapping around your wrist gently to finally stop you. “Why can’t you just let me go? Go be happy... Be safe.”

You see the tears in Mingyu’s eyes as he speaks, his voice cracking. Rubbing his thumb in a circle on the inner side of your wrist, Mingyu watches you start to speak, but he shakes his head and sighs. You can hear how tired and desperate he is in his voice as he finally begs you, but not in the way you want. “Just... let me be alone? Let me lie and be miserable on my own. I can’t fuck up your life.”

Shaking your head as you look up at Mingyu, you see him searching your eyes for understanding. You pull your hand free from his and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him down so your lips can brush over his. Hissing into the light kiss, Mingyu whines your name while trying to keep his hands to himself as he tastes your tears on your lips.

“I can’t let you do that, Mingyu. I love you.” Trying to make him understand, you kiss at the corner of Mingyu’s lips and once again on the fullness of his bottom lip as you whine into your words, fresh tears on your cheeks. “Please, I love you so much. Stop lying and tell me that you love me, baby. Ask me to stay.”

Groaning in mental pain and at how tight his chest feels from hearing your words, Mingyu finally breaks. Hands grip at your waist before he lifts you and walks the few steps to the bed, laying you on your back so he can rest over you. The kiss before had been hesitant and guarded, but now Mingyu was almost bruising your lips as if he were willing you to hear how he was feeling through his passion.

You lift your hand and run your fingers through Mingyu’s hair before walking them along his face to his cheek, feeling his skin damp under your touch. Whispering between kisses, you finally feel a sense of security in being back in Mingyu’s arms as he clings to you as if he’s never going to let you go. “I love you, Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s sigh against your lips almost sounds like a half sob and a laugh. Resting his forehead against yours, he groans softly and keeps his eyes closed, taking in the moment before finally leaning back to look down at you as your fingers wipe away the tears from his cheek. “I love you so fucking much, baby. I hate myself for how much I love you.”

Watching you shake your head, Mingyu can see you are going to argue, but he furrows his brows and kisses your lips gently before continuing. “I’m so fucking scared that I’ll lose you. I’m afraid that ‘cause I love you, that’s gonna get you hurt or worse, baby. I—I’d fuckin’ lose it.”

There had been brief moments of honesty in your short relationship with Mingyu, but this was complete honesty and clarity. It made you think back to what had happened a week ago with the man who had lost his life and you wondered what had been said or done to make Mingyu do what he did… Your mind goes back to Mingyu’s bookshelf and when you had asked him, “Are you a tortured soul, Kim Mingyu?”

Kim Mingyu was a complicated man, but you were beginning to understand him.

“Gyu, baby… I’ll be okay. You can’t live your life thinking that disaster is waiting for you around every corner. Just... maybe live it with me? Be happy with me?”

Taking a deep breath, Mingyu lets the gravity of your words settle on him before he brushes his lips over yours and then presses another kiss on your jaw before nodding. He had only committed to a few things in his life and none of them had ever been this terrifying, but you were worth it.

Running your fingers through the back of Mingyu’s hair at the nape of his neck, you smile, feeling him nod in agreement. Taking a deep breath, you rest your head back against the bed and let out the breath, finally meeting Mingyu’s eyes once again as his fingers brush along the side of your neck. Smiling, Mingyu’s eyes move along your face before he finally settles back on your eyes.

READ THE BONUS ON PATREON

#mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svthub #svt smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #mingyu angst #mingyu fluff #mingyu toxic #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen toxic #svt angst #svt fluff #svt toxic

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starkeyisthelastname · 6 months ago

Note

dealer!rafe x reader when he gets out of jail😵‍💫

get ready to get pounded 😜

Rafe had been in an out of jail many times, it wasn’t anything new to him. Drug trafficking, burglary charges, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder. Yet somehow him being Rafe Cameron, he got away with everything. His daddy was rich and powerful and so was he. He had the best lawyers and Ward may or may not have done some shady arrangements to always get Rafe’s charges cleared.

It was new for you though, and the last three weeks without him was starting to make you wonder if he was going to get out. You had only gotten to visit him once, wanting to cry at having to see your boyfriend wearing orange. He did make it look good though, white wife beater hung tightly against his broad chest and orange scrub pants that read Kildare County Jail in faded black letters, hugged his toned hips. He reassured you that he was fine and people knew better than to fuck with him in there.

After working some kind deal out with the DA, Rafe was a freeman again, and oh was he showing you just how much he missed you. Laid back against the king size bed, you were getting the best dick down a girl could ask for. He had had your legs bent back, knees nearly touching your chest as he pounded into you. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering closed as the pleasure was almost too much to handle. Almost 4 weeks without sex for the both of you, and the two you had a lot of making up to do.

“Daddy…” You mewled, a kitten like whine leaving your sparkly lips as your baby pink nails dug into the expensive sheets. He felt so fucking good, quite literally fucking you numb as he fucked the built up tension after being locked in a cell surrounded by men for the last few weeks.

You felt his hand grab your chin, forcing you to bring your eyes back to him all while his thrusts continued to abuse your wanting hole. “Keep those eyes on me ma, daddy wants to see your pretty face while he fucks you.” He breathed out.

Your long lashes fluttered back open, focusing on your man. He looked too good with the pricy chain back around his neck, toned abs flexing with each thrust, his cheeks pink from the building heat he was feeling in his gut. You couldn’t help but reach out to touch him, your acrylic nails running over his muscular arms as he held your curvy hips firmly. “Missed you… missed daddy’s dick.” You mumbled, earning a small laugh above you.

Rafe looked down, watching your pretty soaked hole creaming on his dick as he slid in and out. He had never had a girl to come home to after jail, always settling for some random hook up to get his nut in. But you were his princess, the same one that had the house cleaned, fresh clothes picked out for him, a meal cooked knowing he had only been eating shitty jail food for almost a month. Here you were making love to a thug, taking his pipe like a good girl not asking him shit about what he did or the kind of person he really was. He planned on making you his wife, you just didn’t know it yet.

“What the fuck have you done to me, baby girl.” He whispered, a low groan coming from his throat as he felt you clench down onto him.

#rafe cameron #dealer!rafe #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #rafe concepts #rafe smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #obx #obx smut #outer banks

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prael · 2 months ago

Text

Chemistry

Jenna Ortega x male reader smut [Commissioned fic]

Masterlist word count: 9,196 Kofi(donations/commissions)

"You know that's not my thing, right? Why even bring this to me?" You throw the papers down on her desk and they spill over the wooden surface.

"Did you even look it over?" She sighs, holding out her hands for you to take them back, "This could help you break out of the R-rated mould you've found yourself in."

"Look it over? You know this isn't my genre."

She rubs her forehead as though she's stressed, "Look, we all have to make concessions, right? It's a few months of filming and a lot of money."

"It's fucking romance," you dismiss.

She raises her voice in response, "It's your fucking career."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You push back, and she's taking a glass from the shelf behind her desk and emptying the whiskey within it in one practised motion. She's keeping her cool and taking a moment to simmer down by cleaning up the papers. The silence tells you as much as her words could. She's trying to help you like she always has.

She says, "You know what it means. You're no George Clooney. You're no Vince Vaughn. One trick ponies are rare. You gotta work on your range."

You stay quiet, clenching your jaw because you can't argue. This is what she does: tells you what you need to hear instead of what you want to hear. She's tough love and always has been. Took you under her wing and at times carried you to where you are today, so who are you to question her judgement?

"Did you ever stop to think 'why'?" She asks before taking a drink. "Why would I bring you a part that I know you're going to hate?"

You cross your arms, remaining silent as you stare at her. She smirks before answering her own question.

"Because I know who they're eyeing for the leading actress. Jenna Ortega. You know she's all the rage these days. Netflix deals and music videos. She's fuckin' viral and she's fuckin' money. Her name is gold so I want you on her fuckin' hip." She takes another sip, watching you absorb the information she's feeding you with an unrelenting stare.

She always gets like this, all the foul-mouthed excitement is enough to convince you that she really believes what she's saying.

"Alright. Got a pen?"

Pre-production is... well, it's different. It all feels a little foreign to you, right from the off with the script reading, because it's obviously such a different vibe than anything you're accustomed to. It's all so light and breezy and a little comical. You don't do comical.

There's no deep-seated angst, or hatred festering below the surface of your character, rather he's kind, loving, funny, a little bit of a klutz. It's a long stretch from the characters you usually play—murderers, drug dealers, car thieves. Now the viewers are supposed to like you?

Most days on set aren't that far outside of your comfort zone though—you don't think. You go through the motions like you always do, take direction and talk to the production crew, and keep it cordial and civil with the cast, especially with Jenna. Up until now, your characters have had a few brief scenes. It's all coffee shops and public parks, pretty places with lots of wide shots and lingering looks in the script, and you aren't sure how comfortable you are with it.

"Camera two," The director calls and you and Jenna take up position.

You grab her hand, and her smaller fingers curl around yours instinctively, holding on tight. She smiles at you and says softly, "Just like we talked about, okay?"

You nod and rub your thumb over hers to ease her nerves. There was this awkwardness for the first few days that has gradually eased away, the two of you talking more often. Not work stuff, which might have been smart. Just small talk. About food and places you've visited, TV, and bands, it kept things light and amicable.

"Quiet on the set."

Silence falls, and your heart rate speeds up. Your breathing is a little laboured as you wait.

It's the first time you're supposed to kiss her and somehow it doesn't feel like just acting, not really. Acting for you is fighting with some rogue cop or soldier, all stunted rage and brute force. Or you're stalking someone through the dark streets at night, the cold metal of the gun in your hand biting at your skin while you focus on nothing but landing a kill shot. There was never anyone looking at you the way Jenna is right now.

She's biting at her bottom lip, hazel eyes peering through impossibly long lashes to stare at you. You've been told this scene is important because it's a bit of a catalyst for the rest of the movie. She's looking at you, you're looking at her, and then when they call 'action' it's supposed to be one of those moments where fireworks erupt and the earth moves. That's what they want; a connection.

"Action."

Jenna bites her lip and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing up at you nervously. She's so much more practised than you, so much more effortless with putting on her act. All you have to do is smile and lean down to meet her lips. That's all there is to it, as the director says: just like that, perfect. But you want him to call cut. To say it's too staged, or the lighting is bad, or that the location isn't right.

No such luck.

You move slowly like she needs to be savoured. Of course, you've been coached, there's stage direction in your head in addition to her hand on your forearm.

Your lips brush hers tentatively, once, twice, and you tilt your head a little further to bring her closer. Close, but still not quite... until she breaks character and giggles into your mouth.

"I don't think you're supposed to be laughing," you joke, and there's an eruption of frustration from the other side of the cameras at a ruined take. You aren't bothered though, and neither is Jenna by the looks of it. She's half hiding her face against your chest and grinning like an idiot.

"I'm sorry," she says weakly, pulling away. "It's so hot in here."

She fans herself and starts pacing, while the director calls out, "What the hell was that?"

You wave a hand, "Sorry, my bad." You try to take the blame. "Can I get five minutes?"

The director sighs and gives in with a shrug. "Five minutes!"

"Really, you don't have to—"

"It's fine," you explain quickly, before turning to the line producer who just happens to be passing, "Hey, can someone cool her down? Maybe some water?"

"I'm fine," she tries to argue.

"You're flustered," you tease.

"You were doing this thing with your eyes. I don't know how to explain it. It was kind of intense, I had to laugh," she laughs again, and it's an easy, airy sound, the kind that soothes, and you decide that you like hearing it.

"I was? Damn," you sigh, running a hand through your hair.

"I know this isn't usually you're thing, I'm guessing it's your first kiss on camera? Just relax. It'll be nice," she shrugs, clearly far more sure of herself than you.

You're deep into the filming now. You think you're selling it, this whole relationship thing, making it seem natural as well as making the people around you believe that the chemistry is there. The weirdest thing of all is that you really enjoyed kissing her. Or, at the very least, you haven't minded it thus far. You don't know if that's the right feeling to have, there's no guidebook for this—not that you've read.

Off the set, she's nice, she's friendly and eager to get to know you. Maybe it's weird that she's trying too hard, maybe she just wants to work as seamlessly as possible. Regardless, it seems to be helping, because now, when it's your turn for coverage, you're more than happy to lean in and capture her lips. She's gotten bolder and so have you, to the point where she runs her fingers through your hair and kisses you back, so when 'cut' finally comes and the mood is broken, it takes a few moments to reorient yourself to the real world.

It's easy, you decide.

Now, the two of you have been joking about today for a while. She's been running this rhetoric of how excited she is for the car scene.

You remember your first read of the script and how this part had you almost cancelling the gig. So, sitting here in the backseat, with cameras fitted all around you and Jenna in your lap, is just a reminder of the monumental shift from where you were then to where you are now.

"Just ignore them," Jenna instructs and kisses you lightly. "Do whatever feels natural." She's echoing the words of the director, though from her they're much more relaxing to hear. You kiss her, her body languid and warm, pressed flush against yours. The touches you feared come so naturally now as you put a hand on her waist and trace her ribs, dragging her shirt up a little bit more with each pull.

There's something rather enticing, you must admit, about putting hands on her slender waist, even if it's under the watchful eye and strict instructions of the camera. Especially when her tongue does that thing where it flickers past her lips and finds your own. Fuck, she's good at this. There's no other word for it.

There has to be a call for a 'cut' coming soon, right? It was supposed to be a brief make-out, so says the script, but they don't seem too interested in stopping either of you anytime soon. You've heard that it's normal, to feel aroused while filming, but it certainly doesn't feel right. The fear is seeping in the longer this goes on; fear that Jenna will feel exactly what you're scared she'll feel.

But those short jean shorts she's wearing while sitting atop your lap, hips flush with yours, tend to elicit some automatic reaction, whether you want it to or not.

"Alright, cut! Great work everyone. Break for fifteen!" The director yells, the tension snapping immediately as Jenna rolls away, giggling.

She says something to you, you don't catch what as you blink in her direction, but she's already climbing out of the car, bending forward ever so slightly to give you a tantalising show of her ass before shutting the door behind her.

A few minutes later you've made your way to the drinks trailer for some much-needed water, that's when there's a tap on your shoulder and the unmistakable strawberry scent that accompanies Jenna hits your nose.

"You look a little shocked, is everything okay?" She has this wry smile on her face that turns your stomach a little bit.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you respond stiffly, cracking open the water bottle and taking a long drink. You nod towards her and state, "Good work out there."

"I should say the same to you," She's closer than before, the tip of her shoe bumping against yours as you stand with the picnic table at your back. "You're a natural. And the boner? Nice touch," she mocks.

She's far too cavalier for your liking right now, and more than a little brazen.

"Don't look so freaked out. No one is going to say anything. It happens all the time, don't worry."

"Do you just have a thing for humiliating me, Ortega?" It's a thing the two of you have been doing for a few days, the fake sternness and the use of surnames, like you're pretending to be angry with each other.

"What if I do? Are you going to go file a complaint?" She sings, tracing her finger down the centre of your chest.

"Watch it, Ortega," you respond half-heartedly, and she steps a little closer.

"How about you keep the boners to a minimum from now on though. It's distracting." The smirk on her face grows only more devious before she winks and then turns away, vanishing into the crowd and leaving you alone and in need of a very cold shower.

On-screen chemistry is the single most important thing in a film like this. If you don't make the watchers believe that the two of you are madly in love, then it's all pointless. You're getting good at this, playing this game, this new facet to your role. You think about the warmth of Jenna's kiss and her fingers curled around the nape of your neck; the feel of her in your arms.

Each take gets harder to finish. Make no mistake, it's not that the kisses are a problem, in fact, they're actually a little too easy.

You're both laid in a bed, under the covers, you're on your back and Jenna is half-draped over you. Her hair is a purposeful mess and there's lipstick on your neck. The implication is clear, the two lead characters hooked up for the first time, and you're simmering in the morning after, caught by your character's phone ringing beside you on the side table.

Jenna is quiet, watching the sheets twitch every time you move. You can tell that she's thinking by the furrow in her brow and the way she bites on her lip. The cameras are rolling and you need to answer the phone. There's no one on the phone, of course, that gets added in post. For the purpose of the scene, it's your ex-girlfriend who can't quite let you go.

"Why do you keep calling me?" You look weary like your heart is about to give up. The line is silent, but you know the script. "I don't care if you're upset with me, it's over. It's done. There's nothing left to say."

Jenna props herself up on one elbow, facing you with her dark eyes, her tousled hair falling over her shoulder. She is, in a word, mesmerising, and it feels wrong to turn your face away from her, even to add more angst for the camera.

"I'm hanging up," you continue, staring back at her.

Jenna pushes her hand under the sheets and balls it into a fist. She hovers it right over your crotch. Her character is supposed to jack you off while you're on the phone until you manage to hang up. That's what's supposed to happen.

You fake a gasp as her hand begins to move. When she bites down on her lip in response, it's the hottest expression you've ever seen. You swallow hard and your cock gives an honest twitch that feels as though it catches her attention for a fraction of a second. Her eyes widen and flick to the source of the movement, her jaw clenches and it brings you an almost unwanted satisfaction.

Each fake stroke presses down onto the growing ridge of your hardening cock, but neither of you breaks character or even dares to break eye contact. You keep up with your lines, and the strain in your voice is all too real, "I don't care how torn up you are about this, me and you are finished."

The ache in your muscles builds heat prickling under your skin, setting you on fire. You tighten your jaw in response as a means to control yourself. Only for Jenna to do the unthinkable. She lowers her hand and glides it down the length of your hard cock before wrapping her hand around it.

What's she doing?

She grips tightly, and even though there is a pair of underwear separating the two of you, it's still her. For the first time in the duration of this shoot, you drop out of character completely, staring at her in utter disbelief. What are you supposed to do in this situation? You can't just say something, it's going to get you both in trouble.

She strokes you beneath the bedsheets in tandem with the scene, so no one else has a chance of knowing. So, you keep talking, murmuring some fake dialogue and struggling with every word.

"It's—mmh," you turn your head, squeezing your eyes closed and steeling yourself. This is madness, utter madness. The throb of your cock only worsens the longer her hand keeps sliding, stimulating. It's a hellish limbo. "It's not fair for you to harass me like this, delete my number will you?"

This is the point where the ex-girlfriend realises something is wrong. In the script, she's figured it all out. She recognises the whimpers in your voice, and you're supposed to deny it. But Jenna won't stop touching you, pushing down harder, applying more pressure and using the full length of your erection as her playground.

Your breathing is heavy and strained. You try to clear your throat subtly, "No, no I'm not with someone right now." You glance at Jenna who grips tighter and smiles devilishly. "You have no idea what you're talking about. If you think, for even a second—"

You try your best to focus on your performance, but with the physical distraction, all your carefully practised lines start to fall apart, coming out jumbled. Jenna is rubbing harder, stroking faster, and her hand feels so good around your cock.

This is the point where your ex shouts, and you finally hang up the phone and drop it onto the floor, kissing Jenna fervently.

"Cut!" The director calls. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Suddenly, the two of you are apart. A rush of cold air floods the space between you. Reality checks in again, reminding you that this was not in the script.

"You good?" Jenna asks, and you nod back. She looks proud of herself, the cheeky little smirk that crosses her features is all too telling. A reminder of just how insufferable she can be.

"What was that?" You lean closer and whisper, trying to make sure that the rest of the cast and crew can't hear you.

"That was acting." She responds confidently.

The director interrupts by calling your name and saying, "Alright, next scene. Going to need you under the covers. Prepare the phone call."

Now it's this whole role reversal, Jenna's character gets her own phone call from her own ex. That's the concept at play here. Meanwhile, you're down between her legs. The script says to 'mimic oral sex' which sounds... so much easier than it actually is.

Aiming to ignore the whole ordeal, or at least your conversation and what it could mean, you duck down beneath the sheets to prepare. She's lifting them up and watching you get into position. She's spreading her legs, while a team of assistants adjust the sheets over you to dress up the shot.

Looking up at Jenna under the sheets, through the darkness and at the apex of her thighs, this feels so wrong. She's... pretty. No. You stop the thoughts in their tracks. This isn't a time to indulge. You're filming a movie, playing a role. In reality, this is your job. There's a script, there's a purpose.

Still, the whole situation just feels so strange.

"Action," the director yells.

As per the script, Jenna drops the sheet as the phone rings. Now it's just you and everything below her chest, trapped under a blanket. Your hands are barely hovering near her thighs, and revenge is on your mind. If she can toy with you, you can toy with her.

So you hold her spread legs, grip them firmly just as you hear her answer the call, "If you want to grovel, then go ahead and grovel. Just remember the last time." Jenna's voice is perfect for her character, and just as it's always been, full of attitude and feisty. She's passionate, especially when it comes to putting her acting on display.

Alright, 'mimic oral sex'... first it's kissing. Lightly placed, right at the top of her thigh, little pecks to tease and taunt. You feel the slight tremble beneath your fingertips as she attempts to carry on the faux conversation. They said you shouldn't touch her. They said she shouldn't touch you.

But you feel the heat coming from her. You're mere inches away, and sure, there's the cotton thin fabric of her underwear blocking the way, but even still you catch the barest hint of her scent—sweet and musky. You grip her thighs more intensely and press your lips against the fabric.

"It was one kiss," Jenna continues, and her voice betrays her now. A subtle tremor that undermines how put together she had seemed moments before. It's enough to have you smirking.

You roll your tongue over the shape of her through the fabric, testing your limits. There's only so much you can get away with, but you'll push it. Push it as far as you can, this is the bed she made.

Jenna rolls her hips towards you, and, of course, the cameras can't see this, all they can see is her on the bed holding the sheets and pretending to talk to her ex.

"It didn't mean anything..." She tries again and fails, a breathy moan forcing its way out and revealing the growing pleasure, the need growing in her voice. She has to place her free hand over her mouth as you continue to taste her, your tongue working over her panties with no hesitation, all rhythm and no breaks.

You continue, running the flat of your tongue over her, flattening the damp fabric against her cunt, and you feel her throbbing. It's undeniable, the way she tenses under your grip and shifts ever so slightly, each slight movement an obvious clue towards her struggling with maintaining her composure.

It's not difficult to hear the change in her voice. The shake and strain of each breath only grow worse the more your tongue curls against her panties. Sure, you haven't yet come into contact with bare skin, but simply knowing just how enraptured she is by the teasing, is enough.

You can't help the slight chuckle that follows, and why would you? This whole performance is starting to become very personal, and when you squeeze her thighs, and apply pressure until it's enough to bruise, you can hear the soft mewl as she fights her way through a rather passionate phone call.

"Why don't you just fuck off?" She hangs up the phone and throws it to the side. In a moment, the same hands are wrapping around your head and dragging you close. As if there was any space left to separate you. "Oh god yes!" she moans out—it's all the script. The scene is supposed to continue until there's a fade to black. No one needs to know that the moan is real.

At the very least, she tries to contain herself. Though her hips swaying, and bucking rhythmically against your face say something very different. And the heat radiating from her core is undeniable. The cotton of her underwear sticks to her so heavily, clinging to the slight folds and wrinkles. Enough to get a good idea about what's going on behind it. That there is indeed a welcoming, quivering cunt that might benefit from an enthusiastic tongue.

Jenna's groans take on a noticeable tempo. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop. Fuck. Yes!" Her words are spilling out messily. For a moment, her responsibilities seem to vanish. She's abandoned her character and resorted to feeling your tongue against her pussy with such ferocity that, were it not for your hands pinning her down, she might have suffocated you in that tantalising heat.

As the cameras continue to roll, with filming still going on above the sheets, the pace only grows hastier.

You're aware of your heart rate spiking, the sudden realisation, the knowledge that someone might be onto the two of you, that you've crossed the imaginary line that exists between the bedroom scene. With the flicker of your tongue, that line gets a little more blurred.

And Jenna seems to be in no hurry to stop either. What was supposed to be just acting becomes a carnal need. Her hips wriggle frantically against your gyrating mouth.

"Cut!" Comes the much-needed command, and you rip away from beneath the sheet.

Jenna's chest heaves, her thighs tremble and her toned stomach tenses. You struggle, forcing back the burning desire to claim her, devour her, kiss her senseless.

It's just acting.

Filming goes late into the night, as it so often does. Jenna has a series of scenes with the supporting cast, and you're only there to support them. Still, you make sure to keep watch from the sidelines. She's beautiful when she acts, all passion and fire. That's another reason you're so drawn to her. Everything is so easy for her, flawless. Talented little minx.

Hours after sunset, you stop by her trailer to check in, like you so often do.

You knock, and seconds later she peeks out of the door, saying, "What? What did I do now? Oh, it's you." The harsh greeting melts away into relief, and you grin at the reaction.

"Damn, maybe I'll go then." You make a gesture to turn away, and Jenna grabs your wrist and pulls you inside with all her strength.

"Are you stupid?"

"Me? No, the very definition of sanity." You laugh and follow her further inside. It's bigger than your own, with a seating area and everything. Not that you can focus on the surrounding amenities. Because her black, lace thong is the only thing she's wearing, and, for a second, it leaves you speechless. It's impossible not to stare at the way her round little butt perks out behind her.

Jenna asks, "Like what you see?"

"What happened to your clothes?"

"My clothes are fine, I'm in my trailer aren't I? Nothing strange about relaxing like this." She says as she saunters off, the golden curves of her back highlighted by the single lamp she has lit in the corner. She stands in her kitchenette, bare back to you, pouring herself a glass of red. Her thong contrasts starkly with the honey colour of her skin. She stretches an arm back, and half glances over her shoulder.

"I can feel you staring, you know?" Jenna says, pausing for a moment while the cogs turn in your brain. After a while, there's no point in resisting. So, you close the distance between you, stand behind her, and embrace her thin waist.

"Am I bothering you?" you question, pressing closer.

"Only a little," she leans back into the touch. "But that doesn't mean stop."

An unseen force guides you. Perhaps it's those thoughts that came to mind when you were holding her, on set. What would happen if you just got to know her better?

Your mouth feels so dry from the nerves, but you drag a hand up the length of her waist, over her taut stomach, before cupping her breast. Jenna closes her eyes and hums in response, and when your palm rubs against her bare nipple, her mouth falls open.

You sink to her ear and bite it gently while catching her nipple between two fingers, which elicits a sharp gasp from her lips. You pull her firmly against your chest, and her back presses to your shirt. Fingertips brush her belly, stroking from hipbone to ribcage.

"I figured we had a little unfinished business. Remember?" You kiss her earlobe and grin, fully aware she can't see the expression.

"It did seem to me like you were quite close to being finished," she teases. Your fingers curl and squeeze the swell of her breast, earning a groan. "Tell me. How was my performance?"

"Could use some work," you mumble, kissing the side of her neck. Jenna's breath shudders when your teeth drag against her throat. She sets the glass down, freeing her hand to rest on your forearm. Holding, or perhaps holding on, you can't tell. Either way, it's an invitation to keep going.

"You think so? Looked to me like it was the best performance you had ever seen—ahem—felt."

You chuckle in her ear. All the while, her breathing becomes a little heavier. She even reaches a hand back, curling fingers in your hair to make sure your mouth remains on her. It sends an alarm bell ringing in the back of your head, a warning, a red flag, a stop sign. But what if you don't?

"I'm not like my character," she whispers. "She's all romance, nice dates and lovey-dovey shit."

"No?" you whisper.

"No," she says sternly. She twists under your grasp to face you. Your hand lands on her hip, and before she's looking up at you with her lips parted, she murmurs, "But I do enjoy being eaten out."

This time, Jenna pulls you down into the kiss. The sweet pout of her lips draws you in. She tastes sharp, like the wine, but her mouth is warm and inviting. You take her bottom lip between your teeth, and she moans, her painted nails scraping through your hair. You feel her hands fumbling, then the thud as your pants fall.

"Fuck me," she breathes the command when your palm finds the swell of her breast again. She's pushing you back, guiding you across the room, pinning you onto the arm of her couch. She lifts her knees and presses it between your legs. She pins you there and continues to kiss you, harder, rougher.

She grabs the collar of your shirt, and then the buttons begin popping. The air brushes your chest making you even more aware of the insanity unfolding in her trailer. As she unravels the rest of the shirt, Jenna pulls back, standing up with a cocky smile on her face.

There's not a chance to speak, or even comprehend, for that matter. She puts her palm on your bare chest and forces you back. You crash into the cushions, and the next thing you know, Jenna swings a knee over your head.

In an instant, she's hooking her thong to the side, then taking a handful of your hair and sitting on your face. Your hands move automatically, gripping her thighs, pressing thumbs into the soft, ample flesh. Your tongue brushes across her pussy, and the feeling of your tongue flicking across her makes Jenna let out a beautiful, quivering moan.

Her scent intoxicates. It's divine.

With strong hands, she leads your movements, grinding forward against your mouth. Daring, unashamed, desperate. She's just as much an animal as she is a woman, and that realisation makes your body tense. You part her tender folds with your tongue and taste the warmth of her nectar, causing Jenna to keen.

Her cheeks grind against your lips as she quivers atop you. Her sighs alternate between delighted huffs and breathless moans. As long as you're licking, the sounds keep coming. If anything, they grow stronger and more desperate. She won't hold back, and it makes your head spin, your focus becoming a singular, dizzy blur.

Her juices coat your mouth, slicking your chin and running down your throat. She tightens her grip on your scalp as if trying to punish you. But really, her actions only draw you closer. The taste of her makes you drunk, and not the kind that comes with a hangover in the morning, no. But the kind that makes the rest of the world and its expectations dissolve, leaving just the two of you in the remaining silence.

Jenna's pussy is a beautiful thing, you realise. Swollen and dripping, deliciously wet. It's a tempting treat just begging to be toyed with. You tongue her clit, rolling it back and forth. When you get just the right spot, a tremor passes through Jenna's frame, a hard squeeze of your scalp, as though it had been scalding her.

"Fuck, so good," Jenna groans. "Keep going. Just like that."

More noises pour out of her and splash into your ears, exciting you in a way you've never been before. And the little shimmies she gives you aren't unpleasant, or unwelcome, far from it. Those subtle dances send waves through you and make the motions of your mouth automatic. Your tongue can't get enough. Neither can your hands. You bring them higher, taking her firm ass, sinking fingertips into her plush, round cheeks and pulling her onto your face.

The movement makes her laugh. "Look at you, so excited. Hungry, are we?" You stroke your tongue up the length of her glistening wet cunt, and Jenna twitches on top of you. Her delight returns, a cry of joy and want. "Go on, eat it. Eat that fucking pussy."

The muscles in her abdomen tighten. Sore and taught, every part of her shivers and shakes, twitching and fluttering with your movements. She cries out in ecstasy, as driven mad by your tongue as you are by her taste.

Her thighs clamp around your head. You can feel her begin to writhe, twisting left and right as the pleasure rages through her. She can't control her hips, keeping them glued to your mouth and twitching violently.

Jenna cums, and her juices flow into your mouth. You drink the reward of your handiwork, as her words become hazy murmurs. An erratic pattern of curses and blasphemous platitudes. As if singing all her highest praises.

When she stands, her legs wobble with the aftershocks of an orgasm, but her posture says there are still things she wants, things only you can give her.

It takes seconds. Jenna's thong is on the floor and then she's pulling at your waistband, tugging them down until she has your cock free. Her nails scratch along the length of your length and her palm settles around it.

"Fuck, you're so hard."

Jenna strokes your shaft and gives it a playful squeeze. You watch the heat shimmer and roll around in her eyes as she sizes you up, and the way your cock gives a stubborn and needy twitch. She seems to like that, too.

When her eyes go lidded and she lowers her head down, opening her mouth and slipping her tongue across the head, you almost can't comprehend how good it feels. Your spine tightens, everything goes rigid, and you're left without a shred of control over your voice. That seems to matter not at all to Jenna.

"Hold on," she slips the head of your cock between her lips, just barely, and smiles around it as she smears your precum across her tongue. Before she looks up, meeting your eye, and then forces her head down further, wrapping her warm, wet mouth around as much of you as she can manage. You both gasp as her tongue sweeps along the underside, and you see her cheeks puff out for a moment, then relax once she settles into a rhythm.

It feels amazing, un-fucking-real. Jenna is bobbing her head up and down. Blissful moans leave her with every pass, and the lust-fogged look she gives you should be illegal. Wet sucking and slurping fill the trailer, drowned out by her hums of adoration. Each one sends vibrations shuddering through your cock.

You thread your fingers in her hair. It's a token act, your control as she moves means nothing. In a blink, she's sucking the length of you down to the very base. She struggles a little when you hit the back of her throat, but pushes through, going again and again, deeper and harder each time. Tears threaten in the corners of her eyes. Still, she won't stop.

"Jenna," your voice is thick and strained. "I'm going to—"

A few more passes of her hungry, slippery mouth have you finally toppling over the edge. If she has any intention of pulling away, the temptation or aversion isn't potent enough for her to react. She kisses and slurps, bobbing feverishly, drinking your spurts of cum and caressing your length with her soft, swollen lips.

Jenna stays with you in her mouth, breathing heavily, the look of satisfaction on her face intense and perverse. She takes her time to gently nurse the last pulses from your erection until you're twitching and overstimulated. Only then, and after a minute longer, does she finally concede and pops her mouth off your cock.

The emptiness it creates feels too much like a loss, and yet, all you can do is stare at her, heart hammering and unable to feel anything past the aftermath.

Jenna perches herself on the coffee table, her legs pressed together and angled to the side, letting her hair fall over her bare shoulders. With one hand, she cleans her mouth and smiles at you.

"I guess this puts a line through unfinished business, huh?" She laughs a little. "Long day tomorrow, best get some sleep."

Then just like that, you're half-dressed, watching her slip off to the tiny bathroom to clean up. A few minutes later the trailer door swings shut, clicking behind you.

Outside, the night air is cool and bitter. It snatches the warmth away from the memory of her touch.

They're saying it's going to be a success. Critics have reviewed the project already, including early screenings, and private showings. The reception is very positive. That's great, you know it is, and everything is piling up and coming to a close now. All that's left is one last night, the premiere itself, the main event. This will determine the fate of the film, whether it's a runaway hit, a fantastic start to awards season, or a straight-to-streaming disaster.

"Been a while," the voice behind you says and you turn to see Jenna at your shoulder. She looks exquisite, elegant, and alluring in her gown.

"Understatement." You take the time to look her over again. It was only a couple of months ago you saw her naked and had her on your face. It feels so distant, and almost like a dream. Maybe it is, given how quickly she went cold afterwards.

"Red carpets aren't really my favourite thing. It's... all overrated, isn't it?" She sighs.

"Yeah, you told me."

"I did?"

"At the party, on the last day of shooting. You said, and I quote, 'I hate red carpets, everyone is so fake.'"

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "I must have been drunk."

"You were very drunk," you confirm. "Remember? And you were doing that thing with your foot."

Jenna tenses. "I did, didn't I?"

It was a few hours into the party, and most everyone was way too drunk to even make sense. You found yourself sitting down, trying to stop your head from spinning the way it was. Then she came and sat across from you. Apparently, she'd been drinking more than usual, given the wide-eyed look she had when she'd approached.

"You're handsome," she told you and flashed a drunken smile.

"You're drunk enough to say that to anyone."

"You're smart," she leaned closer, and even in the darkness of the room, you were mesmerised by the way her tanned skin contrasted with the tight, white dress. "You're talented. I'm glad they cast you." She runs her foot from your ankle, along the inside of your leg.

Her toes met your knee. You think you stopped breathing as she traced circles on your inner thigh. You looked up at her face, and she was smiling, a devilish one that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

"You smell so good. Like coffee and mint. It's infuriating." Her shoe slid higher, pressing against the crotch of your pants, and she frowned. "No reaction. Maybe you're shy? Oh, wait."

She pulled her foot back and then bent to the side to reach down under the table. After a few seconds and a few confused expressions, as she fiddled with something out of sight, her shoe fell to the floor. Jenna slid the sole of her bare foot between your legs.

"That's better, right?"

She sat up straight and clicked her tongue. You couldn't believe it. Barefoot, hair down, smouldering gaze and curling her toes against your crotch. It was a lot for you at the time. She smirked, shifting again and sipping a glass of champagne before putting it to the side.

"So, how has it been? This whole romance thing?" She stepped closer with her toes and her heel pressed over your cock, digging in slightly.

"I hated the idea of it. Didn't want any part of it. But being here with everyone has made me change my mind. I've done well."

She started to rub the underside of her foot faster, creating an overwhelming amount of friction. And her smug, smiling face wasn't helping your cause at all. Then she leaned closer, so her chest was bunched up and exposed. She teased the top of your cock with her toes and rested her chin in her hand.

"I think you just have to accept it. Learn to enjoy it. It helps that everyone was so nice to work with."

"Was I?" she asks with a flirtatious lilt, pressing her toes harder against your stiffening cock. "Was I particularly nice to you?"

You choke out a laugh. "You don't need me to tell you that you're nice to look at. But you don't need me to tell you you're more than a pretty face either."

"Do me a favour, undo your trousers."

Now? Really?

"Seriously? Here?" You're sure your voice was shaking.

"Now or never."

The pressure in your loins was undeniable, and you went to work unzipping and undoing buttons. Discreetly you pried them open and pulled down your underwear. Your cock sprung free, and you sighed in relief.

She rested a hand on your arm. It was surprisingly comforting. Then she pressed her foot down to angle your cock against her instep, slipping her soft, warm skin up and down your shaft, barely rocking it back and forth.

"That's better." She smiled sweetly, teasing the head with her toes. "You were nervous." She circled the tip of your cock with her big toe. "That first day of filming, you were so worried about messing up."

"Well, yeah. New role, new movie, no way of knowing."

"Hindsight is always 20:20, but you worry too much. Don't spend so much time thinking about what can go wrong, focus more on the things that can go right."

"Like this?"

"Like this," she grinned as she spoke. Her foot pressed harder and moved faster, stroking you up and down and you did everything you could to keep a straight face as people walked by. Each with an innocent conversation, unaware of what was going on beneath the table. "Besides, you did alright."

Alright. Not great. Not good. Alright.

It's about as much of a compliment on your work that Jenna has ever given you verbally, though you wondered if the foot on your cock is indicative of anything.

"Thank you. I, uh, appreciate the feedback."

"We make a good team." Her eyes narrowed as she focused on getting you off and her top lip stiffened. "Solving problems. Improvising scenes." Her foot kicked up a gear, in a blur, up and down, faster and faster.

"Jenna, I'm—"

"Great on-screen chemistry. Great off-scene chemistry." She pushed you right over the edge with her sole on the underside of your cock. The look on her face said it all. A smile so wide as she felt you twitch against her, throbbing, shaking, and pouring cum right over her skin. "Though you are rather easy to manipulate, aren't you?"

She shot you a wink as she cleaned her foot with a tissue. "See you around."

That image has been burned into your head for a long time since then, though you work to shake it out of there while walking the red carpet. It's all camera flashes and the chore of being paraded in front of them. You follow her lead, and she meets the press with the very embodiment of what they'd want—grace, charisma, flair and passion.

You answer a few basic questions that can't reveal anything interesting or new. Something about keeping the magic, and hopefully breaking it when you win a bunch of awards. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Where do you think this opportunity takes you after the film is released?" one interviewer asks.

"Obviously, any opportunity to work with other amazing talents is an honour. I don't know when, if, or what the offer will be, but I'm certainly happy to be working again."

"And if you had the opportunity to work with Miss Ortega again?" It's a question that she overhears, and she throws you a look over her shoulder.

You try not to stammer. "Of course, if I was fortunate enough, I'd take it. She's... unparalleled."

This has never been your favourite part, it might even be the worst. Sitting through your own premiere, watching your own work, it's like a long, self-aware nightmare. It's a natural reaction, but that's little consolation, particularly when you know what scene is coming next. It's some over-complicated form of torture to watch yourself get a handjob on the big screen. Everyone's watching. Including Jenna, sitting next to you.

This is the cavalcade of self-humiliation.

To your surprise, Jenna reaches over to slip her fingers between your own. It's the gentle and comforting squeeze that's accompanied by a sly smirk from her when you glance in her direction. Her eyelids lower and an undeniable tension builds between the two of you. She leans in to whisper to you.

"About last time..."

You smirk. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

"The ending was abrupt, don't you think?" Her teeth catch on her lip, and those sinful eyes narrow.

"A little."

"Follow me."

Jenna stands up without waiting for an answer. Being in the back corner of the screening makes it fairly easy to slip out after her. When you reach the corridor leading to the bathrooms, Jenna looks you over and smirks.

"Tell me," she laughs out the words as she brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and pins you against the wall, "How often do you think about that night in my trailer?" She pushes up onto her tip-toes, wraps an arm around the back of your neck and pulls your ear to her lips. "Don't lie to me, I know you've thought about it."

Her tone is a familiar temptation, and you've missed it. The sensual inflexion in her voice winds its way through every bone and tendon until it's there, inside and immersing you in the raw carnality that Jenna makes you feel. "All the time."

"Me too." She pulls on your wrist, leading you again and heading for the bathroom. You let her, and she pulls you into a cubicle with her, closing and locking the door behind you. "And how many times have you got off imagining it, picturing it." Her hands stroke along the front of your trousers, and the button pops open in her fingers. You don't even get to reply before she says, "Yeah, me too."

There's something perverse about hearing her say that. Something lewd in the way she smiles at you and peels down your trousers and underwear and instantly slumps to her knees. There's no teasing, no showmanship, nothing but blunt hunger, naked and fierce.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, and her eyes dart up, and her lips pause just as she's about to take you. Her hot breath spilling over the tip of your cock.

"Shut the fuck up," she laughs. Her gaze narrows. She sinks her wet, warm mouth down onto your length, swallowing it bit by bit. When the head touches the back of her throat, she giggles as her eyes water.

A moan involuntarily slips out. Your hips buck forward. Jenna's tongue is like velvet, rolling around the tip of your cock, then enveloping your shaft. You can't help the thrusting. It's automatic, primal, a natural response to being encased in her intoxicating mouth.

Jenna looks up at you, cheeks hollowed, eyes wide with anticipation. She pops her mouth off your swollen cock with a wet noise, and immediately, her fist closes around it, jerking you. She smiles. "Wanna do it?"

"That's how you're going to ask?" You scoff, leaning against the cubicle wall, a slight grin pulling at your mouth. "Is the art of seduction really that dead?"

"Well, forgive me if I don't quote poetry at you and cover myself in rose petals," she says as she climbs back to her feet and places her hand on your shoulders. She guides you to take a seat as she jokes, "Poetry bores the shit out of me."

It's almost too fast when her slim hands lift her dress up to her waist. She watches your face, her teeth pin her lip as she reaches down to hook her panties to the side. She slips a finger inside her already dripping pussy. You throb, hard as a rock, when her hand withdraws and she's reaching up and pressing the gleaming digit against your mouth.

You taste her wetness, licking your tongue against it. "Fuck," you growl, the urge to have her, devour her, ravage her takes you.

"You want it?" Jenna sways her hips and bites her lip. Her tight little body was made for sinning, it's plain and simple. You can't resist touching her, teasing your hands up the back of her thighs and around the ample curve of her ass, then pulling her onto your lap.

"Want it," you breathe the words against her lips. Her hand settles around the base of your cock and drags it across her slick pussy. She sighs into your mouth when your thumbs dig into her hips. That's an invitation to slide inside her.

Then you fill her. Her lips seal onto yours, her eyes flutter closed, and a sweet, deep, hungry sound of satisfaction leaves her. It's a sudden rush, everything about this situation, here and now, is a euphoric madness.

She looks incredible above you, her round, firm tits straining against the dress fabric, beads of sweat at the hollow of her collar and the heat in her eyes. Perched on top of you, Jenna rolls her hips forward, grinding against your lap, coiling that hot, wet flesh around your cock.

"God, your cock feels so fucking good," she gasps as she rides you, the way she moves her hips, the wild shifts and squeezes of her tight cunt around you bring the knot in your stomach already. You buck up into her and a ragged cry tears from Jenna's throat.

You seize her hair and kiss her, swallow her cries and moans, her gasps and whimpers, drink every little sound she makes and lose yourself in the rocking grind of her hips. You're both animalistic now. Her with her bouncing, grinding and needy fucking. You with your digging fingertips and the pounding of your crotch against her. It's filthy, it's unhinged.

"This might be the last time we—"

"Shut up," you interrupt.

"Last time we do this."

"Shut the fuck up," your hands dig into her waist, pulling her down and plunging your cock deep.

"Tell me," she says breathlessly, slamming her hips to meet your thrusts. "If we end this right here, is that good enough?"

"Fuck no," you hiss the words. You reach up to pull down her dress, prying her perky, bare breasts free and enveloping one in your mouth. Your tongue traces the nipple and you draw it in deeper. Jenna slows to a firm grind, holding your cock tight inside her before she snaps forward, locking her arms behind your head. You feel the shudder inside her, feel her clenching on you.

It's a deep, powerful moan, straight to your ears, as she cums. Pulling back and grabbing your face in her palms, forcing you to look right into her eyes. The blissful, fucked-senseless expression on her face is priceless, so is the dizzying, tightening feel of her cunt. Jenna collapses, huffing and panting, while you still hunger for more.

You pick her up and slam her against the cubicle door. It rocks under the impact. She giggles and takes a handful of your hair.

"Go on, fuck me. Like it's the only time you're ever going to get the chance."

So, you do. What more could you ever do? Is there anything more rational than drilling Jenna Ortega against a door in a movie theatre bathroom?

"Good, yeah," she wraps her legs around your waist and curls fingers in your hair. "You're getting there." She tilts her head and you claim the side of her throat, biting her neck. "If I tell you that you can cum inside, will you fuck me harder? Is that it?"

You groan into her neck, grip tightens, and you draw her body right to yours.

"If I tell you how badly I want to feel you cum, that it's driving me crazy, would that make it better?" She tightens her thighs around your waist and huffs out the words as though the effort is too much. "Go on. Do it."

The door rattles on its hinges, but you hardly even notice. Everything is her. Her body, her eyes, her voice, her. Your fingers lock around her waist, hold her tight while you pound her. The sweat-slick strands of her hair hang across her forehead, her skin glistens, and you're mesmerised by how good she looks while you fuck her.

You sink your teeth into her shoulder as you fill her. You lose control, twitching, and buried to the hilt, a groan into her skin as you twitch inside her. Cum spurts, your body shakes, her sex pulsates and clenches. She milks everything, and the next thing you know, you're falling back onto the seat, her collapsed on top of you and heaving. Gentle movements of her hips keep the sensations alive until you have nothing left to give her.

Overstimulation sets in quickly, her fingers slowly entwine with yours as you sag back against the seat, trembling and spent. The pair of you stay there, sweat-drenched, messy and grinning, sharing the tangle of soft noises in the silence.

"So, that was..."

"Pretty fucking good," she cuts you off. She rests her head against your shoulder, her hands settle on your arms, caressing you.

"That's what I would have said," you tell her, as you run your hand over her thigh and palm her ass.

"Damn. We might as well get married and drive off into the sunset." She laughs, and you chuckle with her.

"Or maybe we could just do this again sometime?" you ask with a slight grin.

She considers it. Pouting her lips and twitching them side to side. Her expression takes on a knowing edge, something mischievous as she looks you over and replies. "I'll see you around, maybe."

Now that...

That's just cruel.

#jenna ortega smut #male reader smut #smut #x male reader #m reader #jenna ortega x reader #celebrity smut #actress smut

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btsugarush · 11 months ago

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I’d Hate To Say it | pjm (m.list)

❝i needed you and you fuckin’ left me.❞

summary: when you return home from studying abroad, you come to find your former best friend, jimin, has made drastic changes to his life that could put him in danger or behind bars forever.

pairings: drug dealer!jimin x f!reader.

warnings: smut, violence, fluff, blood and gore, ex best friend!jimin, gang member!jimin, tattooed/pierced!jimin, long hair!jimin, use of guns/knives, mentions of self harm, mentions of abuse, alcohol abuse, drugs, drug addiction, angst, murder, strong language, 18+, minors dni.

author’s note: yes, yes another one. obviously i had to write something with my love jimin. also if you can’t tell i have an obsession for tattoos and piercings.

©btsugarush. please do not repost.

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snowysosturn · 2 months ago

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Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, Mentions of drugs, mentions of murder

A/N: Although this is FICTION I want to make it clear how serious getting involved with anything to do with drugs can be, and how hard it can be to get out of it and in no way am I trying to glorify it.

The clock read 5:03 PM as I stepped out of the front door of Boston University, the autumn sky painted in soft streaks of pink and orange. The campus buzzed with the usual energy on a Friday - students rushing to home to get ready for weekend parties, some chatting in small groups on the lawns, while others sped off on bikes or scurried to catch the next bus. Boston was always alive, but there was a kind of comfort in the routine of it all, a sense of order in the chaos.

I pulled my coat tighter around me, the early October chill creeping in as I started walking. It had been a long day, a long week, really. Law school wasn’t a joke. Between the hours of lectures, the mountains of assignments, and the never ending reading list, I felt like I was constantly drowning in work. Sometimes, it felt like I barely had time to breathe, let alone catch up with my friends or even sleep. But tonight, I had made an exception. I was heading to my best friend Willow’s place for some much needed relaxation and a good catch up.

Willow had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. We grew up together, practically sisters. Our families had always been close, bonded by the same comfortable, though not extravagant, wealth. We weren’t the type of rich that screamed excess, but our lives had always been comfortable, easy. Willow and I never talked much about that, though, it was just an unspoken part of our lives, something we both understood without needing to mention.

After taking a short subway journey, I made my way through the familiar streets toward her apartment, I felt the weight of the week slowly starting to lift off my shoulders. Willow’s place was always my safe haven, bringing me back memories of when my family also lived in Beacon Hill. A place where I could let my guard down and forget about the endless deadlines, the pressure to perform, and the expectations that came with law school. Tonight, I needed that more than ever.

When I reached her apartment building, Willow was already at the door, waving at me with a bright smile. She was wrapped in a chunky knit sweater, her hair laid perfectly, and she looked as warm and inviting as ever.

“Took you long enough” she teased as I walked up the steps.

I rolled my eyes, grinning. “Blame the professors. They think we’re machines.”

“Ah I’m only messing” she said, stepping aside to let me in. “I’ve got wine ready. You need it.”

“I’m not arguing with that” I replied, stepping inside and shrugging off my coat. The warmth of her apartment immediately hit me, and I sighed in relief. It was always so homey here, the soft glow of the candles she had lit casting flickering shadows on the walls. Willow’s place had this calm, peaceful vibe that was the exact opposite of the chaos in my life right now.

“So” she began, handing me a glass of white wine mixed with lemonade to (you know to make it sweeter) as we settled onto the couch, “What’s the latest? How’s law school treating you?”

I groaned, taking a sip of the alcoholic concoction before answering. “I don’t know why yous ever let me decide to become a lawyer” I laughed. “I feel like I’m constantly drowning in assignments and then I’m up to my ears in readings, and don’tttttt even get me started on work. I’ve been spending so much time at my mom’s bridal studio, I swear its like every woman in Boston is getting married this year.”

Willow chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you do it. I’d lose my mind.”

“I’m hanging on by a thread. But it’ll be worth it. I hope.” I said rolling my eyes.

“It will” she said confidently, raising her glass. “You’re going to be an amazing lawyer one day. I can already see it.”

“From your lips to god's ears” I laughed, clinking my glass with hers. “But yeah, I’ve got to sit in on a court hearing on Monday. Kind of like an observation. We’re supposed to get a feel for how things work in the courtroom.”

Willow looked impressed. “That sounds intense. Are you nervous?”

“A little” I admitted. “I’ve never actually been inside a courtroom before. You think I would've already 3 years into law school, like it’s one thing to read about cases and watch the news, but it’s another to actually be there, seeing it all unfold.”

She nodded thoughtfully, taking another sip of her wine. “You’ll do fine. You always do. Just remember, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

I smiled, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease. “Thanks, Willow. I needed that.”

We talked for a little while longer, catching up on the little things, what she’d been up to, how her week had gone, the usual chatter that always seemed to flow so easily between us. I could feel myself relaxing, the stress of the week slowly melting away with each sip of wine.

Eventually, I reached for my phone and connected it to her TV, letting some music play softly in the background. After a few songs, “Everybody Dies In Their Nightmares” by XXXTENTACION started to play.

“Oh my god, I haven’t heard this song since, like, 2018!” Willow said, laughing as she set down her wine glass. “This reminds me of Nate Doe, he showed it to me. I haven’t heard about him in years.”

Her words sparked something deep in my memory, and suddenly, a flood of thoughts hit me. “Oh my god who was friends with Chris Sturniolo. Where the hell did he go?”

Willow’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Chris! Oh my God, he was such a sweetheart!”

“I know, right?” I said, leaning forward in my seat. “Do you remember we used to talk all the time during summer 2018? How he’d walk all the way across Boston just to hang out with me. I had such a soft spot for him.”

Willow smiled, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Oh my god yes! He was so good looking at the time too.. Do you remember how he and Nate were inseparable? They were always together.”

“Yeah” I nodded, my mind spinning with memories. “Nate had this tough exterior, but Chris.. Chris was just a genuinely good guy. I wonder what happened to him.”

We both fell silent for a moment, lost in our thoughts. Nate had always seemed a little rough around the edges, coming from a background that was a bit more complicated than ours. But somehow, he managed to keep it together. Chris, though, he was different. He was kind in a way that stuck with you, the type of person who made you feel like you mattered.

Without even realizing it, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through old messages with Chris. “I wonder if he’s still around” I said, more to myself than to Willow.

She glanced over at me, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know..” I shrugged. “I just haven’t thought about him in so long. I’m curious.. I really do hope he’s doing okay.”

Curiosity got the better of both of us, and soon enough, we were deep diving into our old messages on Facebook Messenger of all things. We laughed as we scrolled through the innocent conversations between us, Nathan, and Chris, back when everything seemed simpler, easier. There was something sweet about it, something that reminded me of a time when life wasn’t so complicated.

I eventually clicked onto Chris’s profile, but my heart sank a little when I saw it. “Weird” I muttered, frowning at my phone screen.

“What’s up?” Willow asked, glancing over at me.

“He unfriended me” I said, scrolling through his profile. “And there’s nothing here. No posts, no profile picture.. everything’s wiped. He only has like 20 friends on here now.”

Willow raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah..” I said, showing her my phone. “It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Willow shrugged, sipping her wine. “Maybe he’s just gone off the grid. People do that sometimes. I mean, I only keep Facebook for Messenger these days anyway.”

“True” I muttered, though something about it felt... off. “I just wonder what happened to him. It’s like he vanished.”

“Maybe it’s no big deal” Willow said, trying to reassure me. “People change. They move on.”

“Yeah, I guess” I said, though I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

As we continued scrolling through old conversations, laughing at the silly messages we used to send as 15 year olds, I found myself thinking more and more about Chris. He had been such a big part of my life for that brief time, and now, it felt like he was a ghost, someone who had been there, but now was completely gone.

After a couple more glasses of wine and plenty of laughs, Willow and I decided to call it a night. It was almost midnight, and the weight of the week was starting to hit me. We didn’t even bother clearing the table, just left the wine glasses and half empty bottle as they were, and headed to bed.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than I’d planned. It was barely 7am, and sunlight streamed in through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. I stretched, yawned, and checked my phone – no new notifications, except for a reminder that I had to open the bridal shop today.

Willow was still fast asleep when I slipped out of her apartment, but that was no surprise. She was always a late riser. Beacon Hill was quiet this early, the cobblestone streets almost deserted, with only a few people out for their morning walks. You could see my breath in the crisp morning air as I headed toward the bridal shop in downtown Boston, deciding to stop for a coffee along the way.

As I made my way down Charles Street, I noticed something out of place for this hour of the morning. A cluster of police cars parked near the corner, their flashing lights reflecting off the surrounding buildings. There were officers standing around, talking in low voices, and a small crowd of people who seemed to be watching from a distance.

I couldn’t help but feel curious. What had happened? What was going on in these people’s lives, right under my nose, that I had no clue about? The thought lingered with me as I ordered my usual oat milk cappuccino and continued on my way.

It was strange how life worked. One minute, everything seemed normal – people going about their routines, living their lives – and the next, something like this happened. Something that could change everything. And soon enough, I’d be on the other side of that. Potentially defending people in situations just like this, trying to piece together what had happened and why. It made me wonder if I was really ready for that kind of responsibility.

I got to the bridal shop and unlocked the door and went through my usual opening routine. The shop had a certain charm to it, and I’d expect nothing less from my mom. Elegant white dresses hanging on racks, soft lighting bouncing off the delicate lace and silk, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the faint scent of roses. Mom had impeccable taste when it came to design, and it showed in every corner of the shop.

After turning on the lights and setting everything up, I put on the radio like I always did. The shop wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes, so I had some time to kill. The thought of Chris floated back into my mind as I leaned against the counter, doom scrolling through Instagram.

Maybe Instagram was my best bet for reconnecting with him. Facebook had been a bust, everything was wiped there, but maybe his Instagram account would offer something more. I just wanted to know what he looked like now at least.

I typed his name into the search bar and found him easily enough. @christophersturniolo. My heart skipped a beat when I saw his profile, and funnily enough I was already following him, must have been from years ago. But that feeling quickly faded when I realized it was just as ghostly as his Facebook. Only two posts, both from 2018. No profile picture. Nothing else. It was like he had disappeared from the internet, or at least from any part of it that was publicly accessible.

I clicked into the first post, squinting at the photo. It was a shot of him and a couple of other guys, standing pool side which looked like Nate’s back garden, if I could remember correctly. They were all grinning, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. I was about to scroll down when something on the radio caught my attention.

“…another victim in the ongoing feud between the Crimson Cartel and the H Block gangs. The man, whose identity is being withheld until the family is notified, but is said to be apart of the H Block gang, was found dead on Charles Street late last night in what police believe to be a gang related hit. Authorities are urging anyone with information to come forward…”

I froze, my thumb hovering over the screen of my phone as the news report continued.

The Crimson Cartel. I’d heard of them before, everyone had. They were one of the biggest gangs in Boston, notorious for their drug trafficking and violent turf wars. And now, it seemed like things were escalating again, another life lost to the senseless cycle of crime and violence.

It was awful. The idea that people could get dragged into something like that just to make ends meet, that they could lose themselves to drugs or crime, it always hit me hard. Maybe it was because I’d led such a different life, a life of relative privilege, that it felt so distant. But now, with everything I was learning in law school, it didn’t feel so distant anymore. One day, I’d probably be defending people caught up in situations like this, people who made bad decisions, sure, but who were still human, who still deserved a chance.

I shook my head, pulling myself out of my thoughts. I glanced down at my phone, intending to close out of Instagram, but then I noticed something that made my heart skip a beat.

The little heart icon beneath Chris’s post… it was red.

Did I just like that? My stomach dropped. I must’ve tapped it without realizing while I was distracted by the radio. Panic surged through me as I scrambled to unlike the post, but the damage was already done.

Chris would get a notification. He’d know I’d liked his post from 2018, after all this time, after years of no contact. What would he think? Would he even care? A million thoughts raced through my head, but there was no taking it back now.

I stood there for a moment, staring at my phone screen in disbelief. What had I just done?

A/n: ooooooo first part im exciteddddd, im hoping to have a posting schedule of Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. But that may vary week to week depending how busy I am<3

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo

#snowy speaks #allies or affiliates?#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #dealer!chris

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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.

TAG LIST:

@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

#lee know smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #lino smut #lee minho x you #lee know fic #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you

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justabigassnerd · 2 months ago

Text

Secrets and Their Burdens

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 21.8K

Warnings - inaccurate police & FBI scenes, drugs, needles, addiction, nausea, mentions of throwing up, angst, kidnapping, swearing, Graceland spoilers, alcohol, guns, murder

Summary - after an undercover mission gone wrong, you are forced to hide a secret from Tim until his curiosity (and jealousy) get the better of him

A/N - hey y'all! I'm so sorry it's been so long since I last posted a fic, I truly have no excuse other than the fact that this fic just ended up being so much longer than I expected (genuinely I'm sorry for the length). like I mentioned before, this is a crossover fic with the tv show Graceland so tbh I'm not expecting this fic to do very well I literally wrote this for me (but I'm more than willing to answer any questions people may have about it). I did have a lot of fun writing it though and I do kinda hope y'all enjoy it too. as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

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Being an FBI agent wasn’t the easiest job in the world, especially when a large chunk of your life was spent lying while undercover with some of the most dangerous people in Los Angeles. You had moved into a mixed agency house called Graceland and had quickly formed strong relationships with everyone who lived there. As well as working undercover, you were also in regular contact with the LAPD and found yourself getting familiar with the officers of Mid-Wilshire Police Station, especially Tim Bradford who you had formed a close friendship with despite your attempts to keep some distance between the two of you due to the nature of your job.

“Agent l/n. What brings you here?” You turn around at the sound of Tim’s voice, a smile on your face as he approaches.

“Briggs has got me undercover with some drug dealers who deal with Caza Cartel stuff but there’s this new dealer called Odin whose drugs are hitting the street. I’m here trying to find out if you guys have arrested anyone who deals with Odin’s stuff.” You explain, arms folding across your chest as you watch Tim’s reaction, his eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern.

“Should we be worried about Odin?” Tim asks, not missing how you sighed, your eyes flicking to the floor for a brief second before looking back up at him.

“I’m not sure. Mike is undercover with a bigger drug lord, one we’re trying to coax into starting a new deal with Odin. We’re hoping Odin will show himself at a meet with Bello. Other than that we’re trying our best to target your average back alley dealer to see if they can get us a meet.” You say, feeling guilty that you had no other information. It frustrated you to no end that no one could get any information on Odin and what his plans were. All you knew was that Odin’s drugs were dangerous, and people would die if they weren’t careful, especially when the Caza Cartel figured out that there was a new supplier in town.

“Well, I can help you check our records if you want?” Tim offers, watching as you shake your head softly.

“You got in just after I finished checking, none of the guys you arrested have a clue who Odin was nor did they sell Caza stuff. Just run-of-the-mill drug dealers.” You shrug, sighing as you drop your hands to your sides.

“Hey, if I find anything. You’ll be the first to know.” Tim vows, noticing your dejected expression at getting nowhere with your investigation.

“Thank you, Tim. Anything you might find would really help and I’d appreciate it a lot.” You say, your smile making a small return as Tim returns with a smile of his own.

“Tim, Grey wants us to assist on a call.” Lucy gently interrupts, her gaze flicking between you and Tim as you look over at her.

“Got it.” Tim nods at Lucy before looking back over at you.

“Be safe out there. I don’t want the next time I see you to be in a hospital.” You say with a friendly wink as Tim nods with a soft laugh.

“You too. I’ll see you around. Hopefully not in a hospital.” Tim replies, his tone becoming lighter and becoming a joking tone as he nods before you make your way past Tim to leave the station while Tim watches you make your way out.

“You totally have a crush on her,” Lucy says quickly, making Tim’s head snap around to look at her, a shocked expression on his face.

“No, I do not!” Tim insists, his voice getting slightly higher at the accusation, all while Lucy folds her arms across her chest, an eyebrow raising as she studies Tim’s reaction.

“Okay, sure you don’t,” Lucy says, amused by how her training officer had reacted to her words and vowing to keep bugging him until he admits it.

“Anyone home?” You call through the house as soon as you enter, glancing around as you make your way inside.

“Yo!” You hear Jakes call back, following his voice into the kitchen where he is filling a glass with orange juice.

“Anything fun on the agenda today?” You ask, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“Just still dealing with my smuggled bird's case. It’s got to be one of the longest cases I’ve worked and I still can’t figure out how I feel about it.” Jakes complains, leaning against the island as he takes a sip from his juice.

“At least you’re saving birds. They didn’t ask to be smuggled.” You say with a light shrug, laughing as Jakes rolls his eyes.

“You’re way too optimistic. You’re like a Johnny 2.0.” Jakes fires back as you laugh.

“Technically speaking I’m older than Johnny so shouldn’t Johnny be y/n 2.0.?” You question, grinning at Jakes as he scoffs, downing his drink before putting his glass in the sink and walking off just as Mike enters the kitchen still in his wetsuit and hair visibly wet from his morning in the sea.

“Where were you? You missed out on some good waves.” Mike comments, opening one of the cupboards and grabbing the bread, taking two slices and putting them in the toaster as you sigh lightly.

“I headed over to Mid-Wilshire to see if they had any recent arrests that could connect us to Odin but they all seemed to be dead ends.” You say, looking down to focus on the glass in your hands.

“Nothing?” Mike queries, grabbing a plate and the butter while waiting for the bread to toast.

“Unfortunately. But Tim said he’d let me know if they arrest someone who may be of interest.” You say, missing how Mike’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Tim’s name as an amused smile crossed his face.

“Tim’s definitely got a soft spot for you,” Briggs says with a laugh as he enters the kitchen, also clad in a wetsuit and clearly having heard the last thing you said as you roll your eyes.

“No, he doesn’t.” You deflect, feeling your cheeks heat up as you turn away from the two so you can wash your glass and leave it to dry on the rack.

“Something tells me you have a soft spot for him too.” Briggs teases, crossing to you, slinging his arm around your shoulder and jostling you, ignoring your groan at the dampness of his wetsuit against your clothes.

“He’s a nice guy. He’s helped me on more than one occasion of course I’m going to be nice to him.” You huff, shrugging Briggs’ arm off you as he laughs. You had learned to deal with Briggs’ joking, he had quickly become an older brother figure to you when you joined Graceland. Plus he was the senior agent within the house so it wasn’t like you could get rid of him easily anyway.

“All we’re saying is there’s nothing wrong with liking him. I mean he’s a cop anyway so it’s not like you have to lie to him about your career like you’d have to with anyone else.” Mike says, a slight sadness flashing across his face at the thought of Abby and how he had to lie to her repeatedly about his life.

“You guys can believe I have feelings for Tim but you’re wrong. I was trying to see if they had any links to Odin and Tim offered to let me know if he found anything and that’s it. I promise.” You insist, folding your arms across your chest and leaning against the kitchen counter as Mike and Briggs exchange a look.

“Well, you keep believing that. I’m going to get ready, I’m spending the day with Bello, hopefully, he’ll take our bait and want to set up a meet with Odin after what happened with the Caza torpedo.” Mike says after a mouthful of toast, pointing at you as you roll your eyes at his first sentence.

“I can act as a middleman if Bello wants. You know I’ve already got a cover with him so it would be no water off my back.” Briggs says simply, crossing over to Mike, taking the second slice of toast off Mike’s plate and beginning to eat it despite Mike’s protests. Just before you can respond, one of the burner phones in your pocket rings and you pull it out, sighing as you recognise the number, holding up a finger to silence the bickering between Briggs and Mike as you step away to answer the call.

“What’s up?” You say into the phone, moving to stand near the large windows overlooking the beach, watching as the world goes by.

“Yo, y/n, I’ve been running low on stuff lately and the people from Caza are basically refusing to send it to me, saying something like I’ve been playing them or some bullshit. I need to go to Mexico to meet with some guys there and I’d feel much better having you come with me, I mean you’re badass and can hold your own. Can you come?” You hear the familiar voice of Luca ask, rambling as he fights to contain his nerves. You knew Luca had been rising the ranks among drug dealers and that could’ve been part of the reason why Caza asked him to meet face to face. You had a slight bad feeling grow in your stomach as you think over his question, worrying about what might happen to you but after a minute or two of silent debate, you push the bad feeling aside to prioritise the mission.

“I’ll come.” You say finally, hearing the relieved sigh from the other end of the line.

“Can you get over to mine as soon as possible? We need to hit the road as soon as we can.” Luca asks and you nod slightly before remembering he can’t see you.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll get there as quickly as I can.” You say, listening as Luca thanks you quickly before abruptly hanging up, leaving you staring out the window with the phone in hand.

“Is everything okay?” You hear Mike ask, turning to face the two who are watching you worriedly.

“Luca’s got a meeting with Caza in Mexico and he’s asked me to come with him.” You say, not missing how Briggs and Mike exchanged a look between them.

“You better be careful out there. If Caza brings Jangles you get out of there before anything goes wrong.” Briggs says, striding towards you and placing his hands on your shoulders so he could look you in the eyes.

“I know. I’ll be careful.” You say softly, offering Briggs a small smile to reassure him that you’ll be okay.

“I expect regular contact from you every day you’re gone just so we can confirm you’re okay. Does that sound like a plan?” Briggs continues, folding his arms across his chest, letting his protectiveness seep into his voice.

“That’s fine, I can do that. I’ll only have this burner phone with me but I’ll contact you when I get a chance to. Promise.” You swear, watching Briggs carefully as he drops his chin to his chest, sighing softly.

“You better go get ready, huh? We’ll see you off.” Briggs says quietly, looking up at you and smiling softly as you nod. You then head upstairs to your room, dig out some clothes to wear, pack a small bag and make sure you have your gun and ammo as well as conceal your FBI badge and ID deep in your bag just in case you need it at all. When you’re satisfied that you have everything you need, you make your way back down the stairs and see Briggs and Mike waiting with small smiles on their faces.

“Don’t let the house fall apart without me, boys.” You tease, continuing to push your worry aside to appear confident in front of your friends.

“We’ll try our best,” Mike replies, bringing you in for a hug.

“Also I better not miss out on sauce night. I might never recover if I do.” You joke as you pull away from the hug, looking from Mike to Briggs.

“You know Charlie could never hold sauce night without everyone in attendance. Don’t worry.” Briggs says, tugging you into a hug of his own.

“That’s a relief. I guess I’ll see you guys in a week or so.” You say with a small smile, adjusting your bag and leaving Graceland, taking a deep breath as you exit the house before you make your way in the direction of Luca’s house.

After three days, you stopped communicating.

“Have you heard anything from y/n?” Briggs asks early one morning when he notices everyone gathered in the kitchen as Johnny makes pancakes. Briggs feels anxiety clawing at his stomach when he gets nothing but shaking heads and murmuring ‘no’s’ in response.

“I thought she said she’d message you daily?” Mike asks, his attention drawn from watching Johnny to where Briggs is standing.

“She hasn’t messaged me in a couple of days. I thought there’d be a chance she messaged one of you guys instead.” Briggs says worriedly, watching as everyone slowly realises that something may be wrong.

“She’s not said a thing to anyone?” Charlie asks, her jaw clenching when she sees everyone continuing to shake their heads.

“Okay well, we gotta get the cops involved, right?” Johnny asks, shutting the stove off, abandoning the pancakes and glancing from person to person.

“We definitely have to contact the police in Mexico and see if they can find someone fitting her description. I’ll go down there myself and oversee any investigation.” Briggs starts, and everyone begins to scramble into action.

“I’ll head to some of the local stations around here. If y/n ends up stateside without contacting us I’d feel better knowing that the LAPD are on the lookout for her as well.” Charlie says, grabbing her jacket and tugging it on.

“I’ll do the same. We can cover more stations that way.” Paige says, rushing to grab all her belongings so she can head out.

“I’ll go to the Bureau and report this. I’ll let them know what we’re all doing.” Mike says as he gestures for Johnny to follow him.

“Jakes, do you think you could get ICE involved? Keep an eye on people coming out of the border, especially if there’s someone who matches Luca’s description.” Briggs asks, pointing at Jakes who nods quickly, grabs his phone, and dials a number on his phone before getting up and moving away for some quiet. After everyone figures out what they’re going to do, they all rush out of Graceland, making their separate ways to start searches for you.

Charlie was the one to enter Mid-Wilshire, immediately making a beeline for Grey’s office, her urgency catching the attention of Tim and Lucy as they stood near Angela’s desk, listening to her explain the details of a case she had been working on.

“Agent DeMarco, can I help you?” Grey asks as Charlie enters the office, glancing up from his computer as she enters.

“One of our agents has gone missing. She went to Mexico undercover just over a week ago and we haven’t received any communication from her in a few days.” Charlie starts, explaining the situation as Grey raises an eyebrow.

“Respectfully Agent DeMarco, if someone has gone missing in Mexico, surely you should be contacting the Mexican police? We don’t have jurisdiction in other countries.” Grey asks, leaning back in his chair as Charlie sighs, crossing her arms.

“Briggs is already covering that front. We just want to make as many stations in LA aware. If y/n somehow ends up stateside and for some reason has no way to contact any of us at Graceland, I’d feel better knowing the LAPD are keeping an eye out for her.” Charlie explains further, watching as Grey nods slowly.

“I see. Well, we can get an APB out for her, but again since she went missing in Mexico we can only cover LA. But we will do what we can.” Grey says as Charlie nods.

“We’ll take any help we can get. We’re just worried about her.” She admits, fiddling with her fingers as a way to channel her anxiety. After giving Grey a description of you as well as the information she knew about Luca just in case he reappeared without you, Charlie exits Grey’s office, almost walking straight into Tim who had begun to mingle near the office.

“Agent DeMarco, is everything okay?” Tim asks, his hands resting on his gun belt as he watches Charlie shake her head.

“y/n is missing,” Charlie says, noticing how quickly Tim tensed up, his mouth dropping open slightly in shock as he tried to figure out a way to respond.

“You’re sure she’s missing?” Tim asks quickly, stammering and falling over his words, hoping that it was nothing more than a cruel prank being played on him.

“Positive. She promised Briggs that she’d be in contact daily and she hasn’t contacted any of us for a couple of days now.” Charlie says, explaining to Tim what she had just told Grey moments ago.

“Is there anything we can do? There has to be something, right?” Tim asks desperately watching for any kind of response from Charlie who just shrugs.

“There’s not much that can be done from here. The LAPD doesn’t have any kind of jurisdiction outside of LA but Briggs is in Mexico trying to start some sort of investigation but we’re just asking the LAPD to keep an eye out for her in case she somehow ends up back in LA without any of us knowing.” Charlie says simply, missing how Tim gritted his teeth, bowing his head in frustration.

“If you need any help. I’m more than willing to help.” Tim offers, looking back up at Charlie who offers Tim a soft smile.

“Thank you,” Charlie says softly, her smile encouraging Tim to give her a smile of his own, albeit forced. Charlie then carefully dismisses herself, making her way out of Mid-Wilshire station to go to the next station, leaving Tim standing in the middle of the room alone.

“Tim, what’s going on?” Lucy asks, approaching Tim after having watched his and Charlie’s interaction from afar.

“y/n’s missing.” Is all Tim can bring himself to say, unable to remove his gaze from the door Charlie had just left through.

“What? How do they know? Can we help at all?” Lucy asks, worry crossing her face as Tim finally turns to face her, shaking his head solemnly.

“There’s not much we can do. She went missing in Mexico. We’ve only been told to just keep an eye out for her in case she somehow ends up stateside without anyone in Graceland knowing.” Tim says, watching as Lucy fights back a frown.

“There has to be something, right? I mean you went to Guatemala to save Angela.” Lucy says, trying to come up with something that they could do to help you.

“That was to save one of our own and even then it was hard to convince Grey to let us go along with that plan. We won’t be able to get involved unless the Feds want us involved.” Tim says with a shake of his head, knowing just how impossible it would be to try and get involved. Despite that, he began to think, a single idea coming to mind before suddenly walking off, leaving Lucy confused and standing alone.

At a gas station, Briggs was filling his Bronco up with gas when his phone began to ring, and he quickly dug in his pocket, his heart pounding as he pulled the phone out of his pocket, hoping you were on the other end of the phone when he didn’t recognise the number.

“Hello?” Briggs asks, unusually anxious as he awaits an answer from the other end.

“Agent Briggs, it’s Officer Tim Bradford.” Briggs couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of disappointment at the voice. He had no ill feelings towards Tim, he just wished it had been you calling, telling him you were okay.

“Officer Bradford, what can I do for you?” Briggs asks, leaning against his Bronco as he stares up at the sky from behind his sunglasses. He found it unusually cruel for the day to be so sunny and cheerful when you were missing.

“I heard about y/n being missing and I want to help,” Tim says, pacing back and forth anxiously as he talks. He denied it to anyone who brought it up but he did harbour feelings for you, and you being missing and potentially hurt made his heart hurt.

“Respectfully, this isn’t really an LAPD matter. We only informed you guys just in case she ends up stateside.” Briggs starts, trying to let Tim down gently.

“I don’t care. I want to do what I can to help y/n.” Tim demands, ceasing in his pacing as his voice raises slightly, causing Briggs to raise his eyebrows slightly in impressed shock. He knew Tim cared for you, but now he was getting to see the protectiveness Tim had for you, a side neither man knew he harboured for you.

“Look man, I don’t know what your boss will say about it but if you really want to help me… I won’t stop you. I’m just filling my car up for the journey, you can meet me here and we can head to Mexico together.” Briggs finally says, respecting Tim’s drive to help and deciding that ultimately it would be safer if he and Tim teamed up as opposed to working separately.

“Where are you? I’ll swing by as soon as I can.” Tim asks, already prepping a lie about a family emergency as Briggs lets him know which gas station he is at. With Briggs’ location shared, Tim hung up the phone, ready to leave the station.

It took Tim about half an hour to get to the gas station Briggs was at after leaving the station. He had to make a quick pit stop home to pack a bag and call Genny to ask if she could look after Kojo while he was gone, letting her know where his spare key was so she could swing by whenever she could to collect him. As soon as Tim was confident he was sorted, he walked to the gas station, quickly recognising Briggs who gestured him over.

“Thanks for letting me tag along. I just feel so useless sitting by and doing nothing.” Tim thanks Briggs as they shake hands.

“Glad to see you care about y/n. But I do have to lay down some ground rules. I’m in charge here. What I say goes no matter what. I also trust you can look after yourself. Technically speaking you’re not supposed to be here and I don’t want you getting hurt or killed on my watch.” Briggs says as the two make their way towards his car.

“Of course, whatever you say goes,” Tim says with a nod, getting into the passenger seat while Briggs gets behind the wheel and begins the journey to Mexico.

The journey to Mexico was long, and Briggs and Tim weren’t quite sure how to hold a conversation together other than talking about how to try and find you. By the time they had made it to Mexico, they’d managed to set a game plan on how they’d go about starting the investigation when they made it to the police station nearest to where you had been. Upon arriving at the police station, both Briggs and Tim exit the vehicle making their way into the building and approaching the front desk. Briggs strikes up a conversation in Spanish with the officer working at the front desk while Tim stands back, listening carefully to what is being said. When the officer finds out that they’ve come from LA, he begins to talk in English, figuring it would be easier.

“So, you said you had a missing agent, huh?” The officer asks after introducing himself as Miguel as he leads the two men through the station.

“That’s correct, she told me she was in the area for a meeting with a Caza member and she’s failed to get into contact with us for a couple of days,” Briggs confirms, nodding as they reach a desk.

“I see. Well, I’ll get some men to call around local coroners offices and hospitals, so if you could give me a description and a name that would be helpful.” Miguel then says, glancing at Briggs who nods, giving him a full description of you and your name while Tim’s jaw tightens, eyes squeezing shut as he envisions you hurt or dead somewhere. Once Briggs gives out all the needed information, Miguel excuses himself to make some calls.

“We should start searching the area, right?” Tim asks the moment the two of them are left alone.

“We probably shouldn’t do anything without an okay from the Federales,” Briggs says, turning to look at Tim who watches Briggs, confused.

“She could be out there. Hurt. Alone. Afraid. And you’re just going to wait?” Tim asks incredulously staring at Briggs, shocked.

“y/n is tougher than you think. If she’s out there she’ll be able to handle herself. You agreed that you’d listen to everything I say and I’m saying we wait until the Federales say we can, and they’d be able to help us since they have more knowledge of the area.” Briggs says firmly, turning to face Tim properly. Both men stand face to face, Tim’s jaw clenching further as he glares at Briggs. Now that they were in Mexico, Tim’s agreement to listen to Briggs’ words went out the window. Tim was too worried about you and wanted nothing more than to just get out onto the streets and look for you. He was frustrated that Briggs was willing to break the rules enough to let him tag along but then the moment they could do any investigation he suddenly wanted to wait. Deep down, Tim knew Briggs was being rational, and that it would be best for them to get information from the Federales about where they could begin to look, but that rational thought was overtaken by Tim’s burning drive to find you and get you back to LA safe.

After some painful minutes of pacing and waiting for anyone to help, Miguel returned with his phone in hand.

“There is no one matching her description or name in any hospitals or morgues.” He informs the two, watching as Tim lets out a slight sigh, relieved to hear that you weren’t dead in a morgue anywhere. But you were still missing.

“Okay, so what’s our next play? We gotta get out on the streets and look for her, right?” Tim asks, looking between Briggs and Miguel, eyes searching desperately for an answer.

“That would be the next course of action, yes. You said she came for a meeting with Caza, correct?” Miguel asks, turning to Briggs who nods quickly to confirm.

“Yeah, someone she was undercover with was invited for a meeting with Caza. I don’t think either of them knew what they were getting into but if Jangles was involved…” Briggs trails off, eyes squeezing shut as he envisions what could’ve happened to you if Jangles was involved.

“Jangles? Who’s Jangles?” Tim asks worriedly, noticing the increased tension in the room.

“We call him ‘El Hombre Llave’ here.” Miguel says, looking over at Tim who only grows more confused.

“The Key Man?” Tim translates the name easily, but still not fully understanding the significance of the name.

“Named as such because he’s known for carrying around the keys of his victims. Us Feds call him Jangles on account of the sound of all those keys jangling. He’s Caza’s attack dog, if there’s someone they don’t like, don’t trust. There’s a high chance Jangles will come after them.” Briggs explains further, noticing how Tim grew more worried at what was said.

“You’re telling me that there’s potentially a killer out there after y/n? And I’m only finding this out now?” Tim asks, dumbfounded as he watches the two men carefully.

“Look, man, you’re not FBI so you didn’t know about Jangles and I was, and still am, hoping he wasn’t involved. For y/n’s sake more than anything.” Briggs explains, holding his hands up to try and keep the peace between the two of them.

“So, you were just planning on not telling me about the fact that this cartel has a guy they send to do their dirty work?” Tim asks, his voice raising as he addresses Briggs, completely thrown by the fact that Briggs was willing to keep such a vital piece of information from him when it would’ve been useful to know earlier, especially when a person of interest was dubbed as an ‘attack dog’ for the cartel you were investigating.

“Do I need to remind you of the rules we established? I’m in charge and I don’t have to tell you shit.” Briggs says firmly, stepping closer to Tim, the two men standing in a face-off.

“Whoa, please calm down you two. We need to focus on finding your agent.” Miguel says quickly, gaining the attention of both men as they back down, although still continuing to glare at each other.

“You’re right. Is there anywhere we can start our search?”

After three days of searching, Briggs and Tim found no clues to your whereabouts and the Federales began to draw the line, saying that the search efforts may be in vain. Neither man wanted to give up but they also knew they couldn’t keep wasting resources and police time. After the three days had passed, the two men were forced to return to LA, empty-handed and dejected. When Briggs made it back to Graceland, he saw the hopeful expressions that were quickly shot down by the shake of his head. Despite the failed search in Mexico, Tim continued to keep an eye out for you on his patrols, hoping you’d miraculously turn up.

Four days after Briggs and Tim returned to LA. You turned up at Graceland.

You stumbled into the house, pale, clammy, and shivering, but you were home. You made an immediate beeline for the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You could barely focus on what was around you as you fumbled for a glass, knocking some things over as you tried to turn the water on to fill your glass. Once the glass was half filled with water, you turned the tap off, took a quick refreshing sip of water and made your way to the couch, placing the glass down before collapsing on the couch, letting out the smallest sighs of relief at the familiar comfort of the cushions. Just after your eyes slipped closed, you heard the familiar sounds of someone coming down the stairs, and whoever it was, wasn’t doing the best job at attempting to be stealthy. Your eyes peeled open as you looked over at your shoulder, smiling weakly when you locked eyes with Johnny who paused on the stairs as he stared at you, gun in hand.

“You know there’s no guns downstairs Johnny.” You laugh with a wince as a spark of pain shoots through you.

“y/n? Holy shit.” Johnny says, immediately putting his gun down and rushing over to you.

“Hey Johnny.” You say weakly as Johnny sits on the couch alongside you, pulling you into his arms for a hug.

“Where the hell have you been, girl?” Johnny asks, cradling your head against his chest, letting out the smallest sigh of relief that you’re alive.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m home now.” You whisper, clinging to Johnny, wincing slightly as you adjust yourself.

“We gotta get you to a hospital.” Johnny suddenly says, pulling away as you shake your head, ignoring the lightheadedness that comes with it.

“No. No, I’m fine. No hospitals Johnny. Please.” You plead quietly, watching Johnny carefully as he falls silent, debating what he should do before he sighs softly and nods.

“Okay. No hospitals.” He concedes, looking at you as you smile.

“Thank you. I just need a shower and a nap I’m sure I’ll be fine in no time.” You say, laughing lightly as you gesture at yourself to lightly mock your appearance.

“I wasn’t going to say anything but..” Johnny says cheekily, laughing as you roll your eyes, bracing your hands either side of yourself and easing yourself up onto your feet, wincing once more at the spark of pain that flies through you.

“Hey, I got you,” Johnny says quickly, leaping to his feet, wrapping one of your arms around his middle and helping you up the stairs, guiding you carefully up to your room so he could help you grab some clean clothes and a towel before helping you to the bathroom.

“I got it from here, Johnny. Thank you.” You say gratefully as you stop outside the door to the bathroom.

“If you need me just shout. I’m going to contact the others and let them know you’re home.” Johnny says, carefully helping you unwind your arm from around him, letting you go with a smile. When you enter the bathroom and lock the door you instantly turn the shower on, letting it warm up while you strip down, catching sight of your battered and bruised body, looking at each injury in turn until your eyes land on the bruises on the inside of your arm, biting back tears when you look at them. You spend a few minutes staring at the bruises before you bring yourself back to reality and get into the shower. You relax as the hot water rushes over you, the water slowly dyeing pink as you scrub the blood, both dried and wet off your body. You scrub at every inch of you, a desperate attempt to cleanse yourself of what you had been through over the last few days. After a long shower, you get into your sweatpants and loose shirt, heading to your room to throw your stuff into your laundry basket before grabbing a hoodie to hide your injuries even more. Once you were changed you once more caught sight of yourself in the mirror and you couldn’t help but wince slightly at how pale and clammy you looked. All you could do was hope you’d be able to play it up to what you had been through. Shaking your head lightly with a sigh, you head downstairs where Johnny is in the kitchen cooking.

“Cooking are we?” You ask teasingly, leaning against the wall by the stairs to the kitchen as a wave of nausea hits you.

“You don’t look like you’ve eaten much recently. Plus, I know you’ve been missing my cooking.” Johnny says, looking over at you and shooting you a quick wink, his smile faltering slightly when he sees how rough you look.

“Hey, why don’t you relax on the couch? The others should be back soon.” Johnny says, his hand hovering over the handle of the pan as he debates abandoning the food to help you over to the couch.

“I might do that, yeah.” You mumble, easing yourself away from the wall and making your way over to the couch, lying across it, shoving a cushion under your head and lying an arm across your eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight coming from the large windows. You squeeze your eyes shut in another attempt to close the overwhelming light out. After about ten minutes of lying on your back, listening to Johnny humming to himself as he cooks, you hear the front door fly open.

“Is she here?” You hear Briggs say, calling through the house, making your eyes peel open as you prop yourself up on your elbows smiling weakly over at Briggs.

“Over here.” You call over, your voice weak but Briggs hears you, rushing over and pulling you into a tight hug.

“Didn’t realise you’d missed me that much.” You then say, attempting to keep your voice light as Briggs hugs you tighter, making you wince silently but not wanting to break the embrace.

“You’re family y/n, of course, I missed you,” Briggs says softly, kissing the top of your head affectionately.

“I missed you guys too.” You reply, listening to Briggs’ rapid heartbeat begin to slow as he holds you close.

“You look like shit, is everything okay?” Briggs asks worriedly, pulling away slightly to take in your rough appearance as you laugh weakly.

“You really know the way to a woman’s heart, Briggs.” You joke as you hear the door open once more, this time looking over to see Charlie and Mike entering the house, seeing you and Briggs and rushing over.

“Hey, Chuck.” You mumble, smoothly transferring yourself from Briggs’ embrace to Charlie’s who holds you close, running a hand through your hair.

“What happened to you, Baby?” Charlie asks, her maternal instincts kicking in as she cradles you, shifting her hand from your hair to your chin, cupping it softly so she can look you in the eye.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” You say quietly, trying to reassure her that you are okay, smiling softly at her as Mike eases himself down on the couch.

“Mikey, you’re not missing out on this, " you say, gesturing him closer as Charlie carefully releases you from her embrace, swapping places with Mike so he can give you a hug.

“It’s so good to have you back,” Mike says softly, hugging you carefully as you smile, grateful to be back with the people you love.

“I bet I’ve missed out on sauce night, huh?” You ask, glancing between everyone, pulling away from Mike slightly but staying close enough that his arm stayed wrapped around you.

“Never. We could never hold sauce night without you.” Charlie says reassuringly, reaching across to rub a gentle hand up and down your arm, making you sigh with a soft laugh.

“You know, we’re not the only ones who missed you,” Mike says with an amused smile, glancing around at everyone before focusing on you.

“Was it someone outside the house?” You ask quietly, watching everyone’s reactions carefully, your heart rate begins to pick up as you start to hope who it was.

“That Tim Bradford of yours wouldn’t stop pestering us. He damn near demanded I brought him to Mexico with me when we first figured out you’d gone missing. That man’s got it bad for you.” Briggs explains with a laugh, watching as your eyebrows furrow slightly, looking up at him.

“Please tell me you didn’t actually let Tim come to Mexico with you.” You ask, worried about what could’ve possibly happened to Tim. Before Briggs could reply, you heard the door open.

“Levi, you better not be hogging y/n all to yourself.” You hear Jakes call, rushing into your line of sight as Mike rolls his eyes, gently letting you wiggle free from his embrace so you can lean forward and give Jakes a hug as you think about how you need to visit Tim soon to let him know you were okay.

“Paige said she was too deep into her case at the moment to come home right now but you know she’ll be here the moment she’s able to,” Johnny says, entering the living room with a plate of food and cutlery, handing it to you with a gentle smile.

“Somehow I don’t doubt it.” You reply, smiling as you take the plate, leaning back against the couch cushions so you can eat. You only manage a couple of mouthfuls of food before you begin to feel nauseous. You place the plate down with a trembling hand and get up from the couch.

“Sorry Johnny, the food is lovely I just don’t have as much appetite as I thought. I might go for a nap, actually.” You say apologetically, dismissing yourself and heading up the stairs, trying to contain each wince that flashes across your face each step you take.

When you make it to your room, you collapse on your bed, curling up as you shiver. All you could think about was what the cartel had left you, how much you regretted using it so quickly, and how you wanted more. Even as you tried to nap it was all you could think about as you tossed and turned. As your brain screams at you, unable to rest for even a second, you eventually push the covers back, crossing to your desk and digging through the drawers desperately to try to find one of the many burner phones you had stashed away. When you finally found one, you quickly discovered that it had run out of battery making you slam your hand on your desk angrily with a frustrated grunt before you dug around in your drawers further, managing to find a charger and shakily rushing to the nearest outlet, your hands barely able to stay still long enough to plug into the port. As soon as the phone was charging, you sat on the edge of your bed, knee bouncing erratically as you waited for the phone to power on.

The second the phone began to power on, you fumbled through the contacts, searching for the right number before you hurriedly typed out a message, your shaking fingers causing you to make multiple typos, your muddled mind barely processing any of it as you hit send, desperation clinging to every fibre of your body.

Mere seconds after you hit send, you hear footsteps approaching your room and you hurriedly shove the phone out of eyesight, diving under the cover just as the door to your room opens and the person on the other side knocks lightly. You feigned waking up as you glanced over your shoulder to see Paige entering carefully.

“y/n, you’re okay!” Paige says, relief crossing her features as she locks eyes with you.

“That I am.” You say with a small smile, lowering yourself back down to the pillow and curling up again, hoping Paige will get the hint.

“What happened to you? Where were you?” Paige then asks, her expression worried as she regards you.

“I’m not quite ready to talk about it yet, Paige. I’m exhausted and just want to rest. I promise I’ll come down when I feel up to it.” You mumble, burying your face further into the pillow.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just glad you’re home.” Paige says quickly and apologetically, beginning to close the door, whispering a quick apology before closing the door behind her, leaving you alone once more.

The second the door closed, your phone buzzed lightly, sending you scrambling out from under the covers, hand flailing for the phone as you pulled it closer to you. Your eyes hurriedly scan the screen, desperately focusing on the message, hoping you were getting the response you wanted. When you had processed the message, you let out a small sigh of relief, your body relaxing properly for what felt like the first time since you walked back through the doors of Graceland. All you had to do now was bide your time and then you’d get what you’ve been desperately craving, knowing you had to make sure that no one else found out about it.

A few days after you returned from Mexico, you finally got the courage to go and visit Tim to let him know you were okay. It was nerve-wracking to be stepping back into Mid-Wilshire, especially when you weren’t back on duty yet. You made your way to the front desk, awkwardly standing in front of it for a moment until you got the attention of the officer working there.

“Can I help you?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, eyes flicking from you to the paperwork in front of him, barely paying you much attention.

“I was just wondering if Officer Bradford was in?” You ask, an unusual sheepishness to your voice as you speak, fidgeting with your fingers and fighting the urge to shuffle.

“Why do you need to see him?” The officer asks with a sigh, looking bored and ready to send you away.

“I’m a friend.” You say, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets, your thumb brushing alongside your badge. You knew you could just use your badge, say it was an FBI matter but you also knew that you couldn’t risk putting people on high alert just so you could see Tim. You were also pretty sure that even with your badge the officer on the other side of the desk wouldn’t believe you with how rough you looked. Your split lip was still healing, you were pale and shaking, and you had obvious bags under your eyes. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the officer began to attempt to arrest you with your appearance the way it was.

“A friend, huh? Look, lady, I don’t know who you’re trying to fool here but if you think I’m supposed to believe that you are a friend of Tim Bradford’s, you’ve got another thing coming.” The officer says, rolling his eyes as he focuses on the paperwork before him, and as he talks, your gaze begins to wander, hoping by some miracle you’d be able to talk yourself out of this situation. Just as all hope seems lost, Tim walks in, ready to address someone but halting in his tracks completely when he notices you, jaw dropping open as he stares.

“Hey, Tim.” You say softly, not really sure of what to say to him.

“y/n? What? How did you? Where did you? Are you really back?” Tim stammers, unable to form a proper sentence as he refuses to remove his gaze from you.

“I’m here, Tim.” You say as Tim begins to take small, tentative steps towards you, stopping just in front of you as he regards you softly.

“Can I…?” Tim asks, unable to finish his sentence but despite that, you knew what he was asking for so you stepped closer, winding your arms around his middle and hugging him lightly, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you a little closer.

“I would’ve come by sooner but the Bureau wanted to ask me some questions first and quite frankly I’ve been feeling like shit.” You say quietly, relishing the feeling of how Tim’s arms wound around you so perfectly. Tim held you in a way that made you feel protected and made you believe that everything would be okay.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” Tim confesses quietly, his voice soft as he speaks, his lips brushing up against the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry for worrying you. I promise I didn’t do it on purpose.” You make a weak attempt at a joke as Tim holds you a little tighter, somehow attuned to your unhealed injuries and not wishing to hurt you further.

“I know you didn’t. But it didn’t make me worry any less.” Tim says, unafraid to admit his worry to you.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, shifting slightly so you can look at Tim properly as he shakes his head lightly.

“Don’t apologise. It wasn’t your fault. Hey, look I was just about to go on lunch, come with me. We can catch up and lunch will be on me.” Tim says, pulling away slightly, his hands moving up to gently hold you by the shoulders as he watches you softly.

“Tim I don’t want to impose…” you say nervously, watching as Tim shakes his head once more.

“I want you to join me. I’ve missed you.” Tim insists, his unusually soft eyes pleading with you as you silently consider his offer before sighing lightly, your head bowing.

“Okay. I’ll come.” You say as you look back up at Tim who smiles, leading you out of the station and taking you to a small food truck nearby, letting you sit at one of the tables while he orders the food for the both of you. It doesn’t take Tim long to return to the table, placing the two meals down on the table as you smile and thank him before digging in.

“What do you think of the food?” Tim asks after a few minutes of silent eating.

“It’s good. It’s no Hector’s but it’s pretty good regardless.” You admit with a nod, making Tim’s eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Hector’s? I don’t think I’ve heard of that.” Tim muses, stabbing at his food with the small plastic fork in his hand as your jaw drops open in shock.

“You don’t know Hector’s Tacos? It’s just the best taco truck in LA. Everyone at Graceland loves it. I’ll have to take you there someday. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve tried Hector’s Tacos.” You say with a laugh, watching as Tim nods with a chuckle.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Tim says jokingly, pointing at you as you laugh, rolling your eyes.

You spend about twenty minutes with Tim, falling back into your natural rhythm and you find yourself almost distracted from the nagging desperation in the back of your head until you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You dug it out of your jacket and looked down at the screen, expecting it to be a text from someone from Graceland but instead, you saw a number you recognised all too quickly. You sat up a little straighter, your focus now entirely on the screen as you hurriedly type a response, getting to your feet.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. I have to go. This was amazing and we have to do it again someday.” You say, barely looking up at Tim who didn’t even have a chance to say anything before you darted off, leaving Tim alone and confused.

When most of the agents made their way back to Graceland after a long day at work, they were all expecting to find you somewhere within the house but instead, the house was quiet, with no sign of you anywhere.

“Yo, has anyone seen y/n?” Briggs asks as he comes downstairs after conducting a search for you upstairs.

“Nah, man. Last I heard she was going to try and visit Tim. Maybe things went so well they’ve wound up at his place.” Johnny says, ignoring the groans of his housemates as he laughs.

“As much as I’d love for those two to grow up and confess their feelings for each other I doubt that’s the case. y/n’s been through a lot recently, I can’t imagine that she’d want to confess her feelings now of all times and I’d like to think that Tim is enough of a gentleman not to do anything like that while she’s recovering.” Charlie says, lightly slapping Johnny on the back of the head as she talks.

“I agree. Maybe they’re just catching up? Talking to Tim is probably the best way for her to just get away from everything so I can’t blame her for wanting a few hours out of the house.” Paige says, defending you from the accusations even when you’re not around to hear her.

“She makes a good point. I’d want a few hours away from us too. Especially when she can’t get involved with work right now.” Jakes says with a shrug, taking a sip from his glass of freshly poured orange juice.

“Maybe…” Briggs mutters to himself, turning away from the others and crossing to the window so he could overlook the beach. The waves were big, a perfect day for surfing which is what Briggs would’ve been tempted to do had he not been concerned about you. He had been keeping close tabs on you since you got back to Graceland and he wasn’t glad to be recognising the signs you were displaying.

When you didn’t come back to the house until the next day, most of the team had become convinced that you were just spending the night with Tim but Briggs was still convinced that his hypothesis was correct despite what the others thought but he wasn’t prepared to jump to conclusions just yet. He wanted to be certain that he was in fact right before he tried to bring the topic up with you.

Over the next few days, Briggs did his best to keep close tabs on you. He’d question you when he found you attempting to sneak out of Graceland late at night after everyone else had gone to bed. You’d always use the same excuse every time you were caught, claiming you just wanted to clear your head and go for a late-night walk along the beach. After hearing the same excuse five times in a row, Briggs knew he had to follow you to get to the bottom of what was going on with you. Thankfully, on the night Briggs had chosen to follow you, you were so hyper-focused on where you were going that you had neglected to remember any of your FBI training when it came to making sure you weren’t being tailed. Briggs followed you through the back alleys and various neighbourhoods until he stopped, watching you enter a run-down house, knocking on the door and being let in by the guy on the other side of the door.

Briggs spent the whole night sitting on a curb, waiting for you to come out of the house, his leg bouncing anxiously as he worries about what condition you’ll be in when you come out. As the sun begins to rise, you emerge from the building. You look rough, like you’d been through the wringer.

“y/n!” Briggs called over to you, getting up from where he’d been sitting and crossing to you. You’d barely had time to process that he was there and that by the time he crossed to you, any hope of running away was gone.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, shocked as Briggs winds a protective arm around you, escorting you away from the building.

“I’m worried about you. What’s going on with you?” Briggs asks worriedly, leading you along streets you didn’t recognise, his walk hurried as he ushers you along.

“Nothing’s going on with me. What are you talking about?” You ask, trying to convince Briggs that he was reading into everything too much.

“Answer me this, what were you doing all night? It’s not like you to sneak off in the middle of the night and go somewhere as dodgy as this.” Briggs says, abruptly stopping in his tracks, turning to face you, an action you mirror as he moves to hold you by the shoulders to keep you in place.

“I was just… visiting a friend?” You attempt weakly, your shoulders slumping when Briggs shakes his head with a sigh.

“I thought being an undercover agent would make you a better liar. Look y/n/n, I’m worried about you. I have my suspicions about what’s going on with you. I’m hoping I’m wrong so I’m going to give you this one chance to prove to me that I’m wrong and you’re doing something else.” Briggs says, his voice was soft and concerned. A vulnerability you rarely see from him displayed all over his face as he talks.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” You ask nervously, tears beginning to well in your eyes as you worry about what Briggs could accuse you of. You were especially terrified that if he had sussed you out, he was going to go running to the Bureau and report you, which would obviously lead to you losing your job.

“I think you’ve been sneaking out to go get yourself high,” Briggs says, his voice unexpectedly soft as he looks you in the eye. At Briggs’ gentle tone and lack of judgement, the built-up tears begin to spill down your cheeks.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” You whimper, tears sliding down your cheeks as your teeth clamp down on your lower lip to stop it from trembling violently.

“I won’t tell a soul. But I can’t let you keep going like this. This is dangerous for you and the house. I’m going to help you but I need you to trust me. Can you do that for me?” Briggs says, his voice never straying from the soft tone he had been using to talk to you as if he was talking to a scared child. In response to his question, you nod, more tears dribbling down your cheeks as Briggs smiles gently.

“I trust you.” You whisper, making Briggs nod slightly.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ve got someplace private we can talk.” Briggs then says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again so he could lead you to where he knew you’d get some privacy.

Briggs takes you to a small apartment building, it was run down and clearly not maintained unlike the luxury you were used to in Graceland but you weren’t one to complain, especially when Briggs was helping you in your time of need. Upon entering the apartment, Briggs eases you down on the bed before sitting alongside you, angling himself so he can face you.

“I don’t want to push you but I think now is as good a time as any to explain what happened to you and what’s got you hooked on drugs,” Briggs says, watching as you nod lightly, lifting your hand to wipe away the fallen tears with shaking hands.

“The meet in Mexico was a setup. They… they killed Luca right in front of me. I know he was a drug dealer but he wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t deserve to go out like that. I thought I was going to be next the moment I registered that they’d killed him but instead they just took me somewhere. I woke up tied to a chair and then…”

“Jangles walked in.” Briggs finishes your sentence when you become too overwhelmed to speak. Upon realising what Briggs had said, your eyes widen slightly and you stare at him with glassy eyes.

“How did you…?” You question, eyes fixed on Briggs as you wonder about how he could’ve possibly known that Jangles was involved in the whole thing.

“Because they did the same to me years ago,” Briggs admits, finding himself confessing something that no one else in the house, other than Mike, was aware of.

“What?” You ask quietly, questioning yourself on whether you heard him correctly.

“Before Graceland, there was another safe house for Feds, I lived there and my training officer was deep undercover with Caza, I’m talking about getting invited to Sunday dinners and the mother was calling him mijo. I stupidly decided to go to Mexico on an unauthorised mission and got myself caught by Caza. They must’ve known that I was FBI. They periodically got me high to the point of addiction and then left me for long enough that I was begging for more, but they never asked me anything. Once they got me hooked on heroin they had no more use for me, they just let me go but not without leaving me a ‘goodbye high’. It was definitely their way to get at the Bureau and clearly it got to their head if they’ve done something similar to you. You didn’t give anything away, did you?” Briggs explains, reliving the things he had been through in recent years and how much it hurt to give up someone he cared for, especially just because they got him hooked on heroin. In response to Briggs’ question, you shake your head.

“No. They didn’t ask me a single thing. They just came in, shot me up and then left. I think deep down they knew I was an agent so I’m shocked they didn’t kill me.” You confess quietly, more tears continuing to fall down your cheeks as you talk.

“It was another chance for them to stick it to the Bureau. They seem to find some sick pleasure in turning agents into addicts. They know that if word gets out about it, any and all cases we’ve ever worked would be reopened for investigation.” Briggs says, his voice reassuring as he wraps an arm around you and tugging you gently into his side.

“I thought I could beat it alone. Every time I left I told myself that it would be the last time, that I could stop whenever I wanted but every time I’d try I’d give in so quickly.” You admit tearily, leaning your head against Briggs’ shoulder as he rubs a reassuring hand up and down your arm.

“I know. It’s really easy to convince yourself that it’s that easy to just up and quit whenever you’re ready but it’s really not. And the fact you’ve opened up to me and you’re willing to let me help you is a huge step.” Briggs says, keeping his voice reassuring and gentle as he holds you a little closer, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“I can’t go to a rehab. That would raise too many questions with the Bureau and the others. So, are there any other options?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking around the room. At your words, Briggs nods with a slight hum in agreement.

“You’re not wrong. I have an idea but it won’t be pretty. It will require you to trust me fully. I know you’ve already said you trust me but I want to make sure I have one hundred percent of your trust.” Briggs says as you lift your head off his shoulder so you can look each other in the eye.

“You have one hundred percent of my trust, Briggs.” You promise, and your vulnerable expression makes it clear to Briggs that you trust him wholeheartedly.

“Okay, before we do anything. We’re going to make a quick run to the store, we’re going to be here for a few days so let’s stock up.” Briggs says, getting to his feet as you follow, slightly confused as to where Briggs was going with this. You follow Briggs wordlessly to the nearest store, watching as he piles various ready meals, snacks, and water into a basket before he heads over to the cashier to buy the food. After purchasing the drinks and the food, Briggs takes you back to the small apartment and lets you sit down on the bed once more while he unpacks the food and drinks.

“Briggs, what is this place?” You ask curiously, wondering why you had never learnt about this place sooner.

“It’s just a safe house. It’s only really been for emergencies if I need a place to lie low I come here. I’ve never told you guys about this place because if something happened and I was hiding out here I wouldn’t want to put that pressure to lie on you guys.” Briggs explains, briefly pausing his actions as he watches you, studying how you nodded shakily, exhaling strongly.

“That makes sense.” You mumble, jaw clenching as your gaze flicks to the floor.

“You feeling okay?” Briggs asks, having a feeling he was recognising the signs but not wanting to jump to conclusions just yet.

“Just feeling off, maybe slightly nauseous?” You say, looking back up at Briggs who watches you sympathetically.

“Okay. But that’s to be expected, right? This detox is going to be tough. You’re going to hate me, call me every name under the sun. You’re going to be in so much pain but I know you can do it. And I’ll be here with you the whole way through. Promise.” Briggs says, shoving the last of the shopping away before crossing to you, sitting down alongside you and smiling reassuringly.

“Can you walk me through how this detox is going to work?” You ask and Briggs could sense the nervousness and fear rolling off you in waves. One look at your nervous expression and Briggs wanted to abandon the whole thing and take you back to Graceland but he knew he had to persevere, for your benefit above everything else.

“It sounds like some kind of horror movie but the only thing I can really do here is strap you to the bed and let you ride out the wave. I know it sounds horrible but I know you’re much stronger than you look and that if you were desperate, which you most likely will be, you’ll overpower me and be gone in seconds if I give you the chance.” Briggs explains, getting up from the bed and crossing to one of the drawers nearby to grab a spare pair of handcuffs he had for emergencies. At Briggs’ words, you swallow nervously. You knew it was for your own good, it would help you get through the roughest part of overcoming your addiction and you were comforted by the thought that Briggs would be with you the whole time. You knew he’d look after you and help you no matter what happened.

“If that’s the best plan. Then I’ll do it.” You say, nodding slightly as you look up at Briggs who offers you a supportive smile as he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly in reassurance.

“Alright, sounds like we gotta get this show on the road then, huh?” Briggs says in an attempt to somewhat lighten the mood. Finally, after some deep breaths, you give Briggs the nod he needs to confirm that you are ready and you lie back on the bed, waiting patiently as Briggs handcuffs you to the bed, making sure you’re comfortable before he straightens up.

“Do you think you could let the others know we’re okay?” You ask, after giving your right arm a few test tugs to make sure the restraint is tight enough to keep you in place.

“Of course, I’ll do that. I won’t tell them where we are or what we’re doing. Promise.” Briggs says as he places a bucket alongside the bed just in case you feel the need to throw up. You nod with a small smile, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable in the bed.

“Do you think…? Do you think you could let Tim know I’m okay? I feel bad enough that I went missing the first time and he had no idea if I was even alive or not. I owe it to him to let him know I’m okay this time around.” You ask quietly, watching as Briggs nods once more.

“Got it. I’ll let the others know and then I’ll let lover boy know in the morning, now get some sleep, you’re going to need it.” Briggs says with a wink as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, his gaze flicking down to the screen as he types out a message to send to Charlie.

“Come on Briggs.” You grumble, glaring over at Briggs who chuckles at how quickly he had managed to rile you up.

“Sorry. You know I had to. Now sleep.” Briggs says with a shrug, before pointing at you, his voice slightly stern as you grumble, attempting to find a comfortable position to lie in, feeling the nausea and nagging demand for more heroin screaming in your ear.

‘Hey, Tim, It’s Paul Briggs. I’ve taken y/n away for a couple of weeks just to help her decompress after whatever happened with her in Mexico and we’ve both decided she’d benefit from it. She’ll be unable to contact you for a while because of it. Everything is okay and you have no reason to worry.’

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed as he read the text that came through on his phone while he was sitting at a table ready for morning roll call, studying the message carefully as if he had somehow read it wrong. After reading the text a few times over, Tim sighs heavily as Lucy gives him a side-eye.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy asks curiously, turning her attention to Tim with a confused expression.

“That Briggs guy just messaged me saying that he’s taking y/n away for a bit to help her after all that stuff that happened in Mexico,” Tim mutters, eyes remaining fixed on the message as Lucy takes in his words.

“I mean, it would make sense for her to want to be away from everything. She’s clearly been through a lot recently and if she’s still not cleared to go back to work I understand why she’d want time away. It sounds like Briggs is just trying to help.” Lucy says with a slight shrug, trying to reassure Tim that it wasn’t anything personal.

“I get that. I’m just worried about her. She hasn’t been herself recently.” Tim says, expressing for the first time that he was concerned about you. He’d recognised a couple of signs with you that he had seen with Isabel and he was concerned that something had happened to you.

“I know you’re concerned, it goes to show how much you care about her. But this is probably what she needs. I needed time off after what happened with Caleb. Sometimes the best way to overcome stuff is just to get away from everything and it’s good that Briggs is evidently helping her through it.” Lucy says, her voice level and calm as Tim nods despite his slight frustration and jealousy.

“I know it’s just-”

“You’re jealous that Briggs is the one helping her not you?” Lucy cuts in with a raised eyebrow, trying to get to the bottom of what is really bothering Tim.

“Wha-? No, I’m not jealous.” Tim insists, eyes wide as he looks over at Lucy who doesn’t look convinced by his words.

“Okay, so let’s just go over this again. You’re bothered that y/n has gone away for a few weeks but you’re not concerned that she’s gone away with Briggs of all people?” Lucy asks, carefully studying Tim’s reaction.

“Briggs has nothing to do with my feelings regarding y/n being away.” Tim continues to insist, looking away from Lucy as he lets out a scoff.

“Are you sure? I won’t hold it against you if you are.” Lucy says, smiling lightly to try and ease the tension that has now settled between them.

“Okay I’m not jealous but after going to Mexico with that guy I just have a bad feeling about him. He seems like he’s only out for himself.” Tim then says, turning to face Lucy again whose eyebrows raised slightly in shock at Tim’s words.

“You think he’s going to hurt y/n or something?” She asks, concerned about what Tim thinks Briggs’ intentions are.

“I don’t know. y/n’s always spoken highly of him. Said he was her training officer when she first moved here and she’s trusted him for years now.” Tim explains, thinking of all the times you’d talked about Briggs. He knew you trusted Briggs with your life but after the interactions he had with him in Mexico. Tim couldn’t help but feel that something was off with Briggs. He didn’t like that Briggs had been so nonchalant when it came to finding you and how he had lorded the command he had over Tim’s head when Tim was the only one that first day who was chomping at the bit to go looking for you.

“I don’t think y/n would go with him if she didn’t trust him.” Lucy bargains, trying to calm Tim and reassure him that he’s just overthinking the whole thing.

“I know. I just-”

“Alright, guys, look alive!” The voice of Grey booms around the room as all conversations suddenly die down and everyone’s eyes flick to the front, ready to hear about what is on the agenda for the day. As Grey begins to talk, Lucy finds herself studying Tim in the corner of her eye, worried about him.

When Grey had finally finished talking and dismissed the group of gathered police officers, Tim got to his feet and headed to his shop to check the vehicle over with Lucy following close behind.

“Hey, I’ll get the war bags and then I’ll drive today, okay?” Lucy says, her voice gentle as she pats Tim’s shoulder lightly before turning back to head inside and get the war bags they need for their patrol. When she returned, she loaded the bags in the trunk of the vehicle and took the keys from Tim’s outstretched hand before climbing into the driver's seat while Tim rounded the shop and got in the passenger side.

The patrol was long and stressful for Tim. He tried to ask for updates every half an hour but all Briggs would ever send in response was ‘she’s fine.’ It started to grow frustrating when Tim received that message for what felt like the hundredth time and he fought the urge to throw his phone.

“Is he not telling you anything?” Lucy asks, her eyes fixed on the road as she hears Tim let out another sigh.

“He just keeps saying she’s fine. I can’t get any more than that. I just wish he’d tell me something, anything.” Tim grumbles, thumbs hovering over his phone screen as he debates sending a message back.

“At least you know she’s okay. That’s something, right?” Lucy offers, trying to put a positive spin on things while Tim continues to frown angrily, eyes not leaving his phone screen.

“But he’s not telling me any more than that. It sounds like a guy holding someone for ransom or something. He could just let me call and speak to her but he won’t let me.” Tim says, his jaw clenching.

“Tim. She’s been through something. We don��t know what but it’s probably been traumatic for her so I don’t blame her for wanting to go off the grid completely with someone she trusts to get through it.” Lucy says, reiterating the point she had made mere hours earlier. Lucy felt like she had been talking to a brick wall for most of the patrol. Thankfully, Tim could pull himself together enough to respond appropriately to calls, but the second he was back in the shop he was staring at his phone like a moping puppy.

By the end of the patrol, Lucy had tried everything she could to calm Tim down and convince him that he was overthinking but nothing seemed to work. It became increasingly clear to Lucy that the only way to get Tim to relax was for him to see for himself that you were okay. All she managed to achieve by the end of the patrol was for Tim to agree to wait for you to contact him first although she could tell it wouldn’t stop Tim’s worry.

“Hey, Tim. Take it easy, okay? I know y/n being off the grid right now is bothering you but you can’t let it interfere with your work.” Lucy says softly after bumping into Tim on her way out of the locker room.

“I know. I’ll do my best.” Tim mumbles with a small nod, adjusting his bag on his shoulder as he looks down at Lucy. He was already planning on going home, relaxing on the couch, and watching the game with Kojo to try to take his mind off everything.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me if you need anything.” Lucy says, nodding at Tim before making her way out of the station so she can head home, leaving Tim in the corridor.

By the end of two weeks in the safe house with Briggs, you were more than ready to go back to Graceland and get back to normality. The whole detox process had been sent from hell itself. You had cursed Briggs out for days while you writhed in pain on the bed and then to make matters worse you started burning up with a fever afterwards. You were fairly sure that most of the food Briggs offered to you had ended up being emptied out of your stomach after a few short minutes. But the pain had been worth it. You had completely cleared the heroin out of your system. While it was still there, the nagging demand for the drug had lessened and you knew that with the support of Briggs, you’d be able to get back into work and get back into a somewhat normal life.

“Can we go home, Briggs? Please?” You ask quietly while in the middle of drying your hair with a towel after a long overdue shower.

“You think you’re ready?” Briggs asks after taking a sip from his cup of coffee. His tone lacked judgement, only filled with concern as he looked over at you.

“I’m ready. I’ve missed everyone so much. I just want to go home.” You say, tears filling your eyes at the mere thought of your family back in Graceland.

“Okay, we’ll get sorted and then head back to Graceland,” Briggs says, getting to his feet after finishing his drink and crossing to the sink to clean the mug.

“Thank you.” You whisper gratefully, your eyes still teary as you look over at Briggs who nods, eyes fixed on the mug he was cleaning.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you when we’re back home. If I catch even the slightest whiff of a relapse I will tell the Bureau for your own good. And I’ll have you coming to my Narcotics Anonymous meetings which I know probably sounds ridiculous but I promise you it helps.” Briggs then says, finally putting the mug down before turning to look at you, a look of seriousness on his face as his arms folded across his chest. You nod at his words knowing that Briggs would absolutely follow through on his threat if he deemed it necessary and you couldn’t blame him. Your battle with addiction could put yourself and so many others in danger if you relapsed. The idea of losing your job and the people you loved so much served to push you to better yourself, to not let the drug get the better of you again.

“You got it.” You say assuredly, a verbal promise that you’d adhere to any and all rules that Briggs may put in place for your own benefit.

“Cool. Right, let’s get going. I know Charlie is desperate to make her world-famous ragu but she’s been refusing to make it without you there. I’d be surprised if the house was still intact when we got home with how long it’s been since we’ve had sauce night.” Briggs admits with a chuckle, thinking about the various messages he had received from various members of the house.

“I feel like I need to buy some flowers or something to apologise for depriving everyone of sauce night for so long.” You laugh breathily as you stand from the bed, moving to grab your shoes as you discard the towel, hanging it over the back of the chair Briggs had placed by the bed, a way to sit nearby and support you through your detox.

“They’ll get over it. However, Tim was practically constantly pestering me for updates on how you were doing.” Briggs says, smoothly shifting the subject as you look over at him eyes wide with worry.

“You didn’t tell him what was going on, did you?” You ask, concern grabbing at your throat, constricting it as you fear what Tim may know.

“Of course, I didn’t. I only told him that you were okay and that we were away for some time to help you decompress after Mexico. I didn’t say anything more than that.” Briggs assures, grabbing his jacket from where it had been carelessly discarded on the table and tugging it on, waiting patiently for you to put your shoes on.

“Good. If he finds out, I want him to hear it from me directly.” You say, looking up at Briggs, briefly distracted from tying your shoelaces. Briggs watches you quietly, and a small sigh escapes his lips.

“Look, y/n. Telling Tim might not be the best idea. Secrets have burdens and telling someone, like Tim, who’s a member of the LAPD would really throw a stick in the works. I mean at the end of the day it’s up to you who you tell. But think about how it could affect them as well.” Briggs says, making your eyebrows furrow in thought as you think carefully about his words. You owed it to Tim to be honest with him, especially after everything that had happened recently, but you knew there was a possibility that he would react badly to the revelation. He was a Sergeant within the LAPD and you didn’t want him to have to go to work with that knowledge in his head. Briggs’ words also then made you realise that there was virtually no reason for you to even try and pursue a relationship with Tim anymore. Being an undercover agent was hard enough for relationships, let alone throwing in the fact that you were now a recovering heroin addict.

“You’re right.” You mumble softly, your mood now significantly dampened as you finish tying your laces, standing up and waiting for Briggs to join you.

“Let’s head home,” Briggs says softly, wrapping a supportive arm around your shoulders in an attempt to cheer you up after noticing how his previous words had affected you. You nod wordlessly in response and allow Briggs to lead you out of the safe house so you can both finally make your way back to Graceland.

The walk back to Graceland was quiet. Briggs had opted to take the scenic route home, walking along the beach. You admired the sights you had missed so much and watched the surfers who were in the ocean, patiently waiting for the next big wave. You couldn’t wait to return to the ocean, surf and forget all your worries. As you continue to walk along the beachfront, you hear a bark and perk up, noticing the familiar dog bounding towards you.

“Hey, BD!” You greet the dog excitedly as he presses himself up against your legs, eager for attention from you.

“It’s been a while, huh, buddy?” Briggs says lightly, reaching down to pet the dog as well. BD, short for Beach Dog had been living as a stray and roaming the beach since before you had joined Graceland. He was happy living on the beach and you and the others respected that. Of course, you’d bring him food and water on occasion, and pet him whenever you saw him, but you never tried to force him away from the comfort he had found from living on the beach.

“You haven’t been stealing any more of Mike’s flip-flops have you?” You ask the dog teasingly, stroking the top of his head softly as he pants happily, head tilting slightly as if he understood what you were saying to him.

“You’re just keeping Mikey on his toes aren’t you?” Briggs says down to BD, laughing as the dog lays down, rolling onto his back for even more attention. After a couple more minutes of fussing over the dog you had missed so much, you eventually decided to continue the walk back to Graceland with BD trotting alongside by your legs before he became distracted by something going on further down the beach and bolted off to investigate what was happening on his turf.

“Glad we were interesting enough for about five minutes.” You laugh breathily as you watch BD booking it down the beach, barking as he goes.

“I mean if I were a dog I’d probably find seagulls more interesting too,” Briggs says, bumping you lightly with his shoulder as you watch the seagulls that had been wandering the beach in BD’s line of sight take to the sky in a flurry as he rushes towards them.

“Yeah, I can’t blame him for that. He’s got to protect his beach.” You say with a smile as you watch BD bark at the birds that are now in the sky, squawking in warning to others.

You continue to walk down the beach until you finally approach the door to Graceland. You take a moment to stand outside the door, processing the fact that you are finally home after everything that has happened to you recently. You could only hope that this time you were here to stay. As if sensing your hesitation, Briggs gently hands you a key to the house, his smile supportive as he nods in approval. You nod back before lifting your hand to the door, carefully putting the key into the lock, taking a deep breath before turning the key and opening the door.

“Welcome home!” Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped when you saw your housemates standing in the living room, wide smiles on their faces as they stood in front of a ‘welcome home’ banner.

“How did you-?”

“Briggs told us you were coming home today. We hauled ass to get this together.” Johnny brags, crossing to you and pulling you into his arms with a grin. You were unsurprised to discover that Johnny was the brains behind the operation. He never turned down an opportunity to plan a party, no matter how small.

“You didn’t have to.” You say, your eyes growing teary with appreciation as you pull away from Johnny’s embrace slightly, looking over his shoulder to where the others are now approaching.

“We wanted to, y/n/n. You’re family.” Mike says, pulling you into a hug of his own as you mirror his actions, hugging him tight.

“I was only gone for a couple of weeks.” You insist, trying to fathom why they had gone out of their way to do such a thing for you.

“Yeah and after what you’d been through it’s the least we could do. Briggs didn’t give me enough of a heads up so unfortunately we can’t have sauce night tonight but three days from now we’ll have it, alright?” Charlie says, her voice soft and motherly as Mike lets you move to hug her, her hand instantly coming up to run through your hair as she hugs you.

“I’ve gone this long without it. What’s a few more days?” You joke lightly, eliciting laughs from the other members of the house.

“All that matters is that you’re okay,” Paige says, smiling softly as you look over at her, your smile matching hers as you detangle yourself from Charlie’s embrace to hug Paige who wraps you up in her arms quickly, hugging you close as you reciprocate the action.

“Jakes, are you not getting involved?” You ask, noticing how Jakes had elected to stay a few paces behind everyone else, watching the interactions from a short distance.

“Well you know parties aren’t my thing,” Jakes says with a light shrug as you are released from Paige’s embrace, an eyebrow raised as you watch him carefully.

“Not even a welcome home party for me?” You ask teasingly, opening your arms for a hug as Jakes chuckles lightly.

“Who am I kidding? Come here, girl.” Jakes says, crossing to you with a smile, wrapping you up in his arms, hugging you tightly as you laugh.

“Are you staying now?” You hear Mike ask, turning your head to look over at him with a small smile.

“Yes, Mikey, you’re all stuck with me once more. I’m going to head to the Bureau in a couple of days and see if I can get back out there working again.” You say, glancing around at each person in turn, offering them all soft smiles.

“You’re sure you’re feeling up to working again?” Charlie asks, her worry evident on her face and in her voice as she talks.

“I’m definitely feeling up to it. Being out of action for so long is sending me insane and I just feel useless sitting around doing nothing while you guys are still working.” You explain as Jakes loosens his grip on you, allowing you to step away and fully address everyone around you.

“Damn, was the two weeks with me that bad?” Briggs jokes, slinging an arm around your shoulders and jostling you slightly as everyone laughs.

“Yeah, what was it you were up to with Briggs?” Johnny asks curiously, eyebrow raised as his eyes flick between you and Briggs.

“I just needed time away from everything and Briggs was teaching me all his zen techniques to help after what happened in Mexico.” You laugh, the lie coming easily as the others laugh at the idea of you meditating with Briggs for two weeks straight.

“Well you’re home now, and we’ve got your back. We’re going to help you as much as we can.” Mike says, his smile gentle as ever as the rest of the group nods in support, making your heart swell with appreciation for the support you were getting from the others. They didn’t know the truth behind why you had disappeared but you weren’t ready to tell them about it, especially after Briggs’ warning. After a few minutes of catching up with the others, you head up to your room to put your things away and as you dig through the bag, discarding used clothes into the laundry basket, you find your burner phone at the bottom of the bag. The phone had been the one you used to contact the local drug dealers you knew, the ones you knew could get you heroin when you needed it. You hold the phone in your hands, staring down at the phone as it seemingly taunts you, a siren song to just turn the phone on and call someone to get the high you had been deprived of for weeks. After staring at the phone for what felt like hours, you snap yourself back to reality, standing from where you had sat on the edge of your bed and make your way to Briggs’ room, knocking on the door and waiting for permission to come in.

“What can I do for you?” Briggs asks with a smile after calling you in from where he was sitting on his bed, his laptop on his legs as he scrolls through files he’s not looked at for weeks as you close the door behind you.

“I need you to take this.” You say, practically forcing the phone in Briggs’ hand the moment you cross the room and reach his side, noticing his confused expression at the force behind your actions and your words.

“I’m sorry, why?” Briggs questions, discarding his laptop alongside him on the bed as he pushes himself more upright.

“I used that phone to contact people when I wanted a hit. I don’t trust myself at the moment to go around knowing that it was in my room. You can do whatever you want with it. Destroy it. Hide it. Bury it in a ditch for all I care as long as I don’t know where it is.” You say, not even able to bring yourself to look at the phone as you begin to pace anxiously. At your panic, Briggs gets up from where he is sitting, placing his hands on your shoulder, catching you in your pacing and ducking his head down to be in your line of sight.

“y/n/n. Breathe. I got you. You’re so much stronger than you think and the fact you’ve taken the initiative to bring this to me so you’re not tempted is a huge step and shows how seriously you’re taking your recovery and it gives me faith that you’re not going to relapse easily. I’ve got it handled. This phone is going to disappear off the map and you’ll never have to think about it again.” Briggs says softly, squeezing your shoulders ever so slightly to alleviate the tension he felt sitting there. He watched carefully as you nodded, exhaling softly before getting the courage to finally look Briggs in the eye.

“Thank you, Briggs.” You mumble appreciatively, the smallest of smiles gracing your face as Briggs nods, a smile of his own appearing.

“We have a meeting in a couple of days, it’ll feel scary and intimidating but I’ll be there too. And if the Bureau clears you for work I’m making sure you start off easy. I’m not letting anyone throw you in the deep end if I’m not there, okay? We’re going to figure it out.” Briggs assures you softly, his words giving you confidence that you’ll be able to get back to normality in time.

“Thank you.” You repeat, nodding as Briggs releases his grip on your shoulders, standing up straight and tucking the phone securely in his pocket.

“You don’t need to worry about that phone anymore. It’ll be gone before the day is up.” Briggs says with a quick wink, making you nod, grateful for the support Briggs was showing you when you knew he had no obligation to do so. With one final ‘thank you’ muttered, you turn on your heel and head out of the room, making your way back to your own room to grab a hoodie before heading downstairs to join the others who greet you with smiles.

“What are we watching?” You say, settling down on the couch alongside Mike who turns to look at you with a smile.

“Some western. Bello is obsessed with them so I’ve got to make sure my knowledge about them is top-notch.” Mike says as he settles back against the cushions, a slight sigh escaping his lips.

“And he’s recorded over all the shit I’ve recorded,” Johnny complains, entering the living room and dropping down on the couch next to you with a groan.

“I said they’ll be gone soon Johnny, stop complaining.” Mike fires back with a laugh as Johnny rolls his eyes.

“How’s it going with Bello, anyway?” You ask curiously, looking over at Mike.

“It’s going. He’s thinking about starting a deal with Odin. He’s hesitant because he knows going against the Caza Cartel can have pretty bad consequences.” Mike admits as you nod, unbeknownst to him that you had experienced the brutality of the Caza Cartel firsthand and could understand why someone like Bello was hesitant to move to another dealer.

“I can understand why he’s hesitant. From what I’ve heard, Caza can be brutal when they want to be.” You say, acting as nonchalantly as possible to avoid Mike and Johnny figuring out that you had a run-in with Caza, although you were fairly sure they had their suspicions after seeing the condition you were in when you had returned from Mexico.

“So, are you going to let Tim know you’re back? Honestly, I’d be surprised if he didn’t confess his feelings the moment he sees you.” Johnny says with a laugh, attempting to change the subject as Mike chuckles quietly, neither man noticing the dejected expression appearing on your face.

“I don’t know when I’ll see him. But we’re not going to start a relationship. He doesn’t like me like that. And even if he did, I couldn’t do that to him.” You say, eyes flicking to the floor as your knee begins to bounce anxiously.

“Do what to who?” Charlie asks as she enters the living room, having clearly heard the tail end of your words but not knowing the full context.

“She’s saying she couldn’t date Tim,” Johnny says, immediately ratting you out and ignoring your half-hearted glare as Charlie settles down alongside him on the couch.

“Why do you say that? He’s head over heels for you.” Charlie asks, her voice soft as she watches you carefully, not missing the tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah! He’s so in love with you and we can all tell you love him too. Come on girl you need to go for it! Put us all out of our misery here.” Johnny teases, making you grit your teeth as the tears continue to build.

“I’m an undercover agent. I can’t in good conscience date him when I work such a dangerous job. He deserves better.” You say, the tears slipping past their defences and trickling down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, hands clutching the edge of the couch like it was a lifeline.

“Baby, you’ll never know unless you try. He’s LAPD, he understands our job more than most would. I’m sure the two of you could navigate a relationship.” Charlie insists softly, standing up so she can swap seats with Johnny, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you into her side the moment she sits down alongside you.

“I can’t put him through that. He deserves better than to be worrying about me when I’m undercover. And I won’t put a target on his back just for the sake of a relationship.” You say firmly, suddenly standing and making a beeline for the front door, wanting to get away from the questioning. You ignored the calls from the others as they tried to get you to stay but you feared that you’d snap if you endured any more of their pressing. You headed down to the beach, heading down to the nearest pier and sitting underneath it in the shade. It was hidden and peaceful so you’d at least have a small slither of time to yourself before someone tracked you down.

Your feelings for Tim were overwhelmingly strong. You truly cared for him and wished you could be in a relationship with him but you knew you couldn’t. You were close enough with Tim to have learnt about his ex-wife Isabel and her drug addiction. You also knew how badly it had affected Tim as well. With what Jangles and the Caza Cartel did to you, you knew it would ruin Tim to try and be in a relationship with you and you weren’t willing to put him through that pain again. You couldn’t bear to potentially get into a relationship with him and then relapse, putting Tim through the pain of you giving in to your past addiction.

The longer you think about what Caza has taken from you, your emotions begin to get the better of you, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as you mourn a relationship you never had in the first place. You longed to be able to tell Tim how you felt but you knew the risks associated with your job would put him in danger and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to him because of you. As you continue to cry, you pull your knees up to your chest, burying your face in your knees to try and stifle your sobs as they rack your body.

“y/n!” You’re vaguely aware of Johnny’s voice calling out to you, followed by rushed footsteps as he approaches but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak or even look at him. You hear Johnny sit down alongside you yet you still don’t look up at him.

“Hey, y/n/n. I’m sorry for the jokes. It was stupid of me to do that.” Johnny apologises quietly his gaze fixed on the ocean ahead of him. Johnny felt so guilty for joking about your feelings for Tim the moment you bolted out of the house, he felt like he deserved the slap on the back of the head he received from Charlie after everyone had processed what happened.

“It wasn’t you John.” Your hoarse voice speaks up as you finally lift your head from your knees, turning your head so you can look at Johnny who turns to face you with a sad look, guilt written clear as day across his face.

“You don’t need to lie to me, y/n. I know I upset you.” Johnny says, a weak attempt at a smile creeping onto his face as he watches you carefully. You fought back the temptation to frown. Johnny was the brightest light within Graceland, he was always smiling and finding the fun in everything around him despite the job he was a part of and he had become like a younger brother to you during your time in Graceland. You hated to see him so upset over something that wasn’t his fault. You knew he was just trying to make light of the situation and you let your emotions get the better of you.

“Johnny, I promise I’m not upset with you. It’s just been a rough few weeks and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair of me to do.” You say apologetically, lifting your hand to wipe at your tears. Johnny then takes the opportunity to shuffle closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you gently against his side, smiling softly as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I promise I won’t make any more jokes about you and Tim. I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Johnny says softly, making you smile as a small laugh escapes your lips.

“I don’t mind jokes, Johnny. But less jokes about Tim would be appreciated.” You admit quietly as Johnny nods before resting his head atop yours.

“You got it. One hundred percent serious Johnny is here to stay.” Johnny brags lightly, making you laugh once more.

“I give you a day before you start cracking jokes again.” You mutter softly, a smile on your face as Johnny gasps lightly.

“You wanna bet?” Johnny asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, if you make even one joke towards me before tomorrow is up, you have to buy my drinks next time we go to the bar. If you make it through tomorrow, I’ll buy your drinks.” You propose, lifting your head from Johnny’s shoulder and holding a hand out towards him.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. I can’t wait to have a night of free drinks.” Johnny brags as he lets go of your hand, both of you laughing softly as Johnny pulls you into a quick hug. Before the two of you can go back to conversing, you hear the sound of two people running, before they stop suddenly alongside you.

“y/n?” At the sound of your name, you pull away from Johnny’s embrace and look over your shoulder and see Tim and Lucy standing alongside you.

“Tim.” You say quietly, both you and Johnny scrambling to get to your feet.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Tim says, trying to keep his voice steady and neutral while his brain was running at one hundred miles per hour.

“I just got back today.” You say with a small shrug, trying to downplay your absence.

“Oh, right,” Tim mutters, a weak attempt at a smile on his face as he regards you softly.

“What brings you guys here? Tim hates the beach so it’s definitely a surprise seeing you guys here.” You then say, changing the subject and looking over at Lucy.

“We’re working a case and we found a piece of potential evidence. Then a dog grabbed it right out of Tim’s hand and ran off with it.” Lucy explains, her hands resting on her belt as she talks.

“I bet it was BD. What do you think, Johnny?” You say, glancing over at Johnny who nods in agreement.

“Sorry? BD?” Tim asks, eyes flicking between you and Johnny in hopes of an answer.

“Beach Dog. We call him BD for short. He’s known around here for snatching stuff and running off with it. We’ll help you track him down.” You explain before beginning to survey the beach, eyes squinting as you hope to locate the dog in question.

“We should split up. I’ll go with you y/n, and then you two can go around together.” You hear Johnny suggest, looking back at the group, ready to nod before Lucy speaks up.

“I’d actually like to go around with you if you don’t mind, Johnny. I have questions about the FBI and I’d love to learn more.” Lucy asks quickly, looking over at Johnny who in turn looks at you, quietly asking for permission. When you nod lightly, Johnny then turns to face Lucy with a wide smile.

“It would be my pleasure.” He says with a grin as he and Lucy head down the beach in one direction while you and Tim head in the other, both of you surveying the beach in hopes of spotting BD or the piece of potential evidence.

“So, what is it we’re looking for?” You ask quietly, realising as you walk that you have no idea what it is you’re looking for.

“It’s a scrap of a t-shirt. Chances are it could just be a random scrap of cloth but with this being one of the last known locations of our missing person it would be stupid not to consider it evidence until proven otherwise.” Tim says, following you down the beach.

“And BD’s just gone and stolen it from you. He’s the sweetest dog but he really will just steal anything. Stole one of Mike’s flip-flops his first full day here.” You mutter, slightly agitated at the dog for potentially hindering a serious case.

“Is he a stray?” Tim asks curiously as you stop walking for a moment to look around you, allowing Tim to catch up to you.

“Yeah, and he likes it that way. He prefers living out here.” You explain as Tim nods in understanding.

“I see. Well if he’s happy out here that’s all that matters.” Tim shrugs lightly.

“Exactly.” You mutter before noticing some tracks that look like they could belong to BD, beginning to follow them as Tim rushes to catch up to you.

“How have you been? You were gone for a while and Briggs wouldn’t give me much of a response when I asked.” Tim asks, watching you carefully as you feel your heart twinge.

“I’m fine. I needed the time away from everything and Briggs was the guy who could help me most.” You respond as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. In reality, you longed to tell Tim the truth but you longed to protect him so you attempted to close yourself off, acting cold and distant to try and drive him away.

“And did the time away help?” Tim asks softly, wanting to know if you are okay or not.

“I guess.” You shrug, trying to be as vague as possible to deter Tim from continuing to question you about your time away from everyone. Getting the hint that you don’t want to talk more, Tim falls silent and continues to follow you down the beach until you find BD lying in the sand, a scrap of cloth in his mouth as he studies you carefully, ears perked.

“Hey, buddy. We need that. Is it okay if I have it?” You asks the dog softly, beginning to crouch down to his level but you quickly realise that BD was going to see this as a game as he gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving you.

“I’ve got something you might like a little better. How does a treat sound?” Tim asks the dog, digging in one of his pockets for a small pack of dog treats, extracting a treat from the packet and offering it towards BD who drops the scrap of cloth, allowing you to scoop it up while Tim gives BD a treat who accepts hit happily, allowing Tim to pet him briefly before bolting off down the beach, now uninterested in the two of you.

“You just carry dog treats around like that?” You muse with a small smile, raising an eyebrow as Tim shrugs lightly.

“I went into a store earlier to ask some questions and I saw these treats. I thought my dog would like them.” Tim says with a small smile, tucking the treat packet back into his pocket as he talks.

“You never mentioned having a dog.” You say, shocked that you hadn’t known that information about Tim.

“Yeah I have a dog, his name is Kojo,” Tim says as the two of you begin to make your way back towards where you had split up with Johnny and Lucy.

“Can’t believe you kept that information from me.” You tease, laughing softly.

“You’ll have to meet him sometime.” Tim then says, his voice softening as he glances over at you. He longed to spend more time with you outside of your jobs but he never wanted to push your boundaries.

“Maybe. We’ll see.” You reply, suddenly sobering up when you remember the rules you had set in place to protect yourself and Tim. Sensing that the conversation was ending, Tim radioed Lucy, letting her know that you had found the missing item. As you approach the meeting point, you see Lucy and Johnny chatting as they wait for you to arrive.

“Chen, we’ve got it,” Tim calls over to her, making both Lucy and Johnny approach the two of you as you dig the item out of your pocket holding it out towards Lucy.

“I don’t know how good this would be as evidence. It’s got dog slobber all over it.” You say apologetically as Lucy takes it from your hand.

“Forensics are good at their job. They should be able to find something of use here. Hopefully.” Lucy says, tucking the scrap of cloth away in a zip-loc bag.

“Forensics can find anything. If this evidence is useful, it won’t take them long to find something.” Johnny says confidently, lightly bumping Lucy with his shoulder and chuckling.

“Johnny’s right. You guys should get that to forensics so you can find out if it’ll help your case or not.” You say, looking from Tim to Lucy and back again as they nod in agreement.

“That’s true. Come on Lucy, let’s go and see if this was worth chasing a dog down for.” Tim mutters, nodding over at Lucy who mirrors his action.

“We’ll see you around,” Lucy says to you and Johnny before turning to leave with Tim, both of them heading back in the direction they had come from. You and Johnny watch them leave quietly before looking over at each other.

“We should probably head home before Charlie freaks out, huh?” You say quietly as Johnny nods.

“Yeah, I don’t feel like being murdered so the sooner we get back the better,” Johnny replies, gesturing for you to follow him and the two of you begin to head back to Graceland to spend the rest of the day relaxing.

A month later, you had gotten back into a regular routine. You weren’t ready to tackle undercover cases yet, so you had elected to work as a liaison between the FBI and the LAPD, offering support with tact teams and advice for any officers tackling any undercover cases. You had been regularly attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings with Briggs and with the support of him and the other meeting attendants, you had managed to earn yourself your one-month sobriety chip. You were so proud of yourself for getting this far. Some of your days were rougher than others, you’d be in a foul attitude and you’d snap at anyone who dared talk to you but on other days you were fine. Your good days were beginning to outnumber the bad ones and you were beginning to feel more and more like your old self. Your only issue was that you were still hiding what happened to you from everyone. You felt like the others in the house deserved to know about your struggles. Briggs might be okay hiding his struggles with addiction from the others but you felt like you were living a lie every time you looked one of them in the eye. You even felt like you owed it to Tim to be honest with him too. You had been spending more time at Mid-Wilshire and it was getting harder and harder to lie to him and pretend like everything was okay. You were willing to take the risk to tell him even if it meant he stopped talking to you altogether.

Tim had noticed your distant behaviour and had attempted to talk to you several times as well as trying to invite you to spend time out of work. Each time you had turned him down, telling him that you had planned things with the others or whatever excuse came to mind. Despite what Tim had been saying previously, Tim had found himself incredibly jealous of your closeness to Briggs. He regularly dropped you off and picked you up from Mid-Wilshire and Tim never missed the tight hugs and the gentle kisses Briggs would place upon the top of your head. He had no idea what had happened to prompt such a sudden bond between the two of you but it hurt to think that it could potentially be more than platonic between the two of you. After a month of you avoiding him and barely speaking more than a few words to him, Tim’s jealousy started to get the better of him and one evening after you left with Briggs, Tim decided to follow you.

It was easy to spot the orange Bronco even in nighttime LA traffic so Tim was able to follow from a reasonable distance so he could avoid being spotted. The drive was about twenty minutes long and Tim soon found himself parked outside a building and heading in. He had no idea where in the building you had gone but he could hear movement on the next floor so he carefully made his way up the stairs and headed towards the room with an open door, hearing a conversation begin to die down and just as he reached the door he saw you stood at the front of the room before a small crowd of people. Just as you prepared to speak, you looked up and locked eyes with Tim who had paused in the doorway, watching you softly. It took you by surprise at first, and all you could do was stare, shocked that he was there. Pulling yourself together, you took a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you inhaled before finally getting the courage to open your eyes, watching Tim once more as you began to talk.

“Hi, my name is y/n and I’m a heroin addict.” You said, the same way you had weekly since Briggs started making you attend these meetings. You watched Tim’s reaction carefully and did your best to conceal your building tears when he continued to watch you, the shock evident in his eyes. You continue to talk, opening up about how you’d struggled a little since the last meeting but taking a moment to be proud of your achievement now that you had reached one month of sobriety. When you had finished talking, there was a small ripple of applause from everyone seated in front of you, including Tim from his spot in the doorway as you sat back down alongside Briggs. Tim decides to step out into the hallway as the rest of the meeting continues, waiting patiently for you to come out when the meeting is over.

When people began to file out of the room, Tim headed towards the door, seeing you and Briggs talking to another member of the meeting and you looked over at him, nodding in acknowledgement before excusing yourself from the conversation and making your way over to Tim.

“Hi.” You mumble quietly, the atmosphere awkward between the two of you as you stand before him, eyes looking everywhere but at him.

“Hey. Can we go somewhere more private?” Tim asks quietly, and you nod lightly.

“Is everything okay here?” Briggs asks, sidling up alongside you and watching Tim carefully as if he were a threat.

“Everything’s fine, Briggs. I’m going to chat with Tim privately. I’ll find you when I’m ready to head home.” You explain, turning to look at Briggs who nods, unconvinced.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few.” Briggs says, embracing you quickly and kissing the top of your head in support before releasing you, allowing you to head out of the building with Tim, finding somewhere quiet to chat. You find a bench overlooking the ocean, both you and Tim sitting down on it and watching the waves quietly for a moment before Tim speaks up.

“Did that happen to you in Mexico?” He asks quietly, his gaze fixed on the dark waves lapping against the sand.

“Yeah… Caza clearly knew who I was. They knew if news of my addiction got out, all my cases would be reopened and investigated. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” You explain, tears welling in your eyes as you apologise.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Tim asks softly, finally turning his head to look at you, sadness written across all his features.

“I wanted to. But I remembered what you told me about Isabel. I couldn’t put you through that pain again. You don’t deserve it.” You say quietly, watching as Tim shakes his head.

“You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve wanted to support you in your recovery. I still do.” Tim insists, his eyes growing watery before he blinks furiously to rid himself of the tears.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks and Tim wasted no time in pulling you into his arms, holding you carefully as if you’d fall apart in his arms if he wasn’t careful.

“You don’t need to apologise. I’m sorry for following you all the way here. I wasn’t thinking straight and I let my emotions get the better of me.” Tim apologises, continuing to blink his own tears away as he holds you.

“I should’ve just told you sooner. That’s on me.” You say, sniffling as you cling to Tim.

“Don’t blame yourself. You went through something I could never fathom. And I won’t press you for anything more if you’re not ready to.” Tim says as you begin to pull away slightly so you can look him in the eyes.

“It was so much and I didn’t know what to do. It was weeks after I got back that I finally asked for help.” You admit tearily, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

“And that was so brave of you to do. It took Isabel over a year to accept any help and I offered any time I could to help. The fact you’ve gotten help this soon and worked on it is incredible.” Tim says, his smile gentle as he talks, encouraging you to give him a small, weak smile in response.

“Briggs has been a massive help through it all. I wouldn’t have gotten through this without him.” You admit, thinking of your friend and how much he had been willing to help you.

“Is that what’s been going on with you two? You’re not… together?” Tim asks, aware that he might be pushing but his curiosity and jealousy were gnawing at his stomach and he didn’t have time to process what he was saying before it left his lips.

“Definitely not. Briggs is like an older brother to me. He figured out what was going on with me and like I said, he’s been my support system through all this.” You explain, waving your hand dismissively as Tim’s eyes fall to the floor, a slight blush covering his cheeks in his embarrassment.

“Sorry, that was completely unnecessary of me to ask and it wasn’t the place or time,” Tim says, rambling to try and recover from what he had just said.

“I don’t mind. I can understand why it might look like we are together.” You say with a soft smile, shrugging lightly to let Tim know you didn’t hold any bad blood about his question. The two of you then fell into a comfortable silence, but you could tell there was something Tim wanted to say so you waited patiently for him to get his confidence, wondering what it was he wanted to say to you.

“Hey, this is probably the worst possible time to say this but I owe it to you to be honest. I got jealous seeing how close you and Briggs were recently. It reminded me of what I was missing after you got back from Mexico because we used to be close. Maybe my feelings for you were just fuelling my jealousy I don’t know.” Tim explains awkwardly, fumbling to find the right words as he looks everywhere but at you.

“Feelings for me?” You ask quietly, shocked that Tim had admitted such a thing when you’d gone so long assuming that he didn’t see you in a romantic light.

“Uh, yeah. I have feelings for you. And have done for quite a while now.” Tim admits quietly, finally finding the courage to focus on you once more.

“Well, I guess I can’t lie to you anymore. I have feelings for you too. But I don’t want to hurt you.” You say softly, wanting to be completely transparent with Tim.

“Why do you think you’d hurt me?” Tim asks, tilting his head slightly in his confusion as you bite your lip, trying to fight back tears at the mere thought of hurting Tim somehow.

“What if I relapse? I don’t want to remind you of what you went through with Isabel. On top of that, my job is dangerous and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” You explain your fears as Tim softens.

“If you relapse, I’ll be there to help you every step of the way. I promise. On top of that, yes, your job may be dangerous but it’s not like I have no idea what your job entails. Isabel used to work undercover so I know what can happen. I can protect myself. Neither of those reasons is enough to scare me off. If you want to, I’d like to try a relationship. We can go at your pace.” Tim says, his voice gentle but his words confident and strong. He wanted you to know that if you were all in, he was too. He wouldn’t let himself be scared off easily.

“Are you sure?” You ask quietly, longing to just accept Tim’s offer but your mind was getting the better of you, making you overthink.

“I’m positive. But it’s up to you.” Tim confirms, making sure you know where he stands.

“I’d like to try a relationship too.” You reply shyly, both of you smiling lightly at each other before Tim embraces you once more, neither one of you wanting to break the embrace until you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you, making you pull away and look behind you, seeing Briggs stood behind you with his arms crossed.

“Are you ready to go?” Briggs asks with a quirked eyebrow, clearly noticing the shift in energy between you and Tim.

“I probably should head home. I think I’m ready to tell everyone else about what happened. They deserve to know.” You say over to Briggs, fighting back a frown when he lets out a disappointed sigh.

“y/n, I don’t know if you should tell them. You’ve already burdened a member of the LAPD with this secret. If you tell the others they’ll be forced to carry it too.” Briggs says, making Tim clench his jaw before he stands up from the bench. He crosses to Briggs as you leap up to follow him, not wanting to witness a potential punching match.

“Hey, you have no right to tell y/n who she can and can’t tell. I am not burdened with her secret. She’s trusting me with it and I’ll keep it like my life depends on it. If she trusts everyone else in the house why shouldn’t they know?” Tim states angrily, stopping his approach towards Briggs when you place a hand on his chest.

“Fine. She can do what she wants, but this isn’t the first time I’ve warned her.” Briggs says after a brief staring contest between the two men before gesturing for you to follow him so he can take you back to Graceland.

“I’ll bring her back.” Tim volunteers, sticking close to you.

“Okay then. I’m going to head back, the others are probably having a campfire so you can join us whenever you are ready.” Briggs says, his voice losing its harshness as he directs his words to you but you already know how much he disapproved of your wishes. After he walks off, climbing into his Bronco and driving off, Tim turns to you.

“Are you okay? He was really harsh.” Tim asks, his eyes studying you worriedly as you nod.

“I’m fine. That’s just Briggs. He wants to do what he can to protect Graceland and everyone in it.” You dismiss with a shrug, following Tim to his truck, getting in the passenger seat when the vehicle has been unlocked.

“He didn’t need to make it seem like your battle with addiction is a burden,” Tim mutters as he starts the engine, pulling out of the parking spot and beginning the drive to Graceland.

“He’s not entirely wrong. Secrets have burdens. I know telling people can be bad, to give them such a big secret for them to protect is a lot to ask.” You say, your eyes fixed on the window beside you, watching the streetlights zip past, creating a blur of light.

“Still, if they’re close friends, it makes sense for them to know.” Tim justifies, his eyes fixed on the road.

“We’ve always had a saying that there’s no secrets at Graceland… unless you’re Briggs. They deserve to know. I haven’t told them a thing about what happened in Mexico since I got back.” You say, feeling guilt tugging on your heartstrings for all the lies you’d told your friends.

“If you want, I can be there with you as moral support,” Tim says, taking a brief moment to glance at you before focusing on the road again.

“You’d do that?” You ask, a slight shock in your voice as you look over at Tim who nods.

“Of course, I would. I can’t imagine this is the easiest thing to talk about and you’re about to talk about it for the second time in one night. If you want me there, I’m there.” Tim says as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, making a small smile appear on your face at his willingness to support you.

“I’d like that.” You say, watching how a small smile tugs at the corner of Tim’s lips as he continues to drive.

When you arrive at Graceland, you notice your friends sitting around a campfire on the beach and you tell Tim to follow you, both of you making your way down to the beach where everyone greeted you and Tim enthusiastically.

“What can we do for you two?” Charlie asks as Tim sidles up alongside you.

“I needed to talk to you guys about something. I haven’t been completely honest with you all since I got back from Mexico.” You say, taking a shuddering breath as all eyes fall on you and as if it was instinctual, Tim reaches out and takes your hand in his, squeezing softly to show his silent support.

Listening to you explain what happened to you in Mexico made Tim’s heart hurt. He hated having to listen to the pain you had been through and how long you had tried to deal with it alone before Briggs realised what was going on. Tim wasn’t too keen on Briggs, but he’d always be grateful that he noticed what was going on with you and helped you through everything. By the time you had finished explaining everything, tears had flowed down your face and stained your cheeks. At first, no one said anything, and as you readied yourself to apologise and talk about moving out, everyone got up from their place around the fire and rushed over to you, trapping you in a group hug as Tim relinquished his hold on your hand and stepped back to let your friends support you.

“Thank you for telling us,” Charlie says softly, wiping at your cheeks with her thumbs to get rid of the fallen tears.

“Your secret is safe with us, girl.” Johnny then says, followed by murmurs of agreement from the other members of the group. Feeling comforted by the support of the others, you thank them all quietly as they pull away allowing Tim to step back towards you, wrapping an arm around your middle and pulling you close, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by the others. You spend a few minutes talking with your friends, telling them how your recovery has been going. They seemed to respect that it wasn’t the time to enquire about Tim and what your relationship may be with him at the current moment. After chatting for a while, a yawn slips past your lips.

“I might have to call it a night, guys.” You say apologetically, bidding everyone goodnight as Tim escorts you to the back door of Graceland.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Tim asks quietly, taking your hand as he stands facing you.

“I’m not sure where I’ll be at work tomorrow, but if you want to see me after work I’m sure we can figure something out.” You reply with a smile, squeezing Tim’s hand as he smiles softly.

“Well, I do need to take you on our first official date,” Tim says with a raised eyebrow, making you laugh softly.

“You’ll have to tell me the plan tomorrow.” You say before getting the courage to lean in and press a soft kiss to Tim’s cheek.

“Goodnight, y/n,” Tim says softly, pulling you into a hug and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head as you whisper goodnight in response. When Tim pulls away, you both whisper one final goodnight before he backs off, making his way back to his truck as you make your way into the house, heading up to your room and wasting no time in getting ready for bed and climbing under your sheets with a smile. As you curled up in bed, you couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief, you’d gotten the courage to do something you thought was impossible and now you had a bigger support system than ever.

You’d be okay.

Tim Tags (comment or ask to be added):

@callsigns-haze @fore45fore @reignsboy19 @xi1dius @plutotcles @lives-in-midgard @mystical-258 @malindacath @cuntyvicodin @brewolfhowl @child-of-the-sunshine

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #the rookie #the rookie abc #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic #the rookie imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x fem!reader

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training4theapocalypse · 1 year ago

Text

Never Been Kissed (Adrian Chase x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: SMUT, Second chance romance, Canon typical descriptions of murder and violence, Oral (fem receiving), P in V, Safe sex (male condom), Multiple orgasms

Summary: You're a PI who joins the 11th Street Kids after a chance meeting with John Economos on the dark web. Unfortunately for you, your ex-friend-with-benefits Vigilante is here too. (Based on this ask by anon)

A/N: This took a hot minute. The M&Ms were originally cigarettes but these days I'm a healthy queen free of nicotine -purr.

Masterlist

Join my tag list: @likeficsinthewnd, @she-wolf09231982, @pretendfan, @lolitstiana, @countlambula, @chiaraanatra, @stainedpomegranatelips, @navs-bhat, @ohnoitsrosie, @daisydark, @angrydragon90, @intense-sneezing

Chapter text:

The dim fire exit sign outside the back of the abandoned video store flickers as you suck a peanut M&M between your tongue and the roof of your mouth anxiously. You hope your contact hurries the fuck up - if he makes you wait any longer you’ll finish an entire party bag from nervousness.

It was stupid, really, even reckless, to meet a stranger from the dark web. But when some guy called TechConomos_11 had responded to you in a chat room where you were discussing the intel you had on some sinister goings-on in Evergreen, you knew you had to meet him and his team.

Because you’ll be damned if anyone catches the escaped gorilla before you.

There’s a clink of a padlock and chain falling to the floor, the sound of a heavy emergency exit bar being pushed down and when the door opens you’re face to face with a large, bearded man wearing glasses.

“Are you the PI?”

If you had to draw a sketch of what you thought a guy you met on the dark web would look like, he would be it. Not a neckbeard, exactly, just someone with the distinct aura of having too much time spent in front of a screen.

You nod. “TechConomos?”

“Call me John. Come inside - the team’s all here.”

You shove the half-empty pack of M&Ms into your bag and he leads you through to the back office.

“This is Murn, Harcourt and Adebayo.” He gestures to his three associates sitting in the office who each acknowledge you in turn. “And these guys-”

“Fuck it! Fuck, fuck fuck!”

The yelling draws your attention to the window separating the office from the rest of the video store and it’s like a knife in your gut when you see him.

Vigilante.

“Ugh, fuck! It hurts to walk!” Vigilante whines as he limps around. He turns to pace some more but stops in his tracks in alarm when he sees you. He immediately dives to the floor, launching himself behind a desk in a futile attempt to hide.

Vigilante is the last person you expected to - or wanted to - see here. It’s not his usual MO - normally he’d be out hunting thugs and drug dealers. What was he doing caught up in this operation with some tech guy and a team who you suspected were either current or former soldiers?

There’s a roaring laugh and your eyes find Peacemaker, doubled over in his chair, laughing like an idiot at Vigilante sprawled on the ground.

That explains Vigilante’s involvement. Looks like his idol, Peacemaker, is finally out of prison and the first thing he does is rope Vigilante into whatever this is. The whole thing stinks. Why is there an entire team with two capes looking for an escaped zoo animal? Any why did one of those capes have to be Vigilante?

You close your eyes and groan. “You didn’t tell me you were working with them.”

“You know each other?” asks Harcourt.

“Just Vigilante.” You sigh and follow them into the video store.

“Hey, asshole,” you say, peering over the desk Vigilante is hidden behind. He looks up at you and props his masked head up on his arm casually as if you didn’t just see him throw himself there a second ago.

“Oh, hey!” he says, feigning pleasant surprise.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I hurt my pinky toe.”

“Yeah? Which one?” You walk around the desk and stand at his feet to get a better look.

“Nononono! Wait!”

You clock the way his visor-covered eyes dart down to his right foot in panic.

“Woah, did you think I was gonna kick you or something?” Sure, you have beef but you’re kind of offended he’d think that you’d harm him on purpose.

“No…” he mumbles sheepishly.

“Asshole.” You roll your eyes and sit on the hard wooden surface, turning away from him to face the team.

“Who the fuck is this?” Peacemaker asks Murn before looking between you and Vigilante. “Do you two know each other or something?”

You don’t deign to reply.

There’s a squeak of a chair being dragged on linoleum as Vigilante pulls himself up onto a seat next to Peacemaker with a wince.

“Economos says you want to join the team,” says Murn.

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“I know everything that goes on in Evergreen.”

“And?”

“I have information and skills that I want money for. Obviously.”

“How much?”

You were talking about splitting the reward for the gorilla but Murn’s expectant look makes it clear this is a contract. What’s that saying again? A contract in the hand is worth a gorilla in the bush? … Something like that.

“Well, what are you paying him?” You cast your eyes at Vigilante who shrugs. Unbelievable. “They’re not paying you? Idiot.”

Murn and Harcourt glance at each other awkwardly. “This is strictly off the books,” says Murn.

“So you were just going to take advantage of him? No way. I want my pay backdated for all the intell I’ve found for you. And his too for whatever it is he’s doing for you.”

“How do you guys know each other?” asks John, pulling up a chair behind his laptop.

You look at Vigilante warningly and answer before he can open his fat mouth. “I’ve sent some work his way once or twice. And compensated him fairly for it,” you add pointedly.

“Oh, they’ve definitely fucked,” laughs Peacemaker.

“Shouldn’t you be in Belle Reve?” You glare at him.

Peacemaker ignores the question. “Did he keep the mask on with you too?” He pouts faux-sympathetically.

This catches you off-guard. Not Vigilante and Peacemaker fucking - Vigilante is so obsessed with him that you guessed it was only a matter of time.

But he did keep his mask on.

Vigilante groans and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and staring determinedly at his injured foot.

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Enough!” Murn gives Peacemaker a severe look before turning his attention back to you. “John says you know the location of what we’re looking for.”

“I’m not telling you until you get me up to speed with what you’ve got so far. John wouldn’t tell me shit online. Call it a show of good faith.”

“And we’re supposed to just take your word that you actually have useful information?” asks Adebayo.

John opens his mouth to reply but Vigilante beats him to the punch.

“She knows,” says Vigilante, finally looking up. “She’s… she’s a good PI. If she says she knows, she knows.”

“Well, we can’t divulge state secrets just because Vigilante vouches for you. Tell us the ‘where’ and if it checks out - you’re in,” says Harcourt.

You look around at this unlikely group. If you want to catch the gorilla you need their help. You need their weapons. You need their money.

“It’s at the Glan Tai bottling plant. You heard of it?”

“Pulling it up now…” John types on his keyboard. “It makes sense, Murn. They’ve got the production, the distribution channels… This is probably it.”

Distribution channels? What’s the gorilla at Glan Tai got to do with distribution?

You keep your face neutral - if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this job, it’s when to sit back, shut up and listen.

You try to piece things together as Murn talks about ‘butterflies’ and their ‘food source’. Economos checks highway CCTV footage and confirms that your intel is correct. This is extremely lucky for you because you’re clearly talking about two entirely different things. You wonder if these ‘butterflies’ are some kind of parasite-induced sleeper agent. And maybe the food source is a drug to release them from their fugue state?

“...And the gorilla?” you ask eventually.

“What about the gorilla?” asks Harcourt.

“The gorilla is at Glan Tai.”

“There’s a Butterfly gorilla?” asks Vigilante excitedly. “That is so cool!”

“Is that even possible?” Harcourt asks Murn who nods.

You’ve seen some shit but a gorilla sleeper agent takes the fucking cake. They all seem totally unfazed so you pretend to be too.

“So, what’s our next move? When do we start killing these aliens?” asks Peacemaker.

Aliens.

You discreetly scan the others. Nobody else bats an eyelid at Peacemaker’s use of that word.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

“You two get some rest, come back tonight,” says Murn to Peacemaker and Vigilante. “And you - you’ve got evidence of what we’re doing here?” There’s no point in lying so you nod. “Bring it back here so we can destroy it. All of it.”

You, Peacemaker and Vigilante, leave the video store. You cross the street to get to your car but Vigilante calls your name. You turn around to see him hurriedly limping over while Peacemaker climbs into the Vigilantemobile.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re part of the team now.”

“I can’t return the sentiment.” You scowl at him. Peacemaker beeps the horn of Vigilante’s car. “You’d better hurry up - you don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.”

“We’re not in a relationship. You know I only wanted to be with-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“C’mon, can’t you at least tell me why you stopped answering my calls?”

“I already told you - I’m not going to wait around my entire life for a guy who won’t even show me his face. Or tell me his real name.”

“I can’t -”

“Save your excuses for someone who gives a shit.” Peacemaker blasts the horn again. “At least I know you keep the mask on when you fuck him too. It’s not like he’s seen your face.”

Vigilante’s visor-covered eyes avoid contact with yours. His hesitation is like a punch in the gut.

“He’s seen your face?” You don’t mean to whisper it. The words just spill from your lips like you’ve been winded.

“Not like that. That was just a meaningless threesome-”

“But he’s seen it?”

He nods.

You push him aside to throw your car door open and get in. “Fuck you, V.” You slam it shut and drive away, not even bothering to glance at him standing haplessly in your rearview mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, you and John cross-check your intel. It’s becoming clear that this is way out of your fucking league. But if Vigilante can do it, you can too.

Right?

“You want some peanut M&Ms?”.

He accepts a handful gladly. “Why is so much of this about the fucking gorilla?” John asks with his mouth full, looking over your shoulder at your laptop screen.

The necessity of any quick thinking on your part is interrupted when you hear Murn’s voice ringing from the back office.

“You told Vigilante to kill Peacemaker's father?!”

You and John drop what you’re doing and peer tentatively around the door of the office where Murn is berating Adebayo.

“I didn't tell him to… I just kinda put the idea in his head,” she explains.

“That Peacemaker would be better off without his father?”

Oh no.

“Where’s Vigilante?” you ask suspiciously, joining Murn as he stands with his arms crossed. He looks furious.

“He’s in jail,” mumbles Adebayo. “I might have suggested that if someone were to go in and kill Peacemaker’s dad, all our problems would go away.”

You run your hands through your hair.

“How could you manipulate him like that?” Your combat boots squeak on the floor as you pace across it, catastrophising aloud. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Vigilante is very fucking easy to manipulate. And he has a record. What if he kills someone in prison and gets locked up for life? Or what if he gets himself killed trying?”

“Peacemaker’s gonna see right through this. He’ll know exactly what you tried to do,” says Murn to Adebyo sternly.

They’re fucking crazy.

“Who gives a shit about Peacemaker? Vigilante is locked in jail with the White Dragon!” You plead urgently. Vigilante is in real danger and all they care about is Peacemaker’s feelings.

“Economos, can you get Vigilante out of the system before he screws us worse than we're already screwed?”

John sighs. “I don’t even know this guy’s name.”

The four of them look at you.

You cross your arms. “I can’t tell you his name.”

“Guess he’s gonna die in prison then -”

“Last name Chase. First name Adrian.” You blurt out his secret that you’ve been holding deep in your chest. “But you can’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t know I know.”

You crowd around John’s laptop as he pulls up Adrian’s file.

“We shouldn’t be looking at this,” you say as you stare intently at his mugshot - the mugshot you’re so well acquainted with. You’d rather die than admit how many hours you’ve spent sitting at your desk late at night, looking at his police record on your laptop.

And suddenly, it’s like you’re back in bed with him, as he stares breathlessly at the ceiling and you lie there naked on top of his bare chest, looking into his masked face, picturing that very same mugshot underneath it.

“Guess again,” Vigilante says. You can tell even under the mask that he’s grinning, enjoying your questioning.

“Hmm… are you a doctor? You’ve stitched yourself up a lot.”

“You think I’m a doctor and live here?”

Vigilante watches as you make a show of pursing your lips thoughtfully. The warm afternoon sun streaks through the gaps in his blinds onto his bed. It makes it look like there’s a golden halo around your messy bed hair. He tucks a small strand behind your ear as you walk your index and middle fingers along his chest and down his shoulder.

“Maybe a fireman with these big strong arms?”

He likes you when you let your walls down like this. You’re almost downright playful when he’s satisfied you - a personality trait he still hasn’t extricated from you outside these four walls.

“Man, I am so good at this secret identity thing if I can keep it a secret from a PI.”

You laugh. “I guess so.”

He didn’t know that you had long known his real job. And his real name. Or that you’d trace your fingers over his face on your laptop screen as you tried to reconcile it with the masked killer who was content to let you into his bed but never his real life.

“Wasn’t he our busboy at Fennel Fields?” Adebayo’s question snaps you back to the present.

“Can you pull him out?” You ask John.

“It’s… done.” He says, with a final click of his keyboard. “Let’s just hope he hasn’t done anything stupid. Yet.”

Harcourt shrugs her leather jacket on. “I’ll pick him up.”

Great - first he reveals to Peacemaker who he is and now Harcourt who he’s known for a hot minute is about to see his face too.

You frown. “He’s gonna be really upset we know his identity.”

“You wanna come and soften the blow?”

“I’ll drive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harcourt sits in the passenger seat of your car outside of the Evergreen Police Department. You’ve been sitting here quietly in the dark, staring at the front doors for almost an hour.

“So what’s your deal with Vigilante?” She asks, finally breaking the silence.

“I told you - I threw some contract work his way. Used him as a bodyguard from time to time when I needed the extra muscle.”

“And then what? Why did you call him an asshole?”

“Because he can be an asshole.”

“That doesn’t sound right. A psychopath maybe. But an asshole? I don’t buy it.”

You keep your eyes focused on the police station door to hide your face. “He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.” You swallow with difficulty. “He just has a code. Lots of quirky little rules he has to follow that makes it difficult for someone ordinary like me to be - I mean, to work with him.”

“Like not revealing his secret identity.”

It’s not a question but you nod all the same.

“So this is your first time seeing him without his mask?”

“That he knows of.” Your forehead touches the cool glass window. It’s like if you stare hard enough at the door he’ll appear in one piece. “I had to do my background checks.”

The doors open and you see Adrian Chase in his cardigan and jeans walking out into the dark night, illuminated by the fluorescent streetlights.

He’s alive.

You roll down your window and he stops dead. He stares at you in shock with his lips parted slightly - unsure whether you recognise him or not.

Harcourt stretches across your seat and calls to Adrian. “We’re here to take you home. Get in.”

When he climbs into the back seat of your car you both turn in your seats. You breathe a sigh of relief seeing him up close - physically he’s unscathed.

“He’s still alive…” He says. “I’m Adrian.”

“Okay,” Harcourt says simply.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” you tell him.

He looks up at both of you sadly over his wire-rimmed glasses. “I think I might have made things worse.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After you drop Harcourt off at her motel, Adrian gets into the passenger seat. You let him give directions to his apartment, even though you already know where he lives.

“This is me,” he says when you pull up to his building and park in the spot you’ve parked in on countless occasions.

“I know.”

“Right. Yeah, you’ve been here.”

“A couple of times, yeah…”

His stupid code. You could know where he lives but never see his face. And now you can’t stop yourself from drinking him in - his slightly stubbly chin from his day spent in prison, the way his curly hair is all messed up. He groans heavily and leans his head back against the headrest. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“The guys know how you ended up in jail - they don’t blame you.” He doesn’t say anything. You search his face as he stares gloomily ahead. “What happened in there, V?” you ask.

“I tried to provoke Peacemaker’s dad into a fight. It worked at first - the Aryans took the bait but his dad saw right through it. I think I’ve fucked up the whole mission.”

So Vigilante went into a viper pit unarmed and provoked a bunch of nazis into fighting him.

Deep down, you know it’s fucked up to be attracted to someone capable of such violence but if you’re honest with yourself, it’s what drew you to him in the first place. You knew about the headlines before you met him. And the idea of him taking on a dangerous prison gang really shouldn’t make your heart pound the way it is right now.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “You don’t have to be sorry about that.”

You’ve never touched his hair before but you want to stroke it and comfort him. Tell him that it wasn’t his fault and it’ll all be okay. But he interrupts your train of thought before you can reach your hand out.

“I meant I’m sorry about us.”

Why is your first instinct to tell him that it’s no big deal that he broke your heart? Stupidly, you want to protect him from it - from the hurt he caused you. Comfort him, put his feelings before your own just because you can tell that right now he needs it.

But it is a big deal.

As soon as you remind yourself he couldn’t trust you enough to let you in, it feels like your heart is shattering all over again, mourning what you could have had.

Trust.

“I told the team your name so they could bail you out,” you admit, desperate to get the fact that you betrayed him off your chest. “I was worried about you locked up in there.”

He turns his head to look at you properly for the first time all night. The streetlights are reflected in his dorky little glasses.

“You knew my name?” He doesn’t look betrayed - he just looks surprised. “How…?”

You lift your finger from the steering wheel to point at his apartment. “Anyone with your address could find out who you are. And your full name appears on my checking account when you cash the checks I write you.”

“So you know… everything?”

“Yup.”

His eyebrows knit together in a plea. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to want me to know.”

“Knowing my secret identity would put you at risk.”

“That bullshit and you know it, V. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Yeah you do - that’s why you had me come with you on jobs.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Then why did you hire me?”

“I was curious about the man behind the headlines, I guess. Then I nearly went broke trying to spend time with you. Do you honestly think I wanted to give you a cut of my contracts for months? ”

He presses his palms into his eyes, pushing his glasses up out of the way and trying to make sense of it all.

“So those jobs were just you finding a reason to hang out?” He drags his hands down his face.

“Well, not at first. But then we started sleeping together after jobs and I wanted to keep doing that.”

“I would’ve wanted to be with you even without those jobs.”

“Oh yeah? You’d have taken me out on a date as Vigilante?” He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again - as if reconsidering whatever he was about to say. “After all that time you still didn’t trust me enough to take off your mask. The last time we saw each other I practically begged you to show me who you are. Then Peacemaker comes back in town and you - what? Just rip off your mask and spill the beans without a second thought?”

“I was being tortured by Goff-”

“The senator tortured you?”

“Well, the Butterfly who had taken over his body. But yeah. He - I mean she - ripped off my mask and tried to cut off my pinky toe. Peacemaker was just there.”

You feel sick thinking about him being tortured. Then you feel sick about feeling sick. It’s not just normal empathy. You want revenge. But you know you shouldn’t care this much. Not when you’ve been broken up for so long.

“Shit, V. That’s horrible.”

“Besides, if I was gonna show someone my face it would have been you. Not Peacemaker.” He looks at you sadly. “I wish you hadn’t left.”

“And I wish you had given me a reason to stay, V. I deserved someone who could trust me. And you… you deserved someone you could be yourself with. We couldn’t be that for each other.”

The hurt on your face is plain for him to see - there’s no point trying to hide it.

“I do trust you. It’s just…” He hesitates. “You’re the only person I know who thought I was cool.”

“Adrian… that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Adrian.

It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that and it makes Adrian’s heart leap. Like the two sides of him have finally met you. After all this time.

“It’s not. Everyone else who knows me as Adrian knows I’m a loser. And I thought if I told you I was a busboy with no friends, you’d think that too.”

“You have friends.”

“Yeah, right.”

“The guys in the video store? They were so worried about you in jail. They like you a lot.” He allows himself a small smile like he doesn’t really believe it. “And I…” You pause. How do you feel about Adrian? “I still think you’re cool.”

“You do?”

He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re actually saying the words he was afraid you’d never say.

“Of course I do. You’re still the masked Vigilante of Evergreen. And I’m just… ordinary.”

He scoffs in amazement. “You’re not ordinary - you’re like the smartest person I know. And you don’t need to hide behind a mask to do your job.

“I’m not that smart.”

“I mean, you found out more about the butterflies than the US government.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. “Can I tell you something? And you won’t tell the rest of the team?”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I didn’t know what butterflies were until today.” He looks extremely confused so you press on. “I met John in a dark web chatroom when I was researching the missing gorilla. And I thought you guys were looking for it too.”

He laughs. A merciless side-splitting laugh that doesn’t take your embarrassment into consideration at all. But it shows off his beautiful smile. And when you see it you can’t stop yourself from joining in too. It’s so ridiculous. You wanted to find the gorilla, and maybe get your PI business mentioned again in the local paper. Now you’ve been roped into saving the world with a black ops team and Vigilante.

You both try to regain your composure and stare at each other, catching your breath. He shakes his head, grinning.

Christ, look at him.

“I sometimes wondered if you wouldn’t remove your mask because you were just a bad kisser. I mean, I saw your mugshot so I already knew you were pretty.” You can’t help but tell him. You know the grainy photo on his record like the back of your hand but in person, he’s frankly gorgeous.

“Thanks, I know.”

You laugh again. “And modest.”

“You think I fund being Vigilante on a busboy salary? I get a lot of tips.”

“It all makes sense now. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Because she didn’t want to wait around for an idiot who wouldn’t even kiss her.”

You stare at each other in the shadowy silence for a few moments.

“It’s late, we should both get some rest.”

“Wait, don’t go.” His hand touches your thigh and it feels like there’s an electric current buzzing between his hand and the fabric of your jeans. The atmosphere almost crackles, like lighting about to strike in the middle of a storm. It’s the first time he’s touched you since you walked out on him six months ago and never went back. “It’s super late, you should crash at mine.”

“If I come upstairs we both know what’s going to happen.”

He tilts his head and you watch dimples form as the corners of his mouth turn into a mischievous smile. “That’s kind of the idea.”

“A bad one. We need to work together.”

“When has fucking ever stopped us from completing a job?”

“It hasn’t. But when we stopped seeing each other… I was really cut up. I couldn’t concentrate on work for a while. It’s why I needed the reward for the gorilla so badly.”

“Then we just won’t stop this time.”

“Adrian… I’ve only just pulled myself together again. I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.”

He removes his hand from your leg to unclip his seatbelt.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Adrian gives you an apologetic look.

You stare at his lips. They’re just there. His whole face is out in the open. And now his lips, and the rest of him, are about to leave your car and you never know when you’ll see him unmasked again. He opens the car door.

“Wait -”

He turns back around in his seat.

“Let me find out if you’re a bad kisser. At least I can tell myself I’m not missing out on anything if you are.”

“You’re gonna be so mad…” He cups your face and brushes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m a really good kisser.”

You smile and his lips meet yours.

It’s nothing like you imagined.

When you had sex it always felt urgent, even dangerous, getting into bed with a masked cape who was wanted for murder. More often than not he fucked you from behind, tugged fistfuls of your hair and slapped your ass.

But his kisses… his kisses are soft and slow. And good.

You’re totally screwed.

He sucks your lip gently and then his tongue traces across yours. You urge yourself forward in the driver’s seat closer to him, bringing your hand up to cradle the nape of his neck and lace your hand in his soft hair.

Warmth spreads in your chest when he deepens the kiss. You secretly hoped he’d be like this when he was unmasked. Your hot and rough encounters were always fun but in your heart you always wanted him to want you like this. Deeply. Reverently.

You break apart and press your forehead against his with your eyes closed, feeling your heart hammering against your chest.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks.

You open your eyes to see his green ones searching yours from behind his glasses. He lets out a long, happy exhale when he hears your seatbelt unclick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrian’s bedroom is neat, clean, with framed vintage comic books on his walls and illuminated by a lava lamp on his bedside table. Details you remember from previous visits but barely register this time as you both burst through his bedroom door while he kisses you. Refusing to take his hands from your body, he kicks the door shut behind him forgetting about his injured foot. He regrets it immediately.

“Fuck!” He pulls away and winces.

“Careful,” you soothe, shrugging your jacket off onto the floor and he lifts your shirt off. As soon as your skin is uncovered his mouth finds it. He drags his tongue across your collarbones and between your breasts, nudging the cup of your bra aside so he can find your nipple.

His warm mouth feels almost too good to be true as he sucks on the hard, pebbled skin and moves on to taste every inch of your exposed chest, his deft hands unhooking your bra and tossing it aside quickly.

The entire day could have been a crazy fever dream. You’ve gone from your heart sinking at the very sight of him to it fluttering like crazy as you lie back on his mattress so he can pull your jeans and underwear off.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he says, sinking to his knees between your legs at the edge of the bed.

Even though you’re completely naked on his bed while he’s still dressed, you somehow feel less on display than he is right now without his mask. It feels taboo watching his jaw muscles tighten as he works his mouth all over your inner thighs. There’s something so controlled about the way he meticulously kisses the sensitive skin at the crux of your thigh that makes your lip quiver.

You’ve spent enough time around his quick reflexes to know Vigilante is going to be skilled at eating you out but sometimes, especially in the depths of your despair during your breakup, there was a niggling inkling at the back of your mind that the mask might just be a convenient excuse not to.

You had suspected, or maybe even hoped, when you hooked up that he had come really, really close to rolling up the bottom half of his mask and tasting you. More than once, you had caught a fleeting glimpse of him at odds with himself, his eyes behind his visor staring at your pussy and his neck muscles contracting as he swallowed thickly, strengthening his resolve and deciding to protect his own identity instead.

But tonight - finally - his tongue slides between your folds and you let out a low whine when the furnace-hot heat of his mouth besets itself over your clit.

Adrian groans when he tastes your arousal flooding his mouth. His hands cup under your ass as he pulls himself closer. You dare yourself to run your hand through his hair again, your fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. It still feels like it shouldn’t be allowed but he doesn’t seem to mind at all as his lips suck on your swollen clit.

“Fuck, Adrian…” His real name still sounds foreign on your lips, like you have to make a conscious effort to say it.

Adrian looks up at you over his glasses, his pupils wide in the dim violet light of the lava-lamp-lit room. He takes in your glowing face and chest as you lie propped up on your elbows, enjoying the sight of him on the floor between your legs.

His fingers knead the soft, pillowy flesh of your ass like he doesn’t want to let you go anywhere ever again. And you don’t want to. Fuck the mission. Can’t you just stay here forever? In Adrian’s bedroom, panting while his tongue runs firm circles over your clit.

When you roll your hips in encouragement, he lets out a soft little moan sending vibrations over the bundle of nerves - it almost makes you dissolve right there and then.

“I can’t believe I let you… fuck - let you get away with not doing this before,” you whimper. “So - s’fucking good, V.”

“Adrian,” he says and the tiniest absence of friction when his tongue leaves your clit makes your fingers tighten in his hair, urging him to return to your aching pussy.

“Adrianadrianadrian,” you babble, scared that his lips will leave you again. No more V. No more Vigilante. Just Adrian. Here. Eating your pussy like it’s you who’d been depriving him of this for months on end. Pleasure rises deep in your core like the tide getting ready to crash against the cliff face.

Your brain becomes fuzzy as increasingly desperate noises escape your throat - something strangled between a whine and his name. You squirm against his tongue as he relentlessly continues, determined to draw from you the orgasm that you’ve been desperate for since he kissed you in the car and you realised his mouth would feel like heaven.

The pressure of his tongue against your soaking wet pussy makes you writhe in exhilaration. You barely notice his fingers digging harder into your skin as you arch your spine and throw your head back.

Your thigh muscles tense and relax, trembling on either side of his face. “Adrian, I’m gonna - gonna cum…”

Instead of responding, he sinks two fingers deep inside your cunt, giving you something to squeeze around as every muscle in your pelvis tightens. He curls his fingers slightly and it’s just enough to push you over the fucking edge.

The purplish glow of the room turns blinding white as waves, hot and wet, break over you and your body floods with ecstasy. Your whole lower body stiffens as your walls clench around his fingers and you grind your pussy against his mouth.

Fuck, you’ve been missing out. You haven’t been with anyone else the entire time you’ve been apart and it’s like your body has been crying for exactly this moment without you realising how much you needed it. Needed his mouth on you.

The room comes into focus again gradually as Adrian gives you a last few slow, gentle kisses before sliding his fingers out of your still-twitching centre.

You breathe heavily and look at him kneeling on the floor.

He looks stupidly pleased with himself, the corner of his wet, glistening mouth upturned in a self-congratulatory smile at the way he’s taken you apart piece by piece. You can’t help but giggle from endorphins buzzing through your body. It makes your abdomen hurt from all the tensing you were doing.

Adrian slaps the side of your ass and gets to his feet, undoing his belt buckle. “C’mon, bend over,” he grins.

You sit up, shake your head and smile. “Nuh-uh, I wanna see your pretty face when you cum.” He blinks a couple of times dazedly. “Did you forget about your mask for a second?”

Adrian clears his throat. “Uh...No?”

He so did.

“C’mere.” You hook your fingers through his belt loops and pull him closer. You kiss the light trail of hair covering his hard abdomen while your fingers work to undo his jeans and pull them down to release him from the confines of his boxers.

God, you missed it. He has a pretty face alright but his cock is fucking perfect.

Your cheeks grow hot feeling him so close. You grip his hard length and draw your tongue across the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum.

“Take your top off,” you say, looking up at him before running your tongue along his shaft, keeping eye contact.

He grips the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off over his head. Seeing him in the purple glow, every contour of his sculpted abdomen illuminated sends burning heat to your pelvis. You never thought you were into muscular guys, not until you saw Vigilante take his suit off for the first time. Now you’re not sure if you could go back to anything else. Anyone else.

You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock but he interrupts you.

“I need to fuck you. Please.”

At this point, you’re so turned on it’s an offer you can’t refuse. You release him and scoot back on the bed. He goes to crawl on top of you but flinches when his injured foot meets the mattress.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to - ah fuck.”

“It’s okay. Here, lie down. Let me go on top.”

He does so with relief and you swing your leg over his thighs.

“Better?”

“Fuck yeah,” he says, looking at your naked figure sitting on top of him.

You reach into his bedside drawer where you know he keeps his condoms. Your fingers skirt over what you suspect are bags of candy until you find the corrugated square shape you’re looking for. You take it out and roll the condom on him.

“Okay, easy,” you say, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. He throbs under the grip of your hand in anticipation. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“You were totally cool with me over-exerting myself on the floor a second ago.”

“I was talking to myself,” you smirk. “It’s been a while.”

You ease yourself down onto his cock, feeling the beautiful stretch as you adjust to his size.

“Shit…” he breathes, clamping his hands down hard on your hips, forcing you to bottom out. His eyebrows knit together and he sighs through parted lips, feeling the way your walls stretch around him. He looks so beautiful - you can’t stop looking at his lips.

You lean forward, planting your hands on either side of his head so you can lean down and kiss him. The taste of your juices registers on your tongue as his enters your mouth. You deepen the kiss and Adrian responds by jerking his hips up needily, pressing into your g-spot.

You moan and suck on his bottom lip, gently rolling it between your teeth as he pushes into the most sensitive part of your centre. Searing heat burns low in your belly, spreading to your thighs. You push yourself back up to ride him and grab his wrists, dragging them from your waist to grope at your chest.

“Fuck, you look so hot riding my dick.”

“Yeah? Rose-tinted visor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

You’re teasing him but it seems to spur him on, as he squeezes your tits and jerks up into your bouncing hips. Every wet slap that meets your ears only increases your neediness for him. It burns brightly in your core, making you wetter and even more desperate for your next orgasm.

Every roll of your body sends his cock plunging into you, pushing against you at the perfect angle. God, he feels incredible. Your walls start to convulse around him, clamping down and gripping his cock as your second climax rears its head.

“Adrian, fuck, I’m close…” you plead, frantically chasing your high, wildly gyrating and bouncing in time with his thrusts.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“No, say my name,” he says, through gritted teeth, his neck muscles tightening in the soft light.

His neck.

“Fuck, Adrian.” You lunge forward and bite on his neck. He grabs handfuls of your ass, anchoring himself into you as he thrusts savagely upwards sending pleasure rocketing through you. Fuck he’s deep. So fucking deep.

His name leaves your lips over and over, broken and ragged as every jerk of his hip knocks the air out of your lungs. Bliss ignites and your cry of pleasure is muffled as you moan and run your tongue over his neck, smelling his aftershave mixed with his musky sweat. An explosion, more fierce than any grenade blast bursts through your centre as he pummels his cock with unparalleled force and precision, even as you squirm and shake, unable to keep moving your own hips in time with his.

With every ounce of strength you have you lean up on your arms to look at his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and his facial muscles contort as he sucks through his teeth.

“Cum for me, Adrian,” you murmur sweetly in his ear and he opens his eyes, giving you a terminally helpless look as he slams his hips into your hot, wet cunt and you squeeze around him as tight as you can. With a final thrust, you feel his thighs tighten and his cock pulsing inside you as he cums.

You flatten your body back on top of his - the warm, damp sweat between your chests feels strangely pleasant. His fingers trace circles up your spine, gently tickling your back. Adrian turns his head to kiss you and you both lie for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his lips on yours.

After what feels like a long time of lying in quiet elation, you make yourself climb carefully off of him and roll over, resting back on his pillows.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says and you lie back watching him dispose of the condom, taking care not to put any pressure on his bandaged toe. He launches himself back on the bed with a thud making you bounce on the mattress. “Good, you’re still here,” he says, leaning on his elbow and looking down at you.

“Where else would I be?” you laugh.

“Well… you usually leave right after. Except that one time I accidentally bought peanut M&Ms.”

You look at him apologetically. In fairness, the mask was hardly an invitation to spend the night - what was he going to do? Sleep in it? “Do you have peanut M&Ms?”

He nods to his bedside drawer and you open it to see that it’s stuffed with the little yellow bags.

“You like peanut M&Ms now?”

He pulls a face. “No way dude, they’re so gross.”

“Then why…?”

“I guess I always hoped you might change your mind and come back. So I bought them whenever I thought about you.”

You look at the drawer - there’s practically enough that Adrian could have made a trail of peanut M&Ms from your apartment across town to his. “You would have made a really sweet boyfriend,” you sigh.

“Well, I mean… I still could,” he says in a would-be nonchalant type of way, pushing up his glasses with his finger and avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah?” You weren’t sure if he’d be open to picking up where you left off. But it feels right when it didn’t before. Now you know him. Really know him.

He pulls his eyes up and meets your gaze with a smile. “If you want me to?”

“I’d like that. A lot.”

“Sweet,” he says with a wide smile, not bothering to hide how giddy he is.

You open the packet. “For the record, I’m not just staying because of the M&Ms this time.”

“I know.”

“And I’m glad you’re on the team.”

He nods happily, watching you pop a few into your mouth. “Hashtag me too.”

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