#[only man that we see other than the ones we fight is Chris who is background and non playable and more importantly Ethan gets brought back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skzdarlings · 2 months

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bodyguard: the first guard | part four | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 14,600 words.

enjoy <3

B E F O R E

Felix is with the enemy. He let himself be taken.

Losing a fight was the only way to win. The enemy is well-fortified, his defences impenetrable, but offensive strikes are not a strength. The best of his men are no match for Felix, not their force or their taunting or threatening. They can torture him. They can hurt him. It is literal child’s play, every move a textbook manoeuvre from his childhood training.

After some prodding, coercion, and violence, someone decides to send word up the chain of command. It reaches the ear of the enemy, and now Felix is cuffed to a chair in some kind of warehouse, waiting to meet a monster.

The man finally strides into the room. He is average height, average build, with cold eyes but a dull demeanour.

Felix was hoping for a nightmare. Maybe that would have helped justify some of it. But the immense nothingness of the man is infuriating. This? Everything they did, everything Felix did, was because of this? Just another pathetic man hurting the weak with someone else’s hands.

The enemy stands above Felix and his shadow feels no different than Miroh.

That is how Felix rationalizes it, even with a roiling stomach as he sits beneath that man. A shadow will fall, one way or the other. His choice is no choice at all: two dark paths, neither with a light at the end.

Felix is not here to save himself. His mission is to save Chris. That is all that matters now.

“You work for Miroh,” the enemy says. “Or is that worked, if my men are to be believed?”

“That’s right,” Felix says. He sees the flicker of surprise in the enemy’s eyes. Felix’s voice has already dropped and its darker, deeper tone always surprises people. It counters his youth, his soft face, makes the enemy look twice and consider him more carefully.

Felix is everything Miroh wanted his soldiers to be. He is easy to misjudge, overlook, underestimate, but competent, deadly, and loyal to a single, unmoving cause.

Thinking of Chris, Felix says, “I know how to end this.”

His throat is dry, his voice rough. He drags it up, propelled by the pounding of his desperate heart.

“I know Miroh’s next move,” Felix says. “I know where he’ll be. I know what he’s planning. I know how to interfere. But we both know you’re the only one who can really do it.”

Flattery takes the enemy from wary to invested. He is so easy to read, more childish than Felix ever was. It is infuriating. It takes all his strength for Felix to grit his teeth and restrain himself, to not rip out of his bonds and destroy this shadow of a man.

But this is not about Felix.

“What is it you think you know?” the enemy asks.

Felix smiles, a soft, disarming smile, practiced from a lifetime of subterfuge. A lie on his face, but coupled with the truth. He thinks about everything he has done and everything he will do.

Felix says, “Everything.”

P R E S E N T D A Y

Two days ago, you were running missions for your father. You kept your head down and strove for the best, blindly believing your compliance would lead somewhere worthwhile. The ends would justify the means. You would prove yourself and everything would come together.

Now, your only plan is to tear it all apart.

Your father is dead. You are miles from the world he created, off the edge of every map he ever drew. You stare down a long, dark path with no seeming end.

You think of your friend and find the strength to place one foot in front of the other.

It is something you should have done a long time ago, but there is no time to linger in past feelings. Not the guilt of years ago, not the pain of a few days, and not the embarrassment of last night.

You lift your head as Chan approaches the park bench. Your first order of business was acquiring basic necessities, so you left the motel and ventured out. It required more than a little theft and cunning, but now you are both dressed in civilian clothes, better blending in with your surroundings.

Chan went to grab some food while you sat and mapped out a basic strategy. He has followed your lead in every regard, including conversation. You have not spoken a word about last night so neither has he, but it sits between you like a tangible block. Your eyes meet and speak without the help of words. Who are you? you seem to ask each other, and neither has an answer.

Miroh’s first guard. You think of him in the ring. You imagine him in even darker shadows. It is impossible to reconcile that soldier with the man who comforted you, who tucked you into bed, who sat with you until you fell asleep.

Miroh’s daughter. It is just as impossible to reconcile the soldier you were with the woman who not only broken down crying, but let someone comfort her with so much tenderness.

You look at each other, a flash of something between you, then you clear your throat and look away and hope it disappears.

Chan sits beside you on the bench. He hands you a sandwich.

“What next?” he asks, then takes a bite of his own.

You are both in blue jeans and flannels, baseball caps tugged over your eyes. You keep to a quiet space in the park, but there are still civilians nearby. You watch some kids throw a ball around. You don’t have much of an appetite, but your body needs sustenance if you want to heal properly. Much as you would prefer to dive into the mission, ignoring your own wellbeing, an unbalanced fight will not save Changbin.

You take a bite of your sandwich and pass the notebook to Chan.

“I’ve made a list of the main research facilities,” you say. “My father implied Changbin would be used for study so I don’t think he’s being held at any training base. I’ve ranked the research facilities in order of likelihood based on their location and general field of focus.”

Chan nods, looking over the list. You stare at him while he reads.

You need to say something. Each bite of food is excruciating because it is fighting the pit in your stomach. You are a tangle of embarrassment, confusion, and unfamiliar emotions you cannot name. Finding the right words is physically painful.

You rub the bridge of your nose and steady your breathing. Chan looks at you with an inquisitive tilt of his head, but he looks away when your eyes meet.

“I’m sorry,” you say. Despite your preparation, it is more of a blurt. “For last night, I mean.”

You cringe thinking about it, but addressing it finally alleviates the weight in your gut. You fiddle with the wrapping to your sandwich, staring at the ground and pointedly not at him.

“It’s not like me,” you say. “The past couple days, it’s just…”

“It’s fine,” Chan says. When you scoff, he bumps his shoulder against yours. “Seriously, you don’t have to apologize. Can’t really blame you, ya know, considering everything.”

“I’ve dealt with some crazy fucking circumstances,” you say. “And I’ve never…” Mortification settles as you recall last night, which drudges up all those feelings again. It twists together inside you. You put the sandwich down and rub your eyes. “I just don’t feel like myself at all.” It is a resigned admittance, sitting at the crux of everything. You are lost without your father’s map, even though you know it is better off burned. “I just don’t know how everything used to feel so easy. It’s like I’m a stranger and the whole world is just as foreign. My father drew a perfect map of his world and now I’m way off the grid.”

“Maybe it’s time to draw a new one,” Chan says.

You look at each other. You are both hunched over, elbows on your knees, bodies inclined just barely towards each other where your knees almost touch. His face is bare and yours is scarred, his tone sincere and voice as raw as yours.

The dark path ahead seems a little less daunting.

There is one more thing you have to say, and this one is even harder, mixed up with embarrassment.

Sheepishly, you say, “Also, uh… thank you. For what you did last night.”

Chan laughs, just a breath of a sound, and there is some colour in his cheeks. He deflects the gratitude with more awkwardness than the apology, stammering on some vague denial.

“Nah, nah, it’s fine, you know,” he says, then says it a dozen more times.

If crying was a break from your usual character, the little grin on your face is even more alien. But it’s there, admittedly amused as you watch the most lethal weapon in Miroh’s arsenal stumble over his words. His hair is over his ears, his hat over that, but you can see where they start to darken with a blush. You had no idea the First Guard could go so red. Maybe that’s why he has to wear a mask, you think to yourself, tickled.

But now is not the time for teasing. You bump his knee with your own then pick up your sandwich. Your appetite has returned, little by little, the worst of that pit closing.

“Yeah, just… think nothing of it,” he says.

“I’ll try,” you say, cringing.

He pats your knee consolingly, then he smiles, light-hearted, looking at you with a goofy wink. “Next time it’ll be me and you can help me out,” he says. “Then we’ll be even.”

He goes back to eating his sandwich, his attention straying to the kids and their ball game. You look at him a moment longer.

If it had been him who broke down last night, you are not sure what you would have done. But he voices such an honest belief that you would return the favour, so you cannot help but believe he might be right.

The day is spent driving. You steal a different vehicle, losing the last traceable item from the fallen facility. You replace it with something a little faster and more efficient on the road.

Once you are in the car, the conversation stays professional. Today you plan to scout the perimeter of the targeted facility on foot. It should have a secondary security outpost that will be easier to breach, at least with your skills and inside knowledge.

Chan will cover most of the physicality as he insists you need another day of recuperation before launching a proper attack. You begrudgingly admit he is right, even though you want to charge the facility to second it is in sight.

Changbin could be in there right now, separated from you by cement walls and nothing more. You look at the building as you circle it. Your heart pounds, leaping as if magnetized to your friend’s potential proximity. It makes you want to leap the wall and fight everything in your path.

Like he knows what you’re thinking, Chan nudges you. He tips his head, gesturing to the direction you need to go. You huff but follow. This is your plan and you made it for a reason.

You reach the security outpost. After Chan incapacitates the guards, you will have sparse minutes for action and acquisition.

Chan lays down the unconscious guards while you gather your intel. You know where to look, unlike an enemy or third party, so you can use the short allotted time to your advantage.

You see there were deliveries made over the past couple days, but it is unclear what they entailed. It could be anything from equipment to a body. You save the information and run through the security logs so you can strategize a full-proof infiltration plan for tomorrow night.

While you work, Chan embarks on his own search, finding a few weapons and packing them in a duffel bag.

He claps you on the shoulder with less than a minute to spare. You take your hard drive and notes, he takes his bag and guns, and you are out the door.

Back in the car, he sits in the passenger seat, assembling a gun while you drive. Your eyes are on the road but your mind is in the mission, running schematics and floor plans and security details.

Your mind jumps frantically from one thought to the next. Thinking of security logs reminds you of the information you obtained about the enemy. You told Changbin about it a couple nights ago, but it lost importance in the midst of all your personal drama. Now your mind returns there.

Miroh’s team acquired the security information from the house that night, but they overlooked the most glaringly obvious discrepancy. They were so preoccupied with the system itself that they did not notice how much of it had been scrubbed by someone who knew what they were doing, someone who had a reason to hide what transpired.

Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it means everything.

“What’s up?” Chan says, noticing you are deep in thought.

You glance at him, shaking your head as you return to the present. You have your hands full with dismantling Miroh’s regime that the dead enemy should not really matter anymore, but it will not leave your head. The weirdness of that whole situation sits in the nucleus of everything else. The enemy’s collapse sent your father spiralling, his fears driving him straight into a self-fulfilling prophecy of destruction. In a way, you are only here because of what happened that night.

“Just thinking,” you say, struggling to summarize the tumult of thought.

“About?” he prompts when you stall. He lifts an eyebrow. “Something I can help with? Or like… something personal…?”

“Neither really,” you say. “It’s about my father’s enemy. You know my father had a lot of enemies, but… he had one that rivalled them all.”

“I know who you mean,” he says. “I didn’t really run any missions involving him, because, you know, Miroh thought it was useless to waste my skills there. The enemy was pretty well-defended. Nothing got in or out.”

“Makes sense,” you reply. “The enemy was watched more than pursued. I actually ran a lot of those missions.”

You were with the enemy while Chan was everywhere else. It is why you never really crossed paths. You knew the outcomes of his missions because it often impacted lines of business, but you did not see him. He was a weapon at your father’s disposal, less than a human and more than a soldier.

“Yeah,” Chan says, echoing that thought. “Miroh thought I would be more useful… other places.”

You look at him again. He is looking out the window, his own gaze pensive. You do not push for more detail, knowing well enough how gory and intense some of his missions were. It makes you aware of who is in this car, the weapons at his feet, the gun in his lap.

You find you are not that frightened, which is frightening in its own way.

You look at him in his flannel and baseball cap. You think about him earlier, laughing as he watched some kids playing games in the park. You picture that face in the shadows, a gloved hand around a neck, a gun in his hand, the trigger practically a part of him. It makes your heart pang.

“Anyway, what about it?” Chan asks, looking at you.

“Never mind,” you say, discombobulated as you are inundated with images of Chan’s missions. You shake your head. “It’s probably nothing,” you add. “It doesn’t matter. They’re all dead anyway.”

There is a moment of silence, then he asks, “Did we ever find out what happened that night?” His voice is a little smaller, like the question weighs heavy on his tongue. Like he also knows this new world is spinning on the axis of everything destroyed that night.

“No,” you say. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “And the last person who had any contact with them is being held somewhere.”

“Changbin,” Chan says.

“Changbin,” you say.

Your mind runs away again, thinking about the way Changbin talked about that mission. Or rather, the things he did not talk about. He never officially reported the details of his altercation with Felix. He never reported the fact Felix asked about Chris.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Chan asks, “Felix is dead too, isn’t he?”

Lee Felix was raised in the young soldier program with the rest of you, but you don’t remember much of him from childhood, just one face among many. Then he betrayed the operation. Miroh was securing some contracts that the enemy was also eying, and Felix was assigned to a major mission that would procure the venture. You were not on that mission, but you later learned how it was infiltrated by the enemy, how Miroh was blindsided and attacked in a rare moment of weakness instigated by the same traitor who sold out their location in the first place.

Felix got away.

Several agents died in the confrontation. By that point, other child soldiers had died on other missions. Only a few of you remained. Chan, Changbin, you. Felix was recruited by the enemy. He became a grating sore in the operation’s side. Somehow, the enemy utilizing one of Miroh’s best soldiers as a glorified babysitter was more offensive than using him for military tactics. Even by doing nothing, your father’s enemy boasted over him. Look what I have and I don’t even need it, while you fight for everything.

That was how your father put it. He always looked at the offense, the wrong-doing, the betrayal.

He never saw anything else. Just like he never saw your friendship with Changbin.

You think Felix and Chan were also friends once, maybe, or something like it. Felix would have no way of knowing what became of Chan after he left. Maybe he cared. Maybe his motivations were more complicated than an opportunistic betrayal for the sake of itself.

You look at Chan. His body is holding a lot of tension, his fingers curling and uncurling over his knee. A muscle feathers in his jaw when he clenches it.

“Yes,” you say. “Felix died that night with the rest of them.”

Chan exhales. His whole face is shadowed with the furrow of his brow.

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him. We all made difficult decisions, I guess,” you say, thinking of how to approach this conversation because there is a darkness to Chan that feels more like the First Guard. “He, uh, he asked about you apparently.”

“About me,” Chris says flatly. “What about me?”

“About what happened to you,” you say. “I guess he wouldn’t have known what happened after he left. Changbin, uh, Changbin told him you died.”

Chan is quiet for a moment, just staring across the dashboard at the stretch of highway. The sun is starting to set behind the trees, casting an orange glow in the vehicle. It brightens his eyes even while his whole countenance seems to darken.

Then he laughs. It is abrupt and harsh with no genuine humour whatsoever. He rubs his jaw and shakes his head.

“I guess that’s one way of putting it, yeah?” he says dryly.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I guess it just—” You glance at him. He is still staring ahead, his shoulders locked with tension. “None of this is easy. I get it. You have every right to be upset.”

“Upset,” Chan says as if the word is totally foreign. It lingers in his mouth. He chews the thought over. The fierceness of his gaze reminds you of the guard that sits behind a mask – intense and dangerous.

“I guess I am upset,” he says slowly. “It means I don’t get to kill him myself.”

The response startles you. You anticipated this conversation taking a totally different trajectory.

Your glance flicks between the road and Chan. He goes back to fidgeting with the gun. His hand movements are firmer, more deliberate, the click-shuffle-click more pronounced.

It is a very unfortunate and wildly inappropriate time to find him attractive. The realization hits you all at once, leaving more whiplash than a hit to the head. You watch his quick and competent hands do what they do best. Coupled with his sudden intensity, it feels like a punch to your core.

You want to offer a remark, some acknowledgement of his thoughts, but it gets garbled in the mess of feelings. It is not like you to get so flustered. You are not used to it.

You clear your throat and look ahead. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head.

“What?” he asks. “The guy’s a traitor, isn’t he?”

“It’s not that.”

“Huh? Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” you reply.

“Nothing? You have a weird look on your face.”

“No, I don’t.”

The First Guard, Miroh’s weapon, assassin and spy and deadly agent, reaches across the console and pokes your cheek.

“Stop that,” you say. “I’m fine.”

He laughs and this laugh is sincere. You try to school your expression but the damage is evidently done because he is clearly aware he has you flustered.

You bat his hand away. Even worse than finding him physically attractive, you are a little enamoured with the sound of his laugh. It feels much better than the tension from before. You feel your own chest lifting with a clear breath.

“Just thinking about yesterday,” you lie, but now you are thinking about yesterday and how you abruptly kissed him, which makes you more flustered and makes his dimples more pronounced. Refusing to look at him, you tightly grip the wheel and say, “Sorry, by the way.”

“For?” He sounds amused.

“Kissing you.”

“Ah.” He pokes your cheek again, dodging your hand. “I thought I told you to stop apologizing to me.”

“That’s different,” you say. “Especially after everything else you told me.”

Chan has spent most of his life in the forced employ of someone else, using his body to one end or another. He told you as much last night. In light of that, spontaneously kissing him without warning feels wrong, even if you were panicked and not thinking.

He goes quiet. After a beat, he says, “I didn’t tell you that so you would pity me.”

“Well, why did you then?” you ask. You can admit you were forward last night because that is just how you are. Sexual desire is just another bodily function that needs satisfying. He was the one who continued the conversation after it ended.

“Well,” he says. “I trust you.”

“Right.” The honest simplicity just flusters you more. “Good to know.”

The car is very silent after that. Or maybe the rest of the world gets louder – the cars whizzing down the highway, the wind against the glass. Even the sun seems to fizzle in the darkening sky.

You swear you can hear his heart beating, fast, or maybe that is your own.

“It’s fine,” he breaks the long silence.

“Huh?”

You glance at him which is a mistake, because he turns his head to you, his dimples deep with the cheekiness of his smile.

“it’s fine that you kissed me,” he says.

People have outright propositioned you for explicit sexual acts and none of those come-ons ever garnered half as much heat as that simple, stupid line.

You bat it down instinctively, swallowing hard. His earlier intensity sparked your adrenaline and your body confused it for something else. That must be it. You don’t get flustered and heated like this, not so fast and not so deeply.

“Well,” you say firmly. “Don’t worry because it won’t happen again.”

“Oh?” he asks, still too amused.

Desperate to even the playing field and knock those dimples down, you grin and employ your own simple frankness.

“Tell you what,” you say. “You can fuck me all you want, but no kissing. How’s that sound?”

It works. He chokes on a nervous laugh and turns completely red. He looks away while rubbing his neck and it’s your turn to laugh.

The sound of your own laughter surprises you, the adrenaline in your chest suffusing to something gentler. For a moment, in the middle of all the anxiety and worry and terror, you feel a flicker of delight.

When you look at him, your eyes meet in a shared moment of mirth, that setting golden light flooding the car. It feels strange to smile so sincerely, but it does not feel wrong. It feels like a moment you did not realize you had been waiting for.

None of the safe houses are safe. Miroh is dead but his operation is running in fragmented pieces, so there are eyes on those houses. You stick with cheap motels for now, the little crevices and unassuming places forgotten by the passing world.

Chan lifted some money from a register at a closed service station, so you use that cash to pay for a room. It makes you think about crime, petty and big, about Miroh and his enemies, soldiers and civilians. About the ends justifying the means, and what taking down Miroh’s operation will entail.

“Ready for another fight?” you ask. You and Chan are sitting at the small table in the little kitchenette, drafting plans for tomorrow’s night infiltration.

“Always,” he says with a sigh, but smiles at you.

You take the first shower tonight. You feel better and your reinvigorated energy makes you even more restless. It feels like a waste of time, sitting here while Changbin is out there, but you know you will be in better shape tomorrow when all your plans can come together.

For now, you prepare your own weapons and combat clothes, laying everything out while Chan showers.

Your eyes lift when he emerges from the washroom, strolling into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

You stare at him because of course you do, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow because of course he does. That cheeky smile returns and he says, “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, frowning, looking back at your things. “Just restless.”

“You should do some push-ups,” he says.

Ugh, this guy, you think, looking up at him again. His back is to you as he stands over his bag, shifting around for some clean clothes. A snarky reply is on your tongue but then he drops his towel, silencing you as swiftly. You blink in surprise at his bare backside then look away, hot in the face.

“You know what,” you say. “Maybe I will do some push-ups.”

He chuckles and continues dressing himself while you go through a small exercise routine to expel your excess energy. It honestly works and it feels good to get some muscles moving again.

You are not totally invulnerable, but the hormone supplements administered in your childhood ensure that your healing is a little quicker than average. The worst of the pain will pass so you can fight without distraction tomorrow night. The only thing that will remain will be the scars.

You sit at the foot of your bed and touch the scar on your palm. You wonder if Changbin is sitting somewhere, touching his own scar, and you wonder if he thinks it was worth it – all of it, his whole life, offering it up to save you.

“All good?” Chan asks, a little more seriously. He is closer than you realized, standing near the bed.

You nod, closing your hand into a fist. “Yeah,” you say. “We just… We have to find him.”

You can feel yourself drifting, thoughts taking over. You stare down at the ground.

Chan touches your shoulder, just enough to draw you out of that reverie before you sink too far. You look up slowly. The back of his fingers brush your cheek before he drops his hand to his side. It feels like he touched you with a firework, a trail of heat sparkling along your cheek. You dig your nails into your palm because you do not feel like you should indulge that sort of feeling while Changbin is hurting for you.

“I know,” Chan says. “We will. But he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or give yourself up, would he?”

You stop clenching. You release a breath you did not realize you were holding.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Sorry. You’re right.”

You blink quickly, surprised when knocks his knuckles under your chin, a teasing little touch.

“Told you to stop apologizing,” he says, then winks and steps away.

Your dreams that night are tumultuous but not as torturous. You don’t sleep as heavily so it is easier to snap out of them.

Chan is a light sleeper and the sound of you jolting awake stirs him as well. You apologize after a few times, his groggy voice sleepily assuring you that it’s fine. That rough sound scratches your brain, tingling down your spine as you close your eyes to sleep again.

You dream of a different touch, no violence or pain, just fingers trailing softly across your cheek. Your eyes are closed but you can feel it, a lightning spark ignited under the stroke of those fingers. You tilt your face up and take in a deep breath. It fills your whole body with warmth, makes your heart race and skin heat. The touch curls under your chin and you follow where that hand guides you, eyes closed and mouth open.

Your breath is stolen by a kiss. You know this is a dream because real kisses never feel this way. They are just a touch, no different than any other.

This touch is different. It overwhelms with its gentleness, a caress more thorough and claiming than every rough kiss exchanged in a heated moment that inevitably cooled. This one does not cool, does not even simmer, but burns hotly, endlessly. Even when your lips part for air, heat lingers between you. Your fingers twitch, coming to life with the desire to touch.

You wake before that.

It is still night. You glance at the clock then across the room. Chan’s bed is empty and it startles you, snapping you from half-conscious to fully awake. You sit up in bed. The panicked race of your heart putters to a slower cadence when you see him. He is sitting at the table in the kitchenette, near the open window. The neon light from the motel’s NO VACANCY sign bathes him in a cascade of red.

“All good?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “I just—” You look at the empty bed then at him.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Couldn’t sleep. When that happens, feels better to just look at the plans, you know?”

You nod. You understand completely.

“More bad dreams?” he asks.

“Sometimes it feels like a memory,” you say, thinking of every nightmare, then thinking of your dream. There was no reality in that fantasy, but you swear your cheek still tingles. Embarrassed, you lay back down and turn away. You stare at the wall.

To your horror, you find yourself blinking back tears. The night is clearly not your friend, overwhelming you with every thought and fear and memory, every emotion you do not know you were capable of feeling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Chan says. “I promise. You can sleep.”

“Okay,” you say softly.

I trust you, he said with so much earnest simplicity. It is hard, but you return the sentiment and close your eyes.

The next night is a very different scenario. There is no opportunity for good or bad dreams, for quiet phrases and glances that you would not dare exchange in the light.

You and Chan spent the day in preparation, practiced some moves, pored over your plans. Your adrenaline builds and builds. By nightfall, you are bursting with a desire for action.

The night does not feel quiet or still, the very air around you vibrating with the shuddering power of your determination.

“Careful in there,” Chan says.

You look at him. He is not wearing the mask, not yet, but he is the soldier you first encountered. Earlier, you watched as he slicked back his hair and darkened his eyes as part of his preparation, turning himself into a strange, intimidating figure. His transformation is so all-encompassing, your heart palpitates with nerves whenever you meet his eye.

“This is gonna be a shitshow when we start taking it apart,” he continues. “After we find him, when we start hitting marks and tripping lines, it’s gonna be fast.”

First you will look for Changbin, then you will go after everything else in that facility. Wiping data, disabling networks, making the entire operation unusable. You know some agents will move onto the next one, but you’ll follow. You will follow all of your father’s work and you won’t stop until you have destroyed it all. If it means tearing out one brick at a time, that is what you will do.

You tug at a clasp to ensure your armaments are locked in place. Chan secures his mask. You nod at each other, then you advance.

It becomes abundantly obvious very quickly that this facility does not have active test subjects, just data and back-logged research storage. The deliveries were mostly data transfers and hard copies of research for ongoing trials.

That means Changbin is definitely not in this building, but you try to keep your energy up. While Changbin is not here, there should be information about his actual whereabouts. The fight is not over. Far from it.

“I’ll be across the hall,” Chan says. “Radio if something trips. We won’t have long.”

The literal fight is only half the work and not more the prevalent half. You and Chan take a system each and spend most of the night looking through files. You would rather punch something, your adrenaline still so keyed, but you put it in reserve for now.

You move and erase certain files, sifting for relevant information and finding none.

You snap upright when a related subject finally appears. You lean closer to the screen. This entire folder seems dedicated to human test subjects. The fact the folder is so big already has you nauseated. Then again, you are not surprised. You were one of those subjects, living proof of a military experiment.

You cannot find anything about the special-ops program in this folder. That means no data on Changbin, past or present. Instead, it looks like years and years of logs tracking a single experiment.

TEST SUBJECT I : SOLDIERING RECONFIGURATION

You see the word soldier and click.

No. This is definitely not Changbin or the special-ops program. You read and realize this particular experiment was something else entirely.

You look at the date. This began a long time ago. There are long memos and notes about ‘reconfiguring’ mental processes, utilizing the brain’s trauma to suppress memory through torture.

You have seen a lot of dark things, but nothing like this. Your stomach turns over itself, balking at the horror, the detailed descriptions of severe electro-shock and drowning, of starvation and long isolation.

Subject is presented with an unchanging control from which comparison can be made.

Subject recognizes control after one round of treatment.

This is worse than a fight. A fight you can control through retaliation. This, you just have to endure, your heart pounding as evocative images of dehumanization unfold before you.

They tortured someone into forgetting everything. Turned them into the perfect soldier.

Eleventh round of treatment – some effect is beginning to take. Not a recommended course of action on regular humans. Hormonal-supplement medicine improved durability.

Subject will need to be brought in on a semi-regular basis to maintain stasis.

There is a long list of all the dates and times the so-called subject was brought in. It spans years, all the way up until recently. A session was schedule two weeks ago but it was not completed.

You sit back, the white screen blaring in your face, your stomach a sickly iron weight.

Chan.

The subject is completely, irrevocably Bang Chan. You wish it wasn’t true but you know, deep down, it undoubtedly is.

The incomplete session must account for his recent behaviour. If he was not brought in for a reconfiguration within the allotted time, that might explain his deviation from expectation, his raw humanity and his spontaneous decision to join you.

It is unbearable, imagining all that torture.

He was just a boy.

Your throat cloys, feeling tight with suffocation as you imagine the darkness of a narrow well and cold water closing in around you. You close the file then look away from the screen, the shadowed room even darker after ripping your gaze away from the light. You feel that darkness tighten around you. You close your eyes, shake your head.

Though you never imagined the details, you knew Miroh did something awful to make a boy a thing. Especially that boy. For as long as you can remember, gossip about the First Guard has been whispered in every corner of the operation. Those who knew a young Bang Christopher Chan talked about the overnight change. One day he was a rebellious child, throwing tantrums in front of Miroh himself, and the next day he was complying with the worst of orders in his name.

Some people joked it was all about the bloodlust, that Chan was inherently built to be violent, steeped and raised in it. They said it came naturally to him, that he was just waiting for an opportunity to be that vicious.

You know better. You have seen glimpses of the man who spent years in Miroh’s mask, and that man has nothing in common with the First Guard. That soldier, the agent with the highest clearest level missions, with the most destruction in his wake, is not Chan. Whoever Bang Chan really is, it is not the monster that Miroh made him.

“You’ll wanna see this.”

Chan’s voice breaks the silence. You jump out of your skin with a horrible hiss, startling him in return.

“Whoa,” he says. “What is it?”

You do not hide your expression fast enough. He quickly ducks down to look in your face, those dark eyes intensely focussed. He asks something through the mask – what’s wrong, you think – but it sounds foggy and faraway. Your eyes are locked on his. The rest of the world falls away.

You reach for him without conscious thought. It is the instinctive search for a hand in the dark, a desperate grasp shooting across cold water for a lifeline.

He blinks quickly, surprised when you touch his face with both hands. He stiffens but does not stop you from removing his mask. Only when his face is clear do you come back to yourself.

Sorry forms on your lips, but you remember he said to stop apologizing. Besides, your voice is shot even though you have been sitting in silence.

You place the mask on the desk and shake your head.

Chan looks at you, then his gaze flicks to the empty screen and back.

“What is it?” he asks again, softer this time. “What did you find?”

The document mentioned the subject had a resistance to abrupt reminders. Too much sudden information could trigger the trauma response. It is better to ease the subject into slow recollection.

“Nothing,” you say. Your voice comes out rough so you clear your throat. “It’s nothing important. Just – Miroh. Some dark stuff. You know.”

He scrutinizes you for another second. His hand hovers like he might touch you, but he eventually curls his fingers and drops it.

“Okay,” he says, wary.

“What did you find?” you ask, because he burst in here with an exclamation.

He smiles. It is not a huge smile, but it looks like Chan peeking through the soldier’s mask – the one he wears even when the literal mask has fallen. It puts you at ease.

“I found him,” Chan says.

Your heart skips a beat as you are reminded of your real mission. You eagerly take the papers that Chan offers.

“Not literally, of course,” Chan says. “But look—”

The document explicitly names Seo Changbin, with the correct description of his medical history and occupation in the Miroh’s order. It doesn’t say where he is behind held, just that he has been relocated from the main base. It says he must be kept under more intense security than the main research facility can provide.

It also provides a detailed schedule for the work and tests that have been administered so far – blood samples, urine samples, even skin samples – and it states that he will be kept for more tests and evaluations. He is to be held for two weeks before more intensive studies can be conducted. It is imperative that he does not weaken or die, as he is the only viable study subject.

A massive weight lifts off your shoulders. Changbin is not here but he is alive and unharmed. It seems they are keeping him in a state of mellowed sedation and do not want to move him around.

Though you do not know where he is precisely, you know he is stationary. He is probably not too far from this one if they were concerned about security in relocation.

“We got him,” you say. Your brain is already racing ahead, narrowing down the most likely bases and what infiltration will entail. You look at Chan and your smile returns, brightening with the light in your chest. “We can actually do this,” you say. Until now, you believed it because you had to believe it, because you stubbornly refused any alternative.

But Changbin is alive. You can rescue him.

You can also eliminate a lot of other bad things while you do it.

“We still have work here,” you say.

“You’re not wrong,” Chan says, grinning. “Found some files with some political figures who probably… definitely… don’t want their affiliation getting out.”

That blatant rebellious streak fills you with even more hope.

You get to work. In the end, some alarms are tripped and you are not out before security arrives.

“You ready for that fight?” Chan asks, already drawing a weapon.

“Always,” you reply.

You fight together. You think of all that detailed violence and you funnel it into something good. You were made to fight and it does not scare you, not when it’s like this. You are far more scared of not fighting back. You will never sit back again.

You and Chan have a complimentary fight style. You were both raised in the same program, so that makes sense, but there are instinctive openings you fill, a swift understanding that does not need words. Like your eyes meeting across a park bench, you connect on another level. It is like you have fought together a million times before.

When you are done, Chan takes a turn at the wheel. The windows are rolled down and you have a few shiny new scars, but you feel good, hopeful, free. You see a light at the end of the darkness. You are not scared of the fight to get there.

Your adrenaline is still pumping when you get back to the motel. The dawn is entering twilight, streaks of light slashing across the dark sky. It is swallowed up by rainclouds but the promise of daylight persists despite the gloom. You feel like you could wrestle the sun itself, no power too great.

You also know you are running on fumes of a long, adrenaline-fueled night. You are definitely going to crash, especially when several nights of bad sleep catch up to you. But first you need to come down from that high, blood still pumping a mile a minute.

Chan exhales, clearly just as keyed. He shakes out his shoulders and stretches his neck this way and that. He sits on a chair to unlace his boots. He looks down as he says, “You can have the first shower.”

You look at him. Against all odds, you are both here, rebelling against everything that was engrained in you. You can appreciate that more now that you have some relief regarding the mission.

Despite the effort to control and change you, you made it to this place together. You are free. Your lives are yours for the first time.

You open the top few clasps of your combat shirt.

“We’re both pretty messy,” you say.

He drops one of his boots with a clunk then starts on the next one.

“Yeah,” he says, laughing. “That’s fine, though. Just be quick.”

He discards the other boot and lifts his head. His gaze looks even more intense with the dark lines traced around his brown eyes. A single curl escapes his smoothed back hair, curling in an endearing tuft over his forehead. He is still breathing a little hard, his combat shirt also unclasped, the skin of his neck sweaty.

When those dark eyes collide with yours, your thundering heart pounds faster. His gaze briefly, thoughtlessly, flicks down your body then back up. Heat thunders through you and it has nothing to do with a fight.

He sits straighter, holding your gaze in his.

“Hey,” he says softly. “What’s up?”

“I know I asked before, and I know I said it jokingly,” you say. “But I think we understand each other better now. I’m not asking or demanding anything. I’m just letting you know. I think sex is a good way to expend energy. I think the fast pleasure is good for the brain as much as the body. It’s like exercise. I know we both have complicated pasts but I’m okay with that. With me. With you. I don’t care about the past and I’m not looking for a future. If you’re interested in right now, so am I.”

You push open the bathroom door. His eyes are rivetted to you but his expression is unreadable.

You undo another clasp and shrug.

“You know where to find me,” you say, then step into the bathroom.

You are not sure what to expect from him. You cannot even anticipate your own reactions. You are startled by the erratic pounding of your heart and the nervous twist in your gut. You chalk it up to the crazy evening, to the even crazier week. It is another reason to seek release, to ground yourself in your body and forget about everything else.

You strip down, leaving the sweaty and bloody clothes in a heap. The hot water is a balm. You close your eyes, letting the simple pleasure wash over you.

You rub a sore shoulder. The muscle loosens under the heat of the water. Your hand wanders, fingertips skimming your arm.

You seldom picture a particular person when you touch yourself, hardly caring about the identity of your partner even when they are in front of you, but you cannot escape the vision of a dark pair of eyes.

Your breath catches. Your head tips back. Your hand wanders across the curve of your chest, palm across each sensitive peak, sending pleasant sparks shooting downward. Your hand follows that path, stopping just short of its destination when the door opens.

You look over your shoulder. The glass door has not fogged much so you see Chan in the doorway. He looks as dishevelled as you left him. Those dark eyes are slow in their wandering perusal down your body. It feels like fireworks again, sparking everywhere he looks.

You turn a little more. He looks up. His brow furrows like he is scrutinizing you, like maybe he doesn’t believe you. You suppose you cannot blame him. It is a forward offer to any man, never mind one who is probably unaccustomed to them. A proposition he can accept or decline of his own free will, pleasure without contracts or compromises. No wonder he looks wary, like you are going to disappear if he steps wrong.

“Well?” you say, because you are not going anywhere. “Are you just going to stand there?”

He answers with a step. He closes the door behind him. Your eyes never leave each other, locked as he swiftly undoes his shirt and peels it off. The undershirt follows, tugged over his head, messing some of his hair. Then your gaze finally drops, an intimate heat rushing inside you as you look down his body. A sheen of sweat covers most of his torso, several prominent scars cutting through an otherwise perfect body. His muscles are even more prominent, strained from fighting.

You are already thinking of all the places you want to put your mouth when he strips off his bottom layers. For a man who was so lost in contemplation, he has no uncertainty now, striding up to where you wait.

You face him fully as he steps into the shower. The glass door closes. It finally fogs with your combined heat.

His presence overwhelms this small space, much like it did that first little civilian car. It feels like he is everywhere. Your eyes move all over his body, your breath coming faster. He pushes a hand through his hair and you look up, breath catching when you meet his eyes.

“No past,” you say, practically gasping. “No future. Just now.”

“Just now,” he says.

You are so close together and so far apart, a breath away but not touching. You are uncharacteristically hesitant.

He is the one who closes the space, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You feel that small touch everywhere, shuddering despite the hot water slipping down your body.

He leans towards you.

Your heart leaps right out of your chest. You turn your face at the last second and try to sound playful when you say, “No kissing remember?”

It was supposed to be a joke but you cling to it. It must be the danger or adrenaline, maybe the heat or his eyes, but kissing feels far too intimate. The rest is just exercise. You tell yourself that.

“You don’t like kissing?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “What do you like?”

“Bet you can’t guess,” you tease. Banter is better than intimate gazing. You want release, not more tension.

“Hm,” Chan says.

He cups the back of your neck before weaving his hand through your hair, swift, smooth, smiling. He tugs and your head follows, the line of your throat exposed and a mewl of a sound escaping.

“Lucky guess,” you say, clearing your throat after that embarrassing sound.

But then you make another one. Those competent fingers find the curve of your breast and he wastes no time utterly tormenting the sensitive peak. You have always been extra sensitive there, though you seldom take the time to linger, usually rushing to the next best thing. You almost forgot how intense it feels, your whole body puppeted by the bolt of pleasure in his control.

“Lucky guess,” he says, tugging your head back when you start to curl up. “You like that?” he asks. He takes your whimper for a reply, pinching a nipple meanly before sliding his hand down your body. You rear up, eager as his fingers dip between your legs. “And that?”

This time, your body answers for itself when he finds how wet you are. You make an undignified squeak when your back touches the cold wall, the hot water cascading down his back. He lets go of your hair and plants a hand above your head, his whole body crowding yours in a way that feels more protective than suffocating. You would usually be tempted to push him away, but your whole body opens up to him. You touch his chest and rock your hips, riding the deft strokes of his fingers.

“God, you’re so wet,” he murmurs, his face in your neck, his body against yours.

“Yes,” you say. You slide both hands down his chest, savour in his gasp when you find how hard he is. You take him in hand, both of you working the other into a frenzy. “Fuck me,” you say, your voice already a low mess. “Chan, please.”

The effect of his name is immediate. He grabs you by the hips and lifts you like it is easy. He pins you to the wall so there is no space between you anymore.

You string your arms around his neck, stroking your fingers across his back as he angles you.

He is strong and his movements are effortless, but his groaning betrays a deeper desperation.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice breaking in your ear. It makes you clench, getting tight around him as he pushes in. It makes you both gasp, open-mouthed and needy as your bodies come together. “Fuck. Oh, fuck, you feel so good. I’m not—”

He is barely coherent but you are in no position to judge, clinging to him with your eyes closed and mouth hanging open. He bottoms out and immediately starts fucking you with no reprieve.

“I’m not—” he says again. “It’s—it’s been so long—I—”

“It’s fine,” you say, voice straining. You hold the back of his head, your cheek against his, making all sorts of embarrassingly desperate sounds right into his ear. “It’s fine,” you say. “Just come. I have an implant. Want you to come like this.”

A couple days ago, he was chasing you through a building, lifting you off your feet and pinning you down in a very different way. His dark eyes felt inhuman, but now he is groaning and whimpering as he fucks you deep and steady, every snap of his hips as frantic as your racing heart. Your wet bodies are pressed together and he is all hot skin and sturdy muscle, human, real, living and breathing as much as you. They tried to make him into something that did not know how to want anything, but he wants you.

That repeats in your head until you start murmuring it, “Want you, want you, want you.”

He comes with a groan and a deep stroke. He holds you against the wall while the water continues to run down his back.

With a sigh, you descend from the high of pleasure. You breathe hard while he keeps you in place for a minute longer.

“Sorry,” he suddenly says, panting as he surfaces.

You wince with the separation, your knees shaking when he lowers you. You hold his arms, fingers clasped tightly around his veiny forearms as you stare at him. It takes a second for his word to register.

“Sorry?” you say on a breathless laugh. “For what?”

“That was, uh, fast,” he says, giggling that musical laugh, a very embarrassed sound.

You stroke your fingers up his bicep and across his shoulder, watch a shiver wrack his body even though he could not possibly be cold. You meet his eyes. They have not lost any hunger, devouring the sight of you. He wets his lips, drag his teeth across the bottom one, and you start to feel delirious from the heat and sensations.

“Trust me,” you say. “That was hot.”

His smile looks relieved. He bumps his forehead to yours, his hands loose around your hips. You rock towards him, encouraging the slow wander of his touch.

“I get it,” you say, breathy, your knees shaking as he cups a handful of your ass and squeezes, then drags his palm to up the centre of your back. “It, uh,” you stammer, eyes closing. “It’s been a long time for me too. A few months at least.” Your last liaison was well before the debacle with the enemy. It was a forgettable exchange.

You do not think you will forget tonight.

His hands curve around you like he is memorizing the shape of your body, the way your bare skin feels against his. You are close, so it is obvious when he bristles at your words.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says, far too casually, avoiding your eye as he reaches around you for some body soap from the dispenser. He lathers his hands and touches you again, stroking his palm down your backside and around your waist.

It almost distracts you. Almost. You look at him at with squinting eyes, smiling a small smile.

“What?” you say again. “You sound a bit jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, too defensively.

“Oh, really?” you say.

He cups some water in his hand and runs it over you. His eyes lift from his task to meet yours.

Maybe teasing was a mistake. A flash of something dangerous sparkles behind his smile.

“Really,” he says. He turns off the water with a flick of his wrist. “I have nothing to be jealous about.”

It should stop surprising you, but you yelp when he sweeps you into his arms. You hook your legs around his waist, your arms his neck, holding tight while he carries you to the bedroom.

You are wet and the air is cold, but then a mattress dips beneath you and a bundle of bedsheets surround you. He lays you out, deliberate and measured, very different from his slow tenderness the other night.

“Quick question,” he says. He runs both hands through his wet hair, pushing it back. You look up at where he stands, your eyes wandering every plane of his body.

“Yes?” you ask.

He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, all while dropping to his knees. When your legs are over his shoulders and his breath is soft between your legs, he asks, “Does this count as kissing?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth interrupting any coherent thought of yours.

A part of you thinks you should conserve your energy, but then his tongue is swirling over you and nothing else matters. Your hands cover your breasts, touching yourself in time with him. You let yourself enjoy your own body and help him find his way back to his.

By the time you get to sleep, you are both thoroughly worn out. Chan falls asleep first for once, all but passing out beside you. You are sharing a bed because the other sheets are wet and used.

You look at him through sleepy eyes. You touch his cheek, amazed when you think of how much things changed in just a few days. If you were told a week ago that the First Guard would be in your bed like this, you would have laughed.

If someone tried to tell you he had dimples and warm eyes, that he would sigh your name like it was the breath that kept him living, you are not sure what you have said.

You drift into sleep. You see his face in your dreams, still peaceful and slumbering beside you until that dream becomes a nightmare. His eyes snap open. In this sleeping world, it is not the warm gaze you have come to know so well. An emotionless weapon stares back at you.

There is no time to fight before his hand is around your throat and all the air leaves your body.

You feel cold, unbelievably cold.

You hear a voice. It says, “Stop. Stop!” You swear it sounds like Chan.

Your vision blurs.

You blink, blink, blink. Your eyes open underwater. When you scream, it is suffused in the rushing cold, air bubbling past your lips and fading into darkness. You thrash to no avail, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

They open again. There are wooden beams high, high above your head. You still can’t breathe, your chest heaving with desperation, and you can’t feel your body. Why can’t you feel anything?

“Hey, it’s me! I’m coming!” Your blurry gaze darts around for the voice. Grey smoke slithers around the wooden beams. It takes a long time for a face to emerge in the fog.

Changbin leans over you, younger, thinner, a cut on his head bleeding profusely.

“Go,” you say, because he’s hurt and he needs to go now or he will never escape. You want to tell him what’s coming, tell him he needs to run, but he shakes his head before you can.

“I’m not leaving here without you.”

The weight leaves your chest all at once. Air rushes into your lungs and fills you like a cloud. You feel as though you are flying. When you open your eyes, you are sitting on a park bench. You have never seen this park before, blossoming in green and gold with summertime sunshine. The edge of your periphery blurs, obscuring shapes and bodies into glowing phantoms. Only one face is clear.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Changbin shouts. He runs across the field towards you. He is young, barely more than a child, but he curses like an old man when he reaches you.

“Fine, fine!” He throws his hands in the air. “You’re right, you’re faster. But I’m still stronger. Watch this, princess—”

He tackles you. You hear his laughter and your own, a youthful sound, twinkling with childish delight. You roll across the grass in a giggling frenzy.

The greenery darkens as you roll away. The park changes. When you look up, the trees are a mosaic of red and orange. Leaves drift on the autumn breeze.

“Do you ever think about what else you could do with your life?” Changbin asks.

You look at him. He is older, not a teenager but not fully grown. His face is still gawky with youth, his muscles growing in. He is staring up at the sky.

“No,” you hear yourself say.

He laughs but without much humour. His eyes close and he sighs, nodding.

“Ah, yeah,” he says. “I thought you might say that today.”

You turn your face to the trees as a leaf flutters towards you. It touches your forehead and sends a painful jolt rampaging through your body. You blink, blink, blink, up at the doctor and their syringe. They say you did well but you don’t feel well, your insides churning like every organ is folding itself inside out.

The doctor steps aside and you meet eyes with another child across the room. Changbin is holding his arm and rocking back and forth. He is the only one not crying.

You cross the room. It was brimming with screaming children but now it’s empty.

“It’s okay,” you hear your voice. You see your small hand reach out, touching Changbin on the forehead where he contorts with pain in his small cot. “You can cry,” you say. “I won’t tell anyone.”

In another blink, he is older, a teenager again, crying and curled up in his bunk.

“Changbin,” you hear yourself say.

“I’m fine,” he snaps.

“You’re not,” your voice says. “None of us are.” You see your hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.”

“You’re going to get hurt. And then what?”

“Then I’ll get hurt,” you hear yourself reply, speaking with more certainty than you ever remember feeling. “You’re my friend, Changbin. I don’t mind if something happens to me. I don’t care if it hurts, because I won’t be doing it for Miroh. I’m doing it for you.”

You look down at his hand when he reaches for yours. When you look back up, he is grown, sitting on a windowsill in the moonlight with a small scar on his cheek.

“I didn’t bleed for Miroh,” he says.

You blink. The wooden beams are high above you, his bloodied face full of concern.

“I’m your soldier, not his.”

The weight slams back into your chest. All the air goes out of you. You are falling, endlessly falling, all the way down to where there is nothing but cold. The walls close around you. You feel the stone under your palm. You suck in a breath of cold air only to choke on water. There is a light above your head and voices, screaming. You twist and kick like a wild thing.

You get closer to the surface. You hear Chan say, “Stop, stop—”

Then you wake in your shared bed. His voice echoes in the waking world.

You realize that is because Chan is talking in his sleep. He keeps repeating, “Stop, stop.”

You shake off the last dredges of sleep. It is not easy, your heart still skipping beats from the rapid-fire scenes.

Chan is on his back, his chest rising and falling, fast asleep but clearly in the throes of a nightmare. You are not sure how to help. You chance a tentative touch, saying his name as you brush his shoulder.

He wakes with a start, his eyes flying open. You see the flicker of panic as he forgets where he is, still half-lost in his nightmare.

Chan is much faster than you. It takes only seconds for his instincts to commandeer control, then you are the one on your back and he is leaning over you. Fortunately, he does not swing his arms around like you. His manoeuvre gives him the advantage but he doesn’t hurt you, other than leaving you a little startled and winded.

“Chan,” you say. “It’s me. It’s fine. It was just a dream.”

He blinks away the vestiges of sleep. You see the moment he recognizes you, the tension that immediately leaves his shoulders.

You are surprised yet again when he abruptly drops his weight, practically smothering you as he cages you in his arms. You put your arms around him, patting his back until his breathing slows to a normal cadence.

He eventually rolls back over, but he hooks his arms around your middle and drags you close. A part of you wants to balk, scared this is too intimate, but your own heart settles in the quiet comfort of his embrace. You let yourself rest, falling asleep to the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

There are two nearby research facilities. It is a toss-up between the smaller, closer one or the bigger, farther one. You opt for the closer base, figuring a smaller facility would be easy to incapacitate quickly. You and Chan have knowledge about Miroh’s operation that no one in the world can match. You are the only ones who can do what you are doing, so they never see you coming.

You dismantle the base but Changbin is not there. The only place you see your friend is in your dreams, emerging from smoke and disappearing as fast, leaving you with his promises and your guilt.

It is so strange why your mind keeps summoning that same vision. It smashed through something in your mind, cracked it somehow, and now it can’t relinquish it.

It is strange what a stressed mind can conjure and invent. Even stranger is its inability to let go. These days, all your thoughts and feelings slip through your mind like water in a sieve, everything flowing too fast to catch despite the desperate cup of your hands. But that image and his voice returns again and again and again.

The only satisfaction you get is watching pieces of Miroh’s operation crumble. You watch the news, keep up with the business reports, and watch as a domino effect transpires thanks to your actions.

It does mean security is going to tighten at the remain bases, but you are ready.

You move on to the next facility, even more determined. For a moment, this seems like the place. You find other enemies and subject imprisoned in the lower level cells, but Changbin is not one of them.

Chan escorts the innocent captives out while you search the remainder of the facility. It is empty, an echoing steel chamber and little more. You want to shout his name but you already know the only answer will be the reverberation of your own voice.

You search every crevice, just in case.

Your attention is rapt until you run past a certain door. At first, you merely glance inside. When you see it is empty, you turn to continue.

It’s like a tether wraps around your mind. You slam to a halt, the squeak of your boots echoing in the corridor.

You turn back around. You step into the chamber.

Every hair on the back of your neck stands up. You swear, the temperature drops by a few degrees as you step further inside. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost believe it was haunted, not like in stories of decrepit mansions, but filled with empty figments still crying out in pain. The room is rife with an unsettling chill, dank as a tomb.

You walk slowly. You feel like the echo is louder here despite your careful steps. You look around. There is lots of wiring, lots of sockets. There are dusty shapes on the floor where things used to stand, types of furniture maybe, or machines.

There is a dip in the corner, what looks like a well. You approach it cautiously, craning your neck to peer down without getting too close. It is dry as bone but deep. You can’t see the bottom. Heights don’t usually bother you, but you feel suffocated with a cloying fear. Your feet tingle as you imagine falling. You know it must have a bottom but somehow you feel like it would never end.

You realize footsteps are approaching, fast down the corridor then slow as they enter the room. You put a hand on the gun at your hip, turning quickly.

It’s just Chan. You are about to speak, or at least try looking for works, but you are stricken by the look on his face. Even though he was fiery when you last saw him, he looks very gaunt, flushed pale as he looks around the room. He is not merely unsettled like you. He looks sick.

You immediately know where you are. This was the room they used to torture him.

“You know this place,” you say, not a question. You remember all those torture descriptions. They have haunted your nightmares, all those images so vivid that you imagined them happening to yourself. If it was horrifying just reading it, you can only imagine how he feels right now.

He nods. It takes a few tries to clear his throat. “Yes,” he says weakly. He looks between you and the well as if he half-expects it to grow teeth and attack you.

He shakes his head. He crosses the room in a sharp stride, so swift that it takes you back. He grabs your arm and yanks you towards him.

“Get away from there,” he says, his voice hard. “There’s nothing in here. We need to go. Now.”

You have no argument but he waits for no reply, practically dragging you out of the room. He leads you back into the corridor, taking huge strides. His grip tightens.

“Another second and that will hurt,” you say, more calm than you feel. His energy is so panicked that it bleeds into you.

He drops your arm quickly, snapping to realization. He flexes his gloved hand.

“Sorry,” he says. He turns on his heel with a swivel so fast that you collide. He catches your shoulders and holds them, looking at you without really seeing you, his stare so intense it bores right through you. “Sorry,” he says again. His voice is shaking when he says, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I just—”

“It’s fine,” you say, understanding how overwhelming that must have been. There are tears in his eyes but he rips away before you can look too closely.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice hard again. “There’s no one else here. It’s time to go. This place…” He spares one last glance over your shoulder. “This place is over. It’s time to go.”

You leave together.

You take a day for recuperation while you plan you next move. Neither of you slept very well last night, but at least there were no nightmares. You take turns driving, occasionally sleeping in the passenger seat.

You reach the next motel at sunset. The room only has one bed which draws Chan to a halt. He blinks at it like he doesn’t understand, then his ears get red, then he looks at you.

A laugh bursts out of you. You try to contain it but it’s hopeless. Chan smiles then laughs too, shaking his head and rubbing his neck.

“Sorry,” you say. “Just – you don’t think it’s a little late to be blushing like that? Mister Does This Count As Kissing?”

“Wow,” Chan says, playfully throwing his hands up in surrender. “Sorry for being a gentleman.”

“You’re forgiven,” you say, making him smile.

You eat dinner on the bed then place all the containers to the side. Chan watches the news while you scribble memos in your notebook. You are trying to connect dots and figure out which facility is most likely. You go back to your original notes, obtained from the first research facility, to see if you missed anything.

You fall asleep while working. The week’s travails evidently catch up to you.

You stir when Chan tries to move you. You are awkwardly slumped over your notes. You watch as he carefully places them aside and tries to lay you down properly.

The sun has long since set by now. The room is lit by the glow of the television and the warm neon light from the motel sign, such a vibrant yellow it pours through the curtains.

You look up at Chan, squinting because of the slash of light in your eyes. He tilts his head to shield you.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You are on your back and he is on his side, propped up on his arm and looking down at you. You offer a little smile which draws his eyes to your mouth.

Your breath catches and, just like that, something ignites inside you. You see it reflected back at you, all his thoughts in the depth of his gaze.

You are not sure who moves first. It might happen simultaneously. It only takes a second before your fingers are in his hair and his hands are on your waist. He climbs over you, his mouth brushing your jaw and your throat without ever landing a kiss. You shiver as his breath caresses your skin.

You had no idea so many small places were so sensitive. Even the back of your calf tingles when his leg brushes yours.

You move in tandem, with the same synchronisation as when you fought together. Your bodies are a good fit, shaped by similar lives, bearing similar scars. You tug the flannel down his shoulders and sit to remove your own shirt. When you are completely bare up top, he lays you down. Your hips lift towards him, needing him, legs parting as he presses his weight just so. He guides your leg over his hip and fits himself against the softest parts of you.

He presses a hand into the mattress, right by your head. You tip your head back and grind up against him.

“Chan,” you say.

His mouth hovers above your breasts and you grab his head and pull him close. He takes the offer and parts his lips around the hardening sensitive peak, twisting his tongue around it until you are writhing under him.

“Oh god,” you say, tugging desperately at his t-shirt. You normally don’t care about fully undressing, but you need to feel him. You want his heart beating against yours, his skin hot against your own. “Please,” you say, not even embarrassed when it turns to a whimper.

He makes a small noise, acknowledging you, but continues to lave kisses and bites across your breasts, teasing until they are almost sore with pleasure. Only when you are a mindless puddle of desire does he sit up and whip his shirt off. It flies across the room, forgotten. You both unbutton your jeans and shuffle them down. The few seconds you are apart are agony.

When he lays back on top of you, it is with no barriers. He holds your hand and laces your fingers with his, pressing it into the mattress as he spreads your legs with his own.

“You feel so—” he says, sentiment ending in a sigh. No other word suffices.

Your whole body feels alight. His thumb find the centre of your pleasure, rubbing at you while he sinks inside you. He is somehow both gentle and powerful, holding you at the best angle as he takes you. You are used to fast and dirty and this slow tenderness aches with a burn so good, you never want it to end.

“Chan,” you say his name on a breath. He releases your hand so you can put your arms around his shoulders, holding him as he rocks into you with rolling, deep strokes.

His face is so close. Your mouth is aching with the rest of you. His lips felt so good everywhere else. The delirium of desire takes over and you decide, fuck it. You have done this much, changed this much; you can be brave and accept more intimacy. It’s just a kiss. There’s nothing life-changing about a kiss.

You lean up to kiss him but you are too fast, too frantic with nerves. It lands awkwardly on the corner of his mouth. Then you feel embarrassed. You shake your head.

“Sorry,” you say. “Sorry, I was just—”

Chan is frozen on top of you. He stares while you stammer an apology.

Then his nose brushes yours. You feel his breath against your lips. You stop talking. Your heart thunders.

“I told you,” he whispers, “stop apologizing.”

Then his lips are on yours. Your eyes close as you follow the give-and-take of his kiss. Your lips part and his tongue touches your top lip, then he sucks your bottom lip and moans against your open mouth. You clench around him, moaning back. His hips move again and you cling to him. The kisses start small and grow to desperate, open-mouthed passion. Coupled with his deep strokes, getting faster and faster, you feel like you are flying.

Oh, is all you think, this is what this is supposed to feel like.

You come first, the orgasm taking you by surprise. It was steadily building at a small pace before all at once striking. You cry out, burying your fingers in his hair as you rock against him. He finishes only seconds later, groaning your name in the curve of your neck then sucking a bruising kiss right there.

You hold him after, your fingers stroking down the nape of his neck, your legs wrapped around him. It feels like years before your heart comes back to a normal pace. Your breathing still comes shaky, but so does his. His strong arms seem suddenly weak as he pushes himself up with a quiver.

You separate. You try to find the words but you mind still feels like water.

You are so floaty, it takes a second to realize something is wrong. Chan is crying, or about to, sniffling hard and scrunching his face to stop it.

“Chan—”

Alarmed, you reach for him, but he moves before your hand makes contact. He gets up and wordlessly puts on his jeans and a flannel, buttoning it askew. You grab your shirt as well, tugging it on frantically to keep up.

“Chan,” you say again. “What’s wrong? Did I—”

“It wasn’t you,” he says, but he won’t look at you. He sits on a chair and starts putting on his boots. That’s when you really panic, jumping out of bed and looking for your own pants. “Stay,” he says. “It’s fine. It’s not you. It’s me.”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” you ask. “Seriously?”

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You said right now and that you were fine without the past or the future and I thought – I thought I could – but –”

He grabs his baseball cap and tugs it on. You say his name again, reaching for his sleeve as he walks past, but he does not break stride for a second.

You can’t exactly chase after him half-naked. You know he will be long gone by the time you get dressed. You can only stand there in shock and confusion as the door closes and he disappears.

You sniffle. You shake your head, refusing to cry, not after everything.

Your body does not listen to your head, unsurprisingly, and you end up sputtering through messy tears while putting on some clothes. You wipe your eyes, fighting an upward battle against your hormones as all those happy, pleasurable feelings melt into something ugly.

Chan returns almost an hour later. By that point, you have passed through several different emotions. You were worried, of course, then you were sad. Now you are irate. You were left to stew in anxiety, sitting on edge. For a while you wondered if he was coming back at all, which set off more tears.

You are certain your face is puffy and your eyes are red. Chan looks at you with a guilty expression but says nothing.

“Well?” you say, but he just stares at you. You are sitting on the edge of the bed while he stands a few feet away. “Great,” you say, smacking the bedcovers. “Fucking fantastic. We’re back to the silence, I guess?”

“I know,” he says. “Sorry.”

You wait for more but that non-committal reply is all you get.

“You told me that you trusted me,” you say, mortified when your voice breaks. “You said that one day it would be my turn to help you, but every time you start to feel something you hide it or turn away or say you’re fine or run out the fucking door with no explanation!” You stand up to put more space between you, marching to other side of the room. You wipe your eyes. “You know, I feel like I don’t even know who I’m talking to half the time.”

“I’m always me,” he says.

“And who is that?” you ask. “From the start, you’ve basically asked me to blindly trust you. One second you’re this terrifying agent who does everything my father asks, and the next you’re just standing there letting me kill him. I haven’t demanded explanations. You said it was just your mission and I accepted that, even though I knew it was bullshit. I know this is about more than jobs or missions and I – I – I’m sorry everything’s all fucked up. But we’re all we have right now.” Your voice breaks again and you choke back a sob. “You can’t ask me to trust you then push me away. You can’t say you trust me but never let me in. I’m terrified out here. We’re doing something insane and I can’t have the person I’m relying on the most shove me away. I want to be on your side. Chan, I want – I want so badly –”

He takes a breath but stays silent. His gaze is heavy.

“Please, don’t look at me like that,” you say. “I know you’re not what Miroh tried to make you. I know what they did to you. I know it was terrible. But I’m not afraid of you and I’m not judging you. I want to know you. I need to know you. I know you can remember some things. I know it’s causing you pain. If I could understand—”

“I remember everything,” he says.

You are not expecting an interjection. It takes a second to comprehend.

“What?” you say.

“I said I remember everything,” he says. He looks at you as he slowly approaches. “There isn’t a single moment of my life that I’ve forgotten for even a second.”

He stops a foot from you. This close, you can see he has been crying too. Even through your frustration, you want to touch him. You are so bad at comfort, receiving and giving, but your fingers itch to smooth his brow and cup his jaw.

You curl your fingers at your side.

“Everyday,” he says. “Every single day I think of my mistakes and what it cost. I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“What do you mean?” Your adrenaline is starting to spike. “There was a reconfiguration program. I know about it. That’s how it happened.” You know about the torture. You can see the light at the top of the well and feel the cold in the bottom of the Cell. You know about it. You can picture it. You saw that place yesterday.

You know. You know. You know.

Your chest starts to tighten with panic.

“You did all of Miroh’s work willingly,” you continue.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “But it wasn’t willingly.”

“Because they tortured you.”

“In a way.” He sucks back a breath. “I thought I was smart. I thought I could beat Miroh. I almost did, but then everything—”

A memory from a dream: a flash of grey smoke.

“It went wrong,” he says with a resigned sigh. “I was punished. That’s true. But I didn’t care what they did to me and Miroh knew that. So he took someone else. Someone I cared about. And when it was all done, I was given a choice.” His voice breaks on the word choice, the whole phrase utterly dryly. “And it wasn’t really a choice,” he says. “I could walk away. He wasn’t even going to try and stop me. But Miroh wanted a soldier. He said all the blood on his hands was going somewhere one way or another – and he said it could be on mine or hers.”

You are not sure if you are breathing anymore.

“The things they did to her – the things they made me watch.” He presses a hand to his forehead as he takes another breath. “She was a good fighter, but she wasn’t a killer. It never mattered what they did to her, she always knew who she was. She knew whose side she was on. She wanted to help people, not hurt them. I couldn’t let her become that thing. If she ever – if she ever came back to me—” He swallows. “I couldn’t let it be her. I couldn’t let her have all that blood on her conscious. I’d already failed her. Again and again, I let her down. I couldn’t do it again. I told Miroh I’d take her place willingly. I’d do anything he asked so she wouldn’t have to get her hands dirty. She could come back one day and… and…”

“What are you talking about,” you say. You fumble towards the bed and drop down heavily.

Chan looks at you. That silent conversation.

You already know what he is going to say.

“Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program,” he says. “And it wasn’t me. It was you.”

#bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x you #bang chan fanfiction #stray kids fanfiction #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x you #stray kids x you

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idontcare4urmom · 4 months

Text

little red dress

soft!dom! chris x reader!gf!

content:you were aware of the effect you had on your boyfriend,but that didn’t stopped you from wanting him to drool all over you,there was a party on the town and you got dressed up until Chris sees you and completely loses it.

warnings: smuttt,pet names (baby,slut,etc.), praising kink,dirty talk,teasing,fingering,sucking,slight fluff at the end and more

a/n: my first language is not English,so sorry if it’s bad cause it’s also my first fic,please be nice<3 ——————————————————-

.•🎀•.

today was the day,you were about to attempt to one of the ‘biggest’ parties in L.A. with influencers.sure,you were only invited cause your boyfriend was also invited,and you knew that but you couldn’t care less.you were simply excited to meet new people.

you had already had picked up your outfit so you wouldn’t be in a hurry, even though the party was in more than 2 hours. nothing could go wrong with black high boots that boosted your height,a mini leather jacket and a perfect mini red sparkly dress you bought for the occasion.

when you tried it on the store,you knew that you had to get it,it was almost like it was made specifically for you.it complimented your figure and face in a way that you knew you were going to drag looks on you,not to mention that it curved your ass and tits like a glove,and the length of it stopped right above your bare thighs,perfect right?

__________________💋___________________

you eventually started to get ready,picking a nice matching red lace lingerie to match with your dress,even though no one will really see it,at least that’s what you thought .you wore the dress after and tugged with a bit of struggle the zipper up,taking a quick glimpse of yourself afterwards in the mirror to admire yourself before starting to do makeup.

you were about to finish with the final details of your pink glossy lipstick,popping your lips together until you heard a knock on the door.

“baby? are you almost done? we have to leave in like 10 minutes” your boyfriend’s voice echoed through the other side of the room,you didn’t even had realized how much it took you to get ready.

“almost done,you come in you know” you responded,curious about how your man will think of your looks.

there was a click on the door before it banged close,causing you to turn your head and look at Chris who was now staring at you.he was pretty much checking you out and his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he broke the silence “wow..you look hot”.

the comment made you giggle under you breath and respond sarcastically “i always do”.you could feel the brunette boy rolling his eyes but what didn’t you expect was a sudden feeling of hands cupping both of your ass cheeks.

“yeah you are not lying,but this dress fits you better than anything else i have seen you wearing” Chris exclaimed right into your ear,you could swear that his voice was lowered which made you narrow your eyes in confusion but also interest.

“thanks,but get your hands off” you bratted,which made him chuckle and grope them tighter “what about no?”

you scoffed at his answer,turning around to answer but suddenly feeling him grabbing your face and pulling you into a hungry kiss.your eyebrows furrowed but you couldn’t resist the urge to make out with him for a minute.

the kiss soon turned sloppy,both of your tongues fighting for dominance until he tugged on your bottom lip,making you moan. “red is really your colour” you heard him say as you felt his hands lifting up your dress,causing your breaths to get heavier.

“Chris,the party” you warned in a worried tone,which made him smirk for no reason,his hand slipping in between your thighs “you really think I care about that baby? I couldn’t give a damn less”.

the next thing you knew was him taunting you.his fingers barely grazing your pussy that was already dripping wet,opening your mouth to complain but he quickly pushes you into the bed,hovering on top of you and pushing two fingers into your tight hole.

“oh shit!” you groaned at the stretch,his free hand going backwards to tug down the zipper of the dress that was making his cock throb.when he pulled it down his eyes roamed into your body and on your lingerie set,making his fingers thrust in and out of you fast.

“fuck,such a slut,wearing this shit to get me turned me on when you know i can’t resist you” his words made you clench around his fingers and whine pathetically.his head tilted down to place rough kisses on the hook of your neck and creating big hickeys,while his fingers curled up to hit that spot inside you.

you were a moaning and whimpering mess already,and he couldn’t help to think what you will do when his length will be buried into your cunt later.

“i..I am gonna cum” you whispered after some seconds,your voice raspy and Chris pulled with no warning his fingers out,making you frown and him to respond with a simple explanation of “going to save it for later”.

he then left from on top of you and stood up straight,his hands quickly moving to his belt to unbuckle it before shoving down his jeans and boxers,exposing his fully hard self with pre-cum leaking all over his red tip.

your breath hitched at the sight and you desperately wanted to get on your knees,but before you knew he pushed firmly your legs apart and spread them from him,his eyes darkening when he saw how ready you were,your juices glistening all over your thighs.

“hm,so wet,such a perfect sight,all this for me?” he cooed and praised,which only made you nod and feel your desire increasing.

he got in between your legs and positioned his tip against your entrance,starting to tease by grinding his hips against yours,making you groan again at the friction. “Chris,please..” you couldn’t help to beg,which even surprised yourself,but you didn’t regret it cause the next thing you felt was him entering you with a rough and deep thrust.

you practically screamed his name and arched your back,your hands reaching to tug on his hair locks which only made Chris grunt.his pace was fast and almost painful,making sure you felt him completely,and you couldn’t help to move your hips along with his in sync.

the panting from both of you and the skin to skin clapping filled the room in matter of seconds,his head once more leaning down but to lick all over your stomach soothingly while his dick was pounding into your g-spot with no mercy.he soon undid your bra and took one of your nipples into his mouth,sucking and flicking his tongue over the flesh.

the knot on your stomach was already felt,which also was noticeable by Chris and making him speak in a low,slightly hoarse way “already sweetheart? you are gonna make a mess on my cock like the perfect whore you are,hm?”

you only clenched at his words again,your one hand leaving his hair to grasp at the sheets for support,your orgasm already forming again and your legs began to shake.

“you aren’t going to finish yet, understood? he warned,making you look up at him with pleading eyes while his own blue one were looking almost brown,making you shiver and nod at his question “good girl,I know you can hold it for a little longer”

you couldn’t explain it but his voice was both rough and soft at the same time,and it was for sure turning you more.his length continued to tear you apart,basically hitting your spot over and over again while your eyes were watery.even though he had told you to not reach your climax yet,you were unaware that a few specific movements from you will sent him over his own edge.

it was basically you wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to encourage him silently to go deeper,while your nails digged into his lower back and leaving marks behind.with an unexpected loud groan from his lips and his hips bucking up,his muscles flexed and he released his seed deep into your cunt.

you moaned a little when he pulled out after some seconds,leaving you panting and your chest rising and falling,you quickly recovered when he rolled into his side and pulled you with him so he can cuddle you tightly.an exhausted yawn escaped from your mouth into the comfortable silence and he planted a kiss to your forehead “tired?”

“you fucked my brains out,what did you expect” you responded,making you both burst out laughing until some minutes after you were asleep into each other arms.

#fanfiction #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #smut fic #i need moots #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #fluff #fantasy #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 6 months

Text

be my daddy tonight

pairing: real dad! chris x reader

cw: father-daughter incest, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, spit, slight degradation, dirty talk, accidental creampie, size kink

a/n: this is a commission for an anonymous commissioner! this is dark/taboo content, so please heed the warnings, and do not read this if incest makes you uncomfortable.

wc: 3.1k

Every time your dad comes home from God knows where, fighting God knows what, he seems more tired than the last. It’s been well-over a year since you last saw him in person. He often goes days without contacting you as well, so the moment he comes in the door feels like the second coming of Jesus Christ. Over the past few weeks you’d considered the possibility that he was KIA, but since he’d – informally – left the BSAA to form his own squad, there was no one to tell you if that was the case or not. His face aged ten years in the past two, but his eyes – gloomy and kind – stayed the same.

He doesn’t even have time to take his jacket off before you run to him, nearly knocking the wind out of him when your body crashes against his. His grip on you is tight – there’s no escaping a father’s love.

“Daddy, I missed you,” you cry into his chest. You rarely ever call him ‘daddy’, not since you were a little kid.

“Missed you too, kiddo.” He slips off his boots and puts his jacket on the coat hanger. “I gotta get some rest now, but we can talk all day tomorrow, do whatever you want.”

Your expression drops. It was false hope, anyway. “Dad?” Your lip quivers, making your words come out blubbered. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

It’s not off-putting, but still out of the ordinary.

“Uh- yeah, I guess- if it’ll make you feel better.” He can’t stand to see you on the verge of tears so he has to let you have your way.

“I love you,” you say in lieu of thanking him.

“Love you, too.”

You forget how big your dad is until you sleep next to him. He manages to take up at least half the bed. If he turns over in his sleep, he’ll send you tumbling onto the floor. Though you both wonder if he’ll be able to sleep at all with his insomnia. For the first time in forever, he truly rests, and when he’s dead asleep next to you, he wraps his arm around your side and pulls you closer, so you’re stuck to him until morning.

It’s the best sleep of his life. Chris would suggest sleeping in the same bed every night if he hadn’t woken up with his dick fully hard.

When he was a teenager, this happened all the time. No rhyme or reason. As a man approaching fifty, he can’t remember the last time he’s had morning wood. He quickly shifts away from you in the hopes that you won’t notice. But you do. You could save him the humiliation and choose not to mention it, but you decide it’ll be more awkward if you don’t acknowledge it.

“It’s no big deal, dad,” you say. “It happens.” Because it does. It happened to your ex-boyfriend almost every night you slept over at his place.

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he stands up, taking his boner out of the situation and into a refreshing shower. He thinks the cool water will make his dick go down but it doesn’t. He can’t will it away, so there’s really only one solution. Jerking off is normal, but jerking off when his daughter is in the other room feels wrong, even if she doesn’t know about it.

He tries not to think about you. He thinks about your mother – who passed away a few years back, so that gets him closer to tears than to an orgasm. He changes course – he thinks about Pamela Anderson in Baywatch, he thinks about that one scene in Basic Instinct where you can see up Sharon Stone’s dress if you’re really good at pausing the TV, he even tries thinking about Jill for a moment just to get his mind off of you.

But it doesn’t work. He woke up with your ass pressed up against his cock, not Pamela Anderson’s, not Sharon Stone’s – yours. You did this to him.

Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been struck by a similar feeling of arousal. Since your last breakup, you haven’t had sex. You’re not big into one-night stands. You prefer sex with someone you trust, someone you love… and then it dawns on you: your perfect match is your dad. You love him, you trust him, and objectively, he’s hot. You’ve tried to rid your mind of that last thought, but it’s a simple truth. Your dad is the human embodiment of sex with his strong, toned arms, his big hands, calloused from years of fighting, his tired eyes that flicker with hope when he sees your face. He loves you, he lives for you, he’d die for you – so, would it really be that wrong for him to fuck you? Honestly, you think, he deserves a thank you for taking care of you for all these years, sacrificing his own safety and sanity for yours. What’s a better present than pussy? Clearly it’s what he wants, right?

Admittedly, you’ve considered what your dad’s dick might look like — you’ve always been a curious person. You assumed it’d be big, and your suspicions were confirmed earlier that morning when you felt it through his sweatpants, but your curiosity is not satisfied - you need to see it, to touch it, to taste it. Your thoughts are interrupted by your dad walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He must’ve forgotten you were in his bed, or assumed you’d left the room.

You both take a guilty glance at each other, unable to resist the urge. The sight of him – sparse water droplets on his skin along with old scars, the v-line of his hips, his surprisingly well-trimmed chest hair, and most of all, the tiny patch of dark hair from his belly button down his abdomen (theoretically, it ends at the base of his dick, but your view is blocked by the towel) - only makes you yearn for him more.

Chris is a mature adult, so he decides to brush off the issue as best he can. He promised to hang out with you like a good father does, so he asks if you’d like to have a movie night. Of course you agree.

He feels so guilty for the events that unfolded that morning that he lets you choose any movie you want. You choose The Notebook since there’s no way your dad is ever going to watch it with you otherwise.

That night, when you sit down in front of the TV, you huddle close together on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you. You’re halfway in your dad’s lap and he has one arm around you while the other holds the popcorn bowl.

When the famous sex scene comes on, you don’t fast forward or talk through it to ease the tension, neither of you awkwardly excuse yourself from the room. You only take your eyes off the screen to look at each other.

Your dad can see right through you. He knows what you want, and he wants it too – he doesn’t even have to tell you that because you can feel his cock hardening against your thigh.

“This movie’s better than I thought it would be,” he admits.

“It’s not over yet. I won’t spoil the ending, but it’s really good.”

“I think we’ve both already seen our favorite part, haven’t we?”

“I do really like that part, yeah,” you say much quieter. “I think it’s… romantic…”

“And?”

“Hot. It’s hot. I’ve always wanted something like that but my ex-boyfriend couldn’t carry me upstairs like that.” You half-laugh, but it’s true – your ex sucked at sex.

“I can carry you.”

“Like that…?”

“Only if you want it to be like that.”

“I, um, I, well-”

Chris grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. “This is about you, sweetheart. If you don’t want to, then we can pretend this conversation never happened, but-”

You cut him off with a kiss and he takes it in stride. He’s Ryan Gosling and you’re Rachel McAdams. You’re not covered in rainwater like they are on screen but you are wet – embarrassingly so. But all of your worries fade into the background when Dad picks you up and carries you upstairs, only breaking the kiss when he lays you down on his bed. Your dad’s lips are pillowy soft against yours despite how passionate the makeout session becomes. If kissing him can make you feel this aroused, you’ll surely be done for the moment he gets his mouth between your thighs.

When your palm meets Chris’ clothed cock you can feel him straining against his pants. You set it free of its confines, slowly pulling his pants down to his ankles, keeping your eyes locked on his. When your hands stroke his meaty thighs, inching their way up, he runs his hand through your hair.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You nod despite your nerves surrounding your skill level. While you gawk at the sight of your dad’s fat cock, it dawns on you that in a way you’ve already been acquainted with this part of him, considering the fact that he used this to make you. How the hell did mom fit this inside her? you think, but don’t say aloud. You want your dad’s mind to be completely focused on you. It is.

You spit on your palm as gracefully as one can and then start stroking his length languidly.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says, and as a thank you for his compliment, you like a stripe from the base to the tip.

A low moan rumbles from Chris’ chest when you take his cock into your mouth – you end up getting about halfway down before you choke. Chris snaps into dad mode and hoists you up, so you’re in his lap. His arousal is overpowered only by his paternal instinct to care for his favorite daughter.

“Dad, why’d you stop me?” Your eyes are already wet from when you choked but it still looks like you’re close to tears. “Was it not good enough?”

“No, baby girl, you were doing great until you started choking. Daddy can’t have you getting hurt.”

A frown stays plastered on your face until Chris says, “And, I think it’s my turn to make you feel good. Can’t wait to taste you any longer.”

He swiftly flips you onto your back then sinks to his knees at the edge of the bed. When he pulls your legs towards him you gasp. His impatience makes him rough. He’s quick to remove your pajama pants along with your panties but he stops when he sees your slit, glistening with arousal.

He marvels at the sight, running his fingers along your folds. “This all for me?” he asks, though it’s rhetorical.

“Uh-huh. All for you, daddy.” His touch makes your skin tingle from head to toe. You shiver, though the room is heating up.

Chris dives in, shoving his face in between your legs, and running on instinct, your hands fly down to his head, grasping at his hair. You can’t help but pull a little. He growls in response.

You moan so loudly that you’d normally be embarrassed, but you can’t focus on anything except the movements of your dad’s tongue across your clit.

“Taste so good, baby,” he mumbles into your core.

Your legs begin to tremble, thighs threatening to clamp around his head. Chris has to hold them open so he doesn’t suffocate. You don’t have to tell him you’re close – he knows.

“I’ll let you cum once you tell me that this pretty pussy is mine.”

“’S all yours, daddy,” you cry. “I’m yours.”

“Damn right you’re mine,” he says just before you cum, coating his face with your wetness. He doesn’t pull away until you force him to stop, until you’re overstimulated and sobbing.

You pull him in for a kiss, but first you say, “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah? Your boyfriend couldn’t make you cum like that?”

“No, he never did.”

“Needed your dad to help you this whole time, huh?”

“Yeah, I need you inside me, daddy,” you say. Chris already has the same idea. His fist is around his thick cock, though he doesn’t need help getting hard. In fact, you watch a bead of precum drip from his tip. He pumps himself a few times before he prods at your entrance, attempting to fuck you. He watches as your face scrunches up in discomfort.

He pulls back. “Thought you said you wanted me, sweet girl?”

“I do, I do,” you insist.

“Just too tight for me, then, huh? Got the tightest little pussy I’ve ever seen. Gotta get you ready first.” Without warning, he shoves two fingers inside you, curling them upward to meet your g-spot. He strokes that spongy spot while he stretches you out and you begin to clench around his fingers.

“Ah-ah,” he says, pulling them out – much to your dismay. “You’re not gonna cum yet. Not until I’m inside you.”

You grip the sheets while he fills you in one thrust – you’re still tight, but your wetness makes the job easier. The stretch still stings at first, but neither of you can stand to wait any longer. He doesn’t give you a minute to adjust – he grips your legs and brings them to his chest so he can fuck you as deep as possible.

You’re practically screaming already, feeling a familiar sensation in your abdomen. “Gonna cum already? Never seen such a sensitive girl.”

You nod frantically.

“Cum whenever you want, baby, but daddy’s not gonna stop until he decides you’re done.”

You couldn’t stop your release if you wanted to. You soak his abdomen in bursts while he continues to pound in and out of you.

He pushes your thighs to your chest and it makes you scream. Continuing at a merciless pace, he taunts you, “Screaming so loud the neighbors can probably hear you, baby. What would they think if they knew you were moaning like that ‘cause your dad is fucking you so good?”

He feels your pussy ripple around him and he knows the answer. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod dumbly. You can’t bring yourself to care about what your neighbors would think while you’re getting the best dick of your life.

“What a dirty girl,” he tuts at you. “Didn’t think I raised a slut.”

“’M not a slut,” you protest.

“Really?” When you nod, he grabs your chin and spits in your mouth. Your pussy clenches when you swallow. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You don’t protest being called a slut anymore because you can’t. Your obscene moans are the only thing that leave your mouth – sometimes the word ‘daddy’ comes with them.

“I’ve fucked my little girl stupid already,” he says. “Can’t even keep yourself quiet. Guess I’ve gotta help you.”

Chris can’t stop himself – he’s addicted to the feeling of your cunt gripping him. So, to shut you up, he changes position. When he momentarily pulls out so that he can flip you onto your stomach, you whine, feeling empty and needy.

“Need daddy to fill you, huh? Couldn’t take my cock earlier and now you cry when I take it out for a second.”

It’s pathetic how much you like it, but he can’t see your reddening cheeks when your face is pressed into the mattress like this. You scream into the pillow, but the sounds of his balls hitting your clit with every thrust and his hand smacking your ass so hard it leaves a mark, is just as likely to get you caught. With the way his cock is stretching you out, you’ll surely be sore tomorrow, but the thought barely crosses your mind because it’s so deep inside you that the head is brushing up against your cervix.

Your dad is more talkative during sex than he usually is outside of the bedroom. It’s like a new man has taken over his body, a man who’s being held captive by your cunt.

“You feel so good. Shoulda known you’d fit so perfectly around my cock since I’m the one who made you.” His crude words have you soaking his already wet bed sheets. He bites his knuckles to muffle his own groans, but his other hand remains on your hip, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave marks.

Knowing that he’s close to cumming, he lifts you up so that your back is pressed to his chest while he’s still on his knees behind you. He wraps his bicep around your neck in an effort to make sure you stay quiet. You feel light-headed when he constricts your airways, but you trust him to keep you safe.

Maybe you seem panicked – maybe you are, maybe your dad knows you better than you know yourself – your legs are surely trembling but that could be your rapidly approaching orgasm. Regardless, your dad worries, so he reassures you, “Hey, pretty girl.” His breath tickles the shell of your ear. “Daddy’s got you, not gonna let you get hurt.”

Still, he fucks you so hard you think you might pass out. You’re going limp in his arms, basically a rag doll, but like Chris said, he chooses when you stop – he’s going to make sure he gets to cum.

When your release washes over you for the third time that night it feels like a surge of electricity in your abdomen sending the current though your body rather than a smooth wave of pleasure. Your orgasm drags Chris headlong into his own, and he’s barely able to pull out fast enough to cum on you, rather than in you.

Once the realization hits him in the aftermath - while you’re curled up on his chest - he asks, “Are you on the pill… or anything?”

“Mhm, why?” You mumble.

He dips a finger into you and waves it in front of your face, showing you that he overestimated his ability to pull out.

“Did you cum inside me?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s what makes it hotter.”

“So, if I did that next time, you’d like it?”

“I’d love it… wait- we forgot to finish the movie!”

“Do we have to?”

“C’mon I promise you’ll like the ending. It’s super romantic.”

“Is this not romantic enough for you?”

“It’ll be more romantic if you snuggle up on the couch with me.”

“Fine, but only ‘cause I love you.”

"I love you too, dad."

#chris redfield #chris redfield smut #chris redfield x reader

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nescaveckwriter · 4 months

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Heyy! Can I request a Dean Winchester x reader with an established relationship where they have to deal with a case for which they have to dress up all nice, and reader usually wear baggy clothes or clothing that hides most of her body and for the first time, he sees reader in a tight fitting dress and he's just

😍 "shit, that's my woman?!"

And he's just over the moon even more for reader (if that's even possible)

😱💓🥰... Awww sweetheart this is such a cute idea, I just simply love it, also thanks for asking, I really do hope you like, this little drabble, I've written is what you had in mind💓 anywayz I hope you have an epic day, love ... 🐞💓🥰

A/N: I love receiving requests, so keep em coming 😅

Warnings: 18+Only, Some mention of violence, and intimacy, but nothing to much, light foul language. And Pure FLUFF 🥳😘💕

Pictures used: Pinterest

Words: 1189 😘

Lady in Red 💕

His husky voice lingers in the air, oh how I loved the sound of his voice, we have been together for a few years now, and somehow hearing him, looking at him, never got old. His green eyes caught mine, helding it captive, because I mean who wouldn't drown in those emerald green orbs, mouthing with his plum lips across the table, "I love you" as Sam discussed the plan with us. Mouthing back "I love you too Dean". Looking at each other as if we were the only people in the room.

"Really you two?" Sam looked at the two of them, "we need to focus, the two of you need to pose as a high end, couple, for this charity event, so I need both of you too listen" Dean and I looked a little guilty, but then Dean smirked "bite me" I chuckled a little, the way Sam's face has irritation written all over..

Sam looked at me, eyeing the oversized clothing I always wear, oh he didn't want to say it out loud but, I knew what he was thinking, how am I going to look the part?. I barely even wear makeup or do my hair, but like who would not want to be comfortable when you're fighting monsters and ghosts. I smile, "Don't worry boys, I'll dress the part" Dean gave me this surprised almost scolding look sounding sincere, "You are beautiful sweetheart, I don't care what you wear, your beautiful" he walked up to me, and without hesitation he pulled me into an endearing kiss, his hands resting on my hips, I heard Sam, mumbling "Oh! Give me a break" and walk out, leaving the two of us, I could feel the way Dean smiled, against my lips. After a few more seconds, we came up for air, sounding breathy ,"Babe you should stop terrorising your brother so much" he simply smirked "Not my fault Sammy is so easily annoyed" I laugh, starting to turn away from him, "I need to go and get ready for tonight's event, you too mister" he grabbed my wrist, "Come here sweetheart" he pulled me close to him, looking into my eyes, "you know I love you right, more than anything in this world?" I smiled, looking at this gorgeous man in front of me, his freckles, my damn weakness, "Mhmm you see I know that's not true" surprised he looks at me "what?" Chuckling a bit "what about baby?" Referencing the love for his Chevrolet Impala, standing in the garage, he burst into laughter "You are driving me crazy woman, now go get ready" giving me a playful slap on the rear. I walk away, smiling, my heart bursting with love and joy.

He smiles as he watches her walk away, wearing loose fitting jeans one of his t-shirts and some flannel, hair in a messy bun, it's true he didn't care what she wore, she's so beautiful for him, but he would be lying, if he said he wasn't curious what she'll look like all dressed up, for some reason that's beyond him, she always thinks she's not pretty, but oh how far that could be from the truth, he knows every single inch of her body, every little spot that makes her tickle, every Little sensitive part, that makes her moan in pleasure, he loves her, even more than his car, but he'll never admit it.

Checking himself in the mirror, mumbling "I hate these monkey suits" as he struggled with his bow tie. He walks around the bunker searching for Sam, of course he finds his little brother's nose buried in those damn books, "Sammy help a man out?" Sam looks up, "you can hunt some of the most dangerous creatures, but you can't fix a tie?" The glare Dean gives him shows he isn't happy at the remark, he gets up, helping his big brother fix the tie.

Sam's eyes widens, his mouth falls open, Dean looks at him "What's your problem?" Sam could barely utter a single word he was stunned to say the least, Dean followed his eyes and when Dean turned around, his breathing hitched, his heart rate went up, he slightly gasped for air, taking in the beauty before him, his eyes wandered over her. Her hair draped over her shoulders, her eyes glistening, her smile could light up the darkest of rooms, wearing a red tight fitting dress. The high cut slit in her dress, exposing her right leg, the crystal like heels, making her seem taller, her legs leaner, the low halter cut, just exposing enough of her collar bone, to leave something for the imagination.

Without saying a word, Dean gestured for her to turn, the back of the dress, totally exposed, just covered her lower back. He bit his lower lip, and with the back of his hand, hitting against Sam's chest, his voice sounding a bit more husky, "shit, that's my woman?!" She laughed and her voice rang, "Last time I checked, I was all yours"

All the way to the event Dean could barely keep his eyes on the road.

When he led her through the doors, his hand rested on the curve of her back, so many eyes were on her, and he slightly chuckled when she whispered "why are they all looking at me?" As if she doesn't know she's beautiful! So he just smiled, took her hand, and asked "do me the honour and dance with me?" She did a little playful dip, "the honour would be all mine" before he pulled her close, he gave her a once over. He never saw the highlights in your hair, that caught your eyes, or the dress you're wearing tonight, he pulls you close. Dancing cheek to cheek, the way she feels this close to him, her small hands on his shoulders, his calloused hands, in the small of her back, sending electric shocks through her spine, swaying with the music, maybe Dean's caught up in the moment, but there's a question weighing on him for months, but now, now it feels like the right moment, he's voice sounded deeper than normal as he whispered, hot air brushing against her neck "Sweetheart?"

Slightly breathy, "Yes?" He cleared his throat, "make me the happiest man alive, and be my wife?"

Her swaying body came to a stop , "A...are you asking me" he cut her off, pulled back looking in her eyes, "yes, will you marry me?" I couldn't believe it, he just asked me to be forever his, without further due, I planted a kiss on his plum lips, soft tears rolling down my cheeks, he smiled against her soft lips, "is that a yes?" I break the kiss, smiling widely, "yes a million times yes" he laughed, picked her up, gave a twirl, and placed her down, his fingers intertwined with hers. Giving me that signature smirk, "What do you, say Mrs Winchester let's go catch that shifter, then we celebrate with some pie and beer?" I laughed, nodding, as happy as can be, "lead the way Mr Winchester".

@k-slla @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygrl @angelbabyyy99 @pia-bartolini

#spotify #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles x reader #sam and dean

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canonicallyobserving911 · 16 days

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Unpopular opinion: I don't want Eddie sitting at home moping about his life in season 8.

Why? Because he deserves to have fun and live a little. He has a whole life the SHOW NEVER FOCUSES ON. Who knew he was playing poker at an underground LAFD poker game with a chief, a captain and others? NO ONE! (Until 6x13.) Who knew Eddie had a muscle car? I DIDN'T! (Until 7x4.) Of course, everyone who watched season 3 knows he participates in Muay Thai fighting because he was involved in that illegal fight club Lena introduced him to but that's not the point. It appears, Eddie has interests that the show NEVER focuses on until it's convenient... so, it would be nice if he has the chance to do them ON-SCREEN.

There are some who want Eddie to just sit home and mope about his life while his friend dates a trashy dude who knows Buck wasn’t trying to get his attention 🙄 but I digress.

Anyway, I don't want him to do that because he's already done it. He carried his entire family on his back starting at the age of 10 after his dad told him "To be the man of the house" and he has been ever since. He became a husband and a father right out of high school and he’s been working to provide for his own family. Since he blew up his life and the showrunner let his parents take Chris away from him, he should be able to go out and have fun with some of his friends like Linda, Chimney, Captain Mehta, Lena, Karen and maybe some of the people he served with in the Army. Or here's a thought... HOW ABOUT LET EDDIE TALK TO HIS SISTERS! HE HAS TWO BUT NOT ONCE HAVE WE AS THE AUDIENCE SEEN HIM TALK TO OR SPEND TIME WITH THEM. It's been 6 going on 7 years and Eddie has the largest family of every main on the show so could he please spend time with his abuela, his sisters and his cousins ON-SCREEN?

Listen... some want to see Eddie pine and be jealous of whack ass T*mmy but he’s been petty for years regarding the people Buck's ended up with which means it has been done several times before. (Hello season 5 with the first T.K. when Buck took her to Eddie’s for dinner in 5x11 and when she was in his house for his welcome home party in 4x14 🙄.) Therefore, IMO, it's time for Eddie to finally live for Eddie!

Please understand, I only ship Buddie but I think it will be good for him to find a hobby he enjoys and spend time with friends because it seems like he never had the chance to do any of that. Also, him getting spiritual guidance regarding his past from the priest is one thing but the majority of people don’t live at church so he should spend time figuring out what he likes and doesn't like. He said he's a nester so he can do that while staying busy. Maybe he can take a class or do something extreme that's legal. (No fight clubbing or anything that's going to put his life or his job in danger because some parts of the fandom already villainize him but they don't hold other mains to the same standard. He's been called angry once and that was a character assassination all on its own and it's NOT TRUE!) There are lots of things he can do other than sit home.

Just thoughts.

#FreeEddieAndLetHimLiveHisLife!

#EddieDeservesToBeHappy!

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 season 8 speculation #911 season 8 #911 abc #911 on abc #911 speculation #911 spoilers #Canonically Observing 9-1-1 Speaks #anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard #Anti doppelgänger Kim #Anti eddiekim #Anti Marisol no last name #911 unpopular opinion #unpopular opinion #Unpopular opinion: I don't want Eddie sitting at home moping about his life in season 8.

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jeongintwenty3 · 2 years

Text

16.25

pairing: bangchan x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of tears, sadness

author’s note: hello! how’s everyone doing? decided to write this hurt/comfort imagine of chan cause i just cannot accept the fact theres only one chan in the world. pardon for my poor grammar and mispellings if present, other than that, happy reading! <3 remember, it’s just a bad day, not a bad life; it shall pass to. my dms are open if anyone wants to talk ab anything (:

————————————————————————

nobody said marriage life was easy. the day you said yes, the both of you were expecting the ups and downs, the happiness and sadness.

“i’m home!” chris exclaimed as soon as he stepped into the house, one of the few places the both of you feel comfortable enough to call home.

silence from the other side, he was baffled. confused was an understatement, why isn’t his wife scrambling to his arms? you’d usually greet him in ragged breaths, as if you’ve just completed a marathon.

going up, unsettling thoughts clouded his mind. although he knew deep down it will never happen, everyone’s gotta prepare for the worst, right?

wrong.

opening the bedroom door oh so quietly, he managed to make out your figure huddled under the thick comforter. oh, you’re sleeping.

but it’s just 4 in the afternoon?

deciding to kneel so he could be at eye level with you, he froze upon the sight.

chris felt his heart shatter as the seconds passed by, this is never a sight he wants to come home to. why is his favorite person in the world crying?

you’d be lying if you didn’t notice chris entering the room; you tried to play it off by pretending to sleep. but boy, did chris see through you.

he shook you gently, not wanting to invade any further into your personal space. looking up at his pretty eyes, your tears started to well up for the 3rd time this afternoon.

“oh no,” chris started to panic. “what’s wrong babe, hmm? talk to me,” he tried to coax you into reaching out to him.

you covered your face with your 2 hands, not wanting the man that stood beside you see the woman he married.

if chris had to list the top 10 most heartbreaking sights he’s ever encountered in his life, this will be the first. never in his life, he saw you this vulnerable. you always had this strong facade; but even strong people can crumble too. they just decide to not show it.

sitting on the edge of the bed, he guided you onto his lap; he knew, his woman needed his physical affection to ground her.

while patting your head with a few kisses to your temple peppered here and there, he tried to keep his guard up; as much as he wants to cry too, he needs to be strong for his one and only. silently praying the pain in her heart will subside soon, he continued his loving acts.

“deep breaths baby, you can do it,” chris whispered, ensuring the person cradled in his arms is still getting sufficient oxygen. “i’m here now okay? you can rely on me, you can talk about it, you have me,” chris continued, not wanting to aggravate any painful memories.

“i- i’m sorry,” you managed to blurt out while trying to keep your shit together. you knew he was exhausted, visible from the eyebags and the way his shoulders sag. “i know you’re tired, i’m sorry you had to come home to whatever this is,” you continued. “i’ll be better.”

chris wanted to explode; who the hell made his wife feel like this? she’s everything he’s ever dreamt of; kind-hearted, a little clumsy, very dreamy, independent, smart, adora-

his train of thoughts were cut short when he hears your crying started to worsen.

“no,” chris said firmly while still holding your frame. “you, my love, are the definition of an angel. now, before your thoughts get the best of you, let me explain.”

hearing no response from his woman, he let out a small okay, to make sure you were fine with whatever he said and will say — which you were.

“who isn’t tired? we all have our own problems, some we can fight alone, some we need others to help. whatever you’re thinking now, it’s all the exact opposite of what i think of you. you’re perfect, and before you start with your nobody is perfect speech, to me, you are perfect. heck, i often ponder to myself, what did i do in my past life to deserve such a woman?”

responding to what he said, you simply held him tighter and buried your face in his neck. now only hearing sniffles, chris felt relieved you’ve calmed down.

chris had to get to the bottom of this — “is there something you want to tell me?”

after a good 2 minutes, you lifted your face so you could stare into his face and man, nothing ever prepared chris for what his love was about to say next.

“this morning, i went to my pilates class as usual. there were these group of women, i don’t know them at all since they’re new,” you paused, needing a breathe because you felt your throat closing up again.

with a nudge to your side and a kiss to your forehead, chris encouraged you to continue.

“i heard them talking about how they were able to travel around the world with their partners, having the time of their lives, while i’m rarely at home for lengthy times due to work. it’s not that i want to stay away from you, if i could choose i swear i’d choose spending time with you over anything else in the world. i’m sorry, i’ll be home longer, i’ll make you happier.”

a single tear rolled down your cheek, and at the speed of lightning, chris managed to kiss it away.

looking into her eyes with so much adoration one can ever have, chris replied, “you’re enough for me, baby. we have holidays where we can spend time with each other 24/7 and we communicate with each other pretty well. you make me the happiest man alive and don’t change yourself; you’re perfect just the way you are. i understand your feelings, but please don’t ever underestimate yourself, you’re literally my favorite person in the world and i don’t like the person i love the most get hurt because of her thoughts, okay?”

resorting to a nod to respond to his answer, chris felt his heart swell looking at his wife. someone so selfless, she even let her thoughts get the best of her.

“like we agreed, let’s talk about whatever’s bothering each other yeah? no secrets between us, i know you trust me as much as i trust you,” chris concluded, not wanting another wave of sadness wash over his beloved.

“i love you, chris,” you whispered as to not ruin the comfortable atmosphere blanketing the room.

“i love you most, my beautiful wife,” chris replied, with a kiss to your forehead, cheeks, nose and lips.

nobody said marriage life was easy. but one thing you learned was, it’s always the two of you versus the problem, and with the right person, marriage life can feel comforting, like hot chocolate on a snowy day. with chris, you always felt at home.

#skz fluff #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz #skz x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan angst #bang chan x you #bang chan x female reader #bang chan blurbs

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saraakpotter · 6 months

Text

Peter Parker being a simp for y\c\n for 4 mins

based on the request: "can you do Peter Parker (tom holland) being a simp for y/c/n?" in this one y\c\n is a 17 year old who is Natasha s daughter and is also an avenger who goes to the same school Peter dose. plus i added some scenes to the movies. i hope this is how you imagined it.

y\n, Anthony, Sebastian and Tom (Holland) are having an interview. the interview was going in characters future.

"so, what do you think the mcu has for your characters future?" the interviewer asked looking at his notes

"i dont know about 'falcon' but im pretty sure y\c\n and spider man will end up together!" Anthony answered making Tom blush

"i totally agree!" Sebastian said

"what the.... where did you get that idea from?" y\n said with a raised eyebrow

"oh come on y\n you are better than that! havent you noticed? Peter keeps simping for y\c\n the whole movie!" Anthony answered

"what! no he dosent"

"yes he dose." Sebastian answered

"i will send you prof!" Anthony replied slyly

later that night, y\n, went home thinking about the interview. she changed to a more comfortable cloth, jumped on her bed and opened her phone while clicking on the MCU group chat. it was a group they made after the avengers to communicate more and add more people by time.

as expected, Anthony, sent a youtube video with the title: "Peter Parker being a simp for y\c\n for 4 mins"

y\n quickly checked others massages in the group before clicking:

Scarlet said: this is definitely true!

RDJ said: flirting with widows daughter? not the best idea!

Chris Evans said: as much as cute this was i have to agree with Rob here!

Tom Hiddelston said: are we watching MCUs next cutest couple here?

Chris Hemsworth replied: im pretty sure we are Tom!

before reading other massages y\n clicked on the video.

the video started with a cute intro and then the title: Peter Parker simping for y\c\n for 4 mins duh

then there was a picture of Peter Parker looking at y\c\n with heart eyes which made y\n laugh.

the video started: the first video was for 'avengers infinity war' where Tony, y\c\n, Strange and Peter in Titan and just finished the miss understanding with the guardians.

Peter Quill let go of spiderman, Tony threatened Drax and y\c\n nearly beat the shit out of Mantiss and rocket when they tried to stop Tony.

"ok so im happy to know we are on the same side" Peter quill said with a soft cough

"yeah well couldnt you figure that sooner?" y\c\n exclaimed angrily

"wha....you beat the shit out of me what are YOU mad about?" rocket said

"well i ruined my hair in the process! we could have skipped that!" y\c\n said angrier

"your hair looks good either way!" Peter Parker told her with a smile making her smile to

the next video was for 'avengers infinity war' again, just a bit earlier in the scene where y\c\n, Tony and strange where fighting the aliens Thanos sent.

y\c\n just finished beating and literal alien army and looked at where Tony was you didnt see him. instead you saw Peter talking to Wong and not noticing y\c\n. but when he dose he suddenly stops the conversation and goes to the new alien army and kills most of them.

"what do you think y\c\n? pretty cool right?" he says walking to her

"hmmmm... not bad for a 15 year old!" you teased

" im 16 and you are only a year older than me!" he said

"relax! its just my Romanoff urge to teas! lets take this one down together shall we?" y\c\n said pointing at the new army with head

"ok then!" Peter said trying to hide his happines

the next video was for 'captain America: civil war'

it was the scene in the airport, y\c\n, was in team ironman and Peter still wasnt there but they all knew he was hiding somewhere

"ok Pete! you can come out know!" y\c\n shouted with a smirk preparing herself and her weapons. Steve who seemed to notice they are more prepared than they thought throw his shield at her weapon but before it hit her Peter jumped in and caught the shield with his spider power.

"no, no, no! we dont throw a shield at a Beautiful and smart girl like our y\c\n here do we?" he said making Tony chuckle, Nat raise an eyebrow and and you look at him.

the next video was for 'spiderman homecoming'

it was the first parts of the movie when Ned and Peter where having lunch and y\c\n approached them.

"hey guys! can i sit?" y\c\n asked

"ye...yes...yes of course!" Peter answered almost Immediately

"great! i would sit anyway" y\c\n said making the three of them laugh

"so, y\c\n!" Ned started "whats your favorite movie?"

"well i dont really watch movies, nor have time for them but if im going to say one i would go with.......star wars!"

"STAR WARS" Peter asked happily

"yeah you like it to?" y\c\n asked

"we LOVE it!" Ned answered high fiving Peter.

the video paused with a little two days later. Peter approached y\c\n, who was at her locker with a box in his hands.

"ummm...he......hey y\c\n!" he said

"oh, hi Pete!" y\c\n looked at him

"this is for you." he gave the box to her. she looked at the box and saw a built star wars lego.

"oh my god Peter this is great! did you made it?" she asked

"yes, this one is my favorite so i thought you would like it to." he answered

"i love it, thank you!"

the next video was for the first movie and the scene in Mays car

"we should go back, this dosent feels right!" Peter said

"oh come on Peter it would be just fine! you got this." May told him

"yeah but...."

"plus y\c\n is going to be there!" Ned said

"wha....you know what aunt May? i think you are right, i got this!" he said opening the cars door.

before the next video can be played you went out and went to the chat and typed: ok, i see it now! earning a blush emoji from Tom Holland, some laugh emojis and a 'i told you so' from Anthony.

#peter parker x reader #avengers x reader #mcu cast x reader #x reader #mcu cast #tom holland x reader #the avengers #spider man

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strniohoeee · 11 months

Text

Disregard

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N and Chris hate each other with a burning passion, but when Y/N gets into an issue at a party, Chris is on his way to help.🫀

Warnings⚠️: Being dr*gged, mentions of almost being r worded, the r word is used one time. And yes that’s it’s. This for the request asking for an enemies to lovers where Chris saves her from almost being assaulted🗣️

Song for the imagine: Call Out My Name-The Weeknd

⚠️This story has mentions of hard topics. Read at your own risk⚠️

I hate Chris with a burning passion, and he hated me too. Originally I was friends with Nick, and then Matt, but for some reason Chris just didn’t like me. It started with scoffs, eye rolls, stank faces, blatantly ignoring me, and then slowly the comments started

He was such an asshole when he wanted to be. It made it so hard to be around him because I wanted to punch him in the face, yet he was so good looking that I wanted to kiss him also??? Man I don’t know he just made my life hard. He hated when Nick or Matt would invite me over he’d either completely ignore me, or we’d start bickering.

“What’s this fuck face doing here” he’d say

“Are you fucking 5” I said rolling my eyes at him

“Is that the only comeback you have?” He asked

“Well maybe if you didn’t act like a man child I’d have something else to say” I told him smiling at him

“You piss me off. Everytime I see your face I want to throw up” he said pretending to gag

“Exactly my point…a fucking child. Now go away the adults are talking” I said shooing him

And Nick and Matt’s mouth dropped

“Yeah yeah yeah whatever” he said walking away

That’s about how 90% of our interactions went. But as time went on I looked forward to our fights, and I’m sure he did too.

Tonight Nick had asked me if I wanted to join him and his brothers at a party, and of course I said yes, so I got ready and headed over to their house

Once I got there I allowed myself in, and locked the door behind me. I walked upstairs and went into the kitchen putting my stuff down, when Chris came upstairs from his room

“AHHH WHAT DID YOU DO WITH Y/N, and why is there a clown standing in my kitchen” he said pretending to be scared

“Christopher shut the fuck up” I told him as I put my phone down

“Ouuu government name….me likey” he said smirking at me

“You’re such a fucking creep” I said grabbing a water bottle

“What’s with uhh all the paint on the face this isn’t a circus” he said motioning to his face

“It’s called makeup….I wanted to look good for the party” I said rolling my eyes at him

“Right right….yeah you were looking very homeless recently” he said taking a Pepsi

“Let’s not get into who looks homeless now” I said scoffing

“I still get more bitches than you” he said shrugging his shoulders

I threw my now empty water bottle at him

“You’re a fucking weirdo loser” I told him as he laughed

“Heyyy Y/N when did you get here” Nick said coming down the stairs with Matt

“About five minutes ago, you idiot brother here wouldn’t stop yapping in my ear” I told them

“Hey! If you’re gonna talk outta your ass at least turn around so I can hear you better” He told me

“Yeah I’m sure you’d love to look at my ass” I told him sarcastically

“I meannnn are you offering?” He asked with his eyebrows raised

“You are literally a walking ick stay the fuck away from me” I said walking past him to head out the door

Matt had driven us to the party, Chris and I were in the back seat, and as he would rap every song he would point in my face and touch me. I would always smack his hand away or punch him to get him to stop, but he just didn’t

We had arrived at the party, and all slowly got separated. I was in the kitchen making a drink when a guy approached me

“Hey pretty lady” he said also making himself a drink

“Hi” I said giving him a tight lip smile

“Here alone?” He asked me pouring himself a henny coke

“Uh no I’m here with my friends” I told him making myself a Malibu Coke

“Oh nice nice, uhh boyfriend?” He asked me, and I was cringing at his lack of being able to form a sentence. At least when I argued with Chris it was for the most part full sentences

“If you’re asking if I have a boyfriend the answer is no” I told him while taking a sip of my drink.

The whole time we were chatting Chris had been watching me from the corner of the room.

Chris didn’t like the way the guy was staring at Y/N. It was like he was a predator and she was fresh meat, but Y/N was too sweet, and couldn’t see that. He kept glancing at her cup and that made Chris uncomfortable. But he wasn’t doing anything to be out right weird. But when he saw him with her he just wanted to scoop her up and take her away.

He wasn’t really sure why he felt this way. He actually wasn’t really sure how he felt about Y/N. He thought he hated her, but when he’d see her, his heart would skip a beat, and when they’d argue he’d fall more in love with her. But he hates her? He thinks?

Truly Chris was afraid of commitment. He was scared of the idea of someone loving him. It just wasn’t his things one night stands and small flings were his go to. But when he met Y/N it all started to change. He wanted to be with her forever. He even saw a future with her, and he stopped fooling around with other girls. But he was just so afraid of being hurt and committing to someone, that he chose to “hate” her instead. So that at least he’d know he’d always have her in his life.

“Hey it’s kind of hard to hear you” the boy said to me

“Yeah it kind of is, want to step outside?” I asked him

“Uhh maybe we could go upstairs” he said

“Mmmm i don’t know, i don’t really know you” I told him

“Oh come on! We can leave the door open I just want to talk” he said

“Mmm okay fine” I said, and we started to walk towards the stairs

Unbeknown to Y/N Chris was also following them like a shadow in the dark watching their every move. When they got to the stairs a guy had stopped them, and asked Y/N a question. Her drink was in her left hand, and she turned to her right. As soon as she did, the random guy dropped something into her drink. This made Chris’ heart drop, and he went to spring into action. After she answered the guy's question they went to walk up the steps, and the guy nodded his head at the other guy. Oh shit he was in on it Chris realized.

Chris was pushing through bodies calling out Y/N’s name, but she couldn’t hear him over the loud music and the tons of people in the way.

Chris was struggling with girls grabbing onto him trying to talk, and him trying to fight his way through the crowd. Sheer panic racing through his blood.

I had gotten upstairs, and there were tons of room, so we decided on the room all the way to the end. When we stepped in he left the door open.

I sat on the random bed and he sat across from me. I continued to drink my drink as it was almost done. When I Started to feel a little fuzzy. Man, how much Malibu did I put in this? I thought to myself

The guy was trying to talk to me, but I truly wasn’t feeling okay. I thought I was going to pass out or die?

“Hey I’m not feeling too well” I told the guy putting my cup down and going to stand up, but he stood up and sat me back down

“Don’t worry maybe the alcohol was too strong” he said

“No…no, something's not right,” I said slowly. He walked over to door and shut it locking it

“Hey what are you doing” I said fighting to keep my eyes open

“Shhh baby” he said and started to kiss on me

“Please no no stop this” I said starting to panic

“Be quiet baby” he told me pushing me backwards and starting to lift up my dress

“Please don’t. Please stop I won’t say anything just don’t please” I said crying

Chris had finally gotten up the stairs and started bursting through every door, while texting Nick and Matt what was happening, and telling them to come upstairs

Finally he had gotten to the last door, and it was locked, but he could hear her crying and pleading for someone to stop.

Chris started to bang against the door, slamming his body into it, and finally he kicked the door in and ran in. The sight he saw made his blood run cold

This disgusting pig with Y/N’s underwear half way down her legs, and her dress hiked up. While she just lay there pleading for him to stop in a very drugged way

“What the fuck are you doing” Chris screamed running over to the guy and punching him straight in the jaw. This caused the guy to get up and start fighting with Chris

Nick and Matt had run into the room seeing what Chris just saw. Matt ran over to Chris to try and help him, and Nick ran to Y/N to help her

“Shh it’s okay” Nick said helping Y/N back into her underwear and pulling her dress down

“Chris” she said weakly

“It’s Nick, but Chris stopped him okay. You don’t have to worry you’re safe” Nick said pulling the girl up and into his arms

At this point Matt and Chris had beat the guy to a pulp, and he just laid there bloody

“Don’t you ever put your hands on a fucking woman again you disgusting pig” Chris yelled at him while standing over him in a fit of rage

“Come guys, we have to go, the cops will be here” Nick said. Chris came over and took Y/N from his arms as they ran down the stairs and out the house, walking to Matt’s car.

“Am I dying” I asked them slurred

“No you’ve been roofied” Chris said to me holding me up

“He was touching me….he was going to rape me” I said sobbing and barely being able to stand up

“You’re safe now. We got you you’re okay” Matt said

“I’m dying” I said to them

“No you’re not baby, you have to throw this up” Chris said to me

“I don’t want to throw up” I said crying

“You have to come on” he said, he then stuck two fingers down my throat which made me gag and throw up everywhere

“I wanna go home” I said still crying and fighting for my life

“We’re going, we’re going” Nick said as they helped me into the car, and the whole car ride I cried into Chris’ arms.

When we got home I started to feel some of the effects wearing off, but I wasn’t 100% there.

Chris took me to his room so that he could watch me

“I need to get this man’s smell off of me, help me shower I can’t stand by myself” I said barely making sense

“Are you sure?” I asked her not wanting to make her uncomfortable

“Yes Chris please. I need you right now. You make me feel safe and warm. I love you” I told him

“I love you too” I told him

I went to the bathroom, and had Chris run a warm bubble bath for me. He helped me out of my clothes while also not really looking at me, and then he helped me into the tub.

I let my body fall into the bubbles immediately feeling relieved.

I just sat there staring blankly at the tub while Chris watched my face for any signs of discomfort

“Thank you for saving me” I told him, finally looking over at him.

“I will always be there for you, and I know you might not remember this tomorrow, but I love you. I was so scared of love before, but when I got to know you. It made me want to love, and love all of you. I have never been so sure about someone in my life as I am of you” he told me washing my back with a rag and letting the warm water fall down my head

“Chris I like you so much….I want to be with you forever” I told him smiling at him

“You don’t know what you’re saying” he said

“I do. I want you Chris all of you. I love to argue with you because it’s something that WE do. That is our thing, and it will alway be our thing” I said leaning me head on my arm

“I love to argue with you too. Makes me warm inside” he said washing my arm for me

“Join me” I said

“I can’t. Not under these circumstances” he told me breaking eye contact

“Please Chris. I want to be next to you. I need your embrace” I told him. Finally he agreed

He took his shirt off and then his pants, and I covered my eyes when he took off his underwear, and waited for him to get in the water opposite of me.

Once I felt the water move I opened my eyes

“Thank you Chris” I said looking at him

“Anything for you pretty girl” he told me

“Come here let me clean your makeup off” he said and pulled me in a little closer

Taking the rag, and wiping my makeup off my face

“You’re so beautiful” he told me as he cleaned my face

“You’re beautiful Chris” i told him which made him blush

“Kiss me” I told him him

“I can’t. Not tonight you’re not fully sober” he said back to me in a whisper

“Tomorrow morning” I told him

“If you remember this” he said back to me

“I will…I promise” I said

We finished bathing, and Chris got us dried and dressed in pajamas. He had snuggled me into his chest as I fell asleep, but Chris didn’t finally fall asleep till 5AM. He spent most of the night watching you and making sure you were okay.

You had woken up at 9AM, and Chris was still deep in slumber, so you decided to leave him and head upstairs to brush your teeth and wash your face.

Everyone was still asleep, so you decided to make some coffee and drink it while you sat outside by their pool.

You had texted Chris something for when he woke up.

30 minutes later Chris woke up. To you not by his side and for a second he panicked but then figured you were awake upstairs. He grabbed his phone and saw a message from you

The annoying one🙄

-kiss me?

It read, and he blushed slightly.

The End

Okayyy so I hope you enjoyed this one as well. It was pretty long, and for whoever requested this I really hope you enjoyed❤️❤️ I have about 6 more imagines to write 🤭🤭

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #chris sturniolo #Spotify

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princessamericachavez · 2 years

Text

I still can’t believe how unhinged the couch thing is.

In s5 we see that Taylor brings her couch into the loft even though Buck has one and they have a problem from the get go because both couches (aka their personalities, their lives, their wants) do not fit in at the same time. They are both too attached to their own individual lives and goals to actually share a life. There’s no space for both of them in that home.

Ok anyway moving on Taylor is gone and we have an empty space where she forced her couch into Buck’s space.

Anyway, my point is: 6x1 we have the whole couch conversation and it’s always been such an OBVIOUS metaphor for Buck and Eddie’s relationship that it drives me insane.

“You know, I think it’s weird that he’s struggling to pick a replacement when he has so many excellent options right under his nose.”

“Like you?”

“It’s like he’s choosing not to see them and everything they have to offer.”

In the same season where we now know that Eddie will be exploring his dating options and going out with other people?????? Are you kidding me???????????

Buck saying this while he cooks for Eddie and Chris???? While he offers food and comfort??? In a show that has consistently utilized cooking and feeding others as a clear metaphor for love and family?!?!

And they even hammer it in again!!!

“What are you offering?”

“Right now, Bobby’s famous lasagna.”

I need to talk about thisssss. Because not only have we been presented with the idea of food as love and nurturing but also cooking as personal growth, about learning to nurture yourself and others and getting out of the darkness. Think about Bobby after joining the 118. But also think about Maddie being impressed by Buck “growing up” represented by Buck having learned cooking skills from Bobby. Think about Eddie going to therapy and swapping recipes with Linda and learning to be better and look after himself after getting chewed off by his dad for burning breakfast for his mom and sisters.

What Buck is offering is his own growth as a person. Is saying “I’ve put myself back together”. It’s saying “I’ve been working on myself for five years to become a better man”. It’s saying “it’s taken me several tries but I’m finally getting there.”

And of course after all that it’s when we go fully into the couch metaphor. It’s hard to say much about this dialogue that hasn’t been said before, but mostly I want to highlight that, for Buck, this metaphor is tightly tied to romantic relationships. “My last two couches came with girlfriends” and “maybe I don’t want to pick the wrong couch again”. But it’s also the fact that Buck picks his chair to take the couch’s spot for now. That is Buck. Buck being single.

The whole metaphor could’ve simply been about Buck realizing he doesn’t need a relationship to define him and who he is and that he should choose his own path and create a space in his home for himself. But if that was the case he would’ve just bought a couch for himself. The single chair represents his single path at the moment. The couch will be a romantic metaphor.

All of this to say that it’s absolutely unhinged that this is the last shot of Eddie we see in 6a.

And this comes after a) Buck called to give them the baby news, b) Eddie looked less than pleased at the reveal, c) Eddie hung up saying he was gonna try to get some sleep before taking Chris to school.

Except we see him drop the controller here. So he clearly kept playing. Even though he looked quite frustrated there. Fighting with himself. Anyway clearly something was bothering him.

What’s insane to me is that we cut immediately from this shot to Buck sleeping and the whole baby onesie shot. And I don’t think it could be any more obvious that we are meant to connect these two dots. Especially when we see them in the same montage as Henren and Maddnie sleeping together on their respective beds. And we know Buck’s whole donor thing was partly motivated by other things, like his need to be useful to others and save everyone, but also his eternal search for family and perhaps a call to fatherhood (even though he’s clearly not struggling with separating the idea as everyone expected).

Anyway, I do think having Eddie sleep on his couch rather than his bed was certainly A CHOICE. and it feels even more obvious when we know what happens in 6b.

I love that the Buckley’s brought up Buck’s lack of couch an episode before. HEY REMEMBER THIS? And it’s so much A Thing that we see that even Maddie gets it.

Which is so important considering the very. next. episode. we are going to get the most obvious callback to this metaphor in the shape of Buck finally finding rest and peace at Eddie’s couch?!?!?!

THEY ARE SO UNHINGED FOR THIS

And then they go as far as to have Buck point out “how did I pass out so fast?”

Like boyyyyyy you’re this 🤏🏽 close to figuring it out!!!!!!!

Anyway I cannot WAIT to see how they bring it up again and how Margaret’s couch finds its demise and especially knowing Buck’s very last scene of the season will touch back on the metaphor.

It will be so insane if they actually pull this off!!!!!!!

#buddie #Evan buck Buckley #911 fox #Eddie Diaz #911 spec

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fandomfluffandfuck · 6 months

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S, I just came up with this idea. Listen..

Sebastian just losing it for Steve, he loves Chris, he's fucking weak for him. But sometimes, he looks at Steve on the screen in CA:TWS or Civil War, and just can't take it, he wants that guy. And imagine him talking Chris into role playing Steve just for him, when he's got the blonde hair, the bulk and all that. He just wants to be treated well by Steve, and not as Bucky, just himself, he can't help it.

That was it thank you very much.

I do love this idea! I love it a lot. And I think this kind of fits with my fic, "Character Bleed," obviously it's not the same concept, but if you haven't read that, I think you'd like it 👀

I mean, we know that Chris feels like this for Bucky on a PG level. Remember that con panel where he said he has a soft spot for him, bursting out with "I was gonna defend Sebastian, he's not a villian, he's a victim really!"? I remember it well. I especially remember Sebastian's happy little, 'he loves me' wiggle. It was the cutest!

(16:53-17:21)

So... I can totally see this happening with Sebastian in a PG-13 to R-rated way 😏 and I would like to imagine that it spills out of Sebastian accidentally, too.

Over the years and years of playing these characters, so much of Sebastian has become tangled up in Bucky, so much of Bucky is tangled up in Sebastian (which reminds of the top Chris quote in this gif set, too), and after the years of being with Chris, his infatuation still the same, maybe even worse now, realistically, it's only natural.

His heart speeds in his chest whenever he sees Chris and, usually, the effect is the same when he sees him larger than life on screen, portaying a character. Chris only has one face and it's just so goddamn handsome. He can't help it. C'mon! It's not fair! What's a man supposed to do?

And no matter how embarrassed Sebastian is of his simmering, latent, years long crush on Steve Rogers because of his affection for his boyfriend, Chris Evans--who is real and not fictional and more than enough, of course--he'll never say it willingly.

It only comes to a head because of the fucking sledgehammer to the head that is Nomad Steve Rogers.

That's so much closer to the Chris that Sebastian gets to love every day with his thick beard and his natural, untamed body hair and just his bigness, but it's also still so Steve.

It's Steve elevated.

It's Steve irresistible.

It's Steve knee-weakeningly hot.

So knee-weakening that when they're shooting, Infinity War over one of the the weekends, too wrapped up in each other to go out with the rest of the crew, hitting the town, it happens.

They're wrapped up, consumed in each other. Sebastian is pressed roughly back into their rented apartment bed, the sheets mused and ruined, the air thick, and his legs are spread as wide as they can be but they're still tense, still squeezed tight around Chris' impossibly broad shoulders. Those fucking shoulders--they're just so huge that he can't not press against them, no matter how shamelessly he opens himself to be taken and he loves it.

He loves how little and surrounded Chris makes him feel, always having to fight to make room for him. He's so big. Larger than life especially when he's been bulking and working out like a madman for the silver screen. Jesus, it feels as though Chris hardly fits between his legs sometimes. Like. Shit. He belongs there, between Sebastian's legs, having his way with him, wringing all the pleasure he wants from him. But he's so big!

Big and heavy, pressing down on him. Keeping him in place as if he would dream of going anywhere else. He dreams of this--Chris' palms broad and hot and owning, gripping handfuls of his thighs and ass, groping him, leaving finger- and handprint bruises where no one else will see. Underneath his costume, bruises that will ache when he stretches later, warming up for stunts and making his face warm with the secret, too.

(If only the makeup artists could see, they'd tease him and tut at him, playfully scolding him for getting it so hard when he knows he has to be on camera. Couldn't he have waited a few more days? Couldn't he have controlled himself for a little longer? God, Sebastian shudders impulsively, hot.)

So, Chris' there.

He's taking up space there, between his legs. Big, broad, and feverish, taking handfuls of him, taking mouthfuls of him, devouring him, first leaving marks across his skin with his lips and teeth and tongue, then sucking him off like he wants to kill him. Murdering him with how good it feels. Hot. Wet. Tight. Sucking him down, the slick, soft insides of his cheeks, the thrilling edge of his teeth, just hinted at, the depth of his throat.

Oh, God.

It's so distracting. He's so good. So good at this. He's gotten so good at this over the years that Sebastian is losing his mind. He loses his mind every time, now. He knows just what he likes.

So, Sebastian's grasping the sheets, fisting them so hard his knuckles are white, whimpering. Breathless. And Chris does fucking something, something with his tongue that he can't comprehend when he's so hard, throbbing, he just--

Sebastian arches and moves, feverish, squirming, reaching swiftly, grabbing and holding onto Chris' hair, dyed dirty blonde and long enough to really fucking hold on.

Then, to make it worse, Chris goes with his frantic hold, letting himself be directed, humoring Sebastian for now, until he wants to take control back; he dives deep, deep throating him, humming, letting him sweat with the vibrations that gut him. So overwhelmed with how fucking erotic it is, how good it feels, Sebastian is groaning, mouth open. He can't think. He can't stop.

It simply escapes him.

He can barely see through the tears in his eyes, his head spinning, but he's blinking, staring down at his shaking hands fisted in that blonde hair, and whining, "St-Steve!"

Suddenly, Sebastian is cursing how good of an actor his boyfriend is--how willing he is to "yes, and" because while Sebastian wants to curl up into a ball, tingling with arousal that's being rapidly taken over by superheated embarrassment, his nerves spitting and sparking like faulty wiring, Chris is chuckling. Just for a moment, though. The dark vibrations feel like fire. Hot as fuck. But that laugh, rich and dangerous, disappears and is replaced with Chris' touch. Chris has let go of one of his thighs to gather his right wrist, then his left--Sebastian hadn't even realized his hands had unweaved themselves from his golden fucking head of hair, making him see double, but they had. His hands are covering his own mouth. They were. Chris is putting them back in his own hair and he's--

"Ohh, oh, God!"

He's making him hold onto his hair and he's pushing himself down, down, pressing his nose to the flat of his lower stomach, swallowing around him, making him feel so good that his hips jerk sharply up. Chris doesn't choke and Sebastian dies. Just a little bit. Dying. He's sucking him like a beast and he's just, just... it's like he's urging him on, it's like he's--

Without his hands to cover his mouth and shut himself up, Sebastian moans again, "Steve!"

It's like he's trying to get him to say it!

Between his legs, Chris is determined, there's just the hint of a smirk on his mouth, curled up around his aching cock. And in his eyes--

Sebastian knows that look.

Fuck.

He knows it!

He knows the determination; he knows the steel in his gaze; he knows the dangerous glint and he fucking sees Steve.

"Pluh-please, please!" Sebastian gasps, overwhelmed, trying to hold himself off but failing spectacularly, "please, Steve!" His outcry is immediately followed by half-whimpering, half-panting, "'m sorryy!"

He's so fucking embarrassed that his face is tingling; he couldn't be blushing more, but he also can't stop himself, his body is rushing, pulsing, throbbing, and too sensitive to stop. It's too much! There's no brakes, only more gas.

Steve, Steve--Chris, er, whatever.

Chris won't have it, though.

Chris isn't just looking at him with that bastard fucker, stubborn stare that's pure Steve Rogers--Steve Rogers who won't and doesn't know how to put his head down and give up, not giving up now--Chris is lowering his voice and putting that lilt in it that's booming, authoritative, and empowering.

Actually, that voice is not so different from his usual, deep, rumbling, this-is-making-my-dick-hard voice, and the association is going to ruin Sebastian for the rest of his life. Every time they're on set from now on, he's gonna think about this and he's gonna fucking die of mortification.

Chris has so easily slipped into that voice. That role. Criminally easily, he's started being Steve.

Steve.

Steve ordering Sebastian around like he's making calls on a battle field as he pulls off his cock with a slurp, leaning his broad shoulders back, confident and cocky, a fucking leader, "you're gonna cum for me, baby. C'mon. I see it. It's right there. I know it is." While he talks like that, he jerks Sebastian off hard. Dick wet and sloppy from his dreamy mouth. Squeezing his throbbing hard-on until Seb gasps hard enough his throat hurts, he's going raw.

"You're gonna gimme what I want, baby," Steve tells him, "and you're gonna show me how pretty you are by cumming."

Sebastian is just a man.

Just a man on edge with an order to fall over it. So, he cums.

Hard.

He cums, pumping, throbbing, and shattering in Steve's hands. A fucking wet dream worthy man--his flowing, blonde hair, his voice, his beard, his stupidly broad chest and shoulders, his torn, dusty uniform, his hands, and those fucking gloves. Sebastian can see those gloves, his rolled uniform sleeves, exposed forearms, all of it. He can see it painted on the back of his eyelids as his eyes roll back, breaking apart with pleasure.

He makes a mess of Steve's beard and plush lips and the site of it, when he manages to peel his eyes open, it makes him wanna cum again.

Now.

Please.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #sebastian stan #chris evans #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction #steve rogers #stucky #bucky barnes

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one-loud-mind · 1 year

Text

Stucky Deserved Better

Stucky truly is the biggest missed opportunity in the MCU and I will take no criticisms on this.

Steve's motivations in every Captain America movie always revolve around Bucky one way or another. CA:TFA? Steve goes against his commander's orders and risks his spot in the military to save Bucky. When Bucky "dies", Steve becomes even more determined to avenge his death by defeating the bad guys. CA:TWS? Steve sees Bucky and is determined to get him back. Once it becomes clear this Bucky might not entirely be the one he knows, he still chooses to risk death by Bucky's own hand before actually fighting against him. CA:CW? My man goes against his found family and causes a seemingly irreparable rift between the team because Bucky is in danger. Steve goes into hiding and becomes a fugitive

Now Steve is not the only goner here. CA:TFA? Bucky literally falls off the train because he was protecting Steve's 6. CA:TWS? My boy broke over half a century of brainwashing because he knew the man on the bridge. Not only that, but he literally left HYDRA soon after because this man who he just had a feeling he knew was willing to die before actually fighting him. CA:CW? We get to see how Bucky recovered his memories and how even after everything, he was still going to protect and fight alongside his best friend, even if that means losing his arm all over again.

They do all of this because they're there for each other... 'til the end of the line. Stucky has all the elements of a love story, Marvel was just too safe to actually let it play out (and Seb's contract was longer than Chris's but that's besides the point).

(this is from the pov of someone who stopped keeping up with the MCU after the Infinity Saga was over btw)

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #the winter soldier #MCU

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perpetualexistence · 6 months

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We Drive Each Other Batty

Alenoah Week Day 4: Royalty/Vampire AU

Alejandro Burromuerto is an absolute menace to the kingdom of Wawanakwa. He comes from a legacy of vampires that strive to control as much land as possible. He's only recently set his sights on Wawanakwa, and within a year he's enthralled three towns into being his local blood bank. Life is pretty good for him.

He's so confident in his abilities that he decides to go directly for the castle itself.

Aaaand almost immediately finds himself caught by King Chris's personal bodyguard, Chef, who knocks him unconscious with a pan before he can enthrall Chris.

The smart thing to do would be to kill Alejandro. But Chris is a petty man who prefers humiliating people.

Who better to ask how to do that than his personal court-wizard-in-training who Chris specifically because he's snarky and petty?

Noah gets dragged into this and comes up with an idea. If he likes mind controlling people so much, then let Alejandro be on the other side of things. Tinker with a familiar bonding spell to turn Alejandro into a familiar. He'll be forced to listen to someone else's orders, and can't harm anyone except in defense of his wizard. Plus, if done right, it can have the added benefit of making him 'fun size' thanks to having to categorize Alejandro as a bat to make this work. That way his vampire strength and speed won't be as much of an issue.

There's two problems with this plan.

One, the bond can only be created with a wizard who doesn't have a familiar yet. Most adult wizards do. It's even a requirement to bond with a familiar at some point in a good amount of magic schools.

And two, the bond is usually done with two consenting parties. Since Alejandro would be fighting it the whole time, keeping the familiar bond would be an active effort on the wizard's end. It's possible if you find a wizard with enough power, but good luck trying to convince a wizard to be a spell battery.

"Say, kid. You don't have a familiar yet."

"Mclean. Don't you dare."

"Think of it as a new part of your job description!"

"I'm not going to deal with a psychotic vampire for your sick amusement!"

"Sure you are! Do a good enough job and you might get a better holiday bonus this year!"

Thus Noah has accidentally sealed his fate to being stuck with a 4 inch vampire who is absolutely livid at this humiliation.

They both hate this situation so much. Alejandro can't mind control Noah because that's the first thing Noah ordered him not to do the second Alejandro woke up tiny, confused, and pissed.

Noah can't just leave Alejandro alone in a cage in his room all day because the longer and further he stays away from Alejandro, the weaker the bond and the more likely Alejandro will break free from it.

Alejandro keeps trying to persuade Noah that he's learned his lesson the non-magical way. And Noah shuts him right down because he knows that's a lie.

If Alejandro's really being difficult, Noah has no issues with throwing him into a bird cage and ordering him to shut up for a while. Noah really wishes he could just order him to shut up forever, but Alejandro starts fighting against the bond even worse when he can't speak, which usually ends up giving Noah a headache. Temporary relief is the best he can manage.

That and taking him to Chris to see what humiliation Chris and Chef have decided to put Alejandro through for the day. That usually brighten's Noah's day.

Alejandro still gets his own little revenges in. He looks for every loophole under the sun within Noah's orders. He banters at every given opportunity.

He'd love to give backhanded compliments to Noah in front of people that aren't Chris and Chef. However, no one else is allowed to know that Alejandro is still alive.

Letting a vampire live is a big no-no, even if Chris approved of it. Vampires still need generous amounts of blood to survive. Animal blood works somewhat, but it's more like living off rations. Vampires can only get full nutritional value from a human. Which doesn't really endear humans to vampires. (Part of Noah's job is to let Alejandro feed from his as well. It feels more like four little needles than a serious bite, and thanks to Alejandro's new size he doesn't feel that woozy when Alejandro has had his fill. Noah doesn't mind it nearly as much as he pretends to.)

Plus, Alejandro did get some of his hooks outside of the castle, so there's a decent chance someone could recognize him and decide to take advantage of the fact he's easily killable. So when around others, he takes full bat form and pretends to be a regular familiar. He's lucky he can at least talk with Noah telepathically so he doesn't have to be completely mute.

Still, it's not all bad. Now that Alejandro is, magically speaking, a bat, he can actually experience sunlight. He'd always used the metaphor 'you're as radiant as the sun' when charming others. It's a different thing entirely to actually feel its warmth.

Noah takes notice the first time when Alejandro is completely silent for once. He sees Alejandro staring directly at the sun in awe. He actually looks kind of cute sweet like that.

Except Alejandro is staring directly at the sun, and so Noah has to snap Alejandro out of it. He isn't just going to someone blind themselves, even if it is Alejandro. It's almost a shame to see the mask fall back on his face. (Too bad he didn't notice the flicker of shock at someone showing concern for Alejandro's wellbeing.)

With forced proximity, the two start to learn more about each other.

Alejandro learns about Noah first since he can't help but observe the fact that Noah is reading textbooks, but he hasn't seen Noah attend school once. When Noah isn't reading, he's catering to Chris and Chef's whims.

Noah still seems to be doing just fine, though. He knows Noah is advanced for his age based on what he's reading and how much he gloats about it. Still, if he was advanced than Alejandro would expect a tutor to be guiding Noah along to suit his level. The only adults he's seen consistently during his stay with Noah is Chris and Chef.

Alejandro points this out to Noah, and receives a long rant from Noah in return.

See, Noah's completely self taught. Before Chris, his family couldn't afford to get him a tutor. This isn't inherently a problem. Some wizards will take on apprentices for their service rather than for payment if they see potential in a particular student.

The problem is no one wants to teach a child who wants to learn dark magic. Nobody that Noah would ever want to meet, at least.

Noah could lie about not wanting to learn forbidden magic. But he'd always risk getting caught by whoever's training him. Not to mention the risk of getting himself killed because he was performing something dangerous without anyone to save him.

Plus, he considers it incredibly stupid that dark magic is a taboo subject to learn. The reason why creatures like Alejandro get away undetected for so long is because everyone else is more than happy to stick their heads in the sand. Their solution to combat evil is to simply not talk about it. As if that's just going to make it magically go away.

The only real way to learn how to counter it is to study it. It's like how making an antidote for a poison requires a bit of the poison itself so your body knows what to fight against.

Hell, it could even be used for good! Even something like Alejandro's hypnotism. It can lull a growing angry mob to not be stupid. It can force a different evil bastard to do something good.

But no, people like Alejandro screw it over for everyone else, and now any time he tries to make these arguments he's 'the bad guy' or 'should be barred from magic for everyone's good'.

Noah got lucky. Chef found him when he was insulting yet another wizard who shot down his chance at apprenticeship. He might have forgotten angering someone who can throw fireballs isn't the best way to guarantee your own safety.

Chef dragged him away and attempted to yell some sense into him. When it was clear that Noah was still just as defiant, he dragged him directly to Chris. Who ended up liking his spite and sarcasm, and offered him the job of court-wizard in training. It was hard for Chris to find any wizard willing to stay with him too long. And he's got plenty of dark magic crap that he has stored away. Both of them get what they want!

Noah wouldn't learn how demanding Chris was and how he'd make people put a lot of effort into stupid tasks that drive less patient people mad until later.

He took the deal because it was the best he was going to get. He knows he's being underpaid compared to what a regular court magician would be making. But for as much as Chris is a pain of a boss, he's given Noah exactly what he's wanted. He'd dare to say that Chris and Chef cared about him. Though Noah will refuse to say if he feels the same way about them.

Alejandro can't help but admire Noah for that. Deep down past that apathetic, snarky exterior, there is someone who's capable of ambition. Or at least capable of using spite as a motivator.

Alejandro's mask slips as he ends up sharing how he can relate. He gives off the airs of a vampire who's been around for at least a century or two. Truth be told, he's only a couple of months older than Noah. He's aging as a human would, for now.

He, and his lineage, are born vampires rather than bitten. Hence how he can have multiple thralls at once and transform into mist or a variety of animals. Bitten vampires are lucky to be able to hypnotize one person, and are typically limited to the advanced strength and speed.

So he can certainly one up the average vampire...but not other born vampires. Or vampires who have actually lived for centuries. He's still considered nothing more than an insolent child not to be taken seriously.

He does have the expectation on him to expand the Burromuerto influence. But he's constantly being compared to other relatives and their accomplishments. Particularly that of his brother José who has a couple of decades over Alejandro's head.

Alejandro has been working hard to close the power gap. He's been training to be as strong and fast as possible. His hypnosis works so well because he put in the work to learn how to actually charm people. The magic is to make sure the feeling stays for longer than it would naturally. But getting people to do what he wants? All him.

And it's still not enough for anyone else. So he decided to get a headstart on the family tradition. He was supposed to wait until he came of age, but he was already strong and confident in himself. Going off and succeeding early would prove everyone else wrong.

He'd been doing so well, too. He hadn't even needed to kill anybody. Unlike most of his family, he doesn't particularly care for it. Not because he cares that much about humans. But because he sees it as a waste of a resource. Sure, you can inspire fear into others with a death. But that fear can easily turn into outrage, and rebellion. It will be harder to control a population that is actively working to fight against you. Much easier to charm them and have them not even realize anything is wrong. Everyone is alive, and there is nothing to worry about. They just have to give a bit of blood every once in a while. And for that, Alejandro would make sure nothing else would dare to touch them.

That last part of the story concerns Noah. A lot. But it's...nice? That Alejandro cares? Enough to value a human life. Considering the rest of his family, it's a miracle Alejandro's got anything resembling compassion.

And at least he's finally being honest about something for once. Noah prefers honest but callous to kind but insincere. This part of Alejandro's still concerning...but he likes it more.

It's the start of these two doing more than just argue with each other. Alejandro's still not happy about being small. He complains about it just as constantly. But it's no longer lashing out at Noah. Noah doesn't really throw him into the time out cage anymore. Alejandro is gentler when he bites into Noah's neck to feast. Noah is less tense when it happens. He leans into it more. They bicker still, but they're actually willing to work with each other.

It's how they figure out a loophole. Neither can't really use their own magics to their full potential anymore....but they do now have access to each other's magic. They just have to be willing to train each other in it.

On Noah's side, Alejandro is trying to teach him how to hypnotize others through charming them. It doesn't go well. Noah's terrible at giving compliments. Changing his wardrobe to accentuate Noah's looks doesn't help when he doesn't flaunt them. That shopping trip to get Noah a new outfit definitely didn't awaken anything in Alejandro. Except it does. Noah is indulging him in one of his favorite activities. He looks cute in some outfits, hot in others. Noah mocks, Noah teases, Noah banters. It's just Noah, actually. Noah's cute, and he's also hot. Oh no. Alejandro's got himself a crush. ...MOVING ON FROM THAT-

Eventually, it clicks. This isn't working because Alejandro is teaching Noah how to be a Burromuerto. Which Noah certainly isn't. To charm someone, you have to work with what you naturally have and exaggerate it. Noah has snark. Use that to insult people that his victims would hate, not the victim themselves. Nobody likes being insulted, but everyone has something that they love gossiping about. That's Noah's in to get others to open up.

Then, there's the actual ask. Noah can't directly say what he wants all the time. Sometimes that may work, but sometimes what he wants is directly opposite to what someone else wants. He can find out when it's safe to be direct or not through gossiping. Then, if it's not safe? Make them feel safe. People underestimate Noah because of his age and figure. Use that.

Noah's just a pathetic, cute scrungly little guy who doesn't do much. What's the harm in letting him take a dangerously powerful grimoire off your hands? He's not going to do much with it. He's just curious.

Noah grins with pride the day he's able to hypnotize a guard who constantly abuses their power into humiliating himself.

On Alejandro's side, Noah's willing to teach him shadow magic. He wants to start with teaching Alejandro how to change their shape, and then move on up to making them solid.

There is also teleporting through shadow, but Noah's not teaching him that. That would give Alejandro the ability to leave Noah. Which would be bad for the whole 'keep Alejandro in check thing'. For no other reason. Noah wouldn't miss him. Not one bit. They just have to stay together for practicality. That's all. Let's get back to talking about shadows.

Alejandro assumes this should be a piece of cake. It's just another form of manipulating, just with a thing rather than a person.

He's terrible at it.

He coaxes, he begs, he pleads with the shadow to just move, and it refuses him. He's cursing in Spanish at an inanimate object.

Noah laughs at him for this. This earns Noah some curse words.

Noah tells him to stop treating magic like it's a person to be charmed. It's not. It's a thing. It follows orders so far as you figure out the right language. You tell it what you want, and then it gives it to you. No convincing, no tricking. Just asking.

Alejandro can't ask for one thing when he means another. That just confuses the magic and makes things not work. He needs to be direct for once in his life. Trust in his own ability to make something happen. Not in his ability to trick someone else into making something happen.

It takes Alejandro a while to just ask the magic to do what he wants.

I can't figure out how it'd work on Alejandro's side yet. Probably because I haven't yet defined the kind of magic he can do. 'Standard wizard fair' isn't going to cut it if this is coming from a personal bond/something that's intrinsic to Noah that would simply take a different form with Alejandro. It'd definitely have something to do with tying into how Alejandro doesn't actually NEED to charm people/force them to like him to get what he wants. His problem would definitely be that he's trying to force the magic to go exactly how he wants it to go. But magic's not something that likes being tamed like that. So Alejandros's got to learn to effectively say what he wants and just trust in his own abilities enough to make it happen.

When he does?

Alejandro shows off with a little shadow puppet show. He orchestrates puppets no bigger than him from atop Noah's bookshelf. It's endearing, it's sincere, and Noah is screwed because he is in love with this little vampire.

The more they teach each other, the stronger they grow. Neither realize it, but the bond is no longer draining each other.

They learn about this when someone attempts to mug Noah when he's running one of Chris's errands. The mugger grabs an Alejandro in bat form and slams him against stone to stop Noah from using magic. Alejandro is alive, but in a daze. Noah immediately makes tendrils of shadows to fling the mugger into the nearest wall, then hold them aloft in the air. He's running for Alejandro who's mumbling, asking if Noah is alright.

Noah doesn't know healing magic, but he's putting all of his focus into figuring out something to help Alejandro. It's working somewhat. Alejandro's head is clearer, though his body is still damaged. Noah puts more effort into making sure all of Alejandro is better. So much so that he doesn't notice a second mugger coming to check on their partner, who is now sneaking up on Noah. Noah is grappled before he can react, and is dragged away kicking and shouting.

Alejandro acts before he can think twice about it. The next thing he knows, he's standing at eye level with both of his newest victims. He hisses, his fangs bared, ordering them silent before they can scream about his presence. They are to release Noah and grovel.

The muggers do so without hesitation, their eyes glazed over. Alejandro wraps his arms around Noah in a hug. His grip is tight. He is at his full strength and could crush whoever he desired. He is gentle with his querido and plants a kiss on his forehead.

Alejandro wants so badly to drain them dry, but Noah takes priority. The muggers are to leave, turn themselves in, and forget the type of magic Noah and Alejandro used, and their faces.

The muggers leave, and the two are left to look each other in the eyes for the first time.

They stare for a while. Neither of them quite sure of what the other wants to do right now. Noah's the one who breaks the silence first.

"This late growth spurt's a bit much, wouldn't you say?"

Alejandro snorts at the absurdity.

They agree to keep the familiar bond as it is. It still lets them communicate with each other telepathically, and lets them use the other's magic.

They'll have to hide the fact that Alejandro is at his full strength, of course. Particularly from Chris and Chef. Alejandro tries and finds out that he can shrink at will now. Truth be told, he doesn't mind it anymore. (He's touch-starved, and rather enjoys being held and pampered by Noah.)

Alejandro also promises not to go enthralling everyone.

"Just five thralls will suffice."

"No."

"Two?"

"No!"

"One? I'll even make it Justin. Just imagine the things we could have him do."

"...No."

"You hesitated!"

"Stop tempting me!"

"Is it really tempting if you were already thinking it?"

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"That's not the point!"

The two stop when they realize that bombshell just got dropped.

They finally have proper confessions and decide to start dating. Alejandro immediately offers to turn Noah into a vampire so they can live together. Noah immediately shuts him down. Alejandro's sad until Noah explains.

One, that's a huge commitment when they've literally just started dating. And two, if Noah did that now then he'd have to be a teenager forever. He hates being a teenager NOW. An eternity of that? Hell no. In the future though? They can come back to this, and Noah'll let him know if he changes his mind.

Alejandro is more than happy to wait.

Fun little side note: Alejandro's got a bat form, and I already know exactly which species he is!

Meet the vampyrum spectrum! Also known as the spectral bat, or the great false vampire bat. They're carnivorous little guys who eat birds, rodents, and uniquely, other kinds of bats! Part of their natural habitat covers Peru, and they're also fun in that while most other bat species are polygynous where it's just one male with multiple females, these guys are mostly monogamous! Perfect for Alejandro!

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