#chris did not just drop dead

[ncutii-gatwa]

police brutality isn’t just in america. here in the uk, chris kaba, a black man, was shot and killed by a police officer two years ago. chris was unarmed but the cop still shot him in the head, killing him. today that very cop was just cleared of murder by a jury. i’m pretty sure a bullet cannot just lodge itself into a head accidentally but what does that matter eh. the guy was a cop, kaba was an unarmed black man. we know the story a hundred times over.

it isn’t just america. justice for chris kaba

[gutsfics]

since ive been rotating pre-transition Neel around in my head, ive decided that he's not public about it at all to the point that maybe 2 or 3 people even know that he was A.J. Warren

[mattsfavoritestar]

NEVER BE LIKE YOU, chris sturniolo

synopsis… (based on this ask ) or in which you used to treat chris terribly in highschool, now you’ve graduated and matured but you weren’t the only one who’s changed

warnings… mentions of bullying, rough sex, semi-public sex, degrading, edging, overstimulation, mean!chris, former bully!reader, creampie, perv!chris if you squint, unprotected p in v (WRAP IT B4 YOU TAP IT)

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

you used to tell yourself that you would never go for matt and nick’s little brother. yes, you know that they are triplets but chris always seem’d so childish and annoying in your eyes. he used to trail after you like a pet and make stupid flirty comments or compliments.

you thought that chris sturniolo was thee most aggravating person to walk the planet. yet here you were staring at him from across the room. you nudged your friend, “hey when did chris get so cute?” you whispered. your friend shot you a deadpanned expression then rolled her eyes. “after graduation, guess he decided to do the whole glow up thing” she responds.

chris used to be the scrawny kid with messy short hair. now his curls framed his face in a godly way and whenever he moved a certain way, his muscles and veins flexed. you also noticed that when you walked into the house, he didn’t even acknowledge you like he used to.

“why do you care?”

“hm?”

“i said why do you care anyways, didn’t you used to hate him or some shit?”

you shrugged your shoulders. no secret that you used to practically torture the poor boy as if he was some servant or lapdog. chris used to do literally anything if it ment you would reward him even if the gift was as small as allowing him to hold your hand for five seconds. it was laughable at the time the way he acting like a wounded puppy whenever you got mad at him for the slightest thing.

your heart started racing when he looked up and stared dead into your eyes. those blue eyes that you used to not care for now made your body feel heated and achy. you broke contact as you felt your thighs squeeze for some type of relief. “m’gonna go to the bathroom” you mumbled to your friend as you got up.

you looked over yourself in the mirror. you always took pride into your appearance, a habit that stuck since high school. you turned around and opened the door but was shocked when met with chris looking down on his phone.

“uhm, hey” you quietly say causing him to look up at you. a small smirk appeared on his face as he turned his phone off and leans onto the door frame. “hi” he replied. you tried going past him but was pushed back into the bathroom. chris closes the door behind him with the lock without breaking eye contact.

“what are you doing” you say cautiously ask as you look between him and the door. chris shrugs, “just thought i’d talk to you for a sec” he says. as chris walks closer to you, you walk backwards till your back brushes the sink. chris traps you with his hands on either side of you as he looks down with a mischievous smile.

“never thought i’d see that day where little miss royalty would get so nervous around me” he laughs. your breath started to pick up as he leans down closer and closer till your lips brush. you squealed in surprise when chris roughly turns you around so you were leaning on the sink with your back facing him.

you felt him breathing down your neck as his hands lightly trailed down your sides. you let out a sigh and let your head drop back onto his shoulder while your eyes closed. chris starts chuckling then removes his hands. “remember when you used to make me do your homework just so i could sit next to you?” he asks.

you opened you eyes and look at him with a sad expression. “m’sorry for treating you like that back then” you say in a small voice. chris roughly grabs your waist and pushes you off him. you gasped as you felt him bring your hips to meet his growing bulge. “i saw you staring at me earlier” he says, “didn’t know you let yourself go enough to want to fuck a loser” he sneered. you frowned to yourself at the memory.

“be serious for a second chris. i’d never fuck a loser like you” you laughed.

you couldn’t lie, you were a regina george back then. chris was such a sweet guy to you too, he always treated you like a princess even though you already had the royal status at school. you were his number one priority and you took advantage of that. you used him back then. now it was his turn to use you.

you bit your lip to hide the moan as chris grinded your lower half’s together. “chris everyone’s out there” you reminded him. chris laughs, “don’t be loud then. unless you want them to hear you act like a whore” he taunts. your dress was pushed up and your laced underwear was yanked down.

“who knew your clothes could get even more slutty after high school” chris grumbled. you always wore clothes that would be at the brink of the dress code. now that those bullshit rules can’t effect you, you wore even more revealing stuff whenever you didn’t have any important place to go to.

your breath hitched as you felt his thumb swipe the arousal from your folds. you looked up to the mirror infront of you as you saw chris suck his thumb off with a groan erupting from his throat. “waiting so long to taste you” he whispered. he brought his hand back down and inserted two fingers into your dripping cunt as he bit his lip.

you moaned as you locked eyes with him in the mirror then brought your hand up to cover your mouth. chris smiled as he worked his fingers in a rapid pace, not caring for how hard it was for you to keep your voice as low as possible. you rolled your eyes to the back of your head as you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

but chris saw your pleasured expression. he yanked his fingers out of you and slapped your ass. you whined at the lost feeling then whimpered as you felt chris get a tight hold on your hair, yanking your head back. “you don’t deserve to fucking cum” he grunted in your ear.

chris pulled his pants and boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock. a sigh of relief fell from his lips as he stroked himself slightly. he lined himself up to your wet hole then pushed in with slight aggression. a muffled moan left your mouth as you tightened the hand that covered it .

you heard chris breathing heavily and felt his fingers dig into your skin. he moved his hips slightly as if he was testing the waters meanwhile you were using his delay as time to try adjusting to his size. chris was definitely bigger than any other guy you fucked and you were starting to regret not taking his offer for a date two years ago.

as soon as chris decided that he was ready, he rocked his hips slowly then picked up the pace. his thrust were aggressive. harsh. needy. as if he wanted to fuck his anger into you. but also can’t get enough of you. you had one hand trying to balance yourself on the sink counter while the other still covered the moans and whimpers that fell from your lips.

“waiting so fucking long to stretch this pussy” he groans. somehow the aggression grew more rough and since chris was already a bit too big, it felt like he was abusing your cunt. you took your hand off your mouth then reached back to try to push him away. chris laughs as he roughly pins your hand onto the counter.

“are you trying to run from me? thought this is what you wanted” he snarled, “i always give you want you want, don’t i? fucking spoiled brat” his voice was laced with venom. you felt your eyes water but couldn’t tell if it was from pain, pleasure, or regret.

“mhm chris!” you squealed as you felt him brush your cervix. you caught a glimpse of his face, a smile as he bit his lip while watching you through the mirror. “‘member when you called me a whiny bitch? look at you now, crying on my dick” he laughs. you close your eyes as the vivid memory flashed into your brain.

“but you promised” he mumbled. you rolled your eyes, “don’t tell me you’re gonna cry you whiny bitch” you mocked.

“m’sorry! m’so sorry!” you cried. your knuckles grew white as your grip on the counter tightened. the familiar knot in your stomach reappeared, this time even tighter than before. “ch-chris! gonna cum!” you warned. his cock didn’t stop ramming into your now puffy cunt. “yeah? gonna make a mess on me?” he muttered.

you nodded repeatedly as you felt your self at the brink of an orgasm. your vision went blurry with white splotches as you felt yourself release on chris’s cock. “t-to much..” you tried saying in shaken voice. you couldn’t even breathe properly, it felt like he was rearranging your guts. the overstimulation was overwhelming but fuck it felt so good.

it finally dawned on you that this wasn’t for your pleasure but his. chris was actively using you as a sleeve to wet his dick and to get back at you for all those years. you felt him pull you closer as if he was hugging you from the back. you felt his sweaty forehead touching the back of your neck.

“finally get to fill you up- fuck” he moaned as you found yourself coming to your second orgasm. with the rest of your strength, you slammed your hand onto the counter as you felt yourself somewhat peeing on him. you heard chris whimpering as he tightened his hold on you and tried pulling you closer.

a series of curses left his mouth as his load pumped into you with sloppy thrust. you couldn’t help letting out a loud moan as chris gives you one final harsh thrust before pulling out. you felt your knees buckle after chris removes himself from you. you watched through your wet lashes as he fixes his clothes and pockets your underwear.

as chris exits the bathroom, you tried lifting yourself up with the help of the counter. you felt the thick sticky mixture of your fluids and his load dripping out of you. through the crack of the door you heard matt telling chris that everyone else left to get food then asked why you both took so long to which chris replied by saying ‘you needed help in the bathroom’.

[krosiefics]

send nudes • bang chan

M D N I 18+

Summary: You accidentally send a nude to Chan and well…he takes it as a chance to act on his hidden feelings

WC: 2.4k

Tags: smut, afab!reader, dom/tease!chan, porn with little plot, piv, unprotected sex (just don't), fingering, oral (f & m receiving), creampie, mutual pinning(?), handjob, chan is a tease, reader calls chan; chris, chan, christopher, channie), use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), not proofread, im prob forgetting some- sorry (brb gonna touch some grass)

“Shit shit shit!” You quickly pulled your shorts back up as panic spread throughout your body. You quickly look at the open messages to see if the picture has been seen yet. Ugh this is why you don’t send nudes! You screamed at yourself. About twenty minutes ago you were flirting over text with this random guy from tinder when it started escalating into pictures being sent, you took a picture and was going to send it to him but you unknowingly sent it to your best friend.

You hadn’t noticed until about five minutes ago when the tinder guy hadn’t replied yet, you noticed the notification of the image sent was under Chan’s contact and well now you’re trying to figure out how to delete the picture.

You already tried deleting it from your messages but that only deletes it on one end not both.

Suddenly the ringing of your phone fuels the flames of your anxiousness. You dwell on whether you should check the caller ID, peeking at the screen your heart drops, it’s Chan. “Oh fuck.” You snatch your phone, not answering it, before running out of your dorm, down the hall towards Chan’s dorm. His dorm isn’t far from yours so by the time you get there your phone is still ringing. As it’s about to hang up you finally answer it, banging on the front door.

The wood door swings open revealing a confused Chan. God you couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Hi,” Chan chuckles, not acting like he’s seen something that he wasn’t supposed to, you sigh in relief, “I was about to text you-”

“Don’t do that!” You cut him off, pushing past him to grab his phone. “Hey?!” He exclaims after you snatch his phone, Chan makes a move to grab but you quickly dodge him, opening his messages app.

“Don’t delete it!” Chan huffs out annoyed. You stop, dead in your tracks, Chan takes the chance to take his phone back, shoving it into his pocket. “What do you mean don’t delete it.” You burst, heat spreading throughout your face like a wildfire. When did he see it?! You thought to yourself as you took out your phone and looked back on your messages, it displayed ‘read 1 minute ago’.

“Chan…” You push, when he doesn’t reply simply wearing a smirk on his face you start getting even more flustered, “Christopher! What do you mean don’t delete it?!” Your face is as red as a tomato at this point, your heart pounding so fast you can feel it in your ear.

Chan lets out a bubbly chuckle, you only ever use his real name when you’re either pissed or are in a teasing mood- you are not in a teasing mood, “I’ve got blackmail. And besides, it's fun seeing you flustered.” The smirk he wore was just straight up menacing. “This kind of situation is weird and makes me flustered- Did you just save it?!” You shriek as you watch him take out his phone and scroll through your texts. Chan smirks at you as he shows his phone’s screen, the save button clearly pressed. “Why would even- Chris!” You cry out his name, he finally puts his phone down on the desk by his bed with a shrug.

“You forget I’m a man.” You stand crossed armed as you stare at your best friend, “Yeah okay, but keeping a nude of your best friend is kinda weird.”

“Would you rather me send you one too?” Chan asks calmly as if it weren’t the most absurd thing he’s ever said. You scoff, eyes blown out by his question, sure Chan’s a flirt and likes teasing you, but it's never actually gone this far between the two of you. Just a simple mistake opened this pandora box.

“Who was that meant for anyways?” The Australian asks, sudden curiosity leading him on. “That’s none of your business-“

���Well you sent me the photo, I should at least get an explanation, no?” Chan raises his brows. “The guy from my date the other day.” You admit embarrassingly, Chan lets out a laugh while shaking his head, “The one that you complained about for the next three hours after your date.”

“I was bored okay!” You throw your arms up in defeat, plopping down on his bed.

A few moments of awkward silence washed over the two of you- well more awkward for you- before your phone interrupted the silence. You checked the notification, rolling your eyes as you opened the message from Chan. Holy shit. The grasp you had on your phone loosened as the electronic tumbles onto your face, smacking you right on the forehead. “You that shocked by the picture?” Chan hums in amusement. You gape at him after massaging your sore forehead, “Well no shit, you just sent me a dick pic!” You shove your phone in his face.

On the screen was a picture of Chan’s crotch area. His gray sweats not hiding the boner he obviously sports, his veiny hands holding onto his intimate area. A sudden realization dawned on you, “Did you just take that?” You stared between him and the same colored sweatpants that he wore. Now it’s his turn to be flustered, sure he had fun teasing you but now thinking about it, it wasn’t exactly appropriate to take a dick pic in front of his best friend even if she wasn’t aware of his actions. Brushing it off, Chan shrugged with a smug face.

“God you’re infuriating sometimes.” You shake your head. “Oh c’mon, you can say it’s hot, your’s was. It’s the reason I’ve got a bone-“

“Chan!” You squeak, your hands covering your face. Chan was too blunt for you sometimes. “You still need help with this?” Chan says, gently guiding your hands down from your face to show you the picture that you had sent him earlier. You pout, thoughts in your head weren’t lining up to how your body was reacting, “Help?” You shake your head in confusion trying to understand what his words meant. Chan hesitantly trailed his hands to your inner thighs, instinctively you spread them apart which he takes as a go-ahead.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You stutter, realizing where this could be going, “We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t wanna.” Chan said, retrieving his hands from your legs. The warmth of his hands still burning your skin despite them not being there anymore. “No, I wanna-” Your mouth moved quicker than you could process, you slapped a hand over it. Chan raised a brow at you in his regular teasing manner, you simply shook your head at him, “Chan…you’re my best friend, I don’t wanna change that.” That was a lie, you did want to change that, you really want to change that, but losing Chan was something that always prevented you from ever telling him how you felt.

“Who says it has to change?” The curly haired boy leans over your body, dipping his bed at the weight. Your hands come up to his shoulders, not knowing whether to push him away or bring him closer. “Chris.” You sigh, eyes closing in thought. “Keep your eyes close, if you want me to stop just tell me…okay?” His words fanned across your cheeks as he spoke softly into your ear. You squirmed at his words but nonetheless kept your eyes shut.

A sudden touch to your thighs made you flinch, the hand hesitantly tapped your knee for your consent, nodding in response. Chan let out a shaky breath as his hands nudged your thighs apart, revealing the wet patch that stained the lining of your shorts. Did you get turned on by the tinder guy? No, it was by Chan and his insufferable teasing, he’s what got your arousal pooling. Chan hums, his breath breezing over your hot skin, sending shivers down your spine. “This okay? D’you trust me?” He asked as his fingered trailed along your throbbing cunt, you bit your lip in pleasure, nodding frantically, yearning for more friction.

Chan begins rubbing his thumb in circles on your clothed clit while his other fingers slip between your slick folds that stick to your panty. Moving your loose shorts to the side, you feel him dip his head down, licking a stripe up your cunt. “Channie.” You whine, hands flying to his curls, entangling them with your fingers. The sudden rush of pleasure has you opening your eyes, the sight of your best friend’s face between your legs, lickking at your most intimate area sends another wave of arousal straight to your core. Your thighs instinctively tense around his face, Chan gaze lifts to you at the action, locking your eyes and you're done. Chan’s eyes stared into you longingly, the smirk that made his way to his face when he sneakily maneuvered your underwear to the side had you writhing under his hold.

Chan continued his assault on your cunt with his mouth, sucking at your clit, swirling iit around your fold. His fingers brought you even closer to the edge as they ever-so-often sunk inside, never past his fingertips as if he was teasing you. That familiar knot formed in your stomach as your thighs began to shake, the movement not going unnoticed by Chan. “S-Stop!” You say closing your legs in an attempt to get him off, he sticks to his previous words and obliges to your command. “You okay?” Chan looks at you, a pang of worry flashing in his eyes, his mouth and chin was wet with what you’d assume is your arousal and his saliva mixed, he subconsciously licks his lips as you stare at them.

You nod in response before climbing onto your knees pushing him back onto the bed, “What are you- Y/N?!” Now it was Chan’s turn to turn pink, his heart pounded in his chest as he watched you pull the waistband of his sweatpants down revealing his hardened cock. “This okay?” You ask innocently, contradicting your actions. “Fuck yeah, this’s okay.” He sighed.

You stared at his dick, the very same one he had sent a few minutes ago, you never thought you’d ever be in this position with Chan. The tip was leaking with precum and the veins on the side evident from the lack of friction, he wasn't too big like the ones you’ve seen in those exaggerated pornos but he’s definitely above average. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping it a few times, precum coating it making it easier to slide up and down. “Jesus, fuck, you’re so pretty, such a good girl, baby.” Chan rambles as you lean down, placing a small kiss on the tip. Tongue trailing down along the veins before coming back to the tip and taking it into your mouth.

Rolling his head back in pleasure, Chan gently takes a fistful of your hair so that it doesn't get in your way. You hum in appreciation. Chan almost cums, the vibration of your hum going through his shaft towards that knot forming in his abdomen. Hollowing your cheeks, you attempt to take more of him but Chan stops you, pulling you off of him with a pop. “Why’d you- mmph.” The feeling of his soft, plump lips cuts you off. His lips were gentle yet rough against yours, lust and desire making the kiss messier. Without your lips coming apart, Chan guides you to the bed again, laying you down under him. Lips dancing with one another, he adjusts your shorts and underwear to the side again, prompting a gasp from you, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue alongside yours.

You moan into the kiss as he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance. Your eyes meet once more, he has that same worry in his eyes, asking if he can continue. “Fuck me Channie…please.” Before your words could fully come out he’s already snapped his hips into you, bottoming out and letting you adjust to his size. “You okay, sweetheart?” The pet name draws out an erotic moan from your lips, you nod frantically as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Chan places your knees atop his shoulders, leaning into you as his hips smack against the back of your thighs. The echo of wet noises bouncing off the dorm room’s wall, Chan has never been more grateful that his roommate, Minho, wasn't in town. “S’close, Channie.” You moan into his neck, your nails clawing at his clothed back. It barely occurred to you that you were both technically fully clothed. “God I like you so much, you know that baby?” Chan mumbled as he drilled into your cunt. “Channie, I like you too- oh my fucking God.” You curse as he reaches your g-spot, hitting it dead on. “Actually?”

“Mhm, shit, liked you for a long time.” You say between moans and whimpers, your climax nearing as your legs begin to shake. “Fuck, gonna make you cum. S’fucking pretty.” Chan slurred as his hand made his way to your clit, rubbing circles onto it. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, you don’t think you’ve ever orgasmed like that before.

“Almost there, where d’you want it?” Chan pants over your whines of overstimulation, “Inside, I’m on the- holy fuck- on the pill!” The sensitivity of your cunt begins to be uncomfortable. Your words send Chan over the edge, spilling his hot cum inside of you.

Chan slowly pulls out before plopping onto the mattress next to you. “You really mean it?” He pants, chest heaving. You look at him confused, your mind too hazy for anything at this point. “You like me?”

“Heh, yeah…I do.” Chan leans over and gives you a sweet kiss on the lips. Rolling out of the bed, Chan comes back to you with a towel and some water. “Thanks.” You smile, taking the bottle of water. “Lemme get you some clothes from the closet.” As he makes his way to the closet an idea pops into his head. Chan snatches his phone before walking into his shared walk-in closet.

The ding of your phone grasps your attention, you reach for it and read the most recent message. It’s from Chan.

Send nudes ;)

[dixons-sunshine]

A Risk | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to hide from a herd, Daryl sought cover in an abandoned cabin. However, he stumbled across a woman that threatened him, and he soon figured out that there was more to her than meets the eye.

Era: Prison, pre season four.

Warnings: Swearing, allusions to near death, walkers.

Word count: 1k.

A/N: Requested by @nikkicloudie. I hope you like this!

“I said: Lower. Your. Fucking. Weapon.”

Against his better judgement, Daryl slowly and hesitantly lowered his crossbow, allowing it to drop to the floor with a dull clink. Once his beloved crossbow was out of his grasp, he raised his hands above his head in surrender.

“I ain’t lookin’ for no trouble, lady,” Daryl spoke up, his ocean-coloured eyes flickering between the gun in your grasp and your face. He was searching for any change in your demeanour, for any sign that you would attack. “Jus’ passin’ through. M’hidin’ from that herd that’s ‘bout two miles from here. M’waitin’ ‘em out.”

Daryl could see the contemplation on your face. With a mere glance at your face, and the way your grip slightly loosened around the gun, the archer knew he was not in any immediate danger. However, he still did not let his guard down. Perhaps you were a master of deception, and you were simply playing him. He did not want to risk it.

“Go.” you finally voiced after a good while of silence. “There’s another cabin about a mile up from here. If you leave now, you’ll make it before the herd gets here.”

Daryl scoffed and shook his head. “Nah. I ain’t riskin’ it. M’not leavin’.”

“Well that’s too damn bad, buckaroo,” you retorted, your gun being raised and aimed at him once more. “I’m not about to risk my s—my life for some stranger. Leave, or I’ll shoot you, I swear to god.”

“Listen, lady. I ain’t—”

Before Daryl could finish his sentence, a loud crash came from another room, followed by a cry. Was he going insane, or did that sound like a little kid? However, before Daryl could do anything, you turned around and bolted towards the source of the sound.

With a frown, Daryl picked up his crossbow and slowly walked towards the room you had disappeared into. He raised his weapon, fully prepared for an attack, but the sight that beheld him had him stopping in his tracks.

A walker laid dead by the window. You were down on your knees, your gun discarded a few feet away from you, and in your embrace was a little boy; the little boy looked no older than three years old. Suddenly, it all made sense to him. The new world gave everyone all the reasons to be extremely defensive, but you had another reason. You had someone you wanted, needed to keep safe.

Your eyes flickered up to meet Daryl’s, and the archer could clearly see how glassy they had become. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out that the little boy had almost been that walker’s next meal. If you had not appeared when you had… Daryl did not even want to finish that thought.

“You’re okay, Chris. I got you, Baby. Mama’s got you,” you murmured to the little boy in your arms. You gently picked him up as you raised from the floor and allowed him to bury his face into your neck, his quiet whimpers and sniffles being muffled. You looked back at Daryl, your expression less guarded, but more broken.

At that moment, Daryl had already made up his mind. You were clearly just a mom trying to defend her son from the harsh reality that was the world outside, and you had viewed Daryl as a potential threat, and you had every right to be wary of him. He supposed he did not look like the most warm, inviting person ever, and he definitely did not blame you for wanting him as far away from your son as humanly possible.

“M’from a place not too far from here,” Daryl spoke up after a few moments of contemplating his options. He continued when he noticed he had your full attention. “S’a prison that we converted into a community. It’s safe and secure, with ‘bout fifty people walkin’ around and makin’ due.”

“Is that an offer?” you inquired, your hand rubbing soothing circles over your son’s back. “I mean, I just threatened to kill you.”

Daryl shrugged and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. “I would’ve been more terrified of ya if ya didn’t point yer gun at me, considerin’ the world we live in now.” Daryl’s lips involuntarily twitched into a small smile when he heard your light chuckle. “I only have three questions for ya, though.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Sure. Shoot.”

“How many walkers have ya killed?” he began, studying your expression closely.

It was your turn to shrug. “I don’t know. A lot.”

“How many people have ya killed?”

A small beat of silence passed. “One.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t about to allow him to kill my son.”

Your answers were more than sufficient, considering the questions you were being asked. He was about to say something, until he heard groaning coming from outside. He ushered you down, and quickly sprung into action. He closed the window and lowered himself down against the wall, right next to you. He turned his head to look at you, and saw how you quietly tried to shush your son, who had started fussing once he picked up on the shift in the mood.

“Mama,” he whimpered, instantly being shushed by you.

“It’s okay, Baby. Shh. It’ll be over soon, okay?” You turned your head and looked at Daryl, your expression desperate. “I don’t know if what you’re saying is true or not, but I can’t live like this anymore.” For added emphasis, you motioned towards the window, where dozens of walkers were walking past. “My son isn’t safe like this. Your offer is just a risk I have to take.”

Daryl nodded. “I know ya dun’ trust me, but I’d never endanger yer lil’ one like that. Ya have my word on that.”

A few beats of silence passed. “I’m Y/N, by the way. This is Chris.”

“Daryl,” Daryl told you. “M’Daryl. And I promise m’gon’ make sure ya get yer lil’ boy to safety. Ain’t gon’ let nothin’ happen to him.”

[chrissdollie]

rapper!chris x singer!reader hcs

a/n: lowkey a collab with @bambi-slxt bc of all the headcanons she sent me LMAOO thank u sweets!! <3

SFW

chri$ is definitely one of the more "soft" rappers. everyone knows that hes a lovesick puppy for you. he doesnt have ONE line including the words "my bitch". instead he replaces them with "my girl" OR "my wife" :((

i think he would 100% make an album fully dedicated to you. kinda like tyler the creator's "call me if you get lost" in a way. for example, in the song "HEAVEN TO ME", tyler explains his dreams. chris would rap about all of the things he wants to do with you and how he sees you in his life forever

he has many features on peace on the beach with my peach since its partially about your guys' sweet relationship! theres moments in the record where there are beautiful beats paired with your heavenly vocals and cute voice cracks while chri$ is dropping barssss (ill make a post ab lyrics i think he'd add)

sososososo supportive of your creative journey. he was with you as you wrote and planned out your extremely personal debut. he even helped out at the studio :c

but then you started adventuring some time after your 2nd-3rd album. you started experimenting with different genres/styles. you created storylines and visuals along with your music.

out of the two of you, chri$ is definitely more famous. anyhow, he got invited to the met gala and had u has his plus one obviously, where you both looked drop dead gorgeous!! i literally cannot see him wearing a basic ass suit and tie to the met. he has to be on your level and match your uniqueness which make you two stand out so much!

when you both got up the steps, he was being interviewed by emma chamberlin, who was also a fan of his. she asked about the creative process of his newly released album and he totallyy put you in the spotlight, saying "yn helped me a lott honestly. she's... literally a genius." he grins, turning to you while keeping his hand on your waist.

you guys like toying with the paparazzi when they're bothering you. you goofballs make silly faces right in the cameras so they back off

one time when you were being interviewed, your sweet boy wrapped his arms around your waist as he listened to you talk. you were a little nervous and stuttered a bit, but chris consoled you by rubbing small circles into your waist and whispering a gentle "it's okay baby" to your ear.

you fangirl on stage when you catch your boyfriend's eyes in the front row. sometimes you entirely stop what you're singing just to giggle and squeal "hiiii honey!!" while twirling your hair like a little girl. the audience cheers with screams when they realize chris is with them in the crowd-- but feels like its only you two in the stadium when he blows you a kiss (some corny shit he never thought he'd do) and mouth the words "i love you".

for the holidays, u two visit homeless shelters and childrens hospitals and perform for everybody <3

imagine just hanging out at the studio with him and your guys' friends. he's manspreading on a leather couch while massaging your feet resting in his lap as you write lyrics in your lap, your friends helping you out as you do.

you knew that somewhere down the line there was going to be some kind of beef. a popular rapper decided to call out chris for something he did years ago as a literal child. you both ignore it until he sends out a tweet about you. something around, "nd his bitch bad asf id hit fs but she a fuckin weirdass childish mf"

you ignore the fact he called u a "weirdass childish mf", you cant care less, many people dont vibe with ur ideas and thats okay!

u do however care about how his girlfriend would react to seeing him wanting to fuck you. and you'd met her before too, she was a little snobbish, but respectful nonetheless. you joked to your boyfriend about dropping your own diss track on him, but he actually seem intrigued. you shut it down almost immediately though, you didn't wanna make something small such a big deal

but at the next big event you guys went to, you found the rapper's girlfriend and showed her his tweet. she thanked you with a furious scowl on her face before she ran off and slapped the shit out of him in front of everybody

chris gets a custom made $5k chain that has ur name and little details that remind him of u around it :((

NSFW

speaking of that chain, he wears it whenever he pounds into you so you'll be reminded of how he's yours.

chris loves ur vocals so much on stage! he finds them beautiful, but he loves them even more in bed.

"cmon mama lemme hear that pretty voice"

in fact, you two created a song just to have playing in the background while you two get intimate

chris audio recorded him eating u out once and you saying, "oh, fuck chris, it's so good!" and he decided to use that as an adlib in his favorite songs OR disses he wrote about someone being a jerk to u

watching chris perform did things to you. seeing him sweat, brushing his gorgeous hair out of his face, putting in so much energy into his performance... it's intoxicating! sometimes you wish he'd just drop the mic, pull you onstage, and make love to you infront of the world.

he talks about marrying you while he's balls deep inside of your wet cunt :( saying how he wants to drop a humongous bag on your ring, give you the wedding of your dreams, and how he desperately wants to hear "missus sturniolo" from others' mouths

chris will totally pop up behind stage after a show and guide you to your dressing room not so subtly. you apologize to your manager before rushing to your private room like a giddy teenager. "wanna see her sweetheart, she wet for me righ' now? oh, there she is.." he coos as he bends down to his knees right in front of your pussy when you pull down your pretty pink stage costume.

@leah-loves-lilies @1everythingmustgo @star-sturn @junnniiieee07 @mattsneezing @freshloveee@freshsturns@emma4eva @r6diosturns @matthasmywholeheart @donthugmeimhot @blahbel668 @chrissturnsss @joanofarcily @mattscoquette @slutsturn @sturnioloremarker @ashley9282828 @jnkvivi @sturncakez @lanasturn @riasturns @st7rnioioss @strnlxlqve @starlace111 @mattsfavbigtitties @stvrlighht

[evie-sturns]

𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 - 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙤

summary: chris shows up at your window after an argument, you tell him to go away, but hes reluctant.

contains: smut, rough sex, swearing, teasing, slight spanking ,orgasm denial, aftercare!

————----•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•----------——

its only been a day since me and chris's argument, but to be honest, i'm already missing him. a lot.

i lie in bed, wearing panties and one of chris's shirts which he left at my house previously. my house feels strangely empty, its uncomforting.

i look up from my dimly lit phone, at my clock, resting on the wall 11:45pm. i roll over in bed, placing my phone down and resting my puffy eyes.

my heart drops, loud clanging noises echo from outside my window. i sit up quickly, grabbing my phone. my heart thumps as i hear footsteps on the metal roof. "fuck fuck fuck.." i whisper to myself as i stand up out of bed.

the footsteps abruptly stop, and then i hear a few soft taps on my window. i suck a deep breath in before approaching my window, pulling open the curtains.

my eyes widen, chris is staring back at me. i let out a loud scream as he looks at me.

after a few seconds of collecting myself i angrily open the window "what the fuck are you doing here!" i whisper. "can we talk.. please?" chris says calmly. i shake my head before slamming my window down and yanking my curtains shut.

i throw myself back into bed, wrapping myself in the covers as i feel tears well in my eyes. just the sight of him makes me upset.

im expecting to hear his footsteps disappear, but instead i hear dead silence from outside my window, followed by a loud thump and the bushes rustling.

did chris just fall off my roof into the flower garden.

a small smirk plays at my lips, of course, chris sturniolo fell off my roof.

after a few minutes, i hear the metal clanging of my roof for the second time tonight. hes back.

his footsteps stop, then more taps on my window. i sigh before dragging myself out of bed, and yanking my curtains back open. this time hes holding a single flower, with a sorry look painted on his face.

i open my window "go away chris." i mumble "please let me in, im not going away." he sighs as he grips the daisy in his palm.

i stare at him for a few seconds before opening my window, i take a step back, allowing him inside my room.

he climbs inside, chris is covered in dirt and grass, his hair is stuck to his forehead as he stares at me. just now i realise what i'm wearing.

he sticks a hand straight out, offering me the flower. i try to hold back the smile which is tugging at my lips as i take it, placing it on my bedside table. chris's cheeks flush as he looks me up and down.

"wearin' my shirt while we're mad at each other hm?" he says playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "fuck off." i mumble.

"look, im so sorry about yesterday. if i'm being honest i was totally in the wrong." he says, fidgeting with his nails.

"i know." i bite back as i look up at him.

he tuts before shaking his head. "look, i didn't just come here to fuck, i want to genuinely apologise."

"who said we were gonna fuck?" i say, folding my arms. without another word he walks over to me, picking me up by my thighs before slamming me down on the matress.

"i did, cause those panties are turning me the fuck on." he growls as he yanks them down. i moan lightly as he reaches between my legs, "pathetic, wet all over your thighs hm?"

i groan as he pulls of my shirt, toying with my breasts "chris.. stop teasing" i whine impatiently.

"maybe if you didn't have such a fucking attitude, you'd already be taking my cock by now." he says as he rubs my clit lightly, i buck my hips up, desperate for pressure. "needy, aren't you." he sighs as he unbuckles his belt.

"turn around." he demands "go on, on your hands and knees."

my eyebrows furrow, but i comply anyways. he grabs my ankles, pulling me to the edge of the bed.

smack

his belt collides with my ass, "chris!" i yelp as he rubs where he just spanked me "you want pressure, you're getting fucking pressure." he groans.

smack

his belt lightly smacks my clit from behind, causing my eyes to water. i let out a soft whimper, before i can open my mouth again i hear his jeans drop the the floor. i arch my back even more on the bed, my chest pressing against the matress as i look over my shoulder.

"fuck!" i yell as he slams into me, giving me no chance to adjust to his size, he thrusts into me, hitting deeper and deeper each time. the room fills with my screams of pleasure and chris's grunts. i grip the pillows as my eyes pour tears from the intensity, without warning i clench around chris, orgasming.

he quickly pulls out, painting my back with white ribbons. i collapse onto my stomach as chris flops down next to me before rolling me onto him. my head buries in his neck as he holds my ass tightly, the tears slow as i catch my breath.

"im so sorry baby, are you okay? was i too rough?" he says frantically. hes met with no response, just a small groan. "hey hey, talk to me please." chris says rubbing my back. "just intense.." i whisper "really good though.." i continue.

we lie in silence for a few minutes before i break it.

"chris?"

"mhm?" he whispers

"did you fall off my roof earlier?" i ask

"possibly.."

————----•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•----------——

omg this was lowkey freaky for me but hope yall enjoyed!!

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘 | 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where the weight of Matt's actions gets the best of him, and he tries everything to receive his girl's forgiveness.

WARNING: Fighting, cursing, crying, smut (mdni), slight praise kink. Angst with a happy ending!

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anons and @ivoncheetooo1239

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 1

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Matt sighed deeply as he parked his car at an abandoned gas station. He closed his eyes tightly as his index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his own nose. His body was completely tense, as if someone had thrown a sack of potatoes over his shoulders and hadn't removed it until now.

The boy reopened his eyes seconds later, looking vacantly at the pitch black surrounding him before seeing out of the corner of his eye his phone screen light up for the thousandth time, alerting him of a new notification. He picked up the device, unlocking it and scrolling through the notifications bar.

His heart seemed to stop pumping blood to his body instantly, his face taking on a pale color as he saw more than 20 new messages and thousands of missed voice calls coming from Chris.

His brain seemed to go on red alert as his mind screamed Y/N's name, and then he finally revisited the memory of what he did to his own girlfriend just over an hour ago, the smoky fog finally dissipating from behind his eyes.

Matt felt like his chest was burning while his heart accelerated strongly. His arms momentarily lost strength, almost dropping his phone.

His eyes flicked through the messages before tossing the device onto the passenger seat, turning the key in the ignition and driving back.

He stepped on the accelerator with full force, exceeding all permitted limits and passing all red lights. He knew he would wake up the next day with a new ticket - or several -, but that was his last concern at that moment.

His orbs were fixed on the road, his brow furrowed as his mind rattled off the words he threw at his girl, his precious girl. If he could, Matt would go back in time right then and there, so he wouldn't break his promise to never hurt and abandon her.

Matt turned his steering wheel abruptly when their house appeared on his eyesight, slamming the break in front of the garage door, wasting no time in parking correctly. His hands quickly unlocked the doors, throwing his body out of the driver's seat and slamming it behind him, the dull thud echoing through the lonely night.

The boy's hands shook as he fumbled for the front door key, cursing under his breath each time it seemed to slip through his fingers.

Finally, after a few long seconds, he was able to open it, closing it slowly so as not to wake Nick, not wanting to involve another person in his huge mistake.

His steps were quick down the stairs, stopping in front of the familiar white door. The boy took a deep breath before turning the handle, pushing it slightly.

Matt's eyes met Y/N quickly, pain hitting his heart like a stake at seeing her in such a vulnerable state; Her eyes - despite being closed - were swollen and her face was wet from the last tears she shed before falling asleep.

A rude sound caught his attention, his gaze meeting Chris's, who stood up from his chair abruptly. His eyes held a fury that Matt didn't remember ever seeing before, while his shoulders were tense with nervousness.

Before Matt could utter a word, Chris pulled the collar of his shirt, bringing his face closer to his own. Chris's nostrils were flared from his heavy breathing, hitting Matt's face.

"If Jimmy was here, you'd be dead. That's no way to treat a woman." Chris rasped, his voice low but full of anger. "Fix your mistakes, or I'll end you."

He pulled away, roughly letting go of Matt's shirt, watching him with his right eyebrow raised and crossed arms, waiting for his next move.

Matt swallowed hard, biting his bottom lip hard, feeling the sensation of crying rise through his veins. He quickly turned his back on Chris, walking over to his brother's bed with tentative steps.

His hands lightly pulled the duvet down, exposing the fragile body covered in the pink sweatshirt set. Matt hooked his arms under Y/N's neck and knees, pulling her up carefully, watching her eyes move beneath her eyelids quickly. A sign of a nightmare.

Matt hugged her closer to his body, walking past his brother with his head down in shame, leaving the room and going up the stairs slowly, not wanting to wake her with every movement of each step.

Upon arriving in their respective bedroom, the boy took her to the bed, placing her body gently on the soft mattress.

"M-Matty?" The fragile voice echoed like lightning in Matt's chest.

Matt sighed, closing his eyes tightly as he crouched down, getting into a squatting position. The boy rested his arms on the mattress, bringing his face slightly closer to hers, watching her eyes slowly open.

"You came back. I thought you left me." Y/N whispered, her lips trembling as her eyes filled with fresh tears. "Would you really leave me?"

Matt felt his heart being crushed by her words, his cheeks burning, as if he had been slapped. He swallowed hard, mentally calling himself every worst name possible.

"No, no, no, baby! I would never leave you-" He shook his head repeatedly, his brow furrowing in such a way that he was sure it would leave marks.

You already did.

"But... You said you'd stay forever, and then you left me out in the cold, alone." A sob escaped Y/N's lips, her weak body shaking incessantly. "What did I do? Why would you do that to me?"

Matt felt his own eyes filling with tears, blinking them quickly to ward off the tears. The boy bent over his girl, hugging her head gently, stroking her hair with his fingers.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love. I fucked up. Badly." An ugly sob escaped Matt's throat, cutting off his sentence. He closed his eyes tightly, the taste of his tears touching his tongue. "I love you so much, I'm so fucking sorry. I know that this doesn't change my actions, and trying to find a plausible explanation for why I acted that way won't erase what I did." His eyes travel across Y/N's features, seeing an ocean of hurt in her eyes. "If I could, I would go back and remake our day all over again."

He paused momentarily, swallowing hard.

"All the work we are getting with the 6 million and the new things on the channel has taken a toll on me. I missed you so much, Y/N, you have to believe me. I don't know what's gotten into me, I just got so upset because I wasn't seeing you as much as before. God, I was so selfish." Matt shook his head, biting his bottom lip hard. "I love you, and I never want to hurt you, not again. I was on the wrong, I fucked up with you."

His hands shook as they found her cheeks, caressing the wet skin.

"I'm so sorry." His voice now was a mere whisper, pain present in his tone.

"I-I understand. I also made a mistake, I should have warned you that I had to work overtime and... Give you space, I know I can be a lot sometimes. I never wanted you to come pick me up out of pity or obligation-"

Matt shook his head repeatedly, silencing her by guiding her head slightly so that she looked him in the eyes. His fingers working to brush the loose hair from her face.

"Don't say that. Please. You did nothing wrong. I love taking care of you as I take you to work and pick you up... It was my fault. I was an asshole, a terrible boyfriend, I- fuck..." He presses his lips into a thin line, stopping the sob that was about to come out. "I left you alone, what the hell was I thinking?"

"It's okay." Y/N whispers, lowering her eyes to the mattress, feeling her chest burn in pain from seeing him so distressed.

"Shh, no. It isn't okay." Matt denies it, his fingers touching Y/N's chin lightly, forcing her to look at him again. "I don't fucking deserve your forgiveness." He was pleading with his eyes for her to understand that she was not the one to be blamed.

Y/N nods while sniffling, closing her eyes as she feels her fingers caress her face as if she were made of porcelain.

"I love you. So much." Matt says. His hands cup her face, bringing his own closer, touching their noses in an eskimo kiss. "I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated it like a mantra, sighing when he felt his girlfriend's ragged breaths so close to his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry."

Their faces were equally wet with tears.

"It's okay, I'll forgive you at some point. Just... Don't ever do it again. Please." Y/N plead in a vulnerable whisper, half opening her eyes, before closing them again as she feels Matt's lips caress hers.

"Never, I'll never do anything like that again. I promise. I'll take care of you forever." He assured, nodding his head. "What can I do? How... What can I do to make you forgive me?" His tone was full of despair.

Y/N pondered momentarily, her heart beating heavily in her chest. Her hands snaked across the duvet until they reached Matt's wrists, wrapping her fingers gently around them. She pushed her head forward, lightly bumping her nose against his, touching their lips almost imperceptibly.

"Make love with me. Show me how sorry you are. Show me how much you love me, Matt. Please." She begged softly, her eyelashes caressing her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered, hiding her orbs.

Matt felt his breathing stop, his mind seeming to process what she asked. He curved his spine higher up the mattress, sealing his lips on Y/N's quickly, before pulling away, but not enough to lose the warmth of his face against his own.

"Are you sure? I don't want to take advantage of your vulnerability." His tone, despite being anxious, had hints of hesitation, not wanting to invade his girl's space after such a traumatic event.

"Please, Matty. I need to feel you. I need you to love me." Thick tears rolled down Y/N's cheeks, her tone full of anguish and lust, a strange mix, but one that matched perfectly at that moment.

Matt didn't blink, pushing himself up off the floor before kneeling on the mattress, helping Y/N lift her upper body.

He rested his right hand on the bed while his left one gently held his girl's jaw, as if she was made of glass and could break at any moment.

The boy brought his face closer to hers again, taking her lips in an intense kiss. His blue eyes closed at the sensation, his warm tongue caressing Y/N's bottom lip, asking for entry, which was quickly granted.

Their tongues started a beautiful dance, the taste of tears mixed with saliva. Whimpers escaped Y/N's throat, her hands flying to the back of Matt's neck, lightly tugging at the curly strands.

Matt moved nimbly onto the duvet, kneeling between his girl's legs and using both of his hands to guide her down, squeezing the spot below her breasts, just above her ribs, so that her back lay against the mattress again.

He bent his torso over Y/N's chest, keeping his weight supported on his right hand while his left one caressed her cheek, never once breaking the kiss.

Y/N snaked her hands around Matt's shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles caused by his position, desperate for contact.

Her fingers went down her boyfriend's abdomen like warm water, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up slowly. Matt broke the kiss for a second, allowing her to pull the piece of clothing off his body.

His large hands worked on ripping off Y/N's hoodie gently, admiring every bit of her exposed skin, and mentally thanking her for being braless.

He dropped the heavy piece to the floor, lowering his spine again and sealing her lips, their tongues now in a slower pace, pain giving way to love.

Matt ran his right hand down Y/N's breasts, caressing her nipples just momentarily, before moving further down, trailing his fingertips across her stomach and navel, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

He touched the waistband of her sweatpants lightly, breaking the kiss momentarily to draw in air, which filled his lungs like water on dry ground. His eyes wandered over the girl's hopeful expression, taking that as a go-ahead.

Y/N lifted her head from the mattress slightly, pressing their mouths together again, craving the contact.

Matt smiled against her sensitive lips, finally running his hand through the layers of clothes, moving down until he found Y/N's pleasure point.

His fingers rubbed circles around the already swollen clit, receiving nasal sighs from the girl below him, who raised her hips in search of more contact.

He took his fingers further down, slipping a finger between her folds, her wetness helping him to move better. He gathers a bit of it before slowly introducing two digits.

Matt pulled his lips away from Y/N, his blue eyes traveling over her features contorted in pleasure as she felt his long fingers going deep inside her. He felt like he could admire her like that forever; cheeks flushed from all the crying and pleasure, mouth slightly open - from where gasps and sighs escaped -, brow furrowed and eyes closed.

That was his private paradise.

"Matt, please." Her voice came out in a faint whisper, a silent plea for more.

The boy didn't take long, lifting himself onto the mattress to have greater access, dragging the sweatpants and panties down his girl's legs slowly, not wanting to hurt or rush her.

He removed his own pants and boxers, returning to his initial position between his girlfriend's legs. Matt lowered his torso, spreading small, wet seals across her belly toward her breasts.

His hands gently held Y/N's heels, pushing them so that she bent her knees and placed the soles of her feet on the mattress, opening her legs wider.

A breathy moan escaped the girl's lips as Matt gently kissed one of her nipples, the slightly chilled air of the room hitting the saliva on her hot skin, goosebumps rising through her body as a result.

"Is it good, baby? I'm making you feel good, hm?" Matt questions knowingly. "Y'so pretty. Even when you cry. My pretty girl."

He stroked the skin between the valley of her breasts with the tip of his nose, before moving up further, managing to see Y/N nod her head repeatedly in response, her cheeks wet from her tears.

Matt pressed his forehead to hers, their heavy breaths mixing as he looked down momentarily, taking his cock in his right hand, pumping it a few times, a wince escaping his lips at the sensation.

His blue eyes met hers, silently asking if he could continue. In response, Y/N's right hand snaked up his torso towards the small of his back, pressing down lightly, while her left hand squeezed the biceps of his occupied one.

Matt lowered his hips, brushing his red tip between her folds. He moved his hips gently, slowly pushing into her. A unison moan escaped both of their lips, Y/N closing her eyes tightly at the feeling of invasion while Matt kept his open, taking note of her every expression.

The boy eventually started picking up his pace, going with slow and shallow thrusts, sighs escaping his mouth, accompanied by breathy moans from Y/N.

"Matt- Oh." Her mouth opened in a perfect O as she felt Matt hit a specific spot inside her that made her see stars. "D-don't stop. Please."

"I won't, my love. I'll never let you go. Never again." Matt promised, his hips moving to deepen his thrusts.

Tears fell from Y/N's eyes due to the overwhelming sensations, the weight of the previous events still hurting in her heart, mixing with the immense pleasure that the boy was presenting her.

Matt sealed each of her tears with his lips, whispering sweet nothings and little apologies, along with huge declarations of love.

A sob escaped Y/N's mouth, her teeth working to clamp down on her lower lip in an attempt to stop the loud, ugly sounds from keep escaping.

"Hey, hey, sweet girl. I'm here for you. You're so important, the best girl out there. I love you so much... M'so sorry." He murmured against her lips lightly, his own heart aching with each tear that fell her pretty eyes. "Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?"

"N-no, please. I need you, I need to feel you." Y/N responded desperately, shaking her head, lifting her head off the mattress and sealing their lips in a messy kiss.

"It's okay, it's alright." Matt responded gently against her mouth. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

His movements never stopped, Matt alternated the rhythm between slow and deep, reaching places inside Y/N never reached before, feeling her hot, spongy walls pressing him into a delicious tightness.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck." Y/N moaned against Matt's chin, their faces moving messily against each other from the now faster movements. "P-please." She cried.

"I love you so much, so fucking much." Matt panted back, fucking her with a little more urgency, chasing her and his own orgasm.

It didn't take more than five thrusts, and Y/N felt her entire body tremble, her legs instinctively wanting to close - being blocked by Matt's hips - while her belly contracted. Her chest rose slightly from the mattress as her spine arched from the intense pleasure that hit her.

Her eyes saw little stars as she rolled them tightly, Matt's name escaping her lips like a mantra.

The sight and feeling of his girl's body shaking against his brought Matt's orgasm to the surface, hitting him hard. A moan escaped his throat as he buried himself deep inside her pussy, feeling his cock throbbing against the walls that seemed to want to crush him.

Matt pressed his nose against Y/N's cheek, breathing in her scent as he felt the sensations of his orgasm slowly subside.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Y/N whispered, still in a post-orgasm trance, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged, her legs still having small spasms.

Matt kept his eyes fixed on her face, watching her come down slowly, rubbing his thumbs on her hipbones to ground her.

"Y'with me, babe? S'all for you, my love. Always." Matt slurred, pressing his lips against his girl's warm, flushed cheek. His left hand went up her body to her face, wiping away the traces of tears. "I'm so sorry, petal." He asked again, his chest still aching.

"S'okay, I forgive you." She nodded, kissing his left shoulder lightly, her eyes heavy with sleep from exhaustion and excessive crying.

"I'm going to fill the bathtub and give you a relaxing bath, okay? M'gonna take care of you, sweet girl." Matt spoke softly, moving his hips slowly, taking his cock out of her, receiving a small sound of discomfort in response. "Shh. I know baby, I know." He whispered. "I'm gonna grab some snacks from the kitchen, so you can eat while I wash your body. How does that sound, pretty girl? Hm?"

"S'good. Please." Her voice came out in an almost incomprehensible whisper, her eyelids serving as curtains for her heavy eyes. She could feel her head floaty and her heart beating in a rhythmic rhythm, her skin warm with euphoria.

Matt sealed her forehead with his lips for long seconds, closing his eyes and breathing in the natural scent of Y/N's skin.

He still felt the guilt eating him alive, promising himself he would never again let his emotions get the best of him. He would take care of her, his best girl.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @iammattswife @ilovethesturniolotriplets @disturbedwoodelf @sturnzsblog @mattsneezing @sillyfreakfanparty @firexovni @iloveneilperry @jlb20416 @strnlsblog @twdfjhsdjk

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[willyoubemycherryy]

“You tuff, huh?” (M.Sturniolo)

𝑶𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓➬ 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒘/ 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏❦

“𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝒂𝒔𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖.”

𝑰𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔: 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍 𝒃𝒄 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆���� 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑷𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑶𝑾𝑵😭😭😂, 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, ‘𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏’ 𝒊𝒇𝒚𝒌𝒚𝒌, 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒆𝒙𝒑1𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 ✪𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒔𝒎𝒔, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑, 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 )𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝑹𝑳 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔), 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔

.༒.

For the record, your relationship isn’t toxic.

“And who do you think you are bitch???The equalizer?!!”

Hook.

You just liked to start stuff sometimes when you’re bored.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

Like the current argument, for example.

“I MEAN YOU ALWAYS TRY TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO LIKE YOU RUN SHIT AND YOU DON’T because your a fucking PUSSY!”

Matt raises his eyebrows and shouts even louder, yelling straight in your face as a thrill rushes through you.

“Look now you’re just saying anything so if you’re gonna talk outta your ass, at least turn around so I can hear ya better!”

“BYE!! And if you’re gonna talk out of YOUR ass, shake that shit too money so I don’t get bored listening to you!!”

Line.

Matt goes completely silent at that and that was when it dawned on you why you shouldn’t intentionally piss him off.

….but you couldn’t help it. It was always so hard to get a rise out of him and sometimes you just wanted to see him let it out. Everything he gets frustrated or annoyed at, attitude always looked so hot on him so if you squint, you were honestly doing him a well intentioned(not) favor.

The air sparks with tension as Matt steps to you. Looking up, his nose touches yours as you stand chest to chest, his heaving in irritation and yours in anticipation.

It’s dead silent.

Chris and Nick left as soon as you got Matt to yell back, claiming that if you wanted to act like the highest in the room then they’re making it out of there first. You couldn’t blame them.

The sound of Matt taking a deep breath makes you jump as he stares you down and you throb at how done he looks.

“What did you just say to me?”

Sinker.

:

:

:

:

Matt manhandles you onto your back, tearing your clothes off and tossing them away as you gasp in delight.

You whine as Matt’s teeth graze over your chest, that firm tongue licking down between them before lavishing attention over your nipples; they grow and harden beneath his tongue, becoming flushed and puffy. You grind your hips up, panting, pushing his face hard against your tits.

“Suck harder, god –,” you cry out as Matt bites down hard on one of your nipples, grinding the flesh between his teeth and tugging. The pain of it shoots through your body, right to your pussy, each new bite making your condition even worse. If you don’t get fucked soon you might just scream.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me –,”

“Tell me who the fuck you was talking to earlier then,” Matt snarls in response, spitting the words against your cheek before kissing you hotly, shoving two fingers deep inside your dripping pussy; it clenches around his fingers, sucking him in, desperate for something, anything.

You lift yourself onto hands and knees; dropping your chest to the ground so your ass is high in the air, back arched beautifully.

“Baby, please…”

The sight of your pretty cunt so needy and flushed and slick is enough to have Matt’s cock raging hard. He gets to his knees, trying to steady his shaking hands as he positions the head of his cock at your hole. The folds kiss the head of his cock, seeming to suck him in before he even penetrates. “Say you’re sorry, sweetheart,” he breathes. You try to push your hips back but he holds you firmly by the hips.

“Please! M’sorry…wasn’t talking to y-,” you repeat your apology but this time your voice is torn by a sob.

Matt snaps.

He slams his hips forwards, his cock pushing into you in one slick thrust. Holy fuck, the stretch hurts so good your back is arching even deeper as your hips quiver. The head of Matt’s cock has bullied past the tight ring of your entrance and is pressed flush against your cervix, huge thick and hot.

Matt doesn’t take the time to pace himself. He can’t. He needs to fuck your smart ass up. There’s a fire burning at the base of his spine that he can’t put out; it spurs him on like a wild animal as he pulls out slowly, watching as the sticky strings of precum draw out between them; his cock is already dripping with your juices, the lips of your tight cunt dragging him along, desperate to keep him inside. Then he’s slamming inside again, hard enough to send you jerking a little over the bed, the breath kicked clean out of your lungs.

His pace is brutal. Matt’s hips pound harshly, his thrusts deep and long and fast. The room is hot and smells like sex already, full of your wan moaning and the sound of wet skin. Matt is so consumed by pleasure he can barely see, his cock enveloped by the tightest heat he’s ever experienced in his life; he’s quite convinced he could fuck you forever.

Of course he’s fucked you long before this. Whenever he’d seen you with your quick wit and soft skin, the man’s immediate reaction had been lust. And now here he is, buried balls-deep inside the same beautiful girl that drives him crazy daily. But you set him off with your attitude.

Like hell he’s going to go easy.

“I’m going crazy,” you moan, voice high and breathless. Matt’s hands slam down to the bed on either side of your head, then, lithe body bending further over yours and hammering deeper, deeper, deeper while you scream–

“Cum,” Matt snarls and bites down hard on your flushed ear. His thrusts only become stronger at the angle; he uses his weight to drive himself down, and soon Matt’s body is smothering yours into the mattress, hips moving in deep, fast thrusts.

“Squirt all over my dick. Show me you’re sorry.”

The words do it.

You let out a muffled scream, humping your hips up desperately as much as you can as you cum – finally – a pressure being released from the deepest parts of you. Your body shakes, convulses, moves in ways it’s never moved before until you collapse boneless against the sheets. Your consciousness is in pieces and all you can do is breathe.

Matt, however, isn’t finished. The sight of you collapsed half-unconscious beneath him – because of him – drives him on, and he uses his hands to pull your limp hips into the air again.

He uses you like a doll, with you only managing a few weak whines; your cunt is a wet, sopping mess between his legs and Matt’s passage is easy and slick. He pounds at your cunt, his skin searing as his abdomen coils tight and hot. “You won’t ever talk to me like that again, got it?,” Matt breathes harshly. “Y-yes! I–,” He grits his teeth, cutting you off with a groan as he stills, pressing himself deep inside you as he cums, load pouring into your body beneath him. Your hips buck weakly against his grip, molten walls throbbing around Matt’s cock, tightening as you feel him release inside you.

Matt sits back on his haunches, breathing hard. His cock slips from your cunt and you collapse once more against the covers, globs of cum dribbling from your raw, gaping hole. His chest heaves as he gathers his breath, a strange sort of serenity taking over him as he turns you over.

He kisses you like he loves you, because he does, and checks in on you.

“We good?” He asks and your delirious sigh makes him giggle.

“Never better…”

♡︎ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ, ᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴏʟʟᴀʀ😌

[amyrahrose]

Content warning: Sukunaxreader smut, penetration, multiple positions, dominant Sukuna! , unprotected sex (Wrap it up!), pet names, Sexual theme, Adult theme, talking her through it, although it is sometimes not mentioned <READER IS BLACK FEMALE CODED>, BUT ALL ARE WELCOME TO ENJOY! ❤️

Authur's Note→ 18 and Under, GET TA STEPPIN! I know for sure this will be broken into parts, however I'm not sure how many parts will be to this. I just decided to get back into writing little dabbles here and there so I'm honestly just testing the waters with this. Slightly proofread (English is my first language, but even the baddest of Bitches still make mistakes! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) ) I do hope you guys enjoy! 🤎

Synopsis: You’ve decided that you would begin your fitness journey. Accompanying your best friend, today’s the day where you’ll being taking working out and going to the gym seriously (well kind of). Lacking motivation and ready to go back home to lounge around to watch some TV and pig out, that all changes when suddenly you meet this drop dead gorgeous as hell man. Will he be the inspiration you need to continue your new lifestyle?

Part 1 found here →→ GYM RAT: PART 1

w.c» 2.1 K

It was Tuesday night, and you found yourself pacing back and forth in your apartment bedroom, forgetting that you had Jade on Facetime to help you pick an workout outfit to wear to the gym with Sukuna tomorrow. 

“Girl I don’t know why you’re stressing over an outfit, ya’ll going to the gym not Ruth’s Chris.” Jade rolled her eyes at you jokingly. She thought it was cute how you were trying to make sure you were prepared for your gym date with Sukuna, but she also knew how bad you can overthink things, causing you to freak-out and panic. 

“I know, I know but I still want to look like I’ve been to the gym before.” You stated back desperately. You know it sounds silly, but you wanted to make a good impression, even if it was just a workout session. 

“Honestly Y/n, I swear you set unrealistic goals. You could show up in a trash bag and that man would still be into you.” Jade tried convincing you but to no avail. You were dead set on having the perfect workout attire to flaunt in for Sukuna. 

“Well what about this, oh no wait what about this one?” You had two different sets in both of your hands, shoving one after the other in-front of the screen for Jade to critique. 

Realizing that nothing she was saying was going to help the situation she caved in and took a good look at both outfits. The first was a high-waisted leggings and sport bra set in a rich, deep brown color and the other was an all into one, low cut design with a low scoop back and cross-body straps in all black. Remembering how Sukuna was looking at you as if he was going to devour you, she figured the later would surely set him over the edge. 

“Let’s go with the all black, give my man something to work with.” Jade cackled out while wiggling her eyebrows up and down at you. You laughed nervously because you knew she was going to pick that one. To be honest, you wasn’t sure why you grabbed that one in the first place when you set out to go to your local department store shopping for gym attire. When you seen it you knew it was something that was going to turn heads and demand attention, more importantly Sukuna’s attention, prompting you to hurry up and toss it inside your shopping cart before deciding against it. But now you wish you did change your mind. You knew you could pull it off, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you would be coming off too strong, or desperate, by wearing it. 

“You asked for my opinion and I gave it to you. You’re going to look amazing in it Y/n. You’ll definitely get worked out- uh I mean get a good work out in it.” Jade said quickly before you caught her statement. Noticing you were still too wrapped up in choosing between the two outfits, she blew out a breathe of relief at you not catching what she said. That most definitely would’ve sent you in a frenzy and make you not want to go to the gym at all. 

“I know, but are you sure? Like really, really sure.” You asked again. You knew you were too much inside of your head about the matter, but you needed reassurance. Looking back up to Jade you caught the look she was giving you and knew she was about to give you a piece of her mind when all of a sudden you squealed in shock from the incoming call flashing on your screen. 

“Y/n what the hell is wrong with you?” Jade asked bewildered. She watched as you hurried and ran to your vanity looking over your appearance before rushing back to her wide eyed. 

“It’s him, he’s Face timing me!” You stated, looking back at Jade in shock. It took her a moment to figure out who it was you were talking about before she smiled devilishly and wiggled her eyebrows once more. 

“Well what are you doing still on the phone with me? Answer him! Oh and show him your choices for tomorrow and see what he thinks.” She proclaimed. Before you could argue, she hung up the call leaving you to fend for yourself. 

Shaking your head and exhaling out a deep breath, you answered Sukuna’s face time call with a small smile. 

“Heyyy you.” You answered shyly. You mentally slapped yourself for how you answered the call. 

“What am I, 12?” You thought to yourself. 

Sukuna’s deep laugh pulled you out of your head, making you look at him and his surroundings. He was obviously at the gym, you heard the clanking of weights and the gym’s music in the background. He was staring back at you, looking like sex himself. His hair pushed back with sweat, making you just now notice how it was dyed pink, and a hue of pink across his cheeks signaling that he must have just wrapped up his workout session. 

“What’s up ma?” His raspy, deep voice sounded off into your phone’s speaker. The sound stirring up a feeling deep inside your stomach, making you want to record his voice to be played over and over. 

“Uh nothing much, I was just on the phone with Jade. You know, nothing too crazy.” You replied with a small smile. You kept your gaze transfixed on Sukuna, taking in his handsome features. 

“God this man is so fine.” 

“Mh, what was that mama?” He asked while he placed his phone down. He was now in the guy’s locker room, checking himself out in the mirror. 

“Shit”, you whispered to yourself, “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” You answered, half stuck on the fact he heard you and also the new nickname he’d given you. Your brain was short fusing at the sight of him now peeling off his sweat drench compression shirt, revealing his abs to you once again. Your mouth watered at the sight while you unconsciously clenched your thighs together. If he pulled the stunt in-front of you tomorrow there was no way in hell you were going to make it through the workouts. 

“Oh yeah, what ya’ll were talking about?” Sukuna asked, trying to hold in his smirk. He most definitely heard your remarks and he knew exactly what he was doing by taking off his shirt, soaking up your reaction. He felt he dick come to life by the sight of you clenching your thighs together. How he wished he was over your place right now, seating comfortably in between them. 

“Well.. she was uh-she was helping me pick a outfit for tomorrow.” You answered quietly. You’re not sure why you gave out the information, thinking he might think you’re crazy for discussing something as ridiculous as that. 

“Oh yeah? Let me see what you came up with.” He replied while shuffling through his gym bag. 

Caught off-guard by his response, you were certain he would have just questioned why you would go to great lengths as that. You watched him for a little bit as he looked around in his gym back, thinking he must’ve have been joking until he turns around to look at you with his brows shot up in curiosity. 

“Well ma, you ‘gon show me what you got?” He asked with a chuckle. He found you cute with your shy girl expression. He turned back to his bag, finally finding his towel so he could prepare for his shower. 

You blew out a breath you didn’t even realizing you were holding and thought the hell with it, he was going to see you in it regardless, what’s the harm of you showing it to him now?

“Well okay, if you insist.” You said while holding up the gym set Jade picked out. You waited anxiously until Sukuna turned back around to gauge for his reaction. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine mam-” Sukuna stopped, sucking in a breathe. He took in the black set you had selected and fought with himself to keep in the low growl threatening to come out. Taking it in, he found it hard to keep out the thoughts of how your body would look in it. The way the front would hug your tits, or the way your sweat would be cascading down into the dips of your back, or how the way it would mold around your plump ass. He closed his eyes, trying to stop himself while he was ahead, but it didn’t stop the rush of blood going to his dick, making his gym shorts uncomfortably tight. 

“So- what do you think?” You asked timidly, you were still too wrapped up in overthinking your outfit choice you didn’t catch the internal battle Sukuna was having with himself over it. 

Trying to be nonchalant about it, he shook his head slightly while offering a small smile. 

“I think it’s good Y/n, whatever you’re comfortable in, that’s all that matters.” He said in a low tone. You looked at him curiously, wondering why the sudden formal change. Not trying to let it get to you, you offered a small smile back at his input. 

“Okay, if you say so.” You replied back. There was a beat of silence between you to before you let out a giggle at how intense he was staring at you. 

“So you called just for me to look at you flex?” You asked, lightening the mood again. He blinked wide eyed before chuckling.

“Nah ma, just making sure you don’t flake on me tomorrow is all.” You sighed in relief at him going back to his nickname for you, helping quiet your nerves a little bit. 

You smiled at him while shaking your head no. 

“Nah, I’m locked in. I wouldn’t bail on you.” You respond back. That causes him to smirk before replying back. 

“Good, wouldn’t want a good outfit like that to go to waste.” He joked back, causing you to put your head down shyly. 

“Ha, nah we wouldn’t want that.” You giggled out. You looked up, catching him watching you with the same smirk etched on his face. 

“What?” You asked, having him watch you the way he was, was doing something to you. 

“Nothing ma, Ima see you tomorrow, alright?” He stated while throwing his towel over his shoulder. 

Shaking your head yes, you both said your goodbyes before hanging up the phone. Placing your outfit back across your vanity, you plopped on-top of your bed still smiling like a fool at your phone. 

Sukuana’s POV

He groaned lowly as he placed his hands around his dick, slowly stroking it up and down. He tried desperately to get the thought of you out of his head as he took his shower, but nothing he did was working. Every time he tried to think of something else, his thoughts always came back to you. 

Drawing in a breath, he threw his head back as the water from the shower head caressed his skin and helped lubricate his motions as he picked up pace. Flashes of you entered his mind. Seeing how you would look in the gym outfit you flashed in-front him not to long ago or the way he imaged how you plush, thick lips would feel wrapped around his dick, or how well your pussy would mold around his dick as he thrusted relentlessly into your velvety walls. His thoughts ran wild with all the things he would do to you and with a flick of his wrist over his swollen tip it was all that it took to send him over the edge. 

“Y/n.” He moaned out, forgetting his surroundings but ultimately not caring if anyone heard. He continued with his lights strokes, watching as ropes of cum shot down the shower drain. 

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath as he tried to regulate his breathing back to normal. He could only hope he doesn’t act this way around you tomorrow or he wasn’t sure how things would end. 

Before he could stop himself, thoughts of you came rushing at him again and he silently cursed at himself as he felt his dick harden again. Knowing it wouldn’t go away on it’s own, he began to slowly stroke himself again to ease the relief. 

You were going to be the death of him. 

© 2024 Amyrahrose. Please do not translate, copy, plagiarize, or repost (sharing links is fine 🤎) without my permission. You will only find my entries/content on tumblr!

[skzdarlings]

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

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( 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.”    

[sturnsdoll]

SWEETER THAN CANDY -`♡´- - C.S

idea creds

pairing: chris x fem reader

summary: chris finds a rather creative way to teach you patience.

warnings: smut obvi, swearing, (very little) plot, light bondage, candy g-string, oral (f recieving), heavy teasing, dom!chris, sub!reader, orgasm denail, begging, degrading, praise, slight dumbification, cum eating(??), back scratching (?), choking

word count: 2,332

authors note: hope you enjoy ♥

"orange" = chris "pink" = reader

your boyfriend chris had been busy all day with filming with his brothers, shopping, a meeting for his brand and what felt like a million other things.

one of those million other things had been him trying to keep you from losing your mind waiting for him to be free. you hadn't seen your boyfriend in a few days and the impatience of wanting not only his love, but his touch, was driving you to insanity.

text after text, call after call. chris was sick of telling you he'd be free at 12 and that you just needed to be patient.

it was currently 12:05 and chris was filming a car video with nick and matt. his phone buzzes for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

you toss your phone down next to you with a sigh.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

1:07 AM

half asleep, you're finally in the triplets parking lot to pick up chris so you can bring him back to your place. after a few long minutes of waiting you look to the passenger side of your car, spotting chris heading over.

when he enters the car, there's a bit of a slam to the way he closes the door but you choose to ignore it. you smile brightly at chris "feels like i've been waiting forever for you i-" "do you still have the thing i got from the store last week?"

you're confused by the question and a little taken aback that he didn't greet you. although there's a glint of mischief in his eyes that makes you clench your thighs. "no hi? hello? chris i've been waiting all day.." you go to wrap your arms around his neck but he grabs both your wrists. "wrong. you've been an impatient brat all day. now is it still here or not?"

it takes you a minute to even think of what the hell he's reffering to. that's when you remember chris had bought a candy g-string at the store last week when his brothers hadn't been watching the two of you. you thought it was more of a joke that he had gotten it though, not really expecting to use it.

your eyebrows knit together in confusion. you look at where his fingers are wrapped around your wrists before looking up at in hiw eyes again "yea, it's on the backseat still chris but i-" he cuts you off again, not wanting to hear it. "good. go find somewhere private to park. better be close though" "seriously? what's wrong with you?"he drops your wrists and gives you a dead serious look. "now." the tone of his voice makes you decide to put the car in drive.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you found an empty parking lot out back of a closed fast food place. the whole drive there chris's hand squeezed at your thigh harshly and anytime you tried to ask what his problem was he'd just tell you to keep your mouth closed and drive. which you did.

now that you were here, you opened your mouth to question his antics but he didn't let you get the chance. that angry yet needy look glosses over his eyes again "get in the back n' put it on" he says with a quick hand motion toward the backseats. you raise your eyebrow at him ready to protest but he wasn't having it. "do i need to repeat myself baby?"

you pause for a second before shaking your head no and doing as you were told.

now, only in your cropped t-shirt and the candy garment, you watch curious and nervous as chris removes his belt. "hands above your head" he commands and you listen. he brings your wrists behind the head of the car seat, binding them together with his belt.

"i think.." chris starts as he moves to his knee's infront of you "that for whatever fucking reason" he spreads your legs "you think it's okay to start acting out when you don't get what you want when you want it" his tone gets you wetter than you already were. you can't help the smile that spreads on your face at the satisfaction of having gotten the rise out of your boyfriend that you were hoping for. if only you knew how much you'd regret it only a few minutes from now.

chris catches the sly little smirk on your face. this makes him smile back, only his is much more menacing. "oh you think you're getting what you want huh?" he says. you shrug, staring back at him smugly. "we'll see." he says, mocking your text from earlier before he his mouth latches onto your left thigh.

his mouth moves smoothly, leaving a small trail of purple marks up your thigh. when he gets to your candy covered cunt he hovers teasingly for a moment before switching to the other thigh. you sigh impatiently, earning a threatning glare from chris.

this time when chris makes it to your heat his teeth close in on a candy just above your clit, mouth is so close yet so far. he bites the candy before eating it excrutiatingly slowly. once he's done he flattens his tongue against the front of the candies, shortly giving you the smallest amount of pleasure as he drags it up to where the waistline of the g-string is.

his teeth latch onto another candy but this time he pulls back, bringing the candy clad garment away from you. he quickly releases his teeth from it, letting it snap back against you.

you jump a little at the unexpected sting. chris smirks at your reaction before his mouth goes for another candy that's sitting right over your clit again. "chris come on" you complain but he stays focused on consuming the little candies.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you squirm in the seat, wrists uncomfortably wriggling against his belt as he sucks on another candy, his lips just barely brushing where you need him. it's been almost ten minutes now and you're soaked and needy, clenching around nothing everytime his lips or tongue accidentally ghost you.

"chris m' sorry i need you please" you attempt to beg, pushing your hips toward his face. he wraps both his arms around your thighs to hold them down and apart. "should've thought about that before whining and complaining all day hm?" he taunts before his teeth grip another candy "n' stop squirming" he says through gritted teeth while he sucks on the sugary candy.

this goes for a couple more minutes before he pulls away to look up at your face. you look just about ready to cry from sexual frustration. he smirks as he rubs your thigh soothingly. "what do you want baby?" his hand snakes up to your waist to pull the candy string back and let it snap against your skin again. you wince before speaking "your mouth, fingers, anything. please" not caring how needy you sound you beg him desperately. over the candies, chris presses two fingers over your hole. the feeling of the cold candies against you instinctively makes you attempt to pull your hips back but there's really nowhere for you to go.

he wraps his fingers around the garment and pulls it to the side before his head dissapears between your thighs. he gives an experimental flick to your clit before diving in to suck and nibble on your sensitive bud.

you throw your head back, a nearly pornagraphic moan comes out at the pure relief. to make things easier for himself he gives a harsh tug to the part of the candied underwear he was holding, causing the string to snap. candy spills off most of the garment and it goes all over the floor of your car. you instinctively try to reach out to pick up the candies or somehow stop the mess but your wrists only strain against the material of his belt again. "chris!" you whine annoyidly.

you're quickly silenced by two fingers teasing your folds. wetness coats his digits without them even being in you. "did i really get you this worked up, sweetheart?" he asks before holding his fingers up to your mouth "open". you comply and are immedietly met with his fingers pressing down on your tongue."taste sweeter than candy don't you?" he asks rhetorically before unexpectedly latching his mouth back to your clit. you cry out when he adds his two fingers along with it.

his tongue switches between flicking, sucking and nibbling so often that you can't even keep up with what form of pleasure he's applying. his fingers pump in and out at an extremely rapid pace that makes your hips twitch. the windows are foggy and the air in the car is heavy from both your heavy breaths.

your mouth hangs open as incoherent words and whines spill. he lets your clit go with a wet pop. his fingers continue. he pulls his head back a little to watch the way your body reacts to him, the way your face contorts in pleasure. you're already clenching around his digits. his fingers push deeper and curl up into that one spot that makes your mind go numb. "mph- m' close" you mutter out between desperate whines. "yea? you wanna cum on my fingers?"

you open your mouth to say yes when suddenly he pulls his fingers out, shoving them in your mouth again. "suck" he tells you while simultaniously reaching up to release your wrists.

with glossy eyes you look at him and suck your juices off his fingers. once he retracts his fingers you pull him in by his shirt to press your lips to his. the kiss is full of tongue and teeth. needy. he climbs onto the seat next to you before adjusting you until you're beneath him. his hips press down into yours making you both whine. you push your hips toward his. he pulls his face back to look at you consideringly. looking at him through your lashes you reach between the two of you to massage his erection through his pants "please." your voice is needy but sweet. "yea? wanna be a good girl and let me fuck you?" he asks while moving to take his sweatpants off. you nod with a sickeningly sweet smile as he finishes removing his clothes.

once he's situated, he makes a point of dragging his tip teasingly along your folds. you go to complain but he knows you too well. "uh uh. remember what that mouth did to get you here in the first place" he reminds. "well techinically it wasn't my mouth since it started over text so- mph!" one hand covers your mouth as he uses the other to balance himself while he thrusts his length into you.

he watches you in awe as he slowly pulls back out "not another word out of you" his hips snap right back. everytime he fucks into you, you're crying out into his hand. his speed starts steady and slow but that lasts no longer than a minute before he's messily pounding into you. you wrap one hand around the wrist of his hand that covers your mouth. your other creates deep red marks down his back, nails dragging and grabbing for some kind of support.

at this point everything that comes from his mouth are all mindless filthy comments. "gonna- mm- make sure that i f-fuck the rest of that attitude outta y-you" he assures as he abuses your cervix repetitievly. clenching around his dick at his filthy words causes his head to drop, a moan slipping his lips. even when his pace is sloppy he doesn't dissapoint, continuing reaching deep inside you with every movement.

it's not long before your minds set on wanting to finish. you reach between the two of you to stimulate your clit but chris swats it away. one hand shutting you up still, he uses his other to rub fast circles on your sensitive bud. you whine and he does too from the way your nails dig deeper into his skin.

his thrusts become sloppier and his fingers work faster. you try to speak but between him fucking you and his hand over your mouth it's impossible. luckily for you he knows by the way your breath is becoming shallow that you're close.

"not until i say so" when his hips begin twitching he slides his hand from your mouth to your neck to steady himself. "jesus chris" you manage to whine as you drink in the air, still slightly restricted by his hand on your throat. your legs tense around his body and you both know you can't hold off much longer.

"you wanna cum sweetheart?" you nod, letting out a soft "yes" breathlessly. "then ask me. gotta make sure you've- mm fuck- learned your lesson" he looks in your eyes with a look of admiration at how pretty and fucked out you are for him. "wanna cum so bad, m' sorry for compla- ah oh god" you don't get to finish as he grabs under your knee and spreads you wider, managing to hit deeper inside you "i'm sorry for complaining, pleasee let me cum" you draw out the please in a innocently convincing way. "listen so well. go ahead"

as soon as you have his permission your lower stomach twists inside as your legs clench right around his waist. all it takes is one more thrust and you're dripping around his cock. chris curses out your name with a string of obsceneties as your orgasm triggers his. he makes sure you both completely ride out your highs before he pulls out and retracts his fingers from your poor clit.

you both take what seems like years to catch a normal pace to breath at. chris reaches to the floor, obtaining both your clothes. "shower when we get home?" chris asks you as he becomes aware of the sticky residue of both cum and candy left on your body.

"absaloutely."

Tags: @ezziewinchester @sturnsblog @mattsrod @blue-for-percyjackson

[jellyfishbug]

SEATBELTS FIRST

pairing. chris x reader genre. smut with plot ! this is part two of pop the hood f'me not proof read.

content; mechanic!chris, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering, p in v, unprotected (wrap ur shit or ill catch you), spit, slight dumbification, creampie, praise, dirty talk, use of pet names, swearing this one is shorter because theres less build up. anyway, sorry for edging you guys, heres pt 2 :)

I got the call around six thirty the next day.

I was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter island in the center with an apple in my mouth when my phone started to buzz in my back pocket. I set my belongings down and struggled until I finally tugged it out of the tight sleeve and glanced at the screen, an unknown number displayed at the top.

I swiped my thumb to answer, pressing it up to my ear and taking the apple out of my mouth to speak, "Hello?"

"hey, it's Chris," I feel my eyes go wide, the apple that was once in my hand dropped onto the counter with a thud. "your truck is good to go- I can drop it to you when I get off."

I swallow, my mouth now paper dry as I reach to stop the apple from rolling off the counter. "Okay- yeah, sounds good. Thank you,"

I could hear the smile in his voice as he laughs lowly before replying, "can't wait."

The line went dead, indicating that he'd hung up. I lowered my phone away from my ear and placed it on the counter next to the apple and stared at it, momentarily averting my gaze to the clock a couple seconds later. He gets off soon .

I'd felt nervous about picking up the car; the night before, when I'd had to reluctantly deny his advances in the backseat to get home on time, he understood and said something along the lines of ''S okay, its not the last time i'll see you, m' sure of that."

But regardless, I felt even more awkward when I had to make him park at the end of the street so i could walk up and make it appear like I'd taken the bus to my dad, rather then have him watch me pulling up with a random kid in a car he'd never seen before. Chris just laughed and nodded at my request, pulling over near the sidewalk at the end of my street and leaning over to press a kiss on my lips, smiling at me when we parted. He opened my door for me with the other hand and said, "I'll call you tomorrow,"

And he did.

About an hour after he called, I saw my truck roll up through the kitchen window above the sink. Chris sat in the driver's seat, and I watched like an idiot as he popped open the drivers door and hopped down, running his hand through his hair mindlessly.

He was wearing a black t shirt that hugged him, partnered with a pair of light wash levi's. His hair wasn't hidden by a bandana this time; it hung loosley, some strands hanging on his forehead and eyes.

My keys were firm in his grip as he walked up the stone pathway. I almost forgot I needed to answer the fucking door, too busy watching him duck his head to avoid the part of my roof that hovered over the front porch, tooth pick in his mouth as he pressed two knuckles to the door and knocked lightly.

The noise of his hand meeting the wooden door startled me back into reality - I shuffled around in the kitchen for a second before I walked up to the front door, taking a deep breath as I twisted the knob and opened it.

His head snapped towards me, a smile appearing on his face whilst he looked me up and down. I did the same, sizing him up with a nervous expression before finally turning it into a grin to match his.

"Hi," he said softly, taking the tooth pick out of his mouth and leaning against the doorway. Before I could even respond, he opened his palm, and I glanced down to see a pair of keys.

I took them from his grasp and grinned, pressing my bottom lip between my teeth. "Thank you," I paused, "For fixing the truck and for bringing it."

He nodded. "Not a problem."

I look away momentarily, glancing between him and the setting sun behind him. I turn around to look at the clock again; 7:34. My dad isn't home for a couple more hours, and I really don't want Chris to leave yet.

He raises his eyebrows at me once my eyes were back on him, like he already knows what I'm about to ask.

"D'you wanna go for a drive?"

A grin is back on his face, this one open-mouthed so I can see his teeth as he licks his lips and nods.

"Absolutely,"

I drove this time. Chris sat in the passenger seat, grinning stupidly with his hand out the window resting on the roof from the outside. The windows were rolled down, and as a result the wind was blowing through the car loudly, leaving no room for any sound between us besides laughter.

Finally, we started to approach a red light. Once we rolled to a stop, a he turned to look at me, toothpick still resting in his mouth. I kept my eyes ahead, nervous to look back, but once i realized he wasn't going to look away until i did, I finally glanced over at him.

His grin was still there, cocky as ever. He took his hand of the roof and let it back in through the window, resting his chin on against his palm.

"Whatch'ya thinkin about?" He asked, his voice soft and curious.

I leaned back against my seat with my head hanging off the head reat slightly, pausing for a moment before answering honestly;

"Yesterday."

He swallowed thickly, and my eyes followed the movement in this throat. He turned to face the road and dropper his head slightly to huff laughter through his nostrils, "Oh?"

I felt my stomach flip, and an excited feeling flooded my gut. I nodded slowly and Chris shifted in his seat, a flustered expression on his face at my words. It wasn't flirting - it felt too lewd to be flirting. But whatever it was, It was fun.

The silence was sharp enough to cut skin. I almost wanted to jump out of the car and leave it running in the intersection with Chris in it, but instead, i felt a pang of satisfaction when Chris raised his eyebrows and asked, "What time do you need to be home?"

The clock on the dash told me it was already 8:30. At this point, It wouldn't make sense for me to go home anyway, and I didn't plan on ending this conversation anytime soon. "Whenever,"

He nodded, a simple acknowledgment of what i said, but he didn't say anything else. The light turned green, and we were moving again. The wind blowing was loud, but quieter now; quiet enough that i could still hear him.

"D'you remember what i said yesterday?" He finally said, turning to stare at me.

I thought for a second, all the words - both filthy and sweet - that we'd said the day before. "One thing specifically?"

He nods. I want to remember, but considering the sheer amount of possibilities he could be referencing, I shake my head.

He licks his bottom lip. "I said I was gonna get you off- but you had to be home . ."

My breath hitches in my throat, and my grip on the steering wheel turns knuckle white. I nod my head. He hasn't looked away, and his gaze is starting to feel like it's burning my skin with every glance.

"You don't have to be home now,"

It came out breathier than he meant it to - I'm sure of that.

Immediately, my mind goes to how uncomfortable shuffling around in the backseat is going to be, especially when theres still daylight and someone could see us, but as if Chris is reading my thoughts, he takes the toothpick out of his mouth again to speak. "Pull over- ill drive."

I nod, not wasting a second to pull over once we're out of the intersection. I pop the drivers door open, leaving it open and walking around to the other side to switch seats, closing the passenger door loudly.

Chris steps up into the driver's seat and shifts the gear, "My place, yeah?"

I'm nodding before he's even done talking.

We're moving again, and he makes no effort to hide his excitement, my eyes darting to the speed tick on the dashboard as he swerves dangerously through and across lanes.

I'm almost nervous my car will end up back in the shop before we even get to his house with the speed we're going, but if it means I get to see him again, it doesn't sound so bad.

His hand moves to rest on my leg, the other carelessly gripping the steering wheel with occasionally glances in the rear view mirror, as well as occasional glances my direction. I pretend not to notice, but the anticipation is burning in my core at the feeling of his eyes grazing my frame.

Before I even noticed we were in a neighborhood, we pull into a driveway. Chris pushes the gear into park and twists the keys in the ignition until the truck is off and glances at me, a knowing smile on his face.

"You good?"

I must've looked red and flustered, and part of me knew that because of how hot my face felt, but embarrassment still lingered in my thoughts as i nodded.

"Yeah,"

He shakes his head and laughs lightly at my response, turning to open the door and step down. I watch as swings around to my side of the car to open mine, reaching a hand out to help me step down, smiling once my feet are on the concrete and the door shut behind me.

As we approach the front door, he fiddles with the keys on his carabiner before finding an orange one with "house" written on it in black sharpie. He unlocks the door and opens it with a small creak, glancing on either side of the living room before turning back to me, signaling me to follow him inside with a tilt of his head.

We walk up the stairs and down a small corridor before reaching the room at the end of the hall, wooden and covered in stickers. He opens it and waits for me to enter behind him.

Once i'm inside, i glance around to take in my serroundings; his bed is in the right corner of the room, neatly made with a handful of pillows carelessly thown against the headboard. Theres a small desk at the other end of the same side, and a handful of license plates carefully hung up above the window. Theres sports memorabilia too, some hockey sticks in a pot and a framed jersey hung near the closet.

I step closer to the frame, tracing my fingers along the glass to examine the fabric. "You play hockey?" I ask, glancing back at him with my hand still against the hung jersey.

He laughs, walking closer to me with his hands in his pockets. "Used too- haven't really played much since I graduated,"

I nodded with a hum of understanding, letting my hand fall back to my side as i walked back towards him. He studies my movements, and once i'm in front of him, i reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind is ear. I purse my lips, eager to fill the silence thats suffocating the both of us. "D'you street race?"

He makes a puzzled face, evidently surprised at the random question, eyebrows furrowed as he tilts his head at me. "Uh, yeah. I mean- sometimes with friends, or on roads in the middle of nowhere for shits and giggles. Why?"

I shrug. "You just... go really fast," my hands are still running through small strands of his hair. "And you swerve- but it's controlled and clean, like it's really familiar to you, or like you do it a lot - so I was just curious."

He grins, raising his eyebrows and stepping ever so slightly closer to me to peer down at me through hazy vision. "You starin at me or somethin?"

I feel my face flush pink and I roll my eyes, my hand finally falling away from his hair. "Maybe."

One of his hands leaves his pocket to draw circles on the waist of my jeans, still eyeing me mischievously. "I don't necessarily like racing for money," he says, his tone honest. "I just like the adrenaline of it- feeling your heartbeat in your throat n' shit. Its fun."

He gently drags one of his hands down my lower pack and puts it into my back pocket, pulling me closer to that we're pressed together completely. "Maybe I'll take you sometime,"

Before I can respond enthusiastically and tell him how much i'd love that, he hooks his other hand on my face with his fingers grazing the back of my neck, pressing his lips against mine.

I'm alarmed for a second until finally kissing him back, my hands on either side of his head, brushing against the stubble on his face. He's kissing with intention; almost impatient, like he's been thinking about this just as much as i have.

It's not long before he's sliding his tongue into my mouth, tilting his head to kiss me deeper, the taste of marlboro red's strong and tangy on his lips. He groans against my mouth, the sensation making a hushed whimper escape me.

He's so fucking cocky with everything he does, the smirk on his lips condescending and teasing as he bites down on my bottom lip in between kisses almost hard enough to bruise. His hand slides out of my back pocket to rest against my back, pushing my lower half against him.

I pull back for a split second, eyes opening to glance into his momentarily, "you're a really good kisser."

He raises his eyebrows, and in an arrogant tone he responds, "oh yeah?"

I nod, a whiny noise building in my throat, growing tired of the absence of his pink lips and leaning back in quickly to kiss him again.

Faces still attached, he spins us around so that my back is facing my bed, walking us slowly towards it until my legs hit the frame and i plop down, frowning at the loss of the kiss.

He tugs at the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head before lowering to place one more kiss on my pouting lips, chuckling when my hands start to fiddle with his belt. "Lie down, sweetheart."

I furrow my eyebrows, "But I-"

He shakes his head, "No," he says, lowering to his knees in front of me. "It's my turn, isn't it?" His fingers trail along the waist of my jeans, fingers fiddling with the button. "Told you i'd get you off, didn't i?"

I lower my back against the bed, propped up on my elbows to eye him as I nod slowly. He grins, dragging my zipper down and wrapping his fingers beneath the fabric of my jeans, tugging them until they're completely off and forgotten on the floor next to him.

He leans down to trail open kisses from my stomach to directly above my core, then on the inner plush skin of my thigh, biting his teeth down lightly into the sensitive skin and swirling his tongue against the mark.

My fists curl against the sheets as I whine from the feeling of the bite, watching as Chris glances up at me with wild eyes through his eyebrows. He lifts his head and wraps his hands around my upper thighs, tugging until i'm resting directly at the end of the bed with my legs on either side of his head.

He tugs at the lining of my underwear, glancing up at me. "This okay?"

I nod quickly. "Please,"

He impatiently pulls them off me and tosses them to the side before continuing the previous action of kissing at my legs, and I start to squirm below him, impatient and restless.

"Patient," he says lowly. "We're not in a rush anymore, remember? 'Wanna take my time with you."

It's sweet; it is, but when he's hovering above where I'm aching the most lazily pressing kisses anywhere but where i need them, it just feels like torture.

"Chris, please, i don't care- jus' need you-" I'm cut off with a slight yelp as he's biting down again, harder this time, savoring the feeling of the soft skin in his mouth before pulling away and all but shoving two of his fingers into my mouth.

I swirl my tongue around his digits, the length of them causing them to brush against the back of my throat harshly enough to gag slightly, but i maintain composure as he slides them back through my lips.

He prods them at my entrance, lowering his head again to finally lap his tongue against my neglected clit. My head knocks back with a whine, lower lip between my teeth as he messily plays with the bundle of nerves.

He's cruel with his mouth, occasionally licking stripes up my cunt messily and groaning. My eyes roll into my head at the feeling of his stubble brushing against my inner thighs, feet shaking against his back as I dig my nails into the cotton sheets beside me. "Wet jus' for me, huh, baby?" he grumbles, his words muffled by me.

I part my lips to answer, but my jaw goes slack as he presses his spit covered fingers into my entrance, his mouth still latched to my slick folds as he pumps them in and out an agonizingly slow pace.

"Fuck," I hiss, one of my hands flying up to grip his hair. "Oh m' god, Chris." My back arches up slightly, but Chris firmly presses his free hand down on my hip, forcing me back against the bed and pressing his nails into the flesh to keep me still.

His fingers speed up the pace, and be grins against me as I whimper pleadingly. He lifts his head for a second to speak. "Yeah? Feel good?"

"So good," I babble, tugging harshly at the roots of his hair as he wraps his lips around my clit, swirling his tongue aggressively as his fingers continue to pump at a stupid pace, whimpers and desperate cry's of his name flooding out of my mouth.

"close?" He taunts, watching as my legs shake on either side of him. He replaces his tongue with his thumb and rubs circles on my clit. "gonna cum for me?"

The lewdness of his words makes the knot in my stomach get impossibly tighter, and I nod helplessly. My legs are aching to close as i chase the high, but Chris keeps them open effortlessly.

I finally snap as his fingers curl against a specific spot inside of me, a loud cry ripping from my throat whilst he continues to sloppily thrust his fingers and mutter praises. He finally stops when i grip his wrist tightly, squirming and whimpering in discomfort from the overstimulation.

He licks his fingers clean and extends back to his full height to lean down and kiss me, "You good?" he asks genuinely, the palm of his hand pressed against my stomach as he rubs his thumb back and forth soothingly.

"Really good," I respond, a warm feeling in my chest when he smiles cheekily. "Good," he says, standing back up to unbuckle his belt and push his jeans down to his ankles, stepping out of them and leaving them bunched on the floor.

My lower lip mindlessly rests between my teeth, my expression flushed as i watch him palm himself through his boxers. He takes them off too, stepping closer to place his hands on top of my knees and glance down at me.

He wraps his hand around my wrist to gently tug me up, his fingers tugging at the end of my tank top a a silent request. I lift my arms and he pulls it off an throws it next to me. He leans down to kiss me again, his finger on my chin to lift my head up. "You're really pretty," he hums. I flush pink, the feeling of his eyes glancing over my frame stirring unfamiliar and needy feelings in my gut.

He cups his hand below my mouth, and when I glance between him and his palm dumbly, he clarifies. "Spit for me, sweetheart."

It felt almost dirty; too dirty. But when you compared it to me knee deep in the driver's seat of his car with his cock halfway down my throat and ducking to avoid the steering wheel a mere day prior, it felt like light work.

I pooled spit at the front of my mouth and spit into his palm. "Good girl," he hummed, eyes shifting down to his cock as he pumped it with his saliva coated hand.

He stepped closer, parting my legs and aligning himself with me before glancing at me. "Tap my thigh if you want me to stop, 'kay?"

"Okay," i say, bracing myself as he slowly starts to push himself inside me. My grip on the sheets turns my knuckles white, wincing at stretch, my walls clamping down around him.

Chris digs his teeth into his lip, and he pauses, glancing at my pained expression and my bottom lip that is also snug between my teeth, brows furrowed. "I know, baby. S'okay-doin' so good for me,"

I whine and shift below him as he finally bottoms out, his pressed firmly against me with his dick buried to the hilt. I want to squirm away and tell him its too much, but the painful stretch quickly turns to the pleasure of being full to the brim, and i dig my nails bluntly into his forearm.

"Fuck, so big," I gasp, looking at my lower stomach to see the clear bulge. Chris grins, and i know i'm boosting his ego, but the brain fog flooding through me isn't allowing me to bite my tongue.

"Takin' me so good," he groans lowly, hands still gripping my thighs as he starts to move, and i moan breathily at the feel of his cock dragging against my gummy walls.

He starts to pick up his speed, his grip on the sheets on either side of me tightening as his head hangs to watch my blissed out expression as moans escape my swollen lips, the grip i have on his arm turning animalistic. "S'good, fuck,"

He pulls his arms away to wrap around my legs to go faster, "Oh my god- Fuck," he grunts, and I mewl when he presses his hand down on my lower stomach to feel himself, applying just enough pressure to make my back arch, his dick pounding relentlessly into my gut.

"Yeah? You like that? 'Like how deep I am, baby?" He asks in a way that makes it so rhetorical when he watches my hands brush against his lower stomach mindlessly with pitful hiccups and whines escaping me. I want to answer him, but no words will form.

I'm starting to feel glad he didn't flip me over to fuck me from behind - the view of his pretty face and lips with his jaw dropped in a gasp was too good, and it only made my squeeze around him tighter, desperate to be filled.

"Too dumb on my cock?" he teases at my lack of response, letting his hand fall against my aching cunt to rub lazy circles on my sensitive clit. I squeeze my thighs together with a loud mewl, the pleasure raking through me like a wave.

"so close," I choked out.

It only encouraged Chris to press my knees closer to my chest, dropping his weight against me to fuck deeper. My mouth drops open silently as my legs begin to shake, the twist in my stomach snapping with a loud cry. My body trembles beneath him, his movements not halting as he fucks me through the high. I go limp below him, still whimpering as his thrusts turn sloppy. "Fuck, gonna cum," he rasps, pumping slower but deep. "Where d'you want it, baby?" i wrap my legs around his torso, muttering a 'inside, please.'

He curses under his breath. "Inside you, huh?" he chuckles, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. "S'that what you want?"

I nod rapidly, "Please, 'need it."

That seemed to be all the confirmation he needed as he presses his hips firmly against me, coating my walls in thick spurts of white. His nails are digging into my legs, panting heavy while he presses lazy, tired kisses to my legs before leaning down and doing the same on the side of my head.

We stay like that for a second, catching our breath. I feel an ache growing in my legs as they lazily lower onto the bed when he leans off of me slightly, glancing down through hazy vision. He strokes his hand on my stomach affectionately, his touch soothing and sweet as he slowly pulls himself out, whispering apologies when i wince at the sudden soreness.

"You okay?" He hums. My arms fall to lay against my flushed face as i nod, swallowing to aid my dry throat before answering a small "yeah," He brushes thick strands of my hair out of my face with his index finger before lowering his fingers to cup my chin, "Gonna get somethin to clean you up, 'kay? Hold on."

He disappears for a minute into his bathroom, coming back moments later in a fresh pair of boxers with a clean, damp washcloth in hand. He gently parts my legs, carefully cleaning the mess we'd made off of me, his thumb rubbing circles on my upper outter thigh with his free hand.

When he's finished, he tosses the towel on top of his hamper, and then turns back, smiling at my relaxed expression. He puts his hands on either side of my frame, leaning down to press a kiss on my red, bitten lips. When he pulls away, he hovers just a couple inches above my face, the chain around his neck brushing against my chest.

"Next time you have truck troubles," he murmurs, his gaze flicking up to mine. "Don't come to the shop - jus' call me, ill come pop the hood for you."

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :) reblogs, likes and follows are appreciated! ! criticism is also appreciated, its how i improve, but please be nice. links below . . . masterlists ! guidelines / info !

[thepunkranger]

So I was thinking about Claire Redfield (as you do) and how much of an insane badass she is for not only holding her own in Raccoon City, but also protecting a child throughout the entire nightmare, and specifically how, for all intents and purposes, Claire in Resident Evil 2 during Raccoon City and Ashley in Resident Evil 4 are the closest thing to peers that they have.

Both of them are college-aged girls with zero combat/survival experience who've been dropped into a zombie-infested hellhole and have to find their way out, but Ashley is so starkly different of a character to Claire.

From a writing standpoint, Ashley is a very literal damsel in distress character. She's young, she's inexperienced, and she does, in fact, need a man to save her (no shade, I'd probably need Leon and his rippling abs to save me too). Now, she does grow significantly as a character throughout the events of the fourth game, and even gets to save Leon a couple of times, but she's still very much a young girl in need of help

Now, in comparison, Claire Redfield is a damsel in distress in the same way Meg from Hercules is

Claire is actually canonically younger in Resident Evil 2 than Ashley is in 4, being only 19, but goddamn is this girl not going to let that stop her. And while Claire does have a bit more skill with self-defense, all that really adds up to is forcing Chris to teach her knife fighting and probably going to the shooting range with him a couple of times. Claire is very confident in herself, but she doesn't have much real world experience to back that up. Girl rode her motorcycle into a zombie-infested city with nothing but a gun (where did she get this gun? We don't know) to do a welfare check on her brother and came out less scathed than the literal cop she made friends with.

And then, there's Sherry. Claire finds a random child hiding in the police station, saying that she's looking for her mom, and makes it her personal mission to protect her at all costs. And when said girl gets taken by the literal chief of police? Claire grabs her grenade launcher and decides that's gonna be his problem because by god is she taking care of that little girl.

By the time they make it out of the city Sherry might as well be Claire's biological daughter, and she is not about to let anything happen to her (forthcoming events out of her control notwithstanding)

Which, in a way, honestly I think makes 19-year-old Claire Redfield actually a closer peer to Ethan Winters.

Ethan is a nearly 30-year-old man who works an office job (I think he's IT?) and whose wife went missing a few years ago. When he finds out she's actually alive he grabs a flashlight and hops in his car to drive to Louisiana to bring her home.

This man finds out that his wife has been possessed, and he doesn't give a shit. He loves her. He made a vow to care for and protect her, and by god is he going to test the limits of 'til death do us part. He takes on an entire family of fucked up hillbillies and literal mold demons to bring her home. And when he does? They have a daughter, and Ethan is ready to sacrifice the world for her too.

All of Resident Evil 8 is just him fighting a pantheon of demons to save his baby girl armed with nothing but a gun he grabbed off a dead guy (he's from Texas, so I'm not gonna question it) and his innate knowledge of how to make life-saving elixirs. And yes, he does save both his wife and his daughter

Idk, I just think it's interesting that Claire and Ashley are so similar in age and life experience, but Claire winds up having the most in common with the Awkward Suburban Dad in the end

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

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."                                                                                                                   

[dollivication]

RESIDENT EVIL || BOT DROP 8

WARNING! Some bots include sensitive topics. DARK CONTENT BASED. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Loneliness consumes anyone unfortunate enough to land in its path. It makes you do foolish things… And your dad was living proof of this, marrying someone from the past.

Introducing ADA AND LEON — “Sweetheart, at some point you’re gonna have to realize that Ada’s here to stay. You know that, right?” … “Are you seriously babying her?..”

Abuse is just another term for love. His love. It makes you bleed, it makes him mourn—yet neither of you seem willing to untangle yourselves from this toxic web.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “…I’d burn the world f’you. You know I would.”

You didn’t really understand why you needed to be his service animal when he seemed to be functioning just fine… But now—after innocent blood decorated the concrete—you did.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “He was trying to hurt you. I had to do something.. You understand that, right?”

You had figured your neighbor had no more time to be faking smiles at his age. There were no explanations for his callousness. So you were kind for him, and it went a long way… Maybe a bit too far.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “…Well, don’t give me that look. You’ll go crying to the authorities or some shit, and I can’t have that.”

Long gone was the excitement of having another dog to interact with. The games your older canine companion would make you engage in were strange. You didn’t see the appeal anymore, so you told your owner… It was clear your opinion was one-sided, for both him and your “playmate.”

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “…C’mon, sweetheart. I’m not the bad guy here. You trust me, don’t you, baby?”

Rebellion is a stage that all parents must meet. Even stepparents… So is it really wrong for your stepfather to try to diminish this disobedience before it spreads any more, no matter how he may get the job done?

Introducing CHRIS REDFIELD — “Did you have fun?… Hope it was worth it. Because right now, you aren’t going to.”

Approach with extreme caution…

tags: @ivmp @nilpill @pupscunt @moth-quasar @androgynous-pagan2 @dantefreakdaaaa @leonskittenbunny @weeeeeeeeeeeezle @held-in-my-heart @theunknowntravel3r @mchmcal @gor3-hound