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gracieheartspedro · 4 months

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No One Fucks With My Baby

pairing: fem!reader x dbf!joel miller (based on established back story from my oneshot Who We Are)

description: everyone now knows that you are joel's girl. when you're working a busy night at the bison, a newbie stirs up a bit of trouble. joel handles it the only way he knows how and you thank him the only way you know how.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is in his mid 50s), i don't describe the reader all that much, consumption of alcohol, drunk old men who harass reader, joel fucks them up, mentions of blood, glass breaking (?), voyeurism, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, pet names

author's note: this fic is dedicated to the birthday girl @ilovepedro !!! happy birthday sweet nini, I love you so much! thank you for helping me edit this, but more importantly, thank you for being a wonderful friend. you make the world a better place. love you always <3

after the amazing love I got on "Who We Are", I decided to add to the universe. let me know if y'all want more! xoxo, gracie

“Didn’t know they made jeans that low cut!”

You were used to stupid comments made towards you by drunk men. But now that Joel has made it known, you are his, a lot of the men in Jackson kept their advances to themselves. The gentleman at the end of the bar must not know that your big ole’ scary boyfriend was positioned in a booth with Tommy and your father across the room. His eyes had been locked on you for most of the night, and every time he and the guys needed more drinks, he’d be the one to grab more.

You turn to the drunk man, who had to be your father’s age. He’s practically drooling at the sight of your ass in your favorite jeans. The summer air was not a good combination to a normally humid bar, so you had been wearing less and less clothes behind the bar. You were sporting the jeans and a tighter tank top than usual, mainly because you knew Joel would be around and you loved driving him wild when the shirt rode up on you.

“You’re gonna catch flies if you don’t close your mouth,” You joke, pouring whiskey for another patron, “Don’t think you’d like the way that would taste.”

The man slams down his glass which causes a couple people to look down at him. You don’t even glance in his direction, knowing if he’s mad, he can take it up with every man in the Tipsy Bison.

“I don’t take too kindly to sarcastic little sluts.”

Your heart stops. You calmly place the whiskey bottle down beside the shot glass you were pouring into and glance towards the red faced prick. You hear the conversations subside around the room while you lock eyes with the guy who’s bold enough to talk shit to you.

You know Joel’s already standing up from his spot at his booth, but you move quicker. You position yourself in front of him, leaning over the bar, your eyes raking down the pathetic boy in front of you.

“Pardon?”

He swallows, realizing how quiet his surroundings got. “I s-said I don’t take kindly to sarcasm.”

You click your tongue, a newfound confidence surging through your body, “I don’t think that’s all you said. Somethin’ about me being a slut?”

“Listen, girl-”

His boots are loud against the hardwood as he approaches you and the man. He stands scarily close to the barstool where the man sits. You don’t break eye contact though, wanting to handle this situation yourself.

“It’s ma’am, to you,” You cut him off, “I think it’s best if you leave.”

“I haven’t finished my drin-”

Joel reaches around the guy and grabs the whiskey glass from in front of him and slams it on the floor. The guy immediately starts to tremble, shaking like a little leaf. You crack a smile before whispering one final thing to him.

“Think you’re finished, buddy,” You flick your eyes up at Joel, who’s fury is written all over his face, “Mind walkin’ him out, baby?”

Joel grabs onto the guys shoulder with a bruising grip, “Would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

He rips the guy from the stool, not even making sure the guy finds his footing. You ignore the shuffle outside and return to your pouring. You feel like your heart may beat out of your chest, but you’re relieved it was handled before Joel got even more handsy with him. You grab the shot glass and hand it to the fellow that was sat by the drunken fool.

“You got Miller wrapped around your finger,” The guy, who’s name you think is Aaron, says. He was a regular and frequently stopped Joel to talk about morning patrols. You smirk before snatching a rag off your shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s so wrapped around my finger that he’s gonna clean up all that broken glass.” You joke, wiping down the condensation ring the glasses left on the wooden table top.

You hear some footsteps approaching and when you look up it’s Tommy. He’s shaking his head, a grin playing on his lips.

“Where’s the broom? Joel seems busy putting that guy in his place.”

You furrow your brows as you reach for the broom, “What do you mean?”

“I just sent your Dad out there because it sounded like some rustlin’,” Tommy explains, grabbing the stick from you to begin sweeping up the shards, “I’m sure they are handlin’ it.”

Before you can get nervous, you hear the front door swing open quickly. Your Dad and Joel walk in and you can tell Joel is pissed and a bit rattled. You navigate your way around the bar and glass, reaching their booth as soon as Joel sits down. He’s cradling his right hand in his left, hissing in discomfort.

“What did you do?” You say, reaching out for his hands. There’s two gashes that litter his knuckles, only bleeding slightly. You shake your head when he pulls away from you.

“Nothin’ baby,” he mumbles, “Just taught the guy it’s not nice to talk to ladies like he did. He walked off with a bloody nose and busted lip when he started talkin’ shit back.”

You roll your eyes, catching your Dad’s glare.

“Did you break it up?” You press, wanting more of an explanation.

He shakes his head, “Nope. Joel can handle himself. I did tell the guy when he was walking away that if he talked about my daughter like that again, he’d wouldn’t be able to walk away cause he would have a bullet between his eyes.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms under your chest. “I swear to God…”

Tommy approaches the table, his task of cleaning glass finished. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“I’d be better if the men in my life weren’t insane,” You joke, nudging Joel’s arm as he inspects his knuckles.

Tommy laughs and sits back down across from your Dad and Joel. While he makes jokes with your Dad, Joel is silent and stirred. You can tell he’s bothered by something more than handling some asshole who called you a name. You decide against pestering him more, allowing him to settle back into conversation with Tommy and your Dad.

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and return to slinging drinks.

“Thanks for staying while I lock up,” You say to Joel as pushing in the last barstool, “And thanks for earlier.”

He is propped up on one of the middle pillars, his shoulder resting on the wood while his arms and legs are crossed. He was still being quiet, not giving into conversation. You approach him, your eyes trained on his arms. He was wearing a t-shirt for the first time all summer, which made you feel some type of way. His arms were tanned beautifully and toned. His biceps were perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of the gray t-shirt.

“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

You glance up at him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Tell me what’s got you all bothered.”

“It’s nothin’,” He uncrosses his arms and reaches out for you. You know it’s not nothing, so you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him forward. He looks a bit surprised.

“It’s somethin’, so you better tell me what happened.”

He huffs, fanning your face with his breath, “That asshole said some shit about us and it set me off.”

You squeeze him a bit, “What did he say?”

You can tell he does not want to repeat it, but you were not going to let it go.

“How I’m an old man with a young girl. How I’m old enough to be your dad.”

You feel sick to your stomach at the idea he had to hear some asshole say that. You look down between you, shifting your weight onto your other foot. You started to feel clammy, unsure of a good response that would reassure Joel.

“He’s just some asshole. What does he know?” You manage to sputter.

Joel’s shoulder’s sag, “He’s not wrong, though, baby girl. I’m an old man with a younger girl.”

You push away from him, scanning him up and down. You are pissed that he’s even bringing this up again, after all this time.

“I’m a grown ass woman, Joel. A grown ass woman with a grown ass man. Just because there’s time in between us doesn’t mean we aren’t old enough to make decisions for ourselves.”

His lip curls, “I know baby, I am just saying that sometimes we get odd looks cause of the age difference. I really don’t care anymore… Just caught me off guard, is all.”

You fold your arms, “You put him in his place, right? He’s not gonna come around here sayin’ shit again?”

“He’d be stupid to come near you again. Think I got my point across.”

You feel like you owe him something. You had a couple ways you could repay him, ensuring that he never thinks about those stupid comments again.

You use your arms to press up your bra a bit, your cleavage more highlighted with the gesture. Joel’s eyes trail down, the scoop neck giving away your suggestive movement. You step closer again, wanting to be in his space.

“My man…” You trail, your eyes falling to his agape mouth, “Makin’ sure everyone knows I’m his.”

He nods slowly before his hand creeps around your waist, “What are you tryin’ to do, girl?”

“Nothin’,” you click your tongue. “Just thinkin’ of how I could repay you for handlin’ that for me. You hurt yourself defending my honor. I owe you.”

“Don’t think of it that way. You don’t owe me anything,” His fingers start to creep down to the curve of your ass. “But, I would love to see what you had in mind.”

“Oh, you would,” You hum, your arms unfolding to wrap around his neck. “Let’s start by walking back to your house.”

Instead of responding, he dips his head and peppers kisses down your neck, taking his time letting his fingers wander around the skin on your lower back and hips. Your skin feels like it’s on fire with every press of his lips.

“Fuck,” You sigh as you try to bring him closer to you, but he’s not letting up on your neck. He’s suckling spots near your collarbone, groaning as you react to his every move. You knew at this point, this whole situation was in his hands and not yours.

He lifts his head slowly, letting his bottom lip drag across your skin, “How ‘bout this… How ‘bout I take you right here over this bar? Maybe that asshole is nearby and he can hear how well I give it to ya.”

His proposition sends you into a spiral. You and Joel have had plenty of sex in different places, but the bar? And he wants others to hear? Usually he’s telling you that your moans are for his ears only, and while he wants you to be loud for him, you’re usually too timid to actually vocalize your pleasure.

You place your hands on his expansive chest, “You want to fuck me here?”

He beams down at your question before he whispers, “I want to fuck you everywhere. Here, your bed, my couch, the shower. Hell, I’ll take you at this bar while people watch.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You huff, almost dizzy from the statement.

He brings his hand up to tilt your head back so you look at him. When your eyes meet, he brings the hand up around your neck and to the nape, right where your spine starts.

“God, I need you, sweet girl.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, Joel brings you in for a passionate and eager kiss. He’s feverish, his hands now wandering down to your ass. He starts to walk you backwards towards the now abandoned bar top. You knock into a couple chairs, but his arms keep you from tripping. His hands are propped on your ass, navigating you to the edge of the bar top. When your back is pressed against it, he starts to shove his thumbs under your waist band. He pulls away from your lips to push down your jeans, letting them pool on the floor.

“Spread your legs,” he grumbles, “I want to taste you.”

You do as you’re told, shaking your jeans off your ankles and spreading your legs. Joel falls to his knees like a man starved. You note his devilish smile when you do as you’re told.

“I thought I was repaying you,” You choke out as his hands roam over your flesh. He chuckles darkly before pressing a kiss to your right inner thigh.

“Lettin’ me get between these legs with my tongue is repaying me,” He clicks as pulls at your panties. He slides them to the side, getting a great look at how wet you are already. Your knees feel like they may give out any second just from the anticipation, so when his mouth finds your entrance, you rest your elbows on the freshly wiped down bar.

Joel exploring you in this way was nothing new, but every time he went down on you, it was thrilling. He was simply so fuckin’ good at it. You never had a man take his time eating you out, desperately wanting you to cum straight on his tongue.

The vibrations from his groaning sends shockwaves down your legs, causing them to shake. Joel’s hands are the only thing keeping you stable because even your elbows are slipping from the bar top. The suckling noises coming from him are obscene, especially because you’re standing over the bar at your work. You cannot help but try to balance yourself so you can grind yourself down onto his eager tongue. Before you can really get started doing that, he pulls away, his wet lips glistening under the overhead lights.

He sticks his pointer, middle, and ring finger into his mouth, slathering them in his own saliva. You watch him carefully as he brings them up to your slit, adding to the slick that’s already there.

“I want you to cum all over my fingers before I bend you over this bar,” He practically moans. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

You can barely speak as his fingers slowly slip in and out of you, “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?” He adds another finger, curling them as he pumps in and out. Your head is spinning, watching his other hand spread over your lower stomach to hold you against the bar. You know what he wants, but you can hardly get the word ‘yes’ out, let alone the name he loves you calling him. You try to breathe in and center yourself, but the fire in your tummy burns bright.

“Y-yes, Sir. Please m-make me cum.”

He latches his lips around your clit as he speeds the strokes of his three digits. You grab onto his dark curls to hold him there to ensure that he doesn’t stop putting all the pressure right there. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and you cannot help but scream out in pleasure.

He grabs your hips, not caring about your recovery. His dick is rock hard in his blue jeans and it makes you giggle in satisfaction. Joel has fucked you in so many different ways, but you do not remember a time he fucked you over counter.

Your upper body is laying flat against the wooden bar, your hands gripping onto the other side to steady yourself. You hear his zipper go down and then his hands are back on you. Your panties are stretched to hell already, so he practically tears the fabric off your lower body without any resistance. You chuckle at how vehement he is. He spreads your ass cheeks as he slips his cock between your closed thighs.

“Gonna need you to spread some more for me, sweet girl,” He mutters, smacking one of your cheeks lightly, “God, you’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn, “Yes, Sir.”

You do as you’re told, spreading your legs for him. When you do that, his dick prods at your clit, before easing into your entrance. You and Joel fuck raw, so when he opens you up, you feel every vein and ridge against your walls. He’s thick and it always takes you a minute to adjust to the feeling.

“So fuckin’ tight.”

He retracts back and inches forward again, letting you take in every inch of him. You grab onto the edge of the bar harder, your grip growing tighter with the action. He rests his grip on your hips, using them as leverage as he sets a steady pace. The moment his pace picks up, it’s like the motion pushes all the air from your lungs and you huff out louder. It only encourages him, but instead of keeping you in that position, he grabs onto your shoulders and lifts you up. You are lifted up to his chest, flush with his clothed upper body. He reaches around your arms and grabs onto your breasts through your thin v-neck.

“J-Joel,” you nudge him with your free hands, “Let me take it o-off.”

He slows his thrusts and lets you pull your shirt over your head. Instead of unhooking your bra, Joel takes the liberty to do it himself. The straps drop off your shoulders and you peel the padding off your chest. His hands instantly cradle your breasts, kneading them as he jolts forward to continue fucking you. His thumb and pointer pinch and tug at your pert nipples.

“Mmm,” He hums, “Only I can fuck you this good, huh?”

You whimper at his actions, “Only you, Joel.”

“That’s right.”

With that, he slips himself out of you, causing you to whine at the empty feeling. He moves you around like a rag doll, turning you around to face him.

Joel’s eyes are dilated and his hands are moving quickly to lift you off the ground and press your lower back into the bar. You place your hands on his shoulders, knowing exactly what position he wants you in.

He picks you up so seamlessly. It’s like when he’s horny or angry, he’s super strong and practically indestructible. He will probably complain how his back hurts later.

Your knees fold over his forearms, perfectly spread open for his taking.

You are so wet that he slips right into you. He uses the bar a bit for leverage as he fucks up into you, the angle completely sending you into a spiral. His eyes are perfectly trained on your chest, watching your tits jiggle as he drills into you.

“Most perfect thing I ever did see,” He remarks between strokes. Your nails are digging into his shoulder, right above a scar he got a couple years ago when he was out on patrol with your dad. You remember it was the first time you saw Joel shirtless. He was sitting next to your Dad in the infirmary, getting stitched up from getting caught on a sharp tree limb. You remember thinking how tan and beautiful he was back then.

Now you’re gripping onto his shoulders years later, his dick ramming into you and hitting you in all the right places.

Life is so mysterious and wonderful.

He bites his lip, putting all his focus into making you cum before he does himself. He’s a giver and for that, you’re extremely grateful. No man has ever put in as much effort. Before Joel, you did not know you could cum more than once in a single session. A couple months ago, he could not help his insatiable taste for you and made you cum 6 times.

His thrusts begin to falter when he feels you clenching around him, the fiery thrill building in your stomach. Your legs feel like jello, but as soon as the orgasm hits you, they stiffen in his grip.

“F-fuck Joel,” You whimper, stuttering at how good your body feels as your come down unravels. This orgasm is way more powerful, making you practically vibrate in Joel’s arms.

He fucks you through the feeling, his finish quickly approaching. When he’s finally finding his own release, he slips out of you before he can cum inside you. You two had an agreement that he could only cum inside you if you explicitly say he can. Since you didn't even think about it, you watch as his seed spills all over your pelvic bone.

When you two catch your breaths, he gently places you down on the ground. He steadies your wobbly legs by holding onto your naked waist.

You realize you are smiling like an idiot, completely blissed out on how good Joel made you feel. You find your footing, picking up your pants nearby. You don’t even bother with the material that used to be your underwear.

You hear Joel behind you fixing himself up, zipping his dick back into his jeans. You pull on your pants, leaving them unbuttoned. You grab the material on the ground and ball them up. You prance over to Joel, his eyes raking you up and down.

“You can keep this,” You joke, pulling at one of his front pockets. You tuck the panties into his pants, smiling widely.

“‘M just gonna add them to the collection,” He replies, gripping onto the point of your chin.

When he tilts your eyes up to meet his, your heart flutters at the action. He’s so beautiful with his fine lines and wildly untamed peppered curls. His eyebrows are furrowed as he contemplates your expression.

You finally say it. Those three words that you had been meaning to say for months. The words that you had never said to another man ever. There was a distinct moment about 2 months ago, after you had dinner with him and Ellie, where you almost said it while helping him with the dishes. It was that steadying of your heart, a moment you felt most at peace with someone. He made you comfortable. He made you feel safe.

“I love you, Joel.”

He drops your chin, his eyes soften at the statement. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Your anxiety starts to creep up your throat. Maybe you should not have said that. Fuck.

“I-I…”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He says in almost a whisper before he takes your right hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. “‘M sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

Your body relaxes, reassured by his answer. You did not have any doubts about your feelings for Joel, but your mind could not help but over analyze every little thing he ever said to you, forcing you to assume he may not feel the same way.

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a long kiss onto your knuckles.

“Let’s get you home, sweet girl. I gotta get up for patrol tomorrow.”

#joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel last of us smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #gracieheartspedro

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thetriumphantpanda · 7 months

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she a bad lil bitch, she a rebel | joel miller

Summary | Joel has to teach you a damn lesson, just like always.

Pairing | Brat Tamer!Joel x F!Reader

Word Count | 4K

Warnings | brat tamer!Joel, softdom!Joel, praise kink, implied age gap, spanking, use of rope restraints, hair-pulling, edging, orgasm denial, squirting, (1) singular pussy slap, unprotected PiV sex, rough sex, oral sex (M&F receiving), face-fucking, fingering, dirty talk, breath play, biting, cum play/cum eating, reader is a bratty menace, aftercare(!), no use of y/n.

Authors Note | All I'm going to say is this came to me in a dream and I had to get it down on paper. Mostly written on my phone with very little proofreading, so any mistakes are my own and I will live and die by them. This is basically just pure filth. Enjoy, and happy birthday to that old man. I love him but I would give him the hardest time, just like reader.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

If there was one thing that you lived for, it was pushing Joel Miller’s patience. The poor man had wandered into Jackson, little girl in tow, looking worn and weary almost a year ago, and from the moment you set eyes on him, you just knew you had to give this old man a run for his money.

You’d started subtle, flirting with him on patrol, taking his distaste at your attempt to talk to him at every second as a personal challenge to break him, to work him down just enough to make your move. After a couple of weeks, he’s started talking, mainly in single word answers, but you’d managed to slowly chip him down.

Then came the weekly drinks at The Tipsy Bison, everyone on patrol usually went, apart from those scheduled to be out that day, but he’d started laughing at your jokes and had even opted to sit next to you on occasion. Then one night, he’d walked you home, you’d had one too many glasses of whiskey, kissed him on the porch but agreed it wasn’t right to fuck right then, but he’d come back, that next night, both of you sober, and you’d kissed him again, and the rest really was history.

It’s late afternoon when he comes through his front door, toeing his boots off as the door slams behind him. You’ve been led on his couch for most of the afternoon, reading a book you’d plucked from his shelf – some nonsense Western that did nothing to keep your attention, but was enough to keep you occupied whilst you waited for him to come home.

“Afternoon,” You sing to him as he shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the coat stand near the door, “Good patrol?”

“Was fine,” He grumbles, just like he always does, he swats at your legs to get you to move them enough for him to sit down, “Scoot,” You lift them up just long enough for him to ease himself onto the couch, before you put them back down on his lap, abandoning the book on the coffee table, “You sort the stuff in the kitchen like I asked?”

“No.” You say simply, shaking your head, subtly digging the heel of your foot into the front of his jeans.

His big palm circles your ankle, gripping in warning, “What about the sheets, you wash ‘em?”

“Did you see them pegged out when you came home?” You ask, sweetly, using your other foot now to dig into his jeans.

“Will you fuckin’ quit it?” He seethes a little, other hand gripping your other ankle to still you, “What have you done all day, huh?” He implores, “I don’t keep ya around to lounge about lookin’ pretty.”

You chuckle, “That’s exactly why you keep me around, old man.”

“Shut up,” He squeezes at your ankles, “I asked you a question, you gonna answer me?”

You shrug, “Woke up late,” You hold up one finger, “Felt horny so I got myself off,” Another finger, “Had a shower, used the last of that nice soap,” Another finger, “Made lunch,” Another finger, “And then led here reading one of your stupid books until you came home.” A final finger raised so you’re holding up and entire hand, palm facing towards him.

You’re looking at him, all scowling face and dark eyes as his fingers wrap even tighter around your ankles. If you didn’t know him like you did, you’d be frightened, but you know he’s just thinking about the best way to deal with you. You wonder which of his lessons he’s going to bring out today as the look he’s giving you shoots straight down to your core.

“I ask you to do two things,” He sighs, like he’s tired, “I ain’t exactly expectin’ slave labour from you, and you sit here and treat it like the Hilton?”

“What’s the Hilton?” You ask, genuinely curious, thinking it must have been something from the times before all this, the times you were too young to remember.

“Forget it.” He growls, and you think any minute now he’s gonna move to drag you off and show you just how bad you’ve been, but he doesn’t move, just sits with your ankles clasped in his hands, staring at the wall in front of him.

“I’ve been so bad Joel,” You goad, trying to wriggle your ankles free, “Aren’t you going to teach me a lesson?”

“No,” He spits, “I ain’t, because you like it too damn much, ain’t teachin’ you anythin’ because you never learn.”

You pout a little, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “Promise to listen real hard this time Joel,” You promise, “Try and learn and much as possible.”

“No,” He speaks, stern tone, with a warning squeeze to your ankles again, “Been a long day, don’t have the energy to bring you into line.”

“Ah, I see,” You muse, “You’re feeling too old today.”

“What did you just say t’me?” He’s incredulous now, good, you’ve got him just where you want him.

“Oh, nothing,” You giggle, “Don’t worry.”

It seems to do the trick though, because he’s pushing himself up from the couch, gripping at your wrist now to pull you up as well. He pushes you gently by the small of your back to get you to walk in front of him, “Upstairs.” Is the only instruction he gives, along with a playful swat to your bottom as you start up the stairs.

He’s crowding behind you, always following just one step behind as you make your way to his bedroom, suddenly aware that you didn’t make the bed when you rolled out of this morning. That’s surely another black mark to your name, you think, as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Get undressed.”

This is new, normally Joel liked to be the one to unwrap you, but you start working on the buttons of your shirt, undoing it and dropping it to the floor, followed closely behind by your jeans, leaving you standing in front of him in your underwear, “All of it.” He demands.

Your hands shakily reach behind you to unclasp your bra, dragging it from your body to land with the rest of your clothes. You drag your panties down your legs and step out of them, wrapping your arms across your chest to try and cover yourself a little. Joel reaches out a hand to you, which you take timidly, expecting him to pull you into him so he could put his mouth on you, anywhere, but instead, you find yourself pulled to him and folded over his lap so quickly you let out a surprised yelp.

“So fuckin’ naughty, all the damn time baby,” He speaks softly, running his fingers down the length of your spine, “Don’t ever think you’ll learn how to be good.”

His hand trails down to your bare ass, gripping the skin with his hands, using his other arm to press you down into his lap, rough material of his jeans rubbing against the sensitive peaks of your tits and the soft skin of your tummy. He rubs his rough palm over the globes of your ass, anticipation building in your body. Then, he pulls away, bringing his palm down onto your ass with a satisfying ‘smack’ ringing through the air. It takes a while for your brain to catch up with what’s just happened, but then the stinging sensation settles across your skin and has you wriggling to get away.

“Keep still,” Joel chastises, free hand digging further into the small of your back to keep you from moving, “That’s one, how many do you think you deserve baby?” He muses, “Fifty?”

“W-what?!” You exclaim, “N-no Joel, that’s too much.”

“Forty then?” His palm is cradling at the skin he’s just spanked.

“T-ten?” You offer feebly.

“Oh baby girl,” He tuts at you, “Aim higher.”

“Fifteen?”

“How about we settle for twenty, baby?” He asks, all soft and sweet, “Twenty seems reasonable to me.”

He doesn’t give you time to agree, it would seem the bargaining time is over, as he brings his palm back down onto your ass, harder than before, but in the same exact place. It jolts you on his lap, makes you cry out. The front of your body dragging against his denim.

“How many?” He asks, rubbing his hand over the skin he’s just spanked.

“Two.” You reply quietly, trying to keep the whimper you want to let out to yourself.

“Good girl,” He praises, raising his hand again, “Keep count for me, okay?”

Smack.

“Three!” You shriek, as his palm yet again connects with that same patch of skin.

Smack.

“F-four.”

Smack.

“Oh fuck,” You groan, trying to wriggle away unsuccessfully, it’s already too much, “Five!”

Smack.

This one doesn’t hurt as much; Joel’s shifted the assault of his palm onto the virgin side of your ass for you. You suck in a deep breath, try and blink away the tears that have formed in your eyes, as his hand massages where it’s just struck. He gives you another four on that cheek, and then switches back to the original, bringing his palm back down onto the skin that you’re sure is reddening by now.

“Joel!” You cry out, tears dropping from your eyes now, but your body betrays you and arches your back for him, pushing your ass up like you’re asking for it, “E-eleven.”

It carries on like that, five spanks to each cheek until you’re practically sobbing over his lap. You count the twentieth spank and a feeling of relief washes over you as he bends over you to press a light kiss to the sore skin he’s left. It makes you hiss, the contact, no matter how gentle he is with it. Then, he’s shifting you off his lap and onto the bed, letting you scurry away to the top of the mattress as he stands.

The stinging of the skin of your ass is still making you sniffle as Joel shuffles to the bedside table, digging around in it. You’re not quite sure what he’s looking for, focusing mainly on trying to keep the red raw skin of your ass off the sheets, when he stands, throwing what he was looking for onto the sheets next to you. You turn your head and see the length of rope that he keeps in his drawer just for moments like this.

“Arms up.” He short with you, sitting on his knees next to you.

You do as you’re told, raising your arms above your head, still pushing your ass off the bed, but knowing soon enough you’ll be focused on something else that isn’t the stinging sensation of your ass. He takes your wrists and binds them together deftly, like it’s a walk in the park for him, like it’s something he does all the time. Then, once he’s sure your wrists are safely encased in rope, he takes the other end and ties it to his bed frame. He tugs slightly to make sure the way he’ll have you thrashing soon means that you won’t be able to pull yourself free.

“That okay?” He asks gruffly, to which you nod, “Words, baby.”

“Y-yes,” You stammer, “It’s okay.”

“Remember your word?” He asks, stepping off the bed to partially undress, shucking his jeans and flannel off, but keeping his t-shirt and boxers on.

“I remember.”

He hums in approval, settling himself on the bed between your thighs, using wide palms to spread you open for him. You’re absolutely soaked, pussy dripping with slick from his palms and the way he’s trussed you up to his bed.

Joel lets out a low whistle, letting his thumb rub up the length of your folds, “See,” He murmurs, using his thumb to gently spread the lips of your pussy to reveal your clit, already swollen and begging for attention, “Told ya that ya liked being punished too much,” He lets his thumb make a single swipe over that bundle of nerves, chuckling as you cry out, hips bucking to try and follow his finger, “She’s already fuckin’ soaked for me, baby.”

You let out a high-pitched mewl, a begging sound that you hope tells him that you need him to touch you, you need to feel the pleasure you know he’s capable of after the pain he’s just inflicted. Mercifully he obliges, pressing the calloused pad of his thumb back to your clit, slick gathered there from before, as he starts rubbing in fast, precise circles. You’ve been so worked up that you can already feel the coil tightening in your tummy, and you know Joel can sense it as well, the way your hips are moving in time to his movements and the way you’re arching your back off the bed are a dead giveaway.

You can feel yourself reaching that peak, so fucking close to tipping over the edge when he tears his hand away from your core and sits back, watching as you try and move back towards him, moaning in frustration at being left high and dry. You’re wriggling about, trying to close your thighs to rub them together to get yourself off, when he pushes a wide palm into your belly. He’s so powerful in the best way, stilling your movements immediately as you look up at him, face serious.

“Remind me what the second thing on your list was this mornin’, baby?” He asks, voice as innocent as pie.

You’re wracking your brain, lust making you more confused about what the fuck he’s even talking about. Then it dawns on you, what you’d told him downstairs. Felt horny so I got myself off.

“You’ve got a big brain baby,” He coos, one palm squeezing your thigh, “I know you remember, so go on, tell me what you did.”

“I g-got myself off.”

“And is that what good girls do?” He asks, hand ghosting back to your pussy, knuckles of his hand brushing over your skin there.

“N-no?” You question.

“That’s right,” He hums, fingers slipping between your folds once more to gather some of the insane amount of slick that’s pooling at your aching entrance, “And besides, gettin’ to come is a reward, and I ain’t sure you deserve that right now.”

His thumb is back on your clit now, moving in exactly the same way as before, with just the right amount of pressure to be building you back up. It feels so fucking good already and you know the way it feels when he tips you over the edge, you know how delicious it is and God, you want it so bad.

“Please Joel,” You beg, all throaty and lust-filled, “I’ll be so good, I promise.”

“Maybe ya should’a thought about that earlier,” He growls, “Before you came without me, thought you could do it better than me, huh?”

“No!” You exclaim, because that’s definitely not true, you could never make yourself feel the way he does, “Oh God, please Joel.” You’re so fucking close, just a few more passes of his thumb and you could do it, you know you could, but so does he, which is why he’s tearing his thumb away from you again.

You actually cry now, tears of frustration building in the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you thrash around on the bed, hissing when the rope around your wrist digs in but not caring all that much.

“Quit your cryin’.” He chastises, hand on your hip to keep you still.

You whimper, lip wobbling, trying to keep your cool. All you want is to reach out to him. You think if you could touch him, he would give you what you want, so you’re pretty sure that’s why he’s got you tied to the damn bed, to keep himself in check, to see this through, because Joel Miller always folds to you when you put your hands on him, weak man that he is.

“You’re being so mean.” You cry out as he shifts, lying flat on his stomach so you can feel his breath on your aching pussy.

“You were the one beggin’ to get punished baby,” And it smarts because it’s true, “I’m only givin’ you what you wanted.”

He leans forward, tongue licking a stripe through your pussy, all the way up to your clit where he sucks the little bud into his mouth, rolls it between his lips and then lets it pop from his mouth like an ice-pop. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue a few times and you suck in a breath, your fingernails digging painfully into the palm of your hands as you focus on trying to reach the cliff edge and fall over it this time.

You’re holding your breath, hips working in time with the movements of his mouth, eyes screwed shut just trying to focus on how good it feels. You can hear the rustling of sheets, which means if you were to open your eyes and look down at him, you’d find him grinding himself into the bedsheets for his own relief. He pulls off you, and you’re about to curse him out when he speaks.

“You wanna come, baby?” He asks, punctuating it with a flick of his tongue.

“Oh please Joel,” You beg, and even to your ears it sounds wrecked and pathetic, “Please let me come.”

Then, you’re shrieking because the palm that has dealt so much damage to your ass this evening, has now swatted your aching cunt, “No.” He says simply, pushing himself back up and onto his knees.

He pulls his t-shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him. You’re squirming as he shucks off his boxers, moving awkwardly to kick them off, before he’s mounting your body, those strong thighs straddling your chest as his throbbing cock rests just millimetres from your mouth. He reaches down, let’s his fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls your head forward roughly. Your mouth, like muscle-memory takes over, opens, and the head of his cock slips over your tongue. You can already taste the salty beads of pre-cum as he shuffles forward a little, easing his cock into your mouth until it’s hitting the back of your throat.

He holds your head steady with the fingers tangled in your hair as he fucks your throat. The sound is obscene, practically pornographic, the wet sounds that come as the head of his cock meets the back of your throat on every thrust. He pulls out of your mouth every now and then, when he’s thrust too hard and makes you gag on him, but fucking hell it’s turning you on so much. You can feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets, you don’t think anything has ever made you this wet before.

He pulls his cock out of your mouth one last time, a string of saliva connecting him to your mouth until he pulls away enough for it break, laying wet across your chin and down your neck. Joel shuffles back down your body and you think finally, you’re going to get some relief.

He hooks your knees over his arms, pushing them forward to your chest as his throbbing cock slips through your folds. He rocks his hips a few times, the bulbous head of him swiping over your clit, before he unexpectedly buries himself into your soaked cunt in one go.

You actually sob at the feeling. You’ve been so empty all night, and now you’re so full of him, so crowded by his body, that you finally feel some kind of relief. He’s still for a moment – once it would have been to get you used to the heft of him inside you, but right now, you know it’s because he’s just as fucked as you are, and he wants to make sure you’ve truly learnt your lesson.

Once he’s collected himself, he sets a bruising pace. Cock dragging out of your slick heat and slamming back into you. He revels in the way your tits bounce with every thrust, so much so that he leans forward and bites at the flesh, sucking bruises into your skin as he pounds himself right into the very depth of you.

“Doin’ so good for me baby,” He groans out against your skin, sucking your nipple into his mouth, letting it go with a wet pop as he pushes himself back up for me, “Takin’ your punishment so well.”

The angle he’s got you folded into means the head of his cock is brushing against the spongy spot inside you every time. Your pussy is clenched so tightly around him that it’s a miracle he’s held on for this long. He finally brings his thumb back to your clit and you’re begging this time that he’ll let you finish, because if he doesn’t you’re pretty sure you might actually die.

“Joel,” You mewl, “I’m g-gonna – holy shit – m’gonna come.”

“Go on baby,” He finally relents, you let out a sob of relief, “Come on my cock for me, like a good girl.”

It’s so overwhelming when it finally happens. Your vision blurs and blood rushes to your ears, blocking out any sound that isn’t the beating of your pulse. Your pussy clenches impossibly tight around him as pleasure finally floods through every inch of your body. You feel yourself literally gush on his cock, soaking his skin, your skin, the bedsheets beneath you. You think you might even scream his name as your body convulses and shakes, arches up into him.

You’re slightly aware of him pulling his cock from inside you, letting your knees drop. You can hear the slap of his fist on his skin as he fists his cock, and then he’s growling out your name, his cum spattering over your tummy, lying hot and thick on your sticky skin. It’s silent for a good few moments, the only thing you can focus on is the sound of you both sucking in breath to your lungs and the burn of the rope around your wrists.

“Look at me.” Joel demands, and you do, your eyes meeting his, which are almost black with lust, his face flushed, sweat pooling at his hairline.

He drags a finger through the pools of his cum, bringing his fingers to your mouth. He presses them into the flat of your tongue, letting you swallow, which continues until you’ve cleaned every inch of him from your skin. He then works quickly to untie the knots that have you bound to the bed, freeing your skin from the burning feeling that’s settled there.

“Stay still,” It’s still demanding, but it’s softer now, as he gets off the bed, dropping the rope to the floor, “I’ll be right back.”

He comes back moments later with a glass of water and a cool cloth. He rolls you over onto your tummy, pressing the cool material to your ass, trying to soothe the red welts of his handprints that have already started to form. He presses soothing, open-mouth kisses to the skin before he rolls you back over onto your back.

He moves you because you’re pliant now, to rest against the pillows, handing you the water to drink as he runs the last of the cooling cloth over your lower tummy and through the folds of your spent cunt, then it’s discarded to the floor with everything else, and you’re being pulled to his chest, kiss pressed to your forehead.

“Too much?” He asks quietly, checking to make sure he hasn’t crossed some line with you.

“Just perfect.” You reply, eye-lids heavy with sleep.

He brings one of your wrists to his mouth, letting his tongue lick soothing stripes along the reddened skin there, kissing every now and then, but keeping you pressed tightly to his chest, you own arm draped around his waist.

“You learn your lesson?” He asks then.

“Probably not,” You hum against the sweaty skin of his chest, “I don’t think you’re ever going to fuck the attitude outta me, Miller.”

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gobbluthbutagirl · 2 years

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if we want the rewards of the closing lead at the horrible target we work in not having to come into the horrible target we work in on her birthday we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of having hr guy be the lead that closes on the closing lead’s birthday

#on monday she mentioned to hr guy that she was going to ask the market lead to close on her birthday #and he was like ‘no i’ll do it. happy birthday’#so i’ve known since then. but it was so funny because she didn’t know if i knew or not yesterday #so she tried to give me a heads up bc she knows i don’t like closing w/ his stupid ass #and i was like lmaooo i’m fine with it because it means you don’t have to come in here on your birthday #but like even if it WAS the market lead who was closing…well #i don’t actually remember how it went the last time the market lead closed by herself because that was also the day of the infamous Old Man #ok it cut off before i could say Penis In Parking Garage Incident but that’s where i was going with that #all i really remember from that day is seeing that and her having me take the annual team member survey like an hour later #and me giving the target really bad remarks in pretty much all categories #my job wrapped

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hotmencoreplus · 9 months

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𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 ‘𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭’ 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Simon Riley x sister!reader (she/her)

Summary: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, the infamous, relentless and fearless Task Force 141 soldier. And the particulars of him being the guardian of his baby sister.

Warnings: Talks of war and deployment, mentions of a traumatic childhood, language. Attempted to do it chronologically, but have added bits here and there

Word count: 3300+

A/N: Basing this off the theory that he is mid 30’s in mw2.

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Copying and reposts are not! My fics are only posted on tumblr, under this sideblog @hotmencoreplus for the account, @hotmencore

‣ Simon wasn’t at all prepared to be an older brother, but when he saw you, he knew it was his job to protect his little baby sister.

‣ You were the only one who was fortunate enough to not be killed by Washington, so when Simon was made aware of your survival, he took you in as his own.

‣ He doubted himself at first, fearing he would turn out like his dad, but also didn’t want to abandon you like he had been as a child.

‣ He wasn’t experienced in any way shape or form with taking care of a baby, so most of his days when not on deployment consisted of him watching youtube videos and going online to figure out how to do stuff and take care of you properly.

‣ When on deployment, he left you with a trusted neighbour who he had known for years before. (I feel like this would either be like a man who he would call his ‘best friend’ when home, or an old woman who has kids of her own, that use to babysit him)

‣ He would spoil you the best he could, and make you as happy as possible, not wanting you to have a childhood anything remotely like his.

‣ He definitely still gets help off of google for some things. He isn’t really too good with knowledge on ‘girly’ things.

‣ When home, you and him would always sit at the kitchen table of an evening, you playing with barbies whilst he sat across from you modding his rifle. As you got older, it would be the same just you with homework. You didn’t speak much when sat with each other, though it was always a comfortable silence for the both of you.

‣ Once when in primary school, you came home with a pout as you were jealous of your classmates pigtails and plaits, seeing that Simon only really knew how to brush your hair. So that night, he spent an hour watching videos over and over so that he could learn how to plait your hair.

‣ He felt stupid watching the videos, and frustrated that it took him so long to get the hang of it, but he knew it was all worth it when he saw the grin on your face the next morning as you looked at your hair in the mirror to see it all pretty and plaited.

‣ He also felt the same each birthday or christmas when you were little, worried that the little amount that he was able to get you wouldn’t be enough to make you happy. But 100% of the time, it was just him underestimating himself.

‣ When you were young, he never bothered to mention his own birthday. But one year when with your neighbour, you found out his birthday was a couple days after he came back from deployment. So you saved up money for the 2 weeks before he came back, and bought him a little teddy bear and a bar of chocolate. You also made him a little loom band bracelet, and haphazardly wrapped them up and hid them under your bed.

‣ When his birthday did arrive, you came downstairs to him in the living room, holding the parcel out in front of him. He lifted you up onto his lap, taking the parcel from you. “What’s this?” He asked, looking at it as he peeled his fingers from the cellotape of which you’d badly wrapped it with.

‣ “Happy birthday” you say softly with a smile, and that right there made Simon’s heart melt. He unwrapped the gift, and held the bear out in front of him. You looked at him eagerly, though his expression was confusing to you. “I hope you like it” you say with a slight hint of doubt. But Simon smiles at you, yes, smiles, and pulls you closer to him, placing a small kiss on your cheek, “I love it, thank you Y/N” he says, and the grin returns to your face.

‣ Simon had never felt more appreciated by anyone in his life.

‣ He let you off that one morning to share the chocolate with him, after eagerly placing the loom band on his large wrist, showing him that you now had matching ones.

‣ And he wears it everyday, even on deployment, under his uniform.

‣ And he still does to this day, years later.

‣ He also has a tattoo tucked away somewhere that he got for you, most likely your initials.

‣ When he first joined 141, Price was the only one who knew about you, and that Simon was the one who took care of you.

‣ He knew from Ghost’s files, as when he joined the task force, you were at the age where Simon wanted you written down as who was told when he died.

‣ You were at the age where it was harder to just pretend he never existed. Because when you were a baby, that was his plan. Before he joined it was your neighbour that was put down, just as a telling that you would need to be put in someone else's care.

‣ When Ghost requested the change to his file, he asked Price that someone could go over and tell you in person, rather than just a phone call, or his dog tags through the mail. Which caused for him to have to let Price know of your existence.

‣ He also asked for Price to tell Laswell, as he trusted her and wanted someone there for you who was in the UK more than he was, and in case both him and Price were on a mission/ far away.

‣ He also did it as he believed that you needed at least one female figure somewhat a part of your life, though you've only met her like once or twice.

‣ It takes a good amount of time and full trust in a person for Simon to be comfortable with them meeting you, or even just knowing of you. Which is why Johnny found out so randomly.

‣ You were late pre-teens when Simon was coming home from deployment, and got a call from his friend, apologising that he couldn’t pick him up from base. Johnny overheard the conversation and insisted that he dropped Simon off, though he was perfectly fine getting a taxi.

‣ Simon did message you to stay in the house, but you weren’t paying any mind to your phone, just looking out the window waiting for his arrival. Your own excitement blinded you to the fact it wasn’t the car of Simon’s friend dropping him off, so when you saw his skull mask through the car window, you jumped off the couch and ran out the door to him without a second thought. You didn’t hesitate in giving him a massive hug, which, though Johnny hadn’t pulled off yet, Simon reciprocated, as he knew there was no way of exactly hiding you now.

‣ It wasn’t at all that he didn’t trust Johnny enough, Simon just always felt awkward bringing it up and didn’t expect the circumstances of which he was in, so wasn’t prepared at all.

‣ Soap didn’t like to pry, but was curious and immensely shocked to see a young girl run out of his house and jump onto Simon’s huge frame. He knew it couldn’t have been his daughter as Simon would have simply been far too young for that to be true. So he made the conclusion of you being his sister, and tried to keep it to himself.

‣ Though on the next deployment, Johnny did ask about the young girl he saw, and with a grumble of a reply, he then understood that his guesses were correct. By then he trusted Gaz enough as well, so the whole of 141 eventually knew of Simon’s little sister.

‣ Simon keeps a little photograph of you in his uniform, in an inside breast pocket, above his heart. It’s a photo of you when you were little, the first year he put aside his fears, and took you trick-or-treating. You were dressed as a little fairy, grinning up at the camera, your face covering most of the shot as you leant forwards into the frame.

‣ You two don’t have any proper photos with each other, apart from one from when it was your birthday one year, and you told Simon that the only thing you wanted was a photo of the two of you together. So Simon begrudgingly granted your wish after a lot of convincing.

‣ In the photo, you are stood next to each other in the hallway of your home, you grinning with your short arms attempting to wrap around his large waist, and him stood looking emotionless with his simple skull mask on, his arm behind you resting on your back.

‣ It wouldn’t look sentimental at all to anyone else, but you treasured it. It stays on your bedside cabinet, with one of his old dog tags that he let you keep. You also have another old one of his attached to the zip of your school backpack.

‣ Simon never really decorated your room too much when you were younger, as he was new to the whole thing and decided that he would let you do it with him when you were older and found your own passions and interests. So first off for several years your room consisted of a small single bed, a wardrobe, and littles shelves for your toys, all of which he built with you sat on the floor of your room with him one day.

‣ But when you did find yourself and what you liked, you both spent a couple days decorating it. As it was just you and Simon in the house, you weren’t ever very ‘girly’ so the walls were painted a pale blue, and he bought you some new shelves and some fairy lights/ LED’s to hang up around your bed.

‣ When you use to get nightmares or just couldn’t fall asleep, you would sneak into Simon’s room, and wake him up so that you could stay with him. Although due to his own nightmares, was usually awake before you came in anyways. But there was something he secretly found so sweet about hearing your little feet try to quietly pad down the hallway to his room.

‣ He never minded, because he had nightmares all the time. Simon would never admit it, not even to his baby sister, but he enjoyed the nights where he would have her with him. Because in the long run it did actually help him fall asleep, knowing he wasn’t completely on his own.

‣ He had you.

‣ Due to him being away quite a lot, you have been aware of his job since you were little.

‣ Though when you got older, you wanted to know more about it. Simon didn’t really want to tell you much, as he didn't believe it was something he wanted his sister knowing about, but after so much pestering from you, he caved in. You learnt about his callsign, and how he always wore the skull mask.

‣ Once meeting Soap properly, he was the one to tell you about how infamous your brother really was on the field.

‣ You found it pretty cool that you were one of the only people in the entire world who new what the Simon Riley truly looked like, and secretly took pride in it.

‣ You have always known Simon with and without his mask, so it never feels weird. He rarely wore it when you were a toddler, though when you were first born he mostly kept it on, scared his scars were gonna frighten you.

‣ But the first time he took it off in front of you, you babbled and giggled, and reached out to his face. So from then on, he didn’t bother wearing it around you.

‣ There was one occasion when he came to pick you up from a neighbours after almost a year long deployment, and you were shy with him. It hurt Simon a bit, and made him feel guilty for not being there, and that you had grown so much in the time he was away. But the feeling soon melted away once your neighbour gave you a little push from behind their leg, you softening in Simon’s touch as he held you close in his arms.

‣ His teenage years were the most traumatic for him, so when you transitioned into yours, he became even more protective of you. You sometimes fought over this, and Simon felt bad, but you knew that he was doing it because he wanted nothing more than for you to be safe.

‣ When he bought you your first phone, he definitely made you have Life360 or something like it, so that he knows where you are just in case he needs it.

‣ He would never go crazy on where you were and who you were with. He trusted you. But when away, every night before he went to bed himself, or whenever it was late in the UK timezone, he would check that you were at home. It made him relax slightly about being away, knowing that you were safe.

‣ You were about 15 when you were properly introduced to the 141 team, as behind Soap’s teasing and pestering, Simon knew that you needed some other adult figures in your life. So, much to your own surprise, he messaged you asking if you wanted to come get him from base one time with his neighbour.

‣ You knew that Simon wasn’t really much of a physical affection type of guy, but you could never resist when he was coming back home after a deployment. And even less so now that you were able to come to base. But he also knew that much to his dislike for the public display of it, there was nothing he could do to stop you from doing so.

‣ And with that fact in mind, he knew he had to reciprocate the gesture, so when you did run up to him with your arms out, for a second he forgot about that fact the rest of the guys wouldn’t let cold old ‘Ghost’ hear the end of it, and wrapped one arm around you, lifting you up with ease, his bags clutched in his other hand. You practically squealed to him how much you’d missed him, as he mumbled back in your ear that he did you, too. Lucky for him the others didn't hear that.

‣ Once he had put you down, he very much awkwardly introduced you to the others in a grumbly tone.

‣ When you turned to them, the first thing that they all collectively noticed were your eyes.

‣ You had Simon’s eyes.

‣ Johnny’s hello was an enthusiastic “Good to finally meet you lass,” Simon glaring at Soap, aware of the amusement this brought him, knowing his lieutenant was annoyed as hell.

‣ Gaz nodded at you with a smile, and Price said hello in a deep but warm tone, looking on at you with an almost proud gaze.

‣ Price didn’t know what to expect when Soap loudly made everyone aware of Ghost’s new visitor at base pick up, as Johnny was the only one of them who had seen you before to recognise you as Ghost's sister, though they knew you existed (much to their inital surprise). But when you turned to the rest of the team without hesitance, Price instantly felt an even higher level of respect towards Simon as it was clear from your confident and polite hello that he had raised you well.

‣ Much to Simon’s own self doubt.

‣ One night when the 141 were all at a bar, Price quietly told Simon about how he had done well with you, knowing that he was definitely uncertain of his own worth in your life. But Simon heard the sincerity in his Captain’s voice, and with a quick look of appreciation towards John, he then didn’t doubt himself as much as he had before.

‣ Simon sometimes does mess up though with his language around you, only recently now that you have gotten older. But he isn’t too fussed, just as long as he doesn't hear you repeat any of it.

‣ Seeing that it is only you two in the house 24/7, you both surprisingly get on really well, and there have only been a rare few occasions when he has had to put his foot down.

‣ But these rare occasions would mainly consist of something silly to the point that he got sick of your nagging, like when you begged him to have ice cream for breakfast.

‣ “Please Simon, just this once-“

‣ “No, Y/N! You said that last time. Now drop it.”

‣ There have definitely been times where neither of you can sleep, and now that you're older, you both just sit with each other in comfortable silence. Occasionally just putting a random film on in the living room, but most of the time you would just be at the kitchen table, with a bowl of cereal at like 2am. That is until, and this is 98% of the time, you fall asleep with your head on the table and Simon has to carry you to your room.

‣ When you got to the age where Simon was comfortable with you in the house on your own, you once mentioned to him that the first day of him being away was always the hardest, and that it felt really weird in the house.

‣ You both knew he couldn’t do much about that, but he tried little things to make it somewhat bearable.

‣ For instance, he knows one of your favourite things is leftover takeaway from when you two have one, so the night before every deployment, he always orders takeaway for dinner so that there is always some in the fridge for you on the first day of him being gone.

‣ It’s the little things that Simon does for you despite his mostly cold heart that mean the most to you.

‣ On long deployments, you write Simon letters for him to read. You do message him too, but prefer writing them, as you know he will write back, which you feel is more sincere. His letters are never as long or heartfelt as yours, but you know your brother, and that he loves you dearly.

‣ His replies would often be a few sentences, praising you on anything that you would mention about school or just exciting stuff in general, signing off with ‘Simon’, and a barely noticeable ‘x’ next to it.

‣ You keep every single one of the letters he sends back, your favourites being the ones that he would occasionally send to you, first. And secretly Simon does the same, keeping your letters tucked away in his bag under his bed.

‣ He tells you unless its an emergency, that you should stick to letters or texts, so that he can still stay focused with his job and that if you do one day call him, he knows straight away that it’s an urgent matter.

‣ There was one time when you forgot about the emergency rule, and called him to tell him you passed a test you had been stressing about.

‣ He was about to shout down the line asking what was wrong and where you were until you beat him to it with a loud “I PASSED SIMON, I PASSED THE TEST!”

‣ “That’s amazing Y/N, but you just scared the fucking life out of me.”

‣ “Oh crap. I forgot, sorry. But I passed!!!”

‣ "Great love. I'm proud of you. But next time stick it in a letter, yeah?"

#call of duty #modern warfare 2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x sister!reader #platonic #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 platonic #soap x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #modern warfare x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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pandorxxx · 1 year

Text

Hard to please

Neteyam x Omatikayan fem reader (all aged up)

Warnings: Cursing, fingering, p in v, bratty reader, brat-tamer Neteyam, dom-Neteyam, multiple orgasms, squirting, choking, oral (for like 2 seconds, nothing crazy), bondage.

Synopsis: it’s finally your 21st birthday, and every warrior has pitched in to make sure that their favorite girl gets whatever she wants. They all have eyes for you, but you have eyes for one, and one only…

Outfit/Hair inspo:

You were the most spoiled girl in the clan. Your father, being jakes right hand man and your mother being one of the greatest hunters. You were automatically among the elite kids in the clan. You were very prissy, not one to get your hands dirty. Your father got you everything you wanted, and he spoiled the hell out of you. Every girl wanted to be you, and every male wanted to be WITH you. You were one of, if not THE most popular girl in the clan.

So, when your 21st birthday rolled around, you better believe it was the most talked about event all year. It was so big that your father and Jake sat down with many of the warriors to plan this out. It was endless nights of building and preparation, and every warrior in the clan was hands on. It didn’t take much for the young warriors to agree to such a task, considering it was all for you.

To say that you had every male warrior around your age wrapped around your finger was an understatement. They all wanted you, and would do anything to get you. Even if that meant signing up to help with a stupid girly birthday bash.

“Shit, this turned out kinda nice.” Lo’ak smiled, hands on his hips as he looked around the forest, admiring all of the work he and the other warriors put in for your party. There was no theme in particular, your only rule was the main color being PINK. And so, what y/n wants, y/n gets.

Pink lights hung from the tall trees, illuminating the forest just right. Pink balloons, streamers, and glitter imported from earth. This idea had been in your head ever since you were 16 years old, and your father did everything in his power to make sure everything was the way you wanted it. Beautifully decorated desserts sat on a long pink table. Along with all of the alcohol possible. It was truly a fairytale.

“Well, anything y/n wants, y/n gets. I hope she likes it with her ungrateful ass.” Neteyam spoke with a drink in hand, watching the forest fill up with members of the clan.

“She better like it. I’ve got glitter in places glitter shouldn’t fucking be.” Lo’ak scoffed, rolling his eyes. Neteyam followed with a snicker.

“Tell me about it. I’ve been washing pink paint and glitter off of my body for the past couple of weeks.” Neteyam sighed, taking another swig of his drink. The brothers slowly looked at eachother, silence falling between them before the famous line left their lips in unison.

“aNytHinG fOr y/N!” They mocked, bursting out into roaring laughter. It was sad but true. You had every warrior right where you wanted them, and that included Neteyam and Lo’ak. They’d do anything to see your spoiled ass happy. Not to mention you were hard to please.

Suddenly, the lights went low. Literally turning the entire forest a deep pink shade. The music cut, as your father took the main stage that the warriors hand built and painted pink for you.

“I just have a few words before we reveal my beautiful baby girl.” Your father started, immediately quieting the clan. He sighed with admiration before speaking again.

“Y/n, my daughter, my princess. We have been planning this party ever since you were 16 years old, and now…Tis finally time. Tonight is all about you, and I hope you have the best time. I love you so much baby girl.” He finished. The crowd immediately clapping for him.

“Now, I would like to turn the mic over to Jake. I believe he has a few words.” Your father spoke before handing the mic off to Jake.

“Yes, thank you. Firstly, I want to start off by wishing y/n a very happy birthday. I’ve known her all of her life. And she has grown to be a beautiful, lovely young lady.” Jake started with a lighthearted smile.

“Yeah, she’s grown alright. Have you seen that ass? Eywa took her precious fucking ti-“ lo’ak whispered before Neteyam covered his mouth. “HUSH!” Neteyam strained, trying to hold in his laugh.

“I want to thank my warriors for setting this entire party up. I’ve never seen them volunteer for something so goddamn fast.” Jake joked, eyeing all of his warriors all knowingly causing them to erupt into laughter.

“Anyway, I hope you have a great time baby girl. We all love you. Tonight’s all about you.” Jake ended, causing the crowd to hoot and hollar. Suddenly, The brightest pink light flashed on you and your friends in your own private section. Gasps from the girls and whistles from the men filled the forest.

Your hair was twisted in the front, as loose curls hung down your back. Decorated with gorgeous pink accessories. Your body was covered in loose glitter, glowing under the bright lights. Your outfit was revealing, diamond embroidered nonetheless. Diamond chains hanging down your waist. Diamond chains laid perfecting along your round ass. Your thigh-band matched your diamond outfit perfectly as well as your other accessories. You smiled, blowing kisses into the crowd as you waved at everyone.

“Oh my…” lo’ak spoke in a trance like state, watching as you stood up to spin around, showing off your little outfit. “Mmm that girl is practically fucking naked. Who ever made that outfit needs a raise or something.” Lo’ak continued, eyeing you up and down before licking his lips.

“Mhm.” Neteyam hummed, watching you through his predatory gaze. Muscles flexed as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. You and Neteyam were kind of close, considering both of your fathers brotherhood. He really couldn’t stand your attitude. You were rude, cocky, and prissy. Your relationship was mostly him giving and you taking, without as much as a simple thank you. If it wasn’t for his father, he would’ve been taken care of that bratty attitude of yours. There was no denying that he was sexually attracted to you. Hell, every warrior was. And tonight just amplified it.

The music turned back on, and the party resumed. You spent your time mingling with everyone there. Singing and dancing with your friends, and drinking/smoking the entire time. Until it was gift time. This was always your favorite part of any celebration. Even though the only person who was good at giving you gifts was your father, he knew you so well.

The warriors fell in line, right in-front of you. Most of them bowing at your feet before handing you their gifts. They all ranged from handmade jewelry, cloths, and accessories. Nothing that really peeked your interest.

“Lo’ak, what the hell is this?” You smiled sarcastically, holding a very short pink loincloth with “lo’aks property” written across it in black glitter.

“Oh, come on mama! you know we would be good together. Just thought everyone else should know that ass belongs to me.” He shot you a cheesy smile, rubbing his hands together as if he just gave you a block of gold. You couldn’t hold your laugh in as much as you tried.

“Tempting. It’s too small.” You giggled, holding it up with your finger. He smirked, eyeing you up and down. “Exactly.” He whispered, biting his lip with a stupid smile on his face.

“Yeah Yeah, where’s your brother?” You rolled your eyes before blushing slightly at just the mere thought of Neteyam.

“Bro, I don’t know. I don’t care either. Kiss me already!” He spoke in an irritated tone, puckering his lips as he closed his eyes. You threw the loincloth at him, landing perfectly on his head.

“Kiss that.” You laughed, your friends right behind you. And the gifts just kept coming. Warrior after warrior. Same old same old. Until one of your favorite ones stepped up, stealing your undivided attention.

“Y/n, you look beautiful as always.” Said Nazu before signing a greeting. He was one of the most promising warriors in the clan around your age. He was strong, confident, sexy and you couldn’t deny that.

“I know I’m pretty. Give me the gift now.” You spoke sensually, bringing him closer by his war belt. He smiled, eyeing you up and down before following your orders. He handed you the box, both of you locking eyes as you took it out of his hand. Your gaze met the box as you untied it. The most beautiful headpiece you’d ever seen shimmered under the pink lights. Encrusted with rare pink diamonds, only the most skilled hunter would be able to find. You and your friends audibly gasped. Your mouth hung opened in shock. Nazu was visibly proud. Proud that he impressed you, and that was very hard to do.

“A headpiece I made myself. Your favorite colored diamonds are woven together, see? Only fit for a queen, such as yourself.” He explained, his voice low, as he admired his handy work in your hand.

“Oh my eywa, Nazu….” You spoke in a surprised tone. Admiring the headpiece before meeting his gaze. “You’re always the best gift giver.” You smiled, immediately placing the headpiece on. And ofcourse it went with your outfit so well. Everything on your body was dripping with diamonds, so expensive as it all danced under the low lights. He was utterly speechless as he admired everything about you, eyeing you up and down with a slight smirk.

“Y/n, if you’d do me the honor, I want to court you. I’d take such good care of you, better than any of these other warriors and you know that. I’d give you the life you deserve, and you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. I’d shower you with gifts like this everyday.” He confessed, bringing your dainty hands to his lips, leaving a small kiss as he stared into your soul. You couldn’t help but smile, listening to the same old song you heard from the warriors before him. His hands shifted to your back, scooting you closer to the edge of your throne with aggression. He leaned down to your ear, placing a soft kiss.

“I’d fuck you right. However you want it, whenever you want it. It’s all yours, my love.” He spoke sensually in your ear, sliding his hands down your back to grip your ass. He was making you hot. He knew what he wanted and he went for it, there’s nothing more attractive than that. But you couldn’t help but turn your attention to the warrior behind him. The last warrior of the night. Neteyam stood tall, gift in hand as he glared at the scene unfolding in-front of him. He huffed with every breath, face screwed in anger.

“As tempting as that sounds. I would be a liar if I said I didn’t have eyes for another.” You hummed, staring directly at Neteyam, making sure he heard every word. He smirked, shaking his head all knowingly. Nazu let you go, backing up to look at you. He scoffed, placing his hands on his hips as he looked around.

“Ha! Who? Who could you possibly want more than me?!!” He shouted, eyebrow cocked as he waited for an answer. You looked back at Neteyam briefly, as he seemed to be in defense mode, just in case he need to kick Nazu’s ass for the way he was shouting at you.

“I want you! Can’t you see?!” Nazu growled lowly, gripping your dainty arm tightly. Shaking you out of your trance.

“Move.” Neteyam said firmly, standing directly behind Nazu. His lip twitching with anger as his tail swayed high in defense. Your eyes went from the grip on your arm to Neteyam within an instant. Nazu huffed, letting you go harshly before throwing his hands up in surrender. He turned around, meeting Neteyams hard gaze.

“She’s all yours.” Nazu smiled sarcastically, backing down immediately. He turned his head to you eyeing you up and down before walking away. Bumping neteyam’s shoulder in the process. Right as Neteyam went to snatch Nazu by his queue, he felt 2 dainty hands grab his wrist, turning him around.

“Hey Hey! Don’t worry about him. Fuck him.” You reassured Neteyam, bringing him dangerously close.

“Did he hurt you? Huh? I’ll fucking kill him.” He growled, examining your arm for any marks. Jaw clenching and unclenching in anger. You grabbed his chin, titling it up to meet your gaze.

“I know you would. But it’s no need for that. I’m fine.” You smiled, glancing at his lips, before bringing your eye contact back to his eyes. He sighed in relief, finally calming down in your embrace.

“What’s in the box?” You asked with a smirk, letting his chin go before pointing at the small box in his hand.

“Why’s it so small? You of all people know I like big presents.” You snarled, sitting back in your throne, crossing your legs slowly. Thighband flashing with every sudden move. He chuckled, glancing down at it before handing you the box.

“Such a fucking brat. Just open the box!” He laughed, placing it in your lap when you wouldn’t take it from him. You rolled your eyes, lifting the lid to be met with the most beautiful thigh band you’d ever seen. It was pink ofcourse, covered in bioluminescent flora and huge diamonds so bright that they reflected on your face. Bigger and shinier than the ones Nazu gifted you. You were speechless, jaw dropped to the ground as you watched it dance under the lights.

“N-Neteyam I- Thank you.” You stuttered, in complete awe as you stared at the beautiful craftsmanship on your new favorite present.

His eyes widened, ears perked up from your words. Out of everything he’s ever done for you, he’d never gotten a thank you until now.

“I-umm.” He threw his head down, chuckling at himself for getting choked up. “I know how much you like those things. You always look so good with them on, so I thought I’d make you a personal one. Your favorite color, and the biggest diamonds I could find.” He finished, hand on the back of his neck as he glanced at the thigh band you had on, trying his best to keep his composure.

“I love it. I love it so much! Put it on me, please!” You screeched in excitement, handing him the thigh band. He shook his head with a light smile before bending down in-front of you. He ran his strong, calloused hands up your leg slowly. You uncrossed your legs immediately, letting his tender touch consume you. He grabbed the piece of fabric that was already on your thigh, pulling it down slowly as he watched you Intently.

Once he got it off of you, he tried to hand it back to you. You shook your head, pushing his hand away. “You keep that one.” You spoke, eyeing him sensually. He smirked before placing it between his teeth, grabbing the one he made for you. He slipped it on you slowly, making sure it was in place before sliding his hand all the way down your leg softly.

“Perfect fit. You know me so well.” You giggled, admiring the band dancing in the lights. He admired too as he took the old band out of his mouth, placing it on his wrist just for it to scrunch to his size perfectly.

“Finally got your ungrateful ass to say thank you. I think my job here is done.” He joked, standing to his full height. You placed your foot on his chest, and he quickly grabbed your ankle, massaging your lower leg with a slight smirk.

“What are you doing? Hmm?” He asked, tilting his head with a confused look on his face.

“I wanna show you how grateful I am. Let’s go somewhere more private.” You smirked.

“And miss the rest of your party? I don’t think so.” He said sarcastically, shaking his head in disagreement.

“Let’s take the party elsewhere.” You demanded, eye fucking him as you looked at his loincloth. Bulge growing by the second.

“Now you know your father would kill me for fucking his precious little princess.” He spat, letting out a chuckle before placing your foot back on the ground.

“Oh come on, Tey! He won’t find out. I know you want me.” You giggled, leaning back in the chair before shifting your hips up sensually. He clenched his jaw in restraint, watching your body move, and the diamonds glisten around it.

“Mmm what gave it away?” He hummed. You bring him closer by his wrist, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, I dont know. Maybe the growing bulge in your loincloth babe.” You whispered in his ear before backing away to look into his eyes. He raised a brow, a slight smirk forming across his lips. “We can’t, y/n.”

“Give me what I want, Neteyam. It’s my birthday!” You whined, bottom lip poked out as you pleaded with him. He sighed before he let a smile creep across his face.

“You sure know how to get what the fuck you want, don’t you?” He asked with a slight smirk, picking you up out of your chair. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist as you kissed his neck shamelessly, not caring if anyone saw you. He glanced back at your friends, shooting them a fake smile.

“Uhh, if you ladies would excuse us. I’ll bring her back in a few.” He chuckled nervously, bowing his head slightly at the girls before walking away with you in his arms.

- -

He walked you to a secluded place in the forest behind the party. Music from the party could still be heard from where you two were. Your lips were still attached to his neck, purple hickeys forming all around his neck. He laid you down on the moss before hovering over you, indulging in a passionate kiss.

“Fuck, lay back!” You commanded, flipping him to the ground before straddling his lap.

“Goddamn, woman. You want me that bad, huh?” He chuckled watching you take the headpiece that Nazu gifted you, throwing it to the ground beside you.

“Oh shut up!” You rolled your eyes, bending down to kiss him again. He obliged, humming in your mouth as he slid his hands down your back to your round ass, gripping it tightly. He smacked it a few times, causing you to moan in his mouth.

“Take it off of me.” You moaned breathily in between kisses. He obliged, untying your diamond skirt from around your hips, throwing it to the side. He moved on to your diamond thong, untying it from around your hips. He pulled it from under you, throwing it to the side as well. You sat up on him, grabbing his hand to run it down your entire body. He bit his lip, watching the diamonds on your outfit dance under the night sky.

“You look so good, I-I don’t even wanna take this off of you.” He spoke in his melodic tone, running his hands across your diamond top.

“So don’t.” You smirked, yanking his loincloth down just enough to expose his throbbing cock. The veins pulsated as his swollen tip leaked precum. Your eye’s widened, licking your lips as you stared at his huge cock in awe.

“I want it. Right now.” You spoke in a trance like state, completely hypnotized by his gorgeous shaft.

“It’s all yours, Princess. Now let me give it to you, ok?” He spoke calmly, nodding his head as he tried to sit up, but you just pushed him back down. Immediately lifting up to attempt sliding down onto him.

“I I-wanna ride it!” You moaned, trying to push him into you, to no avail. You really didn’t know what you were doing, but you knew that you wanted him, right now.

Come on, y/n. g-get up, it’s not working this way.” He sighed, tapping your thigh.

“Nooo teyam, I wanna ride it. Just a f-few more seconds! I-ngh! It’s almost in!” You whined, gripping his shoulders tightly as you tried to shimmy your way down his shaft.

He growled, rubbing his hands down his face in frustration. “It’s n-nowhere near in you. J-Just let me change positions. I can help you out, ok?” He explained, voice calm as he maintained his patience with you.

“No! Just put it in me already!” You huffed, still trying to use him as your own personal fuck toy, but failing miserably in the process.

“Shit! You’re going to hurt yourself!” He shouted in frustration, stopping your hips with his large hands.

“STOP IT TEY!” You shouted back, sending him over the edge. He growled loudly flipping you both over, him now hovering over your half naked frame. You tried to lift your head up to speak before he grabbed your neck, pushing you back to the ground. You immediately backed down to him, the only man that could put you in your place.

“I know you’re not used to being told no. But that shit ends today. If we do this, we do it MY way. You’re not the fucking boss, I AM. Got it?” He spoke lowly, shaking your neck with every word. You held onto his wrist to ensure that he wouldn’t squeeze your neck any tighter. You nodded your head frantically with wide eyes.

He bent down, crashing his lips into yours. Your tongues fought for dominance, but his won. He began to slide his hand down your body slowly, until he reached your bare cunt, rubbing firm circles into your clit.The surge of electricity made your body jolt under his touch. You tried to evert eyes from Neteyam by turning your head side to side frequently, but all he did was follow you with his eyes.

“No, look at me y/n.” He said breathily with a dark tone before tilting your chin to meet his gaze. He deemed this the perfect time to slide 2 fingers into you nice and slow. Your back bowed to the mossy ground, breasts just barely touching his chest as you let out a series of whimpers. He curled his two fingers into you at a steady pace while he used his thumb to massage your clit harshly.

“FUCK I- I…” you moaned, squirming around underneath him. He grabbed your neck, holding you in place before he drilled you with his fingers, working loud squelching noises out of you. Your jaw dropped suddenly, deeming you completely silent. He was nose to nose with you, you two breathing the same air as you listened to the wet sounds of your cunt.

“You wanna be a good girl and squirt for me? Hmm?” He asked, staring into your blown pupils.

“I-I YES! Im gonna be a good girl!” You squealed, face screwing in pleasure as your legs started to shake. If your eyes weren’t wide before, they were bulging now.

“TEYAM! I think I-I THINK!” You gasped, your orgasm completely taking over your body. “Mhm, give it to me baby! Don’t hold back.” He moaned, getting completely turned on by your pornographic release. You screamed, gripping his strong arm as your juices flowed out of you with each rough pump of his fingers. He suddenly took them out of you, smacking your clit at a harsh and fast pace. Surges of electricity ran through your veins, making you twitch with every other smack.

“Cum for me AGAIN!” He growled, watching you come undone for a second time, squirting all over his hands and wrist. Your legs closed around his hand tightly, as you lazily backed away from him.

“P-Please Teyam!” You whined, gaining some distance away from him as he watched you back away. He chuckled, sitting up on his knees as he jerked his cock at a painfully slow pace.

“Come back. I thought this was what you wanted?” He asked sarcastically, yanking you back down to him by your ankle.

“No, I-I do want it. I-I just-“ you stuttered until he cut you off. “You just want it YOUR way. And I won’t let that happen, sweetheart.” He continued your thought, he knew you like the back of his hand.

“Not true!” You whined, crossing your arms.“ Yes the fuck it is.” He spoke lowly, slapping his cock on your sensitive clit, smearing your juices on his shaft. You lifted your head up just to get a peak, licking your lips as you hummed with each slap.

“You want it in you?” He bit his lip, now rubbing his cock in between your soaked folds. You sat up on your elbows, watching the source of pleasure, listening to the squelching noises.

“Yesss! Please Teyam. Im begging you!” You moaned, bucking your hips against his cock. To hear you beg was like music to his ears, and all he could do was give you what you wanted, no questions asked. He lined his cock up with your aching hole before sliding in slowly, making sure not to hurt you in any way.

You were already drunk off of him. Your head dipping back slowly to every single inch he slid into you. Your eyes rolled back and you had a delirious smile plastered on your face from finally getting what you wanted.

He bottomed out harshly, smashing the last few inches into your sweet spot before continuing that movement with deep strokes. He grabbed your leg, pulling it over his shoulder to open you up alittle more.

“Ohh my- Teyam FUUUCK!” You moaned, gripping the moss beneath you. You whined with every thrust, back still bowed to the ground. He started at your neck, rubbing his calloused hand down you entire torso, sending chills through your spine. He reached your clit, rolling it between his fingers before massaging the bud of nerves with his thumb.

You jolted uncontrollably from the pleasure. You reached down to grab his wrist tightly, trying your best to stop his movements as the pleasure became too much for you. He smacked your hand away immediately before glaring at you, stopping his movements all together.

“You don’t fucking listen! I told you, I’m in charge. Not you!” He growled, pulling out of you just to flip you over on your stomach. Your eyes widened, realizing that you’d ticked him off for the last time.

“Teyam, I-I’m sorry! It was j-just too much! It won’t happen again please!” You pleaded with him, and he loved to hear you beg. He stayed silent, all you could hear were loud huffs. So loud and intense that you could feel his hot breath on your back.

He took your diamond thigh band from around his wrist. He pulled your arms behind your back, wrapping the piece of fabric around your dainty wrists a few times before it was tight enough.

“Arch it. NOW.” He commanded, sending a hard smack to your ass. You whimpered, yet and still lifting your knees up, arching your back and exposing your dripping cunt to him. He chuckled, watching your stubborn ass follow his direct orders.

“All it took was my cock to make your prissy ass bow down, huh?” He grabbed your hair, yanking it back to the point where your eyes met his. Your eyes were filled with desperation and he loved it.

“Watch me destroy this pussy. Don’t take your eyes off of me.” He growled, sliding his clock into you slowly, watching your eyes roll back from the sudden fullness. He began to drill into you, hard and deep. And all he could do was watch you fall apart, moaning and whining deliriously as he fed you long, hard strokes.

“What would your father think about his precious, innocent, Princess getting dicked down like the slut she is, hmm?” He asked, watching your face screw in pleasure as he sped up his pace.

“You’ve really got everyone fooled. Thinking you’re so fucking innocent. Saying you don’t get dirty, but look at you. So fucking dirty for me, right?” He snarled in your ear, gripping your hair tighter as he drilled so deep into you.

“Mhm! Yesss!” You moaned, voice rippling from his hard thrusts. He pushed your cheek back down into the ground, pushing your knees farther apart. He gripped your hips, using them to bring you back onto his throbbing cock repeatedly.

“Tell me you’re my dirty little slut.” He growled, smacking your ass a few times, leaving numerous purple handprints on the flesh. Using your tied up hands, you tried to block his hits, to no avail.

“Te-yammm I- I can’t!” You whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt his swollen tip slam against your sweet spot with each stroke. The pleasure mixed with pain was too much for you, it consumed you to the point of delirium. But you knew if you didn’t obey him, it would get worse for you.

“I-I’m your dirty little slut!” You muttered before biting your bottom lip, trying to suppress the screams threatening to pierce through the still forest.

“Mhm, Good girl. Good *thrust* fucking *thrust* girl *thrust*” he moaned through gritted teeth before tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, watching your ass meet his pelvis with every hard thrust.

“I-I’m so fucking close, Teyam!” You whined, shifting your head on the ground to look back at him. He grabbed the restraint around your wrist, using that as leverage to pound into you slowly, creating the loudest smacking sounds that rang through the forest. Your jaw dropped, legs shaking from your oncoming orgasm as you clenched around him repeatedly.

“Mhmm! keep squeezing me with this pretty pussy. Cum on this dick and milk me dry, Princess.” He moaned, shooting you a devilish smirk before smacking your ass once more. There was nothing you could say, your moans got caught in your throat, and your jaw still hung opened. He watched your eyes roll back again, shaking uncontrollably from the steady strokes he sent you.

“Best birthday present ever I’m guessing?” He chuckled, eyebrow cocked as he awaited an answer. You nodded your head slowly, still spasming underneath him as you finally reached your peek.

“SHIT!” You squealed sharply, juices flowing down your legs with every stroke. He pulled out, smacking your clit with his cock repeatedly, working your orgasm out of you. You shook violently, screaming as you squirted all over his cock.

“Fuck yes! Let it out all over this dick.” He moaned, sliding back into you to chase his high. Your knees buckled, sending you and him flat against the moss. He still kept his pace inside of you, thrusting hard and deep. You lazily squirmed under him, trying to crawl away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure.

“No, come back. I’ve got one more present for you.” He growled in your ear, wrapping his entire arm around your neck, using it as leverage to Buck his hips into you hard.

“Mmm too deep, too deep!” You moaned, using your tied up hands to push down on his lower abdomen. But you were too tired to use any real force.

“I’ll go as deep as I want to in this pussy. It’s mine!” He growled, tightening his grip on your neck as he thrusted into you harder. You were on the verge of another orgasm. Twitching with every stroke, whimpering his name as tears welled in your eyes.

“Y-You’re gonna make me cum again!” You screamed, feeling the knot in your lower abdomen tighten. “Go ahead baby, I’m right behind you.” He moaned in your ear before kissing the lobe.

That was all you needed before your eyes rolled back, cumming on his cock for the second time. His cream coated shaft revealing itself with every thrust. You let out a series of moans as you came down from your high. Neteyam felt your walls contract around him, trying to milk him dry.

“Fuuuck! Get on your knees!” He grunted, pulling out of you, walking around your trembling body to stand in-front of you. You managed to use your knees, pulling you up to kneel in front of him.

“Mmm you look so fucking pretty like this. Ready for your gift, Princess?” He moaned jerking his cock hard and fast. Sliding his hand from the base, all the way to the tip, smearing the precum oozing out of his tip. He let out a few grunts before painting your face with his seed. You smiled deliriously, sticking your tongue out for him.

“Juuust like that baby, let me feed you.” He moaned, grabbing your hair to push your mouth onto his cock. You obliged, wrapping your mouth around his entire length as he came in your mouth. You hummed on him, sucking the rest of his nut out of him. Your cheeks filled with his seed and you swallowed it greedily before detaching from him with a loud popping sound.

He grabbed your chin harshly, smearing the access cum across your lips. “Happy birthday, my little brat.” He muttered through gritted teeth. You stared up at him through hooded eyes, a delirious smile plastered across your face.

“Thank you, Teyam…”

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corroded-hellfire · 3 months

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As You Wish - Eddie Munson x Reader, Part 8

Collaboration with the Dusty Bun to my Steeb @munson-blurbs 💚

Summary: The unresolved fight between you and Eddie continues as your birthday comes around and he still won't come to celebrate with you and your friends.

Note: I can't believe it's been over a year now since I started writing this series. That feels insane to me. I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, f receiving

Words: 6.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Today should have been perfect.

For one, it’s your birthday, and it coincides with your off day from classes. You got a free coffee from the local café this morning. And your friends are planning a night out at the bar now that you’ve finally reached the legal drinking age.

But it’s not perfect, because you and Eddie still haven’t spoken since your argument. To be honest, you’re not sure if he even wants to fix things.

It’s all you thought about the whole day while you babysat Danny and Amelia Harrington. You force yourself to concentrate on the road as you drive to pick the older kids up from school, the youngest two safely buckled in the car seats.

Ryan and Natalie walk out first, bundled up to fight off the heavy wind and animatedly discussing some intense second-grade gossip. Luke and Theo trail behind, play-fighting until they reach the car.

The sliding doors have barely opened before Luke is climbing into the car and shouting, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

You wince, massaging your ear with your forefinger. “Thanks, little man,” you say, and the rest of the group chimes in with their own cheers.

“I got you a gift!” Luke chirps, something crinkling in his grasp. He hands you a bright blue snack pack of mini Oreos. It’s opened and currently only contains a single cookie.

You smile gratefully, trying not to laugh. “My favorite!” you exclaim, taking the lone Oreo and popping it in your mouth.

Ryan digs into his backpack and takes out a yellow piece of construction paper. “I made you this card,” he says shyly.

It reads, “Happy Birthday to the best babysitter in the world!” Below the printed words, he’s drawn himself, Luke, you, and Eddie. Your heart pangs when you think about that stupid fight, the one where you’d both let your insecurities run wild.

If this is the end of the relationship, how will you break it to the boys?

You don’t have time to ruminate on that before Luke leads everyone, even baby Amelia, into a very off-key rendition of Happy Birthday to You. Even if Amelia can’t speak yet, her melodic mumbling and gurgling only enhanced the performance. They’ve barely taken a breath after the song is finished before Natalie and Theo are asking questions.

“How old are you?”

“Are you gonna have cake?”

“What presents did you get?”

Luke, of course, pipes up with a request of his own:

“Since it’s your birthday, can we get McDonalds? I want a Happy Meal.”

When you get back to the Harrington household—sans McDonald’s to Luke’s disappointment—you situate the two youngest in front of the television and pop Mulan into the VHS player for them. Once you’ve made sure Amelia is securely in her walker and Danny is cuddled up on the couch between his favorite teddy bear and his stuffed rhinoceros, you head into the kitchen to prepare a snack for the older kids.

The four of them seem to be doing alright with their homework as you put one bowl of baby carrots and one bowl of Cheez-It crackers on the table. Unsurprisingly, four small hands grab for the processed orange snack, bypassing the healthier option all together.

For the next hour or so you flit back and forth between the dining room to help with homework and the living room to attend to any toddler needs or upsets. The time passes quicker than you would’ve thought, and you’re surprised when you hear the front door unlocking. You had known Steve and Nancy would be coming home early today to give you a chance to go out and celebrate your birthday, but the hour snuck up on you.

The moment that Amelia hears her parents step into the house, she’s no longer interested in the avalanche that buried the Huns and has the urgent need for her mom to pick her up.

“They weren’t too much trouble, I hope,” Steve says as he reaches up to muss Theo’s hair. The little boy just ignores him as he tries to figure out the math problem he’s been working on for the last five minutes.

“Nah, not too bad,” you say. Trying to contain a smirk, you lean in towards Steve and speak in a loud conspiratorial whisper. “Except…these two,” you say, gesturing to Ryan and Natalie. “Evil masterminds.”

Natalie just hmphs and tosses her light brown hair over her shoulder while Ryan sticks his tongue out at you. With a chuckle, you walk over and press a kiss to the top of the eldest Munson boy’s head.

“I’m gonna get going, okay?” you tell him. The truth is that you definitely have time to spare before you have to start getting ready for the bar tonight, but you want to make sure you’re gone by the time Eddie gets here.

Ryan turns in his seat to look at you and opens his mouth, but before he can speak Eddie enters the house. Your body has had many different reactions to Eddie over the course of you knowing one another, but the one that comes over you now is completely foreign. Heat seems to rise to your cheeks, but it feels like your veins are made of ice and you could snap them beneath your skin if you moved too quickly.

Eddie toes off his chunky black work boots by the front door and does a double take when he sees you standing by Ryan. He gives you a tentative smile and you give a small nod in recognition. Needing to focus on something else, you look back down at Ryan and gently move some of his growing honey colored hair off of his forehead. You can still see Eddie in your periphery though. He’s coming closer towards you, and it feels like every step he takes makes your heart race a little faster.

Once he’s so close that you can’t avoid looking at him, you notice a small pink gift bag in his hands. Eddie’s deep brown eyes are looking down at it too, but you both raise your heads simultaneously and meet each other’s gaze. Pain and longing radiate off the two of you so strongly that even baby Amelia could probably sense it.

“Happy birthday, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, offering you the bag.

Slowly, you reach out to take it, the white tissue paper that sticks out of the top crinkling beneath your fingers. You give Eddie a polite smile and start to leave, but Luke stops you in your tracks.

“You gotta open it!”

A nod is the only response you can give Luke, not trusting your voice—or even knowing what you’d say. Biting your lip, you ruffle through the pristine white tissue paper and pull out a pair of earrings fastened to an earring card. They’re beautiful. Three tiny hearts stacked on top of each other, all purple and connected by silver chain links. The urge to put them on immediately is strong,

“The hearts…one’s for Ryan, one’s for Luke, and one’s for, um, me,” Eddie explains bashfully as he slips his hands into his pockets.

Your eyes fill with tears, a cacophony of emotions in each drop.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, bending down to hug Luke and Ryan. You stand up and face Eddie, feeling the boys’ eyes drilling into you as they wait for you to embrace their dad like you always do.

You lean in and give him a small hug, lingering for an extra moment. He smells of motor oil and sweat, but you can’t get enough. It’s a test of wills to tear yourself away from him. As you pull back, a tight smile forms on your face.

“I should get going,” you tell them kindly.

“Where’re you going?” Luke asks.

You ruffle his hair lovingly. “My friends are having a birthday party for me. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Or,” Ryan offers, dragging out the word, “we could treat you to dinner tomorrow.”

Luke grins. “Can we go to McDonalds?”

You can’t help but laugh. The boys bring you more humor and joy than they could possibly imagine.

“You boys are too much sometimes,” you tell them. If you’re being honest, you would love to spend time with them and Eddie, even if it’s just eating fast food. Anywhere with the three of them becomes its own adventure. It breaks your heart knowing there’s still this friction between you and Eddie and you’re not exactly on speaking terms. You can’t dwell on it, though. Not tonight.

When you arrive at the bar, it’s bursting with people. Groups have gathered to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, clinking oversized mugs teeming with foamy beer. It’s much noisier than you’d normally prefer, but you’re glad for the excess sound to drown out your thoughts.

Jess spots you immediately and waves you over to where she, Lily, and Paul are sitting in front of the bartender. As soon as you plop down on a stool, Lily places a sash around you.

“It’s my 21st birthday? Really?”

“Well, it is!” she quips with a laugh. “Besides, people will totally buy you drinks if you wear this.”

She isn’t wrong. You take shot after shot, eventually losing track of the total amount. A tiny voice in your head reminds you not to mix light and dark liquor, but it’s too late for that.

Your friends keep toasting to the ‘birthday girl,’ which prompts more people to cheer and offer to treat you to another round. By the time you get up to dance, your head is spinning.

You sway along to Bon Jovi’s ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ until you can no longer stand. Jess is kindly letting you lean on her, her arm wrapped around your waist, when you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

“Can I buy you a drink?” an unfamiliar voice asks, tone laced with sultriness.

You turn around to see a guy about your age, a ten-dollar bill between his pointer and middle fingers.

“Oh, I-I shouldn’t,” you start, but Lily jumps in instead.

“She would love that.” She smiles at him, then whispers in your ear, “the best way to get over Eddie is to get under someone else.” She sticks out her hand to the mystery man and introduces both herself and you. I don’t want to get over Eddie, your brain thinks before drunkenly attempting to focus on what the man in front of you is saying now.

Mystery Man smiles. “I’m Stefon.”

Unbeknownst to you, one Wayne Munson is watching the entire encounter from across the bar. It isn’t his usual digs, but the guys from the plant invited him out for drinks to celebrate the holiday, and he obliged.

He sees you take another drink with trepidation, a young man resting his hand on your hip. It seems like you’re barely aware of what’s going on, sending a queasiness through Wayne’s stomach that definitely isn’t from the alcohol. He’s used to minding his business, but when the guy puts his arm around you, he makes the decision to call Eddie from the payphone.

Just under fifteen minutes later, Eddie is pushing his way into the smoky and boisterous bar, eyes anxiously scanning for you. A surge of relief floods his veins when he sees your beautiful familiar face amongst the sea of green clothing, but the feeling is short-lived when he sees you leaning on a strange man.

It’s hard to tell if you’re aware that you’re leaning on him or not, because you’re talking to Lily animatedly. The man has his eyes glued to you, but he may or may not be on your radar. Your boyfriend isn’t waiting to find out, though. Eddie’s met your friend Paul who you’re out with tonight, so he immediately knows it isn’t him with you and Lily, so he shoves his way through the crowd and shoulders the mystery man out of the way and gently holds your arm to steady you.

“C’mon, let’s go home,” Eddie says, speaking loudly to be heard over the crowd and music. He’s doing his best to be inconspicuous but you’re too drunk for that.

“Eddie!” You fling your arms around him in a hug and let out a loud and giddy laugh. Eddie feels a small surge of pride when you seem to forget all about the guy standing there—if you’d even remembered he was there to begin with. When he looks into your eyes, he can see the glassiness from the alcohol as well as glee that seeing him caused. “Eddie, what’re you doing here? You didn’t wan’ be here!”

He takes a deep breath, inhaling a lung full of secondhand smoke. “You need water and sleep, baby,” he says, trying to be heard over the music.

“But it’s my party!” you whine, giving an exaggerated pout. “An’ you didn’t come ‘cuz you don’t love me.”

His brows shoot up as his heart falls. “I don’t love you?” Obviously, you’re drunk but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Nuh-uh.” You scrunch your nose. “Maybe you do, ‘cuz you’re here now.” Your frown quickly flips to a drunken smile. “We should dance! ‘Cuz you love me!”

Eddie tilts his head, giving you a skeptical look. “I thought you said I didn’t.”

“But you came here to see me, so you do,” you explain as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. The fact that you’re swaying where you stand doesn’t help your credibility though.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see the man you were leaning on finally slink away. Apparently, he only needed to hear the confirmation that Eddie does indeed love you.

“Let me take you home, princess,” Eddie says, doing his best to keep the irritation out of his tone.

“That sounds like a line,” you say with a giggle that’s interrupted by a hiccup.

“It’s probably the most chivalrous thing anyone’s said to you tonight,” Eddie says, looking around at the other men in the bar like they’re vultures, ready to step in and claim you for their own. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” you lament with an over dramatic sigh. “But just cause you’re so cute.” You giggle again as you lean against Eddie.

At least she’s leaning against me now, he thinks bitterly. Too exasperated for more words, Eddie just presses a kiss to the top of your head and laces his fingers with yours—tightly, so he won’t lose you in the crowded bar.

Eddie catches Jess’s eye where she’s leaning against the bar and nods towards the door, letting her know that he’s taking you home. She nods in return and gives a thumbs up. Eddie scans the crowd to see if he can spot his uncle, but there’s just too many people.

“Hey, you’re not wearin’ green,” you say once you’re outside in the cool night air. The air feels fresh yet too silent after being in that stuffy place.

“Hmm?” Eddie hums as he helps you into the passenger’s seat.

“No green! Is St. Pagrick Day though!”

“Your birthday is a far more important holiday,” he says as he closes the door for you. He doesn’t even consider if you heard the words or not, it was his inner monologue just coming out.

The drive back to the apartment starts off with you chattering on, still feeling good from the drinks.

“It’s so cute that the boys wanna buy me MiDonal’s! They’re the sweetest boys ever. Where are we goin’? Oh, hey! You’re movin’ into your new aparment soon. Do you still wan’ me to—hey look, a dog!—wan’ me to go shopping for the stuff that you need? Eddie? Are you still mad at me? I hope not. I don’t like when we fight. I never wanna fight witchu. I love you! I never loved no one before, ya know. Just you! I was only bein’ such a pain in the butt because I wanna be by your side. Like partners. Wanna help you and have fun with you and do all the things with you. I hope you wanna be that with me too! Like Bonnie and Clyde! But no stealing or dying. Do you, hey, hey Eddie, do you remember that time a long time ago you said you liked that blue shirt I wore? Ya know, the one with the buttons and sleeves? Well, now it’s my favorite—”

Eddie glances over, concerned that your speech—that was highly amusing to him—stopped so abruptly. You’re just looking up at the streetlights as they pass, your eyes getting heavier by the second, the mesmerizing sight lulling you to sleep.

Eddie chuckles to himself and the rest of the drive is quiet.

When you finally arrive back at the apartment, you’re practically comatose in the passenger seat. Eddie half carries you up the stairs and holds you close to his side with one arm while he unlocks the door with the other.

Somehow, he manages to get you laying down on your bed without bumping into anything on the way. You look up at him with a sleepy smile that Eddie swears is the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m gonna help you change, okay? I don’t think that dress will be comfortable to sleep in.”

You nod absentmindedly as Eddie grabs a pair of your pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. Eddie is an expert at undressing you by now but it’s harder when your body can’t even hold itself up. The green dress gets stuck on your nose as Eddie pulls it off over your head and it makes you giggle, though it’s much softer than your laughter in the car. He slips your pink plaid pajama bottoms over your white lace panties and chuckles to himself as he sees he pulled a Rugrats t-shirt out of your drawer. An amused smile grows on his face as he shakes his head.

“Better?” he asks.

A big yawn accompanies the nod that you give him. Satisfied that you’re not going to fall over if he lets go, Eddie walks towards the head of the bed so he can pull your blankets down. It takes both of you working together to get you beneath the blankets.

Once you’re settled, Eddie shucks himself out of his jeans and t-shirt and climbs in bed next to you. Without any hesitation, you scoot over and rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your head.

Eddie isn't sure if in the morning, once you’ve sobered up, you’ll still be fighting or not. He doesn’t want to be, but he also knows the issues haven’t been resolved between the two of you. What you said tonight about Eddie not loving you definitely has to be addressed tomorrow—whether you were drunk or not when you said it, he doesn’t care.

Soft snores begin to fill your room and Eddie smiles to himself. His eyes slip closed, and he holds you a little tighter against his body.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says into the darkness.

You wake up the next morning with a dull headache. It definitely could be worse, especially considering how much you’d drank last night.

There’s two Tylenol and a bottle of water on your nightstand, none of which you remember putting there…

You shift positions and see Eddie curled up on the pillow next to you, wearing just his boxers. Soft snores punctuate the rise and fall of his chest.

“Eddie?” you whisper, eyes wide.

He stirs and stretches, giving you a small smile.

“Morning, baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

“Um, just a headache. Not too much of a hangover.” You’re working to figure out exactly why he’s here.

He grins. “Must be nice to be 21,” he jokes. “I have one beer too many and I’m out of commission for a week.”

You’re too focused on the maybe-boyfriend-shaped elephant in the room to laugh at his joke. Instead, you take a deep breath and muster up all of your courage.

“Did we, um…”

Eddie pulls back. “No. Nope!” He shakes his head. “I brought you home and we fell asleep. I promise.”

You nod, relief flooding your body. “Okay. Okay, good.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“I’ll make some breakfast, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

You get out of bed and stretch your muscles before heading towards the door. But first you stop and look back at Eddie. “I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I?”

“No,” Eddie assures you. “Your knight in shining leather got there before anything could happen.” He flexes his muscles dramatically, which causes you to chuckle as you step out of your room and into the bathroom.

Eddie puts his clothes from yesterday back on and heads out to the kitchen. He makes pancakes, and you come out of your room freshly showered and dressed just as they’re ready.

“Smells good,” you say, rubbing at your eye. The shower helped wake you up, but your body is still tired from last night.

You and Eddie sit down across from one another and start eating in silence before you can’t take it anymore.

“Um, where are the boys?” you ask, desperate for some semblance of an interaction.

“Harrington’s,” Eddie answers before shoving a mouthful of syrup-covered pancake into his mouth. “Steve and Nance said they got them, I should go to you.”

“And, uh, why did you show up? I mean, did you change your mind about celebrating with us or..?”

Eddie sighs and shakes his head. “Wayne was, um, actually at the bar last night with some guys from his work. He saw some assholes starting to get handsy with you, so he called me.”

“Oh.” You stay quiet as you move a few pieces of pancake around on your plate.

You had hoped Eddie had changed his mind and wanted to spend your birthday night with you after all, but he was only there because his uncle called him.

Eddie bites his lower lip, hating the tension in the air. The two of you used to sit in comfortable silences with one another, so this is excruciating.

“Look, sweetheart,” Eddie says before pausing to clear his throat. “It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with you. Because I did. I do. I always do. I just, I don’t know, thought I’d bring the party down. I didn’t want you to feel like I was supervision or some shit like that. And I wasn’t sure how I’d meld in with your friends.”

“Eddie,” you start before taking a deep breath. “I never think of you as some authority type figure. You’re just Eddie. Like, yeah, maybe you’re twelve years older than me, but I don’t really feel like there’s this chasm between us or anything. Do…do you?”

Eddie’s silent for a moment, making sure he picks his words carefully so as not to give you a wrong impression. “When it’s you and me? No. When it’s us and the boys? No. But when it comes to you hanging out with your friends, I guess I feel, I don’t know, like I don’t belong.”

“Belong where?”

He sighs and twirls one of his rings around his finger as a nervous twitch. “When I see your friends it’s this reminder that I’m not your age. It feels like all the shit that I try not to let bother me is unavoidable as I see you with guys it would be more socially acceptable for you to date. Or seeing your girl friends going off to do things with their boyfriends that I can’t because of my job and kids. It makes me feel selfish.” His eyes mist over for a second. “Like I’m keeping you from that.”

“Eddie, no one is keeping me from anything. Especially you. You act like I don’t have a choice or say in this. I’m pretty sure you didn’t kidnap me and rope me into an arranged marriage or something.” You give a small smile, hoping to ease some of the frustration radiating off of him. “I don’t want someone my age. I don’t want someone younger. I don’t want someone older that isn’t you.”

“I know that,” Eddie says. “I swear, I do. I guess I’ve had a number done on me, though. Got beaten down enough that the insecurity comes second nature. It’s not your fault, you shouldn’t have to pay for things that she did.”

“Can I beat her?”

He chuckles and seeing him smile makes a genuine one grow on your own face.

“She’s not worth it,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “But I see where you were coming from with being upset. It probably did seem like I just didn’t want to go out with you and your friends. I’m sorry. I also get where you’re coming from with the court stuff. Wanting to be by my side. Princess, you have no idea how much that means to me. Honestly. I just…I don’t want you to have to be in the middle of all of that.”

“I know,” you say, lowering your eyes back down to your plate. “I’m sorry, too. I was overstepping when it came to Brittany. That’s your ordeal, you get to call the shots when it comes to that. I only want you to know that you have my support. In whatever way you need it.”

He reaches across the table and slips his hand into yours. “I promise to tell you in what ways I’ll need your support through this whole thing.”

You nod and give his hand a small squeeze. The air around you feels lighter and it’s as if weights have been lifted off your shoulders.

“Are—Are we okay?” you ask, wanting to clarify.

“We’re more than okay,” he reassures you as he returns your hand squeeze with one of his own. “But there is something else we need to talk about.”

“Sure. What?”

He sighs and gently taps your entwined hands against the tabletop. “Last night…when I got to the bar to pick you up, you, um, you said something. I know you were drunk but it still hurt.”

Immediately you feel mortified. Did I really…?

“I thought you said I didn’t do anything stupid?”

“Well, this was saying something stupid.”

How bad was it that it’s making him stall like this? “What did I say?” You wince, afraid to hear what you might’ve said in your inebriated state.

“You, uh, you said that I didn’t love you. That I didn’t come to the bar with you and your friends because I don’t love you.”

Your eyes are immediately flooded with tears. The heartbreak and shame you feel for uttering something so absurd cuts you deeply, and you push yourself out of your chair and walk around the table to Eddie. He scoots back so you can perch yourself in his lap.

Gently, you cup Eddie’s face in your hands and stare into his eyes. “I love you. I love you, I love you. Please always remember that. Sober, drunk, high, or otherwise in an altered state…I love you. I am so sorry I said that to you. It amazes me that somehow you love me, but that doesn’t mean I doubt it for a second.”

Eddie nods and wraps his arms around your waist. Your shirt rides up a little and his syrupy fingers rub against your skin—but you couldn’t care less.

“You’re mine,” you tell him. “I’m yours. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” Eddie agrees.

The two of you sit there together for a few silent minutes before Jess’s door creaks open and she shuffles into the kitchen, looking far worse than you felt when you woke up. She gives a half-hearted wave, as if even that small movement was too much for her.

Eddie smiles and nods his head towards the kitchen counter. “I made a stack of pancakes for you,” he says.

Jess heads towards the counter but pauses to put a hand on your shoulder. “If you don’t marry him, I will,” she vows.

Deciding to play hooky from school and work didn’t take much convincing for you or Eddie. You’re not feeling great, and he’s more than happy to take care of you.

You’re washing the breakfast dishes while Eddie stands behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. “Y’know,” he murmurs just under your ear, “I had another birthday surprise up my sleeve.”

He pulls you closer, and you try—and fail—to focus on the task at hand. “And what’s that?”

He smirks and presses soft kisses into your neck. “Well, I bought a bottle of champagne,” he says, “and I figured we could have some drunk sex?”

You snap off the water and dry your hands, spinning to face him. “And where is this bottle of champagne, handsome?”

Eddie blushes slightly. “Um, at the Harringtons’ place,” he admits. “But we could still do the sex part, if you’re feeling up to it.”

You press your body to his, grinning widely. “Bedroom?”

“Hell yes.”

Clothes are shed instantly, leaving a trail that leads to your room. You lay back on the bed and Eddie climbs on top of you, slotting his leg between yours and kissing you softly.

“Let me take care of my birthday girl, hm?” he coos, nibbling on your ear. He chuckles when you whimper, two of his thick fingers trailing downward towards your pussy. “Oh, you poor thing. Needy already?”

“Mhm.”

He grins, scooting back and pressing his lips just above your clit. His tongue grazes your folds, over the sensitive bud, and he sucks on it gently. You moan when he positions your legs on his shoulders. “Keep making those noises, baby.”

You eagerly oblige, whining as he slips his middle finger into your pussy, tongue remaining trained on your clit. The overstimulation has you grinding against his face, desperate to get some relief.

He wraps his free hand around your thigh and squeezes it, bringing himself even closer into you. Muffled, barely audible fucks and tastes goods escape his lips, driving you even wilder.

“E-Eddie, I’m gonna cum!” you mewl, fingers digging into the bed sheets. He continues lapping at your cunt until you’re screaming his name.

Eddie pulls back, face shiny with your slick. “Need you,” he growls, and his painfully hard cock bobs in agreement.

He crawls up your body, pressing kisses to your soft flesh as he makes his way towards your neck. Teeth gently graze the side of your throat, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Taking advantage of your legs spread openly before him, Eddie settles himself between them and lines his cock up with your soaking entrance. It feels like it takes an eternity until he finally bottoms out, making you feel so full and revel in that exquisite stretch.

Sweat breaks out along your hairline and it melds with Eddie’s as he rests his forehead against yours. The bed beneath you shakes as your body rocks with your boyfriend’s. A slight tilt of his hips has your hands scrambling against the lilac sheet below you, desperate to hold on to something—anything. Eddie wants you to hold on to him, though. His pale toned arms seek out your own until he slips his hands into yours and threads your fingers together. Never breaking eye contact even for a second, Eddie holds your hands up above your head, staring down at you with a blissful expression on his face. He’s not smiling, but there’s a light in his eyes and the way his lips part just slightly only adds to your enjoyment.

“I love you, sweet girl,” Eddie says, voice low and husky in the small space you’re both occupying. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“L-Love you, too, Eds.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as his hips roll up against yours. “You have the cutest nose. I hope any kids we have inherit that from you.”

With every thrust of Eddie’s hips, he lists another thing he loves about you.

“Your lips are so soft. Sometimes I get torn between kissing them or staring at them. And your laugh? God, you have no idea what that does to me. It’s so infectious and bubbly and completely genuine. One of the best sounds in the world.”

There’s nothing else in the world right now other than Eddie’s voice and Eddie’s body. All that exists is the two of you, staring into one another’s eyes as pleasurable groans and whimpers fall from your lips. Sweet sighs and shared breath connect you both, adding to the already dizzying intimacy. You stare up into those large brown eyes and for that moment everything is perfect in the world. The moment belongs to you, and nothing will ever take it from you.

Eddie leans in to press a soft, slow kiss to your lips. He pulls away only far enough for you to fix your gazes on one another’s eyes again. His hip thrusts are becoming increasingly erratic, a sign that he’s nearing his finish.

Curls sway back and forth around his face, like a curtain keeping you two separated from everything else.

More than anything, you know what’s going to have you reaching your high is the locked stares you share. Eddie looks so intently into your eyes, as if he’ll find answers to all of his problems in them. It’s sexier than any words either of you could possibly vocalize. The look says so much more than your voices ever could.

“I’m close,” you tell him in a rough whisper. Your fingers tighten on his and Eddie’s hips rock slightly harder into yours.

“Me too, baby.”

The urge to close your eyes floats over you as your impending orgasm gets closer by the second, but you refuse. Even blinking is too long to look away from the eyes of the man you love. Eddie agrees, never taking those brown beauties off of you as he feels his release closing in.

“Eddie,” you whimper, more just needing to say his name than anything else. “Oh, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.”

“I know, my love.”

“Gonna cum, Eds,” you slur.

“With me, yeah baby?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out more than speak.

All it takes is two more thrusts before Eddie’s spilling into you. Him coating your walls with his release is enough to have you falling headfirst into your euphoria as well.

Both of you ride it out together, trying to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of it that you could from one another. By the lazy smiles you give one another as you try and catch your breaths, you’d say that you both enjoyed it very much.

Eddie leans down and presses a sweet but sensuous kiss to your lips before begrudgingly pulling out of you. Neither of you like it, so you’re quick to cuddle up to one another, desperate to have your arms wrapped around the warm skin of his middle.

“That was…wow,” you say after a few minutes of companionable silence.

“Very wow,” Eddie agrees, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “Y’know, there’s something else I’d like to add to that list, now that I have blood flowing to my brain.”

“Yeah?”

“Your heart,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Just when I think it can’t get any bigger or warmer, you prove me wrong time and time again. The kindness and generosity that you have is something I’ve never seen in another person. You’re so amazingly you and I’ve been enchanted by it since the day I met you. Sometimes I feel like this is all a fairytale except the prince is the one constantly swept off his feet.”

“The princess is too,” you assure him through increasingly labored breath. “Very, very swept.”

Letting your suddenly heavy eyes slip closed, you tuck your head beneath Eddie’s chin and revel in his touch. A nap with you in his arms sounds like heaven right now, but Eddie knows there’s something he has to say before he forgets.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?” Your sleepy voice brings a smile to his face.

“Luke asked me to bring over McDonalds.”

“C’mon, let’s go hit the drive-thru.”

You move to get up, but Eddie keeps you right where you are.

“Not yet. Naps first. Food for gremlins later.”

You chuckle and press a kiss to his bare chest.

“Naps first,” you agree.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS

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nejiverse · 10 months

Text

PART-TIME BABYSITTER

Rin Itoshi + Sae Itoshi

In which Rin takes care of your daughter while you and Sae are on holiday. Tiktok inspired me (what’s new) Fem! Reader

cw: established relationship with sae, kids

460 words

"Come collect your child".

Y/n stifled a laugh as Rin's face remained unchanged. The stress was evident in his facial expressions that it made Y/n curious as to how a one-year old could affect him so much.

"What happened?", at your question, Rin shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. He had a whole list but he planned on saving it when you and Sae get back. Right now he’d only bother you with one thing.

"She keeps on crying and I have no clue what she wants cause I can't understand what she’s saying”.

Sae scoffed in the background. “My daughter has perfect speech, you’re just stupid”.

You gently scolded Sae for getting on Rin’s nerves even more before giving the boy your full undivided attention.

Before Rin could even say another word, a small chubby hand came up over the camera. Evidently, your daughter stole Rin’s phone from him.

“Mama!”, she cried out.

Her sniffles made your heart ache that you aren’t there to coddle her so instead you cooed at her, telling her you’d be back real soon.

Sae surprised you with a holiday to Spain which you’ve been begging him to take you on and you two were currently on your last days there. You insisted bringing d/n along but he only wanted it to be the two of you (he’s not admitting to his obvious jealousy).

Ever since you delivered, Sae hasn’t gotten the chance to spend quality time with you, and that was very unfair in his opinion.

“You could’ve asked first”, Rin huffed, he wasn’t a fan of you an Sae’s brat (his words not mine) pawing at his phone with her grubby hands.

“What’s wrong baby?”, you cooed.

“Scoochy!”, she babbled.

You blame Sae for this.

Whenever he sees you eating something without him, he tells you to scooch over, with full intent of stuffing his face with your food, or as he calls it “our food”.

“Are you eating something, Rin?”, you asked.

“Yeah why?”,

“She wants some of it, that’s what she’s saying—”.

“No way. I just fed her”, Rin grabbed his phone back, causing d/n to jut her bottom lips out. “I swear she’s got a black hole for a stomach”.

Sae let out something that was a mix between a huff and a laugh. “Yeah, like her mother”.

Meanwhile, d/n was busy chowing down on some of Rin’s chips. Said man let out a dramatic gasp before quickly dismissing the situation. He no longer wanted them.

“Y’know what? Have them. They’re yours”, Rin pushed the small box closer to her. “Early birthday present, happy birthday”.

You blinked once, twice, before cocking your head to the side. “Her birthday is 10 months away..”.

“That’s what makes it early”.

…

masterlist :)

a/n: yall google scoochie on urban dictionary 💀 there’s a word for everything I swear

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theblackestswan · 5 months

Text

Silent Desires | #1

Synopsis — There was a time when you pondered how you'd ever let it be known how much you desired Jungkook. But now? He’s back. And he’s not being silent with his desires anymore.

• Jungkook x F!Reader

• Brothers best friend, childhood friends to somewhat strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, and a bit of angst

• explicit language

• word count: 1.5k+

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"God fucking damnit!"

You screamed as you tried to calm yourself down. Was it working? Absolutely not. But it felt good, right?

The phone rang a couple rings before the person you were not looking for, answered. "Hello sister!" Gross. The sound of anyones happiness, pissed you off right now.

"Jimin, is dad home? I really need him." You said exhaustingly. Please let your dad be home. You need him right now.

You sighed, "It's... just my car. It stopped and won't go into gear..."

"Hey, everything's okay. I'll come get you and check it out. I have someone who might know a thing or two about cars... we'll be there soon."

We?

"Jimin who is-?" Before you could ever ask, he hang up. Probably one of his buddies or a coworker. You honestly didn't care. You just needed to get you and your car home.

You just sat in the drivers seat holding back tears. This car is a piece of junk. Honestly. It's old, lots of miles, but you've done your best to take care of it. The thought of being without a car was scary. How are you gonna get to work? You guess you could rent a car. But that's a lot, and who knows how long you'd need one for. You could buy a new one, but that's even more money. Everyone in your family has jobs, and needs their own car. So you couldn't borrow one. Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

You didn't have much time to overthink more before you could see Jimin's car pulling up behind yours, off the side of the road.

Curse your brother for having tinted windows, and curse the sun for starting to set, because you had no clue who was in the passenger seat.

You hopped out of your car and popped the hood. You could at least do that much.

"Hey sis! You okay?" No. No I'm not.

"Yeah I'm fine, cold and anxious, but I'm fine." Not a total lie.

You walked Jimin to the hood of your car and gave him a play by play of what happened. He checked all your fluids, and looked at the engine as much as he could. He knew a little about cars, but not as much as your dad did.

You totally forgot about the person in the passenger seat. "Chim, who did..."

Oh fuck.

"Hi Y/N. Car troubles I see?"

You knew that voice anywhere. The boy you befriended when you were 9. The boy who eventually became better friends with your brother, than you. The boy who moved away when he was 16, but still kept in touch with Jimin, at least.

The boy who turned into a hot fucking man, who is now standing in front of you.

"Jungkookie?"

You were sure your jaw was on the ground. The last time you seen him, in the flesh, was 5 years ago at Jimin's 21st birthday dinner. Sure, you'd see his pictures on social media, and what not, but not in person. Holy shit, is he even real?

Of course he is. Jimin talks all the time about him. Even though he moved, him and Jimin still hang out all the time. Usually they meet somewhere in the middle. He only moved two hours away.

"Ah, you still remember my nickname?" There was that stupid bunny smile. Stupid. Stupidly cute.

"Of course I do. How could I forget?" You flashed him a smile right back. How could you ever forget Jungkook? You only crushed on him for half your life. He was cute. He had always been cute. But once he became more of Jimin's friend, you knew your chances were out the window.

Jimin had one hard rule for his friends. "Leave my little sister alone." He loved being a big brother. He loved being your big brother, even more. He would do anything for you. And that includes keeping you safe. Especially from his friends.

As you got older, you understood that rule, more. Especially when Taehyung was around. Another cute friend of Jimin's, but an absolute flirt, and dare you say, playboy. All of his friends would flirt with you from time to time. Although, you didn't know if it was them actually flirting, or just trying to rile up your brother.

Before you could daydream even more about he man in front of you, Jimin caught you out of your thoughts.

"So, Y/N. Tell Jungkook what happened. He knows cars more than I do."

Suddenly you forgot your words. Jungkook was intimidating. He wasn't the boy you once knew. "I- uh... it was going down the road just fine, t-then, it started j-jerking and I pulled over and it wouldn't switch gears. And now it won't d-do anything."

That felt like it took you 3 weeks to say. You just explained all of this to Jimin in 15 seconds. Pull yourself together.

He just nodded at you, and then started looking over your car more.

God he was hot. You were kinda glad your dad didn't answer.

"It looks like it's your transmission. I'm guessing it probably went out, and you'll need a new one. I can look at it more tomorrow when I can get it off the ground and have more light." He looked at your softly. Surely that's not news anyone wants.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

Jimin rubbed your back to calm you down, "Let's call a tow truck and get it home. Kook can look at it in the morning. He's staying over this weekend."

You sat inside your car while you called your insurance company to see if they could get a tow truck for you. Thankfully they could, and it was on it's way.

Jimin had walked back to his car to call your parents and let them know what was going on. You were just left with the sexy man in front of you.

Do you speak? What is there to say?

"Thank you again for coming with Chim. I really appreciate it. I was hoping my dad was home but... I guess you're okay too." Now what the fuck do you call that?

He chuckled as he looked at the ground, "I'm glad I could help. I'm sorry about all this. Car problems suck."

"It's all good. Had my fair share with this car..." You really didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of him. Anyone with a brain would have gotten rid of this car a long time ago. "So uh... what are you doing all the way down here?"

He stared at you blankly. God his eyes alone could ruin you. It was like he was in a trance. He didn't even blink. "Jungkook?" He stared a few seconds longer before he snapped out of whatever it was he was in.

"Sorry, uh... why I'm here... oh! I moved down here actually. Closer to work and I miss you guys." If there was any day light right now, you would see his ears are red. Something that happened when he's embarrassed. Kind of his way of blushing.

"Miss you 'guys'? You mean Jimin?" Surely just Jimin. He had long forgotten about you.

"No, you too."

Huh? 'You too'?

You gulped. There was two ways you could go about this. One, you could tell him off about how he obviously didn't miss you when he left and never really spoke to you. Ever. Or you could play into it and see what exactly he means by that. Before you could even tell yourself which one to go with, your mouth already spoke for you.

"Didn't seem like you missed me too much." You couldn't do this. You didn't even want to continue this conversation. You walked over to Jimin in his car and just listened to the phone call he was having with your parents.

Soon enough, the tow truck was there, and before you, yourself could greet the driver, Jungkook already had it handled. He gave the driver the keys and told him your address. He grabbed your stuff out of your passenger seat and waved the driver off.

"Here, thought you might want these." Again with a soft smile that could destroy you, and he handed you your bag, and jacket.

What the fuck was he doing? Trying to make it up to you?

"I could have done all that by myself. I'm not the little girl you once knew." You gave him the tiniest smirk. What the fuck were you doing? Surely he couldn't see that, this late at night. You walked off and left him while you got in the back of your brothers car.

Thank god it was dark, and you were out of distance, otherwise what Jungkook said would end it all.

"Guess I should find out exactly what that means, Miss Y/N."

He had the same smirk you had, only a lot bigger.

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next chapter

A note from our sponsor: OMGGEEEEE you guys it’s finally happening!! I’ve always been a writer and wanted to post my own fic, but there’s just so many incredible ones on here already and I didn’t think I could bring anything good to the table. Buttttt I got in the mood to write, and came across this fic that I started 2 years ago. I got the first 10 chapters wrote out, and so I’ve gone through and edited and will be posting my first fic!! Since I started this on Wattpad, that’s where I’ll be posting chapters first. A few days after I post on there, I’ll post them on here. I just enjoy writing on Wattpad a bit more, but Tumblr is my favorite place to read fics. If you’re interested in my Wattpad, it’s hokookin (also linked). I hope you enjoy reading 🖤

#jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jeongguk #bts jungkook #jk #jjk #jungkook fic #silent desires #bts au

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norrisleclercf1 · 9 months

Note

Could you come up with something around this subject? Fernando not wanting to celebrate his birthday because it means he on paper will be even older than his baby girl, and he might be a bit worried she will find someone younger😅

Happy birthday to Daddy Nando 😏

A/N: I love him, I really do he just screams Daddy ughhh

Warnings: Age gap, fluff

"What do you mean you don't want to celebrate your birthday?" Shocked as Fernando refuses to take the cake from the Aston Martin mechanics. "Fernando, take the damn cake." Lawerence gruffs, shoving the cake into his friends arm.

"Happy birthday old man." Lance teases patting Fernando on the shoulder, leaving with his father. "Nando, it was sweet of them. You should say thank you." You whisper, nudging him with your shoulder looking at the mechanics.

"Thank you, this really does mean a lot. Just, I don't celebrate my birthdays often. Thanks, for accepting me and making me a part of this team." Fernando smiles, before walking away leaving you to apologize for him. "Nado, wait." You call out rushing after him.

The rain having picked up, you groan covering yourself as best as you can. "Nando! Fernando!" You cry, chasing him in the rainstorm. Skidding to a stop, he turns and pulls you up into a dry area.

"What is wrong with you? It's your birthday and everyone did something very nice. Why are you acting like this?" Wiping water off your face, trying to hold onto your anger. It just smokes out, seeing Fernando's distressed face.

"I'm old." He mumbles, the sound of the rain hitting the metal roof drowns it out. "What did you say?" Making a noise in his throat he chuckles. "I'm old dammit! I'm old, a fucking old man. 42. That's how old I am did you know that?" Fernando spits, not from anger but...something else.

"I know how old you are Nando." The comment meant nothing to you, but to him, it's a sore topic. "Exactly." He breathes, dropping his head on your shoulder. Pulling you in, the sound of the rain dulls the steady beat off your heart. He hates it.

"I'm old, Y/n. Much older than you. I don't want to celebrate, because it just reminds me of our age difference. And..and how you might leave me one day for someone younger." Biting your lip, you try hard not to laugh at his stupid comment.

"Date a littel boy? I highly doubt it. I prefer my men older, they know how to handle me and how to please me. That's you Nando. No one, can change that." Lifting his head, he just blinks and you. "Made you run in the rain." He huffs hating when you get cold and wet.

"Well, how about we go somewhere private and you can show me just how old you think you are?" Grabbing your hand he kisses your wrist, right where the vein that leads right to your heart is. "What do you mean-" He stops, seeing your mischievous grin. "Oh? Oh." Dragging you back to the rain rushing to a better area.

Fernando definitely proved he wasn't old.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 scenario #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #fernando imagine #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso one shot #fernando alonso blurb #fernando blurb #f1 blurb #fernando alonso fluff #f1 fluff #f1 x you

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skzdarlings · 2 days

Text

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

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | 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. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture. mentions of past sexual abuse, detailed descriptions of needles. chapter word count: 12,525 words.

B E F O R E

“Happy fourteenth birthday.”

Felix looks up from his work. He underperformed in training today and landed himself a punishment. His good record spared him anything too painful, but he has been assigned cleaning duty. Taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling weapons is not difficult work – he could do it in his sleep – but it is tedious.

Tedium is its own kind of torture, especially these days with his mind in a state of tumult. He has grown closer to Chris with each passing day. Felix knows they are not meant to think of each other as friends, just fellow soldiers, but that is the word Felix uses.

My friend.

That is who stands over Felix now. Chris is smiling and holding something wrapped in what looks like a kitchen napkin. Felix blinks at it, then furrows his brow.

“Huh?” Felix says. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Could be!” Chris says.

Felix supposes Chris has a point. Felix does not actually know his own birthday because he bounced around foster care before he found himself in Miroh’s program. If his birthday was recorded anywhere, no one told him what it was. So it could be his birthday. The odds are not great but not impossible.

“Um,” Felix says, because no one has ever wished him a happy – or happy possible – birthday. He guesses the best reply is, “Thanks?”

“It’s not a trick, man,” Chris says, smiling. He laughs at Felix, though it doesn’t feel cruel, and ruffles his hair before shoving the little wrapped item at him. “Here,” Chris says. “Got it especially for you.”

Felix unfolds the napkin and finds a cookie. It’s not the kind of food that is served at the regiment because their diet is so strict. Food is a sustenance and not a pleasure.

“Wow,” Felix says. It is a genuine surprise. Chris had to go out of his way to get this.

Felix feels embarrassed. He still struggles to cope with feeling in general. He almost yearns for a simpler, more naïve time, when he didn’t have to think or feel, just trust and follow. Now he is a flustered knot of embarrassment because Chris is giving him presents just because Felix mentioned he had never received one. It was an off-handed remark a few days ago, that he didn’t know his birthday and had never received a present but that it didn’t matter because he didn’t deserve it.

And he didn’t, he doesn’t, deserve any of it. Not a birthday wish or a thoughtful gift or Chris’s friendship. Felix has so much blood on his hands and he doesn’t how much of it is innocent. He never counted his kills like some other agents, stupid kids bragging to seem bigger and more powerful than their circumstances. Felix never did it for glory. He knew his place. Now he doesn’t count them because it doesn’t matter. It all comes back to him when he closes his eyes. He remembers what they were wearing, what they said before they died, the things they begged to a naïve, indifferent child.

He doesn’t count them because he doesn’t need a number to know it’s too much and he will never be able to take it back. He doesn’t deserve birthdays and friendships and Chris. He never will.

He doesn’t say this out loud. He knows Chris will argue with him, belligerent in his kindness and reassurance. Felix won’t listen in turn. The conversation would be useless. Rather than bother, Felix asks, “Where did you get it?”

“Hey, I know I’m trouble,” Chris says, still smiling, “but I got connections too, you know?”

Felix guesses he means Miroh’s daughter as she is the only agent with outside connections. They seem to have a tenuous understanding because she and Chris get in the most trouble. Chris, because he still bristles at commands and steps out of line. Her, because she’s Miroh’s daughter and held to a higher standard than the rest of them.

Chris can befriend almost anyone, garnering admiration in his peers if nothing else. His rebellious streak means no one wants visible association with him, but in the quietest of corners there is a whispered respect for the First Guard. He is as notorious as he is skilled and he has a natural leadership.

Felix supposes it is not outside the realm of possibility that even Miroh’s daughter would consider Chris a friend – but only somewhere even quieter than most.

Felix does not consider Miroh’s daughter a friend and he doubts he ever will. Her proximity to Miroh makes her an even bigger liability than Chris. Felix would never get close to someone like that, born into their position and too close to power for his liking.

“Miroh’s daughter, you mean,” Felix says.

Felix might keep his musings close to his heart, but that doesn’t mean Chris can’t read them anyway. Chris is a soldier by instinct if not choice. He is always one step ahead. It’s like he is inside Felix’s head. He seems to know what Felix will do before Felix does.

“Yeah,” Chris says. He rubs the back of his neck, breathing deeply. He looks almost sheepish, as if admitting he knows better. “She’s not that bad when you get to know her. Really.”

Felix is certain he looks unconvinced. It makes Chris laugh.

“You look worried,” Chris says.

“I do worry about you,” Felix says. He looks down at the cookie in his hand. It is hard to say out loud, but he manages a weak, “You’re my friend.”

Chris is suspiciously quiet. When Felix looks up, Chris has a determination to his countenance.

“Find me when you’re done here,” Chris says. “I wanna show you something.”

Felix, as usual, does as he is told. When his punishment ends, he tracks Chris to the barracks where the older boy is patiently waiting. He claps Felix on the shoulder but otherwise doesn’t stop to greet him. He is a little skittish as he leads Felix to their mysterious destination.

It is not so extraordinary in the end. Nothing around here is. Everything is cold chrome and sleek silver, one room much like the next, branded by Miroh as surely as its occupants.

Chris knocks out a ventilation panel then leads Felix to what looks like an unused crawl space, forgotten and collecting dust.

“Welcome to my office,” Chris jokes, still with that nervous laughter. It is putting Felix on edge.

“Is everything all right?” Felix asks.

“Well, no, Felix,” Chris says. “It isn’t. You know that now, don’t you?”

A couple years of shared assignments between the best and second best, the rebellious and the reluctant. A couple years of watching Miroh bludgeon his way through the world. A couple years of regret.

A couple years of friendship to change everything.

“Yeah,” Felix says. It is all he needs to say.

“Sit,” Chris says. There is a corner of the room that has been cleared of dust, this part of the hideaway evidently well-used. “Let’s talk.”

Whatever conversation Felix expects to have, it is not the one he gets. He sits and watches Chris, watches him breathe and measure his words. Chris is usually confident in what he has to say, even when staring down a barrel of a gun. This is more than disconcerting.

“I’ve been talking to some others in the program,” Chris says. “We’re all growing up. I’ll be eighteen soon. If we’re already strong, we’re just gonna get stronger. Miroh has complete control over us. I’m scared that if we don’t do something about it soon, then everything is going to get worse. A lot, lot worse.”

“Do something,” Felix says, his mind going a mile a minute. “What do you mean? Who else have you told about this?”

“People I consider friends,” Chris says. He puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “People like you, Felix.”

He thinks of the cookie in his pocket. His heart punches up with alarm.

“Miroh’s daughter?” Felix asks and this time he knows for certain his thoughts are very clear. He says her name – not even her name, her position, the daughter and heir of the very thing Chris wants to fight – and he says it with the obvious inflection of what-the-fuck-are-you-thinking?

“She’s a friend,” Chris says in a voice he usually reserves for an enemy. It startles Felix into silence. Seeing that, Chris smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “You don’t have to trust her,” Chris says. “Just trust me. Felix, I want to get us out, all of us. I don’t want that man or any other man like him to hurt anyone else. Not kids, not adults, not anyone. I won’t put you in more danger, I swear. That’s the opposite of what I want. I’m gonna protect you, okay? I’m gonna protect all of you. When the time comes to take a stand, I just want you to be ready. If something happens, if it all goes wrong…”

Felix looks at him, alarm and worry plain on his young face. Chris squeezes his shoulder again.

“If…” Chris swallows then continues, “If it is all goes wrong, I’ll pay the price alone. But I’d rather die trying to save all of you than live another day hurting innocent people for Miroh.”

“Chris—” Felix starts, an argument on his tongue.

“Don’t,” Chris says firmly. “If there was anything worth dying for, Felix, then it’s this. I’m gonna get you out. I’m gonna get you all out. I swear. Just be ready for when I say. Just trust me. Just be my friend.”

Felix spends a week after that in a state of restless turmoil. He sleeps poorly and fights worse and even spends a night in the Cell for his mistakes.

He doesn’t know what to think about Chris and his intentions. It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. But if it worked…

It wouldn’t take the blood off Felix’s hands, but it would be a start to something better. Felix has little thought for his own fate, undeserving as he is, but he thinks about Chris. Chris, the First Guard, who has been here the longest, who has watched the most people die, who has been punished the worst.

Chris deserves better.

Felix believes in Chris. He believes if Chris made an effort, then he would have what it takes to make a difference. Felix knows Chris is capable. He could do what he sets out to do.

It is not Chris that Felix worries about.

Felix observes Miroh’s daughter, studying her more closely than ever before. Felix trusts Chris’s general discretion but he worries Chris has a blind spot concerning her. They are the only two in their age category and they share a small barrack, the forced proximity undoubtedly creating a semblance of intimacy. Chris might trust her but Felix is not so biased. All he sees is Miroh.

Felix watches her. She doesn’t spend much time with Chris in public, her only close relationship with Seo Changbin. They are a bit notorious together. Felix would not call them the best fighters but they are tricky. He is pretty sure they throw their fights with each other and embellish more than necessary. Both like a good skull crash, more brutal than efficient. The trickery and brutality makes Felix more wary of her.

At the same time, her obvious friendship with Changbin shows she can care about someone else. The pair throw a mean punch but always patch each other up after.

Chris catches Felix watching them. They are having a go in the ring, punching and flipping, grinning when they think no one is watching. They have smiles just for each other.

“You look really deep in thought, mate,” Chris says, laughing. He hands Felix a water bottle while toweling down his own sweaty neck.

“Huh?” Felix finally breaks his concentration. He takes the water and smiles one of his instinctive but fake smiles – the kind he uses on a mission, when he is trying to convince an adversary that he is an innocent, unassuming kid.

Chris sees through it, of course. He lifts an eyebrow at Felix then follows his line of sight to the ring.

“What?” Chris says, laughing again. His own ears turn a little red as he teases, “You got a crush on her or something?”

“Ew, shut up,” Felix says, throwing his own towel at him. He feels flushed despite the fact it is vehemently untrue. He is not used to being provoked with that line of teasing. “No,” he says certainly. “I have no feelings for anyone. But I think they might.”

“Huh?” Chris looks between Felix and the ring. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at them,” Felix says. “They’re a little too close, don’t you think?”

Presently, Miroh’s daughter has Changbin pinned to the mat. She is on top of him and whispering something that makes them both snicker.

Chris stares at them. After a beat of contemplative silence, he laughs. Felix recognizes the fake sound, the same disarming humour Felix uses when conning someone.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Hey, I’ll be right back, yeah?”

Felix watches Chris amble over. He says something to the duo and Changbin retaliates with some non-descript shouting and flailing. Miroh’s daughter rolls her eyes. She grabs Chris by the collar and yanks him into a fight.

The rest of the day progresses without much fuss or bother. Miroh has no jobs for them today so the schedule is just training and recuperation.

Felix manages to avoid punishment today. He tries expelling his anxiety in a fight but it does not fully work. Felix has come to realize he is not very good at letting go. Belief, emotion, the good, the bad: all of gets clutched in his fists and held to his heart.

Fighting tires him but it is not a satisfying tired, of exerted muscles and a pumping heart. He feels weary and everything everywhere is so loud, the chrome and steel of the Miroh facilities like an echoing dome. It cycles all that noise in an agonizing reverberation. It feels inescapable. He goes to the barracks which are smaller but it makes the claustrophobia worse.

Laying in his bunk, rubbing his temples, Felix dreams of a quiet room of his own.

It is then he remembers Chris’s hideaway. Chris miraculously dodged punishment today so he retreated to the barracks a while ago. Felix doesn’t want to disturb him but he figures Chris won’t mind him using the hideaway on his own if he’s careful.

They are permitted access to the training room for the few hours between work and mandatory repose. The hideaway is en route so it is easy for Felix to stealthily retrace his steps without raising suspicion. He disappears in the security blind spot the way Chris showed him.

Felix is in the tunnel when he hears a noise. He worries he was followed despite being so careful, but then he realizes the noise is ahead of him, not behind him.

He freezes in the crawl tunnel, trying to discern the sound. It doesn’t sound like talking, more like… breathing? Heavy breathing.

Then he hears a laugh that he recognizes as Chris. And he is not alone. The other noise is a sigh, a lighter, more feminine sound.

Oh.

Apparently, Chris’s hideaway is not just for talking to friends. The sound of kissing and sighing is more friendly than his conversation with Felix, that’s for sure.

Felix is frozen for a minute, too stunned and embarrassed to think of moving. He has to shuffle backwards to escape because he can’t turn in that part of the crawl space. If this was a mission, he could do it, but this is personal. He doesn’t want to get caught but it’s not because it will compromise any job; it’s because it will be awkward.

He scuffs his shoe in his backwards shuffle. It clangs, a subtle sound, but one that makes him wince.

It goes quiet around the corner. Felix knows he was heard and there is no time to escape. Seconds later, a frantic looking Chris is in the tunnel, red-faced with a line of sweat on his brow. His uniform is clearly dishevelled and Felix gets even more embarrassed.

Those feelings need somewhere to go. It comes out of him in a burst of frustration.

“What are you doing?” Felix demands, his voice breaking.

“Nothing!” Chris says, clearly a knee-jerk reaction. Then he takes a breath and says, “Look, I can explain—”

“It’s not Miroh’s daughter,” Felix says. He can’t even pose it as a question because he refuses to believe Chris could genuinely be that reckless and stupid. Befriending her is one thing – a stupid thing – but fooling around with the daughter of the powerful man who owns them is begging for tragedy.

“I’m not stupid,” Chris says.

“It doesn’t matter,” Felix says. “Whoever it is, you need to stop.”

“Look—”

“Seriously, Chris!”

“Felix—”

“It’s not worth it!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Chris snaps. “You’re not normal and you don’t understand what it means to care about someone like that.”

It is obviously thoughtless, blurted in the head of the moment. It hurts anyway. Felix wonders if Chris can see the pain on his face because Chris looks immediately remorseful.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that—” Chris starts.

“It’s fine,” Felix says. “You’re right.”

“Felix—”

Felix pushes backwards and leaves without waiting for any protest. He does not stop, marching all the way back to this bunk. Anger and embarrassment have finally dissipated by the time he returns. It has been replaced with determination.

Chris is the best, but he has been compromised whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. He feels too much, for everyone and everything, and it will get him in even more trouble than he is already in. if he retaliates with thoughtless provocation when it’s just Felix confronting him, then what will he do when it’s Miroh and the stakes are even higher?

Chris said he would protect them all. He swore to succeed at any cost, including his own life. There is no one swearing the same for him. No one has ever protected him.

Felix is the second best. He has never left a job unfinished and for that he is not deserving of the protection Chris is offering.

It won’t clean the blood on his hands, but if Felix can save a life worth more than his own, then maybe it will start to justify all of this, all of him.

Chris was right. Felix is not normal. But he was wrong say that Felix doesn’t know what it means to care about someone. Because of Chris, Felix knows how to care. He knows what he has to do.

Chris can try and save them all.

Felix is going to save Chris.

P R E S E N T D A Y

Miroh’s main facility has fallen.

It sounds so dramatic for something so anticlimactic, like you are describing the collapse of a kingdom and not the shutdown of his main office operation.

It feels like an apocalyptic demise.

You and Chan fight your way out of the building, taking on the people who fight in your name. Your father’s name. Miroh.

Miroh is dead. Irrefutably broken, little more than a heap of meat on the tarmac. With him gone and the only named heir on the run – you – this facility will shut down to maintain security.

Miroh ran a meticulously compartmentalized business. There is protocol for everything so even if one part of his operation fell, the rest could continue unimpeded. Miroh tried to establish a legacy that could rival old money like his enemy, going so far as to predict his own demise. Miroh has long braced for the eventuality of his end, so he made sure his business could fracture and run without him.

He did everything in his power to make you just like him, a little broken fracture of himself to ensure that legacy. But then he could not actually face what he created. He could not actually let go. He was the only one with the perspective and power and he had to keep it that way.

Miroh would not have accounted for your rebellion, not for the sake of someone else. For a friend.

Flashes of the last twenty four hours play in your mind. You can hardly pinpoint the change in yourself. It feels like this was somehow inevitable, despite how much you would have balked at the idea before. But now it is all that matters. It’s all that makes sense in this chaos.

You have to find your friend. This facility will be empty in a matter of hours, but there are others. Changbin is in one of them. You have no idea where to start.

One thing at a time, you tell yourself. Before you can ruminate on anything behind or in front of you, you need to fight. You do not have time for introspection or planning. You need to get away. Away from this place, away from your dead father.

Away from his soldier, the First Guard, Bang Chan, who for some reason is helping you escape.

You don’t know why. You seriously doubt your barely coherent pleading broke the conditioning and literal torture that made him into this thing.

You don’t have time to find out. At the first opportunity, you break away, leaving him with a handful of operatives to fight. It should keep them all occupied while you escape.

You do not want to risk trapping yourself in an enclosed space, so you do not venture to the parking garage where the company vehicles are stored. Some of them will be programmed and bugged. You feel bad targeting a civilian, but stealing one of their cars is the safest bet. There are some administrative employees who complete menial tasks for the company, those with next to no clearance level. They park their personal cars around the facility. You pick one that is easy to reconfigure without a key to boot.

Minutes later, you are driving for an exit. Your whole body is aching but you push through it. There will be time to recuperate when you are in the clear.

Sirens wail and alarms blare, every security measure in action. Your escape is certainly not a clean one but it doesn’t matter. You just need to get away.

If you can get off the facility grounds, you can lose any adversaries in the back country roads. The route to the facility was intentionally designed to be a convoluted labyrinth, making it difficult for enemies to approach without giving the facility ample preparation time. You know the paths better than anyone. You can get away.

A soldier marches right into the middle of your escape path.

It is too brazen for a regular agent. They would not be so stupid to try that, knowing you would just barrel into them.

You speed closer and recognize the First Guard. Chan is unflinching as ever, standing in the middle of the road as if he intends to stop your car with his body. He is strong but not that strong. You know that. But he looks like an inhuman phantom, looming there in his combat gear and mask, unphased and unharmed despite the hour of nonstop violence.

But that’s not the reason you stop. You think about him in that van. You could only see his eyes but they were expressive, the tilt of his head inquisitive.

You slam on the brakes. The car stops inches from his body but he doesn’t even blink.

Your heart is racing, breath bursting in gasps. He strolls around the car as if he was just waiting for his ride.

Soldiering instinct propels your hands. You draw a gun as he opens the passenger-side door. He bends down and looks at you, his brow quirked with a silent question. Your hand shakes and he is too good not to notice. You know that, but a regular person would never guess because he does not take his eyes off yours.

He disarms you, faster than a blink. He drops into the passenger seat, then slams the door and shoves the gun in its storage compartment.

You stare at him. Your gaze follows the line of his stark profile. His hairline is a little sweaty but he doesn’t look out of breath.

You don’t know what to think.

This is the longest you have been in his company since you were kids in training. Your memory of him is insubstantial, having spent little to no time with him personally. But it hardly matters what he was. Now he’s a soldier above all soldiers, a shadow filling this small civilian car. He’s not the biggest man in the world but he’s overwhelming all the same, partially because of his uniform and partially because of his posture. He feels too big for this little human space. His knee hits the gear shift, his thighs bulky in the small seat, his shoulders broad where he leans back.

He looks across the car and meets your eyes. You think about how many people have met this gaze, maybe in a moment just like this, sitting across from Miroh’s asset in a little civilian vehicle before he put a bullet between their eyes or snapped their neck. You have seen the results of his missions even if you were not involved in them. The statistics and numbers speak for themselves. Those eyes have seen more death than life and right now they are resolutely focussed on you.

You jump when he lifts his hand. He says nothing but turns the rearview mirror in your direction. You reluctantly peel your gaze away from him. You see what he sees: a vehicle in rapid pursuit of your own.

“Shit,” you say. You shove the mirror back into place. Your hands collide for a split second.

You can’t linger on the weirdness of this moment, that the First Guard is your ally, sitting in the passenger seat and helping you escape.

You drive. The other vehicle chases you down. You get past the easy security measures, blowing past gates and guards. When you approach the last gate, Chan rolls down the window and twists his body. He pulls the stashed gun and aims somewhere. Your eyes are on the road so you don’t see exactly what he does, but the gate slams shut between you and the pursuing vehicle, trapping them on the other side.

Then it is just you, him, and the road.

He puts the gun away. He sits back. He rolls up the window. He makes it seem like a routine, still unphased while your heart pounds with adrenaline.

You do not look at him. You do not speak. You focus on escape, taking a convoluted path through the countryside just in case. When the facility is far, far behind you, you take a back road and pull into a shadowed space between some trees.

You slam to a stop, shift the gear to park, but keep the engine running. You clutch the steering so hard, you imagine it cracking beneath the force of your grip.

Chan still does not speak. The last time he spoke was on that rooftop. What now?

A damn good question.

You look at him. He is not sitting the way you would expect a machine of a man to be sitting. You would have thought the First Guard would sit straight-backed and braced for confrontation, but his slouch is almost insouciant. He sits with his knees apart, his body slanted where his elbow rests on the door. One gloved hand strums the door and the other is draped over his thigh. He looks at you without any expression you can interpret.

You are tired. Your body hurts. Your father is dead and the operation is changing and your only friend is suffering and you can’t do anything about any of it. This morning you held a modicum of control over your life – or you thought you did – and now everything has spiralled.

You know logically that Chan is a victim of Miroh, but right now it does not matter. He is an infuriating figure of composure, not to mention your father’s greatest weapon, and that combination snaps the elastic thread of your patience, already stretched to its limits.

“Take off the fucking mask,” you say.

He stares at you, his expression still unreadable. You are tempted to reach across and rip the mask off his face. You would definitely not succeed, no match for his reflexes on a good day, but logic is inconsequential in the face of your emotions.

He doesn’t test you. He stares for another moment then raises one gloved hand. He unhooks the mask and peels it off. He runs the other hand over his face and through his hair.

You are not sure what you were expecting. The same brown eyes stare back at you, lined with a smudged shadow to look as dark and intimidating as possible. His brows are thick and dark, his hair as black, sweat loosening the slick style so a single curly tuft falls over his forehead.

You follow the slope of his nose down to his mouth. His mouth is closed and he is not smiling. He has full lips, almost too pretty for what he is. Glancing at that mouth on that too-pretty face, you picture a dimple smiled. The memory is almost a blur, a smear of an image over his face. You blink and it’s gone, his stoic face staring back at you.

“What is it?” he says. His voice is like the rest of him, too big in this small space. You swear it shakes the car and the earth under it, though that is ridiculous. It’s just a voice. He’s just a man.

Except he’s not. He’s something else, something that should not have done what he did. You have a million questions. You need those answers before you can continue but it all jumbles together in your head. It’s all too much, the flashes of today, of the past, of an uncertain future full of even more violence.

You finally turn off the engine and get out of the car. You have no intention of going anywhere, but you need space.

You pace in a long line, breathing in and out, using every trick in the book to ease your racing heart. After a minute, you hear the passenger door open. You look over your shoulder at Chan.

You can’t help the instinctive reaction to measure him like an adversary. It doesn’t help he has pummelled you twice in the last few months, not to mention his horrid reputation in an already horrid place. It would be stupid not to brace yourself.

He approaches you cautiously. He has the gall to raise a hand like you are the wild thing and he is the tamer.

“Easy,” he says. His voice is not so booming out here. Other than the dark combat uniform, he almost looks normal, his whole face open to you, eyes narrowed with intense focus.

It makes you breathe harder, the exhale shaky. He notices because he tries to placate you.

He smiles.

It is forced and unpracticed, but there are those dimples, just like you thought. You would have been less startled if he bared his teeth like an animal. The smile unnerves you, undoing all the calming work of your exercises.

“It’s all right,” he says in a frighteningly gentle voice. He tilts his head as he looks at you. “It’s just me, yeah?”

Just him. Like that should comfort you. You suppose you can marginally see things from his perspective, that maybe he has proved himself. After all, he helped you escape. It is obvious he is not doing this for your father or he would not have let you kill him. This is not part of a grand plan. There is no strategy. It’s all over.

It’s just you and him.

It does not comfort you the way he evidently thinks it should. Now is the time to ask those million questions, but you are beyond words. You are a live wire and that pitiful attempt at a truce ignites a flare of angry sparks.

You were built to fight. It punches out of you. Literally.

Chan is faster than you. He dodges your swing with ease, fast as an electric current himself.

“Hey now,” he says, holding out both hands. “Don’t—”

You know you can’t win this fight. You know it’s stupid to try. But each swing flies out of you, instinctive as breathing. He catches every blow, bats your hands out of the way, but he doesn’t swing back. His refusal to fight infuriates you. It makes you feel as helpless as you are.

An aggravated cry spills out of you, a strain behind your eyes as you take another swing.

“Stop it,” he snaps, his smile gone.

He finally goes on the offense, catching your hands and pinning them down. There is a moment of struggle before you feel the driver door at your backside, his body caging you in. You rear up against him but he holds you down, hip to hip, hand to hand.

“I said stop it,” he says. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you ask, voice breaking. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Your chest is pressed against his, moving with your breath while he stands like an ungiving wall. You glare at him and he stares back. His brow furrows in seeming confusion. He closes both eyes and breathes out, a steadying breath.

You thought seeing him lose composure would make you feel better, but you feel worse, more unnerved than before.

He looks at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering when he clenches it. You stare at it as he releases you.

“You must know I can’t trust you,” you say.

You make the mistake of lifting your hands to shove him away. You do not intend to punch him again, the worst of that aggression gone, but he doesn’t know that. You suppose you can’t blame him for his instincts after your demonstration.

When you lift your hands, he grabs your wrists. Swiftly and effortlessly, he pins your hands by your head.

“Oh,” he says. His eyebrows lift and his face is far more expressive than you expected. “I’m the one who can’t be trusted, right?”

“Excuse me?” you snap.

“I’m doing my job, yeah,” he says. “Yesterday you were running jobs for Daddy and today you shot him dead. Wanna talk about erratic behaviour? Wanna talk about who’s unpredictable? About who can trust who here?”

Your mouth parts with a useless, breathless rebuttal, stammering and empty. You didn’t expect that many words from him, not when he has been a silent shadow for so long. Never mind the easy, casual speech, every colloquialism and the taunting hurl of daddy. It makes you think of that scathing, troublesome boy he once was, as sharp with his tongue as everything else. But he is not that boy. You know for a fact he was broken. He has done all those jobs for Miroh without causing any strife in the operation. He is a weapon and nothing more. He exists to follow orders.

Until today. Until you.

“So?” you finally say, because what else can you say?

“So?” he repeats.

“So.” You have those million questions, but there is only one that really matters. “What are we? Soldiers without a general? Because right now it seems like we’re two people who have no reason to trust each other and no reason to work together.”

Your gazes are locked and you measure each other. Not that you are much of a threat to him. He has you pinned with very little effort. If you were at your fighting best, you like to think it would be a little challenge, but right now you stand no chance against him.

But he doesn’t want to hurt you or he would have done it already.

He drops your hands. He doesn’t step away, still regarding you with that scrutinous eye, but it is a menial demonstration of trust.

You drop your arms. You stare back at him, refusing to show the depth of your weakness. You think his body might be keeping yours upright, your legs so weak. You do everything in your power to keep your wild emotions in check, to keep the tears in the back of your eyes. You breathe deeply.

“I’ll help you find your friend,” Chan says, the last thing you expect him to say. You can only watch as he sighs and speaks. “You were my last mission,” he says. “Miroh told me to bring you in. I did. He wanted me to watch you. I am. He wanted me to be your—” He laughs but it is not a happy sound, dry and devoid of pleasure. “Your bodyguard, I guess.” He shakes his head. “Consider this me following orders,” he says. “That’s what I do, yeah? I follow orders. And I don’t leave a job unfinished. Ever.”

“And Miroh?” you say tentatively. “The fact I killed him?”

He shrugs dramatically, hands open in surrender.

“Miroh didn’t make me his bodyguard,” Chan says. “He made me yours.”

It is such preposterously simple logic that you laugh, a disbelieving bark of a sound. You look around at nothing, like the answer to your ridiculous circumstance is in the trees or the road.

When you look at Chan, he is still looking at you, his brow quirked inquisitively.

“Well?” he says. “Is that enough? Can we work together to finish this last job?”

“Your job,” you say slowly. You meet his eyes. “So that’s what I am to you?”

It’s meant to be an easy question with a reassuring answer. He is a soldier. You are his job. He will do what you ask. It’s as simple as that.

He tilts his head as he looks at you. His contemplation is too heavy. It was a simple question for a simple soldier who should speak no language outside of missions and reports.

His gaze is searing and it makes your heart skip a startled beat.

“Yes,” he says. He speaks the word like it’s exhausting to say out loud. It lands with a thud on an exhale. “My job.”

His forearm is planted by your head. His other hand grips your bicep. He is keeping you in place with his hips and thighs. You can feel the tension in his body.

You have no idea why you do what you do. It comes from the same place as those desperate punches. You know it’s useless, you know nothing will come of it, but you ride the propulsion of adrenaline. Your body, on the brink of desperation, has been pushed to its utmost capabilities in the last couple hours. What does it want? What do you want?

What did you ever really want?

You kiss him.

It shocks you both. Unlike the punch, he does not know how to retaliate. He stands there, breathing into your mouth. He is neither encouraging nor withdrawing.

You stop quickly and wipe your mouth. Mortification sets in.

None of this is like you. You blame stress. Your body is confused and hurt. You need recuperation. Whether you like it or not, you need comfort too. It is a deep internal call, only human. But you won’t be getting that from the solid, inhuman wall around you.

You push at that wall and it finally gives. Chan steps back. You doubt a punch would have moved him so easily as that kiss.

“Ignore that,” you say. “Adrenaline. I’m still – not right.”

He just stares, once more a silent shadow. You breathe out in a huff.

“Okay,” you say. “And we’re back to the staring. At least I know you’re still working.”

You turn to open the car door, effectively ending the tense exchange. Chan walks away. He silently circles the car to reach the passenger door. You look at his face, once more stoic and expressionless. He doesn’t look at you, dropping into the vehicle without another glance or sound.

You close your eyes. You take another deep breath of fresh air.

Maybe this is good. Maybe Chan is the ally you need right now. Someone level, someone only concerned with mission parameters. Someone who will not become compromised because of emotion.

Because you are very compromised.

You are not thinking clearly. You need a plan and some water and rest.

You get in the car. You start the engine. You don’t speak another word.

You drive for hours, wanting distance between you and the destruction.

The silence in the car is piercing, your head aching after the first hour. The little space acts like an echo chamber for your tumultuous thoughts. You keep replaying the day, every death and cry. You think about your security team strewn across those stairs, just another casualty in Miroh’s game. You think about your father, the unplanned murder but the utter lack of regret in your heart.

You think about Changbin. Your reckless side wants to look for him right now. You cannot stand to waste another second. Based on your father’s words, he could be anywhere, subject to any number of horrors. But despite the whirlwind tempest of your mind, there is a soldier inside you and she is more pragmatic. You are in no condition to fight. Even if you knew Changbin’s exact location, you would be no use to him. You need to rest, formulate a legitimate plan, then attack.

You can’t afford to make any mistakes. Better than anyone, you know the forces you are up against.

You pull into a highway fill-up station at dusk. The car needs fuel and so do you. There is a little shop near the fuel pumps, the place deserted other than the bored cashier behind the counter.

There was some cash in the glove box, enough for necessities. You will inevitably need to steal or manipulate, but you prefer to lay low tonight. You were careful to avoid traffic cameras and security tv as you exited the previous city. By the time the car is reported and Miroh’s operation works out your connection, you will be off the grid.

You turn off the engine and reach for the wallet. Chan snatches it first.

“What are you doing?” is spoken in unison.

“I’m going to buy us some fucking water and food,” you say.

“Are you? Really?” He gives you a pointed up-and-down look. “You gonna do that looking like you just played cannonball with a cement wall?”

You have not gotten a good look at yourself, just a flash in the rearview mirror, but he is probably right. You feel like utter shit so you must look it too.

“Well, you can’t go in there either,” you say. Even without the mask, he is clearly in an unusual uniform. A bored clerk will remember a terrifying soldier in combat clothes marching through his shop.

Chan flashes you a dimpled smile, frighteningly charming.

“Sure I can,” he says. “Just have to blend in.”

Your eyes widen as he discards both gloves then opens the neck of his shirt. You stare as he efficiently strips off his top layers.

If he looked powerful in the uniform, he looks as just as intimidating without it. He doesn’t boast gargantuan proportions but he doesn’t need it. There is lethal strength to the rolling musculature of his sturdy body.

You shouldn’t care. Soldiers strip all the time, long assignments and shared compartments making it an inevitability. But Chan is not just another soldier. In your head, he is that living shadow, covered all the way up to his eyes in the Miroh black and blue. Seeing all that skin is a startling reminder of the man under the mask.

You find Chan watching you, amused. That stupid eyebrow is quirked again.

“What?” you snap.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Be right back. Don’t miss me too bad.”

You roll your eyes, slumping in your seat as he gets out of the car. You have half a mind to drive away but you are pretty sure he would find a way to manifest at your destination anyway.

You watch as he enters the shop in a nonchalant stroll, wearing just his pants and boots. He waves at the cashier and says something that makes him laugh.

To his credit, Chan looks like a regular guy on a hot day, casually perusing a gas station shop. He makes small talk with the cashier and they laugh some more.

You knew Chan was a good soldier but you didn’t expect him to be such a good agent too. He is probably better at the civilian act than you. You are standoffish and opt for a quiet demeanour, blending in through invisibility rather than a persona.

Chan walks in and out, the cashier unaware of the nature of his customer. You return to the road with a full of tank of gas and some sustenance.

“Are you going to put your shirt back on?” you ask.

He gives you a side-eye as he shrugs the outermost layer back on. He doesn’t do it up. You refuse to act like a glimpse of his bare chest means anything to you.

Except it does. When he sits there with his knee against the console and his skin showing and a tuft of hair over his forehead, he looks like a person. He is a person, one who has been subject to some of the worst horrors of Miroh’s operation.

There is no denying Chan is a complicated figure, unwillingly complicit in atrocities. He acts like a normal person with a fully cognizant mind, but you just witnessed for yourself how easily he can fake that. You do not know how much of the real Bang Chan is actually inside him.

“Chan,” you say after a long time. The sun has almost fully set, the sky in its navy gloaming.

“Yeah?” he says.

There are no words that suffice. You could give an entire speech and it would be virtually meaningless.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaving the breadth of the apology up to his interpretation. You keep your eyes on the endless miles of highway that stretch ahead. There is a long journey in front of you. There is a longer road behind you.

The car is illuminated with golden light from passing cars and overhead lamps. It flashes over his face in the deepening darkness.

“Don’t be,” Chan says. He crosses his arms in a protective position, looking out his window though there is nothing to see but the highway and passing cars. “None of this was your fault,” he says.

You laugh, a similar humourless sound to his earlier laughter.

“That’s not entirely true,” you say, thinking of all the missions you deliberately ran for Miroh. You thought you could make it mean something. You were just like your father, believing the ends would justify the means. You never tortured Chan yourself, but you were part of the operation that kept him in chains. There was nothing you could do to save him, but you certainly never tried.

He looks at you. You hear him move, the crinkle of his clothes, the water bottle he twists in his grip.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” he says. “Seriously. Today was crazy. Everything’s crazy. You’re not responsible for it.”

“I’m not not responsible,” you say. “My team is dead. My friend is gone. My dad – well, you can’t say I didn’t do that.”

“He had that one coming,” Chan says, his laugh a little more real. “No offense, but your dad kinda sucked.”

You find yourself laughing more genuinely too.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think we can agree on that.”

You fall into silence but it is more comfortable than before. There has been an undeniable tension since the moment he climbed in this car, looking at you with questioning confusion as you pointed a gun at him. You were panicking but he must have been equally bewildered. To him, you were a mission. He lives by his orders.

“I should apologize to you,” he says.

You look at him with obvious surprise. He meets your gaze, his expression sincere if not a little chagrined. His dimples show with a faint smile but it is not very happy.

“I’ve been an ass,” he says. “Today was – well.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Trust me,” you say. You try to lighten the mood with your tone. “I’m a Miroh. You will never have to apologize to me for as long as you live.”

He doesn’t laugh or even force that pretend sound. He stares ahead, his gaze sorrowful and faraway.

“Sorry, that was—” you begin.

He forces a smile and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “Truce?”

Smiling feels awkward and your injuries probably make you a terrifying sight. But he accepts it, nodding at you. The car does not feel like such a claustrophobic space after that. The air is clear as it can be, considering who you are.

Neither of you has an identity right now. You were tethered to the same monstrosity and now it is gone. Everything is different.

You are too tired for another late-night heart-to-heart. It is time for rest.

There is enough cash for a cheap motel room. You find a quiet inn off the highway, sequestered beyond trees and countryside fields. You finally look at yourself properly in the bathroom mirror. You decide Chan’s earlier remarks were a severe understatement. You look like a battleground more than a soldier.

You injures will repair themselves with time, but it is a grisly sight. You shower for now. The soap and water helps.

You don the same shirt and underwear. New clothes will be a necessity. You mentally plan tomorrow, everything you will need to accrue before you formulate an attack. You have already mentally plotted the closest facilities, but you will need to verify their function and security protocol before striking.

You are mentally strategize as you exit the bathroom. You are distracted, thinking nothing of the fact you are wearing underwear and a shirt.

Chan already showered because you insisted, knowing you would take longer with your injuries. He is sitting on one of the single beds, sorting through his weapons. There is the gun you stole from Miroh plus his own array of armaments, things so well hidden you did not realize he even had them. They are laid out on the bed. He sits at the foot in his combat pants and nothing else, his dark hair damp and face bare.

You stroll past him, feeling his eyes as they lift from a gun to your bare legs. Now that you have scrubbed the worst of the brutality from your body, you feel like something of a person again. His flicker of attention ignites an undeniable spark in your belly. At first, it startles you, because the First Guard is the absolute last person you should ever think of like that.

But then you look at him. He has turned his eyes back to his work, saying nothing as he reloads the gun with second-nature efficiency. He is holding a weapon but, despite his conditioning, he is just a man.

You are a grounded person. You keep your head down and go about your tasks with confident certainty. He is here, you are here, it has been a long day, and it is not unusual for soldiers to seek comfort before the dawn of a new fight. Comfort is as important in healing and recuperation as anything else.

You sit on your own bed and look at him. He is effortlessly attractive with his dark hair and dark eyes, the sloping muscle of his firm body. You trace his chest and abdomen with your eyes. He does not lift his gaze, his attention on the gun.

“Do you want to fuck?” you ask.

Bang Chan is the best soldier in the force. You are pretty sure he has never fumbled a weapon quite so spectacularly. It clatters to the floor and he kicks it under your bed.

“What!” he says. He doesn’t look at you as he retrieves the gun, laughing a comically nervous giggle. “Um… what?” he asks again. Before you can answer, he shakes his head. “That’s uh, wait. Um. No. Bad idea, right? I mean—”

“It’s just a suggestion,” you say, not really offended. “It’s been a long day. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re both adults here.”

As you say it, you consider his circumstances. Chan has spent his entire life in the house of Miroh. He is not innocent but he might be inexperienced. This man has killed dozens of people and worked dozens of dangerous operations. His body is built for violence, not pleasure, and certainly not his own.

You find yourself blurting, “Have you ever…?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, brow furrowing with annoyance.

“All right, all right, just asking,” you say. You decide not to push the topic because it clearly makes him uncomfortable. You just cleared the air and you don’t want to muddy it again.

You change the topic swiftly. You make some empty remark about the weather as you turn on the small television. It’s an old contraption, buzzing with static as it flickers to life.

Chan resumes his work. He puts his head down to concentrate.

Your gaze inevitably strays to him.

His hair dries curly. It feels like an unusual thing to know about the First Guard. He looks so much younger with a clean face.

You jump when that face lifts. He looks at you.

“It wasn’t… you know…” There is a hunch to his shoulders, his eyes dropping to his work. “I just did it on missions, ya know?”

“Did it,” you say. “On missions.” It doesn’t register right away, partly because you are tired and partly because you did not expect him to continue this conversation. “You mean sex?” you ask. “You had sex on missions?”

“I had sex for missions,” he corrects, eyes on the weapon he is disassembling. He is acting like the conversation is meaningless, his attention divided, but you know his task does not require that degree of concentration. He could take that thing apart in perfect darkness.

“For missions,” you repeat. “What, like a honeypot type scheme? You?”

It seems ridiculous at first. You picture the First Guard smashing through windows and tackling you in stairwells. There is nothing seductive about that raw violence. But then you look at the man in front of you, young and handsome, the one who so easily charmed that cashier while pretending he was someone else. You picture him in a suit and tie, maybe a t-shirt and jeans. He would be devastating with the right preparation.

Chan is the best. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you he would excel regardless of the scheme.

“Something like that,” he says. He finally loads the magazine. “It wasn’t so bad, though. Seriously.” He twirls the gun with an effortless flourish. The grip finds his palm like the pistol is a part of him. “Trust me. My body was used for worse things. You get that too, yeah?”

You suppose you relate well enough. You were raised in the same program, put through the same grueling regimen. You have done things and you are not proud of them all. Your circumstances are not the same, though. You are each uniquely situated in your positions, even if you started in the same place.

We’re all that’s left.

Changbin’s voice in your head causes your mind to drift.

“What about you?” Chan asks, drawing you back to the conversation.

“Me?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “You.”

The First Guard is asking you about your sex life. You woke this morning in a safe house and put on combat gear, ready for another mundane day of field work. Somewhere in the middle of that was a cascade of violence. Now Bang Chan is asking about your sexual proclivities. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would laugh.

“I mean, nothing special,” you say, sufficing for the boring truth. “Mostly just this. Sex doesn’t really mean anything to me. It’s like exercise. Long nights on a job. You know. Fellow soldiers on a mission. Sometimes a civilian hook-up.”

You can’t parse the expression on his face. His gaze is somewhat judgemental, or maybe it is just scrutinizing, intensely focussed. It bristles your nerves. Your tone is more derisive when you say, “I’m not a romantic.” You hold his intense stare in your own. “Sex is just a bodily function to me. Sometimes the body needs the release or the pleasure or whatever, so I satisfy it and move on. That’s who I am. I work. I get the job done. That’s what I have always done.”

What you always did. You are not sure how to describe yourself anymore. You nonetheless punctuate that definitive statement. You assume that is the end of the conversation.

Then Chan asks, “So there’s… no one… for you?”

If he was any other soldier, you would think he was angling for flirtation, but he just turned down your very blatant offer. You do not know why he has any motivation to ask such personal and irrelevant questions.

It is not worth the argument. You conclude with a simple, “No.”

He nods, rocking his whole body with the force of his too-casual gesture. The tips of his ears are red, though your gaze does not stay there. You are quickly distracted by his bicep. He lifts an arm to rub the back of his neck, muscles softly rippling. His brazen questioning coupled with his awkward shyness is incongruous.

You think it is unlikely you will ever understand this man. He has been taken apart and put back together too many times. Fragments of him seem to fire all at once and in great contradiction.

“What about Changbin?” he asks. “He must be pretty special to you. Ya know, for you to have done all this for him.”

You are simultaneously struck by repulsion and sentiment. Changbin is very special and you regret not realizing it sooner. He has always been at your side, taking hits to protect you well before he became your bodyguard. He is the person who kept you smiling. You understood each other on a different level. His friendship was a rare gift and you took it for granted. Now you would do anything to have it back.

But also…

It’s Changbin. Ew. You are an only child but you feel a brotherly affection for him. Picturing him in any other context is nauseating. It just feels wrong.

You have such a visceral reaction of disgust that Chan laughs. He puts up his hands as if in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry, my bad,” he says. “Just friends, then?”

“Yes,” you say. “Though there’s nothing just about it.”

You have replayed that rooftop exchange a hundred times, torturing yourself with every possible outcome. If only you did this, if only he did that. You rearrange every second, trying to find a version with a different ending.

You wonder how he will react when he finds out what you did. Aha, murder princess living up to her name! he might say. The old man should have seen it coming. I knew you could it, but of course I did. I’m so much smarter and better looking than everyone else here.

You smile at the idea but it fades quickly.

Changbin was with you last night. He was sitting within arm’s reach, his scar under your fingertips. Now he could be anywhere and it’s all your fault. Not just because of the rooftop mistakes, but because of every mistake you made before that.

You exhale. Your shoulders shake. Chan watches you close a fist around a pillow.

“You all right?” he asks.

“I’m ending it,” you say.

“Sorry, what?”

“I always thought Miroh was an inevitability.” You are speaking out loud but mostly to yourself. Your gaze is fixed on some distant point, your mind and heart miles away. “But he wasn’t,” you say. “No more soldiers. No more experiments. No more bribes and theft and terror. My father is dead and I am going to do what I should have done a long time ago. I am going to make sure his work dies with him.”

You look at Chan. A day ago, you both existed for Miroh. Now you are two people planning to dismantle an empire from a motel room and a stolen car.

“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask.

A part of you is braced for the worst, that he will reject it, that he will revert to some kind of conditioned programming and drag you back to a facility for condemnation.

Even while you think it, you know it won’t happen. The eyes staring back at you are as clear as your own.

“I’m just the bodyguard,” Chan says. “I go wherever you go. Always.”

You feel invigorated to start now, but you are tired beneath the burst of adrenaline. You need to let your body heal.

The room is dark and you doze in the light of the television. After a couple hours, you roll over and find Chan is still awake. He is laying on his bed, arms crossed and eyes open. He is watching the shopping channel, ad after ad after ad, with far more intensity than it merits. His mind must be somewhere else. You can only imagine what he is thinking about.

You wonder how much he knows about himself. He responded to your half-coherent treasonous pleading. Does he remember hating Miroh? Or is he truly only helping you because of mission parameters?

It is easy to forget when he is a bare-faced, curly-haired young man slouching in a motel bed, but Bang Chan is lethally competent. He knew all of Miroh’s innermost schemes. It will come in handy now, but it makes him an irrevocably dark character, whether it was willing or not.

You wonder how much Changbin would trust him.

Wait.

You were so distracted with your plans, you did not question a moment in your conversation.

Chan mentioned Changbin.

You never told Chan the identity of your friend. When you were pleading with him, you just called him a friend.

Maybe Chan heard you talking to your father. Maybe he knows about your relationships because that was his job. Maybe he just guessed because Changbin volunteered himself in the ring.

Maybe Bang Chan remembers more than he is letting on.

You fall asleep to the soft drone of the television. Your mind is walking in circles and you dream of similar rings. Nightmares of chrome cages and steel traps, a suffocating helplessness squeezing your ribcage.

In your dreams, the room fills with smoke, a charcoal smog that chokes you as quickly as the compression on your chest. You look down but you can’t see your body, only feel it. Your invisible body struggles against invisible bindings. You gasp for breath.

Your father appears. It is him holding you down, a heavy hand in the middle of your chest. You cry out. You want to move but your body is trapped.

You close your eyes. When you open them, Changbin is there. He is still a teenager. His head is bleeding – why is his head bleeding? – but he wipes the blood as if it’s nothing more than sweat, all his focus on you.

Of course it is. He’s your friend. He’s here to save you. How did you not see it before? It’s like you have been moving through the world in a fog, the same grey smoke that envelopes you now. His face is the only clear image, gawky with youth but alive and real.

The weight is lifted off your chest. Black spots swarm your vision as you suck in a lungful of air.

When you look again, Changbin is grown. He looks like he did a day ago, dark bangs in his eyes, stocky build ready for a fight.

“I’m not leaving here without you.”

Not leaving here.

His voices dances around you. You are trapped in your body, a screaming, shrieking force, watching through dead eyes as the world spins. People pass but they don’t hear you. You try to reach for someone but your body doesn’t respond to your thoughts.

A labyrinthine stretch of road unfurls then disappears. You are standing in the infirmary at the main facility. You stare at yourself, the younger version of you. You are already dead behind the eyes, resigned to your situation. There are masked doctors around you. A tray full of needles. You watch as the long point penetrates your skin. You’re just a child, arm so small in comparison.

Your child face contorts with pain, an expression your adult face cannot mimic because you cannot control your face.

You remember the pain, even if you cannot cry. It was like nothing you had ever felt. The pain meant it was working. The medicant was only administered to you when it had been thoroughly tested. The first injection killed every subject except one. The second program was a success.

The children were writhing in pain for weeks, screaming and crying, begging for parents that never came. Yours did, looming over your bedside, touching your feverish forehead and speaking through the fog of pain.

An investment, Miroh called it. You’ll thank me one day.

Changbin is there. He is a child too. They put a needle in his skinny arm. He winces but he doesn’t cry. He isn’t scared of the needles or the pain, but he isn’t eager either. He is just there, his head down.

You blink and he is grown. The needle is still in his arm, only it is not an injection but an extraction. You watch the fullness of his face wither. They are taking too much. He becomes a child again, screaming in pain.

The same pain moves inside you.

No, worse.

Worse.

You never could have imagined a worse pain. It courses through your whole body, peeling apart your insides while you lay there, helpless, watching.

Your father stands over you. You’ll thank me one day.

He disappears. For a flickering moment, you see Bang Chan. Curly-haired, dimpled cheeks. He stutters and shakes like a bad film projection. His face contorts, changes. Wide dark eyes stare at you, his face covered in rain – water – tears? Pouring down his cheeks, mouth open and a mute cry in the grey.

You want to touch him but you cannot move. His face flickers again. You feel a tiny, infinitesimal twitch in your pinky.

Then he disappears altogether. Your father is there. He grabs you by the shoulders and slams you down, straight through the earth, holding you there in the darkness where no one can find you and you cannot move.

“Hey—” comes a voice, somehow reaching you in the depths of that pit. “Hey, hey, hey, wake up.”

In your dream, your father shoves you.

In reality, you are thrashing in a motel bed.

It takes a minute to realize you are awake, that everything was just a terrible dream. Your adrenaline is a white hot heat in your chest, your voice a strangled shriek as you clamour around the twisting sheets.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Chan says. “You’re just dreaming, whoa, easy, c’mon… It’s all good. Easy now. Breathe for me, okay?”

It feels like your first breath in years. It goes down shaky, your vision blurry. You realize Chan is holding your wrist, lightly but carefully. You blink up at him. He turned on the bedside light at some point. Half his face is lit in gold as he looks at you with concern. It is such a strange expression to see on him. These were the same eyes glaring at you over that uniform mask. Now that brow is pinched with worry, his own breath a staggered thing.

“You all right?” he asks.

You are sitting upright. You look at your wrist in his hand.

“Did I try to punch you again?” you ask.

“You missed,” he says, smiling. Then he shakes his head and says more seriously, “It was my fault. You were yelling in your sleep so I woke you up. I guess it was too fast or something. Just, you know, I don’t think the walls are very thick here.”

“Right,” you say. Your heart is still stampeding. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he says. “You… you good…?”

“Yeah,” you say. You are too weary for patience, so sarcasm spills out of you. “Peachy.”

He opens his mouth but you don’t wait to hear it. You slide out of bed and land on shaky legs. Your whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat. You want to shower, wash away the nightmare and the terror.

You are a light sleeper. You never dream like that. It is a testament to your exhaustion that you fell into such a deep sleep.

You tell yourself it was a dream, but your reassurances don’t work. Because it wasn’t really a dream, was it? It was flashes of real moments, real faces, real pain.

You stand under steady stream of hot water. You watch as the heat and the torrent opens a few scrapes, the water at your feet turning red. You think of Changbin with a needle in his arm, all that red pouring out of him. Standing there, helpless to do anything, like you are right now.

You have no idea where he is. You look at the scar on your palm and think of him in the moonlight, him in the ring, him at your side. A smile, a joke, a reassurance. A hand in yours, a promise.

He knew you better than you know yourself. He predicted this exact crisis of identity.

When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be… When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…

He drew that line across his palm. You picture a chasm of a wound, gaping and red, rushing red at your feet.

Just remember me, he said. I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh. I’m your soldier, not his.

True to his word, a man of principle to the end, he is bleeding for you right now.

In all your years of training, fighting, and soldiership, of missions and schemes, tricks and plots, you have always kept composure. Now it all weighs on you at once, every single second of your life, and it’s too much.

When was the last time you cried? You can’t even remember. It pours out of you now, big ugly gasping sobs that spill into the shower. You sit down where the water is pooling in pink. You wrap your arms around your legs and draw them up to your chest like a child.

You do not know how long you sit there, crying until it feels like there is no more water left in your body. It must be a long time because the water runs from hot to lukewarm. It feels strange to heave dry sobs with the shower still pouring down on you.

The water abruptly stops. You lift your head.

Chan stands there. He doesn’t look at you directly, his expression solemn, but he turns off the water and gets you a towel.

It feels surreal. Bang Chan is moving around a small motel bathroom, helping you like he has helped you all day. You stare at him with scrunched, sore eyes, your throat too strained to speak. You drop your legs and let him wrap the towel around you. Your heart kicks with momentary fright when he scoops you up, an effortless sweep.

No one has ever done something like this for you. You wouldn’t have let them, even if they tried.

You need it. You never realized how much you needed it. You are certain you will feel embarrassed in the morning, but right now you put your arms around his neck and cling for dear life.

He says nothing. He hooks an arm around your back and the other under your legs. He carries you back into the room and lays you in your bed, adjusting the towel for your modesty before pulling the blankets over you.

You continue to sputter and hiccup, looking at him as he moves. You wonder if he looks like this on a mission, determined and swift.

No. The First Guard wouldn’t fix the pillows under your head. He wouldn’t tuck the blankets around you.

Bang Chan stands over you, wearing nothing but his combat pants, no weapons or masks or piercing stares. He has curly dark hair and a soft face. When you touch his bare shoulder, he looks at you with a heart-shattering amount of tenderness. You didn’t know anyone could look at somebody that way, never mind him, never mind at you.

There’s a person inside him. There’s a person inside you. You don’t know who either of those people are, but you want to know. You need to know.

You curl your hand into a fist and feel the scar on your palm. A day ago, none of this would have mattered, but you know why it matters now.

“We have to find him,” you say. Your rasping voice is barely above a whisper.

Chan slowly cups his hand over yours, his palm to your knuckles, holding your touch against his shoulder. He squeezes your fingers. He nods.

“We will,” he says.

“You’ll help me?” you say.

“Yeah.” His own voice is a rasp, skirting the edge of emotion too. He swallows it down and smiles at you. “Like I said. I go wherever you go. Always.”

He sits with you in the soft golden light of that small bedside lamp. You do not think you can sleep again, but then exhaustion settles over you.

You are on the cusp of sleep when he touches your forehead. Your eyes meet briefly. It wakes you with a heart flutter, similar to a dream that drops you into reality. It is the heart-racing thump of a sudden fall. The kind that feels so real, more like a memory than a dream.

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