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skzdarlings · 2 months

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bodyguard: the first guard | part two | 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, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff. Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him.

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend. They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty.

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks. “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny. Felix is far less amused. This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out. But so far it has been tedious.

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time. For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately. Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve. They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance. He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance. He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down.

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell. More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter. Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her. But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working. Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all.

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says. “It’s a train. There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says. “We’re supposed to look normal. Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap. Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy.

“That,” he says. He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor. This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents. “Four security officers. Ex-military. Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed. He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat.

“The hell, man?” Chris says. “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea? Ya think that might blow our cover? Just a bit?”

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right. Miroh does not like a public mess. They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting. It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far. He prefers action. With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat. He tries not to think about it. His life is his mission. Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world. Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good.

The Enemy has been dead for two years. The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard. He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it. There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister. Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless. That maybe Miroh is wrong. That maybe some things cannot be saved.

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap. He gathers himself and exhales.

“Fine,” he says. “How long do you think he will be distracted? Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says. “Might as well check. He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.

Felix is not in the mood to argue. He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris. They make their way down the aisle. No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin. Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury. It is all deep mahogany and gold trim. Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy. The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely.

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage. He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data. Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads. The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix. It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage. Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy.

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs. Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein. These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them. The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers. In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room. “You’re usually a computer whiz. Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says. For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans. Everything except the metadata matches the description. But that metadata does not lie.

These files do not belong to Miroh.

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix. They look at the files together.

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks. “It looks like the right thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen. “Or it should be. But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh. But all these files are original. They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet. Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him. He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face.

“Felix,” Chris says. “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows. He looks down at the plans. The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says. “We’re just stealing them. Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says. “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says. “It’s what Miroh does. It’s what they all do. You haven’t figured that out yet? You?”

Felix, who has done the most assignments. Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program. Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers. Felix does not even know all the questions. He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain.

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says. “Just take the data and we’ll leave. We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away. He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says. “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says. “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him. Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way. He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself. He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens. They have no time to react. In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team.

Felix knows how to fight. It is second nature to him. He should not need to think.

But he does. He overthinks. He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away. Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children. He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him. It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away. Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them. That distracts Felix too. Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore.

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does.

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train. The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car. A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder. The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing. He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks.

But it won’t save him. He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none. The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump. He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard. Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data. That is what they are trained to do. The job is more important than the soldier. In a crisis, you leave the weak behind.

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds. He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency. He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix. Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me.

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence. He shouts, “Hold on!” Then he swings himself over the railing. He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side. Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing.

“What are you doing?” Felix asks. He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks. He is not sure it will ever slow again. He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks. He laughs for some forsaken reason. “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder. Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place. Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says. “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility. Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic. The bag of candy is still in his back pocket. He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers. He feels like his world is crashing around him.

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again. They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year. When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too. They are on their way to their bunks.

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder. Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix. He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself.

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood. It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can. But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh. She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be. Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves. But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say.

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says. It comes out as instinctively as a punch. “I wouldn’t have saved your life. I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him. He exhales on a laugh. Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie.

“I know, Felix,” he says. “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back. I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss. Even his long engrained instincts fail. He is out of punches.

Chris just smiles at his confusion. With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk.

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged. He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands. That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught. Maybe things exist outside of this place.

Maybe some things can be saved.

P R E S E N T D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh. “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed. He is her bodyguard. She is an heiress. Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now. It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that. The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested. Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions. When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction.

It is why your father is not happy. The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands. Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him. You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter. Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable. Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right.

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty. Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy. It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse. He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died. The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children. It was ripe for picking.

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind. This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered. You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin. The rest of your team is scattered around the house.

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations. Your findings have been on your mind all day. It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit.

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says. “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun. He places it beside yours. It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other. You would certainly never do it around your father. But Changbin is different. You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis. You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward. You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor. Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you.

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say. “Physical in some capacities, digital in others. My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us. That is the part my father is interested in. That is all he sees.”

“And what do you see?” Changbin asks. His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness.

“I don’t see anything,” you say. “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious. You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one.

“The security log is missing information,” you say. “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed. No breach, no shutdown. Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system. Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.”

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks. “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply. “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players. This family had enemies in every market. If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now. Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets. No interest in even sticking around. Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other. Someone professional. Someone technologically capable. Someone whose only motivation was escape.”

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind. When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say. “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification. Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic. He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long. It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix.

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully. His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else. “You remember him. He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”

That much is true. You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you. You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable. You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines.

Felix was competent but naïve. He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal. To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed.

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause.

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask. “The enemy?”

“Chris.” Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs. His smile is wry. “He asked me about Chris.”

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer. After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly. He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms. “Does it matter now? I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way. Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now. The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment. You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate. You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered. The results are the same: the rebellious boy died. He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction.

“Chris,” you say. The name sits heavy on your tongue. “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts. It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics. But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before. “You know he didn’t even recognize me? Ah! The little brat! I knew him too! I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there. Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!”

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words. Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye. He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you. Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard. In truth, he is a good bodyguard. Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him. It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his. Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him. Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own. He is probably right. Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered. He is a strategist. He is patient if it means results.

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience. You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.

You find yourself reaching for him. It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character. You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours. You touch it very lightly.

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely. You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him. You rip your hand back and shake your head.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory.

“Nothing,” you say. “I mean – well.” You scrub a hand over your face. The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you.

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head. He rubs his face too.

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before. “It’s been a long day.” An understatement.

Changbin doesn’t argue. You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest. You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far. The one bed has plenty of space. You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you.

You wake some time in the middle of the night. When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you. You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window. There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes. His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted. His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night.

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you.

“Obviously,” you reply. You push yourself upright. “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing.

“You look tired,” you say.

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you. “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.”

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle. Naturally his humour returns at your expense. He really is the little brother you never had.

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat. You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled. You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other. He looks out the window and you look at him.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response. Then he shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know, princess,” he says. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right. You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos. If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives.

Your life is anything but normal.

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident. “I know who you are. Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.”

You swallow your thoughts quickly. Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone. It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow. You look away, up at the sky. You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life. Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something. Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean. He was right about that. He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness. Or so you thought. All this business with the enemy has changed things. That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it.

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?” Changbin asks. “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.”

You look at each other. He just sighs.

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says. “I’ve always been what I am. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country. And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are. It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything.

“Maybe it does,” he says. He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face. “Does it matter? He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say. You’re Miroh’s daughter. Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been. It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world.

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter. He just laughs at your silent but intense stare. He shakes his head as he looks out the window. “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason.

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring.

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs. He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence. It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.

Your startled eyes find his. It splits your focus. You see Changbin right now, older, stronger. You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow.

You blink again and it is just him as he is now.

He drops his hand.

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says. “I know. Ha! I really know.” He swings around, planting his feet on the ground. He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed. But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry. You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old. You realize there has been more than one constant in your life.

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness.

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says. “But also not. You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same. We’re just animals to him. Raised to the slaughter, ha! But not you. One way or another, you’re going to be someone.”

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist. He looks down at his palm.

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… 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 draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line. You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered.

“Just… remember me,” he says. “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh. I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words. You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know. You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor.

You have always felt very alone. You learned to thrive in that solitude. Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless. You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone. Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere. You both keep your heads down, get the job done. Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here.

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night. When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action. You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife. He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm.

Your eyes meet. You are unflinching, more resolute than ever. You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words.

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it. His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him.

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says. “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered. You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership. Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up. It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be. If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all.

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not. This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage. Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation.

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes. At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building.

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk. “Today’s going to be boring.”

“Yup,” you say in accord. There is no way anyone else will be here. You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined. With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work.

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building. It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless. Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level. You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work. “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep.

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says. He takes off his mask to grin at you. “But I am super good looking.”

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile. He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile.

Eventually he takes a seat. He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal.

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes.

You can hardly blame him. It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated. Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping. Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating. Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say. “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action. Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach. You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team.

It happens very fast. One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want. The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other.

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell. None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents. You have not had anything near this problem before.

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles.

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison. You nod at each other.

The message gets passed along the communicators. There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell. You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders.

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks.

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos.

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde. The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions. It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense.

These agents belong to the enemy. The enemy. It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers. But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles. There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf. It makes no sense.

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him.

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says.

“It’s the enemy,” you say. “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says.

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are.

You watch as several of your officers are taken down. You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them. A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf. Chris. Felix. Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you. You think you will be hearing gunshots for days.

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin. “Leave through the roof. We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs.

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier. But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying. Because that is what will happen. You should not be bothered by it. You can train a new security team. They exist for this exact reason.

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind. Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard. A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake.

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet. “You’re better than this!”

He’s right. You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight.

You push through the pain and thunder. You get your feet back under you. You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best.

You slam and bolt the door behind you. You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing. Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness. You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access. You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in. You are glad you decided against that.

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness. “Put this on.” He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof.

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself. It is second-nature. You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door. “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say. “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.” You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far. Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath. You do not have time to think twice. It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness.

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building. “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!”

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers. You grab his hand, stopping him.

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye. The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you. You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax. Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest. It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start.

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says. “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you. It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “What the fuck are you thinking? You—”

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile. “This is my job. Let me do it.”

“No,” you say, struggling against him. You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious. “You can’t be serious!” you shout. “We’re the same thing! If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back. “You’re a Miroh! You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say. “It’s me they want anyway! You put on the harness! You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply. The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either.

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again. Your focus splits. You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.

Then everything changes.

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears. You see the colour grey. It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe. You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices.

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger. Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles. There is no wind in his hair. There is no wind anywhere. He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey. He says your name. You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing. You cannot make out what you are saying. When you look down, you cannot see your body. You can only see him. You can only hear him.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey. You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness. You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door. You look there frantically. Changbin does too. Then you look at each other.

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand. He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar. He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance.

Then he slowly lets go of your hand.

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says.

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard. You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down.

There is nothing you can do mid-air. You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once. You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground. You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly.

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly. You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope. You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge. “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line.

You jump out of the way. Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground. The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms. “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer. You run over to the body, searching for something. You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong.

It does not take you long. You roll the body over. Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent. He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago. His name was Agent Slump. You shot him through the shoulder.

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion. You see nothing from this vantage.

You run back into the building. You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs. This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself. Your father has done this. Sending fake enemies after you. Teaching you yet another lesson. You said you could handle yourself. You said your security team could protect you. Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion. You find yourself blinking back tears. You cannot remember the last time you cried.

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step. Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers. It echoes in the empty stairwell. “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say. “It’s not the enemy. It’s my father. It’s Miroh. Changbin. Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below. You stop to listen. Your vibrating phone makes you jump.

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell. This one is not playing a part. He is in the standard uniform. There are more officers behind him. The back-up you called like an idiot.

You do not go back down. You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you.

You no longer know what you are doing. You do not know where you are going or what you will find. A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero.

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere. You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof. You try to tell yourself that he is safe. It was just Miroh. They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now. Everything will be fine.

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine. Everything has changed.

You hear the officers behind you. You look around. The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump. It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have. At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die.

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath. You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts. You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof. You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain. You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running. You open a skylight and drop into the building. Another empty corridor stretches in front of you.

You decide your objective it to escape. You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself. You can get out of here.

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in. Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters. You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you. You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything. When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual.

You turn around. You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say. “Of fucking course it’s you.”

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become. Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller. His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember. He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask. He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window. His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze.

You do not waste any more breath cursing. You turn and run.

You know it is useless but you have to try. In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip. You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you. You manage to rip away after a few good kicks. It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline. Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him.

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below. You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you. If you look back, it will slow you down. You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor.

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again. This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat.

That adrenaline betrays you. It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you. You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized. He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him.

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper. It makes him tighten his grip on your throat. You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.

You are swiftly joined by the other officers. You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm. He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet. You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths. It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too.

You trip for the third time. Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up. You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes. You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions. You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again.

Then another officer grabs you. You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask. “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says. “This is for your own good. You are behaving erratically. Don’t be scared. We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers. I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.”

You have no more words. An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you. Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down. You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood. He screams under you until someone rips you off him. They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy.

The officer gets to his feet. Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn. You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you. You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it.

Then you realize it is Chan holding you. When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you. He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist.

Chan says nothing. He does not need to say anything. He looks at the officer and the officer swallows.

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes.

“We’re leaving,” he says. “Guard, take your charge.”

You are looking smugly at the officer. That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you. It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.

They take you to a truck. It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables. It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains. You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it.

You try and slow your frantic breathing. You cannot have a breakdown right now. It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father. You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains. You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy.

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck. You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you. All the hairs on your body stand up. You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity. He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him. When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats.

Chan says nothing. He never says anything. On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him. You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs. They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work.

You swallow. He is not speaking but he is staring. He does not remove the mask. You have not seen him without it in years. He is nothing but a soldier. An army unto himself.

Your heart skips another beat. An idea slowly forms in your mind.

You are better than average. Chan is better than you. You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help. Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought. It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try. You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence. The worst would probably be a snapped neck.

You curl your hands behind your back. The scar on your palm stings. You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose.

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say.

Just like you suspected, he says nothing. He just stares at you. The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle. He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected.

Your fear turns to frustration. You heave a breath.

“Did you hear me?” you ask. “You’re not a soldier. You’re a prisoner. You’re not who you think you are. Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real. The real you is in there somewhere. And the real you—” The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.”

Chan stares at you. That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head. It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you. His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression. You did not know he could make such an expression.

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.

He straightens, but he still looks questioning. It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface. You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him. You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters. More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face.

“Chan,” you say. “Chris. Whatever you want to be called. If you’re in there, then listen to me, please. I know you don’t know me. We hardly knew each other at all growing up. But we did grow up together. Miroh is controlling both of us. He is going to use us to do things. He—” You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm. It brings a tear to your eye.

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter. You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say. “This is bigger than you and me. I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop. Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head. You want to scream.

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare. It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it.

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked. There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck. A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing.

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you. An officer opens the door wider and nods to him.

“Let’s go, guard,” he says.

Chan gets up. You watch as he struts past. He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer. It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash. It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you.

You sit, petrified, confused. Chan slowly turns. You blink at him.

He holds out his hand.

“What?” you say. It comes out a rasp. You cannot manage more words. There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him. This man has been tortured into compliance. There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes. He does not feel anything. He does not understand anything. He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand.

There is nowhere to go but forward. You get to your feet and shuffle towards him. He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression. He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van. When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around. A gust of breath whooshes out of you. You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs.

Never mind. He is breaking them with his bare hands. You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap. You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking.

Chan is calm as the other officers approach. Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs.

Chan looks at you. You do not know why or how, but he nods.

You nod back.

You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight. It is time to remind them of that.

Your father is in his rooftop garden. Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite. He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes. It balances for him. The ends always justifies the means.

You walk into his garden. It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you. He does not have time to hide his surprise. You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten. You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now.

“Hello, father,” you say.

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation. “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly. “We’ll talk right here. Right now.”

He is holding a watering can. He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere. Neither of you look at it. Your eyes are locked on each other. You both know what he did today. He is smart enough to work that out.

“Where are my men?” he asks.

“Detained,” you answer. Chan is holding them off somewhere. You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later. You have to solve one problem at a time.

You have no real plan. You are making it up as you. All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you.

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar. You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him. Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other. Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy.

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too. He will not win in a one-on-one fight. He is smart enough to know that too. It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back.

“You’re injured,” he says. “Go to the infirmary. We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says.

“Where is he?” you ask.

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly. The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background. Wind moves through the flowers. You hear birdsong in the sunshine. Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point.

“Who?” your father asks.

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say. “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents. I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers. No more lies. No more games. No more secrets. Seo Changbin is my best officer. I want him back. Tell me where he is.”

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says. “His body is more useful than him. The initial special-ops experiment was a failure. His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant. We can try again. You should want to help me. You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.”

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you. You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys. You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat.

You keep your disgust and horror down. You take another step forward.

“Give him back to me,” you say. “Right now. I told you already. I’m not playing any games.”

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny. His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow. “This is not like you. Go to the infirmary.”

“I’m not asking again,” you say. “Give him back to me.”

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer. You know it will not work. You know he does not care. Miroh hates you because you are his daughter. Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best. He is scared of himself in you. You never stood a chance.

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore.

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly. You do not break.

“Your friend?” he asks. “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!” He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say. “I’m not asking again.”

You fly at him without further warning. He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily. With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight. After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over. He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself. You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard.

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow.

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat. He has kept his gun in the same place for years. In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat.

He puts his hand there and finds nothing.

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand. You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand.

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say.

“Then kill me,” he says.

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work. He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself. You will drop the gun and concede. Miroh wins. Miroh always wins.

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand. It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm. You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger.

You are not sure who is more surprised. You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood. You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest. You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards. If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof.

When you shoot him, he stumbles. He falls back. He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute. The watering can has emptied. The wind has gone still. The whole world seems to stop. When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter. It feels very strange that the sun is still shining.

You walk to the edge of the roof. You look down. Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown.

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now.

You do not know how long you stand there. The wind begins to blow again. You feel it on your face.

Then you hear a voice. It nearly makes you jump.

“What now?” it asks.

You turn around. Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath. He is human somewhere under there. Deep, deep down. You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier.

One problem at a time.

A few more officers appear on the rooftop. Chan turns. You approach him.

“What now?” you repeat. You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers. Chan draws his own and does the same. You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries. “Right now,” you say, “we fight.”

You pull the trigger.

The fight begins.

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

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warnersister · 3 months

Text

Stay in your lane

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Inspired by the song ‘Stay In Your Lane’ by Bronson Diamond and Greta Stanley

Summary: Jake finally realises it’s time to settle down when this mission could become fatal, especially when he sets eyes on the woman he knows is destined to be his future wife - but with his ‘Hangman womaniser’ reputation floating around Top Gun, it won’t be that easy.

Jake had seen you at the bar for a few weekends running now. And each weekend he had drunk enough Dutch courage yet never actually managed to speak to you. He’d first seen you the evening he was first reinstated at Top Gun for the uranium-plant ‘suicide mission’ and with this evening being the penultimate one before Maverick would construct his final flight crew; he’d decided now was a better time than ever. He’d die a happy man knowing he’d at least taken the jump with you.

He was enamoured; whipped the moment he’d first laid eyes on you. The moment all his ‘fuck-boy’ antics and aspirations melted before him and some homeliness grew. He’d always been teased for his charming bed-side manner: before sneaking out the morning after, not forgetting to delete his number from the poor girl’s phone then dashing out the door with another mark to his name and a victorious smirk on his lips.

But recently he’d been sick of the reputation he’d grown to be so proud of, almost embarrassed by his own name and face - he wasn’t blind to the two strands of grey hair that appeared behind his left ear, he wasn’t getting any younger. He didn’t want to be the unmarried sailor who had too much fun as a bachelor in his earlier years and never settled down. Jake didn’t like the idea of dying alone.

Especially not now this mission was looming ever closer.

You’d walked into the bar just before Rooster began serenading the piano, when Hangman was teasing the ‘old timer’, soon to be instructor and throwing him out of the bar for being unable to pay for the tab the aviators and civilians had accumulated for him as a consequence of his phone being on the table top. Jake had turned and winked at you when he’d ordered another beer on Maverick, one for you too for which you just rolled your eyes, unimpressed. Needless the say for once that actually bruised Hangman’s indestructible ego. Normally he wouldn’t have batted an eye when being rejected by a girl at a bar; simply moving onto his next endeavour to take some gullible girl home by the end of the night.

But you didn’t seem like that kind of girl: you seemed like a lady - a woman. And your rejection wounded him more than any bullet or stab any could.

And now you were here for the third weekend running and he was ready to finally try ask you out, especially before he got too drunk too - already racking up his eighth beer and fifth whiskey, even chancing some of the sailor’s rum sitting in the glass cabinet with all the expensive liquor. “Man, just go.” Javy said, elbowing Hangman deep enough to wind him slightly. “What if she rejects me?” Javy laughed. “Jake ‘womaniser’ Seresin is worried about being rejected?” But his chortle died down when he saw the serious conflicting expression on his fellow aviator’s face. Javy thought for a moment before walking over to Rooster and concocting a plan with him. “Hangman won’t talk to lady?” The sunglasses-clad man laughed. “Funny.” Javy shook his head. “No man I’m serious. Look at him.” They both looked across the bar to the man looking helplessly at the newly familiar girl chatting with Penny with a comfortable grin on her face.

“Damn if Hangman doesn’t want her I’ll have her.” Rooster commented, pulling his sunglasses to the end of his nose to look at you properly and whistling lowly. Javy slapped his chest, having a lightbulb moment “I’ve got it. You go and tell him that.” Rooster raised a brow waiting for him to elaborate. “Go over there, tell him you’re gonna go chat her up and watch how fast he moves.” Rooster smirked, loving the fact he was being offered the opportunity to wind up Hangman. “Next rounds on you.” He told Javy, hitting him on the back as he strutted over to the lovesick man by the pool table.

Rooster mirrored his actions from a few moments prior, eyeing you like a tall glass of water after days stranded in the heat-infested desert. He whistled, gaining Hangman’s attention, forcing him to drag his attention away from you. “Who’s the honey at the bar? She is mighty fine.” Rooster commented, biting his lip slightly. “Found my mission for tonight, wish me lucky.” He patted Hangman’s shoulder, who was getting progressively more aggravated by Rooster’s comments - not even noticing how tight his grip was on his beer before it was slammed on the table and he raced past Rooster. “Back off, porn-tash.” He grumbled and the tanned man smirked, his job was done.

Jake marched straight over to you and leant against the bar beside you, ordering another beer off of Penny and requesting she get you another of whatever you were drinking, turning to smirk at you gently. You looked at him, unimpressed but with a small smile on your lips. “Evening darlin’” Jake nodded at you, trying to make his charms work one last time. “Evening.” You replied, thanking Penny for your new drink, and him too. “Thanks for the drink, but I can pay for myself.” You say, not trusting the khaki uniforms regardless of what the face wearing them told you.

“And I don’t doubt that, allow me to apologise for treating the gorgeous lady at the bar.” He says jokingly, taking a seat beside you. “What’s your name darlin’” you laugh slightly and tell him. “And what’s yours?” You retort. “Jake. But my coworkers call me Hangman.” He told you, trying to woo you with his Naval charm. “Hangman? What, did you lose a game? Not enough consonants?” He laughed at you. Normally now he’d made a joke about him being ‘hung’ in more ways than one but he stopped himself, wanting to impress you/ not seduce you.

He continued to attempt make small talk with you throughout the evening, you hardly entertaining his antics. “Look, Hangman” you say straight, after your third drink, compliment of him of course. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if your goal is to get me in your bed by the end of the night, you’ve got another think coming. You have a reputation around this base and I don’t intend on becoming another one of your one-nighters.” You throw back the rest of your drink. “So thank you for the drinks, but this ends here.” You say, about to stand up before a rough yet gentle touch reached out to keep you sat, prompting a frustrating and challenging look in return.

“I’ve been shot and I’ve been stabbed but I’ve never been so madly in love as I am with you.” He said all of a sudden, causing you to sit right back down in your seat; shock overcoming you. “Excuse me?” You say, almost thinking you hadn’t heard this infamous aviator you’d only known for the past two hours admitting his adoration for you. “Look I that my reputation proceeds me, but seeing you for the first time three weeks ago made me realise somethin’, darlin” he licked his lips in nerves, gathering his thoughts: prepared to admit to you. You cocked your head to one side, almost unable to speak “I know we just met, but if I had to bet I´d say you feel the same way too”

“Cause I’ve realised that when I first looked at you, in that gorgeous dress with that bright smile, self-sufficient and head strong I knew I’d have to drop my ridiculous play-boy persona sometime soon. Especially if I wanna settle down with a mighty-fine gal such as yourself.” He admits, looking down nervously and swallowing - adam’s apple bobbing as you question his intentions and think that he may be more gentle than his reputation had told you.

Suddenly The Righteous Brothers’ infamous song amongst Miramar pilots began playing; You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’ and Hangman smirks and an idea develops within his mind. He stands and offers a hand to you “dance with me, please?” You give a small smile, allowing your heart to lead instead of your preemptive mind familiar with his kind and laced your hand in his, standing and smoothing your dress which he found incredible endearing.

He began swaying back and forth, talking so loud you could barely hear the band. As he sung along to the sound, keeping his hands respectively on your hips and eyes never straying away from your own. When the song had finished he necked the rest of his beer, drinkin´so fast you were surprised he could even stand. Even trying to be endearing; making a fool of himself dancing just to hear you laugh, dancin´ like a crab running over the stinkin´ hot sand.

Eventually you both moved to the cracked-open door adjacent to the beach, sitting on the deck as he eyed the hand closest to him, but you were still hesitant - the infamous ‘Hangman’ reputation weighing heavy in your mind. His pinky inching towards your own and you chuckle gently, shaking your head “and I was hopin’-” you cut him off “you were dreamin´ if you thought you were gonna be holdin´ my hand” you inform him.

“Later Hangman!” You both hear and turn to see the rest of the dagger squad making their way out of the bar, Nat winking at you unbeknownst to Jake and you requite her gesture. “Later!” He waves them off. He stands and struts to the bar, taking you with him to jot his details on a napkin “here is my number, call me when you get home” he slides it to you, to which you reverse his action, pushing it back to him “that number ain’t no good to me, ´cus I don’t own a telephone” you shrug, but he knew it was in your jacket pocket.

“Well then,” he scribbles again “here is my address, write to me if you could” he suggests and you shrug “well, I never finished school, my writin´ just ain’t no good” he grits his jaw slightly “the way you carry yourself tells me otherwise, ma’am.” he says and you smirk, leaning closer to whisper in his ear “that’s doctor to you, Jake.” He shivers at the way you say the name he’s been used to hearing since birth. But hearing you say it was so raw: so true. So right.

He raises a brow “Doctor? News to me” “y’never asked.” You say gently. “Final call! Another round or get your asses safely home ladies and gents!” Penny announces in a holler from her position behind the bar, to the final few stragglers at the Hard Deck; including yourself and Jake.

He opens the door for you; winking as you feign flattery and naming him a gentleman, you both thanking Penny for the evening and leaving to your respected vehicles. “Now the bar’s are closin´, and we’re leavin´ at the same time” he comments, entwining your hand with his which you begrudgingly feel absentmindedly closing around his, also. You shake your head and look up to him “So stay in your lane, boy and I’ll stay in mine” you say and his eyes sadden slightly, reaching your car and you lean against it, welcoming him trapping you against the driver’s-side door “Ive been shot and I’ve been stabbed, but I’ve never been so sad knowing I’ll never see you again” he says, pulling your hand up to kiss each knuckle, not allowing himself to disrupt eye-contact; fearing that as quick as you came into his sights, you’d be gone.

You smile, using your free hand to caress his cheek slightly; him leaning into your soft touch. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’m at this bar every damn weekend” you say matter-of-factly, leaning to kiss his cheek before pulling away and climbing into your car. “Goodnight, Hangman.” And you reverse away, a pang in his heart until he felt for his phone in the back pocket of his summer whites, a small strip of paper falling out alongside it. He picks the unknown scribe from the gravel and inspect it - your phone number written in a neat hand and he grins - maybe his bedside manner was improving.

And that mission crept up on the daggers quicker than they’d ever hoped and Hangman found himself antsy in his cockpit, about to take off to go save his instructor and career-long buddy: not that either of them would ever admit their comradeship. He closed his eyes and pictured your tired face that gleamed back at him at the twilight hour he’d last saw you, knowing you were the reason he’d return from this final task - listening to the air traffic control counting down until his take-off.

Before he’d realised, he’d acquired another air-to-air confirmed kill under his belt of a fifth-generation fighter and was headed back to base to celebrate. “Well done aviators, helicopter paramedics Reaper and Sunny are waiting on deck to check you all over.” The voice instructs over comms. “Reaper? Why’d they call ‘em that?” Hangman asks with a chuckle and the voice was dormant for a few seconds. “We usually send her when we think there’s gonna be dead needing reviving.” And soon the callsign wasn’t a joke and they realised the higher-ups were more prepared for this suicide mission than the pilots were.

Hangman climbed out of his aircraft and shook hands with Rooster, all just happy to be safe back on deck after a successful mission. “Lieutenant Seresin!” One of the engineers called “you’ve been instructed to go be checked over by Reaper.” Jake nods and walks through the crowd giving him pats on the back, to the helicopter. “Reaper? I’ve been told to be assessed.” The paramedic pivoted to face him and his facade dropped, as you stood before him in your pilot get-up and medical equipment strung onto your shoulder.

You sighed heavily “thank god you’re okay” you say and he wordlessly approaches you and dips you in a long-awaited kiss “please give me a chance, don’t make me stay in my lane, princess”

“Wouldn’t think of it, cowboy”

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fire-lizard-ro · 4 months

Note

Ohoho Sunday thoughts you say? >:D this is loosely based on the prior ask? But I was just thinking how Sunday would probably try (keyword try) to remain pure and abstain from s*x before marriage, yknow? But when he finally does have you as his own, all bets are off. Angel boi is horny and wants you :( in his mind: it’s pure and simple yet beautiful lovemaking between two souls :( and in my love deprived ass I would melt because I know he’d be big on giving and receiving praise fjgjgjgj even would enjoy the idea of extending the Family if you were down for it (whether or not you could, he enjoys the idea of it) ((also he likes control so))

And don’t get me staarttteddd on his sweet aftercare and pillow talk D: oml you’d quite literally be on cloud nine!! He is too tho :) and he cannot help himself from just being so sweet and genuine orz

ohhHHHHH- Y e s I like this quite a bit. Need this to take a break from the angst I’ve been cookin up with a certain someone (you know who you are OTL).

Fair warning y’all are gonna end up seeing me write a fic about him that is blatantly blasphemous with religious themes (pretends like I’m not already working on one like that with Argenti).

Anyways- Back to this.

Thank you so much for the ask~ I love Sunday so much. <333333

CW: possessive behavior, cumming inside, fluff!!! (crazy I know how very almost off brand of me-), maybe some blasphemous thoughts? (idk that they count with aeons but hey-), marking, breeding kink (he’s saying it regardless of whether you are able to have children or not bc regardless it’s h o t -), praise

Reader gender: gender neutral (I tried not to say anything that would be too telling about what sex the reader is so please read it as such! I don’t think I said anything that was like that-)

So going off the last ask, we’re going to assume that he likes you enough to feel great affection for you. Enough to want you. To feel his own carnal desires rear their head even before you’ve married. It manifests in his seemingly innocent yet wandering hands. A hand on your waist as he passes by you. His hands drifting dangerously low when you hug. Leaning in close to talk to you. Lips making their way down from your forehead to your cheek to the corner of your lips. The placement of his kiss making its way to your lips slowly with every goodbye kiss.

But at some point, he can’t really stop himself from at least using those pretty hands of his on you- Along with that silver tongue and sinful mouth. He’ll make you feel so incredibly good, plunging his long fingers into you and taking you into his mouth. He’s lick and suck at you and even slide his tongue inside you. Perhaps the taste of you would be enough to tide him over until you were properly his- Married to him. It would have to be enough because you deserved to have a perfect wedding and perfect wedding night.

But aeons that doesn’t stop him from pleasuring you with what he can before then in order to hopefully keep himself in line. Even as his cock aches with the need to have you, he’ll just hold you down and whisper sweet promises in your ear. Even if you beg him, he won’t. Just wait for him baby just a little longer-

But after the ceremony is over and the afterparty is done and the guests all leave-

Oh dear. You’re finally left alone with your hungry fian- husband. You’re finally left alone with your absolutely famished husband. And you’re on the menu.

It begins like how many of your other encounters of sexual nature begin.

Sweet kisses that make it seem like he wants to swallow you whole. Gentle hands taking in the feel of you in his arms. Trailing kisses down your throat, eyes closed in ecstasy because you were finally his now. He can have you with no regrets. All that waiting was for this moment. When he could finally have you wholly. And that makes this moment in the warm light of the bedside lamp and the cooler shades of the moon all the sweeter.

Wetted fingers stretching you in preparation for something larger, taking their time in their task despite knowing you well by then. Because even if this was to get you ready to become one with him- He’s wants to draw as much pleasure from you as possible. This is a special night for the two of you. One he will cherish completely and one he wants to make perfect for you. His arm would be holding him up, cradled behind your head for you to lean on while he molds himself to your side. Even as you whine and roll your hips into the curl of his fingers inside you, pressing on that special spot inside you, he kisses your cheeks gently with soothing words. “Good… very good, my love. Just a little more- I want you to finish on my fingers first. Can you do that for me, my sweet? I know you can-”

Just as he gives you your first orgasm of the night, he takes your lips once more while gently coaxing your through the waves of pleasure. He’s so soft, guiding you through the dance even while your mind goes blank for a bit as he watches your expression. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he kisses you almost chastely before beginning his journey down your body to have his prize. The prize being whatever he’s managed to pull from you. He’d lick it from your body in broad strokes as though he were tasting honey dribbled over your form, caressing your every curve as he went.

Sunday would dribble lube over himself, a hand slathering the viscous substance over his cock in pumping motions. It was almost erotic watching him. The way he'd squeeze just a little at the top and you would watch his hardness twitch and drool between his fingers. But when you look up, the angelic man would only be looking at you. Gazing lovingly- longingly at you.

That's how it always was. Ever since meeting, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. You were simply radiant to him. Unlike anything or anyone else he'd ever seen.

Leaning over you to settle himself between your legs, Sunday would give you another kiss before asking if you were ready. While waiting for your answer, he'd go back to nip and lick at your neck. He wanted to mark you for all to see- You were his. His lover, his spouse, his soulmate. His. No one else's. He would love and care for you in every way, he'd think to himself.

And no- Don't just nod at him. "I need to hear you say it, dove. Please? For me, my dear?" Once you'd given him your clear consent, he'd bring you into a deep kiss while lining himself up with your stretched out, wet entrance. He can't even bring himself to tease you a little. Though the thought crossed his mind, he knew he'd been waiting far too long for this.

Once he was in the proper place, he'd rest his forehead against yours, the two of you breathing in each other's air while he looks down at where the two of you would be connected, fingers drifting to fondle you in order to distract from any possible pain you may feel with a gentle hum.

As Sunday would finally push in, cockhead popping inside, he'd gasp against your lips with twitching hips he had to force still. "Are you alright, love?" Taking a moment for himself to regain his composure and steel himself, he'd hide away in the crook of your neck to breathe in your scent and feel your pulse beneath his soft lips. Once you were ready it would be but a slow rock of his hips, moving gently inside you, to eventually sheath himself completely inside. As he worked himself into your tightness, Sunday would whisper sweet words into your ears in a whisper, as though the words were only for the two of you despite no one else being around- The words would come in between kisses while he rubbed a hand up and down your side to comfort you, the hand occasionally straying to rub your sex or pluck at your nipples to distract you from the strain of this part of the night.

Once bottomed out, your ass resting in the cradle of his hips with his body covering yours, he would ask you if you're alright and give you time to adjust. It's all praises here, the man telling you just how good you are for him and saying that you're doing wonderfully. After some time passes and you rock your hips against his to test your comfort, a small moan would be startled out of him before it devolves into a chuckle. "Are you ready, my love?"

It'd start with hip just grinding into you, firm but slow and accompanied by a pleasured sigh from him. He'd hold back none of his sounds because he wanted you to know how good you made him feel. Then he'd pull out only just a bit before thrusting himself back in. At some point he had begun to properly fuck you, the push and pull like the rocking of a boat on a gentle sea. This was making love. And after angling his hips, he found your sweet spot he'd only ever touched with those pretty fingers of his.

It'd be a struggle to not lose himself in you. In your all-consuming presence and the pleasure you gave him- In the love you showed him as you reached up to bring him close with a whimper of his name. It was like hearing the gospel fall from your lips. And they might as well have been. For now you were his everything. His god, his true Harmony. Were you to say it, it would be so. And right now, you were telling him that it felt good and asking him to keep going. So, he would.

With teeth gently marking all the places he'd been, his darkened eyes would watch the way you arch your back and moan to the heavens (they were yours anyways). Sunday is something that knows how to hide its teeth and disguise itself in the form of a man. He was careful to dull his claws so he would not hurt you when he held you close. Careful to veil the violence that was part of him, showing in his eyes, when he was with you. But he was a beast who knew the taste of blood. And yet you, his pure and lovely dove, loved him and accepted him. You said he was a good man and that you loved him. You were his truth. So, it must be so.

He wanted to claim you so wholly that none could ever deny that you both belonged to one another. That none could mistake that you were his deity and him your humble and devout servant who worshiped you here in the temple of your bed, giving you his offerings in pleasure, loyalty, and love. That brought another idea to mind of just how he could claim you and show you his deepest love.

"I want to breed you, my love. To carry on the family and mark you inside with my cum. Would that be alright? Do you want that as well, dove?"

He would speed up now, thinking about how he could have a family with you. How lovely you would look with a child tottering around behind you. He would make it happen no matter what so long as you wanted it as well. When you agree, he'd smile so wide his face hurt and shower you with kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, my love my heart my everything-"

He can hardly fathom how he'd lived without you before.

Touching and kissing you all over he drove the two of you to your peak, the both of you moaning and whining against each other's lips as you kissed through the high. His hips continued to rock into yours to prolong the waves of pleasure that washed over you before slowing to a stop when you both became overstimulated.

"Thank you, love. You did so well- So very good for me. I love you so much," he'd praise and declare between kisses that he planted all over- Everywhere he could reach while wrapped up in your arms and holding you so close you wondered if the two of you could fuse together. "I love you, too," you'd mumble against his lips as he came back to them for a proper kiss. The chaste peck turning into a sensuous slide of lips, unhurried and full of undeniable love.

Even when he withdrew from your now cum-filled hole and began to clean you up, he would praise you and ask you how you felt while pressing kisses every place he touched. Once everything was done and he'd had you drink water, he'd lay down and pull you to lay on his chest. While stroking your back and pressing a kiss to your hair, he'd bid you goodnight and say yet another "I love you" before quietly humming to help you drift asleep.

Hopefully that was to your liking~ I had fun writing it! Thank you for the idea and for letting me write more about Sunday! <333

Feel free to send in another request if you want, hehe.

#Roro writes #gn reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday smut #hsr sunday smut #bottom reader #top character #asks answered

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starillusion13 · 4 months

Text

FOREIGN SWAGGERS

Pairing: Johnny x Jaehyun x Mark x f!reader (ft.Taeyong)

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Enemies to friends to lovers(?) BROTHER’s BEST FRIENDS Au

W/c: 8k

Warnings: mention of drinking, use of sex toys, birth control pills, sex w/o a wrap(don't do it sillies), they all are just horny for each other, four-some, dom!Johnny, dom!Jaehyun, dom!Mark, sub!fem, finger sucking, cum eating, nipple play, hickeys, manhandling, fingering, kissing, crying, afraid of left alone, overstimulation, masturbation, aftercare, comfort, lots of love (let me know what to add more)

Request from: @tazziexbunn (sorry I made you wait for it so long)

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated . Applause to the ones who come up to me to interact and they know how friendly I am. Okay enough!

Special mention of @acescavern thanks for helping when I was stuck due to writer's block. A true friend indeed.

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT UNDER THE POST!

Family holidays are meant to be having great bonding times and sharing some good moments with your loved ones. The feelings between the individuals deepens and these become the treasured memories in future. But what exactly are the feelings here? The feelings can be between friends, the couples, children and elders, siblings, colleagues, and so on. Sometimes, you meet some new faces and bond with them if the minds click with each other. But also sometimes, some known faces who seemed to be distant as you tried to ignore them appears.

It's okay until you have some distraction. But what if they are the distraction?

And something like that happened when you were planning holidays with your family. It was a summer break and usually you all plan for a trip to some places where you all are having in mind altogether but this time, your brother’s three friends tagged along.

They are your brother’s childhood friends and you almost have seen them often like the times they stayed back at your house for sleepovers, gaming nights, school projects and assignments. You never tried to be friends with them because it was pretty much obvious that they always tried to ignore you. They hate you.

There is nothing to complain about them hating on you as the feelings is mutual. You haven’t ever appreciated their presence around you. What’s with them always popping out of nowhere in your house. They are your brother’s friends but it’s not like you are even their enemy. They are typically non-existent to you. As if you can’t see them but deep down you are cursing regularly whenever you bump into one of them. They are all so attractive that sometimes you steal glances of them. Of course, oblivion to them.

Well, you all grew up hating each other. Obviously.

The family holidays are always the exciting ones to you and the first one to initiate the plannings for the trip has always been you.

And that time, it was the same with you running down the stairs with your laptop in hand and your brother scolding behind you to be careful because if the laptop breaks, he has to buy you again but it doesn’t matter if you fall down.

What a caring brother!

“Mom…Dad…we are going to this place and that’s final. I have asked you so many times. Please.” You were literally whining while placing your laptop on the center table and crouching down beside it.

Your brother’s laugh echoed the place and you groaned before glaring at him.

“They won’t be agreeing with you. I bet.” He leaned back into the sofa across from you and put his hands behind his head. He poked out his tongue at you like a child.

You swear he has not yet grown up after five.

“It’s more like you don’t agree. You should support me but instead you just have to be the mamas boy in front of mom. You are a loser. Well always looks like one.” You spat at him.

“Yah! Shut up. Have you seen the ladies in my workplace drooling over me. My handsome face and everything I do just makes them delusional. Loser is you, not me.” You wanted to punch off that smug off from his face.

“Yeah sure…that’s why your girlfriend dumped you last week”

“Shut up!”

Both of your glares got smacked away by your mother.

“Why don’t you guys try to behave like your age?” your mother shook her head in disappointment.

“Taeyong has started it. I was just excited for the trip but he has to ruin my mood.” You sulked.

“No mom. I just said the truth and she got mad at me. This angry bird is annoying.”

“What did you just tell me?”

Your mother again smacked both of you and then you were totally shut. She was not scolding you enough and that only meant she was in a good mood and was about to deliver some good news.

you waited to hear whatever she was going to say.

She started off with an old story of school days and you were invested into it. Your laptop was long forgotten and your whole attention was on your mom.

It went with jumping off from one topic to another and finally the most awaited speech of the day from her was delivered. She was very happy in the end of the explanation and you were still contemplating the situation and your brother was already on his feet excitedly.

“No way. You are leaving me and Taeyong to go for vacations alone.” You were in disbelief.

He scoffed, “You are telling it the way as if you dont want to go and I’m going to sell you off.”

“Who knows maybe you can?” You stared back at him.

“That’s true though. Atleast you will be of some use by then.”

Your mother smacked his arm, “Oh you two shut it now and listen to me. As me and your dad are going back to our home-town so you are free to go anywhere as you are grown up adults. But the behaviours don’t really prove it but still you don’t get such opportunities often.”

Taeyong was quick to ask, “Can I go to this vacation with my friends?”

Your mother nodded.

You gulped and hesitantly asked, “That means I can go to L.A.?”

“of course. But on one note, no one should go alone. Wherever you are going, you should go together or you are not allowed. He is going with his friends so Y/n, go with them.” Your mother smiled.

You sighed, “no thanks. I would rather stay at home than going with his friends.”

“Y/n dear…I cant leave you all alone and he can take care of you.”

You stood up and ran to your room. You were annoyed. But with whom? With yourself. It’s not like you didn’t like to go with your brother. You both love each other a lot but his friends are the only problems.

You heard someone knocking at your door but you didn’t reply and then when you heard the creak of the door.

Taeyong placed the laptop on your desk and sat beside you. You looked away and scooted away from him.

“I will not go with my friends. Let’s go together.” He sounded sad.

You shook your head and looked back at him, “no it’s okay. I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“hey its not like that…if you are uncomfortable with them then we can go alone. Really.” He assured you and you smiled back.

“I’m not uncomfortable or such. I am never been close with them. It’s because I feel like they hate me and they don’t like me around. It will just make me look like an outcast among us.” You pout.

He laughed and ruffled your hairs, earning a groan and hit to his arm.

“they never hate you. More like they always told me I’m lucky that I have a pretty and sweet sister like you. They never talked to you or approached as a friend because of your over protective brother. I didn’t trust those horny teenagers around you.”

You both laughed and somewhere you felt as if you just had contemplated their behaviours in a wrong way. So like them bumping into you was not to annoy you but they wanted to talk to you but your brother was being a barrier back then. is that right? Well, you also never really tried to become friends with them. So there was a lack in efforts from both the sides. What about now?

“Are we and your friends going to L.A.?” you asked.

He nodded and added, “if only you are comfortable.”

“It’s okay as far as they will appreciate me to consider a friend.”

“They will.”

It’s been thirty minutes that you were waiting for your frien—oh wait your brother’s friends.

The loud shout from your brother signalled you that his friends had arrived and so you looked up from your phone and craned your neck to watch where your brother ran to.

His excitement is always on another level when it comes to his friends. He really has some true friends unlike you.

They hugged with each other and then walked to where you were waiting. As soon as they were in front of you, you stood up and greeted them with a little smile on your face. They were hesitant at first but Johnny took the lead to extend his hand to shake hands with you. Wow, it’s the first time in the lifetime, you are standing so near to him and them.

“Hey Y/n…you grew up into a beautiful lady…I haven’t seen you in years after you all moved from the hometown.” Johnny stated with a genuine smile on his face.

Him initiating the conversation was a relief or you would have stuttered or never been able to form any words.

“yeah...it’s really been years. You look…good, Johnny.”

He smiled and nodded to your words.

Good? No, Fucking handsome. You wanted to scream it at his face because you have never seen him in such close up view and honestly your brother’s friends are freaking whole meal. You need to calm down and shut up because you don’t want to make it obvious to them and your brother. You sent him a smile.

Your brother and Johnny left for the check-ins, leaving you with Jaehyun and Mark. You gulped and looked around as you were in a very awkward situation. But you didn’t notice yet, Jaehyun’s gaze was boring holes into you and mark was looking between you and his friend.

“You look pretty...I mean really pretty…wow do I sound desperate? But it’s true.” Mark licked his lips and held your gaze when you looked at him.

A smile cracked on your face and you thanked him.

"you look cool as well."

He was eager to talk to you more and now you knew how friendly he was and it would be comfortable to be around him. When you looked at the other person in your group. He was already staring back at you. He was serious, with no emotions visible on his face and he sucked his cheeks inside.

You gulped in nervousness because the feelings of uneasiness rising up was making you suffocate even when the waiting area was so spacious and huge. You didn't know what was the reason for the uneasiness: him or the flight.

Your brother called you three from afar and you were the first one to almost run to your brother. The eyes of the other two behind you were following you. Mark laughed a bit and the corner of Jaehyun’s lip curled up.

Mark, Jaehyun and you got your seats together and on the other side Johnny, Taeyong and a random boy were having their seats. You told Taeyong to ask Johnny to switch seats with you but he told you that it would be better if you spend time with them and then you could be friends before reaching there.

You pouted and sulked in your seat. You sat in the middle one because mark had already claimed to not sit on the window seat and he hates middle one. Also, you were not a fan of window seats so you chose middle and it would be better because you will have mark’s company. Jaehyun was last to enter and he sat on his seat and closed his eyes.

Was he tired or ignoring you?

You didn’t mind his presence but getting interested in hearing Mark’s passion on rap and dancing. His eyes were shining when he was sharing about his likings and hobbies.

But as soon as you felt the wheels moving on the runway, the feeling of uneasiness returned from earlier. You turned to your front and closed your eyes tightly. Your one hand gripping Mark’s sleeves of his full sleeve t-shirt. And the other hand clutching the armrest. Nails digging deeper. You were feeling nauseous and then something unexpected happened.

“Take deep breaths. You will be fine.” You heard whisper from the side of window seat. A hand entangled with yours and clutching it in a soothing way. Thumbs rubbing your skin to calm down. Another hand patted your other hand which was clutching the sleeves.

Slowly, you parted your eyelids to see Jaehyun leaning towards you in worry and his hands were entangled with yours and Mark was patting your other hand with same worry visible on your face.

And what about your brother? He was busy joking with Johnny. But you didn’t know, he was having the same worry and was in panic, Mark assured him that he would handle it.

he will take care of you.

You breathed through your mouth and gulped. Mark patted your head before he went back to whatever he was doing on his phone.

You looked over to Jaehyun and again he was emotionless. “Thank you.”

As you tried to pull away your hand, he held it tighter. Your gaze fell on his veiny hands, veins visible in those smooth buttery skin. His skin was better than yours. Your eyes were trailing upward slowly and slowly and stopped on his lips, they were so pinkish and kissable. WTF! No no not kissable. You met his eyes.

“You can sleep if you feel sick. I won’t mind but don’t even dare to puke on me.”

“I don’t puke…” you pout.

He scoffed and looked away towards the window and it was night but still he had a sunglass over his head. It was adding to his attractiveness.

He patted his shoulder and you frowned.

“What?”

“Sleep…you are annoying.”

You scoffed. Perfect best-friend of your brother. If he was already mad without doing anything then you would rather sleep and be an annoying burden on his shoulder.

Earlier Mark squeezed your cheeks hard and woke you up from peaceful sleep and so you were mad because Taeyong does the same to annoy you when he wakes you up.

Why all his friends are similar to him?

You were still in sleepy mood and were walking towards the hotel room in a daze.

You got a separate room from them. You were so happy that this time you don’t have to share a room with your brother again. Taeyong and Jaehyun were roommates and Johnny and Mark were in the room across from yours beside the other pair.

It was already afternoon when you reached the hotel so you didn’t have much plan for the day so you guys went off to some individual activities in exploring the place. Taeyong offered you to come along with him and Mark but you assured him that you won’t be wandering too far from the hotel.

As far as the first day, the trip was fine. You really had a great evening with making new friends at record shops. They had same music taste similar like yours. You exchanged your IG ids with those three girls and you were happy since that.

The next day it was totally a siblings day with you two exploring the famous places in L.A. You knew that was the only option to spend a day only with him or other days, he wont be leaving his friends behind. You really did argue, fight, clicking pictures and especially eat a lot. It ended with all five of you having your dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Everything was going well until the fourth day of the trip.

You all went to the beach in front of your hotel and you wore a beach dress. Of course, you would have worn a bikini but somehow Taeyong sternly told you to not wear all those in front of his friends or you were not going. You were mad but still you agreed and trailed behind them. Johnny was talking with you a lot since last night. He was often asking you if you were comfortable or feeling left out but you were quick to wave it off as nothing.

Thinking of last night, you remember how you both spent the night in the terrace of your floor in the hotel.

“Cant sleep?”

You got startled and looked behind to see Johnny in a white t-shirt and sweat pants walking towards you. You shook your head.

“It’s not like that. I am just not that tired.”

He chuckled, “it was such a long day and still you are not tired?”

“Yeah. I usually don’t sleep whenever I go for a vacation and I love to spend time with the new environment.”

He nodded and watched the waves hitting the shore and loud roars of the waters could be heard. It was a refreshing feeling after a long day. His fingers moved up to your face to tug your hairs behind the ears. You both smiled at each other.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

It was an unexpected question but was quick to make you flustered.

“N-no. I don’t.”

“Good.”

“Huh?”

“It’s good that bad boys didn’t got their ways with you…”

“Y/n…Wont you go down into water with us?”

Mark’s voice barely audible due to the loud music. Still, you managed to answer and you shook your head telling him how you didn’t want to soak your pretty sundress. But that was not his intention. As you were looking around. He scooped you from behind and ran with you towards the others.

“Mark…please don’t…I said no..”

“Come on, don’t be a joy-kill.”

With that he threw you into the water but still holding your upper half so that you don’t get hurt for the jump being so sudden.

As soon as you stood up and removed the hairs from your face, you glared at mark jokingly and he laughed it off. His white shirt and shorts were already soaked. Taeyong and Johnny were shirtless with surfboard in their hands, showing off their tattoos. On other side Jaehyun was also shirtless and was recording in his hand-cam.

His cam fixed in your direction and he zoomed in. You stared back at the lens. He smiled at the portrait of yours visible on the screen. His thumb caressed your face. You smiled behind the camera and ‘click’.

Someone splashed water from your side and Johnny was laughing for what he did.

Jaehyun joined in too.

Johnny stifled his laugh and spoke up, “Girls vs Boys.”

“I am the only girl here. This is not fair.” You whined.

Taeyong volunteered to take your side and Johnny teased him, “Oh Y/n look, that man is your girl.”

Taeyong threw some water and tangled his arm around his neck and Jaehyun splashed water at you with Mark taking the both sides for maintaining equal members and that’s how it went on with you all laughing and enjoying with each other in your own world.

Maybe they are not bad as you thought.

Taeyong’s intolerance of alcohol was known by everyone except him. He always insisted that he can handle a lot amount but would definitely pass out after half of the bottle. It was pretty strong. The four friends were having night pool party in the rooftop and it was pretty late and Taeyong suddenly banged his head on the table.

Oh he is wasted. The strong boy is sleeping now.

Jaehyun called you three times to check on you and let you know that they were going down and as earlier Taeyong stated that you asked him to bring a cocktail from the party. So, instead of your brother, he took the responsibility.

Three missed calls and you didn’t pick up. They were sure that before going to sleep. You would let Taeyong know about it but now they were panicked.

Johnny rushed down. He didn’t wait for the elevators and run down the stairs and rest two were bringing Taeyong down to the room.

Where were you?

Johnny knocked on your door. He waited for a response but nothing was audible. Licking his lips, he was about to ring the bell when he heard a faint buzzing sound. He leaned to check his doubt. He was correct.

His hand hovered on the handle and he pushed open it. Again, you didn’t lock the door. But then he might not have got this opportunity.

he entered the room and took a turn.

Your mouth was agape and eyes closed with throaty moans and hands clutching the bedsheet with sprawled across on it. And a pink vibrator was attached to your black panty.

Shamelessly, he was watching you. His pant was getting tight in a particular place and he gulped. He was not even moving but standing still, watching you with hungry eyes. He waited for you to cum. By seeing your desperation, he was sure you were near the climax and he patiently waited in his place in silence. You moaned out Mark’s name when you came undone.

So, you were thinking about him?

He smirked at your exhausted state in just your lingerie. You were panting. If you had wore it at the beach then he could have seen you like this earlier. You look sexy in bikinis and he was getting impatient to tear off the piece of clothes and have you in every way.

The ring of his phone made your eyes shot open and you hurriedly sat up. He picked up the call with holding your gaze. You gulped to see his dark eyes.

Jaehyun was on the call. Johnny’s voice echoed inside the room.

"Come to Y/n's room." He didn't say anything more but chuckled after he cut the call.

Like a predator he walked around the bed and you were sitting in the middle, still fazed by the orgasm. He bent to your side and before you could realize it, he snatched away the remote from your hand.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a broken voice. He raised his brows and titled his head, "did you say something?"

he had a dominance in his voice.

"You should not be here" you gulped and raised your voice a bit, "if my brother finds out."

"Oh listen darling, your brother won't know what is going to happen and even if your brother finds out, it will be too late."

You heard the door open and shut and sound of the lock. Jaehyun and Mark emerged from the corner of the room.

"Oh dude what are you doing here?" Mark was confused and looking between you and the tall man. "I see our little princess was having her little fun without us." Jaehyun smirked as he noticed the vibrator and the remote in his friend's grasp.

"Shut up. You three. What are you even doing here? Where is Taeyong?"

"He is knocked out halfway through." Mark chuckled.

Johnny paced to the edge of the bed and in front of you. He smirked while scanning your whole body. He has never seen you in such a way and he was amused that you were not even telling them to go out. "Oh Mark. You know, she was calling you earlier."

"Really but why?" Mark was smiling but he was curious.

"Darling, are you telling them or should I do the honor?" Johnny was crouching down in front of you, resting his hand on the edge of the bed and staring at you. "I—I don't know what you are saying."

Johnny chuckled, "oh don't say like you weren't moaning out his name." "What?" You were surprised to know that he heard you. For how long was he there?

"Oh really?...I want to see that." Mark was excited.

Before you could protest, the sound of vibrator earned a gasp from you. You watched how Johnny had a smug look and Jaehyun whispered something into his ear, widening his grin.

You watched in horror that they were exchanging glances and communicating between them. your head fell low and hands clutching the bedsheet tightly and you leaned forward.

The vibration was in low mode and you wanted more. no you needed more. You closed your eyes and focused on the sound and vibration filling you up. The tightening of the knot but still the feeling of emptiness was there because the speed was too low. You panted out. "More...fast please..."

“You are asking for more from your brother’s friends? Won’t you ask us to go?”

You were whining and your hand hovered over the vibrator to rub it against your folds and press it deeper.

Someone held you back. And you cry out. The vibration increased and you leaned backward, throwing your head back on the person's shoulder. The same whispering voice from the plane. "Is it okay now, princess? Don't you dare to do anything. We are here to take care of you."

Your hands were locked by him and his bare chest was against your hot body, earning groans from him. Every little squirm of yours was making him painfully hard. There was a reek of alcohol from them.

You were reaching to the climax and it was very obvious and the way Jaehyun's husky groans filling your ears. You swear you will come soon.

"Are you near?" You nodded.

Jaehyun chuckled into your ears and licked it, "words, princess." "Y—yes Jaehyun...Jo—hhny."

"It's daddy for you." Johnny said in a darker voice. Your back arched and you leaned back to Jaehyun as you were about to get loose but Johnny had some other plans.

You were whimpering, "why? Please daddy...I want to cum."

he turned the vibrator off.

"No. You had your fun earlier and now it's for us to have our turn."

He climbed the bed in front of you and hovered over you. You tried to scoot back and get away from the hold but they held you in place.

"Mark I guess someone is impatient."

Mark nodded on Johnny's statement and watched your watery eyes staring back at Johnny in a frustrated expression.

"I heard she was moaning my name and I really want to see how it's going to be when I literally will fuck her."

"Oh you will. But you can wait for your turn. Let me make my darling taste a bit of my fun." Johnny was using the nickname casually but it was turning you on.

He hooked a finger with your panty and slid it down very slowly. His movements were painfully slow and you couldn't even do anything to get rid of the little piece of clothing faster.

He let it hung at one of your ankles and pushed your legs apart, you were pressing them too tight.

He placed himself between them so that you couldn't close your legs and he dipped a finger inside of your wet folds. You moaned and raised your hips into his hand when he pressed your belly down. "Uh uh you are not getting like this...patience is the key here. Look you are so needy that you didn't attend the party because you were off into your little world."

Mark added, "if she had asked us then we would have had the fun together."

Watching how you were not catching on with the conversation, Johnny curled his finger, keeping the same pace from earlier. When he watched you squeezing his second finger in so easily. He pulled his hand out and pushed it inside your parted lips. "Suck."

You were not needed to say twice and you rolled your tongues around his fingers and licked your juices off.

"Princess is doing so good."

Jaehyun had a cheerful tone and then suddenly Johnny slapped your pussy to get your attention back on him before pulling down his pant. You were so impatient and didn't want him to take longer. Jaehyun unhooked your bra but still your front was covered. His hands caressed your bare back and you shivered to his touch.

Johnny's yellow shirt was unbuttoned and your now freed hands went up to touch the biceps. He chuckled and held your wrist to guide you through his muscles. You were so distracted when he suddenly entered you. You cried out because of the size and stretch and the pain was unbearable. Johnny had a satisfied look on his face but soon changed into a worry when he saw your wrinkled forehead and you were wiggling on Jaehyun’s lap.

Your eyes rolled back when he started moving. The pace began with slow and deep movements and each move burned the connected soft area. Johnny was groaning above you and his fingers were tightly entangled with yours, pressing down your palms into the mattress. His loose shirt rode up and the flexing muscles were visible.

“Fuck Y/n…I didn’t know that sweet little one…has such a good pussy.” Johnny increased his pace and your moans became louder.

Your sweet moans earned a shaky groan from a corner of the room. You looked over to the place to see Mark was pumping himself with his head thrown back and cursing and moaning out your name. He was imagining the image of how it was you when moaning out his name when you were pleasuring yourself.

Jaehyun chuckled, “Oh Johnny, she likes to get fuck by her brother’s best friends.”

“Is that right, Y/n?” Johnny asked you but your foggy mind didn’t register the question. So, he gripped your jaw and forced to make you look at him. Your teary eyes stared back at him when he slowed the movements.

“I asked you something, darling. Do you like getting fucked by your brother’s best friends?”

You clenched around him on hearing his question.

“Yes…yes daddy…I like to be fucked by you…I—I want to be fucked by you all.” You whined when he pushed deeper but continued in sloppy movements.

His smirk widened and head dipped in the crook of your neck. He sucked and kissed all your sensitive spots. He pulled down the bra and sucked your nipples. He was leaving red marks all over your chest and throat. Your nipples were erect and hard and when he was sucking it hard, you were losing your mind. “Fuck…it’s so good.”

“Is it feeling good? Johnny making you feel good?”

You moaned out, “Yes Jaehyun, he is making me feel good. I—I want to cum please…please…”

The fast thrusts were almost ripping you apart into two and his moans and groans into your ear was nearing you so much that your tears were streaming down. The sloppy sound and your moans filling out the room. But Johnny hushed you with a heated kiss. He was hungry. Teeth clashing to each and biting down your lips, making you gasp and clench around him. He was hungry to finally have his best friend’s sister under him. The sister his friend protected too much from them was now whimpering under and that boosted his ego.

“Cum…ah-Fuck…” You both came undone together.

Mark cursed out at the same time with both of you.

You were floating with blurry vision and he rode out his high. He pulled out and chuckled at your fucked out state. Before any juice could leak out of you, he pressed your legs together. He started at you but you cut him off.

“I am on birth control pill.” You stated.

“Why? Were you expecting something like this to happen?” Johnny chuckled and stood up.

“No. but just in case…” Johnny pecked your lips. You were surprised as to why he did it but you let the kiss linger on you longer.

Mark interjected, “So you were planning to have a one-night stand on this trip somewhere?”

You licked your lips and nodded, “yeah something like that.” You closed your eyes to take deep breaths. Johnny excused himself after putting on the pant and went to his room.

You heard shuffles around your bed and before you knew what was happening, Jaehyun was smiling down at you from between your legs. You tried to scoot back but he pressed you down with a smirk and dark look on his face.

He was serious with dark eyes just contrast to the white unbuttoned shirt on him. He looks good in white and later you have to compliment him about that.

“What are you thinking, princess?” he asked you while positioning himself to your entrance.

“you look good in white.” you finally complimented him.

He smiled, “thanks princess. But I would look better with your white cum around my dick.”

His tip toying with your folds. You whined and Mark laughed when he sat beside you. He removed your bra and threw it away. Jaehyun thanked Mark and started pumping your breasts. You gasped and moaned. Mark was staring at you with hooded eyes. Jaehyun flicked your nipples and pinched them.

It was paining but it was sending a pleasurable jolt throughout your body.

He straightened himself and placed his palm over your breasts and pushed himself inside you. You gasped out loudly and he chuckled on feeling how you were still tight and clenching around him after his friend fucked you so hard earlier.

“you are taking me so well, princess.”

His pace was deeper and faster from the start and your sensitive bud was throbbing in pain. Skin slapping sound and his skill-full fingers drawing pattern over your curves and hands sliding smoothly all over your body. Your whines and his moans getting louder with each passing second and he leaned down to peck you. You opened your eyes and wiggled your hands from, under the grip of Mark’s strong hold. Your weak hands slid down Jaehyun’s soft skin and you smiled.

“Jaehyun…”

Why are you even smiling? He took a hold of your wrist and placed a kiss on your fingers.

“You are really pretty, Y/n…you were always pretty.”

He finally connected his lips with yours and you moaned into his mouth when he hit a right spot, making you arch into his body. Your hips moving up and down to get him more-close to you. As if it was even possible. He pressed you down and there was a sweet rhythm to the movement of his lips and hips.

You were lost in the kiss and gasping for air but he was sucking you so hard that the little air left inside you would be sucked out. He finally pulled apart and thrusted deeper. When you let out a broken moan, his hands moved up to grip your throat and with a moderate pressure, he pressed it tight.

“The innocent little sister of Taeyong is whining with my fingers wrapped around her throat and getting fucked. What will your brother think of you getting fucked by his best-friend?”

You couldn’t reply but mumbled something. Mark laughed and patted your head.

You whined and gasped. Your one hand gripped his wrist and other wiggling under his strong hold on your wrist. His mouth skillfully working on your nipples, leaving bruise marks around it. It was too much. You were overstimulated by all these pleasures in different parts. The pace became sloppy and both of you were near the edge.

“if you want to cum then cum. Cum on my dick and paint me white.” He said and put a little more pressure on the side of your throat. His voice vibrating on your nipples and his hot breath hitting around the sensitive area.

You gasped and let it loose as soon as his words fell from the lips. He thrusted faster and you whined. After a few more thrusts, he bottomed down into you. “fuck-“

His hands were at the same place but weakly holding you, his head resting on your breast and he placed a soft and long kiss on your nipple before retreating himself.

Vulnerable was not a word for you. You were broken. Your body, your pulping veins, your sensitive used spots and your mind. Your broken voice couldn’t even dare to speak up anything more.

Mark.

You didn’t know what were the thoughts running through his mind. His two other friends were just monster fuckers. Thinking about him fucking you after they caught you moaning out his name was scratching a mark direct to your core.

You expected Jaehyun to leave but he propped himself on the sofa and leaned back with closed eyes and heaved a sigh.

Was he regretting?

Your attention was brought to Mark when he gripped your jaw and pulled your face to the side to face him. He was smirking unlike before when he was sweetly smiling at you. His jeans was long forgotten lying down on the floor and he pulled down the boxer. Your burning body was sensitive to a little amount of air caused by the swish of movements around you.

He was still sitting to your side, hand gripping your jaw. Your weak hands held his wrist dearly.

“mark…please fuck me.”

He poked his cheek with the tongue, “why? Didn’t Jaehyun gave you the satisfaction and also Johnny?”

As if on cut Johnny entered the room in a fresh set of trouser and a plain white t-shirt. He propped himself beside Jaehyun.

“What’s with my name?” Johnny’s voice made you squirm.

“I want you…no I need you, Mark. Please.” You literally begged. His smirk widened.

He suddenly hovered on top of you and you were surprised by his sudden fast movement. He was excited. Something in him shifted when you begged to him. He was no more that soft and excited friend like last four days. In front of you was a hungry monster who was ready to devour you.

His hands trailed down your curves. He pushed your legs up and watched how your hole was leaking down the juices and he groaned to the sight. He pushed up your swelled breasts and pumping them, earning whines and moans from you. Your tears were the most beautiful thing to him at the moment.

His hands trailed higher and rested on your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek. Your tired eyes still locked with his hooded ones.

“you will show me how you were moaning my name with this pretty mouth. Okay?”

You nodded. He slapped you and gripped your jaw.

“Okay?”

“Yes…Mark…I will show you...please…”

No prep was needed and so he pushed your legs apart as far as possible. He slowly entered you and your gasp got lost into his mouth when he pressed down his lips to you. Just like others, his kiss was also reeking of alcohol. You were getting drunk just by their kisses.

His kiss was between of hunger and making love. Once he was being a sweet kisser and the next moment, he was eating you out. His teeth sucking yours making it a plump.

His movements were slow. Too slow. You wanted more but the way he slapped your pussy when you moved up, you knew he was not giving you what you wanted.

He broke the kiss but his lips never left your heated skin, his lips pressing soft kisses on yours and trailed down to your jaw and then to the crook of your neck.

“Mark…”

“So that’s how you sound like baby…fuck…you are sucking me in so good...you sound so sexy...”

“More please…please Mark.”

You were crying and repeating his name like a chant. It was making him painfully hard to control himself not to cum again and again into you. His one hand pumping your breast and other caressing your head. He leaned to attach his lips to your left out nipple.

Every second was like a rising of burning flame. Your body was on fire. He was overstimulating you to hear his name from your lips on repeat. He didn’t want to end the moment so fast. He could hear your moans all day long if its need to fuck you everytime. His one hand dipped down to rub on your bud and you cry out before Johnny inserted a finger into your mouth. You quickly wrapped around his fingers to suck for your dear life.

“don’t want to let this whole floor know that how good your brother’s best friends are fucking you, right?” he asked you mockingly.

Mark added, “Taeyong might can wake up too.”

They laughed to see you in mercy of their friend and tears falling continuously from the eyes.

“Ah fuck- baby…fuck…are you near?”

You couldn’t reply when the finger was deep down your throat.

Mark swatted the hand away and gripped your jaw.

“Do you want to cum?”

Your vision was blurry but still you nodded and replied, “yes…yes Mark…please”

“then cum and say my name.”

You did as he told you. Your vision was white and your whole body jerked.

He was thrusting deeper and faster and soon he was panting on top of yours and hot liquid filling you up.

The same euphoric feeling rising up to your fuzzy mind.

Mark laid down beside you. You both were tired but no one was as compared to you.

“I guess someone is tired for the first time while on a vacation.” Johnny smiled at you before patting your head.

You dreamily smiled and nodded.

He asked Jaehyun to go back to his shared room with Taeyong or he might could get in trouble if Taeyong sees him missing in the room. He sent a smile towards you before laving with Johhny. It was only you and Mark.

“I will take care of you. I have promised, Taeyong.”

he promised Taeyong.

He let you sleep and as promised, he cleaned you up before cleaning himself. He tugged you to sleep. Before leaving the room, he watched you for a while how you were sleeping peacefully and something inside him was tugging not to leave you alone. But there was no choice. He turned off the lights and left the room with interlocking it.

He is just your brother’s best-friend.

The next morning when your mind registered that you were awake, you didn’t open your eyes. The first thought came to your mind was that you were all alone. They all just left you after fucking. You clutched the blankets tight, you cried silently. Was it just all about one night? Nothing more? Today you have to pretend as if nothing happened last night. Silent tears fall from your eyes.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Taeyong’s worried voice and a warm hand on your cheek reminded you of their lingering touches on your skin.

You didn’t want to open your eyes. Even if you wanted to think of that as a dream but the soreness and the paining aches all over your body would be giving you reality check. Still. You didn’t want to worry your brother so you slowly looked at him and he was sitting by the side of your head, smiling a little.

“when I woke up, Jaehyun told me that you are feeling sick since last night and I was drunk so he took care of you.” He innocently said.

Took care of you.

Huh! And then left…

You nodded.

“You are crying…is your headache worse…do you need medicines?”

“headache?”

“yeah…he told me not to disturb you today. It’s better to let you rest for a while.”

Yeah. Headache. Rest for a while.

The words were not setting in right places.

He stood up, “I have to meet an university friend today who works at a company here so we are going to hang out today. So take some rest. Just call me if you need anything or I will tell one of them-“

“No I will call you.”

“Okay, see you later.”

And he turned to the space to get out of your room from where they all went last night. You didn’t hear your door closed but heard some talking between your brother and Johnny. His voice tugged at your heart. You were sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. You looked down to yourself wearing a t-shirt and shorts. A tear fell on your hand.

Why were you even crying?

It was all about you four being horny last night. Nothing more.

The close of door shut jolted you. You still didn’t look up but closed your eyes to let yourself understand that you shouldn’t be so sensitive of having sex with them.

“y/n…”

Did you hear right?

No no you were dreaming.

“y/n…are you okay?”

You looked up to see Mark looking at you with hurtful eyes. Is he regretting for the last night?

You didn’t reply. Two more figures emerged from the corner, what were they doing at door for so long.

“why are you here?” you whispered out the words.

“Isn't this the same thing you asked last night?” johnny stated.

You watched his movements when he came beside you and sat down to pat your head and comb your hairs with his long fingers. You fought back the urge to lean to his touch. Jaehyun sat to your other side and caressed your cheeks.

More tears streamed down your eyes.

Jaehyun wiped them off. “Why are you crying?”

“Don’t give me false hopes. I know you all are regretting for the last night and so you left or maybe you see it like a regular fun but please I…I don’t know how to feel now.”

“then don’t fight back.” Johnny said without any emotion visible.

Mark added, “y/n…it’s a very complicated situation we are in…we are your brother’s best friends and you are his sister. If somehow this last night becomes a problem between us then the friendship will be hampered. You are our friend too.”

Mark scooted closer to you.

“you all were the first ones to have sex with me…”

They didn’t reply but suddenly Mark pulled you in his embrace. You could feel a different set of hands caressing your back. You started crying in his hold. He patted your head.

“I know... you know we were never your friends but still we admired you since you were a baby. We have watched you every time how you whined for little things, your giggles, your sweet smile, your annoyed face whenever we showed up at your house and when your brother teasing you. Our eyes were always on you.” Mark words were dipped in softness.

You whispered, “I thought you all hated me.”

Johnny laughed, “never. It was your brother who never wanted us to be near you. He thought that his little sister should not be near us. He is good brother. He loves you a lot.”

He really is.

“I don’t want to leave you all after yesterday. I know I’m being selfish but I really don’t know why I'm feeling this but I cant handle if you all leave me.” You said and turned to rest two of them from Mark’s embrace, Jaehyun’s hands fall from your back.

Jaehyun added, “we don’t want to leave you too. Yesterday when I saw you in that state, I felt a possessiveness inside me that no one should get to look at you and I own you. So…..”

He looked at everyone and sighed.

“so?..” your soft voice tugged at their heart.

Johnny completed his sentence, “so we need to have a talk with Taeyong.”

“You all will?” you were surprised.

Mark turned you around, “don’t you want us? Or do you want only me?”

“All three of you. Call me selfish but I love you all.”

“We love you too, y/n. promise. we will take care of you.” Johnny said and placed a kiss on top of your head.

“she is still a baby.” Jaehyun said and laughed loudly.

The others also joined in. You clutched to Mark’s shirt and smiled a little before snuggling into the smell of his cologne.

Your brother kept you away from them. But then you became too close to them. Closer than being just friends. The foreign swaggers is your new memory of your holidays. It was meant to be a family holiday like every year. but this was different and the best.

Also, you don’t hate your brother’s best friends like you thought.

They are no more just your brother’s best friends. They are your hearts: the foreign swaggers.

Are you going to regret it?

thank me coz i was going to end it on a sad note but then I thought to make it a bit emotional and happy in the last moement.

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon @hyuukah @kazscara @aceofspadesbiofalltrades @sexygrass @minkyuncutie @loveforred

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neocentral · 10 months

Note

mark would beg to stick in just the tip but would “accidentally” bottom out and go “well it’s already all the way in… you can take the rest, right?”

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: noncon, mark x reader

masterlist

Wait. Mark is also a virgin and he wants to have sex but you’re not ready yet. You give in to all other sexual acts that don’t involve him actually fucking you. But Mark only gets more and more inpatient and needy the further you let him go without letting him push inside you. He’s so desperate to feel your walls around him for the first time, taking the last bit of your innocence along with his in the loving act.

One day you’re so caught up in the feel of his bare cock grinding against your clothed pussy, his hands roaming your body and his lips suckling at your neck just the way you like that you give in to his eager begging.

“Just the tip, Mark,” you say, eyes glazed but seriousness still laced in your voice.

Mark only nods absentmindedly, watching how your sticky panties detach from your core. He grabs the base of his dick, tapping the heavy head against your foot that has both of you gasping.

You move a hand to cover your pussy. “Mark,” you whine, “promise?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark says hurriedly, prying your hands from your pussy, “sure. I promise.”

His tip stretches you deliciously, Mark can barely contain himself as he watches his cock sink further into you. He stops at the tip, just like he promised and he watches you try to adjust. He then pushes into you further, mesmerized by the sight.

“O-okay, Mark,” you say, “that’s enough.”

Mark shushes you as he bottoms out. “Fuck. Sorry, baby, I didn’t realize,” he lies.

He looks from your pained face to your hips flush with his. His cock fully inside you.

“S’okay,” you say shakily. “Take it out now.”

Mark groans, “c’mon, baby. You took me so well already. I’m just gonna move a little, okay?”

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he’s thrusting in and out of you sloppily, inexperienced.

“Mark,” you whimper, pushing lightly as his chest as your core burns, “that’s enough.”

But Mark isn’t listening anymore.

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hysteria-things · 3 months

Text

NSFW ALPHABET

read chris’s here

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: okay so long story short i was going to post the next part of promise last night but i got home from work, watched a movie, and passed out LMAO i never sleep well at night so your girl was tired🤣

i finished this today so i’m posting it now and then promise part three later! sorry for the wait :)

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

matt turns into a completely different human during aftercare. you guys would be done after a rough session and he’ll immediately ask if you’re okay at least a billion times and will get you anything you need.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

his hands. will always be moving them on your body, and he knows you love it. if you guys are out in public or hanging out with friends he’ll still have a hand on you at all times.

a sucker for your tits. if you wear a tank top or a dress that shows cleavage he’ll be staring nonstop, especially when they bounce. will also play with them when you guys are alone.

“HONK HONK!”

“seriously?”

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

uses a condom but when he doesn’t, he’ll pull out and cum on your tits. if you’re on your knees, then he’ll cum on your face. he enjoys cumming on your body, to say the least.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s the dominant one but wishes you’d be more dominant with him. you’ve done it a few times, but deep down he wants to be submissive to you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

let’s be honest, he was a virgin when he met you. he’d never put himself out there but when you came into the picture something clicked in him and made him more confident in himself. he didn’t know what he was doing at first but learned quickly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

he’s a cowgirl boy. the way your tits bounce in front of his face drives him up a wall. if not, then he’ll do missionary. more specifically where your legs are propped over his shoulders.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

matt knows you like his humor, so he’s not afraid to tell some jokes. you feel safe and comfortable when he goofs around a little.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

same as chris — not clean shaved but trimmed.

also doesn’t care if you have hair or not, but likes it when you have some just a little more.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

no matter if you’re going rough or not, he’ll always hold you skin-to-skin and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. it drives you crazy when you feel his whispers against you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

one time you left a pair of your panties at his house, and he keeps them in his underwear drawer. when he needs to relieve himself, he’ll grab them and he’ll jack off to it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

LOVES when you mark him. finds it so hot when you scratch up his back or leave hickeys on his neck to let everybody know you’re his.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

definitely the bedroom. he’s not the type to do anything in public, so either one of your rooms is the best bet. he’s a pretty private guy.

honorable mention is the minivan!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

when you send him nudes. he could be filming a vlog or car video when he gets a message from you, and he’ll put the video on hold to speed over to you.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn-offs)

this was a little hard, but i think anal. for some reason, he finds it weird and also thinks that he’ll hurt you during it. just not his cup of tea.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

although he is matt the munch, when you suck his dick it sends him to another universe. loses his marbles the moment you put your mouth around him and when you overstimulate him.

his skill is top-tier; can eat you out for as long as he feels like it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he will go fast and rough if you tease him too much or if you’re acting like a brat, but other than that he’s in between. going hard to feel himself deep inside you, but will go slow at the same time.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not too often, but if you guys are hanging out with friends at his/your house he’s not shy to take you to the bedroom (or bathroom) for a few.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

is a little skeptical when you ask to try something new, but will still experiment because he wants to see what makes you happy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

like one LMAO he’s not the type to keep going after you orgasm for the first time. once you guys cum, you’re both pretty satisfied as it is.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

like chris, he doesn’t own any but you do. if you’re the dominant one at the moment, you’ll tease his tip with a vibrator to make him squirm and moan your name😇

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’s not much of a teaser in the relationship but you are. especially when you’re super horny, you’ll tease the crap out of him no matter what you guys are doing. you just want him to fuck the shit out of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

BOY IS A WHIMPERER AND MOANER. if he’s not dirty-talking, he’ll bury his head into your neck and whimper about how good you feel wrapped around him. when he’s close, his moans will become more rapid.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

if he’s playing video games, he’ll let you cockwarm him. it’s a fun little game he likes to play with you. his one rule is to not move, but if you do, he’ll bend you over the desk while you play the game for him. you lose every time.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

looks lanky but has a decent build. when his body tenses as he’s fucking you, you see his toned muscles more clearly.

not as big as chris, but is more lengthy. i said what i said.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

not as high as yours LOL. you wish you could fuck all the time, but he’ll have sex if the both of you are in the mood.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

no matter how tired he is, he’ll make sure your needs are fulfilled before falling asleep. he doesn’t want to leave you hanging. when he does go to sleep, he’ll wrap his arms around you and cuddle until you guys wake up.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @idkhowtosleep @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut

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undercoverpena · 2 months

Text

iv. a date missed is a date lost

joel miller x f!reader | chapter four of honey stained hands

chapter summary: when you don't make it back from patrol, joel doesn't think for a second about not going to find you.

wordcount: 4.8k warnings: typical canon-angst/grief. angst. canon-level violence (desc of injuries and blood, but nothing insane). reader is a bad ass. injury/comfort — and from Joel. joel calls reader honey (because she bakes). mentions of brief smut. this pair are together but won't admit it. joel is pissed and we love him for it. talks of readers grief (you lose someone from before but not many deets) an: for those who waited, thank you. to those who have just stumbled here: hello, you don't need to take off your shoes.

In time, daylight begins its gradual retreat, casting shorter shadows and making flashlights more of a necessity in the nighttime.

The blankets of white persist, marking winter’s icy caress across rooftops, the ground and anything else it can layer itself against.

At one point, fairy lights go up and then come back down. Briefly twinkling like scattered stars before eventually returning to their storage—time ticking on, days seeping into weeks, then months.

There comes a moment when the snow falls heavier, then thins, only to fall again in abundance, dousing the world as far as Joel's eyes can see.

But, the biggest change Joel notices, is that he begins to dream a lot less of you. No longer a distant fantasy but a tangible presence beside him, a reality woven into the fabric of his days.

He doesn’t need to think you up, you’re already there. Curled against him—facing him—hand under your cheek as you breathe in and out, soft and measured. Like this, you don't appear as a threat to the world, but he knows when awake what you’re capable of.

Just like he knows, deep down, this isn’t just neighbourly friends or nightcaps on the porch—or better yet, occasional sex to pass the time. Even if it all began as such.

It may have started as a carnal need, a teeth-sinking, nail-digging desperation. All akin to a time when he was a teenager, both of you waiting for the door to click shut behind Ellie—as she heads to a friend’s house—before he’s on you, pulling a giggle, a soft shriek of his name before you’re scraping and stripping him until he’s hardening in your hand, mouth or against your thigh.

Lately, it’s soft brushes of thumbs, mouth grazing over exposed skin and whimpers of his name; now, it’s a look—a quiet retreat, slow mornings and lazy nights. Your fingers find purpose on his cheek, eyes seeking his as he buries himself deep, making your mouth part in an O—just as he always does.

Too good for me, Miller. You’re too sweet for me, honey.

A joke. A tease that should be getting old, but isn’t.

Then, your things found themselves with his—or his with yours.

A jumper on his floor, his shirt hung on the handle of your bedroom; his guitar relocating as he does, sometimes against his bedroom wall, and sometimes against yours.

It became morning walks to the pen as he left for patrol and him meeting you at the gate, each time a little different. There are evenings of him arriving home to find you there, cooking—Ellie next to you, nodding, listening to instruction; then there are those where he sits in solitude, counting seconds until he thinks he can invite himself over.

There was even a progression to how the two of you left the bar, when things began to mean more. At first, you had just walked next to him. The next you brushed your fingers against his and the third he found you leaning into him, following him, not even pretending to go home and choosing to follow him inside his.

Truthfully, he’s not sure there’s a reason the two of you live in different houses—even if they’re side by side. Pretending there’s no concrete explanation, even if it lingers in the back of his mind. It rears its head when the night creaks in, rotting in a corner of his mind, a thought he should ponder over, pluck strings to until it makes sense—until he rationalises whether he can do it. Love, that is.

He’s ‘changed’, according to Tommy. Although, he’s not sure what that means. It’ll add to the pile, one he has to sort through but never does. Content with it, the things that weigh him down, deep down knowing he’s worthy of it—because his hands are stained even if they don’t appear as such.

Then, you’ll do something. Hand him a tin of shortbread, a smile—all wicked, and unwilling to be read—spreading and spreading. “It’s not a gift—it means nothing.”

“Whatever y’tell yourself.”

And then he’s confused all over again.

Whether it’s possible, whether he’s earned it—deserving of another chance. A twinge of pain when he remembers long hair against his neck in Boston, and the way her hands were as blotted as his.

You’re not her, but you’re smudged in your own way. Made of something entirely different, yet born from a similar pain he can see. You rose from the marshes, bones hardened thanks to the branches—grew strong from the soil and dirt. You’re one with nature in a way that made him wonder if the wind talked to you.

A thing he admires, the same way he does about a lot of things.

He supposes it would be easier, and simpler.

Not just loving you but having you here. You and your fire that warms all it touches, your kind disposition that you pretend not to have, but it rolls from you in plenty.

Less traipsing from home to home, less of him misplacing his things amongst your counters and sitting in your kitchen as you bake, only to take the treats with him next door, his fingers inside yours.

And, even if two of you are unwilling to put a name to the thing they are. We’re adults, Joel. We don’t need that, do we? It wouldn’t be terrible—a thing he rather likes. But, he likes it more that you don’t feel the need for it. Because in an ocean of complexity, you’re the thing that makes sense—the one thing he understands.

Doesn’t need to turn over much except what’re you thinking, what ticks behind your glazed eyes and whether the seconds you linger at the red toolbox are shortening or if he’s just becoming used to it—

“Joel, is that—oh my fuck…”

Your hands grasp at the VHS in his hand—fingers turning it over, that line appearing on your forehead that tells him you’re thinking, catching up to the actuality before it’s been told to you.

“Evenin’ to you too—”

“—What did you trade for this?”

Shrugging, he shoves his hand into his jeans—the ones that have grown tighter, barely able to fit the same hand that it used to, comfortably.

“Joel.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs. “Y’think you wanna watch it with me?”

Licking your lips, you place it down on the counter, face blank, fucking unreadable. “What, like a date?”

Shrugging, he smiles. “Would that be terrible?”

“No, suppose it wouldn’t be.”

Nudging you, he likes how you paint him in a laugh. Something rich, warm.

“I’ve got patrol—but, can freshen up, come round after?” you suggest, hand on his chest. “You don’t sleep without me anyway.”

And he nods. Already mentally beginning to count down, watching you smile, ticking his jaw from side to side.

“I’d wipe that.”

“What?”

Licking your lips, you smirk. “The smile—people will think you’re soft.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Will if I begin spreading it.”

He just pinches you on the ass.

In the whole of his life, there have been only six times when Joel’s blood ran cold.

An expression he'd never understood until the first time it happened.

He had never expected the saying to mean a chill blasting down his spine. Or that sounds and scents would blur to nothing as his stomach twisted, just like he never anticipated the prickling sensation spreading across his skin like a thousand icy needles and rendering everything else inconsequential in comparison.

Tommy had been the first, all little, barely the same height as the kitchen counter. Nose bloody, swollen upper lip and a look on his face that made Joel want to snap arms and break skulls. He had settled for breaking the nose of the kid who had picked a fight with his baby brother.

The second was far worse—the first time Sarah first got ill. All little coughs, splutters—a temperature hotter than a stove, harsh cries and soft pleading whimpers that she couldn’t articulate or describe. A helplessness he hadn’t been able to explain or shake, not in the days after, or the weeks and months. In truth, Joel isn’t sure he ever slept quite the same.

The third was that night. When it dawned, when it hammered into him like a thousand needles and pierced every single part of who he was. When it broke him. Snapped him. Made him come apart and yet still exist—kneeling, the blood growing gummy and cold. Leaving her there, not taking his baby girl with him. A part of his heart, soul and reason left there in tall grass as he was forced to put one foot in front of the other.

The fourth had been when Tommy had left—when he’d realised it. When he saw the life he had and wondered what the fuck had happened. It bled horribly into the fifth. A dread as he saw the mark, the bite—the realisation she would be taken too: Tess. The new normal he’d made coming undone too, seams burst, emptiness spreading, rising and rising until he felt nothing but fire and ice simultaneously.

Ellie in that hospital had been the sixth. Joel hadn’t even known he could experience another. His heart was not made of iron like he tried to convince himself when he was younger. A tightness that didn’t resolve until he held her in his arms, till he kept her safe, until he blazed through the building ripping and tearing until her pulse was against his fingers.

He’d never expected to feel it a seventh.

Had thought his cards had all been dealt. A person could surely only have so many chances at having things to love, to care for—to have it all received back too.

There’s not a single sound when Tommy tells him. Informs him.

There’s just ringing. It douses everything else, his fingers rubbing against his thumb, his knees cracking before his head catches up to the fact he’s standing, fingers clenching and unclenching.

A fire rising, not smothered—not willing to be snuffed out by action and thinking. Not as he sees the words being said, confirmed.

Because deep down he’d known what was coming before they were muttered. Had felt them.

He’d been aware your plate was no longer warm, steam no longer rising, food all but congealing, cold—practically unedible. His eyes had been pinned to the clock on the wall, to the way the big hand nudged the smaller one on.

He hates that he hesitates.

That he remains, feet planted to the floorboards of his home. Eyes flicking to Ellie, to this person he swears to protect, to be there for, a second chance amongst a graveyard of mistakes—

“If you don’t go after her, I’ll never forgive you.”

Strong words. But then, she’s strong.

He’s seen it when she talks to you, all hushed whispers and confessed secrets. Sees it in her shoulders even when she curls into your side for a half-hug, your arm sliding around, head resting on the top of hers.

Because you mean something to Ellie too.

Which is why he can’t remain—shouldn’t. All unwilling to let anyone talk him into waiting, for a plan to be devised, to be drawn up and communicated.

Because you wouldn’t. There’d be nothing that’d keep you back, from going, from doing.

We’re doers, me and you, Miller. We don’t wait around for people to decide, we act.

Each step seems to echo that with his sorrow—with that knot inside of him. The corners of his eyes narrow as anger shakes through him, hammering and solidifying itself in some corner of him—weighing him down, making his boots dig more intently into the snow.

Because you were right—knuckles brushing over his cheek when the two of you shared a sliver of what happened to you that day. It had changed him, that birthday all those years ago. A brief glance at his watch, the one he still wears, never forgotten, never fixed. It compelled him to action, a force that surged within him, driving him forward, taking and taking until his knuckles burst through flesh—becoming it, a doer, a thing which took and survived.

Maybe that’s why this keeps happening.

Why good keeps being taken from him? It’s never thieved, never sneakily tugged from under his nose, but rather openly and brazenly taken. It’s this that forces his hands to clutch the reins tighter as the cool wind whips past him, tracing the tracks, envisioning the exact route you would have taken. Only coming to a stop when the snow becomes undisturbed, dismounting with a groan.

It makes a lump rise in his throat. One that doesn’t vanish when he begins tying the horse to a tree—patting her and stroking her. Because he’s too old for this. Too old for the caring, the chasing, the losing, and the fear. His palm against the animal, feeling the heartbeat inside, grounding him for just a moment.

But, even if he is, he’s not letting it, them or whatever take you.

Not as he pulls on gloves and tilts his neck until it cracks. Not as he thinks about the last time he was out here with you—a treat, you’d called it: we’ve swapped partners for the day. Don’t make me go alone, Miller. As if he ever would. A thing which earned him a different kind of gasp when your spine met a tree trunk, gloves fingers sliding through his hair, a laugh there on your lips—desperate to greet the air, if not for his lips smothering it away, silencing it.

He replays it.

Desperately wanting for nothing more than for that laugh, that smile—that snark and its bite. Joel wants bark under his nails and for it to be finding a home under yours too—a reminder, a badge of honour. He wants nature to attempt to cover up the sound of his skin slapping against yours; wants the wind to try and compete with the moans he extracts from your throat.

He wants.

Hand tightening around the gun, he swallows—vision whitening in the corner of his eyes as his jaw tightens.

A figurative storm cloud rising above him, grey and thundering, cracking as he hears you say don’t sleep without me anyway on repeat. Over and over. That smirk carved into him, scraped in with sheer gut and will.

Then, he replays Tommy. The words which are supposed to bring comfort, but just bring more rage. “She’s good, Joel” doesn’t bring you home, the same as “He’s good—one I know can pull his weight”, because is he as good as him? As good as you?

Is the man who is meant to have your back as much of a monster as him—as the two of you?

He learns in half a mile that he wasn’t. An answer left, presented—all lit up in scarlet. Neck snapped. Anger let loose on the man who had smiled at him around and about. Gone. Left to decompose and erode.

Joel wonders what it says about him that he feels nothing when he removes the weapons from the man’s belt. Taking what he can before leaving, and continuing on.

At each step, he hopes you’re as good as he thinks you are. Each breath heaved from Joel’s chest he hoped you were still beating, it hanging in the frigid air in front of him, a visible reminder of the feeling he had forgotten about—allowed himself to forget—fear.

How it isn't just about dread, but rather the erosion of faith—a corrosion of belief, leaving him almost gasping for air. There’s a curse there too, simmering on his tongue, desperate to be released and breathed into the oncoming night as he ties another thread around an extended branch. Doing so every so many steps, a guide, a trail for someone else to follow—just in case, forever just in fucking case.

His arm bumps into a tree he passes, one adorned with delicate frost, stood like a sentinel, like the rest around it. Its branches reach out in frozen pleas to the heavens above as snowflakes descend from his bump, a thing falling in a way not too dissimilar to the unrest inside of him, stirring and swirling and all but fucking churning.

Jaw gritted, he swallows. Readying himself to move, to force himself on when he sees it, spots it. The thing you’d once showed him all intentionally.

From the outside, the cabin looks like it usually does.

Worn, broken—far less a structure and more a ruin. But, he knows without opening the door it’s hiding things, concealing unfamiliars and protecting traitors. He can tell.

And it is when he steps inside. Just none of them are breathing.

A full house of horrors. A museum of a fight that hadn’t gone the way, the three he finds in the larger room, would have wanted. One slumped against the wall, a head wound seeping and congealing. The other two lie askew, limbs twisted in ways they shouldn't be. There's a quiet chaos to the scene, a silent testament to a struggle fought with everything at stake.

He checks them all the same, dispatching, covering his back—stepping carefully over loose floorboard and limbs, eyes scanning, all desperately seeking.

Deep down, he’s relieved at the sight of the fallen attackers. A grim confirmation you did not go down without a fight. But another part, one that has been growing with each passing second, is filled with dread, more so as he moves further into the cabin, each step heavier than the last.

The air is stale, tinged with the metallic scent of blood. A scent he's all too familiar with. Following, only to find the next room there’s nothing. Not a thing. Nothing but the door—the one you’d mumbled about being difficult to open—is banging in the breeze. A thud, over and over, like the cabin has a heartbeat that wishes to ring out, and out, and out.

That’s when he finds your note. The singular reason he can hold out hope you’re still alive. Chicken-scratch-proof into pages of a book, your knife stamped as a signature to the backdoor:

compromised, do not look fo—

Joel has never been much of a listener.

Not as he charges outside, not as he sweeps around the new ground with his weapon at the ready. He barely has to look far, before he spots something—a thing out of the ordinary in a clump out at the back.

You. Joel finds you.

You are all but surrounded by clumped white and cherry red, sprawled out on the ground, spots of dark beneath you—a gash on your forehead, blood smeared across your face. The contrast is so rich that it could almost be described as poetic. Somewhat romantic, he supposed. That’s if the poets lingered on the snowflakes hanging from your lashes, instead of the gash to your forehead and the swelling forming along your neck.

But you're breathing. Barely.

His teeth bite at the tips of his gloves, slapping fingers to your pulse, finding it, weak but there, before brushing his knuckles and finding cold skin making him hiss.

You’re smart. A reckoning, a feral monstrous thing that is hard to describe to someone who hasn’t seen you take down a soul twice your size.

Joel liked to tell himself he kept you around for that reason—the fire, the poison woven into your veins that injects into whoever is foolish enough to cross you. But Joel keeps you around for the person you accidentally show him—the one that makes him feel human, less of a beast and someone who has taken, taken, taken.

It’s your grit, your cunning nature, which is why it’s taken him so long to find you. His chest tightened when he was greeted by the scent of iron, all thick—collecting in rooms where you’d fought tooth and nail.

Now, he was standing in the cold piles carved by knees and elbows, your slumped frame, curled as close together—defeated, likely having been convinced you’d never be found before the cold tried to take you as its victim.

But, you’re no victim. No woman who wishes to repent for how you’ve survived or the things you’ve done to breathe easier.

It’s why Joel lifts you, pulls you close—face curling into his neck from the position you fall into, as he’s chilled to the bone by your cold.

“If y’can hear me, hold on.”

He adjusts, even as his back winces—something pinching, hurting, throbbing in the position he’s in on the snow. Hating his age about as much as he hates his bones.

That’s when he whispers your name. Does so like it’s a secret, a thing the forest and the things inside of it aren’t privileged to hear. A thing entrusted to him that he wishes no one else to hear or ever know.

“M’here.”

It’s a mumble. A murmur. The softness barely escapes through clenched, almost chattering teeth—but then your flashes flutter, coated in flakes that shimmy down to your cheek as you attempt to open them.

“Eyes on me—there you are.”

“Stop being c-cute.”

Grimacing, he watches you try to smile—weak, it barely reaching your cheeks, never mind your eyes. “Don’t think anyone's ever called me cute, honey.”’

“Never t-thought someone be storm-m-ing through a forest for me—first time for…”

Looking down, he sees your lashes fluttering, eyes struggling to stay open. Lips still parted around the next word that had yet to fall.

Tapping your cheek, he feels how cold you are. Even here. In nothing but warmth and safety. And he hates that he has to ignore how concerning that is. How hard it is to swallow that you are.

“Don’t stop talkin’ to me now. Might like the silence.”

He feels you laugh. Vibrating against him. More a hiccup than a real laugh, but it’s something.

“I fought—”

“Know you did.”

Nodding, you swallow, cough spluttering in the back of your throat.

"Y' did... y' did real good," he assures, voice thick, chest aching at the sight of you—so strong, yet looking so small and vulnerable against him.

"Did... did I get them?"

Your words are slurred, consciousness fleeting—tiredness trying to sneak you away from him.

"All of 'em," he assures, his grip tightening around you, "Every last one."

He can't be sure if you hear him, your eyes fluttering shut once more.

But he keeps talking, filling the silence with a low, steady stream of words. Comforting nothings, promises of safety, of warmth, of a congealed meal and the VHS. Even as your grip on his hand slackens, your breaths become more shallow, more sporadic. Even when he feels a cold dread creep into his heart, he pushes it away, and focuses on you—on keeping you with him.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, adjusting you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you groan against him when he lifts you with him, "Just a little walk, alright."

The snow crunches under his boots as he carries you back up the path he came, leaving a trail behind. Even in finding you, he knows victory tastes bitter on his tongue—a price too high to pay.

"Y'need t’make it, can’t watch that movie alone."

You snort. It is very much there, before it’s buried—engulfed under a whine of pain as you stand up fully.

Can’t. It’s one word, but it’s louder than all the others you’ve spoken, shared—and given. So, he wraps his arm securely around your waist, leading you, taking as much of your weight as he can.

Joel holds you, clutches you against him—a brief flowering of memories from doing something so similar for Ellie. A thought which brings fresh anger, a bitterness to his tongue. Holding tighter because of it, grips you closer—as though his life depends on it.

Because in a way, it does—a part of him acknowledging that now.

More so as you groan, as you plead to stop in harsh whispers as you grip him weakly, as your foot flops occasionally, legs tired, aching.

It’s not until he’s managed to bring you inside, do you murmur again. Nothing full, nothing understood until he’s removed his coat and wrapped you in it, helped lean you against a wall do you say anything more than a groan.

“Tired.”

Hands encased in his, Joel warms them, as the moon bleeds tendrils in through slats and the half-made window. “I know. C'mon, stay with me.”

Your eyes flutter open, glazed and barely focusing on him. "I'm...trying," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Good," he murmurs, stroking your hair back from your forehead. "That's all I need. Just...keep trying."

His head turns, looking through the window, seeing the placement of the moon, and wondering if it’ll be morning before someone comes—before someone follows and helps. Just mumbling about anything, joking it’s the most he’s talked, doing so in a voice that mocks your own, doing something, anything to try and keep you awake—keep you warm.

"I should've been there. I should've..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.

The regret, the guilt, it's all there in his voice, in his eyes. And you squeeze his hand feebly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. "Not...not your fault, Joel."

He nods, swallowing hard. "I know. I just...I wish I could've..."

“He made it. This place,” you begin, voice low, barely a breath.

Your eyes focused on some floorboard, not leaving, unwilling to lift to him, even as his head tilts.

“Came out all the time with that red f-fucking toolbox,” you continue, swallowing, wincing as you use your shoulder to itch your cheek.

“He was just a neighbour, a person I knew the first name of. Then he was a-all I had, a friend, then family—a b-brother. I’d… I’d never… and then he was just… gone. Survived all those years, survived all of that, only for s-sleep to take him as soon as we got here.”

Your eyes lift, haunted by sorrow, by exhaustion and something so much more.

And he has no words—not enough for this, none enough to make any of this make sense or feel better.

“I saw him. I—I know he’s gone, know it wasn’t real, but I just closed my eyes, just so I could see him again. And then…”

Your words trail off, a choked sob taking their place as you curl into yourself.

A sound so full of brokenness it makes something inside of him shatter a little, more so when Joel feels you pull your hands free, all rough and worn, clutching around yourself, at the material of his coat—gripping so tight it’s almost as if you’re trying to hold yourself together.

“You think he’d be mad that you saved me—that I’m g-glad you saved me?”

Swallowing, he cups your cheek with his palm. “I think if he’s anything like you, he’d be glad you fought.”

Nodding, you smile, the base of your palm wiping your tears as your lip wobbles. “Can y-you hold me?”

Nodding, he shuffles, and buries a groan in his throat as he manoeuvres a man his age shouldn’t, until he can, until he is. Having you as close as you’ll humanly fucking let him.

Which is how you’re found—a cavalry of those from Jackson, a mixture of surprise and relief etched into their faces when they land on the two of you.

When he suspects they land their eyes on you, and realise, like he did, that you’re the owner of the destruction in the room next to you all.

CHAPTER FIVE ->

AN: next chapter will be quicker i promise, but no strict deadline on when as posting / stepping back into this was a lot.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic

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