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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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andreas-river · 2 months

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NIKTO HEADCANONS (but realistic)

TW: sexual themes, acute dissociative disorder mentioned, this man has definitely been through a lot.

A/N: I don't think I need to say this, but these headcanons are strictly from my perspective. Like many other people here, I enjoy writing for this character, and I have a lot of projects for the future. Anyway, y'all enjoy!

→ He loves cup noodles. He gives the vibes of eating them because they are quick to make and saves him a lot of time. But he’s skilled in the kitchen. Dmitry once founded him cooking in the kitchen’s base in the middle of the night. A glance from him was enough for Dmitry to turn around and walk away with another secret to hide.

→ He’s friendly only in private and only with his team, and obviously Sputnik. He feels comfortable around them, and he laughs only with them. He doesn’t hang out though. He doesn’t like public spaces at all.

→ Diagnosed with Acute dissociative disorder which may include symptoms of other dissociative disorders including dissociative identity disorder (source). This means that he experienced episodes where he dissociated, but since it’s acute, he had short but severe episodes (no, he’s not out of his mind). In my opinion, he doesn’t take any meds, or he would be discharged from the service. But he probably has periodic sessions with a therapist.

→ Possessing a hyena pet helped him find some balance in his life. For him, it’s like having a common dog, it doesn’t make any difference for him. He always finds it amusing when he uses him to scare Rodion, making him scream like a teenager. That’s how he discovered that Rodion doesn’t like anything that resembles a dog, even if Sputnik is a hyena. And he obviously uses this knowledge to his advantage.

→ He is neither hyposexual nor hypersexual (no, he’s not a pervert either). He actually has a normal relationship with sex and all the things that comes with. He doesn’t like sex without feelings. But if it needs it, he definitely jerks off at night.

→ He prioritize trust above everything, if he’s interested in someone. It will probably take him months to trust someone. Definitely a lot of trust issues, he’s really careful when he meet someone new.

→ Definitely not a religious person. He went through so much in his life that he’s more of a ‘realist’ person. He doesn’t think that there is a god, at all.

→ With the right person, he can be very protective: he has the ‘scary dog privilege’, and no one would definitely mess around with a masked big guy all dressed in black (most of the times).

→ He’s a reserved person and he appreciate the silence, especially if someone respect his own silence. Conversations with him can lead to a whole bunch of different topics at a deep level, and he loves when someone actually understand what he’s saying. He has a lot of knowledge and he used to read a lot of books, especially when he was a teen, and even more growing up and when he was recovering from his trauma. He still reads, and when he isn’t going to be deployed in a short time, he reads a lot during the night.

→ His trauma led him to a lot of insomnia, and a lot of nightmares when he actually manage to fall asleep. So, he usually goes for a walk, or he goes training, trying to take his mind off things.

→ Panic attacks are an occurrence, but he learned to acknowledge the symptoms even before it happens. He usually walks back to his room, finding the silence the thing that calms him the most. When he can’t go back to his room, the rest of the team usually has his back, and always managing to work something out. Every time they find a different solution, and that’s what helps him.

→ No one knows his past (and maybe it's better this way). Only Kamarov knows that he had to endure some bad shit back when he was a teenager. I can imagine living his years with her babushka before enlisting in the military. He doesn’t care about his parents since he lived in a toxic environment. Definitely doesn’t talk about it at all.

#nikto #call of duty #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #nikto mwii #mwii nikto #nikto cod #cod nikto #cod mw #cod mw19 #cod headcanons

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hazelnelliesgf · 7 months

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WEB-SLINGER PT 1

SpiderGirl!Hazel Callahan x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hazel is just an ordinary teenage girl. She goes to school, she has a part time job and she's also Spidergirl. Oh wait, forgot to mention that. Being the new girl at school is hard for you, that's why she's here to help! Without revealing she's Spidergirl of course.

Warnings: this is written in Hazel's perspective for the entire fic.

Proof-read!!

Words: 0.6k

Hey, I'm Hazel Callahan. I was bit by a radioactive spider and became the one and only, Spidergirl. Let me show you what its all about.

I am a full-time highschooler, currently trying to study for my music course. I play the drums often, mostly by myself in my dorm room. It was a day like no other, I was just walking to my class, minding my own business when someone bumps into me as I walk by. All my sheets of paper scatter across the floor, flying in every direction.

''Oh my god, I'm so sorry!'' This person says, scrambling to say sorry to me and pick up my discarded sheets. Then our fingertips meet, grabbing the same piece of paper. I look up at her face and she's staring back at me. She quickly looks away and shoves the sheet into my hand before running away. I stand there in confusion before going back to walking towards my lesson.

Now, during this lesson, the same girl barges into the room with a ''THUD!''. We all look up at her and she's visibly stressed and upset. Mr Mayfield talks to her before asking her to find a seat. The only available one was right next to me. How convenient, right? She sat herself down next to me, and it gave me time to look at her properly (not in a weird way, ew). Her eyes had a familiar glint in them, but were downturned with sadness. Her hair flowed nicely down her head, fitting its shape perfectly. Her skin glowed in the crappy school lights and sun, making me look like a mess next to her. The class came and went faster than expected and she packed up pretty quickly, then left.

My phone buzzed in my left pocket, alerting me of a message. It was from PJ.

-''Hey Dude, Trouble downtown, you available for it?''

PJ is the only person that knows about the whole SpiderGirl thing, and keeps me updated on trouble everywhere. She's been with me since the start of highschool and has never left my side.

-''Okay, Omw.'' I text back, sneaking into a public bathroom and changing into my suit. Getting used to the suit was hard work, I gotta say. The claustrophobia hits you like a train and I was honestly so scared of getting stuck inside of it, but you get over it once you try it on a couple times. I sneak out of the bathroom and run to the nearest building to hop off from. I ring PJ through my suit.

''Hey! What's the issue?'' I ask her.

''Villains terrorising kids down by your school, a couple injured, one is currently being taken to hospital. You got it?''

''Yeah. Send me the coordinates and I'll get there as soon as possible.'' I hang up and start swinging through the city. Cars are beeping and birds are flying down low through the buildings. It takes hard work to figure out how to swing without absolutely shitting yourself either. I get to the coordinates that PJ sent me and see the madness that had unfolded. I overlook the whole scene in front of me, then I see a familiar face.

No. I can't be?

Her?

#bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie 2023 #hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #ruby cruz #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan imagine #bottoms film #bottoms movie

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the-iceni-bitch · 1 year

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He Gives Me Everything and Tenderly…

Pairing: detective!bottom Bucky Barnes x younger!top male reader (Sarge and Officer Beefcake, NLLYL AU)

Words: ~5k

Summary; Bucky is just fine on his own. He really is. He’s used to it. Even after meeting you and thinking about you a whole bunch, he’s still fine. And he does not appreciate his friends’ meddling.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (mentions of male masturbation, salad tossing, protected anal sex, spit as lube and lube as lube, kinda public sex), meet cute, reverse age gap, tall/beefy male reader, bottom!Bucky Barnes, Bucky is grumpy, hints of angst, love at first sight? lots of friendly teasing, m/m relationship, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: Welp, this was something I wrote entirely in one sitting and I can’t say I’m mad about it at all. This is my first ever male reader fic and I am both incredibly nervous and very excited to share it with all of you! Big ass thanks to the absolutely amazing @howdoyousleep3 for hyping me up and providing some much appreciated perspectives (remember lube, people!)

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

Bucky was exhausted. A long ass shift at the end of a long ass week and he was done, looking forward to going home and drinking a cold beer on his couch while he didn’t talk to anyone for a whole 48 hours. God, he hated people.

Except Darcy, and the cute little peach. Even though he wanted to get the fuck out of there he still stopped by the dispatch desk to chat with his girls and let them cheer him up a little.

“Hey Sarge!” He shook his head when Darcy called him that, her stubborn insistence to call him by his military rank after however many years just one of the many things that endeared her to him. “You look like shit, you finally getting out of here? Maybe gonna see someone special tomorrow?”

“The only people he’ll be seeing are Sam Adams and Johnnie Walker, maybe James Bond… hey!” The peach gave him an adorable scowl when he threw a paper clip at her, rubbing her cheek where it had hit her and sticking her tongue out at him before turning her attention back to her screen. “Don’t act like I’m not right, I’m there every time you drunk dial Nat while you’re binge watching old movies and lamenting your lack of a love life.”

“Tell your girlfriend to quit putting me on speaker or I’m gonna call her ex to chat from now on.” Bucky grinned when she rolled her eyes at him, bringing his attention back to Darcy and sighing when she was giving him a sympathetic pout. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine. I like being alone.”

“You’re lying, but fine.” Darcy shrugged at him, grinning when there was a sudden commotion at the doors and a mess of recruits came charging through into the hallway after Sam. “Hi Sammy, boys! Ooh, hey there beefcake, you run laps around all those slugs on the course again?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky choked when you were standing next to him, trying not to ogle you swathed in those gray sweats and feeling like the world’s dirtiest old man all of a sudden. “They’re getting better, starting to catch up. You shouldn’t call them slugs, Darce.”

“Please, like Wilson hasn’t called them worse, you’re too nice.” Peachy girl grinned when she turned in her chair again and saw Bucky looking like his jaw was about to hit the floor. “Have you met Detective Barnes, beefy?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.” Bucky took in your name with an almost hysterical laugh when you reached out and shook his hand, not entirely sure what had come over him as he felt his neck getting unbearably hot and struggled to come up with something to say. “Well, I’ve gotta hit the showers, always lovely talking to you ladies.”

“Bye!” Both of them were grinning wickedly at Bucky once you were gone, chuckling when he just spluttered nonsense and looked at the floor. “What the fuck was that, Bucky?”

“Shut up.” He was flabbergasted, he’d never felt such an unbelievable attraction to someone right off the bat, except, once. But he never thought about that. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Oh, nothing at all?” Darcy was still grinning when Bucky growled at her, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair while the peach kept laughing. “So you weren’t staring at his ass when he walked away?”

“Of course not.” It had only been a little bit, you were so fucking tall your ass was impossible to miss, and so high and tight and… no, nope. “What the hell kind of nickname is beefcake, anyway?”

“You saw him.” Peach was practically cackling at this point, the redness on Bucky’s face so entertaining she was considering taking a photo to send to Nat. “The man is grade A USDA prime meat, what would you like us to call him?”

“You’re a couple of pervs.” Bucky just scoffed and ignored them when they told him it takes one to know one, flipping them off over his shoulder and almost forgetting his bag when he stormed out of the precinct to start his much needed alone time. “Inappropriate, gonna talk to HR about you two!”

If it had just been the one interaction, Bucky probably could’ve handled it. Yeah, he had jerked himself off thinking about your broad shoulders and tiny waist and that masterpiece of an ass, but only once, okay three times. But it was just over the weekend, he’d forget about you eventually.

Except for the fact that suddenly he was seeing you everywhere. Every damn time he was in the precinct, there you were, smiling that slightly crooked smile and laughing and making every person light up when you walked through the room. And in the fucking sweats every time, it was like torture. Torture that was made worse by the fact that Darcy and peach were always grinning at him like they knew something he didn’t, and they had apparently told Sam whatever they supposedly knew, so now that man was basically parading you in front of Bucky’s desk every chance he got and making him talk to you and get to see how fucking charming you were. He hated it.

“I do, I love cats!” Sam was chatting with you right in front of Bucky’s desk again and he was plotting how he could get away with murdering the man. “Have a little ginger idiot at home who has maybe two braincells, but he’s my baby.”

“Wow, that’s adorable.” Bucky almost growled at Sam when he grinned at him. “Bucky has a kitty of his own, don’t you, Buck?”

“Yes.” Sometimes he even hated his friends, this was ridiculous.

“I love that, knew you were a cat person.” Bucky almost groaned when you placed your hand on the desk so close to his, looking up at you through his lashes and trying so hard not to melt into his chair when he saw you smiling at him. “What’s her name?”

“Alpine.” You smelled so unbelievably good, Bucky had an incredible urge to lean up and bury his face in your neck, but managed to just turn the photo of his cat around to show you instead. “She’s three.”

“She’s gorgeous.” You winked and Bucky almost swooned, there was something wrong with him. “Shit, I’ve gotta get out of here, got a birthday party to get to. It’s always real nice talking to you, Detective.”

“You too.” Bucky swallowed thickly and shook his head when you walked away, his scowl coming back immediately when he saw Sam looking like he just ate a damn canary as he smirked at him. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.” Sam chuckled when Bucky just hunched over his paperwork and tried to ignore him. “Buuuuut… hoo boy, you like him.”

“I do not.” Murder was the only answer to these affronts. “He’s too young.”

“Bullshit, is peach too young for Nat?” Sam snorted when Bucky just grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes at the man’s stubbornness. “You like like him, you need to get over that massive hang up, Barnes, it’s holding you back!”

“Man, fuck you!” Bucky jumped when he realized that Sam wasn’t there anymore, so he was just yelling at the bullpen, every member of the team giving him looks of varying amusement before they bent back to their work. “Sorry.”

It was a legitimate hang up, especially when it came to you. Because you reminded Bucky of him.

Specifically of when he was young, when Bucky first realized he was in love and overlooked all of his flaws and just wanted to be wrapped up in him all the time in spite of the fact the man would only look at Bucky like his old friend who he could tell about every single disgusting conquest he made. And that meant you were dangerous. Bucky refused to do that to himself again, it had taken him too long to get over that malicious bastard, and nothing had hurt him more than the realization that he had wasted so much time loving someone who barely gave a fuck about him. He didn’t care how sincere and charming you seemed, he wasn’t going to fall for that same shit all over again.

But it didn’t stop any of his friends from dragging you in front of him at every opportunity, and even though he was polite and listened to you and answered all your questions, it didn’t stop him from snarling at them as soon as you were gone. He didn’t care what they thought he needed, he was fine.

He wasn’t lonely. He didn’t wake up grinding his hips into his mattress after dreaming of sharing his bed with you. He didn’t wonder what you would look like with soft morning light falling across your face while both of your cats jumped on you and Bucky made you breakfast. They all needed to worry about their own lives and quit fucking with his.

Which is why he should have been suspicious as hell when Nat and her little peach and Darcy insisted on taking him out for drinks on a Friday night. All of them together. At a dive bar that was typically just cops. Like they didn’t usually go uptown and dress up.

“Well, look at that, is that Sam?” Darcy bounced on her toes and waved when she spotted Sam with all of his recruits, her and peach squealing while Bucky shot Nat an exhausted look. “Gosh, I completely forgot they’re celebrating the academy graduation, what are the chances?”

“Shocking.” Bucky couldn’t stop growling when Nat just shrugged at him. “I can’t believe they dragged you into their scheming, Romanoff.”

“They’re young and excited, it’s cute.” Nat wrapped her arm around Bucky’s shoulders and started pulling him towards the group. “Besides, you deserve someone nice, and to spend the night with someone besides Alpine.”

“Alpine doesn’t take up that much room on the bed, and I like to spread out.” Bucky just resigned himself to having a miserable night, even when you gave him an easy smile once you laid eyes on him and waved eagerly. “And he might not be nice.”

“Buck, you won’t know unless you give him a chance.” Nat sighed as she rested her chin on her best friend’s shoulder, pinching his cheek and trying to get him to at least give her a grudging smile. “And you know how good my asshole radar is, I’m getting no pings from the beefcake.”

“Yeah, alright.” Bucky steeled himself when you started walking his way, feeling a little tight in his chest and watery in his eyes as he did his best to give you a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi Detective.” Your smile got even wider when Nat introduced herself, shaking her hand warmly then turning back to Bucky and crossing your arms over your massive chest. “Can I get you a beer?”

“I don’t…” Bucky caught himself when Nat looked at him expectantly and blew out a deep breath. “Yeah, a beer would be great.”

“Fantastic, for you too?” You winked at Nat when she nodded before hurrying off to get their drinks with an undeniable bounce in your step that Bucky found he enjoyed very much.

“Listen, Buck.” Nat gave you a very thorough look while you waited at the bar, wrapping her arms around her girl when she came to sit on her lap and Darcy sat across from them. “Even if it doesn’t last, you’re a special kind of idiot if you don’t at least have sex with that man.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky felt himself blush up to his ears when all of the women just nodded enthusiastically and started detailing what the two of you should do to each other. “You three are worse than frat boys, oh my god.”

“C’mon, sarge…” Darcy snapped her mouth shut when you came back with Bucky’s and Nat’s drinks, giving Bucky a meaningful look and making a little circle with her thumb and forefinger then pushing her opposite finger through it while your back was turned until Bucky felt like he was in fucking high school. “Hi beefcake!”

“Hi Darce!” You were sitting so close to Bucky he could smell you again, he had to start chugging his beer so he didn’t reach out to bury his fingers in your hair. “I’ve always wanted to ask, why does she call you ‘sarge’?”

“Oh, it was my rank when I was discharged.” Bucky couldn’t handle the way you were looking at him, like he was the most interesting thing in the room, he wanted to fall into your eyes and get lost. “From the army. Darcy’s sister served with me, so she knew me then and the nickname stuck.”

“I didn’t know you served, my dad was in the marines.” You could see Bucky starting to tense up and bless you, you backed off, keeping that easy smile on your face while you nudged his foot with yours. “It’s okay, that’s not something we have to talk about right now, tell me about Alpine, how’s the little lady doing?”

“She’s- she’s good.” Something about the way you instantly pivoted the conversation and didn’t make Bucky feel like an ass for almost clamming up had him relaxing pretty much instantly, grinning back at you and rolling his eyes a little playfully when he thought about his little furry troublemaker. “She’s a brat, but good. Almost gave me a heart attack last week when she somehow managed to climb up to the ceiling beams in my apartment.”

“Oh shit! Really?” You chuckled warmly when Bucky just nodded and took another sip of his beer, plucking at the edge of the label on your bottle and leaning forward a little so you could hear him better. “She get down on her own or did you have to get a ladder?”

“Well, after six hours of pleading and begging, I did finally manage to entice her with some tuna.” Bucky kept watching your face closely, the earnestness he was so wary of constant and never wavering while you listened to everything he said intently. “She’s too smart for her own good, I swear.”

“Fuck, I can’t decide if my situation is better or worse.” You laughed when Bucky scoffed, pushing at his shoulder and shaking your head when he looked at you with mock offense. “No, I love my boy, but he’s a dumbass of epic proportions. The most worrisome thing he’s ever done is get his whole head stuck in a mason jar. Theodore is an idiot.”

“Theodore?” Bucky was vaguely aware of movement next to him after he emptied his beer and set down the bottle, but he couldn’t stop watching your lips move. “That’s adorable.”

“Aw, yeah, my niece named him.” Your smile got even wider somehow and it was making Bucky melt, another bottle of beer appearing seemingly out of nowhere on the table and immediately finding its way to his lips. “It’s her favorite chipmunk.”

Cats. Talking about your fucking cats was apparently the kick in the ass Bucky needed to let almost all his concerns about having anything with you go, letting himself relax and be easy while you told him all these sweet, endearing little things about yourself. How much you loved your niece and how much of a star she was at figure skating. How good you were at baking and you didn’t care what he said, you were baking him a loaf of sourdough to prove it. How you played three different instruments and spoke two languages. You were too goddamn interesting.

And you managed to get him to talk about himself too. How close he was with his sister and mother and how much he loved seeing them as often as possible. How he secretly enjoyed knitting and always made sweaters for the family at Hanukkah but would kill you if you told anyone about his hobby. How he collected old records and could spend whole days just listening to music and drinking good whiskey.

Bucky was more than a little thrilled that you seemed to be hanging on his every word and scooting closer to him until you were right next to him and your shoulders were practically touching.

He had lost track of how many beers he’d consumed by the time people started dancing, but he knew it wasn’t too many as he was just very pleasantly buzzed and staring at your plump, kissable, pillowy lips and wondering what it would be like to suck on them.

“Hey, James.” Bucky had just told you his first name and for some reason the fact that was what you were choosing to call him was making him dizzy. “You wanna dance with me?”

“Oh, um…” Bucky chewed on his lip while he thought it over, he had two left feet when he was sober, and he also wasn’t sure he would be able to control himself if you put your hands on him. “I don’t know…”

“Hey, no pressure.” You winked like you did every time you said something disarming and Bucky decided that he loved that about you. “Just wanted to ask, but if all you want is to talk, that’s a-okay.”

Bucky was struggling with himself. You barely seemed disappointed, it had maybe flashed across your face for a second, but he believed you when you said it was okay. You even leaned back against your chair to give him space, zero hints of malice in your expression and just that perfect, easygoing look that made Bucky feel like you were fine taking no for an answer and you would never hold it against anybody.

And for some reason, that finally sealed it for Bucky that you weren’t him.

“I wanna dance.” Bucky winced when he almost knocked over his bottle when he set it down, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet so he could drag you towards the makeshift dance floor. “Let’s go.”

Your laugh made Bucky beam at you over his shoulder, humming along to the music and turning to face you once you were in the middle of it. His breath caught when you were right there, letting you frame his waist with your hands and pull him even closer while you started rolling your hips to the music. Bucky very quickly decided that he liked having your hands on him, shaking his head and gripping your wrists to keep you in place when you tried to lean back before he slid his palms up your arms and over your chest.

Somehow, even though he knew you were big, your massive size hadn’t fully registered in Bucky’s brain until he was in such close proximity to you. It’s not like Bucky was small by any means, he hit the weights, he never skipped arm day, he’d even been called beefy himself a few times. But you… goddamn. You were like nothing Bucky had ever seen before. He was starting to get woozy from it.

Then you ducked even closer and pressed your cheek against Bucky’s temple and he couldn’t help it, he gasped. He could feel your lips moving against his skin but he couldn’t hear anything you were saying, a low buzzing filling his ears while his fingers dug into your firm chest and he rolled his hips against yours. This was dangerous, he was not going to have sex with you without even a proper date, he wasn’t that easy.

He kept repeating it in his head over and over. When you slipped your arms around his waist and squeezed as you kept guiding his movements. When he buried his face in your neck and groaned when he finally got to breathe in your scent fully. When you nipped at the shell of his ear and made some kind of noise that sent a vibration through Bucky’s whole body. And especially when you grabbed his ass and gave such a dirty grind of your hips that made him feel how fucking hard and massive you really were.

It didn’t matter how much he repeated it though, it only took three songs before Bucky found himself with his back against a stall door in the bathroom with his pants around just one of his ankles and his toes barely brushing the floor while he practically sat on your face.

One of his knees was flung over your shoulder while you licked at his hole, his whole body shivering when you hummed against his skin and dug your fingers into his thighs and he didn’t even care that he was getting eaten out in a public bathroom and enjoying it quite loudly.

“God, I knew you’d be fucking sweet.” You growled but barely pulled back, gripping the thigh that was on your shoulder and pushing it up until it was pressed to Bucky’s side so you could see his face. “You taste so goddamn good, James, once I get you in bed I’m gonna make a full meal out of this ass, shit.”

“Oh… Jesus Christ.” Bucky could barely breathe when your mouth was on his hole again, he could feel your jaw working while you moved your lips and tongue like you were making out with him, all while you kept your intense eye contact and let his cock rest on your face like you didn’t even care. “Oh my fucking god.”

Bucky could feel your chuckle when a whine escaped from his throat without his permission, his eyes rolling when your tongue fluttered all around his twitching skin before you were dragging it over his hole again and sucking until Bucky almost squealed. But then your tongue punched into him and the squeal was ripped out of his chest, his breath heaving almost painfully while you fucked him with the thick muscle until his dick started leaking and twitching against your forehead. It was insane that you were so good at this, you were so young, but your mouth worked like you were a fucking pornstar and it had Bucky feeling some kind of way.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you, James.” It didn’t sound like a question, you were telling him, your face serious while you licked your way up his taint until you could nip at his balls while you slid a finger inside him. “I need it, need to feel you come on my cock, god, you’d better fucking hold it until I’m inside you or I’m gonna spank you, I swear to fucking god.”

“Yeah… yeah, oh my god, please.” Bucky felt like he was losing his mind when you sucked on his balls and pushed a second finger inside him, his legs shaking and his eyes rolling back in his head while he grabbed your hair and held on for dear life. “Oh shit… fuck me, I can hold it, I’ll be good, just fuck me.”

You leaned your cheek against his hip and kept grinning at him while you reached your free hand into your wallet to grab a packet of lube, chuckling when Bucky huffed at you when you ripped it open with your teeth and squirted it all over the fingers you were plunging into his ass.

“You brought lube with you?” Bucky was trying to remain huffy but it was difficult when you were scissoring his hole open so slowly and shit, it felt amazing. “What exactly did you think was going to happen tonight?”

“God, I dunno, James.” You looked meaningfully at the fingers that were currently knuckle deep inside him, wiggling them a little when you looked back up at him with a cocked eyebrow and snorting when he whined. “Would you prefer I didn’t have lube right now? Because I can stop…”

“No, don’t do that.” So much for not trying to seem desperate, Bucky was panting he needed you so bad. “I’m just… talking, I’ll shut up. I can be good.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna be a good boy for me James?” What were you doing to him? Bucky couldn’t help but whimper when you spat on your fingers to slick them up even more and added a third, nodding and rolling his hips into your hand when you just barely teased his sweet spot as you kissed the inside of his thigh. “Yeah you will, my good boy, opening right up for me.”

“Mmhm, yours, oh holy shit.” The addition of your fourth finger turned Bucky’s whole body into jelly, your hold on his thigh the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the floor when you licked a wide, flat stripe up the underside of his cock. “Holy fucking shit, pleasepleaseplease…”

“Shhh, don’t you worry, James, I’ve got you.” You groaned when he let go of your hair to shove his fist in his mouth when he gave you a tortured cry, slowly pulling your fingers out of him and setting his feet on the floor so you could stand. “Turn around for me, sweet thing.”

“Yes… yes sir.” Bucky let his eyes flutter closed when you kissed his temple and turned him around, pressing his cheek against the cool metal and arching his back when you placed one hand on his hip and used the other to pull out a condom. “I need it.”

“I know, handsome.” Your voice was muffled while you used your teeth to rip the wrapper open, nuzzling into the tendrils of hair that were resting against the back of Bucky’s neck so you could kiss him there while you rolled the condom over your length and emptied another packet of lube all over your dick. “You gonna call me sir while I fuck this sweet little ass?”

“Ye-yes… oh fuck!” Bucky practically screamed when your tip just barely slipped inside him, arching his back and whining when you wrapped your arm across his throat and growled in his ear. “Fuck… ‘s big, so big, fuck me.”

“You can take it, big guy, keep being good for me.” You grinned against Bucky’s cheek when he rose on his toes as you kept going, smacking his ass and chuckling when it made him clench as you increased the pressure on his neck. “You feel fucking incredible, Jesus. Been thinking about getting you like this since the first time I saw you, you know that? Did you think about me too, James?”

“N-no.” Bucky already felt extremely vulnerable while he was split open on only half of your cock, he didn’t need to admit to you that he had been dreaming about wrapping his legs around your tiny little waist while you fucked him slow and deep. “I didn’t.”

“Pretty sure you’re a liar.” You grinned and yanked his head back at the same time you gave a final snap of your pelvis and Bucky sobbed, his body shaking violently while you rested your hips against the plush curve of his ass and dragged your tongue along his jaw while you let him adjust. “That’s okay though, big guy, you can think about this. Now, I’m gonna apologize, because this is gonna be a lot faster than I would like, but we are in public.”

Bucky didn’t have any response except a yelp when you started driving your cock into him almost viciously, his breath punched out of his lungs each time your hips bounced off his ass while you sucked on his ear. He felt like he was about to explode, your cock driving into his swollen prostate each time you bottomed out until his balls started pulling tight to his body and his cock twitched. You must have felt the change since you dropped the hand that wasn’t attached to the thick arm that was currently choking him to grab his cock and start stroking him in time with your thrusts.

“Fuckfuckfuck…” Bucky felt like such a whore but he didn’t care, turning his head as much as possible so he could rub his nose against your cheek while he whined. “I’m so close, don’t stop.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, James.” You groaned when his hole clenched around you, squeezing his cock and his throat at the same time and kissing the corner of his lips tenderly while you gazed into his eyes. “Gonna take care of you. Can’t wait to be able to take my time, enjoy you, god, could spend a whole fucking night in this ass, you’re so goddamn warm and tight. But I need you to come for me right now, James, make a mess on my hand, lemme make you feel good, c’mon.”

The thought of you in his bed and fucking him raw and open had Bucky tumbling over the edge of his climax with a shout, his desperate noises muffled by your lips when you smashed them to his as he quaked in your arms and shot his cum all over your fingers. He sobbed when you didn’t stop stroking him even once he was milked dry, his eyes rolling back when you throbbed inside him and almost lamenting the fact that you were filling the condom instead of pumping your cum deep in his guts and determined to get to the point when he would finally get to feel all of you. As soon as you were done you were bringing your cum soaked fingers to your mouth, keeping eye contact with Bucky as you sucked his cum off them slowly and groaning at his taste then pressing your lips to his again so you could share with him.

“Jesus fuck.” Bucky couldn’t think of anything else to say, smiling almost sheepishly at you after you had pulled out of him and tossed the condom, letting you turn him around and nuzzle at his cheek before you were bending to help him step back into his jeans.

“My sentiments exactly.” You gave him another one of those winks and he wasn’t even mad when he blushed violently. “You gonna be as big of an ass about me taking you on a real date?”

“I wasn’t an ass.” Bucky huffed when you stood back up and wrapped your arms around him, nipping at your bottom lip and grinning when you growled playfully at him. “I was wary.”

“Sure.” You kissed him slow and deep and smiled against his lips when he melted into you before pulling back so he could breathe. “Pretty sure the girls and Sergeant Wilson would agree with my assessment, but we can use your word.”

“Oh shit, they’re still out there.” Bucky screwed his eyes shut and moaned at the thought of the commentary he was going to have to endure, shaking his head when you chuckled and opened the stall door to start pulling him back to the bar. “Can’t we just climb out the window or something?”

“Yeah, I don’t think either of us could fit through that window, James.” You nodded at the tiny one by one glass square and kissed his temple when he sighed defeatedly, holding his hand and letting him follow you when you opened the door. “Besides, if you think I’m not going to enjoy showing you affection in public, I’ve got some bad news.”

Bucky’s retort was cut off by an absurd amount of hollering when you opened the door, his face getting unbearably red and the desire to either tell all of your friends to shut the fuck up or just book it out of the bar overwhelming. But then your arm was around his shoulders and your lips were pressed against his temple, and maybe he could put up with his friends being smug rowdy assholes for the rest of the night if you kept smiling at him like that.

#natalie writes #no love like your love: the city #sarge and officer beefcake #bucky barnes #male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #top male reader #marvel x male reader #m/m fic #m/m smut #m/m fluff #marvel fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan character

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mrkerina · 9 months

Text

Photobooth ; mark lee

— (idol au) in which you are his source of comfort.

Pairing — Mark lee (nct) x fem!reader

Word count — 2095

Content — You comforting him after an incident during a concert and it became a date.

Author’s note — This is my first post, i’m just testing tumblr out to see if i want to use it or not. Hope you enjoy!

The music blasted through the speakers, resonating throughout the whole stadium. Mark felt the music in his veins, his heart thumping to the beat of the song. He danced tirelessly although it may seem effortless from the fan’s perspective.

It was in his blood, dancing to one song after another. It was his job description after all. Just that he did not realize how much he had to sacrifice before it was too late to back out.

The NCT 2023 concert in which millions of fans had anticipated, the crowd a sea of green like a huge patch of grass. The lights shone glaringly at his eyes, he had to squint to look around. Out of all the members he had the most to do, being the ace and everything. He probably had to come out to perform for the most number of songs.

It was overwhelming, really.

The stress was all piling up onto him, a migraine catching up to make his head feel fuzzy. And yet, he continued to go through the motions of the choreography, for whatever song it was.

Even when learning the choreography of their new song, the dance practices were a mess. He was the only one who wasn’t able to catch up, his mind full of other things that he needed to do and learn.

He was afraid to mess up, afraid to disappoint everyone. Not just his fans, but also his members.

Mark’s ears rang piercingly, his eyes blurred. He tried to blink it away and continue to dance but he couldn’t. Before he knew it, everything went black and he fell to the ground with the music still blasting through the speakers of the stadium.

Breaking news: Mark Lee from NCT faints in the middle of their concert. The concert had to continue without him.

⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉

To say that you were worried was an understatement when you saw the news. Panicking, you immediately left your workplace hurriedly while calling Mark’s manager.

You wasted no time when he picked up. “Where is Mark?” The words came out all at once, barely enunciated but it was clear what you were calling for. So he told you the address to the hospital and you immediately grabbed a cab and headed there.

The moment the car stopped, you ran out. Paparazzi were already standing outside the hospital, which made you pause. Security guards were pushing them out of the way, refusing to let them enter the hospital to reach the boy.

Your relationship with Mark wasn’t known to the public, you could not risk getting caught with him. That was why you turned the corner, going near the back where you saw an opened window at the ground floor which you used to enter.

It was slightly more difficult with the skirt you were wearing but you made it in. You immediately opened the door to exit into the hallways of the hospital.

You pressed for the eighth floor where his manager said his room was at. Inwardly urging for the elevator to move quicker as you paced around.

You quickened your pace when you saw his manager standing by the hallways, fingers gripping his hair as his face contorted into an expression of distress with his phone to his ear. “I don’t know where he went! If I knew I wouldn’t be calling you to check if he was with you right now…nevermind I’ll find him…bye.” His conversation ended.

Your eyes widened. “What? What do you mean? Who were you talking about, it’s not about Mark right?” You questioned as your head spun.

He turned towards you and sighed. “Mark’s gone, I have no idea where he went. Maybe you can reach him, his phone is switched off though.” He explained.

You didn’t have time to think, you turned on your feet and left. Leaving the hospital through the back doors, snatching your phone out of your bag to call the missing idol.

Of course, the call did not get through for you either.

He was making you go crazy. Not knowing whether he was safe or not made you start to overthink everything.

“Come on, think y/n where would he go.” You muttered to yourself as you looked around the area. Your eyes caught sight of the karaoke place opposite the hospital.

You immediately ran for it.

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Mark felt disappointed in himself. Why couldn’t he just handle the pain a little bit more, push through until the end of the show. It wasn’t that hard, he had done it numerous times before after all.

There he sat in the dark karaoke room, the only source of light emitting from the television screen. There was no music playing, it was just him isolating himself in the dark corner of the room with his eyes closed.

For some reason, this place gave him a sense of comfort, not specifically this place itself but any karaoke place in general. It was probably because it was where the two of you had met for the first time. It was when he was in the same state he’s in right now, and somehow you came in like an angel reaching out for him.

That first meeting made him feel like everything was okay, like he could be someone with a normal life without needing to face all the struggles his life as an idol gave him.

Then you were gone but came back again a few months later, enrolled in his school. It was like fate was binding the two of you together. And slowly everything had developed from there.

For now, he was lonely. His eyes watery but yet he refused to let himself cry. He read the articles, he saw the comments saying how the concert wasn’t worth the money if he wasn’t there or how he was too weak and he didn’t deserve to be this successful.

Just when he was falling deeper into the dark abyss of his mind, the door slammed open violently. Making him jump in fright, thinking that it might have been his manager or the paparazzi but who he didn’t think it would be was his girlfriend.

You sighed in relief when you saw the black haired boy sitting at the corner of the room looking at you in shock. You entered before closing the door behind you, the light from the hallways exiting from the room.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have work?” Mark asked, confused but glad at the same time.

You glared at him. “How dare you! You make me worried sick, I saw the article and I immediately left work and went to the hospital only for you to be gone and then your phone is turned off!” You ranted, he opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “And don’t you think you can just say sorry and let everything off because no! You tell me what’s wrong here and now because obviously you are in a karaoke place so you are obviously feeling overwhelmed so spill.”

You stood directly in front of him with your arms crossed over your chest, staring down at the boy who could only look up at you like a lost puppy being reprimanded. “I’m sorry it’s just I messed up by letting my body give out. Actually, I've been messing up every dance practice we’ve had for the concert and it's just hard to keep up. I feel like I’m just being a huge disappointment to everyone and I just can’t handle the pressure.” A tear had slipped from his eye by the end of his speech.

You brought a thumb to his cheek and wiped the tear away, heart aching for him. “You’re not a disappointment. You’re doing so well, so incredibly well. I admire you for being so hard working even though your ridiculous ass of a company doesn’t even appreciate it. You’ve always been strong, just because you fainted once doesn’t mean you’re anything less than that.” You said softly. Mark held on to your every word, loving the way your voice flowed so smoothly.

You sat down beside him, spreading your arms widely to urge him to come for a hug, which he did. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his head was buried in your neck. You stroked his hair gently, soothing him.

Your warmth was something he loved, and also your straightforwardness. He felt himself relax and forget about everything else, just him being in your arms was all it took. He basked in your warmth, feeling significantly calmer and better.

The two of you sat there in silence for a while, Mark in your arms with you playing with his hair.

Soon after he got up. “We should probably go out, I think the time for this room is almost up.” He said. You glanced at the time left shown on the screen, showing that there was only 5 minutes left, enough for one song.

“Wait, let me show you this rap I've been practicing.” You grinned cheekily before going to the machine and inputting that one superm song with your boyfriend’s infamous rap. “Oi you better watch out Mark Lee I’m coming for your spot.” You spoke into the microphone, making him laugh.

“Uh, you think ya big boi, throwing three stacks. Uh something yea yea…mismatch.” You tried his part but failing miserably, it was way too fast. Mark could only laugh at you, his hand slapping his knee with his head thrown back at how ridiculous you were being.

You stared at him in disbelief as the song ended and the television went back to the home screen signalling that the time was up. “Hey! Stop laughing, I swear I’m just lacking practice. You better watch your back. Obviously I’m going to be the one to replace you when you’re gone.” You huffed.

“Okay sure. Whatever you say, my princess.”

⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉

Thankfully, this was a very small and secluded mall which had barely anyone around.

The two of you walked out of the karaoke place, and were about to leave when you saw a self service photo booth store.

Your eyes immediately lit up, you quickly grabbed Mark’s arm and dragged him in that direction. “What-?” He let out confused at the sudden change of course but followed you compellingly.

“Let’s take cute pictures! We’ve never done one together before.” You replied looking around at all the accessories that they have in amazement. You ended up settling for a duck head band while Mark settled for a pair of those thug life meme glasses.

You both entered one of the booths, which was surprisingly small. Making you two squeeze in the tiny space with your shoulders touching each other. “Okay you ready?” You pressed start on the screen once Mark nodded in response.

The timer went faster than the two of you anticipated. For the first picture you both weren’t ready at all but the two of you composed yourself enough to smile on the second before taking off the accessories and having a plain photo with just the two of you on the next.

You both laughed at how ridiculous the photos ended up being. The two of you chose four out of the six and printed them. They gave two copies so you kept one while Mark kept the other.

“Wait, let me head to the washroom quickly then I swear we can leave.” You rushed before running off leaving the boy standing there outside the store waiting for you.

He stood there with the photo grasped tightly in his hand as he stared at it. The last picture you both took was one where you were smiling to the camera while Mark had an expression that was between a laugh and a smile with his eyes trained on you rather than the camera.

It was a mystery to him how you were able to just easily make him feel like a normal teenager rather than a well-known idol. The way you make him feel love sick for you was something foreign for him. Honestly, it was everything about you that made him feel different.

When you got out from the washroom, you went back to Mark, noticing that he was staring at the photos the two of you took with a soft smile on his face. It made your heart warm. “What’s up? Are you laughing at me in the picture? You better not be.”

“No, not at all. You look beautiful, as always.”

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laconicenigma · 2 months

Text

⁂ Bubba Sawyer x Male Reader

Hello!! ⍢ I’m new to Tumblr so I hope this is a sufficient first post… I love Leatherface!!

❀ ; Male reader, FtM, AMAB friendly! (He/Him) Reader is implied to be taller, possibly buffer/broader as well. He leans more towards traditionally masculine. He’s a smooth talker with a bit of Southern charm to fit the setting a little.

❀ ; Bubba Sawyer AMAB (She/He/They) Bubba may be bit out of character, I added in some of my own personal headcanons and such! A mix of their paranoid personality in the 1st movie as well as their affectionate side shown in the 2nd. Hope you like! ◡̈

⁂ Headcanons

It doesn’t take that much to swoon Bubba.

She succumbs so easily to a bit of flirting, as we can see from the 2nd movie. A bit of sweet talk with a sprinkle of pet names and suddenly she’s a big, squealing mess.

The whole Sawyer family is wildly eccentric, so you don’t have too much to worry about in regards to their acceptance. Sure, you’d most likely be a popular joke in the household but it’s nothing worse than what they give each other. Given the time of the film, the most you’d have to worry about would be the public’s opinion about you and your dangerous lover; but let’s just assume that they don’t get the chance to know about y’all.

On a similar note, your sex and gender don’t matter to Bubba all that much. He clearly has unique ways of expressing himself, and he knows it (because of all the teasing his brothers do). He wouldn’t find his feelings for a man to be weird or anything of the sort; though he’d still probably be surprised at the fact. Don’t worry your pretty little head though, Bubba is the furthest thing from judgmental.

The surprise would just be because they’ve always been more into femininity. Both in the way the dress themselves, to the people they’re attracted to— Bubba’s just always loved to indulge in more womanly things. But that doesn’t eliminate you from having a chance, not at all!

The second you sweet talk him with your smooth voice, he’s on the damn floor.

Bubba didn’t have to fortune of receiving affection while she grew up. She’s most likely been isolated from regular society her whole life, and we know damn well the Sawyer’s aren’t known for their loving nature. Take your hands and just gently graze her face a little, or tell her how sweet she is and how much you love her, she’s all yours.

Even just some basic manners will get you a long way with Bubba. They yearn for some sort of human interaction that isn’t clouded with blood and the hum of a chainsaw, don’t blame them! A ‘Thank you’ will keep them giddy for weeks on end.

Trying to shift to a more realistic perspective, though, you’d have to be one sweet son of a bitch to get the Sawyer’s to spare you.

We saw how Bubba eventually folded under the pressures of his families demands when it came to Stretch, even though he liked her quite a bit. If you even want to get close to the point of Bubba stepping in to protect you, you are gonna have to be the smoothest and most charming man he’s ever met (which isn’t very hard, but still). No trying to fight or escape like Stretch, though you’d probably meet Bubba on different circumstances anyways.

⁂ Scenario

‘Oh, god damn!’ Was the only thought that seemed to run through your head at the moment. Wrist pressed against your forehead and sweat dripping down your lips, an exasperated sigh fell from your dry mouth. It was moments like these that made you regret fixin’ up such an old girl to be your car; she could be a bit unreliable.

It’s not like it was the car’s fault, no, you should’ve known you were runnin’ out of fuel just from how long you’d been driving. But, damn, you really needed to fix up that faulty fuel gauge. Always having to be on edge when you traveled, since you didn’t know when your gas was going to run out. Shit, what was even wrong with it?

The sun was burning your skin, and you needed some sort of help. It was only you out here.

After wandering around the unfamiliar area for a long few minutes, a sense of relief completely washed over you when a large farmhouse came into view. The estate was beautiful, and you could only hope somebody in it would be willing to help you out. After walking through the long dirt driveway, you gently stepped onto the porch of the home. The old floorboards creaked under your weight, the peeling paint bringing a slight surprise to your face. The home sure looked occupied, though not very taken care of. You gently knocked against the white frame of the screen door.

“Hello? ‘S anyone home?” You tried to call through. If you looked closely enough, you could see into the interior of the home. For some odd reason, these people didn’t close their front door. That either meant that they were home, or they were just plain careless.

You called out once more, speaking to the walls of the home in hopes you’d elicit a response. “Hey, partner, I’m in a real bad place right now. I-If I could just get some help here, it would be much appreciated,” a chuckle carried through your speech, though you were only met with radio silence from the home. “My car’s broke down and, by god, it’s hot as hell today. If I could just get a glass of water, I’ll be in your debts forever,” you held your tongue after you spoke, desperate for any sign of life within the home. You were practically dyin’ out here!

You were about to make your ways away from the property when you heard some booming thuds from within the building. You leaned into the screen door, squinting as you tried to decipher the darkness of the place. You couldn’t make out much, though you were almost certain you could see a figure cautiously trying to make it down the stairs— almost like they didn’t want you to see them. The person looked— and sounded— huge, though. With the amount of area they were taking in the staircase, alongside their heavy and creaking steps— this person had to be big. Without a doubt. Even if you could only make out a silhouette.

Upon noticing the mystery person, a smile stretched across your handsome features and you began to wave at them through the screen. “Hey, partner! Am I glad to see you!” You exclaimed to them, though the figure stayed unmoving. You realized that you probably came off a little strong, so you attempted to backtrack in the case that they had just noticed you. You spoke again, this time much softer and sweeter, “My car broke down not to far from here. Real sorry about showin’ up on your property like this but I could really use some help. Anythin’ would be much appreciated,” You managed to coo through the screen, an inviting smile on your lips.

The figure seemed to be trying to process the situation, not moving towards or away from you, though you could see their head dart around frantically. Not a good sign. You attempted to calm them from afar, they were your only hope at salvation at the moment. “Hey, hey, hey, now… Don’t worry, I ain’t here for trouble, darlin’. I promise,” as the words left your throat, so soothing and calm, the figure laid their gaze directly onto you. You could feel it. “You don’t have’ta help me, sweetheart. I can leave you be right now— but I ain’t a threat.” To speak to soft and so loving was something of second nature to you, but it was currently, unknowingly, saving your ass right now. “I’d just really appreciate a hand, if you’d be willing to give,” your desperation was painfully obvious. That seemed to be the breaking point for the person— in a good sense.

They slowly made their way down the stairs, the wood moaning under their weight as they stepped. Once they came closer, you were able to slowly make out their features. Their clothes looked dirty and old, though mostly concealed by a bright yellow apron— and they were fucking huge. Tall and big, extremely fucking huge. Though you two battled heights pretty evenly, you’d still have to say you were pleasantly surprised about their stature. You’d never really met someone who stood head to head with you like this. However, it took everything within yourself not to cringe at the mask they sported. It looked so— so grotesquely real. Like nothing you’d ever seen, not even at a Halloween store.

Even though it was grossly off-putting, you made the decision to not point it out. Didn’t want to scare off your only help at the moment. One of their large hands timidly laid against the frame of the screen door and pushed it open. They softly squealed in a pig-like manner.

Once the door pushed open, you got a good look at this person in all their glory. They looked just as grimy and dirty as they were when they were shielded by the screen, though now you could make out more finite details— like their crooked teeth and hairy arms. They refused to make eye contact, their body tense and frightened. They definitely raised a few red flags in your mind, and you couldn’t say they were truly all that attractive— but you still found them cute, for some odd reason. You smiled at their compliance, despite it all. “Hey, darlin’, thank you for openin’ up for me,” the words smoothly fell from your lips, causing their gaze to bore into you. They made some sort of mumbling sound, unintelligible to you. They seemed so utterly confused.

You gave them a signature smile, sensing their discomfort, and doing your best to alleviate it. You could tell at this point that they probably weren’t used to interacting with people, given the way they had been so reclusive. In attempts to get them to open up, you spoke softer, kinder, even more charming than usual. “There any way you can help me, partner?” You were burning at this point, skin glistening with sweat and your clothes glued to the moisture on your body. They seemed to try and subtly eye you, though they were extremely obvious— even moreso as they embarrassedly looked away from you. You chuckled.

They shifted on their feet, acting shy despite how intimidating they were as a person. After a moment of thought, they nodded a bit. When they looked at you again, you could make out a hint of a shy smile on their face. They stepped aside, willingly giving you a pathway into their mysterious home. You stared into their eyes, giving them a handsome, toothy, smile. “Thanks, darlin’,” You hummed to the large and timid person. They squealed a bit, joy taking over their face as you stepped foot into their odd home.

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x male reader #slasher fandom #slasher fic #slasher fanfiction #slasher fluff #bubba sawyer #slasher imagines #slasher community #leatherface #leatherface x reader #leatherface x male reader #bubba sawyer x reader #slasher x reader insert

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nightcolorz · 9 months

Note

Can you talk a little more about how you view gender roles in the vampire chronicles vs amc iwtv bc I feel like sth is missing from amc compared to tvc that i can't place

I would love to !! (Explodes) I have so many tvc gender thoughts. So so many.

I believe the major disconnect between the show vs the books and gender is the place and perspective the writer’s are coming from. Something I really love about Anne Rice’s writing (and really hate sometimes lol) is that she didn’t think about themes or implications at all when she wrote. She just purged her story onto the page and themes and patterns just end up there. This means that every bit of consistency and meaning in tvc comes from something Anne Rice had fixed into her subconscious that she without realizing is putting into her work. So when it comes to gender, in tvc it’s all personal feelings of Anne rice’s. This differs in the show that obviously has a team of writers who put a lot of thought in about public reception and meaning and all. So these perspectives color how gender (and everything basically) is presented.

Anne Rice had some complicated feelings about gender. I’m not going to go too deep into that bcus that’s not what I want this post to be about, but in summarization she had a combination of problematic biases and internalizations that came from a Catholic upbringing in the 40s-50s and some apparent gender dysphoria or at least disconnect with womanhood and gender/gender roles in general. She’s spoken about not understanding gender or feeling like a woman. This comes off very strongly in how she presents her vampires as androgynous, almost genderless beings. It’s a reoccurring theme in tvc that vampirism takes away the burdens of gendered expectations and gives vampires the freedom of self expression and androgyny. It makes sense why a concept like this would speak to a trans person like me, so it’s a big part of why I prefer the book’s handling of gender. Of course Anne Rice also has problematic gender biases, so her presentation of being an androgynous being free of gender roles is flawed, since gender roles are very ingrained in her mindset, which adds to my dissatisfaction with the show’s handling, which could’ve been so good if they took what Anne Rice tried to do and enhanced it.

Anyways, when it comes to tvc there’s also Anne Rice’s subconscious projection of her irl struggles onto her characters. A handful of Anne Rice’s insecurities and struggles came from, well, being a woman, and since her characters r so much of the time vessels to vent her problems through, a strange occurrence happens where her vastly male cast is struggling in ways that would be relatable to women and people who face misogyny and/or internalized misogyny. (Cough cough this is especially apparent with Louis and Armand cough cough).All of this wasn’t conscious on Anne Rice’s part, it’s just a natural consequence of how personal her writing was. An outlier to the “cis men experiencing misogyny” phenomenon is Gabrielle, who I could write a whole essay on, one of the few afab characters who also has projected gender problems by Anne Rice syndrome, but since she is afab she just ends up coming off as a gnc/transmasc/ftm person dealing with gender dysphoria.

Then there’s the show, which disclaimer I like the show a lot, but boy do I have Issues with it. I could be wrong, we only have one season, but it doesn’t seem like the show is attempting to tackle the “vampires are genderless” concept. They definitely do things with androgyny and gender roles, but not in the context of “messing around with/being free of these things is amazing”. Vampirism in iwtv seems to only enforce gender, weirdly enough. Let me explain!

Ok, so what the show seems to be doing with gender roles is using the concept of a “nuclear family” and our expectations of what that entails to assert the dynamic of Louis, Lestat, and Claudia’s familial relationship. Through utilizing tropes and imagery associated with a nuclear family the viewers are easily able to pick up on the subtext and conflicts that the show is presenting us with, bcus we all know the nuclear family. I think comparing the rue royal family to a nuclear family is interesting in concept, but in execution, I’m not a fan. I think if the show went a different route, and had Louis frame the story in a way that compares his life to familiar hetero, mortal family conventions for the sake of being sympathetic and understandable to Daniel and readers, without that being the literal dynamic of the characters, that could’ve been interesting. Also, I like the concept of oppressive systems like gender roles becoming oppressive in different ways for vampires, since “vampirism isn’t freeing it just gives u different problems” is a theme of the show that I rlly like, esp bcus Anne rice was rarely able to decide if vampirism was super fun or tortuous. But that doesn’t seem to be what the show is doing. Lestat, Louis, and Claudia literally just fit into your stereotypical abusive nuclear family tropes. Sometimes things are switched around and subverted, but for the most part it’s pretty consistent. Anne Rice’s personal projections onto the characters is nearly nonexistent, most glaringly for Lestat. I don’t like this, it doesn’t make sense for the characters, and it also simplifies their dynamic and conflict in the book to be much less interesting in my opinion.

Sometimes the show will show us characters breaking gender expectations, Lestat occasionally or Antoinette cross dressing (speaking of Antoinette I’ll get to her), but none of these moments seem to mean anything adjacent to “vampires are genderless or gender-fluid and this is freeing for them. These moments seem to align more closely with imagery associated with queer coded villains during the Hayes code era. Both Lestat and Antoinette are being particularly grotesque and villainous during their gnc moments, which aligns with the old hollywood vibe that the show seems to be going for, which is mildly cool, but not particularly compelling or relatable to me beyond that. And it definitely doesn’t have the type of resonance that the books do when it comes to gender nonconformity.

So, I think Antoinette is the prime example of this. Antoine in the books was a young man, 19 years old, who Lestat used in a way that was reminiscent of how a cheating husband would use a mistress. He fooled around sexually with this younger man and also confided to him in ways he didn’t his “husband” (Louis), escaping to him when he was fed up with his family at home to blow off steam and vent his struggles, the way he does with Antoinette in the show. But Antoine himself did not have the stereotypical personality of a “mistress”, he was naive and well intentioned, didn’t realize he was being used and that Louis was being hurt in the process. When Lestat tells him that he needs his help fighting back against his family he’s horrified and confused. Antoinette in the show is not this, she’s very much a “mistress”, and the sex change from book to show makes this even more annoying to me. It just seems like the show writers wanted to make the subtextual coding of Antonine’s character in the books annoyingly unsubtle text, by making Antonine the stereotypical evil and seductive female mistress, which I rlly hate. And also they removed any and all sympathy attached to Antoine’s character in the process. (Side note ik ppl are gonna come at me with “oh but it’s from Louis’s perspective! That’s why Antoinette is treated that way, he hates her! And to that I say there is no evidence to support that, it hasn’t happened in the show, you made it up. And if it’s true and done well I’ll eat my words, but for now my opinion is based on what is in the show, and it prob won’t change until we get new content.)

There’s more, like how Louis fulfills the traditionally female roles in marriage (cleaning, taking care of the kids, etc) which is kind of gnc, but only so that the show can frame him as more of a stereotypical abuse victim, and not to say anything interesting about how vampirism gives people more opportunities to explore gender fluidity in ways they find freeing. The show uses gender roles to non subtly code the characters in ways that are easily digestible and relatable to a cis audience. That’s my main gripe, gender in AMC’s iwtv is very cis.

What I love about the books is how fluid gender is with the characters. Lestat is very feminine and very masculine, so is Louis, these traits can co exist without ever contradicting each other. But ig that was too complicated and varied for the show to want to tackle, just like the complex mutual toxicity of loustat’s relationship, which was dumbed down so much also. I feel like the show writers didn’t know what to do with a gay relationship where both men are feminine and masculine and also both men have complex trauma and traits that make their relationship unhealthy + a hot mess, and instead just reframed loustat to be traditional abusive relationship we’ve seen a billon times in media.

In conclusion, the show could very well change my mind and portray gender/gender roles in a way that I enjoy, but for now I’m unsatisfied. I want to be wrong ultimately. If you like how gender is handled in the show feel free to disagree, but plz don’t come at me with anger. I’m happy to have a discussion, I’m very interested in this topic, but I don’t want to humor you if you’re rude. And if you want to talk more about the books and gender I’d be more then happy, feel free to dm me or send me an ask or reply to this post, I love the androgyny of the books sm and love talking about it. Thank you anon sm for sending the ask <3 I’ve been wanting to talk about this.

#tvc #the vampire chronicles #vampire chronicles #vc #interview with the vampire #iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #anne rice #iwtv amc #amc interview with the vampire #gabrielle de lioncourt #Tvc meta

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beneathcandycoatedclouds · 9 months

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Ok hear me out I've been thinking so much about Astarion for obvious reasons but also about consent and how important that is to him as a character

I was talking to my husband about how I love him because he always waits for you to ask for things before doing them (feeding, relationship stuff, etc.) And even tho all the characters do that it feels extra special with him given his trauma and being a vampire, which usually means you hunt people for sport and are not asking permission, and my husband was like "yeah except for the first time"

And here's the thing about that - Astarion is a rogue. A real sneaky boy. Mechanically has sneak attack. His bite bonus action has a 100% chance of hitting. You shouldn't wake up until he has latched on to you already. Which leads me to believe... That he meant to wake you up that first time. He meant to wake you up so that there would be a chance to reveal his nature and to ask if he can have some blood so he doesn't fuckin' die. But given that the dude isn't used to trust or vulnerability and revealing that he is a vampire is already a MASSIVE show of that, he needed to find a way to make it seem like he wasn't asking permission. In a weird way, he wanted to ask for consent without being fully vulnerable. And to me this was the first display, way early on, that he was just waiting for someone to trust him and trust in his abilities to make the right choice. He knows what that choice is he just needs people to trust him to make it (which is also another de-LICIOUS theme with all the other companions as well and the overarching theme of overcoming the darkness within us as a whole).

And on top of all this he later reveals that he has never tasted blood from someone before!!! Only animals!!! Like even when he had to do terrible things for Cazador or was out searching the streets for victims he never caved once! He was living off of the putrid rats Cazador gave him and denied his hunger when out in public because it was important to him that he didn't hurt people when he didn't absolutely have to from evil papa C!

And like yeah. Sometimes he wants murder and chaos and children to die in act I. But also hear me out - one of the things so many approval guides messes up in explaining what he approves of is "is this person typically classified as a monster? Are you killing them without looking for an explanation or giving them another chance, even if they might not deserve it?" And usually it's things like sparing the act I hag or other "monsters". That's why he is so blatantly racist to the Gur - and please don't misunderstand I think it's rough to hear that part - but looking at it from his perspective as well, Gur monster hunters kill "monsters" without a second thought. If Astarion was alone they would have just murdered him without thinking or realizing that he wasn't everything they thought he was or knowing he had never tasted human blood.

Now we are far away from the original post idea from consent but this all leads to the final point of like. People characterizing him as chaotic evil and just how much the alignment system really can do people dirty. Like no! It can all be traced back to a deep good desire of wanting to give people another chance and giving people an opportunity to make their own choices and be better! He has no idea but that desire is there! Basically it's like the option you can say to Minsc - there's good and bad in everyone it's just what people want to listen to

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 spoilers

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teenidlegirl · 9 months

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꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓐𝐂𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .ᐟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ┆ 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

꣑୧⠀˖ ࣪ .⠀𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚⠀.ᐟ⠀⊹ after a flop-sided mission, you and miguel are stuck in another universe with no method to contact HQ. you have to accept the reality and come up with a plan. however, you have to deal with a pissy miguel.

꣑୧⠀˖ ࣪ .⠀𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕⠀.ᐟ⠀⊹ angst, mostly fluff, sticky situations, swearing, spanish terms, pure goofiness

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ⋅ ꒰ next chapter ꒱

welp. you are stuck in a different universe. and you’re stuck with miguel, your boss. that’s just great. turns out he broke his gizmo during a small mission on this earth. it’s a small mission that miguel thought about taking you since you’re always cooped up in HQ and wished to travel to other dimensions.

there is another problem: for some unknown reason, he can’t summon lyla. now that’s a cherry on top. miguel is pissed. you’re pissed at him for being pissed off. his big attitude isn’t helping.

with a fucked up gizmo and no lyla, there is no method to contact the spider squad back at HQ. although, it seems likely they will eventually find out about your disappearance. you know they will do anything in their abilities to search for you both.

from your perspective, you both are okay and safe. that’s all what matters. there are no attacks or threats. just simply stuck on an earth with no issues. well — who knows if there are threats that are unaware of. besides that, you and miguel just have to stick together and get through this sticky situation.

from miguel’s perspective, he is pissed off as hell. mainly pissed off at himself and his broken gizmo. he’s upset that you both are trapped on this earth but is more upset that he brought you along. his assistant. a non-spiderperson. the woman he deeply cares about (in secret obviously). he is so sorry and regretful about it. miguel heavily blames himself for bringing you into this mess. his mess.

━━━━━━━━ ִ ۫ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ۫ ݂ ━━━━━━━━

the two of you are in an abandoned alleyway, hidden from the public eye. junk scatted on the ground and graffiti illustrated on the walls.

you are in your work outfit (minus the cardigan), you were at work prior to the flop-sided mission. since you considered yourself a perfectionist, you were cautious of your outfit during the mission. the last thing you need is staining your clothes.

you are dealing with a pissed off miguel, who is constantly cursing in spanish and pacing around the area with an infuriating expression on his face. you have to manage with this grumpyass man alone.

“swearing isn’t gonna make it work again.” you tease but are telling the truth.

he rolls his eyes in annoyance, ignoring your comment while fiddling with his broken gizmo. the swearing continues but grows more aggressively.

you cross your arms and take a few steps towards him. “o’hara just stop. it’s broken for good. there’s no point of trying. we’re stuck here.” you say sternly.

miguel growls. “no we’re not. i’ll fix it and leave. end of conversation.” he glares at you for a second then looks back at his gizmo.

you are in disbelief; annoyed with his attitude. the amount of stubbornness he is projecting is really pissing you off. completely fed up with his bullshit.

you sigh then answer back. “fine. keep being in denial. you know i’m right.” you look off to the side avoiding eye contact, your arms still crossed.

miguel does know you are right. he just doesn’t want to admit it. he hates when he is proven wrong in arguments. it sabotages his ego for sure. now he is stuck here with you on some random ass earth with absolutely nothing. he despises this whole situation.

since you are gonna be stuck here for who knows how long, you need a head start. you need to blend in. you take a quick glance at him. “you need normal clothes. you don’t want people staring at you like a weirdo.” you gesture at his suit.

miguel arches a brow at you, confused by your words. “clothes? why do i need clothes? we’re not staying here.”

“uh yeah we are. we’re literally stuck here, probably for a while until the others find us. but for now, we just have to accept the fact and go with it. there’s nothing else we can do.” you protest.

he sighs in frustration and disbelief. he knows there is no other methods to get out of this mess. for once, he accepts the reality of situation. “what’s your plan, then?” miguel inquires, raises a brow at you.

“we find you some clothes first then check out the area, see what’s around here.” you suggest.

even though it’s not a full elaborate plan, miguel knows there is no other option. “alright. where are you planning to buy clothes from?”

“lemme see.” you turn around and walk towards the opening. you glance around the various shops and restaurants. you keep searching until you see a hollister that is four shops down from you.

you turn around and walk back to miguel. “there’s a hollister a few stores across. i’ll stop by and get your shenanigans from there.”

“fine with me.” he says but adds one more question. “wait — how are you gonna pay?”

you pull out your phone from your back pocket and show it to him like if you are flipping him off with a obvious expression on your face.

he glances at the phone then back at you, crossing his arms. “how? they probably only take card.”

“i have apple pay, pendejo.” you give him an unimpressed look.

miguel scoffs and rolls his eyes. “whatever.”

you roll your eyes in return then turned around starting to walk away. “anything specific or doesn’t matter?” you ask as you’re walking away.

“doesn’t matter.” he replies as he watched you walk.

“i’ll be back. 15 minutes tops.” you say, almost out of the alleyway.

“wait—“ he stops you. “can you look for a hat?”

you turn around and arch a brow at him, baffled by his request. “okie dokie.” you accept his request then leave heading towards the store.

miguel watches you leave until you are no longer in his sight. he thinks your ‘okie dokie’ is cute. a small smile forms on his lips as the thought. luckily for himself, no one is around to see it.

━━━━━━━━ ִ ۫ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ۫ ݂ ━━━━━━━━

while you are gone shopping for his clothes, miguel stays in the alleyway away from the public eye. he was about to say thank you but you left before he could say it. he very much appreciates you offering to buy clothes for him. he thinks it’s asking too much but you assure him that it’s fine. a little bit of guilt lingers, using your money for him.

he thinks of ways of returning the favor or at least make it up to you. of course he has some thoughts but they are based on his imagination and fantasies. it’s clear that he likes you, a lot. and of course he will never tell you, afraid of your reaction or more so in denial of his own feelings.

four months ago when you started your job as his assistant, he was fond of you the moment you two first made eye contact. it was uncertain what caused a spark in him. miguel didn’t believe in the ‘love at first sight’ motto. but the moment he first laid eyes on you, his heart fluttered. in the beginning, it was a simple work relationship. you bring and/or collect reports for him in his office. he would appreciate your input with a simple hum and call it a day.

as time passed, you two began chitchatting and share a few laughs. it seemed that you were comfortable enough to have a simple conversation with each other. miguel adored your conversations, found relief and comfort from the exhaustion of his role as boss. he mostly adores your sarcastic humor, one of your famous traits of yourself. there were occasional arguments, mainly miguel being stubborn and you always right. he started calling you spanish pet names and you despised them. it would get you railed up. he loved that, it encouraged him to do it every time you two get into an argument.

the more you two hung out or fought, the more he grew fonder of you. that is when miguel realized he started developing feelings for you. feelings that he hasn’t felt in a long time and is deeply afraid of.

retracing back to present, he has to make it up to you in return for buying him clothes. the idea will come to mind eventually. as for now, miguel just waits for your return.

━━━━━━━━ ִ ۫ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ۫ ݂ ━━━━━━━━

you enter hollister and start searching clothes for miguel. since he isn’t specific, you just decide to get basic clothing. you walk into the shirt aisle, glancing at the choices then picked a large basic black shirt. moving to the pants section, you don’t take miguel as a pants guy so you pick a pair of gray sweatpants. then you head towards the shoes area, noticed they sell vans. you choose the iconic black high top vans. then you remember him mentioning a hat, you pick a black cap. finally, you manage to get all items and purchase them at the register. thankfully, this universe does use apple pay. miguel owns you $55; expensive bastard.

after 15 minutes, just like you said, you exit out of the store and walk back to the alleyway. you find miguel standing behind a dumpster. he’s still visible, his abnormal figure doesn’t help him. you chuckle at the thought. once you reach him, you hand him the bag of clothes which he takes it from your grasp.

“you gotta change asap. you don’t want anyone looking at you weirdly in a latex suit.” you merely chuckle at the thought. “plus, you own me $55.”

he takes note of the payment. “where am i supposed to change then, tonta?” he asks sarcastically, clearly annoyed by your chuckling.

“just change right there.” you point to the side of the dumpster. “i’ll keep an eye out.”

miguel glances at the spot you pointed out then back to you with an unimpressed look. “are you serious? that’s the worst spot.”

“fine then. change right in the middle of alleyway so everyone can look.” you joke, placing your hands on your hips with a smirk on your lips.

he quietly growls then goes to the side of the dumpster to change.

you turn around to give him privacy. you glance around the area but also try to not look suspicious by randomly standing in front of a dumpster.

after a few minutes, you feel a large presence next to you. it’s obviously miguel. you turn around to look at him. you are a bit surprised. he is wearing the black shirt. it acts more like a compression shirt which outlines his muscles much more. also the gray sweatpants and the basic black vans. to be honest, it’s strange to see him dressed in causal clothing. not gonna lie, he looks fine. of course you keep that to yourself. but what catches your attention more is the black baseball cap he is wearing.

he notices your strange expression. miguel looks awkwardly confused at you, crossing his arms. “what?” he asks.

“never thought you would be a hat guy.” you confess as you start walking out of the alleyway.

he just scoffs and follows you.

once you both exit the alleyway, you turn right and walk down the sidewalk. miguel gently places a hand on your hip moving you towards the inside of the sidewalk so he can walk on the outside. as protection if case of cars or other potential dangers.

to be honest, you love it when guys do that. you find that attractive as hell.

“by the way, we need a plan. like a real one. who knows long how we’re gonna be stuck here.” you start insisting on one because there is no possibility of getting out of here anytime soon.

“plan? we don’t need a plan.” he argues.

“o’hara, seriously. we really need to come up with a one.” you protest. it is vital to start developing a plan on your stay here in this universe but miguel is being a total asshole about it like he refuses to.

“once this shit is fixed, we’ll be outta here. case closed.” he says while walking.

“we need to search for motels. we’re not gonna get back anytime soon. might as well find a place to stay so we don’t have to worry later on.” you insist.

“finding a motel won’t be necessary. i’ll fix my gizmo as soon as possible then we’ll be back at HQ before you even know it.” he is really insisting on fixing that damn watch, which is bothering you to the max. miguel has a firm belief he would fix it and get back like with no problem. he is one stubborn motherfucker. it pisses you off.

you stop walking and look at him, brows frowning. “would you just please listen for once? it’s the better option because there’s literally no other option.” you speak the truth. being stuck here with a fucked up gizmo that most definitely will not work again is bad. finding a motel to stay is the first priority.

“it’s not my fault you’re so stubborn.” he jokes as he stops as well, looking down at you with a smirk.

your eyes widen, mouth hung open a little in offense. you have the expression of ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ on your face. “god you’re infuriating, you know that?” your brows frown, extremely pissed off now that he called you the stubborn one.

miguel returns the same expression. just as he is about to speak again, a voice calls out your name.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˖ ࣪ ༘ @deputy-videogamer @saturnknows

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓐𝐂𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .ᐟ #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #fanfic series

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