The sound of your name snaps you back into reality, back to the dining room table in the dorm. Eyes shift toward the source of the noise to find Jeongin looking at you quizzically.
“Hellloooo… you there?” he asks, comically waving his big hand in the air.
“Yeah… sorry. Just zoned out,” you reply, but that’s a lie.
You had been aimlessly swirling your chopsticks around your bowl of ramen, trying to ignore the feeling of your boyfriend’s fingers traveling farther and farther up your thigh.
Chan had been craving you all day, he said, and he had every intention of having his way with you after dinner. But, apparently, that wasn’t soon enough.
Not long after he prepared two bowls of instant noodles and sat down to eat with you, his hand found your knee under the table. And he didn’t stop.
Not when you playfully brushed it away, not when Jeongin, Han and Changbin joined with their own quick dinners, and not even when you shot him that cautionary look when his thumb began making small circles over your kneecap and you forced your legs closed with all the strength you could muster. He was determined to keep you on edge, and he was doing a damn good job.
But, of course, he was unaffected. Just eating and chatting and laughing with the boys like it’s a normal evening. Like he wasn’t about to slide his long fingers under your shorts just out of view of the others.
And that was working fine for a bit, until everyone had nearly finished their food while yours was barely touched. Until one sharp inhale made it clear to at least one person that not everything was as it seemed.
“I said…. How was your day?” Jeongin repeats.
All eyes are on you now, and they seem to have varying degrees of understanding. Jeongin looks concerned, Changbin confused, and Han relatively clueless. And then there’s Chan and his big, brown eyes, gazing at you with a mix of encouragement and adoration.
“Oh, it was fine,” you answer in the calmest voice you can muster. “Work’s been busy, had a couple of long day-”
Your thought is cut short when Chan rotates his wrist and forces his fingers between your tightly closed thighs. His pinky extends to press against your underwear, and you can’t help but squirm in your seat.
“Uh, ahem. Sorry,” you restart, trying to recover with a fake cough and throat clear. “Just some long days at work. That’s all. Thank you for asking, Innie.”
The sweet smile you send his way seems to do nothing to lessen his concern. If anything, it just makes him more suspicious. Changbin and Han seem satisfied, though, and change the topic back to Hyunjin’s mistake during dance practice.
Chan’s hand travels higher and higher until he’s practically cupping you in his fingers. He rolls them from top to bottom, putting pressure on as much of you as he can from this angle. Then he adjusts again, sliding his pinky under the damp fabric, and you can’t take it another fucking second.
“Hey, I’m not feeling well,” you announce to the table. “I think I’m gonna go lie down.”
Chan’s hand returns to his lap and you stand up and turn on your heels before anyone can ask what’s wrong. You just make a beeline for your boyfriend’s bedroom, sent off by a chorus of “feel better!” and “sleep well!”
You plop down on the plush comforter and stare at the ceiling, trying to imagine what you’re in for tonight and telepathically tell him to hurry the fuck up. And it works, because his frame fills the doorway less than a minute later.
“Not feeling well, my angel?” he teases. “Is there anything I can do to make you better?”
“Shut up,” you shoot back playfully.
A sly smile spreads across his lips as Chan closes the door behind him and dims the lights before heading to the foot of the bed.
“You did so well out there, baby, staying quiet for me,” he praises. “Would you like your reward?”
He places his knees on either side of your legs and crawls onto the bed until he’s hovering above you. All you can do is sit and stare in awe of his big shoulders, his tense expression, his fiery eyes staring down at you.
The corners of his full lips pull into a smirk, and he lowers himself to your neck, gently kissing and sucking and biting the skin there.
“Mmmmm,” you moan, moving a hand to the back of his head to run the dark strands through your fingers.
“Do that again,” he mumbles against your skin. “Moan for me.”
One of his hands finds yours, interlacing your fingers and pressing into the bed, while the other slips under your shirt and grips you over your bra.
“Ohhh, hmmm,” you groan, melting into the bed at his touch.
He sighs and plants a final kiss on your neck before turning his attention to your lips. He closes your bottom lip between his plump, pink ones and holds it there for a few seconds, but it feels more like an eternity. You could stay like this forever, just surrounded by him. But a knock at the door cuts eternity short.
“Hey, y/n, Chan… everything ok?” Jeongin’s voice sounds from the hallway.
“Yeah, thank you for checking, Innie!” you yell back and wait to see if that’ll be enough to end his curiosity.
“No, something isn’t right… I can feel it. Can I come in?” he asks.
Chan sighs and looks back to you. An annoyed expression and a slight nod send him to the door knowing that this interruption is his fault and his alone.
“Hey, she’s ok I promise,” Chan says, standing in the doorway to block Jeongin’s entry but not hide the view of you on the bed. “Her stomach is just upset, that’s all.”
You push up on your elbows and smile at him, and he smiles back. But it doesn’t reach his dark eyes. He glances back and forth between you and Chan a few times before he speaks again.
“You two are up to something. What did you do, Chan?” he asks, squaring up to his hyung the best he can. The tense look on his face and broadening of his shoulders is enough to send you both into a laughing fit, and then there’s no choice left but to tell him the truth.
“Are you serious? That’s what that was?!” he exclaims. “I thought something was wrong. Jesus.”
He pauses for a second and can’t help but glance at the both of you, at Chan’s hand, at your thighs.
“You… you really did that with your fingers?” Jeongin whispers to Chan.
Your beautiful boyfriend throws his head back and laughs, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Truth be told, he could do that to you by simply existing, but his fingers… there’s something magical about them.
“Wow…” Innie mumbles. “You’ll have to teach me that sometime.”
“How about now?” Chan asks, glancing back at you for approval.
You smirk and nod in response. He knows you love a captivated — consenting — audience.
A rosy color spreads across the maknae’s cheeks, and he instinctively pulls his sweatshirt’s collar up to his nose in an attempt to hide.
“No, I couldn’t. That’s… this… no…” he declares, but he can’t keep his eyes away from your lower body for more than a few seconds, and an occasional twitch in his sweatpants makes it clear he’s not entirely opposed to the idea.
“Come here, I’ll show you,” Chan says, grabbing Innie by the arm and pulling him over to the bed. “You don’t have to touch if you want. Just watch what I do.”
Chan plops down comfortably on the edge between your legs, and Jeongin awkwardly sits on the corner of the mattress.
“It’s mostly about pressure, yeah? Depending on where you are, do you want to massage…” Chan explains, wrapping his fingers around and gently rubbing your ankle. “…or do you want to tease…”
He loosens his grip and drags his fingertips up your shin, to your knee, and back down, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. You thrust upward just a little, yearning for that same touch between your legs.
Chan smiles as you squirm, enjoying his teacher role already. Jeongin’s watching his hyung’s fingertips with intensity, and next thing you know, he’s testing his skills on your other leg.
“Like this?” Innie asks, placing both hands on your sock-clad foot and using his thumbs to massage the base through the cotton. Fingertips drag to your ankle and hook around the sock’s cuff, rolling it down and over your toes and off.
He applies pressure to different spots on the base of your foot, watching your face to see how it feels. Once he passes your heel, he puts his palms to work, too, dragging his big hands up and down the sides of your calf.
“Yeah, nice,” Chan says, smiling approvingly before turning his attention back to you. “You like that, baby?”
“Hmmm….”
It would be hard to not enjoy four hands caressing your legs, but something about Jeongin’s fingers elevates the feeling. Like his big hands could do so much damage, but instead, they’re caressing you gently. And all you can think about is how he could wreck you in so many ways…
You snap back to reality as your boyfriend lifts the hem of your T-shirt to slide his hand up and rub your stomach. Even with everything else going on, his eyes are glued to yours, and that sweet smile is still aimed at you.
“Good so far, sweetheart?” he asks.
“Mhm,” you reply softly between sharp breaths. “You ok?”
“Of course, as long as you’re happy,” Chan replies, then turns to Innie. “Ready for the next step?”
Jeongin doesn’t answer immediately. Honestly, he probably didn’t even hear Chan. He’s staring at your legs so intensely, almost in wonder.
“Oi, Jeongin,” Chan repeats, snapping the fingers of his free hand.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, yeah,” the younger boy answers, shaking his head softly. “What do I do?”
“Go higher,” Chan says matter-of-factly, like this really is just a lesson and you’re the study participant — and Jeongin is his most eager student.
The maknae immediately wraps a hand around your inner thigh, down toward your knee. At Chan’s instruction — an encouraging nod is all he needs — Innie slides his warm hand up and up. Slowly, gently.
The unfamiliar touch has you instinctively pulling your legs closed, but Chan’s comforting touch on your stomach keeps you relaxed. His palm is pressed flat, and his fingers make small circles on your soft skin. His other hand replicates Jeongin’s path and gently squeezes the flesh of your inner thigh.
“Hmm.”
A deep hum vibrates from Innie’s throat, and his hungry eyes are trained on the wet spot on your shorts.
You’ve always wondered if other people can smell your arousal. Chan jokes that he can — “It’s the wolf in me, what can I say?” — but he’s generally full of shit. Regardless of whether or not he can smell it, Jeongin can certainly see it. And the way he’s licking his lips has you convinced he wants to taste it, too.
“Go ahead, Innie,” you say reassuringly. “Touch me, it’s ok.”
And then he does. His fingers slide under your shorts and roughly press into your panties. His sudden movements startle all three of you, and Jeongin’s face burns bright red in embarrassment and he pulls his fingers back into his lap.
“A little too quick,” Chan explains. “Something like that is fine if you’re going hot and heavy, yeah? But for something like this…”
Your boyfriend’s hand presses into your thigh and inches up until his fingertips reach the fabric of your shorts. He runs the damp material between his fingers and lightly bites his lip before speaking again.
“… you want to go slowly. Gentle and loving. Maybe a little teasing,” he says with a wink. “That’s what she likes, anyway. Don’t you baby?”
“I just tolerate it because he enjoys being an ass,” you say to Jeongin, who’s still sitting there with his fingers pressed into his thighs.
“Naur, you love it,” Chan teases back. “You love when I play with you.”
He slides your shorts to the side, just like he did earlier tonight. His thumb slowly runs up and down your folds through your underwear while his other hand resumes its circles on your stomach.
“You love when I do this for you,” he continues. “And I love doing it…”
His thumb presses into you deeper through the soaked cotton. Once the fabric can’t stretch anymore, he pulls back out and feels for your clit. He finds the spot and applies just enough pressure to make you squirm.
“That’s my girl,” Chan hums.
His gaze hasn’t left your face. It’s like he forgot someone else is there at all. Like it’s only you two on the bed, business as usual.
Your boyfriend hooks his thumb under your panties and moves them to the side to touch you. He runs his thumb down the length of your opening, parting your lips to feel inside of you where he can.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Chan whispers. “How many fingers, how fast.”
The hand on your stomach moves to your cheek and caresses it softly. He shifts his weight on the bed so his face can follow, too. Chan sweetly kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then your lips.
“You have me in the palm of your hand, baby. I’ll do whatever you say.”
He breathes into your mouth, his lips only inches from yours when he speaks. You’d love to answer him, but your brain’s all fuzzy and your tongue wants to taste his teeth.
Hands go to his neck to keep him close while your lips press into his. He somehow knows exactly what you want — he always does — and parts his lips for you. Your tongue runs along the backside of his teeth, then the front, before you close his top lip between your teeth. His tongue joins yours then, and you spend what feels like forever just savoring each other and pouring every ounce of affection into each kiss.
Eventually, he pulls away with a smile spread across his swollen lips. He beams down at you, then turns to Jeongin.
“So, like I said…” he starts. “For something like this, you want to be soft, romantic. Listen to your partner’s body, and do what they like.”
Chan resumes his vertical strokes between your legs and faces you again.
“Most of it is about the buildup, right honey? I haven’t even stuck a finger in you yet.”
“He’s right,” you answer. “He always says such pretty words, sometimes I finish before we even get started.”
Chan smiles wide at your compliment.
“So, we’ve covered foreplay. Now, let’s get to fingering,” Chan says, slipping right back into his insightful teacher role. He lightly tugs on your shorts and continues: “Baby, do you mind?”
“Nope, go ahead.”
“Ok, lift up for me.”
He gently slides your shorts and underwear down your legs and tosses them to the floor. One hand gently rests on your upper thigh while the other settles on your lower abdomen.
“Before you do anything else here, you want to make sure she’s wet enough,” Chan explains. “If you did the first part right, you should be fine, but it’s important to check before doing anything too quickly or roughly.”
Your boyfriend positions a finger at your entrance and looks at you.
“Ready?”
“Mhm,” you reply softly.
One long, bony finger gently slides inside of you and traces circles around your walls.
“This isn’t a great example because she gets really wet — you saw her shorts,” Chan says with a soft chuckle. “But this is a good way to check and see what she’s ready for. Here, you try.”
Chan removes his finger and gestures for Jeongin to use his instead.
“You sure?” he asks nervously. “I don’t wanna…”
“You won’t fuck it up. You didn’t fuck it up last time either,” you speak softly. “How else are you gonna learn, Innie?”
“Ok…”
He speaks hesitantly, but his finger is inside you within seconds. His are even longer than Chan’s and how deep he can reach with minimum effort comes as a surprise, but a good one this time.
You inhale deeply and close your eyes as Jeongin starts to move that finger in and out slowly.
“Good, now go in a circle. That’ll help you gauge how much more you can stretch her right now,” Chan instructs.
Innie does as he’s told and a smirk spreads across his lips.
“I think she’s ready for another,” he says.
“Go ahead then,” Chan urges.
Another long finger slides inside you, and he keeps them pressed together as he moves in and out. A minute or two passes with the same motion, and Chan must see the blank expression on your face, so he offers to help.
“So, now it’s about the technique,” he says, placing a hand on Jeongin’s wrist. “You want to rotate your hand and use your fingers to reach the good spots.”
“The good spots?” Jeongin asks.
“That varies by person, unfortunately,” Chan answers. “Just have to mess around and practice on your partner ‘til you figure out their weaknesses. For example…”
Chan tightens his grip on Innie’s wrist and pulls his hand back a little.
“Bend your fingers,” he instructs.
The younger boy’s fingers are so long, he can’t help but stretch your walls apart when he bends them inside you.
“Ok, now keep them like that…”
Chan slowly directs Jeongin’s fingers forward and back, keeping an eye on your face to determine when he — or Innie, more like — is close. And when you take a soft, sharp breath in, he knows he’s got you.
“And now we add a little rotation…”
He pushes and pulls and twists Innie’s wrist like he’s playing the world’s most gentle round of Bop It.
“Oh…”
That one breathy word brings a huge smile to your boyfriend’s face.
“There, you got it,” he says to Innie, continuing to work his friend’s wrist to make you moan and sigh.
“And when you get more acquainted with their… uh… anatomy, you can target it more,” Chan continues. “May I…?”
He releases his hold on Innie’s wrist and patiently waits his turn. Jeongin slides his fingers out and sits them in his lap delicately, like he’s not sure what to do with them now that they’re covered in you. But you’re not too worried about that, because Chan’s fingers are back inside you now, and he’s rubbing and applying perfect pressure to that spot…
“Oh fuck…” you moan a little louder this time, and he just continues with a determined look on his face.
“I can get her to finish like this, or I could toss in some other techniques…” Chan muses, then pushes down gently on the stubbled skin above your pubic bone. “This increases pressure inside, making her feel more… full, I guess? Is that right, baby?”
“Ahuh, sure,” you answer quickly between sharp breaths.
Your eyes are mostly closed, but you can still see Chan’s confident smirk and watch Innie slowly slide his wet fingers into his mouth when he thinks you’re not looking. Something to tease him for later.
“And, of course,” Chan says, “don’t forget about her clit.”
He adds a third finger and rotates his hand so his palm is at an angle. He places his thumb on your most sensitive area and adjusts so he can press on the little nub directly.
“If you want to keep pressure here, you can’t pull out as far,” he explains. “That’s when you really focus on massaging her g-spot so you can keep your hand steady on her clit.”
He demonstrates with the same level of determination he showed earlier, even biting his lip this time. Jeongin is absolutely entranced next to him.
“And if you’re ready for the grand finale, and you’re comfortable with it, a little dirty talk never hurt anyone…” Chan trails off as he lowers his head down to yours once again, lips pressing softly against the edge of your ear.
“Gonna come for me, baby?” he whispers so only you can hear and increases the pace of his little circles and thrusts.
Your simple “y-yes” is barely audible and sandwiched between moans.
“I love your little sounds. You make the most beautiful noises for me, baby,” he hums as he gently bites your earlobe. “I can’t wait to make you scream later.”
“Chan… I…” you barely manage to utter and open your eyes to signal to your boyfriend that you’re almost there.
And just past him, looking entirely enthralled, sits Jeongin. His hand is gently rubbing your calf again, but you see it before you feel it. It’s like every nerve in your body relocated to between your thighs, and they’re all ticking time bombs.
“I know you’re close, sweetheart. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl for me, baby,” Chan praises as he continues his work and uses his free hand to stroke your hair. “Come for me.”
And you do. Gently, but loudly. Your body manages to remain still for the most part, but your chest rises and falls erratically while your moans and sighs fight for release against your lungs that desperately need oxygen.
You grip a handful of Chan’s hair and pull, and he just giggles and lets you guide his head to your chest. He listens to your heart pound with a sweet smile on his face as you ride this out.
The high doesn’t last too long, and aside from a tiny ringing in your ears, you’re back to normal in under 30 seconds. You open your eyes again to see the two of them staring down at you before Chan turns his attention to Jeongin.
“So, there you have it. Any questions?”
The younger boy looks like he’s doing math in his pretty head as he speaks: “… no, not right now.”
You can’t help but laugh at his bewilderment. It’s like he just saw a magic trick.
“Well, if you don’t mind then,” Chan says, facing you again. “I’m about to start my masterclass, so…”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Jeongin answers, snapping out of the trance and standing up from the edge of the bed. “Thank you, thank you both.”
He turns and heads for the door as your boyfriend leans down to kiss your lips and pull the comforter up over you. The two of them meet where the bedroom becomes the hallway and Chan opens the door.
“Let me know if you have any questions after you… practice,” he says with an exaggerated wink.
“Oh, I will,” Innie replies and steps into the hallway. As he heads back to the common space, Chan swears he hears him mumble, “Seungmin’s gonna lose his mind…”
Your boyfriend slowly closes and locks the bedroom door and pads back toward the bed.
“I think our little lesson is about to become big news,” Chan says as he slides into bed next to you.
“Honestly, that’s fine,” you answer sweetly. “I’m sure whoever they sleep with will thank us later.”
Chan shifts to lie on his side and wraps an arm around your waist. He smiles widely at you, displaying those gorgeous dimples.
“Guess we should practice our material for the next class then, yeah?” he whispers as he slides his hand down once again.
“i have a delivery for mr. kim!” you exclaimed proudly when a caramel haired boy opened the back door to the coffee shop.
recently you made your dream come true and opened your own little bakery. since you were five and your mom let you help her with baking cookies and pastries on holidays you knew it was something you wanted to pursue as an adult. something about measuring ingredients, mixing them together and waiting for the cake to be done is oddly soothing for you, it taught you patience and accuracy. and now you were beyond happy, being able to have a rewarding job and do the things you enjoy.
a few weeks ago you got a call from a small coffee shop near your bakery; the owner wanted to sign a contract with you so that your bakery would supply his café with pastries. and you agreed, of course you agreed, because nothing made you prouder than more people trying your baked goods.
“oh, yeah. you can place them here, on the table.” he pointed inside and you smiled widely at him. he only nodded and got back to work, you heard the coffee machines and faint music coming from the front of the café. though you didn’t see much of the main room, it seemed to you that it was really cosy and quiet and you made a mental note to come here in your free time. when you unpacked everything from your car you made your way to the boy and gave him a piece of paper. “here, there’s a list of things you ordered for today. could you check if everything’s okay and if so, could you sign this?” you asked shyly, not wanting to interrupt him, since he was clearly preparing his equipment for the day. he mumbled a faint “sure” and did as you told him to. when he was checking the pastries you were able to take a closer look - he must’ve been your age or slightly older and he seemed really peaceful, his face features were soft and really pretty. “everything looks great.” his voice brought you to reality. you observed his hand as he was signing the paper and handed it to you. “thank you for all of this, it looks delicious,” he added and it made you blush a little. “sure thing, i hope people will like it,” you responded softly and then headed to the exit. “see you tomorrow, mr. kim!” you waved goodbye and got in your car to start your day as well.
the next morning looked exactly the same. you arrived with a car full of cookies and cupcakes and placed them on the table. the barista took a look at them and you gave him the piece of paper. “everything sold out yesterday, i think people liked it,” he murmured while signing it. you grinned at that. “really? that’s awesome!” he looked back at you and gave you a shy smile. “okay, i gotta go now, bye mr. kim!” you waved at him, but his voice made you stop in your tracks. “don’t call me mr. kim, it makes me feel old.” you chuckled at his words, realising that in fact it might’ve been quite weird. “just call me seungmin.” “hi seungmin, i’m yn.”
now your every day began with this little interaction with seungmin. even though he was always quiet, not saying much, you didn’t mind and his calm disposition didn't stand in the way of becoming friends. “hey, um, i tried this new recipe and i wondered if it came out good. would you mind tasting it and rating it on a scale from one to ten?” you asked him one day while handing him a little bun with marzipan filling. you’d never tried to bake it before, but you remembered your mum saying one day that her grandma used to bake something like this and since then it hadn’t left your mind. seungmin took the bun from your hand, his fingers slightly brushing it, and you got shivers from that one innocent touch. you observed him as he took a small bite, not sure what to expect, and you exhaled loudly when he grinned. you‘d never seen him smile that widely, but now he was and oh my god what was happening to you? “it’s… it’s really good, a solid ten. i like how soft it is,” he explained, visibly satisfied. you mirrored his smile, really glad that he enjoyed your little experiment. “oh, yn, actually there’s something i was meaning to ask you, uh… it might sound a little weird, but could you maybe teach me how to bake?” you were caught off guard by his question, but actually why not? this way you could get closer to him, maybe get to know him even more. that’s why you agreed and gave him your number so you could work out the details.
seungmin came to your apartment a few days later. “here, i made you some coffee,” he said while handing you the cup. “thank you… um, here, welcome, make yourself at home.” you led him to your kitchen and gave him an apron. he looked at you confused, but you just rushed him with a gesture of your hand. “come on, put in on, unless you want to be covered in the dough.” he obediently took it from your hand and did as you said. he looked really cute in it and you felt the tips of your ears getting warmer. then you proceeded to put on your own apron as well and you got to work.
seungmin was a fast learner, though he needed your constant assistance. you told him what to do step by step and he was quietly following your instructions. there was something so intriguing in the way he was paying attention to the details, trying not to put too much flour in the bowl and not to spill the melted butter from the pot. you watched him stir the ingredients, his arms full on display since he rolled up his sleeves. “what’s next?” his voice brought you back to earth and you slightly shook your head. “uh… now you have to knead the dough with your hand, until it’s all soft and even.” he nodded and started to knead it, but you noticed he was doing it a bit too gently. “wait, let me help you.” you stood behind him, your chest pressed to his back, and you placed your hand on his to knead the dough together. seungmin was glad you didn’t see his face, because it was covered in bright red. “see, like this. you don’t have to be aggressive, but it’s important to mix everything well.” it was such an intimate moment and you thought for a while if you didn’t overstep his boundaries, but he didn’t seem to mind it. “and done!” you took a step back and seungmin turned to face you. you noticed he had some flour on his chin so you leaned over and gently wiped it with your palm. you were met with seungmin’s piercing gaze and it was only then you realised how close to him you were. “can i do something stupid?” he whispered suddenly and you nodded. and that’s when you felt his lips met yours. the kiss was soft, his lips were moving slowly, almost lazily, but you enjoyed every single moment of it. when you backed off a bit, he grinned and you heard him mumble. “you’re sweeter than any pastry in this world”
pairing: winter soldier!seo changbin x afab!reader
warnings: basically post catws recovery bucky but make it changbin, memory loss, trauma, ptsd, breaking and entering, vomiting, descriptions of past torture (electroshock therapy, brainwashing, human experimentation), mentions of suicide and death, murder, identity issues/crises, self doubt, crying, established relationship, slow burn, kissing, masturbation (m & f), nonconsensual voyeurism for like .2 seconds, nipple play, metal arm kink, scar kissing, unprotected sex
w/c: 16k
a/n: happy birthday changbin!!! i’m proud to have written birthday fics for the birthday boy 2 years in a row now! this one is inspired of course by his first verse in runners, i took one listen and knew what i had to do lol. this doesn’t follow the exact plot of captain america, it’s my own little twist, so i hope that’s okay! everyone, but most especially my fellow seolars and bucky lovers, i hope you enjoy!! 🖤
he doesn’t recognize the man on the wall.
the man in the pictures. changbin seo, The Captain had told him on the carrier before it went down.
changbin, you’ve known me your whole life.
your name is changbin seo.
i’m not gonna fight you, you’re my friend.
then finish it. ‘cause i’m with you ‘til the end of the line.
The Asset does not have friends, and he most certainly does not smile.
the man in the pictures is unrecognizable. a wide grin is spread across changbin seo’s face, eyes squinted and cheeks bunched in what can only be described as joy. something that only humans feel. his arms, both made of flesh and blood, are thrown around someone who is smiling just as wide. the smile is not directed outwards toward the camera, it’s directed at him. a foreign notion. The Arm whirs.
a look to the right shows another picture on the wall. a black tuxedo, a white dress. two figures huddled over a table with something large in the middle. cake, he recalls after a moment, but he can’t be too sure. it’s foggy. changbin seo holds a utensil in his hand and is bringing it to the other person’s lips, a smile once more appearing on his face. there’s a look in his eyes that The Asset cannot name.
his boots are silent on the floor when he turns to leave. through the window again, the way he came.
he scopes the perimeter outside one last time and makes for the abandoned safe house.
that’s where The Falcon finds him two days later, sitting on his cot with a stolen Captain America pamphlet from the smithsonian.
his gun is on the table, but he makes no move for it. he keeps a knife strapped to his thigh and another in his boot anyway. The Falcon wears his civilian clothing, he doesn’t have his wings like he did on the bridge because The Asset ripped them apart. he doesn’t have his red-eye goggles or machinery either, but The Asset knows he’s carrying. a handgun, in his back pocket by the way he tucks in his shirt when he rounds the door.
“you’re loud. you’re a shit spy,” The Asset gripes, and he turns the page of the pamphlet. there would be a bullet hole in the middle of the man’s forehead if only The Asset deemed necessary, but he doesn’t know what is and isn’t anymore.
programming required.
a thin box drops in front of him, and The Falcon lowers himself to the ground to sit. “and you’re a shit host. where’s the hospitality? your esteemed guest is sitting on the cold, hard floor while you’re all comfortable on your… raggedy cot.” his sentence trails off, but he kicks the box towards him regardless.
The Asset glares. at The Falcon, then at the box, then back up again.
“it’s just a pie, man, jesus. with those little pepperoni cups?”
a kitchen table, two places set. crumpled, greasy napkins strewn along the turquoise mats. bare feet tangled underneath the table and hands tangled on top.
‘do you want the last piece, changbin? here, i’ll-”
the thought is gone as soon as it starts, and The Falcon blinks owlishly at him. he rolls his eyes and reaches forward to open the box, and the smell wafts over him like a fog, greasy, cheesy, and warm.
his stomach hollows, contorts and writhes with the ache of hunger. it claws at his insides like a beast, and it growls angrily when he watches The Falcon grab a slice of his own and shove it into his mouth.
it has been twenty-eight days since his last maintenance check. twenty-eight days since the last time he was reprogrammed, brain fried to high heavens and body injected with so many fluids before he was frozen inside The Tank to wait for his next orders that The Asset hardly had use for eating. when they did feed him, it was always something tasteless and slushy. eating for pleasure makes no sense in his scrambled mind. only humans and animals did that, and The Asset is neither of those things. but the injections have now run their course, and his body is weak. it will collapse in on itself without sustenance.
is this a test? it is a cruel one if it is. he doesn’t remember much, but he doesn’t think The Falcon is cruel, even after they fought rough and hard and ugly on the highway and the helicarrier. his eyes are kind. trepidatious, rightfully so, but kind. he has not been looked at with kindness in a very long time.
“it’s not rigged with explosives or anything, dude, just eat,” The Falcon says around an unattractive mouthful of pizza.
The Asset reaches his flesh hand down to take a piece. it’s warm, dough greasy and cheese heavy enough that when he lifts the pizza to his mouth, the end of it droops.
he’s on his second slice before he finishes chewing the first.
“slow down a little, alright? i imagine you haven’t eaten in a while. if you eat too fast it’ll make you sick.”
sick…
The Falcon doesn’t need to know he has already been sick. the twenty-eight days since his last reprogramming have allowed for recent memories to worm their way slowly back into his brain. like a dam that’s cracking down the middle. not many yet, but enough. enough to make him double over and empty the meager contents of his stomach onto the concrete flooring of the safe house. enough to make him wake up thrashing from night terrors. enough to make him fear closing his eyes at all lest he see the carnage he alone is responsible for.
fear. a new development. The Asset is not familiar with fear.
he wonders if Captain America is.
if changbin seo was.
“what do you want, Falcon? how did you find me?” is what he says instead. the crust is too chewy, and he puts it back in the box.
“oh, business names, got it. um- well, first of all. i’m jisung. you tried to kill me and now i’m buying you pizza, what a turn around. chris has already told me your name is changbin.”
chris. christopher chahn bahng. Captain America.
“don’t call me that. that’s not- i’m not- him.”
all of the exhibits he’s been to have shown changbin seo to be an honorable man, Captain America’s right hand before martyring himself in combat five years prior. a loyal, faithful soldier, an even better friend. a fallen brother. an adored husband. such high regard should remain untainted by the blood and death and destruction on The Asset’s hands. changbin seo’s name should never be associated with that of The Winter Soldier.
The Arm recalibrates as he flexes his fingers. all ten, half flesh and half titanium.
“alright, robocop, don’t shoot the messenger. jeez, tough fucking crowd. anyway, you can thank redwing for that! recon and tracking. we’ve had your face in our system since you tried to feed me to the birds. cool, huh? wanna pet him? you can, just don’t rip him apart like you tried to do to me.”
The Falcon, jisung, smirks toothily while he chews on the crust of his pizza.
it’s then that redwing makes itself known, a drone that was previously camouflaged against the corner of the ceiling.
if jisung and his drone were able to find him this easily, who else could? The Captain no doubt, maybe even The Widow if he feels inclined. he’s not ready to face either yet, but the thought that something bigger could find him sends a shiver up his spine and dread coursing through his vessel.
fear.
there it is again.
he doesn’t want to go back to The Chair, where he’s strapped down and shocked so thoroughly until he remembers nothing but his orders, nothing but his objective as a Weapon. he can still taste the rubber bit in his mouth, where his teeth gnashed so hard his gums bled. The Tank, where he’s frozen in cryogenic stasis until he’s needed for a mission. he can still feel the phantom chills before his body and mind are trapped in nothingness. The Handler, who oversees it all. he can still hear his voice, hear his Words.
he doesn’t want to go back, not to Hydra. he’ll put a bullet in his own head before that happens.
“no one knows i’m here,” jisung pacifies. he wipes his hands together and then smooths them on his jeans. “chris thought you might be in the wind by now. thought maybe you’d make your way back east and tie up some… loose ends now that the head of the snake’s been cut off. but he’ll figure it out, man. especially when it comes to you, for some reason. we’re leaving to look for you tomorrow, and he’ll keep looking when we don’t find you. he’s hell bent on it.”
he doesn’t understand why he’s worth the trouble. the benefit is not worth the cost, he’s sure. there is no benefit. not at this point. changbin seo is dead and gone, and The Asset is irredeemable.
“i can see the cogs turning up there. just- you’re his best friend. or you were, at least. look, i don’t know why i’m even saying this, but… i had a partner a while ago, my wingman. he was killed during a mission while we were testing a new flight prototype, and i couldn’t do a damn thing. i just- all i could do was fucking watch while he went down. if he came back like you have, i don’t- man, i don’t even know what i’d do. i think i’d do everything i could to bring him home too.”
he does go back east, but only when news outlets and tabloid magazines show that Captain America has returned to the states.
there is no objective now. The Asset has no direction, no authority to follow. he is used to being given concrete instructions by The Handler at the behest of Hydra, and he hasn’t seen his Handler in a month.
he failed the last mission given to him. The Asset did not eliminate Captain America, instead, he pulled him out of the potomac when he should have left him to drown. he is rogue. defective and faulty, he is no one’s asset but his own.
if there is no mission to follow, he will create his own, and he will not fail this time.
he finds The Handler standing above a whore in a seedy motel in kiev. his pants are around his ankles when The Asset slits his throat and listens to him choke. the woman looks momentarily stunned from her spot on the floor before she starts screaming. a freshly wiped Winter Soldier would have killed her with no hesitation. she is collateral, a hindrance, a means to an end, but he doesn’t even look at her before stalking out of the room without looking back.
blood stains the carpet. another body added to his long, long list. this one though, his own choice.
he doesn’t know whose screams are louder, the ones he leaves behind in the motel room or changbin seo’s in his head.
soft fingers trace the scar on his chin, a body turned towards him in bed. smiling cheeks, minty breath, a nuzzle to his nose. he’s content.
“my arm is numb,” he laughs. someone uses it as a pillow, but he doesn’t really mind. he doesn’t mind at all.
“but i’m comfy!” the person says. “changbin. bin, i love you. i’m so happy you’re home with me.” something rustles at the end of the bed. a dog, playfully corn cobbing the comforter and pawing at the shape of entwined feet.
his other hand moves to cup a smiling cheek, he just wants to touch. flesh fingers prod at the person’s lips, plush and smooth with residual chapstick. he can taste it on his tongue. he closes his eyes to take everything in, and when he opens them again, metal fingers are wrapped tightly around an unsuspecting throat.
“changbin…?”
his name is strained. his name is strained because his fingers are pressing hard against the person’s windpipe and interrupting the flow of oxygen. a kink in the hose. the plates in his Arm clack as he tightens his grip.
he wakes up thrashing in his cot, a scream ricocheting off the walls of the safe house.
there’s a blanket on the couch that wasn’t there the last time. he remembers that. it hasn’t been too long since he’s been here, and as time continued to pass, the weight of his memories have broken the dam. The Soldier’s came first, then changbin’s, although there is still plenty that’s spotty.
his flesh hand takes the corner of the blanket and rubs it between his fingers. it’s soft, something someone might pull over their legs while watching television or curling up with a book.
he walks slowly around the living area and takes it in. the pictures on the wall, the decor, the placement of furniture.
he lived here once.
his feet padded across these floors, he danced in the kitchen, he brushed his teeth at the sink in the bathroom.
he lived here once.
he lived here with his partner.
he’s married, or at least he was.
can he still be married if he lost the hand his wedding band was on? can he still be married if his partner believes him to be dead?
maybe he can be, but does he deserve it after everything he’s done?
a picture frame on the small table beside the couch catches his attention. The Asset picks it up to inspect it further and has to catch himself on the arm of the couch before he falls to the floor, overwhelmed with the force of the memory that comes flooding back into his head.
“it’s beautiful.” a wet voice, a trembling smile.
your voice. your smile.
changbin’s fingers reach up to wipe steadily falling tears off of sticky cheeks. his own smile is watery, and his chin quivers. the ring is beautiful, but it looks even more so on your precious finger.
the small diamond on the right is from your grandmother’s wedding ring. what a surprise it was when she pulled him aside after his third christmas dinner with your family and gifted it to him for this purpose only. a soft, wrinkled hand cupped his own calloused one and hugged him tight, paired with a fierce whisper of ‘you take care of my baby’ spoken into his pinkening ear.
the diamond on the left is his mother’s. her wedding ring had three: one for changbin, one for his sister, and one saved just for her. it sits on your finger now because you’re part of his family. his mother will tell you she knew you were his one before he did, but he knew you were it for him from the moment he laid eyes on you. call him a sap.
the diamond in the middle he picked out himself.
he knew he made the right choice, but he can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief knowing that you can’t stop looking at it. his smile widens as you hold your hand in front of yourself and stare, wiggling your fingers lightly to watch the way the candlelight hits the diamonds on your engagement ring.
when you look up at him, his lungs nearly give out. you’re too beautiful that he can’t catch his breath. he almost drops to one knee all over again.
“can we take a picture?!” you blubber, and he laughs. you’re precious to him. changbin wipes your tears again and goes back over the tracks with his lips, kissing down your face so that he can bring another smile to your lips.
your hands are shaking when you pull out your phone. he’s not surprised when you hand it to him, and he’s not ashamed to say his hands are shaking just as bad. your hand comes up to cup his cheek; he feels the coolness of the band against his splotchy skin, and he nearly tears up again. the pictures will be blurry, there’s almost no doubt about it.
changbin drops his hand when you turn to him, phone camera focused on nothing but the carpeted floor of your living room.
“i love you,” you say, and it’s the best, most gratifying thing he’s ever had the blessing of hearing. “i’ll love you forever. you’re my person, i want to love you for the rest of my life.”
when he comes to, the sun has nearly risen. The Asset blinks himself out of his reverie just in time to hear the distant creak of a bed, a gentle, tired voice. he places the picture frame haphazardly on the table again and is out the window before he has time to process anything.
the window shuts with a click. out just the way he came.
as always, The Asset scopes the perimeter before he leaves for his safe house.
his face itches. he’s antsy, and his flesh hand comes to swipe anxiously at his cheek.
when he looks at his fingers, they’re wet.
the face looking back at him in the mirror is nearly as unrecognizable as the one in the pictures on the wall of his old house. his eyes are sunken; his hair is greasy.
there’s a few bathroom amenities in the corner of the abandoned safe house. a rusty sink, a smudged mirror, a toilet, a spigot in the wall, a drain in the floor. he needs a haircut almost as badly as he needs a shower, but he takes care of his hair first, scrounging through the desk in the opposite corner and finding an old pair of scissors that will do the trick. black clumps of hair fall into the dingy sink as he hacks away at the chin-length strands. it’s uneven when he’s done, a little choppy, but better than it was. it’s nothing a cap can’t cover up.
turning to face the spigot in the wall is more daunting than taking scissors to his hair. he remembers being shoved into shower cubicles and sprayed with cold water like a dog. he remembers the high pressure water hose too, and a chill courses through his body right where he stands when he thinks of the aftermath. bruises, rashes, welts. the tender, mangled scarring that lines his titanium Arm torn open and bleeding. he can’t put it off any longer; he throws off his clothes and steps under the spigot, turning the knob and jolting as the cold water hits his skin. it makes him hiss, he cries out. his shoulders curl in on themselves, but he straightens back up to wet his hair.
it’s all he’s felt for years, the cold, but he still can’t seem to get used to it.
there’s an old bar of soap in the corner that he uses to wash his body and his hair. the water is so cold against his skin that his teeth chatter, but he’s gentler with himself than The Handler ever was. he washes himself efficiently enough and quickly turns the knob to turn the water off. there’s no grime underneath his nails anymore; the hair on his legs is no longer matted with dirt. his vessel is scrubbed clean.
it’s warm enough outside and in the safe house that his shivering dies down as he moves around, but he still can’t help but wish he could wrap himself in the soft blanket from your couch.
his hair curls as it air dries, and he hides it underneath a baseball cap after he dresses himself. they’re stolen clothes, jeans and a baggy hoodie to cover his titanium Arm, but they fit him well enough.
a hesitant look in the mirror has him grimacing. it hits him then that he looks more like the man in the pictures now than he has in years, since he fell from the train and was made into a killer, a monster. he looks like changbin. like The Captain's best friend and your loving husband, but he doesn’t feel like him. he doesn’t think he ever will again.
if he looks like changbin, is that who he is? is he changbin? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t think he can be. he doesn’t think he deserves to be.
his head is full of memories that aren’t — are? — his own. some of them feel too good to be true, the memories that don’t belong to The Soldier feel like a dream he hardly wants to wake up from. he doesn’t know what’s real or what’s fake. if the nostalgia-filled memories in his head are just the product of his battered, broken mind trying to heal itself after all he’s done.
his head is starting to hurt, and he presses his fingers against his throbbing temples as if it will quell the pain.
he needs a sandwich.
there’s a bell on the door handle that jingles when he walks into the diner. he’s been here enough times now that the noise doesn’t startle him anymore, and he shyly lifts his flesh hand up to wave at the middle-aged woman behind the cash register.
he doesn’t stop to wait at the counter like the other patrons, not since the first time he came in, so he makes his way to his favorite booth in the corner and slides into the seat.
The Asset bides his time by taking a napkin from the holder at the end of the table and placing it neatly in front of him. the fork comes next, he pulls it from the cutlery bag and sits it atop of the napkin.
it doesn’t take much longer before ma brings over his club sandwich with a side of chilled pasta salad and an ice cold glass of water to drink. ma, the owner of the diner. she has curly salt-and-pepper hair and a silver tooth that matches the color of his titanium Arm.
“you got a haircut,” she notes. she pulls a straw out of the apron around her waist and places it beside his drink. “i like it! less scruffy.”
“dennis is scruffy.”
“i know. couldn’t be assed with shaving all week, ‘s what he said. he tried to kiss me this morning ‘n’ it felt like gettin’ kissed by a damn critter.” she turns to look at the middle-aged man behind the counter with a grimace and he meets her eyes with a wink. she turns back and rolls her eyes, but she’s not angry, she’s not annoyed. The Asset can tell by her body language and the growing smile on her face that she is fond. “he’ll bring you your pie when you’re done. you better tell’im ma wants all that hair gone unless he wants to sleep on the porch tonight with the raccoons.”
“yes ma’am, i’ll be sure to relay the message.”
the smile that spreads across his face is slow. he hasn’t smiled in a long time; it feels foreign, but ma smiles back anyway. she takes the rag from the pocket of her apron and thwacks him on the shoulder lightly as she walks away. The Asset tenses but relaxes right away. her intention was not to hurt him, he isn’t being punished because there is nothing to be punished for.
from the moment he stumbled into the diner weeks ago nearly delirious with hunger, ma has been kind to him.
“pick out whatever you like on the menu. it’s on the house tonight,” she had said that first night. he didn’t know what to do; there was a stolen wallet sitting fresh in his pocket that he could use to pay for his meal, but she shook her head resolutely when he tried to pull it out. “i know a vet when i see one, ‘n’ you look a little worse for wear right now. how about you go sit down in one of the empty booths, can you do that? wave me over when you pick out something that tickles your fancy.”
dennis’ club sandwich has been his go-to since that night, and he’s nearly through the first half of the club when the bell on the door jingles.
he knows who it is without looking up.
The Captain’s hesitant steps trail towards the counter, but The Asset can tell he’s being watched. he only looks up when he hears a slight commotion at the counter. dennis fumbles with the cups he’s stacking beside the register, and ma nudges him out of the way.
“go sit down, honey. let’s not burn the place down now that Captain America’s here,” she jokes, and The Captain laughs. “can i get you anything special?”
“maybe- maybe one of those famous milkshakes of yours? i’m just… here to see a friend.”
he feels eyes on him again, and his eyebrows furrow as he takes a big bite of his sandwich. The Arm whirs underneath the sleeve of his hoodie.
“you know lewis? well alrighty then! go sit, i’ll bring your milkshake right over when it’s ready.”
The Captain drums his fingers against the counter for a moment and nods, turning on his heels to make his way slowly towards his booth. it’s almost as if he’s trying not to spook a skittish animal - he walks slowly, both of his hands are in plain sight. he stands almost shyly at the opposite side of the booth, and it’s not until The Soldier cocks his head towards the seat that he sits down across from him.
he clears his throat once, twice. “lewis, huh? you- you remember that?”
“i remember,” he gruffs, jamming his fork into his medium side of pasta salad. “i wanted an english name too. wanted to be called luck, but you said lewis fit me better. guess that makes sense now.”
“there was another one too, yeah? you hated it! i- i remember that. you wouldn’t even entertain it!”
“fucking bartholomew,” The Asset huffs, head shaking. “i can’t even spell that.”
“i really don’t think i can either,” The Captain laughs. he’s smiling wide, dimples popping on his cheeks, but his hands are restless. he folds his hands together on top of the table, props his chin on them, rubs anxiously at his earlobes.
they’re silent for a moment, and Captain America watches as he takes a bite of his club. his eyes linger on his titanium fingers that peek out of the sleeve of his hoodie, but they snap away quickly, just in time for ma to bring over his vanilla milkshake with whipped cream on top. she looks between the two of them before she places a straw beside The Captain’s milkshake. she’s gone as soon as she came, whistling a tune as she heads back over to the register to count change until another customer comes in.
The Asset sighs.
“i’m not him, you know. not anymore.”
“you are,” The Captain says, and he leans forward earnestly, elbows knocking on the wood before he jams a stubborn finger into the top of the checkered table to make his point. “he’s you. he’s- he’s in there. you wouldn’t have pulled me out of the river if he wasn’t.”
the first sign of his malfunction, pulling The Captain out of the potomac. The Asset knew something had gone wrong with his programming as soon as he dragged Captain America’s limp body to the muddy riverbank. that wasn’t all, either, he remembers. he stood above the man to make sure his chest was rising and falling before he limped into the weeds. he should have reported back to Hydra, he should have been wiped clean and re-programmed to try again until he completed his mission, but he didn’t.
“i don’t know why i did that.” he shakes his head. he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know. he does know.
but is it real?
he’s supposed to be meeting his sister at the bus stop, but a commotion from the playground behind the school catches his attention before he can make it very far. changbin clutches the strap of his bookbag and peeks around the corner of the brick wall to see big-headed bully jared wright push another boy roughly into the pole of the swingset. he falls to the ground with an oof, but he gets up quickly and holds his fists in front of his face.
“i can do this all day,” changbin hears the boy say, and jared knocks him square in the jaw.
changbin’s never been in a fight before. his eyes widen when the other boy goes for a hit and misses completely only to be met with the knuckles of jared’s mean fist again. his momma has always told him that violence isn’t the answer, run the other way and find an adult as fast as you can.
his sister told him never to start a fight, but to finish it instead.
changbin’s metal lunchbox collides with the back of jared wright’s big head with a clang, and he shouts and spins around angrily. jared clutches the back of his head and teeters on his feet.
“hey, asshole! pick on someone your own size!” changbin yells. he’s sweating, nervous, and strands of his long hair stick to his chin. he swings his lunchbox again; it collides with the side of jared’s head this time. the hit shunts him to the side, and changbin lifts his foot and kicks him on the behind. jared’s feet scramble in the sand as he tries to get away. he turns back toward them with an angry glare but keeps going, jogging wobbly away from the playground.
the boy sits dazed in front of the swingset, so changbin reaches his hand out. he takes it with no hesitation, standing shakily on his feet with changbin’s help. his lip is bleeding, his cheek is already forming a nasty bruise, but he wipes his hands together to clean the sand from his scraped palms before extending his hand for changbin to shake.
“thanks for that. i- i mean, i coulda taken him, but that was really nice of you. i’m chris! what’s your name?”
“my name is changbin seo, i’m seven.”
“seo, huh? hey, your sister’s in my class!”
“please don’t tell her i said a bad word. she’ll hit me with her headphone cord and tell my mom.”
“it can be our secret! i owe you big time anyway.”
The Captain’s eyes are patient when he finally rouses from the memory. there’s no expectation in his gaze, in chris’ gaze, just an open kindness that The Asset still isn’t used to experiencing.
“i think- i mean, i think you do know. you always helped me out when i needed it the most, you know? that’s the type of person changbin is. that’s who you are.”
yes, the voice in his head says fiercely. that’s who we are.
“i’ve done things,” he whispers. his throat is tight. his chest is tight. he’s done so many things. evil, wretched things. he killed without question and without hesitation, families decimated by his hands at the command of Hydra. men, women, children. he was their Weapon. The Fist of Hydra. he can never begin to atone for all that he’s done, for even an ounce of the pain he’s caused.
“i have too,” chris replies. his gaze drops to the table before it snaps back up. “i’ve done things i can never forgive myself for, and i have to live with that. but changbin… bin, that wasn’t you. they- they made you do those things. none of it was your fault.”
he nods. it’s slow, but he is hesitantly willing to admit that he doesn’t think he chose any of this. he fell from the freight car and woke up in an underground Hydra facility. The Asset was born there, but changbin seo would have never chosen to give his life to Hydra. “but i still did it.”
chris is slow to speak. he’s silent for a long while; the only sounds around them are dennis sweeping the floor and the low murmurs of the baseball game on the television above the counter.
“you don’t have to do that anymore,” he says slowly. “you don’t ever have to do that again. you went back east, yeah? The Winter Soldier got his answers, right? when- when you found him?”
The Handler.
“i wasn’t looking for answers,” he says. no explanation could ever justify what he had been put through for so many years. no explanation or reason why could heal him, could fill the void in his chest or patch the fissures of his mind. “that was vengeance.”
chris gives an understanding nod, like his answer makes all the sense in the world. chris always understood him, maybe that never changed.
“are you satisfied?”
is he? a feeling like that, is it possible? he isn’t sure, he hasn’t felt in years.
“i can have a team ready tonight,” chris barrels on. “you just say the word. we can help you find them, take them all out if that’s what you think you need. if it’ll help.”
he has no urge to go back east again, and he’s not stupid enough to think Hydra bases aren’t scattered around the states. if Hydra was able to infiltrate s.h.i.e.l.d, they could be anywhere. he has no urge to face them. not right now, at least. maybe one day, if he’s more stable and can think more rationally, if his mind can tell the difference between killing because that’s what he’s made for and killing the dregs of Hydra because it will make the world safer.
“there’s nothing for me there. not now.”
chris nods again. it’s life-changing, he would have been hit for giving an answer The Handler didn’t like, strapped to The Chair and fried to hell and back if he faltered or showed a hint of agency. he was never given the option to make choices for himself. now, chris sits across from him and asks him what he wants.
“that side of you found what it needed, and i’m really, really glad. that’s a step forward, yeah? maybe you can find answers for changbin now. and y’know, i’m not the same chris you knew before… people change. it’s okay if you’re not the same changbin. no one will expect that from you, alright? not after- not after all you’ve been through. all you’ve overcome.”
he cannot be changbin seo from five years ago. he can never be him again, even with his stolen memories steadily falling back into their rightful places. he doesn’t want to be The Asset, but he doesn’t know who he is if he is not The Asset, The Weapon, The Soldier.
changbin was a good man. a loyal, selfless friend, a loving husband, a son, a brother. if he has the choice, if he can choose to be anyone he would want to be that man again, but—
“i don’t know where to start.”
chris does that for him.
the morning after their meeting at the diner, chris rings your doorbell. he’s nervous, just as jittery and restless as he was when he sat across from him in the booth for the first time in over five years. he knows that chris is nervous, because he’s staked out on the roof of your neighbor’s house keeping watch. that, chris does not know.
chris leaves his sight when the front door opens for him, and he waits with bated breath until he sees the man through the window in the living room. his window.
his breath all but leaves his lungs when you turn from the door. his memories don’t do you justice, the beautiful curves and angles of your body, the smile on your face when you pull his friend into your arms for a hug. if only he could hear your voice.
the serum heightened every aspect of his being. his musculature, his stature, his sight, his hearing, but he’s too far away to hear the goings on inside the house. he doesn’t know if he could bear it anyway; he is aware of the news you’re about to receive. he doesn’t know if he could handle the sound of your reaction because even the thought of it is sending his heart plummeting into his stomach.
even though he is anxious, he doesn’t fidget. he may not want to be The Asset anymore, but he will never be able to unlearn what he was programmed for. there were times when he would spend days on a solitary mission, sitting completely motionless and unwavering with a trained eye peering through the scope of a sniper rifle. this is what he’s good at. he can wait.
it all falls from the cracks when you lift yourself shakily from the couch and stumble over your own feet as you try to take a step. chris is up immediately, catching your elbow in his strong grip to keep you from falling.
he’s off the roof and pressed against the side of your house in a second, heartbeat thundering in his chest. he can hear you now, hear your trembling inhales and your frantic, choked voice when you speak over the thunderous sounds of kitchen cabinets slamming open and shut.
“he’ll- he’ll be hungry when he- when he comes home. i n-need- he loves pasta. chris, i don’t have any! i don’t- i don’t have any pasta! i c-can’t- chris!”
his head turns away from the window when he hears you fall to the floor. chris follows you again, he hears that too, hears his best friend drop to his knees in your kitchen to hold you while you weep for the husband you thought you had lost for good. for him.
every part of him aches. it overcomes him so completely that he has to grit his teeth before he shouts. he aches to hold you in his arms, to rock you gently back and forth until the wails that claw themselves raggedly from your throat calm into exhausted whimpers, but he can’t.
he isn’t ready.
he doesn’t know if he’s capable of that, doesn’t know if the titanium Arm that recalibrates and whirs and clanks on the left side of his body is capable of anything other than harm. can his voice still soothe you? would he even have the words to try?
will you still love him when you find out what he’s done? when you learn that your husband has been made into a monster, a killer. will you look at him in disgust? will you fear him like everyone else has?
you should. he deserves that, but he doesn’t think he can bear it. his battered heart would stop beating in his chest.
he moves to crouch underneath your window when your cries finally quiet down. chris leads you back to the couch and your feet follow clumsily. they drag against the carpet; he can hear the way you slump pitifully onto the sofa.
you cry again when chris tells you what he knows. he doesn’t tell you everything, just like he promised at the diner. you know that he’s alive, you know he was kidnapped and experimented on and brainwashed, but chris keeps the more difficult details to himself. they’re not for you to know. not now, not so soon, maybe not ever. you might not come back from it. he barely even thinks he can.
“is- is he safe?” you sob. “chris, is he safe? those people that hurt him… will they come back for him?”
with the Hydra-infiltrated s.h.i.e.l.d in shambles, Hydra’s high ranking officers will be scrambling. he is not their top priority; they have other Winter Soldiers they can weaponize. he is safe as long as he lays low and stays off the radar.
“if they do, they’re gonna have to go through me,” chris says. they’ve tried before, and they failed. “i promise you he’s safe. we’ve been… keeping an eye on him. if anything changes, we’ll know. we’ll be ready.”
you’re silent for a while, contemplating probably. your breath still hitches with softening cries, you still snivel every few seconds, but he perks up when he hears your voice again.
“i don’t- i don’t know if i’ll believe that until i see him for myself,” you whisper. “i know you’re telling me the truth, i know you are, but- but. y-you know? i need- i need to see his face. i- i need to touch him, i need to feel him. chris, it hurts. my heart- my heart hurts. oh, changbin. changbin.”
he can’t believe you still want to see him, that you still want him to come home.
chris is long gone by the time he lifts himself from the ground underneath your window, the sun has set and the crickets are chirping from the bushes. he presses his ear once more to the side of your house; dog paws are scrambling on the tile floor of the kitchen, the refrigerator door opens and closes.
he backs away slowly and surveys the perimeter before making the trek to his safe house.
the bedroom door is halfway open the next time he lets himself in through the window. he stops in his tracks, staring unblinking into the darkness of your room. he can see the shape of your bed, your head on the pillow, and he can tell by the sound of your breath that you’re thankfully sound asleep. it’s deep, you’ve been asleep for a while.
did you leave it open for him?
as always, his boots are silent on the carpet as he walks his way around the living room. his flesh fingers reach out to touch the soft blanket that still sits on the corner of your couch, pinching the soft fabric between two fingers and rubbing. he glances at pictures, thumbs the corner of your wedding picture and blinks his eyes hard to stop the sting.
he’s surprised to see the light above the stove has been left on in the kitchen. you don’t usually leave it on - at least not in the handful of times he has let himself inside. it’s always turned off, and your bedroom door is always closed shut. he should turn it off for you, he thinks, what if you left it on by accident? but maybe you didn’t. he shouldn’t change something you might have done on purpose; he doesn’t want to upset you or give you a reason to be angry.
he’s conflicted. his sudden and unexpected acquisition of agency makes him more and more uncertain every day. there are so many things he doesn’t know, so many things that he could do wrong because there is no one there to give him concrete instructions anymore.
it’s the first time his feet have taken him anywhere other than the living room. he steps carefully into the kitchen and is immediately stopped in his tracks again, uncertainty stripping away almost as soon as it came.
there’s a pot on the stove, and beside it, a plastic, pink bowl with a matching fork. a quilted dishcloth is placed over the open pot. he lifts the corner of the cloth and is met with a garlicky smell that he immediately remembers. his mouth waters, and he swallows thickly.
you made his favorite pasta.
it’s garnished on top with what looks to be parsley and red pepper flakes. he doesn’t use the bowl; it would make too much noise, but he gingerly picks up the fork with his flesh hand and twirls it slowly when he leans over the pot. his eyes close when he brings the fork to his mouth and chews slowly, the flavor bursting on his tongue. it’s oily, it’s garlicky, it’s fresh with hints of lemon juice, just like he remembered.
“eating from the pot like a caveman, i see. you don’t want a bowl?”
you stand on your tiptoes behind him as he stands over the pot of aglio e olio on the burner to eat his dinner straight from the source. your arms wrap around his waist, and he squirms when your hands sneak underneath his t-shirt to pet at the warm skin of his belly.
“i don’t need a bowl! it’s too good. i couldn’t wait…”
changbin turns in your grasp and offers you a bite, bringing the fork to your lips and cupping his hand underneath in case some of the noodles slip from the utensil. your cheeks bulge when you chew, and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. changbin coos and pets his thumb against the soft skin of your chewing cheek.
he takes another bite, and another, and another, until half of the pasta in the pot is gone. you made it for him, at least he thinks you did, but he shouldn’t be greedy and eat it all when he doesn’t know if you’ve had any. he places the dishcloth back on top of the pot and walks to the sink, gingerly laying the fork down in it now that he’s done. he leaves the unused bowl by the pot and makes the decision to turn off the stove light as well. when he turns around to head back into the living room, he’s stopped in his tracks for the third time that night.
a small dog sits in the doorway of the kitchen.
his heart plummets to his stomach. what does he do now? there are so many synapses firing in his brain, and the uncertainty is back with a vengeance. does he kill the dog? will he have to? he doesn’t want to, but he can’t face you yet, not tonight. he can’t risk the barking waking you up.
he’s not ready.
but he doesn’t have to worry for long, because all your dog does is waddle up to him with a wagging, tucked tail to lay on his boots. she wiggles and squirms and flips onto her back, tail thumping quickly against the tile floor of the kitchen. it’s louder than he likes, even louder when she starts frantically whimpering for his attention until he crouches down to hesitantly pet her small head with his flesh hand.
she’s alone in her kennel at the shelter.
she had a bath today; her silky fur smells like apples, and her nails are trimmed neatly. the laminated paper beside the fenced in kennel she occupies says that her name is sadie, and she’s a cavalier king charles spaniel just like chris’ dog berry. changbin’s senses are overwhelmed by the cacophony of barking dogs in the other kennels in the shelter, but she sits quietly, looking up at the two of you with sparkling eyes that he knows are making you melt.
she’s a recent mother, the attendant says as he stops before her kennel, all of her pups have been adopted. she was a good mama to them, fed them well and played well with them too until one-by-one they were taken away - a gift for a child, a surprise birthday present for a grandfather.
changbin knows she’s the one when you start to tear up, when you clutch his shoulder and pull him into you until he’s bumping against your chest. he’s never had a pet before, not even when he was little. he’s allergic to animal fur, and taking medicine or getting shots just seemed like too much effort for something he wasn’t even positive he wanted.
he doesn’t think that now. not anymore, when he sees the sweet, tender look on your face as you watch sadie, alone and newly childless in her kennel. he knows he’d do whatever he had to do in order to take her home and make you happy.
“is she trained?” he asks, and the attendant nods. she’s a good dog, knows how to use the bathroom outside and is good with children and other dogs. she can even do some tricks.
you pull changbin closer towards the cage, and her fluffy tail swishes against the hard, concrete floor. she meets you at the grated door, snuffles and licks at your outstretched palm and wiggles when you stick your finger through the wiring to stroke her soft head.
she licks at changbin’s hand too, and he snatches it away with a surprised laugh. he reaches out again and lets her smell the tips of his fingers. you tear up once more when she rests her chin in his palm. changbin kisses the side of your head and thinks that this is the perfect start to your little family.
he asks for the papers immediately and sneezes the entire drive home.
five years have been kinder to her than they have to him. sadie’s eyebrows and nose are sprinkled powdered sugar-white with age, and even the soft tufts of fur on her ears are scattered with white. she remembers him, just like he remembers her, and her tail keeps swishing when he cups her little face in his hand.
“hi puppy,” he whispers. he sits down silently on the tile floor of your kitchen and lets her climb up his thighs. she licks frantically at his neck and his face and sticks her cold nose into his ear. “hi sadie.”
her fur is so soft underneath his fingers. you keep her clean, you keep her happy and well fed and loved. she whiffs confusedly at his Arm, and he immediately goes stock still while she smells up and down the titanium limb. sadie cocks her head when the plates on his Arm shift; her ears perk and twitch cutely. if he moves, he could hurt her. he never wants to hurt her.
he sits unmoving and silent on your kitchen floor. only his fingers move, flesh fingers, scratching lightly at her ears and rubbing at the side of her soft, round belly. sadie dozes in his lap, her little front paws curled snugly under her chest. one of her hind legs slips slowly down his thigh, but she’s comfortable, and he won’t move her until he has to.
she’s so small. she’s so small, and she sleeps peacefully in his lap like she doesn’t care that he isn’t responsible for carnage as long as he scratches her ears. like the blood on his hands doesn’t stain her precious fur.
he eases his petting, softens the movement of his fingers. he has to be careful; he has to make sure he doesn’t hurt her.
he sits for so long on the kitchen floor that the lower half of his body goes numb, but it isn’t until the night turns slowly into dawn that he stands up with sadie in his arms. he needs to leave. he has to leave before you wake up, so he pads slowly to the living room and sets sadie on the carpet. she turns and runs straight back into your bedroom where she came. his heart pangs for a moment because she left him so quickly, but when he looks towards your bedroom it pangs for another reason.
sadie sits on the edge of the bed and wags her tail.
“come to bed, baby, sadie and i are waiting for you.”
you’re asleep on the far side of the bed, body turned away from the open door. he always slept closest to it, and now, sadie sits in his spot and waits for him to join. her tail picks up speed when he steps closer, but he takes hold of the doorknob and closes it lightly instead. he presses his forehead to the closed door and breathes shakily.
it takes him longer to leave this time. he doesn’t want to, he realizes when he closes the window, but he scopes the perimeter as always and leaves regardless. the walk back to his safe house hurts like it never has before.
he doesn’t want to leave.
he wants to come home.
it doesn’t hit him until he’s laying on his cot and willing his eyes shut that he never sneezed once. the serum is certainly the reason for that. five years ago, holding sadie for that long would have had his nose running and eyes burning if he hadn’t taken his medicine.
the serum changed everything. it kept him alive after he fell from the freight car, it made him nearly invincible in battle and on missions, it fixed his fucking allergies.
everything is different, and things will never be how they once were.
he curls onto his side and lets himself cry.
he stills when his boots step silently onto the carpet of your living room. you didn’t rouse with the muted click of the window opening, and you still remain fast asleep on the couch even when he stands mere feet from you.
he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. his heart feels like it’s three sizes too big in his chest, swelling like a balloon that’s fit to burst with ever growing pressure. it’s the closest he’s been to you in half a decade, and it almost sends him to his knees.
you’re waiting for him. it’s something he just knows. he’s not sure how, but he knows it deep in his bones.
he’s killed people like this, unsuspecting and sound asleep in their beds. he watched the blood seep into their pillows, watched their bodies grow cold before fleeing the scene and leaving no trace.
now, all he does is watch you rest. he watches your chest rise and fall, watches your eyes move underneath your closed eyelids. are you dreaming? do you dream of him like he dreams of you? your hands are curled under your chin, and he aches to touch you so badly that he almost reaches out and does it. he touches the blanket instead, the soft one on the corner of your couch. it’s unfolded and in his hands before he can register that he even picked it up, and he gently drapes it across your sleeping body.
sadie wags her tail all the while, impatiently waiting her turn for his attention. she’s circling his feet and pawing at his legs until he bends down to cup her head and rub her ears.
he can’t risk waking you up, so he doesn’t pace his way around the living room like he normally does. he sits across from you instead, in the small recliner beside the television, and sadie paws at him again to let him know she wants to sit in his lap.
he sits. he pets sadie, he sits, and he waits.
he wants to come home, but is he ready? is he too dangerous to be around you? does he deserve it? he doesn’t know the right answer to any of the questions bouncing around in his mind, he hardly ever does anymore. what he does know, though, is that it feels right to be here, like something has clicked into place. it feels like this is where he’s supposed to be. here with you, here with sadie.
The Soldier can’t want; he has never been allowed, but he wants this, and he shouldn’t. it’s so selfish, and he can’t be selfish with you. not when the force of his memories have broken the weakened dam of his mind, not when the currents of it will rise and rush and devastate anyone in his path. the people in his newfound life are collateral because of the damage that’s been done to him. he can’t let it take you like it has him. you’ve suffered enough; he won’t let himself be the reason you suffer more. he’s not ready, it isn’t time—
he places sadie on the floor and makes for the window. he has to go, he can’t let you see him like this. this battered, this bruised, this broken. the window snicks open - an easy escape, but he pauses still, looking out into the night as he wills himself to leave the warmth of the home he once shared with you.
his back is to you when he hears your breathing stutter. your heart rate accelerates, pounding hard in your chest when you see his figure in front of your open window. he can hear you sit up, hears your fingers tighten their hold on the blanket he draped over you earlier.
“c-changbin?”
it’s forced from your throat, something small and meek, like it takes everything in you to use your voice. even so, it’s a birdsong. it rejuvenates his withered soul, a soothing aloe to his very being.
his head droops. he sags against the windowsill, and your arms are around him just before his knees hit the ground. he’s slumped against the wall, groaning deep in his throat before he curls in on himself. your fingers wrap themselves in the baggy fabric of his worn hoodie, they pet his choppy hair, caress his sunken face. he can feel the chill of the ring on your finger, the ring he gave you. his body isn’t used to being touched this gently. he flinches on reflex, but his flesh hand grips the fabric of your sleep pants fiercely when you try to separate yourself from him. he hasn’t felt tender intimacy and kindness in so long that your touch is life-altering. is this what he has been missing? is this what they took from him?
“you made me pasta,” is all he says, before his body wracks with horrible sobs.
you clutch him to your chest, your heart is a hummingbird wing.
“you came home to me,” you whimper into his hair. you hold him like you can’t believe he’s in your arms, and sadie wriggles herself into your embrace to lick frantically at his wet cheeks. he holds her tiny body to his chest while you hold him to yours.
“i’m sorry,” he chokes. “i’m so sorry. don’t- don’t make me go. please don’t send me away.”
he’s nearly inconsolable, everything feels like it’s crashing down on him at once. his words are garbled with sobs, but you understand him anyway, bearing the heavy weight of the left side of his body in your lap as you begin to rock him from side to side. the steady press of your body warms the titanium of his Arm through his hoodie.
“oh baby, never. never, oh, changbin.” you touch his face again. his cheeks are sticky wet, and he reluctantly lets you tilt his chin up so that you can look at him. he’s ashamed; he can’t open his eyes, but you thumb the weeping edges of them and they open on their own. you’re already crying, but your face crumples when you look into his eyes for the first time. he hates himself for it - he doesn’t deserve the tears you cry for him, but he’ll hold onto them like a liferaft. you cry because you still care about him, and that’s the only thing that keeps him from drowning.
he sleeps on the floor in the guest bedroom, and you make pasta almost every night for dinner.
when you knock on his half-open door, he’s shirtless and scrounging through the dresser in the corner for clothes.
“o-oh, were you going to take a shower?”
he wasn’t, but if you’re asking, does that mean you want him to? he must smell bad, so he shouldn’t say no.
“yes,” he lies, and he looks towards the bathroom door with slight trepidation. you don’t notice the look in his eyes because your eyes are locked on his Arm. his ears flush red, shame curling hot in his gut and spreading like an infection. it was already bad enough that he lost his arm during his fall from the freight car, then Hydra went and implanted the titanium appendage to his shoulder. frankenstein’s monster. the skin around his bionic Arm is mangled with ugly scarring, jagged and bulbous and tender pink. he doesn’t want you to see it, a permanent spotlight to the atrocities he’s committed and the guilt he lives with. “it’s an eyesore, huh?”
“no,” you immediately say. your heartbeat doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t know what to make of that. “just another part of you.”
“you’re crazy,” he laughs humorlessly, and he doesn’t realize what he said until it’s out of his mouth. he stiffens, body expecting some sort of punishment after making such a snide comment, but all you do is laugh in return.
“and you still married me anyway!”
you quiet down when you step closer to him, your body suddenly so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of you on his bare chest. your eyes trace the scarring of his Arm, and the shame spreads further when he sees the sadness pool in them. he knows that you won’t hurt him, your hands have only ever brought him comfort, but he flinches anyway when your hand lifts slightly to touch the titanium. he rears the Arm away from you, suddenly petrified.
“no! no, p-please no- you can’t. it could-”
hurt you. it goes unsaid because he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. it could hurt you, it could kill you. The Arm is part of what made him one of the best Weapons that Hydra ever had. he can’t let you touch it. he can’t let it rot your innocent fingers.
he hates himself even more when you shut yourself in his bathroom. he can hear you crying, pained whimpers and harsh breathing, and he hates himself. he should stop being selfish, he should have never stayed when all he does is make you suffer.
but the urge to comfort you is stronger than the urge to leave, the ache wraps itself around his bones like barbed wire and keeps him rooted where he stands until he’s knocking softly on the bathroom door. he can hear you sniffle harshly to try and compose yourself before twisting the knob, but you start to sob all over again when you see the mutilated scarring on his shoulder.
“stop,” he begs. “please don’t. i don’t- i don’t like it.” you let him touch your face. it’s warm, sticky wet, and your eyes close when his thumb tracks a tear down your cheeks. “please don’t cry. i- i don’t want to make you cry.”
“‘m sorry, i’m sorry. n-no, no changbin, you didn’t make me cry. i- i should’ve asked first, b-but, but i just- i- it must have hurt so bad,” you sob, voice high pitched and watery.
he thinks about it often now, how much anguish you must feel. how many conflicting thoughts must go through your head just like they do his. the undoing of his being has not only affected him. you thought he was dead, missing in action and presumed deceased by the army. you held a memorial service for him, you go to grief counseling monthly. and now, your dead-but-not-dead husband stands before you, with a surgically implanted bionic arm and half a decade worth of brainwashing and trauma to work through, a fate that many might consider worse than death. when you thought he was dead, maybe you could have at least reassured yourself with the thought that he died quickly, that he died without even knowing. now, you know without a doubt that he has suffered. you know he still suffers.
he reaches for your hand. it’s the first thing he can think to do. flesh on flesh, he feels the warmth of your precious fingers and trails his hand gently up your arm until it can wrap around your shoulders. you let yourself be pulled into his chest, and he only jolts a little when you wrap both of your arms around his bare waist. he doesn’t know how long you stand in the bathroom, holding each other tightly and breathing in each other’s presence. neither of you let go when your cries settle down, two bodies making up for lost time.
he traces your shoulder blade through your shirt when you pull back from him, and he shivers as you place a kiss in the middle of his chest. he holds his Arm at an angle so it doesn’t brush against you when you lean against the sink.
“i’ll get out of your hair so you can shower now,” you say. your voice is raspy from crying hard, and suddenly he’s anxious again.
he hates showers. they’re too cold, but he doesn’t want to offend you by wasting your hospitality. he watches you reach into the cabinet under the sink to retrieve a towel for him - another luxury he isn’t used to, and he touches the corner with his flesh fingers when you set it on the counter. it’s so soft, maybe it will help combat the cold water.
the shower’s sliding door moves easily when he nudges it to the side, and he steels himself before turning on the water. he drops his sweatpants without hesitation and uses his peripherals to gauge your reaction in the mirror. he’s been bulking up again - you keep him well fed, and chris and jisung like to drag him out of the house every other morning for runs. the satisfaction that seeps through his body freezes to a halt when he steps inside the shower.
you’re opening the door to leave the bathroom when he chokes, when the cold water hits his chest and shivers wrack his vessel. he curls in on himself as always but turns around and throws his head back to get it over with, to wet his hair and let the water cascade over his face. he shouts when the water hits his back, a debilitating chill zinging straight down his spine.
“changbin? what’s wrong?!”
you don’t even take your clothes off before you’re rushing over to slide the shower door open and step inside to help. it’s freezing, he knows, the water hasn’t touched your skin, but the cold air inside the shower stall is harrowing.
“fuck, bin, it’s freezing!” you screech, and he backs into the corner, folding in on himself and making himself smaller. you’re mad. you’re mad at him, you must be. he couldn’t handle the cold and now he has to pay the price. the shower tile is just as cold as the water, and his teeth chatter loudly in his mouth. “baby, do you not want hot water?”
you reach out and quickly turn the valve of the shower, not bothering to wait for his answer when he shivers so violently.
“i- i can have hot?” he asks, and he watches as your hand dips under the rain of the shower head. your hand is blissfully warm when you touch his arm. he lets you pull him from the corner, looking at you with wild eyes. he squirms when the water touches his skin again, but the breath leaves his lungs when he feels it. the warmth.
“baby, it’s warm. it’s warm now, is that better?” you ask, and your face is wet again. from the water, yes, but from the tears that immediately started falling from your eyes again as well. your t-shirt is plastered tight to your body, shorts and socks soaking wet, but none of that matters when you hold him in your arms under the warm shower. you hold him for so long that you feel his shivers die down. he leans his head back slowly so the warm water cascades over his face, his hair.
“you used to wash my hair,” he mumbles instead, and you headbutt his chest with a nod, still crying.
“yes,” you reply. “i would- i would really love to do it again, if you’d like me to.”
you’re giving him an option. it’s hard to let himself accept comfort or ask for the things he wants. sometimes he still feels like he’s talking out of turn, like the next time he tries to speak he’ll be strapped to The Chair again and shocked until he doesn’t remember how to use his mouth. but you look at him with patience, and with kindness, just like chris does. maybe this once, he can allow himself to want.
“yes. i would like that.”
once he makes the life-altering discovery that not all physical contact requires pain, he seeks it out. his body searches for it constantly, even unconsciously. when you make dinner, when you sit next to him on the couch to watch a movie, when you join him in the bathroom to brush your teeth together.
that’s only part of the reason he kisses you in the kitchen.
the other part of the reason is that he wants, and he can’t stop. he wants with an ache so fierce it wakes him up almost as frequently as the nightmares do. he’s not used to wanting, to craving, but now that he’s gotten a taste, it consumes him from the inside out.
you’re sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for the water to boil so you can throw your pasta noodles in when he trudges between your legs. you wrap around him immediately, legs and arms clinging to him while he basks in the comfort of your presence. his flesh arm slinks behind your back and underneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. you’re eye to eye, and he kisses you when you tilt your chin forward to nuzzle your nose against his round one. you make a devastating noise, a new memory he’ll treasure until his last breath.
your first kiss since he came back.
it’s gentle, a slow press of lips. he remembers this.
countless kisses, a constant from a faraway life. in this exact position and others. kisses on the couch, kisses before bed, kisses when you leave for work, kisses while sadie scrambles her way in between the two of you in search of her own.
he remembers them all, but this one feels like coming home.
you pull away with a wet smack and lean back just enough to look into his eyes.
“changbin?” you ask.
“mm?”
that’s a recent development too. he answers to his name. not The Asset, not The Soldier, but changbin. his name is changbin seo. he’s not the same man he was five years ago, but maybe that’s okay. maybe he doesn’t have to be.
“are you sure?”
is he? he’s not sure of much. he still has days where he worries that all of his good memories were just created by his mind in order to try and protect himself from the constant pain he feels from his past actions, but he knows this. he knows you, and he knows this is what he wants.
“you’re the only thing i’m sure of.”
his lips are plump and spit-slick when they kiss you again; they trail from your neck to your jaw, and your mouth drops open when he scrapes his teeth lightly against the skin there. not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt, but enough to make goosebumps raise in anticipation. the noises you make are so beautiful, and changbin wants to taste them on his tongue. so he does, trailing his way from your jaw to the siren song of your lips. when you moan into his mouth, it feels like he’s born again, like this is what life is all about.
changbin’s metal fingers scrape noisily against the counter in his haste to grab onto something. his flesh hand is wrapped safely around your back, pulling you closer to him while you kiss. he feels you arch against him, feels your perfect breasts press against his chest as the arch deepens. his fingers trace the dip in your back and you shiver.
as your kiss deepens, you ease closer and closer towards the edge of the counter to get closer to him. there’s hardly any space between you, and your fingers worm their way into changbin’s hair as his tongue explores your mouth. it’s not until you nearly slip off the edge of the counter that his metal hand moves from gripping the corner of it - the chill of the titanium makes you gasp as it holds you steady underneath your thigh, and changbin pulls away from your lips frantically.
“it’s okay. it’s okay, i promise,” you whisper fiercely, pressing needy kisses to his cheek.
you’re not scared of it. you never have been. your eyes have never looked at his Arm with unease even though he would never blame you if they did. you’ve reached for it, laid your hand down between the two of you with your palm facing up just to give him the option. let him know he can touch you, flesh fingers or metal.
his Arm recalibrates under your added weight, and the sound of it makes you bite your lip. he sets you on the counter again like it’s nothing. he leans forward to kiss you again, but a sudden bark from sadie has you both jolting apart, lips swollen tender and slick.
“oh, fuck, the water!” you cry, and changbin backs up enough to let you slip to the floor so you can quickly move the pot from the burner, right before it overflows with boiling water.
changbin isn’t asleep, but he’s comfortable enough on his pallet on the floor that he very well could be soon, until a noise from your room has him immediately on alert. he sits up quickly, stealthily walking his way to the door and opening it quietly. he surveys the living room, the kitchen, then makes his way slowly to your bedroom.
the door is cracked. your lights are off, but the fairy lights above your bed are on so he can see you clearly.
it takes him a moment to realize what it is that you’re doing, that you aren’t in any danger at all. your sleep shirt is rucked up above your breasts, and your underwear dangles from a delicate ankle. even without his enhanced hearing, he would be able to hear the buzzing noise that whatever you have between your legs makes, something small and pink that settles right over your clit. he swallows hard, eyes trailing down your writhing body until they’ve seared every inch of it into his memory. your face is what mesmerizes him the most, the way your eyebrows scrunch, the way your lips fall open.
“changbin!” you whimper, and your hand flies up to cover your mouth. your eyebrows furrow deeper in the middle and your body twists. he watches your thighs shake, sees the way they squeeze shut before you pry them open again so that you can keep going.
he aches again, heat curling in his stomach when he thinks about how badly he wants to fit himself between your legs like he used to. it takes everything in him to step away from your door and go back to his room. he doesn’t want to; he wants to stay. he wants to watch, but not without your permission. when he makes it back to his room, he shuts his door lightly and heads straight for the bathroom. the lights on the mirror are so bright that they make him squint when he looks at himself. he’s sweating, his ears are pink, and his pupils are blown wide.
the water is scalding hot when he steps into the shower. that’s how he likes it now, a touch too hot to remind him that not everything has to be so cold.
his titanium Arm presses against the tile of the shower wall, and he hangs his head. he spends a few moments watching the water cascade from his hair to the floor, but his gaze soon settles on his cock, hard and throbbing between his legs. he takes his cock and balls in one hand and squeezes, shakes them a little bit just to get a good feel of them after so long. he can hardly wrap his mind around the fact that his body used to bring you pleasure, that it felt pleasure. that his vessel could be used for anything other than bringing death and destruction.
when he begins to stroke himself in earnest, he sees flashes from the past of the two of you entwined. your hands clawing at his back, your legs over his broad shoulders, his hands gripping your asscheeks to spread them apart for his gaze. he’s taken you in so many ways, so many places, but his mind keeps going back to what he saw mere moments before.
your tits jiggled so sweetly when you arched your back to rut your hips into the toy, your nipples pebbled as you brought yourself pleasure and whimpered his name. god, the way you sound. he wants to make you moan like that again, kiss the sound from your lips while his cock kisses you inside. you felt perfect when he held you on top of the counter, your body fit against his just right. he felt your skin, felt your curves under his flesh and the weight of your gorgeous thigh on top of titanium.
his recent memories of you get to him the most, and changbin sags against the cool shower wall when he cums in thick rivulets.
he’s laying on his pallet again when you knock on his door.
“hey, i heard the shower running a few minutes ago. everything okay?” you ask, and he immediately feels guilty. you ask him if you can come in, so he scoots over and lets you settle down beside him. shame flares in his gut again; you should be laying on a soft bed instead of on the floor, but the bed is just too soft for him. the thought dissipates before he can stew on it for too long when you throw your leg over his waist.
“i saw you,” he says. he needs to tell you the truth, that’s the least you deserve. “in your room earlier, with your…” changbin waves his Arm in the air like that will explain what he means. “i’m sorry. i thought something was wrong, so i went to see if you were alright, but i… i’m sorry, i won’t make another mistake.”
your hand comes up to pet his face. his cheek is hot to the touch, and he presses his forehead against yours when you pull him into you.
“it’s okay to make mistakes,” you whisper. “people make mistakes all the time, it’s kind of our thing.”
it always takes him back when you say things like that. like they’re a fact, like it’s normal, like no one will bat an eye if he says the wrong thing or makes the wrong move. it still makes him angry when he thinks about it - what Hydra took from him, how they broke him to his core, and the anger he feels isn’t only for himself. he feels it for you, for chris. it’s his burden to bear, but he’s not the only one that’s crushed underneath it.
a press of lips to his own has him blinking, and he hears your voice call to him. a lighthouse in the fog.
“come back,” you say, kissing his lips, his cheeks, the scar on his chin. “come back to me, changbin. where are you?”
he’s here with you - he never wants to be anywhere else. he kisses you about it, turns onto his side and pulls you into his thick chest, nudging your noses together before pressing his lips to yours. changbin keeps his lips close when you pull away to speak. he can’t seem to make himself stop, kissing languidly at your throat and your collar bones and making his way slowly to your jaw.
“did it- ah, ch-changbin, what you saw, did it upset you?”
“no,” he gasps. something fierce and untamed rises in his throat, and he gulps it down. “no, i- you were beautiful.”
changbin lifts onto the elbow of his titanium Arm and cups the nape of your neck with the other. you’re so beautiful, so special to him that it twists his insides, ensnares his beating heart. your eyes shimmer in the lamplight while you watch him watch you, and he can’t bear not kissing you for another second. he dips down again, hesitant to press his weight onto you, but you don’t let him hesitate for long. you tug him down, wrapping your arms and a leg around him and humming in contentment when you feel his weight, the heat of his body.
you kiss like that for a long while, until your lips are sore and your hips rock against each other fitfully.
your fingers nudge at his chest, and he pulls away immediately. he’s surprised when he feels your hands scramble down to your waist to — oh god — lift the hem of your t-shirt until the fabric is rucked above your bare breasts again, just like it was in your bedroom earlier. he stares, he can’t help it. your nipples pebble under his gaze, and your eyebrows furrow when you look up at him pleadingly.
his hand caresses your side, thumb circling your soft skin while he blinks dazedly at the mounds on your chest.
“can i touch?” he breathes, and you meet him halfway. your back arches as his hand trails to your chest. you’re so soft, so fucking soft, your skin so warm and supple that he never wants to spend another day not touching you like this. he cups you underneath your breast to feel the way it gives underneath his fingertips, and you whimper when he shakily thumbs your peaked nipple.
“the other one too? please, changbin. bin, please,” you whine, and The Arm recalibrates like it knows it’s what you want. “you won’t hurt me. i trust you, you’d never hurt me.”
he could. he dreams of it; it’s his worst nightmare. he’s hurt so many people, and he’d never recover if he hurt you.
but looking down at you, your expression so open, so raw, so hopeful, he finds himself wanting to give you what you ask so sweetly for. how could he ever deny you when you look at him like that? he wants to deserve your trust, he wants to live up to it. you trust him, and maybe that can be enough for now.
changbin readjusts the stance of his elbow so the titanium Arm has more room to move, and he slowly lifts his metal fingers to the other side of your chest. you both gasp when it makes contact, and his fingers flinch away on reflex. you cup his hand, bringing the metal back to your chest and squeezing his fingers in encouragement. it’s not something he can feel - not really. he feels the pressure of your hand, but it can’t feel your touch like his flesh hand can.
“oh my god,” you keen, and your chin tilts down so you can watch. he kneads your chest softly with both hands, pushing them towards your chin and back down. he hasn’t touched you like this in years, but you arch against his hands beautifully, like you’re happy to have him relearn your body.
the breath leaves your lungs in a stutter when he pinches at both of your nipples. it’s such a juxtaposing sensation, one hand blood-warm, one hand cool. the nipple he teases with his titanium fingers is so hard, perked up and sensitive to the touch because of the coldness of his fingers. he circles the areola lightly and it has you writhing underneath him, but your thighs slam shut around him when he sucks it into his mouth.
“ohmygod, fuck!” you cry. changbin hums against your chest while his tongue whips quickly at your nipple. he moves to the other one, kissing wetly across your chest before he circles it with his tongue. his head bobs, he opens his mouth wide so that he can fit as much of your breast inside as he can. changbin kisses and nips and licks back up your neck and into your mouth - tongues clashing wildly in a kiss that leaves spit seeping down your chins.
he wants to go back to kissing his way down your beautiful body again, but you take matters into your own hands by kissing down his neck. changbin bares his throat for you, tossing his head to the side to give you more room to kiss.
he has to stop himself from freezing completely when your fingers come up to trace the plates on his Arm. they whir, clank into place at the foreign touch, and you follow the shifting with the tips of your pretty fingers.
“be- be careful, okay? just be careful, i-” he’s at a loss for words, and he watches you with wild eyes when you lean up to kiss the scarring on his shoulder.
your lips press tender, open mouthed kisses where his skin meets metal, the jagged, pink, grotesque scarring that circles his shoulder and underneath his Arm. changbin slams his eyes shut. he can’t watch. he can’t feel it either, the loss of his flesh arm and the addition of the surgical implant left him with so much nerve damage that he’s surprised he can feel the left side of his body at all, but he can hear it. he hears your lips smack softly against the ugliest part of himself, and he hopes that you won’t be disgusted by him when you pull away.
fingers cup his face, and when he opens his eyes, he’s looking right into yours. he meets you in the middle for a kiss, heart hammering in his chest when you mumble against them.
“fuck me,” you whisper. right against changbin’s lips. “do you want to? please, i- i want to feel you again.”
the ache flares again, rises in his chest until it’s threatening to spill from his throat. he wants.
“a-are you sure?”
he has to know. are you sure you want this? are you sure you want this with him? are you sure you want him?
“you’re the only thing i’m sure of.” you smile against his lips, repeating his words from earlier, and he sags against you in relief.
taking each other’s clothes off is a dangerous affair. you’re pressed so close together that it makes it difficult, you almost knock him in the head with your knee and he almost elbows you in the stomach. changbin hasn’t laughed in so long, in years, but he finds himself laughing with you when your clothes finally find themselves tossed all over his room.
he’s felt it occasionally lately, but it really hits him now that he’s healing, or at least that’s what his therapist says. he owns himself again; changbin is no one’s Asset. he can laugh, he can feel joy, and he presses the feeling into your lips for the thousandth time tonight.
changbin breathes heavily against your open lips when your precious hand wraps itself around his cock. he’s so hard that he leaks in your grasp. it tilts his world on its axis, the way you grip and stroke him, so much better than the feeling of his own hand in the shower earlier tonight. he props himself on his metal elbow again and reaches the other hand between you, and he bites his lips when he feels your thighs spread for him.
you’re hot to the touch, silky wet, and changbin’s mouth waters like a dog. he lets himself explore, lets himself feel his way around your beautiful cunt. the pudge of your swollen clit, the give of your willing hole. you touch each other like that for a while, warm breaths mingling and bodies rocking until the tip of his cock grinds against your clit.
“i- i- oh,” you stutter. “oh god, ‘m so fucking wet.”
you’re right. he slips against you; he can’t stop rocking his hips. you feel too good, your lips bracket his cock so perfectly that his head spins.
“i should do something about that, huh?” he asks. it’s said through a grin, but he’s just as breathless as you are.
you cling to him so tightly when he sheaths himself inside that he has half a mind to think your muscles will lock that way. his plump mouth is mashed against the side of your nose while his hips slowly rock into you. changbin is pressed so tightly against you that he can feel when you start to cry, and he’s scared to death again. he stops rolling his hips, immediately cupping your face in his warm hand and searching for the answer.
“i hurt you. i’m so sorry, what’s wrong? sweetheart, what did i do?” changbin begs. he might just start crying too.
the pet name makes you cry harder, but you shake your head.
“i never thought i would have this again,” you weep, clutching onto his shoulders tighter and pressing your heels against his ass as a sign to stay put. “but you’re here with me.”
he’s here with you, and he’ll stay as long as you’ll have him.
changbin eases himself forward until his hips are flush to yours and nuzzles his nose in the space behind your ear to breathe you in.
“i’m here with you,” he whispers. it sends goosebumps up and down your arms. he knows his cock is thick, and he wonders if you’ll feel it tomorrow, if you’ll feel the phantom ache and remember that this is real. “i’m right here with you.”
you’re pressed so tightly together that he has no other choice but to rut his hips into you. there’s no room to thrust, so he cages you in and grinds into you deeply. changbin’s flesh hand comes up to cup the top of your head, and his titanium Arm curls underneath your shoulder to pull you as close as possible. you’re all he can feel, all he can taste and smell and hear. inside and out, your body is warm, and he can’t get enough of it. your fingers wind themselves into his damp hair and curl over the bulging bicep of his Arm.
“you feel so fucking good in me. you always feel so good, baby, your cock-!” you mewl. he shivers when you mouth desperately at the shell of his ear. he can hear how much you like it. the precious noises you make in his ear tell him all about it, the whimpers, the moans, but so does the sweet squelching of your soaked cunt. he’ll bury his face in it later if you’ll let him, drink your nectar until there’s none left to swallow.
you’ve always felt so good too, he remembers. the clutch of your body has always been breathtaking, but memories could ever compare to the real thing.
he has to fuck you better. he has to fuck you like you deserve, so he kisses the whine from your mouth when he pulls back and sits up on his knees. god, you’re a sight for sore eyes, a flower in the desert. he rubs the heaving skin of your stomach and plants his knees firmly on the soft blankets underneath him and fucks you. his thrusts shunt you up the pallet until you’re chanting yes-yes-yes-yes! with your head thrown back. you’re clutching at his arms where they’re balled into fists and planted by your sides, fingers wrapped tightly around his forearms.
“fuck. fuck,” he grunts. “do you like it? is it good?”
you nod frantically. “i love it! i love it, please don’t stop, changbin, oh-!”
he can’t. he wouldn’t dream of it now. it’s not like he had the chance to try it out, but he has a feeling the serum coursing through his veins could keep him going all night if that’s what you want him to do. changbin wants it too, wants it more than anything, to reacquaint himself with your body after so long without it.
your chest shakes every time he fucks his hips, and he breathes a rough curse into the air when you cup them in your hands. you thumb at your nipples, twist and pinch them between your fingers. you up your game when you notice him watching - pushing your tits together and jiggling them in your hands.
“you’re a minx,” he says, but it’s paired with a fond shake of his head. his heart almost stops when you smile up at him.
changbin slows his thrusting for a moment to adjust the stance of his knees, sliding them forward until his thighs press against the backs of yours. you spread yourself wider for him, gripping underneath your knees to keep them up and open for him. he’s deeper this way, so fucking deep that it feels like his thick cock is in your throat, and one of your hands scrambles for him again. you’ll settle for anything you can reach; you just want to feel him.
you grip his Arm, and changbin gasps. he’s still not used to it, not used to your gentle touch on the part of his body he’s most ashamed of, but it gives him a headrush when your fingers seek his out. they entwine frantically with his metal ones, clenching and squeezing while you’re fucked just how you want. your own muscles flex when you move to lift his Arm. the titanium is heavy, he knows, so he helps you the best he can. changbin doesn’t know what you’re doing, but he lets you guide his Arm where you want it anyway. he isn’t expecting for you to bring it to your lips, much less for you to lick the tips of two of his metal fingers. he almost jolts back on instinct, but the look in your hazy eyes keeps him in place. he watches in awe when you suck them into your mouth - his pinky and ring fingers curl downwards to give you more room, and you bob your head in thanks. you suck on his titanium fingers just like you would his cock. changbin can’t stop staring, the way your lips wrap around the metal is intoxicating, nearly damning. you suck him deep into your mouth until your throat is convulsing, and only then do you pull your lips back with a sultry pop!
a deep, depraved part of him tells him to reach down to rub your clit with it, make you cum faster. the coolness of his fingertips would have you thrashing underneath him. admittedly, he’s not ready for that, but the thought has him going nearly cross eyed. you would surely like it, he knows that. maybe he can give it to you one day.
for now, his flesh fingers do the job. he swipes them against the drool running down your chin and brings them straight down to your swollen clit, rubbing swift, tight circles on that cute little button his mind tells him that he missed so much.
“yes! like that, keep going just like that!” you cry. so he rubs your clit and drills his cock inside just like you ask for until you’re cumming with a high pitched wail of his name. it’s beautiful, one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, heard, and felt. he follows behind you quickly, rutting into the softness of your pulsing cunt and stilling inside to let you have it all.
you trade kisses even as he rolls off of you and lands on his side, he cranes his neck and puckers his lips as you stand up to go use his bathroom, and you’re about to bend down to straddle his lap and kiss him until you fall asleep when you hear a scratch at the door.
you find the bare minimum of your clothes before you let sadie in; changbin shoves his legs into his sweatpants and you put your panties and sleep shirt back on again. sweet sadie curls right up between the two of you when you let her in and lay back down on changbin’s pallet, and everything feels right.
changbin breaks the silence first, breathing your name and petting your head where it’s resting on his flushed chest. you hum to show him that you’re listening.
“i’ll never be the changbin that you lost,” he says. he’ll never be that man again. too much has changed, too much has been taken from him. he’s not the same changbin seo he was before he fell from the train car, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be changbin seo at all.
you kiss his chest, right above his beating heart.
“this is enough. any changbin you let me have is more than enough.”
you know what he’s done. you know what he’s been through, but you choose him anyway. you’ve chosen him every day since you found him in your house. you chose even before he came back to you; the pictures that hung on your wall proved it. you chose him when you took his hand in marriage, when you took his last name. you chose him then, and you still choose him now despite the things he was made to do, despite the damage that has been done to him. monster turned man.
“you love me anyways…” he says. it’s not a question, but a statement.
“i love you anyways,” you confirm. “i love you always.”
for years, all changbin felt was the cold, but here, with your head on his chest and sadie curled at his hip, he begins to thaw.
clingy dom chan is so needy. he’s not subtle about it either. he’ll pout and sulk if you don’t sit on his lap or let him feel you up whenever he pleases. his hands kneading your tender breasts while you cook or clean, head nuzzling the side of yours as he presses his chest firmly to your back.
you can’t focus with him all over you and he knows it so he won’t listen to a word you say in protest. if anything you’ll feel him dive a hand into your shorts, humming in approval when he finds you’re wearing nothing else, and you huff in embarrassment as his cold touch tickles your warm skin. “don’ touch me,” you scold him, pressing your thighs together to prevent Chan from teasing your cunt any further but he completely ignores you.
“Why? You look adorable when you’re busy, little one..” he attempts to diverge your focus with a charming compliment and you nudge his torso with your elbow in response.
His free hand reaches under your Sanrio tank top to pinch your nipple, rolling the hardening bud in slow circles with his thumb, and earning a quiet yelp from you. He seizes the window of distraction to nudge your legs open again.“stop….channie..m’ busy” you struggle a bit but go completely weak when he plays with your clit, prodding your folds apart with slow dips of his hand, and it’s almost laughable to him how easily you get worked up. A broken moan tumbles from your chest the more Chan toys with you, tuning out every refusal you make as he pumps a couple of fingers in your precious little pussy that he undoubtedly owns. You whine and wriggle even more, trying to run away from his hand before you come on it and inevitably ruin your shorts, but he’s way too strong for you…a thousand times more forceful when he’s feeling extra clingy.
clingy dom Chan makes you feel helpless when he’s like this, using you as an outlet for his affection, and the singular warm body he wants to explore. The more you fight Chan the harder he gets, groaning and grunting indecipherable curses into your skin as he restrains himself from spreading your shaking legs wide open to drive his cock into you until tears run down your gorgeous face.
clingy dom Chan holds out for as long as possible, wanting to make you cum as many times as you can standing up while only riding his hand. you’ve forgotten all about your chore/task, going numb with pleasure as his skilled fingers brush against your tight walls, hitting every familiar sweet spot you have, and his palm consistently slapping on your clit with every re-entry he makes. he listens to each quivering moan you let out, every silent sob you choke on, and the logic in his brain gradually shuts off hearing them.
“Don’t wanna cum…h-have to focus…” you stutter out another plea, eyes sliding shut as he slows the pace of his hand to dive deeper into your cunt. you’re not far from cumming, head going fuzzy already, and your body slumping foraaard on the nearest surface. Chan shakes his head at your defeated state, smiling as you ramble on between your moans that you’re busy and he shouldn’t be doing this to you.
clingy dom Chan pulls you upright with a firm hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to steal your breath away as your head falls back onto his bare shoulder. “need to use you…it won’t take long I promise, sweetheart..” he breathes into your ear lowly, placing a kiss behind it when you shudder at the sound of his voice, and your hands gripping at his veiny arms in an attempt to pry him off your body.. it’s no use though…Chan automatically has the upper hand. you can feel every fluctuating muscle he has, the gentle force he imposes on your smaller body to take whatever he wants, and you whimper pathetically at the feeling.
clingy dom Chan drags you to the living room, pushing you to lay down underneath him in one fluid motion, and you yelp from subtle roughness, but welcome his presence on top of you. his eyes study your features, cherishing the adoration in your eyes even when he’s uncontrollably attached to you.
clingy dom Chan is partial to messy open mouthed kisses. You’re willing to fight him then, trying to win dominance over his tongue, but failing miserably as he sucks on yours and groans at the taste of you. he’s careful to remove your shorts, tossing them to the floor without breaking away from the kiss once, all the while lowering the band of his grey sweats and boxers to free his aching cock.
clingy dom Chan doesn’t warn you when he slips inside you in one defined thrust, consequently thrashing his tip into your cervix head on, and earning a muffled cry from you. it hurts being stretched to fit him despite being prepped seconds before, but tears still gather at the corner of your eyes as he pulls out just far enough for the head of his cock to settle in your dripping entrance. “fuck, you feel amazing…” Chan moans when you clench around his leaking slit, slamming back into your eager cunt with the same force from earlier, and you let the tears fall as the sharp pain morphs into an electrifying jab of satisfaction.
clingy dom Chan loses himself in your cunt, snapping his hips at a precise pace, and drinking in all the reactions you give every time his cock spilts you open. you’re drooling as the knot in your tummy winds tighter with each thrust, head rolling from one side to the next as tears blur your vision, and Chan bites out a string of apologies as he fucks you harder. he doesn’t mean to overwhelm you, has no intention to make you cry like this, but he can’t help it…”m’ sorry princess…daddy’s almost there…just a bit more and I’ll make you nice and full with my cum..” he praises you, kissing your parted lips as a mirage of cries leave them, and the tension in your body is begs to unfold for him.
clingy dom Chan is incredibly vocal, almost whining in your ear as his thrusts get sloppier, and your fingers intertwine with his on either side of where your head lays. you squeeze his hand tightly, a blush flooding your damp cheeks as your creamy cunt invites his twitching length in one last time before coating it with a healthy sheen of cum. you’re unable to voice a warning to him, manicured nails digging into the back of his hand as your climax comes crashing down on you at the speed of light, and Chan gives you a deliberately aggressive stroke as a punishment.
“fuck I’m sorry daddy!…” you cry out, a soft sob following your apology as he abuses your sensitive core. He drags your interlocked hands above your head, forcing them to stay there as he coaxes another orgasm out of you, “sorry or not…you’re gonna cum again as many times as I want now..” he groans from deep within his chest.
clingy dom Chan does just that, even after he’s fucked one load of his cum into you after the next. you’re left to take it -at his complete mercy. no amount of your crying, running, and begging makes him stop. He forgets his promise to let you go, purely invested in making you regret coming without his explicit permission for hours on end.
This was a quick thought so I’m sorry for the lack of plot… 🖤
BONUS CONTENT+
Credits to the owner also IM SORRY NOT SORRY FOR THE AUDIO LMAO 🖤
Fun (possible) fact: If Chan and Minho get the chance to fuck you together be prepared for a seemingly endless stream of praise nd degradation AT THE SAME TIME !!!!
“You’re so pretty riding me, baby doll..”
“You look fucking pathetic chocking on my cock. Go on, keep going, sweetheart.”
“You gonna cum for daddy, yeah? It’s okay make a mess for me…”
“You’re going to hold every last drop of our cum…that’s what cumsluts are for..”
“Fuck, there you go. You take daddy’s cock so well.”
“You wanna cum? Not until I say so…”
“Are you always this desperate to be fucked or is it just for us, love?”
“Letting daddy’s friend have a turn with your pretty cunt is what any good girl would do…”
“Mmm, can’t take it? Too bad….”
“Is it too much baby doll….ill fill you up one more time then I’ll let you rest…”
“Don’t you dare cry. I’m only giving you what you wanted…”
I will elaborate on this more don’t worry….i just need a tiny little small break… 🖤
Chan is the type to tell you “Don’t think. I’ll do that for you, baby doll” and then proceed to do exactly that. At first you try and do little things on your own, act like you’re unstoppable, but it doesn’t last long around him. He’d keep saying things, “I know you can do it sweetheart but I’ll handle it,” or “Just sit there and look pretty for me okay?” And then Chan will do whatever you ask of him whenever he’s not busy and when you get all mindless and soft and just simply do not want to be in control anymore he’ll be so quick to fulfill that role. “You trust daddy so much, don’t you princess?…” and you absolutely do. You’ll let him do whatever he wants for you, do anything he wants to you, and Chan revels in it because you’re just so sweet and reliant on him. He loves to have that type of control over you specifically. That undying commitment from his “good little girl”
“I hope you won’t ever lie to me. And if you do, I know I won’t be your cry baby…”
{ MDNI } [ NOT PROOFREAD ]
++++++++
Bratting to Chan is like throwing a marshmallow at a brick wall. It won’t phase him and you always end up losing.
You learned this by staying up past the bedtime he set for you on purpose because you were binge watching your favorite show while he was away on tour. Chan called you out of the blue after coming back to his hotel and getting comfortable in his bed. He didn’t except you to answer-it was 10:30 where you were which meant you should’ve been asleep an hour ago- but he still called …
You answer it without looking at the caller ID, not thinking anything of it, and assuming it’s one of your friends.
“Hello,” you quip, slightly annoyed someone called just as the best part of the episode was happening, but you quickly felt your irritation vanish hearing Chan’s voice on the other end.
“Why are you up?..” he doesn’t sound amused at all and your heart drops to your stomach as he continues, “You should’ve been asleep an hour ago, baby girl.”
Shit! Fuck! Damn it!
Every curse known to man floods your head as his tone lowers. You feel your face grow hot and the show you’re watching suddenly becomes background noise.
“I- uh…I was just up to uhm…go get a late night snack,” you lie through your teeth, laughing nervously, and hurrying to pick up the mess of snacks you’d left on your bed while watching TV. It’s not like he could see you but the anxiety you felt right now made you act compulsively.
Chan could hear you rustling around and the show still play in the background. You were definitely lying and he knew it.
“Princess,” he paused to let his voice sink into your ears and when he didn’t hear rustling anymore and you softly answered him with a timid “mhm” he went on with what he had to say.
“You’re lying to me,” Chan exhales slowly, glaring into the distance like you were right in front of him, and even if you weren’t you could still hear the disapproval in his tone.
That alone made your inside twists and a shaky breath to leave your lips. “Y-yes, but I just got caught up watching that new show and…and well I…” you couldn’t even formulate a reasonable excuse and you were sure Chan wasn’t happy with you.
He in fact, was not, and didn’t hesitate to let you know it.
“What’s your bedtime?” He asks sternly and you chew on your bottom lip before answering him meekly, “9:30…”
“9:30, what?”
“9:30 d-daddy..”
Chan groaned quietly at the familiar title rolling of your tongue. A smirk slowly inched its way onto his face as he kept drilling you.
“So, you know what time to be asleep, and you still disobeyed me. Tell me, is that how good girls behave?”
You swallow thickly, face flushing red again as your core started to throb from being scolded by him -which in retrospect felt like reward since he’d been gone for a solid month now and you desperately missed him.
His voice.
His touch.
His praise.
All of him.
“Answer me, Princess.” Chan interrupted your lazy train of thought. “No…no thats not how I should behave…” you mumble into the phone and hear him sigh again. Whether he’s frustrated or turned you can’t tell but the sound still does something to you.
“FaceTime me, now.”
That’s all he says before ending the call with a crisp click on his end and you groan dramatically at the thought of having to see his face.
You wanted to see him but not like this….
However, if you didn’t do as he said he’d only add to whatever punishment you were bound to get now -or give you a new and stricter rule when he came home.
Both options didn’t not appeal to you so reluctantly you video called him five minutes later.
Chan answered immediately, shirtless, and his hair still wet from showering, and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with his natural dark curly hair.
Although your smile was soon turned into a pout when Chan kept staring at you, definitely unamused with your rule breaking.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
You lowered your gaze, fiddling with the fluffy duvet on his bed T hat you’d crawled under to make up for not being there earlier.
“Sorry…” you finally whisper an apology and Chan clicks his tongue in annoyance.
“Not good enough, try again Princess..”
He’s purposefully dragging this out, wanting to see just how ‘sorry’you were.
You whine in frustration and narrow your eyes at him. “Sorry, daddy,” you snap and instantly regret the attitude in your voice as Chan raises a brow at you.
“Is that how you talk to me?,” he asks lowly while tilting his head.
Fuck..
He’s so hot when he’s mad though-
You quickly put your inner thoughts on hold and attempt to correct your mistake.
“N-no. I didn’t mean to…I just…” you paused and fiddled with the duvet to try and think straight. Chan hummed as if he understood what you meant but encouraged you to voice it yourself. “You just what? I can’t understand you, princess . Use your words, okay?”
You nod, lifting your head to look at him with a small smile, “I just miss you a lot…and I got a little angry and felt lonely. That’s why I stayed up so late…please don’t be mad at me..”
He wasn’t mad. Disappointed, but not mad.
Chan couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking he was angry with you. His gaze softened and he reassured you he was no where near ‘mad’ at you in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you, baby girl. I’m disappointed. You follow the rules perfectly when I’m there with you but when I’m gone you tend to get off track…”
He sighs, messing with his curls before refocusing on you, “don’t ever think I’m angry with you, sweetheart. Next time you lie like this I will be, but for now…”
Chan studied your expression before continuing, taking in the way your doe eyes stared at him like he was your whole world, and the slight gloss of tears forming in them. He wished it was possible to touch you through the phone, run his fingers through your soft hair while kissing those lips he missed so much, and wipe your tears away as he made you feel better.
That wasn’t possible though and it agitated him greatly.
“For now, you can make up for your mistakes.”
You blinked slowly, mind running a mile minute to try and figure out what he meant by that.
“How do I do that, daddy?” You ask him innocently, unsure of what you could do for him when he’s all the way in Paris.
Chan felt his cock hardening as you gazed at him through the phone, so eager to please, and perfectly oblivious to the effect you had on him.
He inhaled through his nose, one of his large hands already inching towards the tent in his supreme boxers. You had no clue what he was doing behind the camera and that only turned him on more.
You waited patiently, with bated breath, to hear what Chan needed from you. It was hard to hold eye contact with him when he stared at you hungrily -the same gaze he’d adorn on stage just to intimidate the camera.
That look. You knew that look too well and a blush began to spread on your cheeks as you realized what he was planning.
“I want you to touch yourself for me. That’s all you have to do for me, princess…” his eyes slid closed and a soft groan filled your ears as his words sunk into your mind.
“A-and you’ll forgive me?” You ask hopefully, cotton white panties already forming a wet spot from your cunt, and Chan knew the tremble in your soft voice meant you were needy for him already.
His eyes opened, directly pinned to your face as he palmed himself gently. He wished it was your hand, imagined it was, and if you knew just how bad he wanted you in this moment you’d probably fly staring to him to get him off.
“I’ll forgive you. Daddy will forgive it all…”
You hummed in understanding, shifting to sit up on your knees in his bed, lowering your hips until your legs were spread to give him a clear view of your covered cunt, and Chan smiled at the sight.
“You’re wearing the sweater I sent you…” he mutters, admiring how the oversized designer piece enveloped your body. “Yes…I love wearing it” you reply softly, gently inching the hem of it up to expose what’s underneath.
Chan stifles a longing groan as your figure comes into view, perfect in every way, and even more tantalizing to him being so far away from it. The hand on his bulge slips past the band of boxers, pulling out his cock in all its glory as he watches you slip your free hand between your thighs.
“Fuck,” he growls, fixated on the way you gently swirl your fingers around your cunt. His hand wraps tight around the base of his cock, slowly pumping it and collecting the precum at the tip to use as lubricant.
You watched him with half lidded eyes, feeding on the sight of his head lulling back and his chest heaving with strangled moans, and the need to hear him groan in your ear coaxed your own fingers to circle on your clit faster. A shallow whimper spills from your mouth at the sensation and you cant help but to push two digits past your folds.
Chan snapped his head up at the sound of you, eyes hazing over with lust as he watched you play with yourself a little more roughly. You curled your fingers forward, pressing them into every familiar spot in your walls, and covering them with your own cum in a matter of seconds.
It felt good but not as good as Chan. It was so easy for you to imagine his fingers buried deep in you, how he could reach even more of your sweet spots with just his hand, and the way he’d hold you still against him while whispering praise after praise into your ear.
“Miss you,” you whined as the memory of your last night with him replayed like a broken record in your head. Chan let out a strained groan, jerking himself off faster, and already imagining what he’d do to you if he was there.
“I miss you too, princess…really do…” he lost his train of thought as a familiar rise in sensitivity racked his body. He was close but not near his limit yet. He needed more, wanted it desperately, and you were going to give it to him.
“Take those off,” he commands between heavy breaths and you don’t have to ask what he means because you were aching to get out of distracting piece of cotton anyway.
When you successfully removed the tedious pair of panties your hand went right back to your core. Chan moaned lowly as he watched your fingers slip into your cunt in one go, sliding in and out with cum drenching every inch, and your moans rising higher in pitch the longer you went.
His cock twitched in his hand when you added to your own pleasure by circling your thumb over your clit in precise movements. With your legs starting quiver, incoherent noises tumbling from your lips, and your face twisting in pleasure driving Chan to his end.
“Good fucking girl…” he praised you just to see you blush and whine about how it doesn’t feel the same without him. “Daddy, please…I don’t wanna cum without you..” you plead with him, the knot in your core tightening as he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. You were too sweet, too willing, and he loved it. “You miss me using your pretty pussy that bad?,” he teased you, slowing the pace of his hand down to give attention to his tip, wanting to force so far in your cunt that your eyes rolled back.
You were always so tight and took his cock so well and he hated bad he missed the feeling of you clenching around his length. The more he thought about the closer he got to his high and you were nearing it too.
“Wanna cum…” you moaned softly, hips stuttering with every thrust of your fingers, and your arousal starting to pool on his sheets. Chan grunted a curse, glad to see you making a mess of yourself just by watching him, and that was enough to send him over the edge.
“You can cum, baby girl. Cum with daddy, okay?” His breaths quickened, voice thick with pent up desire, and his gaze shifting from your face to your cropping cunt as he watched you come undone.
You slumped forward, having to grip the sheets as your orgasm came crashing down you. “Oh, fuck!..” you hissed in amazement as waves of white hot pleasure coursed through your cunt.
Chan bucked his hips up once then twice before spilling his release onto his hand. “Should’ve came inside you,” he groans in displeasure, pumping his cock gently to ride out his high, and you watch with him glossed over eyes.
That should’ve been in me, you thought as pout formed on your lips. You remove your fingers from your core gently, letting him see the string of cum that connects between them before licking the digits clean with a satisfied smile.
He smiles as you do it, brows furrowing slightly as he tries to catch his own breath.
When Chan surfaces from his climax and can regulate his breathing again he cleans himself up and returns to the call in a matter of minutes. You do the same and return to his bed tired out.
He sees the sleepy expression on your face and chuckles lowly when you yawn and cuddle closer to his pillow.
“M’ sleepy,” you announce and Chan laughs again, “I bet you are, princess.” He lays back on the hotel bed, staring at you looking with a smile the you return wholeheartedly.
“So I’m forgiven, right?,” you ask him, fluttering your lashes as if it’ll help your plea and Chan nods in response.
“You’re forgiven, baby. Now get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning…”
+++++++
The Neighborhood fits Chris so well… ps I stayed up til 5 am to write this….it better not flop….🖤
BONUS CONTENT +
Credit to the creator….also I’m not sorry lmao if I had to hear him groaning like this you all have to suffer with me…🖤
Chan would DEFINITELY share you with Felix. He can’t leave his closest friend with no one to take his frustrations out on now can he? When Felix needs you Chan never turns him down. Sometimes he asks and sometimes he just drags you to his room. Either way Chan doesn’t refuse him as long as you’re comfortable with it. I mean who wouldn’t want to be Felix’s personal fuck toy???? He’s always so sweet you and Chan knows you love to help him unwind because you’re just that kind. It’s a bonus that the idea of sharing you with his members turns him on and if the others asked he’d let them fuck you too, but it’s only Felix at first.
“Wait really?..” Felix looks between the two of you, a little surprised, but also relieved that his request didn’t upset either of you. Chan smiles at him, reaching down to where you’re sitting between his legs playing games on his phone without a care in the world. You hum in delight feeling him pat your head, “you can use her whenever you’d like Lix. She’s always willing to help. Isn’t that right, baby doll?” You look up to him with a smile when he addresses you and then turn your gaze towards Felix, “mhm, I’ll help you Lixie! I like to help daddy and his friends..” you grin at him and Felix blushes at your eagerness to please. “S-so can I have her right now?…” he asks nervously and Chan simply nods his head. “Baby, why don’t you go help Lix relax? I’ll still be here when you’re done..”
“Okay,” you comply immediately and hop to your feet before letting Felix take your hand and lead you out of the room.
Question: Do you think Chan gets right to eating you out like he’s been starving or does he make you touch yourself in front of him before he even lays a finger on you?
Chan who thrives off non sexual dominance??? He’s always been in control of anything and everything in his life. Why would you be an exception? It’s always the smallest things too. You need help reaching for something and he can’t help but to reach above and get it for you. Want him to tie your shoe or zip up your dress? He’ll do it and tell you how pretty you look all dressed up for him or how you’re cute asking him for help.
Chan is obsessed with doting on you, keeping you close, and treating you like his personal little helper. You’ll follow his every command without question and even ask him what you should wear, if you should braid your hair or leave it down, and even what to eat if you can’t decide.
“Need my help baby?”
“What’s wrong princess?”
“Here let me do that for you, sweetheart..”
“C’mere and sit with me.”
“I said sit.”
“Good girl, now tell me what’s wrong..”
“You’re so cute when you ask for help.”
“Is that how you ask me, baby? Say please..”
“It’s okay I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ve got you, you’re safe with me, baby..”
Chan loves it, craves it, leading you without even having to try. It’s in his nature to be in charge. The pride he feels when you call him immediately if there’s something is wrong makes his heart swell. He doesn’t have to redirect you often, even if you are bratty to him at some point he’s quick to correct your attitude, but oh does he love seeing you try to be defiant. One look or a simple reprimand from him always halts your dramatics. You don’t have the courage to press his buttons all the time and so in the rare instances you do he’s not phased but more so entertained.
“What was that?”
“Go on say it again. I wanna hear you loud and clear this time.”
“Careful, baby..”
“Oh, really?”
“Watch you mouth or I’ll put it to use..”
“I said, no.”
“Being a brat won’t get you what you want baby…”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Chan is always there, spoiling you, keeping you safe and happy. He’ll buy you whatever your pretty little eyes land on. Want that gorgeous designer bag? He’ll have it sent to you the next day. You could pick up every plushie in a store and he’d happily pay for it all just to see you giggle and gush about it. You thank him over and over the whole way back to his dorm and he’ll tell you it’s what you deserve.
Chan likes to spoil you, says it’s a reward for being so good to him, so understanding of his career and passions.
“You want that? Of course you can have it, sweetheart..”
“Get as much as you want.”
“Do you like it. I knew you would, princess.”
“How can I say no to you…”
“It doesn’t matter how much it is, if you like it, I’ll buy it for you princess.”
Chan hovers and sticks close to you if you’re out with others. You can feel him watching you intently, barely listening to what’s being said around him, and when you glance at him with a shy smile he’ll smile back. You’re his. All his. Every inch of you belongs to him and he’s so aware of it that he can’t help but focus on you. Even around the members he’s protective of you. Needs to have you close, on his lap, holding his hand, hugging his side. He doesn’t care as long as you’re next to him. The others don’t say anything, knowing Chan is regularly clingy with them, but with you it’s assertive and domineering.
“You’re such a good girl for me. So proud of you…” >>>>>
Chan takes his Dom status seriously. You are essentially his to care for and unlike being the leader of Stray Kids who’s always in the public eye the Chan you know is able to be authentic with you behind closed doors.
So, yes he does leave noticeable marks on your skin just for the hell of it. “Want everyone to know you’re mine little one..” Yes, Chan does spit in your mouth during sex and he’ll watch you swallow it when he’s done. He’ll smile while watching your tongue slide back in your mouth. “Swallow it, princess. Mhm, perfect,” he’d praise you. Yes, he does hold and pin you down for another round even after you’re crying and shaking from coming so much. “You can take it. I know you can baby. Daddy promises m’kay?”
Of course Chan fucks your pretty face until you’re drooling with tears rolling down your tinted cheeks and his cum seeping down your throat. “Fuck, you take my cock so well…mph yea just like that..” he’s practically panting as you pleasure him. Of course he makes you beg for him to touch you. “Use your words little one. I can’t understand you when you’re whining like that.” Chan is well aware of what you want but loves to see you get shy and flustered. Of course he’s quick to get high off the sight of your fucked out state after he’s filled you to the brim with his cum. “So fuckin pretty when you cry love. Can’t take it…fuck,” he groans in your ear as he releases deep inside you. He’ll let you rest then, satisfied with your lack of coherence, and proud to see your cunt leaking his release. “You did so well, princess..”
You’re his little slut after all. Chan refuses to let you down, let alone keep his hands off of you when you’re so desperate to please him.
Chan will grab your face to make you look at him when he’s talking to you. It’s a habit he has developed especially since you tend to get lost in your own daydreams. He knows your happy little mind can’t handle a long conversation without proper attention. “Pay attention baby. Daddy needs you to listen right now, okay?..” You’ll smile at him, all giggly hearing his soft tone, but the serious expression on his face doesn’t match it. “M’kayy…” you hum obediently and shift closer to Chan as he continues to talk about whatever the topic was. “Good girl…” he muses at you with a smile before pressing a long kiss on your lips, “Now, like I was saying…this track is experimental….” He’s so pretty when he talks, you think to yourself.
Forgive me for the late response to you, love. 🖤 and of course DDLG Seungmin is going to get a spotlight. It’s only fair. 🖤
[ MDNI ]
++++++++
Dom Seungmin is a silent hard Dom. He doesn’t impose verbal control often which leads to you relying on nonverbal communication. When he pats his lap, an empty space beside him, or a perfectly vacant spot near his feet on the floor you don’t hesitate to sit/kneel. No words needed. With a tap of his fingers under your chin Seungmin instructs you to open your mouth wide for him -readying you to suck on his fingers or wrap around his cock. Every action he imposes is a way to instill mindless submission in you. He takes pride in your obedience, rubbing the top of your head lovingly when you listen without having to be told, and you welcome the praise with a tender smile. “Good pup/kitten.”
Dom Seungmin thrives off reading your expressions, can tell when you’re slipping into subspace, and attends to you accordingly. You don’t have to say anything to get his attention because it’s already drifting towards you. What kind of owner doesn’t watch over his pet at all times?… Not him. That for certain.
Dom Seungmin prefers you wear a collar/choker as a sign of his ownership. Out in public you have a charm/tag attached to it with his name engraved on one side but in private a little bell takes it place. Seungmin thoroughly enjoys the soft jingles your collar/choker makes, signaling when you’re near him, or showing off what he knows to be his. He’ll hook a finger under the dainty jewelry, using it to pull you close for a kiss, or hold your gaze when he’s speaking to you. It’s an automatic reflex he can’t seem to shake and you don’t pull away when he does. He owns you. There’s no doubt about that and the smile on your face every-time he admires his brand around your neck makes him fall in love with you all over again.
Dom Seungmin will make you walk around with a vibrator nestled in your cunt all day. You’re not allowed to remove it, touch yourself, or come without his elicit permission. It’s pure torture, a literal hell on earth for you, and um pooling in your panties and inner thighs keeps you fidgeting for hours. You text and call him non stop after the fourth time he’s edged you, wanting to cry as you beg him to stop, or at least be merciful enough to let you come. Your attempts are in vain because Seungmin amps up the intensity of the toy just to hear you swallow desperate whines, and broken whimpers purely for his entertainment. All while mocking your lack of restraint and sulky behavior. “You’ll be fine, pup. Keep it in for a few more hours and I’ll help when you get home…” “Stop? But it sounds like you’re enjoying it, sweetheart..” “What was that? I should set it higher…?” “You’re so cute when you beg, little one.”
Dom Seungmin sends you borderline threatening texts if you’re out in public together and another person so much as looks your way a little too long for his liking. He gets jealous easily and isn’t afraid to show it either. Although, you find it funny to some degree, he’s completely serious about his warnings.
^
“Get away from him.”
“Come here. Now.”
“Stop fucking with my patience, Y/n.”
“I should fuck that smile right off your face. His joke won’t be funny then will it?…”
“Don’t look so scared now, pup. You obviously wanted my attention and now you have it…”
^
Dom Seungmin doesn’t mind that you call him ‘daddy’ or ‘sir’ casually. He’s listening to you either way and prefers you call him such things in private. The one time you did slip up and asked him a question while using his title in public the smuggest smirk was plastered on his face for the entire day. “Should I get the green tea or mocha twist, daddy- ah erm….I mean s-sir….fuck, I mean- Min stop looking at me like that!” You whine while glaring at him, face on fire with embarrassment, and your heart thundering so loud you couldn’t even hear what was going on around you two anymore. He shook his head, quieting his laughter as best as possible before squeezing your hand that was intertwined with his, “The green tea sounds better, pup…”
Dom Seungmin will make you rut against his foot as a punishment. He doesn’t care if you beg to ride his thigh instead or plead for a less strenuous and humiliating reprimand. Whatever you’ve done deserves no leniency and Seungmin isn’t the type to crumble so easily under the influence of round and tearful puppy eyes. Seeing you struggle, writhing around like a bitch in heat excites him more than you realize, and he’ll make you carry on like that until he’s satisfied with the mess you make of yourself. “M’ tired,” you huff through building tears, legs on fire with pain, and your panties soaked through completely, but he makes no move to help you. “Did I tell you to stop?” His voice is low, barely bouncing off the darkened walls surrounding you two, and a shiver runs down your spine as the depth in his tone becomes evident. “No…” you reply meekly, unconsciously rolling your hips to resume your task. Seungmin grins, petting your head appreciatively, and gingerly lifting the top of his boot to press harder on your quivering cunt. You whimper at the added pressure, letting tears fall as another climax curls in your tummy, “Sir…please…n-no more….i wanna rest!” The pitch of your voice rises as the hand in your hair twists and tugs at the strands roughly, forcing your head up to look him in the eyes as he responds in an unnervingly calm whisper, “Good puppies don’t talk back to their master. When you learn that maybe I’ll let you stop. Maybe…”
Dom Seungmin allocates aftercare through discreet gestures. Drawing a bath for you, stocking up on your favorite snacks/drinks so you can indulge in a treat after, and leaving his clothes out for you to wear are common examples. He’s capable of giving you words of affirmation but firmly believes acts of service speak much louder than words. Your obedience to him is matched perfectly with his ability to provide whatever you need/want. It’s a fair transaction of effort on both parts. Seungmin never asks more of you than necessary and you don’t except him to overdo his gratitude. A wholesome midnight walk to get ice cream makes you happier than finding a dozen roses wrapped in silk. That isn’t to say he skips out on gifting you expensive rewards.
“Every pet needs a well earned treat…”
+++++++
So, I’m officially back, and I’m currently going through my inbox to answer requests. I apologize for taking so long to get to them but life is currently giving me lemons and I’m not the best at making lemonade… (that was funny so you better laugh or else…. :/ 🖤) Anyway, I hope you Min Stan’s liked this one… 🖤
[ BONUS CONTENT + ]
This hairstyle on him was insanely attractive for no apparent reason. Whoever’s idea it was to style him like this during that era should get a raise, extra paid time off, and a Medal of Honor from Stay. 🖤 Credit to the creator 🖤
Grown A$ STAY @thisisnotstraight88 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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