#these men could do anything to me & I would thank them for their service

[thetopichot]

I have no excuse. I'm just gay.

[repulsiveliquidation]

Reservation || Laia Codina

warnings : smut (18+), fingering, cunnilingus, face-riding, lots of biting, thigh-riding.

summary : Laia goes on a little date with herself to celebrate the win over Brazil in the group stages where she meets a server who catches her eye.

Laia cheers with the rest of the team when they qualify for the quarterfinals. Pumping fists and lots of hugs later, she’s on a bus back to the olympic village with the rest of the girls. 

“So what are we doing to celebrate, eh?” Jenni asks, wrapping her arm around Laia as she leans her head on Laia’s. 

“I dunno but I need a hot shower before I even think about what to do,” Laia explains and Jenni rolls her eyes playfully, moving to make fun of Cata and her batman mask. 

Laia goes on her phone, googling all the best spots for a little quiet wind down spot near the Olympic Village. She finds a quaint little family restaurant that’s away from town, which is sure to be absolutely void of patrons. 

The pictures look promising and the local guide reviews are exceptional. As she scrolls through the photos and gets a little excited to try everything, there’s someone in those pictures that catches her eye and she’s hoping they’re there for service tonight. She calls, eager to make a reservation. A girl picks up. 

“Bonjour, comment puis-je vous aider?”

“Uh,” Laia starts, remembering she doesn’t actually know anything in French. 

“Um, connaissez-vous l'anglais??”

There was a bit of a word she understood; she smiled and nodded to no one in particular though Aitana did look at her friend funny. 

“Yes, English!” 

“Ah okay! What can I do for you miss…?”

“Laia!” She yells a little too excitedly,  “can I make a reservation for one tonight please?” 

“Yes, Laia was it?” 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“Of course, see you tonight, merci!”

Laia hangs up and looks quite proud of herself, sinking back into her chair on the bus. She looks out the window, mindlessly daydreaming about the girl she saw in the pictures while the rest of the girls begin to sing songs a little too loudly; before you know it Alexia yells at them to pull themselves together and shut the fuck up so she can sleep. 

Of course no one listens to her and they continue to sing, Laia joins in just as they reach the chorus of their fifth Karol G number. 

Jenni takes too long in the bathroom before she can fully rest a bit before her little date with herself in the evening. Laia feels a little nervous, unable to rest just a little before she leaves the room. Luckily the weather was nice and she could walk to the restaurant and enjoy the warm sun. 

There was a little breeze, leaving her feeling quite refreshed and eager for her little date. Following Apple Maps on her phone, she finds the place rather easily. There were lots of locals out and about in the bars, watching the Olympics with their families. 

Laia stood in front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. There were a few people inside and it smelled delicious, she was quite proud of herself for finding this little gem. 

“Avez-vous une réservation?” 

”Um,” Laia looked up and saw her. The girl from the pictures. She stares at Laia with a little amused face, smiling bigger when she sees the little blush creep up on the Spainiards face. 

“English?” Laia manages, smiling when the server nods and starts to take a menu. 

“Does a pretty lady like you have a reservation?”

“Oh!” Laia gasps, “Sí, I mean yes, Laia.”

“Hmm, a pretty face to go with a pretty name. Come with me, you’ve got the best table in the house.”

“Really?”

“Oui, and it’s in my section,” you quip, winking at the deeply blushing Laia. 

You pull the chair out for Laia, making sure to push it in carefully. With the menu in front of her, you begin to recommend the best dishes on it. 

“What’s the best dish here?”

“Me, but I’m unfortunately not on the menu tonight.”

“Shame.”

“Yes, but our Salade de Chèvre Chaud to start would be lovely.” 

“Sí, I’ll do that. And the Ha-chis, um, Parm-men-tier,” Laia tries, chuckling softly when you giggle at her. 

“I’ll applaud you for trying but it says Meat Pie right under the French bit.”

“Oh,” Laia looks at the menu then up at you, watching as your eyes get a certain look in them. 

“How about dessert?” You ask, leaning in a little closer than etiquettely acceptable. 

“I want to keep my options open,” Laia says, her turn to be a little flirty. 

“I like that, I’ll go put your order in. Would you like a bottle of wine to go with your meal?”

“Whatever you pick will be perfect.”

You wink at her and walk towards the kitchen, taking a deep breath behind the door. Your friend, Jessie, sees you looking flush and flustered. 

“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?”

“The cutest girl ever just walked in and I’m pretty sure we’re fucking after she has dinner.” 

“What gave you that idea?”

“I saw it in her eyes, you know?”

“Maybe it was the delusion.”

“Maybe,” you say matter-of-factly, “she wants to give me an unforgettable night.” You punch Laia’s order into the POS. Jessie rolls her eyes at you and begins to take food that needs to be served and as you walk out to help her, you whisper a little confession to her. 

“I’m gonna let her.” 

“Here’s your Duck Salad and first glass of wine, enjoy,” you say to Laia, heart melting when she smiles up at you and thanks you in perfect French. You saw her on her phone earlier, mumbling to herself and she was clearly practicing phrases in an attempt to speak to you. When you bring her main, she’s got another nugget of information for you. 

“Thank you, the salad was delicious,” Laia tried and when she finished, you were ready to take her home with you. 

She finishes the last bits of her mashed potatoes, and since the restaurant is empty, you strike up a conversation. Laia was easy to talk to and was more than interested in talking more with you. 

“Where are you from? You’re clearly not French.”

“Spain but I live in England,”

“Oh for work?”

“Sí,” Laia says with her big smile on her face. The boss was out with his lady for the night and since he was your dad, you were allowed to sit with a customer. 

Laia offers to pour you some of her wine and you let her, watching your pretty eyes glimmer in the dim restaurant. 

“What do you do Laia?”

“I play football!”

“What’s that? Is that an Olympic sport?”

Laia, flabbergasted, begins to sputter and explain the most famous sport in the world to the prettiest girl she had ever seen. 

You knew perfectly well what it was and played a little with your brothers but decided that evening that you loved hearing her talk and this seemed like a good way to get Laia to keep talking. 

“There’s eleven people on each–why are you laughing?”

“If you asked me to marry you right now, I think I would say yes. Are you always this adorable Laia?” 

Laia understandably blushes and begins to stutter again, leaving you in a fit of more giggles. Laia stares at you as you laugh, feeling her heart grow fonder as the night goes on. 

“Oh my where are my manners,” you say, standing, “would you like dessert?”

A mischievous grin adorns Laia’s face before she speaks. 

“Only if you’re on the menu.” 

You return her mischievous grin and vow to make her night worth it. 

“That certainly sounds delicious, let me go ask the chef what he can do.” 

You come back with her bill and an exciting update on Laia’s pending dessert. 

“I get off at ten, wait for me outside?” 

Laia nods excitedly, before looking down at the bill. It was zero. 

“Wait, no! You don’t need to!” 

“Consider it our first date on me,” you lean in and kiss her cheek, “I’ll be right outside,” you tell her before turning around abruptly “Oh! And watch out for Frankie, he likes head pats.” 

Laia walks outside and sits along the street, keeping her eye out for anyone that looks like Frankie. Not long after, a fluffy, pearly white cat comes up to her, nudging his head against her shins. 

“Debes ser Frankie,” Laia tells him, checking the little collar he had that rang when he sauntered. Laia gives him head pats as instructed, feeling the little guy purr and roll over onto his back for more lovings. 

“My my, he normally isn’t that quick to roll over. I knew I was right about you,” you remark, kneeling beside Laia and joining in on giving Frankie affection. He’s more than happy to have two hands on him, mewing his head off in approval. 

“My place or yours?”

“Mine isn’t exactly one-night stand friendly,” Laia says quietly, picking at her cuticles nervously. 

“That’s okay, mine’s just up the road anyway,” you take her hand and begin walking up the street, the cool late night breeze blowing lightly on your faces. 

“You really didn’t need to get my bill,” Laia tells you, smiling nervously at you. You wave in her face and smile, telling her it was your father’s restaurant so really it was on the house. 

Your house though was a lovely two bedroom apartment that was in a quiet bit of town with no one around this late at night. There were a few tv’s on and you could barely hear the Olympics replays on them. Walking into your front room, Laia grinned and looked around curiously. 

“I love that song,” Laia says quietly, reaching for the record sitting on top of your coffee table. You come around her and put ‘Turn Me On by Norah Jones’ in the player, turning around to face Laia. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer as yours wrap around her neck. The familiar first verse plays and she makes you dance a little, which pulls a giggle out of you. 

Both of you are nervous to make the first move and it’s because you’re both scared. As you ought to be. 

“Putain,” you mutter in French before crashing your lips on the Spaniard’s. 

The butterflies are replaced with fireworks. The nerves turned into desire. Clothes ripped from bodies and littered all over the floor. There were sirens in the background as breaths quickened. You nearly trip over your carpet when Laia walks you back to your couch. 

Her lips are like sweet candy you’ve never tasted before, her skin burning hot to your touch. She kept her hands on your waist, pulling away panting. 

“Do you want this?” 

“More than anything, Laia.” 

She presses her lips to yours again, hands much braver to explore you. The center-back reaches for your bra and unclasps it expertly, taking a breast in her mouth eagerly. 

“You’ve –ah fuck–you’ve done this before…” you gasp, back arching into her mouth. She rips her head away from you and you whine, her hand kneading the other breast expertly. 

“Sí, one or twice,” Laia responds, a naughty grin on her face. She leaves hickeys all over your chest, suckling softly on your nipple that hardened in her mouth. You whimper, hands tangled in Laia’s hair. 

“Eres tan hermosa amor,” 

“Fuck, keep talking to me Laia,” you whisper, pulling the Spaniard closer to you. She buries her face in your neck, kissing and sucking while her hands pull your leg over hers. Slender fingers slip into your underwear and a deep giggle rings in your ears when the fingers feel your soaked folds. 

“¿Estás tan mojada por un maldito extraño, cariño? Wet for a stranger?” 

“Y–Yes,” you whisper, eyes closing tightly as you feel Laia’s fingers slowly rub your clit. Her fingers are gentle but apply appropriate pressure, little shocks of pleasure surge up into your body. She takes your breast back into her mouth and sucks hard, pushing you into a flurry of ecstacy. 

“Does that feel good, amor?” Laia asks cheekily, fingers teasing themselves against your pussy. Your hips grind up and down into the feeling, her fingers naughtily pull away. She pushes you up against the armrest of the couch while she kneels before you. Your legs open themselves for her and she smiles, kissing up your legs. Her slightly rough hands send goosebumps all over your skin, breath catching in your throat. 

“More…” you beg in French, noticing that Laia immediately understands. Her hands press your hips down and her kisses begin to move higher and higher, closer and closer to your core. 

Laia leaves hickeys all over your inner thighs, licking and sucking hard on your skin. You’re all red when she moves to your core, hair slightly tousled. You pull her up and kiss her passionately, tongues exploring each other’s mouths. 

“Where do you want me touching you, sweetheart?” Laia asks, hands gliding over your tummy and inner thighs. 

“Down there,” you point, feeling a pillow rest behind your head. You fidget and get comfortable, hands aching to take care of your little problem. Laia gets comfortable beside you and shushes you, slender fingers circling your clit again. She’s slow with her movements and nibbles on your ear, feeling your body lean into hers softly. 

“Here?” Laia asks smugly, free hand slipping underneath your neck to cradle your head. You nod and your head turns into her neck and you bite a dark hickey under her ear. Laia moans, fingers slipping into your pussy which pulls a groan out of you. 

The pads of her fingertips find your sweet spot a little too easily and it sends pure pleasure through your veins. Her palm rubs on your clit and you groan, breath hot on Laia’s neck. 

“You look so pretty like this, princesa,” Laia teases, “I bet you’re prettier when you come, no?” 

Her fingers inside you make space for a third, your appreciation of being touched goes unnoticed by her; the sound of how wet you are appeals to her ego. She growls in your ear and you gush, arousal sticking to her fingers. 

“You’re getting close, sí?”

“Yes, so fucking close!” 

“Mmh, been wanting to see you come the moment I laid eyes on you,” Laia whispers into your ear, her hands speeding up inside you. They press right against your sweet spot, eyes seeing blinding white when your orgasm sneaks up on you. 

“Fuck!” 

You grip her arms and your back arches fully off the bed, her fingers don’t stop till you’re seeing stars. You search for her lips and smash them on yours, taking in her breath and your whines. She pulls away and her fingers fill your mouth. 

“Clean them up, that’s a good girl,” 

You suck on her digits sloppily, saliva running down her hand and forearm. Your eyes never leave hers, boring deep into her deep brown ones. 

“Want you to ride my face,” you whisper. Laia, taken aback, goes wide-eyed and nods slowly, kissing you hard. You lay back on the couch and Laia climbs on top of you. She’s cautious but with a little encouragement from you, she kneels over you and gently sits on your tongue. 

Your hands hold her up and she begins to grind down on you slowly. Her jaw slacks and you groan against her clit, licking up all her built up arousal. Her hands grip your hair like you did earlier, hips grinding down harder and faster the more you lick. 

Your tongue finds her hole and slips in; Laia groans and bounces just a little to ride it. Your hands however, enjoy kneading her firm ass as they help her grind on top of you. 

You’re sure your chin is pruned with how wet she is, fingers coming around her body to flick at her clit. Laia’s eyes find yours and she zeroes in on your gaze as her thighs start to shake. The invisible pull behind her belly button becomes too much to hold in and the moment you feel her muscle tension go away, she comes right on your tongue. 

This was not how you saw your night going when you picked the phone at the restaurant but it was a night to remember. 

She climbs off your face and grins stupidly, grabbing your face to taste herself off you. She moans and is intentionally sloppy with her kisses, whining when the taste of her lingers on your tongue. 

Laia’s eyes go dark and she flips you over. You’re sat on her thigh and her strong hands guide your hips to start moving. Your clit, soaked in even more slick, creates the perfect environment for riding her thigh. Your hips rock slowly, pressing down hard to increase your pleasure. 

Your hands wrap around her neck and your face tucked into the side. She whispers dirty things into your ear in Spanish, her deep voice sends chills down your spine; you’re sure you’ve never been more attracted to anyone in your life. 

“Such a good girl, making yourself come on me hm?” 

“Oui,” you whine, sucking on her neck to make the bruises you left earlier even darker. She spanks your ass and sucks on your breast again, being sure to suckle hard. Your thighs burn but you keep riding, breath unsteady as your second orgasm builds inside of you. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum…” 

“Ven por mí, princesa.”

You do, riding her thigh hard and fast. Your thighs shake like hers did, kissing her soft lips messily. You pant into each others mouths, feeling smiles appear on your faces. 

“That was awesome,” you tell her, slipping into her arms on the couch. She’s still smiling as she nods, leaning in to kiss you again. She wraps her arms tight around your middle, when the sound of the tv turning on startles the both of you. 

“Frankie!” you scream, seeing the pearly white beast standing on the coffee table on the remote. 

The replay of the group stage Spain-Brazil game was on. Laia’s face was on the jumbotron. 

You look from the tv to the girl whose arms you’re sitting in and see the resemblance. Your jaw drops and your heart rate goes up.

You just slept with the Spanish center-back who was here for the Olympics. An Olympian.

“So when you said your house wasn’t and I quote “...exactly one-night stand friendly,” you were talking about the fucking Olympic village?!” 

“Uh, yes?” 

“I’m gonna kill you,” you say with gritted teeth, turning around in her arms. She jumps off the couch, leaving you to chase her all over your little apartment. Frankie curls up in the warm spot near the heater and watches you two act like children, tail swishing amusedly. 

“How about!” Laia says breathlessly when you corner her in the kitchen, still stark fucking naked, “I’ll get you tickets to the quarterfinals and take you out on a proper date, my treat, to make it up to you?” 

“I want a kiss for every goal your team scores at the end, tell Alexia and Jenni they better get to scoring if you want them.” 

“Deal.” 

Laia got a total of six kisses broadcasted on the very same jumbotron at the Colombia game, but the sight of you in her jersey was just as good if not better than the picture of you two kissing that was pinned on the wall at your parents restaurant.

[sanjisboyfie]

sanji has a crush you ♡

-> alternative title: sanji's ass is gay as fuck and you gotta deal with his flustered ass desperately trying to win you over.

-> kinda rushed aat the end

sanji is exhibiting normal sanji behavior, cutely obsessed with you and everything about you. he's soooooooooooooooooo obsessed. i'm sorry i couldnt help it. forewarning: if you are scared of obsessively in love men DO NOT READ THIS lmfao (that's a joke, but he is rlly in love w u and overwhelmingly so)

sanji x male reader

— just sanji crushing on you and acting like a whole ass middle schooler with a crush, but not in the "i'm gonna pull your hair because i like you, but i don't want you to know" type of way, rather a, "i, uhm, found this pretty flower that...i think you would like...do you like it :3"

you were lounging on the deck of sunny, basking in the sun beside robin and nami. the three of you were peacefully enjoying the breeze, while the girls were talking about their recent adventures and you happily listening on to their stories.

when suddenly, a shadow covers the sun from hitting your skin. lifting the glasses from your eyes, you grin when you notice that the figure is sanji. and he's looking everywhere but you.

"hi, [name]," he greets in a quiet voice, eyes darting everywhere but your bare torso. if he were to look at your glistening skin any longer, he might just get a really bad nosebleed...it was tempting for him, though. you were so handsome, he'd get as many deadly nosebleeds if he needed to just to stare at you longer. but for the sake of keeping you clean of his nosebleed, he continued averting his eyes.

robin and nami stopped their chatter and smiled at each other when they recognized the flustered look on sanji's face.

"hi, sanji," you said in return, leaning against your elbows to comfortably look up at him, "what's that you have there?" you ask politely,

the blonde jumped at the question, clearing his throat as he finally met your eyes, "oh, this, i thought you'd want a drink...it's your favorite," your eyes widened at that, making sanji's heart do leaps.

at moments like this, he loves being the ship's chef. there was no one else on board that could make you react like this, only his careful expertise as being a chef could do this to you. it made him feel important and his face got redder at that fact.

"wow! thanks! you're like a mind reader, i was starting to get a bit too hot-"

"do you want me to move the umbrella more to cover you?" sanji asked immediately, happy to be of service to you. you laughed at his eagerness, shaking your head.

"i think nami and robin are using it right now, i'll be alright. i don't want them to burn up,"

"oh..." sanji's voice trailed off as he lifted his head to bravely look towards the women on the side, "nami-san, robin-chan, is it alright if [name] uses the umbrella for now?" he very politely asked, shoulders square and head held high.

nami laughed at him while robin took it upon herself to answer, "no, it's alright with us," and sanji was bolting over to lift the umbrella and position it right above you, a meek, but proud smile on his face.

"sanji, you didn't have to," you said softly, but then you thanked him for his efforst in making you comfortable. that was enough to make him burst into a tomato red color. "and, by the way, this is delicious! i love it so much, sanji,"

"i love you so much."

"sorry?"

"oh, nothing!! i didn't say anything, [name]!! i said, nothing!!!" and he was running off before you could tease him further.

he slammed the door to the kitchen shut and then repeatedly hit his head against the wood as he muttered degrading words to himself, "idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot!!!"

"well, you are an idiot, we knew that, but now you're acting borderline insane, what's up with you, pervy cook?"

of course, zoro had to be in the kitchen. sanji whipped his head around and screamed at the top of his lungs, "out of my kitchen, marimo!!!"

this made zoro laugh in his face and then leave at his request, muttering something about how love sick sanji was and how obvious he was about it.

— sanji carefully crafted each dish he makes for you, making it look pretty and extra nice. cooking is his speciality and acts of service are his love language. combining the two is the closest he can get to confessing his actual feelings to you.

the crew was lively in the kitchen and you were hidden away in the crow's nest. sanji had drowned you in treats throughout the day, leaving your appetite for the dinner not very big. you assured him (more than 20 times) that you indeed felt full, you weren't skipping meals, and you were already satisfied. that was the only way he let you skip out on dinner.

but while the crew was eating, sanji was still behind the stove. his fingers nimbly moved in decorating the platter very carefully, holding his breath every now and then in anticipation.

"whatcha making, sanji?! extras for me?!" luffy excitedly asked, coming bounding around the counter and standing beside the chef.

immediately, sanji kicked him away and warned him, "do not!! touch this, this isn't yours, luffy! i'm serious, don't even think about it!" sanji looked at the men of the crew, "that goes for the rest of you too, this isn't yours, filthy batards!" and his voice softened as he spoke with a smile to robin and nami, "if you want a dessert, ladies, i wouldn't mind making seconds for you two!"

"it's alright, sanji-kun, just focus on making [name]'s," nami said with a wave of her hand, a knowing look in her eyes.

"yes, i am quite full of the dinner you served already. it was delicious as usual,"

there wasn't a grand shift of emotion on sanji's face as he politely thanked the ladies for their kind words. but then his cheeks erupted in color when he finally caught on to what nami said, "ah! no, no, this isn't for [name]-"

"there's no denying it, sanji, just keep spoiling him rotten and leaving us to starve. even if he is a man just like us, for some reason he's not a "filthy bastard" but [name]~" usopp said in exasperation, eyeing the dessert sanji was making with longing, "we wouldn't expect you to spare us any of that...anyway..."

sanji's red face from embarassmnet instead turned into one of annoyance, "shut your mouth and quit complaining! i'm not spoiling him - he deserves this! he didn't come and eat dinner with you guys, meaning there was more servings for you! be thankful to him! ... and don't call him a filthy bastard!! he's very clean and neat, unlike you guys!"

"ah, yes, lord and savior [name]!" usopp said, clapping his hands together as if he were praying to the man, "i wish he were here right now, though, to save us from sanji's fury, ughh," usopp sighed at the end of his sentence, making sanji's eyebrow quirk in annoyance.

"calling me a god, usopp?" your voice rang in the dining hall, making everyone's heads snap to you. "that's a pretty hefty title,"

"woah, that was just like that enel guy - you came when we summoned you! do you have ears all around sunny, [name]?" luffy asked, wonder in his eyes as he walked towards the door, "you should teach us that sometime!"

you smiled at your captain, allowing him to pass you with ease as he went to blow off his energy on the deck. chopper and usopp grinned at you as they followed after luffy, going to entertain each other. robin and nami walked past with kind smiles, the orange haired girl winking at you. franky pat you on the back, a thumbs up being thrown at you, only making you more confused about what you possibly missed.

brook was singing on his way out, something about young, forbidden love. you didn't see it, but sanji threw his head in his hands in embarassment. zoro was the last to leave, whispering to you to, "fix the idiot cook already, it's getting tiring dealing with his bullshit everyday," and then leaving you with no other explanation.

"what was up with all that," you rhetorically asked, chuckling underneath your breath and making sanji just shake his head in response. "sanji, did you forget to serve that to robin and nami? if you want, i can give it to them?"

sanji shot his hand out, catching your own that was reaching for the plate he was just preparing. realizing his actions, he immediately released you from his hold and shook his head, "no, no, it's...um...it's not for them."

the blonde cursed himself in his head, wishing he didn't become so blubbery in his words whenever he spoke to you. but he couldn't control it! not when you were looking at him so gently, so patiently. god, just thinking about you looking at him made him weak in the knees. because that meant you were just focusing on him. sure, you could be thinking of others things that weren't him (his heart literally shatters at that notion), but in the moment, you were physically turned to and only paying attention to him.

it made him almost sigh dreamily. his heart was already beating faster and his stomach was filled with butterflies.

"they're not?" you leaned over the counter, taking a seat as you did so.

"no, they're," he took in a deep breath, fists clenched at his sides, "they're for you,"

your eyes widened. and sanji internally cursed you for being so effortlessly handsome, while tilting your head in confusion, "but, sanji, i told you you don't need to prepa-"

"i wanted to," sanji cut you off, quickly apologized for doing so, before continuing, "i wanted to make your favorite, just to give you something to eat before bed,"

you smiled, and sanji internally cursed you again for being so sweet, and gently rubbed his arm, "thanks, sanji, you're so kind,"

he bit his lip in content, trying to hide his happiness as he simply nodded his head. there was no way his voice wouldn't shake if he spoke now.

wordlessly, you moved your hand off of his arm and picked up the spoon from the plate. humming in content once the food hit your tongue to let sanji know that his expertise did, in fact, not fail him.

"it's so delicious, sanji!" he was going to thank you, but was cut off when the spoon you had just used was shoved into his mouth. you were grinning at the surprised look on his face, "let's share!"

sanji got a nosebleed. because the gears in his head quickly turned. the spoon in his mouth, which you just used, meant that you two just...indirectly kissed.

his head flew backwards and blood was streaming down his nose. the last thing he saw before passing out was your worried face above his own.

— sanji often times thinks he looks like an idiot pining over you. he just feels so awkward. he cannot mess this up or else his life might seriously just cease having meaning. he's never felt so serious about someone before. it was always fleeting thoughts of how someone was attractive in his eyes. now, with you in front of him everyday, looking like an actual angel (or handsome devil, both are fitting, he thinks with an odd smile). he just can't help his thoughts from running wild. what if after your pirate adventures, the two of you settled down together? happy. near some shoreline, not a worry in the world. sanji just catches himself thinking of a future with you in it, despite the two of you not even dating or being remotely romantic towards one another...not yet, at least.

it was nighttime and the both of you were on night watch. you were scheduled to be in the crow's nest and sanji confidently took it upon himself to join you out of courtesy. in the crow's nest, you were looking out at the calm sea while sanji was just looking at you, admiring you.

"sanji," you called out, your eyes still trained on the sea, "you've been staring at me for the past 10 minutes,"

the man gulped nervously, wondering if this would be the moment. the moment he finally confessed to you. it's been long enough for him to be sure of his feelings (he was in love with you), this was the perfect setting - just the two of you, and it was all calm.

but what if you rejected him? then his heart would be laid out in front of you, you wouldn't reciprocate, and then you'd have to sail together for however long needed, knowing in the back of your mind. he would know you didn't like him back and you would know that he one-sidedly liked you.

it was too painful of a loss. that was the main reason why he hasn't ever thought about pursuing his confession to you.

"make it 11 minutes now," you chuckled, finally turning your head to him and examining his confused features, "what are you thinking about, sanji?"

you. he bit his tongue to prevent that single word from slipping past his lips.

"nothing," he said quickly, maybe too quickly.

out of nowhere, your hand went to the back of his neck and pulled him in close. he turned rigid at the action immediately, turning into a stiff statue as you stared right into his soul.

"why're you lying to me?" you asked quietly and sanji almost collapsed into your lap and began begging for forgiveness. you, obviously, weren't actually mad or annoyed at him for his little white lie, but sanji didn't want you thinking he lied so easily.

that wasn't a good quality to have as your boyfriend, your lover. so sanji quickly said, "i'm sorry," with a weak tone and looked right into your beautiful e/c eyes with nothing but sorrow.

you could so easily spur an immense amount of strong emotions from sanji. he felt like he was being played like a toy. but, also, he didn't mind. not if it was you. he didn't mind a lot of things if it was you.

"sanji, why do you treat me so differently?" you just saying his name made him feel like he wanted to just collapse on your lap and stay there. be nurtured by you.

"i don't mean to," he answered, "i really don't. i can stop, if it makes you uncomfortable, i'll stop,"

you shook your head and sanji felt some strands of your hair brush against his skin. goosebumps formed at those points. even the strands of your hair made him react so vicerally to you.

"no, that's not what i meant," finally, you released your hold on his neck and leaned back to create a more comfortable space between you two. unconsciously, sanji leaned in towards you. "i mean, have i done some amazing thing to you before? it kind of feels like you're making some thing up to me, like you're repaying a debt..." your voice trailed off awkwardly, "you don't have to act so doting to me, sanji, for whatever reason - especially if it's to repay a debt. i don't want you stressing about something silly like that,"

what? sanji was confused. you thought, this entire time, he was just being nice to you to make up for something. there's no way. he wondered how oblivious you had been ot his advances. have you been unaware this whole time? was he perhaps not acting as obvious as he thought he was?

that was slightly comforting to think about, if that was the case. but also a part of sanji felt as if he failed. he was pursuing you. behind all his blunders of stuttering words, unhealthily red faces - he wanted you to know that he was pursuing you. he wanted to hint at his feelings so you could hopefully pick up on them.

"that's not why i act the way i do," sanji carefully said, watching your reaction. and when your face twisted into confusion, he urged himself to take this chance to continue, "i wanted you to know...want you to know, i mean, that i really, really, really..." he took in a deep breath, offering a weak smile, "i really like you, [name], and i was too scared to tell you like i am now, so i was catering to you to hopefully make it obvious. well, i see how ambiguous that my actions are now and i wish i had done it different so i could properly have wooed you, but, it's too late for that. i wish i had done it more-"

he was cut off when you suddenly moved forward and pressed your lips to his. he melted into your touch immediately, his body reacting so naturally to yours. his eyes fluttered shut, intenally sighing in relief at how his confession did in fact work out in his favor.

and it took a lot out of him to move away from you, but he did need air to breathe, unfortunately. if only he could just breathe you in and live off of you alone.

he sighed, chest heaving as he really wrapped his head around what just happeneed.

"i know," you said softly, a smile on your handsome face that was literally captivating him, "i knew, i mean. just wanted to hear you say it,"

sanji blinked. were you...taunting him? no, teasing was the more appropiate word because you weren't hurting him with your words. but your mischevious grin and glint in your eyes did tell him that you were in fact teasing him.

"uhm, you knew?" he repeated, making you chuckle and pinch his cheek lovingly.

"i wanted you to confess to me," you clarified, leaning forward and playing with the strands of his blonde hair around your finger, "i though you'd sound cute confessing," you leaned in further, lips ghosting over his, "and you did,"

sanji's face was exploding a dangerous shade of red. god, this was so embrassing. but, your lips were on his again and he wiped away any self preservation and completely gave himself to you.

you pulled away quickly, speaking in breathy tones, "i like you a lot too, sanji," his heart skipped multiple beats, then started racing even faster when you gently pushed him down onto the cushioned sofa, "been wanting to kiss you like this since i joined the crew,"

sanji was going to pursue more answers, but your hands carding through his hair made him speechless.

"been wanting to kiss you all over like this for so long," you peppered short kisses all over his skin, making him feel like he was on fire.

"why didn't you?" he quietly asked, making you pull away and grin down at him.

at this point, he was completely laid out on the sofa, his legs spread and hugged around your waist as you leaned yourself over him. the hands on either side of his head felt like a cage that he definitely didn't mind being in. with you looking down at him from above, he wouldn't mind staying there forever.

"i liked imagining you confessing to me," you grinned, "plus, i wasn't sure if you were even into me. i heard from the others that you were exclusviely nice to the women of the ship, so i didn't want to bother pursuing you either."

so, you were basically saying that you and sanji could have been together even sooner if he had just showed more obviously to begin with that he was deeply enamored by you.

sanji was cursing his past self very colorfully right now.

"sorry for being so mean to you, though," a bashful apology was enough for sanji.

and he missed the feeling of your lips on his, so he leaned up to meet you halfway, but you stopped him, "do you forgive me?"

"yes, yes, i do," sanji breaths were hitched from how excited and happy he was.

you grinned at his reaction, feeling proud that you were the cause of it, "aren't you glad we waited, though?"

sanji almost shook his head no on instinct. if he could have had this sooner rather than later, he would've taken the former over the latter any day. you saw the way his head stuttered in place, unsure of the right answer. so you leaned down, right next to his ear and sent shivers down his spine by whispering, "cause this is gonna feel so much better now after such a long wait, right, sanji?"

[landograndprix]

Birthday boys ✾ l.n

summary: reader celebrates the boys by personal messages, some might enjoy it more than others

requested: yes!

follow up (sorta) from this post

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y/nusername

liked by danielricciardo, heidiberger, landonorris and 7,824 others

y/nusername happy birthday to the one and only love of my life! Honestly feeling bad for the people who don't get to have a best friend like you– i'm so happy we got to grow up together and terrorize the neighborhood and everyone in our way. I love you babes even though you set me up on a date with your weird coworker. also thanks for the job, sorry you got fired before me ❤️

tagged: @/danielricciardo

view all 826 comments

dannyricric lando & heidi who? I only know daniel & y/n

tifosiredbull the first and the last picture 😭

leclerccc_ the last one is too cute!!

danielricciardo can't wait for your birthday babes, got the pictures ready

y/nusername shaking in my boots right now

teammclaren 😂 😂 😂

landohnorry the first one is doing it for me tbh 🤣

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y/nusername

liked by alex_albon, mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63 and 8,723 others

y/nusername don't be down and turn that frown upside-down. Happy 30th birthday to the most British man I've ever met– crickey, you're getting old. Best wishes from one bad bitch to another bad bitch 🎂

tagged: georgerussell63

view all 812 comments

grussell63 what is this and why is this the best thing I've ever seen? 😭

georgerussell63 why are you like this?

y/nusername I ask myself that question at least ten times a day 🥰

maxiel13 put this on my grave please :')

mercedesamgf1 truly iconic 🙌

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y/nusername

liked by isahernaez, carlossainz55 and 9,076 others

y/nusername older? yes. wiser? debatable. Some things are better with age, too bad you aren’t one of them. Happy birthday to my favorite spaniard 🌶

tagged: @/carlossainz55

charlos55 ah yes I love the Jonas Brothers

y/nusername joe is my favorite obviously

charlos55 asjklsas i love you!

scuderiaferrari thank you for perfectly capturing our chili 🌶

gaaaslyyy happy b-day to Carlos and let's thank y/n for her services ☺

carlossainz55 I can't wait to see you on the track this weekend

y/nusername is that a threat?

carlossainz55 keep your eyes open

sainzie my goal in life is to be as close with every driver as y/n is 😭

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, alex_albon and 8,003 others

y/nusername happy birthday to the guy who can never do anything wrong in his life, the guy who became the little brother I've never had, thanks for being such a great time. (Don't be fooled, I still like your girlfriend more.)

tagged: alex_albon

view all 307 comments

maxmaxmax he truly can't do wrong, protect this men at cost!

🤺🤺🤺🤺

alex_albon thanks y/n, it's okay I too like my girlfriend more than you 😀

alebonooo like you should 😇

lilymhe hey could you intruduce me to this guy, he's cute

alex_albon 👋👋

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y/nusername

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 10,897 others

y/nusername Smart, funny, beautiful..but enough about me, happy birthday to monaco's (and my) favorite. Here’s to another year of questionable fashion decisions. Happy birthday queen. ♥

tagged: charles_leclerc

sharllekler not charles questioning his life in these pictures 😭

lestappen_ I would too if my team was ferrari 💀

leclerc16 bestie the least thing you could've done was take those pants away from him

y/nusername friend if this man wants to embarrass himself, who am I to stop him?

charles_leclerc thank you queen ❤️

checooop don't known if I want to be charles or y/n

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 9,726 others

y/nusername Happy birthday to the guy who always knows how to make me laugh, who matches my weird, to the most good-looking guy I've ever met, to my best friend, to my person and to the one I love. I hope i get to spend many more birthdays with you..anyway, who needs a gift when you have me? Love you always, muppet 🧡🧡

tagged: landonorris

view all 910 comments

norris4 the difference between the birthday post of the other guys and lando's one is insane 😭

mercmartin the last picture will always be my favorite, thanks for sharing it once again

landonorris love you, muppet ❤️

Bottassv will I ever get over the muppet thing? Probably not

danielricciardo best friend?

landonorris people change their minds, daniel

scottyjames31 feeling rather betrayed right now

y/nusername guys please, I can't stand y'all equally. No need to fight.

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Wolf & The Wildling

Part 2 to The Woman Beyond the Wall, last part.

masterlist

Summary: One year after Cregan’s near death experience with the wildling woman he met, he returns beyond the wall to find and recruit her in hopes of fighting alongside him for Rhaenyra Targaryen at the start of the Dance of Dragons.

cw; smut af come on you know me, really rough cregan, overstimulation, bit of angst but a happy ending :3, talks of SA, childbirth, no use of Y/N but an x reader,

stop not me getting emotional at my own story bc i imagined the end of scott street by PB playing at the ending😭am i a cornball?? anyways, thank you to the anons in my asks for the inspo, i wasn’t even really sure how to continue this story, although i knew i wanted more for cregan and his wildling, you guys gave me the inspiration i needed to give them their ending! tag list: @rebeccawinters

Every day Cregan hadn’t gone back out there felt like another day wasted.

He struggled to do his duties, struggled to sleep, fight, listen, do anything that required attention from him.

And yet despite their rather harsh separation, Cregan still thought of her with every free moment he had. It didn’t help many lords were also insisting the Warden of the North marry a noble daughter. He knew he had to do his duty, but couldn’t find the strength to do it.

It had been so long since he’d seen her that he’d begun to forget his favorite parts about her. It felt as if her strange laugh no longer echoed in his mind, as if he could no longer envision her scarred yet still smoothed skin.

He had the dagger with him always. It was like keeping a piece of her with him. He remembered the pain so vividly, could still feel the throb in his shoulder if he thought about it too hard.

Yet, the ache was nothing compared to the painful thought that always seemed to stay in his mind.

Would he ever see her again?

He couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had greater plans for them. He prayed that they did.

“My Lord.” A voice interrupted Cregan from his thoughts. He stood, turning to face the person. “A raven has arrived from Dragonstone.”

Cregan took the scroll from the maester, quickly opening it to reveal its contents. It was a letter from Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was sending her son in hopes of gaining the support of the North, and requested Cregan have an audience with her heir, Jacaerys.

He would have to return to the Wall.

He hadn’t returned, much to the dismay of the Nights Watch, since he had nearly died from his wildling’s arrows. Even the thought of going near the Wall made his heart skip a beat. She would be so close, yet so far. He knew he could no longer avoid the wall. His duty to the men there was dire, and he had let his own fears get in the way of that.

As for his lover, he wasn’t even sure she still wanted him. As far as he knew, she hated him; she wanted to put an arrow through his eye, his dagger through his chest. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her again. No lady had ever compared to her. He had found his other half, and now felt empty without her.

If he did find her, what would he even do? They were bonded by love, yet separated by more than a Wall.

The separation would soon not matter anymore.

Winter is coming.

———

A fortnight later

Castle Black

Cregan had welcomed the prince to Winterfell, then accompanied him to the Wall.

The young men walked, discussing terms of Cregan’s service.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing. I need my men here.” Cregan says to his prince.

“Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather,” Cregan twitched at the word wildling. “the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming, to the whole of the realm my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.”

Jacaerys trails off, standing against the guard that overlooked the entire outside of the Wall.

“My father brought King Jahaerys and Queen Alyssane to see the wall. His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross… Do you think my ancestors built a 700 foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?”

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan finally looks beyond the Wall for the first time in a year, his mind thinking of her for a brief moment, and then the darkness that lies beyond it. “Death.”

“I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters. They are… wellhoned. I can ready them to march at once.”

“If your graybeards can fight, the queen will have them.”

“They’ll fight hard.” Cregan says, his mind once again thinking of his love as he says his next words. “Like Northerners.”

Jacaerys senses something; more words that the Warden of the North wished to speak.

“Is there something else you can offer us, My Lord?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan hesitates. “There is a woman…” He looks. beyond the wall again. “She is fierce, deadly with a bow. If I can find her… I can ask her to lead the graybeards into war.”

“Should she accept, my mother will be more than pleased to have her.” Jacaerys asks.

“My Lord!” Cregan turns, “A raven has arrived… Urgent news from Dragstone.”

Cregan looks at the man holding the scroll, who holds a sight of worry on his face. Cregan quickly opens the scroll, reading its contents.

Cregan looks at the prince, and Jacaerys tries reading the man’s stoic features.

All Cregan can do is hand Jacaerys the scroll, and let him read for himself.

———

Another fortnight passed following the news of the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Jacaerys had left the Wall at once to return to Dragonstone, whilst Cregan began to prepare his graybeards to march.

“My Lord, why must you go back beyond the Wall? The graybeards do not need a leader. I do not think it wise to let them be lead by a woman beyond the Wall, let alone the one who killed the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.” His maester tells him, worried of how the people of Winterfell and the men on the Wall will react.

“They will not know she’s a wildling. Tis’ not important information. All they need to know is she will lead them well into battle. I trust you’ll keep this information I’ve shared with you private, Maester Windell.”

“Of course, My Lord. You can count on my discretion, always, but I fear wonder if this journey is for more than a leader.”

Cregan stops his packing, not wanting to share more information than he already has with his maester. “No, maester. I only am going to help the Queen. I will be back shortly, with or without the wildling. Winter is coming, and I will not get lost beyond the Wall.”

The maester didn’t argue, so Cregan made his fortnight journey back to the Wall, and then beyond it.

He felt fear when his horse took its first steps onto the icy tundra outside the Wall’s gate. He feared he would not find her, feared she may have died, feared she would kill him before he got to kiss her one last time.

The late summer snow was not too harsh yet, but Cregan knew he did not have long to find her before Winter came.

He searched for days for her.

He returned to the spot where he first set up camp, finding the bark where he had carved a dire wolf had been completely torn and shredded by a knife.

When he returned to the cave it was dark, and no trace of her had been left behind. It made it feel like the moments they shared in there never happened.

He felt lost. He set up his camp in the cave, but she had not snuck to it during the night like last time. If she had, she truly left no trace. But, he knew he hadn’t felt her yet. She wasn’t there.

2 weeks into the journey, he had dreamt of her.

He dreamt he was a wolf, hunting, when he finally saw her.

She was sleeping, ever so soundly, beneath a bright red weirwood. He growled at her, and she awoke quickly, immediately grabbing and aiming her bow at him.

She gasped quickly, catching her breath as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

She released the arrow into his eye, and he awoke.

He was sweating despite the cold, and the burning feeling in his eye was lingering.

He rubbed it softly, but then directed his attention back to her in the dream. It was really her. She looked different. She looked stronger somehow, and her hair had grown greatly. She had it in a long, thick braid. There were bags under her eyes, like she had been exhausted from something.

He stood and exited the cave. The sun was slowly rising, but there was a blue hue that made the snow on the ground glisten. He closed his eyes, stretched, and yawned when he heard a sound.

It was a familiar sound… the sound of a bow string being pulled tightly.

He lowered his arms from his stretch, and opened his eyes.

There she was.

There she was.

She knelt on one knee, aiming her arrow at his eye. Her eyes burnt with a fire that he’d never seen, her breathing was quick and angry, her lips turned in a sad scowl, she was fueled with adrenaline.

He smiled, laughing softly. He couldn’t believe she was here. She pulled the string tighter at his sweet smile, her heart breaking at seeing him truly here.

He took a hesitant step towards her, but stopped.

A soft whining sound came from her back.

His smile faded.

She lowered her bow slowly, eventually dropping it completely. She had a fabric diagonal across her body. She moved it underneath her arm, and then twisted it around her body.

Her hands gently found and cradled the babe.

Cregan gasped. He couldn’t believe it.

She softly hushed the babe, tracing her fingers over its face. She whispered soft, comforting words to it. The babe made gentle little noises.

“Is that…” His voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at him solemnly. His hand covered his mouth.

“This is your son, Cregan.” She finally spoke. Her voice was smooth and melodic, different from how he heard her last time. He stepped towards her, falling to his knees. His whole body was shaking, and not from the cold.

“Does he have a name?” He asks, holding his arms out, hoping she’d trust him enough to hold his son.

She nervously hands him his child, fearful he might take her little babe, her only piece of Cregan, and never return again.

“No.” She says. “I only birthed him a moon ago.”

Cregan can’t hold it in anymore, and begins sobbing. All of his emotions pent up from the last year pour out. He holds the babe close to his chest, sobbing relentlessly.

He’d missed her so greatly this past year and now seeing her here, alone with this little babe, he’d realized how badly he erred. He wasn’t there to comfort her, hold her, help her. She had suffered it all alone.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs.

She stares at him, her face unwavering. She was so angry. She wanted to kill him so bad, to take back her babe and cut his throat.

But, she couldn’t.

He’d broken her heart in such an unimaginable way. She’d cried over him for weeks, and when her blood hadn’t came she knew the worst had happened. But now he was here, holding their babe and sobbing like a child. She didn’t even know Cregan was capable of such emotions. She didn’t truly know him, and he didn’t truly know her.

Her hand found its way to his broad shoulder to try to comfort him. Her other hand moved to cradle his cheek. He rested his face into her hand, spilling wet tears on her.

“Oh, Cregan.” She whispered, wiping the never ending tears from his cheek. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, hushing him like she did their babe. She wrapped her other arm around him, bringing her warm body against his while still being careful of their infant.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “I should not have left you. I should have killed those men and brought you home-“

“Sh, sh, Cregan.” She whispers again. “I’m yours, as you are mine.”

Her words send him back into tears. She presses soft kisses to the tears on his cheek, weaving her fingers in his curls that she desperately missed.

“Where have you been?” He asks, minutes after calming down. “I’ve searched these whole damn woods for you.”

She smiles softly, “You think I don’t know that?” He smiles. “Why did you come back here, Cregan?”

He looks down at their sleeping babe, then back at her. “I’ve wanted to come back every day since I have been apart from you… But, I couldn’t find the strength. I regret it more than anything. I regret leaving you, I regret not coming sooner, I-“

She cuts him off, placing her warm lips onto his. Not breaking the kiss, her hands take the babe from him, setting him aside next to them.

“What are you-“

She slaps him across the face, with such a strong hand that he can’t help but stop and look back at her in total shock. She pulls his lips back into her, confusing him with her back and forth attitude. “If you ever leave me again, I really will put an arrow through your eye.”

He smirks, pulling her back into him with his strength. “Now we’re even.” She whispers.

“We were even when you nearly killed me last year.” He says, she growls at him, but they continue kissing. “I wear these scars with honor.”

She tears into his soft clothes, “Take him inside, and then come back out here and make me yours again.”

He pulls away with haste, grabbing his babe gently and walking back into the cave. She follows, right on his heels. He finds a safe spot for their babe, setting the sleeping child down.

He turns, grabbing her by the neck and kissing her, pushing her backwards out to the cold.

“Be gentle with me.” She whispers into his lips.

“No.” Cregan says, ripping off her furs and throwing them on the ground. She smirks, not wanting him to anyway.

He grabs her by her hair and she shrieks. He pushes her down to her knees, and she sits in the cold snow once again. He unlaces his breeches, and she quickly tugs them down with his soft clothes.

She presses her cold fingers onto his pelvis, and she places gentle kisses along his length. She looks up at him with her big, doe eyes. He pulls her head back by her hair again and she gasps. He pushes himself into her mouth, immediately groaning at her warm tongue. She moans around him, placing her hand at what she can’t fit in her mouth. He grabs both sides of her face, thrusting his hips into her mouth, not realizing his roughness. He had missed her so much, and he was so lost in the pleasure of her mouth.

She gagged repeatedly, her eyes flowing with tears. Her free hand rested on his toned stomach for balance, and she scratched her nails into him from time to time.

He pulled her head back with a pop of her lips, and looked down at the little mess before him. Her cheeks were stained with tears, drool spilling from her lips, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the tension between her legs.

He pushed her back into the snow and got on his knees, placing himself between her legs. He wrapped his hand around her throat again, rubbing his fingers at the wetness between her legs.

“You’ve missed me?” He asks.

“I’ve missed that cock.” She teases.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be much to miss soon.” He presses a harsh kiss to her lips, sliding himself into her. She gasps into his lips, trying to pull away to cry out, but he refuses to let her go. He pulls one of her legs to his chest to give him a deeper angle and she whines into his lips. He starts thrusting, fast and harsh, into her healing cunt. His hand moves from her throat to her breast, now round and large with milk than the last time he’d had her.

“Cregan!” She cries out loudly, finally breaking free from his lips. She throws her head back into ecstasy, her hair becoming wet from the snow. Cregan moans loudly, his thrusts sloppy and quick.

“I’m putting another babe in you.” He moans, forgetting why he was there to retrieve her in the first place.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” She says, slapping him across the face. He looks at her angrily, a wolf awakening inside him. He grabs her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks as he fucks her harshly and angrily.

“I’m gonna cum.” She whines, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Don’t.” He says. She gasps, begging and pleading for her release. He slows his thrust, leaving her in agony. She bucks her hips towards him, but he pushes them down, locking her in place with his strong arm.

“I fucking hate you.” She moans.

“Cum for me then, and we can see if that is how you feel for me after.” His thrusts go back to their fast, sloppy pace, and she moans. Her hands grab his wrist, clawing her nails into his forearm.

She hits her peak and moans his name repeatedly. Her fingers dig into the snow again, the other hand digging into his arm. He growls, not stopping and continuing to thrust.

“Stop it.” She whispers, her body shaking at the sensitivity. Cregan doesn’t listen, only maintaining his harsh pace. He lifts both of her legs to his chest, his length touching her womb. “Please, Cregan, fuck!” She whines, tears spilling from her eyes at the overstimulation.

Her fists hit his chest, and yet he continues. She slaps him across the face, over and over again, and he still continues, his face stoic, desperate for nothing more than to see her writhing beneath him.

She sobs as she cums on him again, slapping and hitting him harshly. Her body is a trembling mess, peaking with pleasure and pain. Finally satisfied, he lets his own peak wash over him, filling her to the brim with his seed again, right against her womb. He rests over her, moaning and biting her neck, despite her nails scratching and drawing blood against his neck.

“Cunt.” She moans into his shoulder, holding him tightly against her shaking body. He pulls out, gently, allowing her to rest before he carries her back into the cave, stepping into the hot spring with her in his arms.

She rests against him, and it’s as if they had never been apart. He looks over at their sleeping babe on the ground, smiling gently. He looks back down at his love, his smile fading.

“There is a war brewing in Westeros.” He finally tells her.

“What for this time?” She asks, drawing little shapes on his chest, not seeming to really care about his answer.

He decides to wait to tell her, instead wanting to enjoy the moment with her.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you… before I left.” He says. She sighs.

“Cregan… Do you wish to know why I killed the Lord Commander?”

He looks down at her, confused. He assumed her only reason was she hated crows. She looks up at him.

“Why?” He asks.

She waits before explaining. “He’d come out there before with some of his men. They often hunted wildlings for fun. They’d tell the men back at the wall it was for a hunting exhibition, but really… They were tired of the women from some place called Mole’s Town.”

Cregan was still confused.

“That was years ago, when I was in a tribe… But, the crows just kept coming back… And our tribe refused to leave, because our ancestors had settled there hundreds of years before.” She pauses, “The Lord Commander always said I was his favorite… I left eventually. Turns out I’m safer alone. That’s when I started killing crows.”

Cregan realized he was gripping her arm too tightly, and loosened his hold. What she said changed everything. Men were coming beyond the Wall to force themselves on wildling women. He wanted to be sick. Cregan’s last words to her before he left… that he would kill her for what she did.

Anger ignited inside him, but there was nothing he could do. The Lord Commander was dead, she got her revenge. But, the thought of that happening to her, the words he spoke before he left her alone. It was too much.

She noticed his tension, and placed her hand on his cheek. “My wolf.” She whispered. He closed his eyes and turned away from her touch.

“I’ve failed you… Again, and again, and again.” He says, tears spilling from his eyes.

She straddles him, forcing him to look at her. “Aye. You have.” He looks at her, not expecting brr bluntness. She wipes his tears. “But you’re still mine, Cregan Stark… and I’m not perfect either.”

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms around her.

“So, what were you saying about the war?” She asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

“There is a war forming between the dragons. It is growing more and more dire.”

“Dragons?” She asked. “Like in the stories?”

“Aye, my lady. Except these are no stories. The dragons are dancing, and the North must stand ready to fight with the true Queen.”

“Queen?” She asks. “Aren’t you King in the North?”

“No, my love. Starks bent the knee over a century ago.”

She leans back to look at him. “Bend the knee to me.”

“I do every time I stick my cock in you.” She laughs, a sweet and gentle laugh, no longer the chaotic one she used to do.

“You’re different.” He says, a smile on his face.

“I am a mother now. My child has softened my witch heart.” She jests.

Mother. The mother to his child, specifically. He couldn’t ask her to lead the gray beards no longer. She needed to return to Winterfell with him to raise their son. His smile fades and she notices.

“You’re different.” She repeats his words. “Why did you come? Truly?”

“You are a warrior… and the North must stand ready.” He looks at her, his eyes worried.

“You… You want me to fight?” She asks, stepping off him and standing. The water stops at her hips, and he tries hard to keep his attention focused on her face. “Just a moon after I nearly died pushing out your fat little babe?”

“No, no, my lady. I do not want you fighting no longer.” He looks at her, taking her hands in his. “I want you to come home… with me. To Winterfell.”

“My home is the North.” She says, taking her hand away.

“No, no.” He stands, resting his hands on her arms. He looks over at their sleeping son. “He changes everything.”

His son would be considered a bastard, by all traits, but he was his son nonetheless. He would raise him as a Stark… as his heir to Winterfell.

“Home is not a place.” Cregan says. “A home is what you make it… My place may be in Winterfell, but it is not my home if you and my son are not with me.”

She sighs. “I’m no lady, Cregan.”

“I know… and I don’t care.”

“I will not watch you marry a noble while I am your whore that you force to work in your castle and fuck at night.”

“I would never ask that of you.” Cregan says, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. “Starks are honorable men. You will be my wife, and my son will be my heir. I will kill any man who ever dares harm you again.”

She stares at him as he continues. “I needed an excuse to come back out here… If I told them I came out here to get you to lead the Northern army, then it raised less suspicion. But, I care no longer. I only care about you.”

“What if I say no? That I won’t join you?” She asks.

“Then I would accept.” He looks at his son. “All I ask is you let me bring him.”

She looks at their son. Cregan continues. “He will never know a cold night, he will learn to fight among men, he’ll have a full belly every time he goes to sleep, he’ll be respected by all those around him… and if you came, so would you.”

She looks back at Cregan. “He will join you.”

Cregan closes his eyes, her hand resting against his cheeks.

“As will I.” He opens them to look at her again.

“Truly?” She nods. He laughs, breathlessly, pulling her in for a deep hug. His fingers weave into her hair, holding her tightly against his chest.

“I will fight for you as well.” He pulled away to look at her.

“No.” He says. “No, I need you with me at Winterfell.”

“Cregan… A queen! You honor me, choosing me to lead your Northern army.”

“I don’t want you to.” He says. “What of our son? You could be gone for years… You could not return.”

She laughs, “My Lord Stark… You’d be a bloody fool to think any man could kill me.”

“This is hardly a war between men, my girl. This is a war between dragons, and none will ever be so bloody.”

“Cregan… I am of the free folk, which means I will always be free. Being free means I have the choice to fight for you… and for a Queen.”

———

Cregan returned to Winterfell a week later, carrying his babe in his arms on his horse, with a wilding woman behind him.

His maester was bewildered at the sight before him. “My Lord… Who is this babe you carry?”

“Maester, this is my son and this woman here is his mother… and my betrothed. She will be leading the graybeards in the war. Call upon wet nurses and maids to help foster our son while she is gone.”

“A-At once, My Lord.” The maester stumbled over his words, giving the wildling one last look before going to do his task.

Later that night, her and Cregan sat in his chambers. His lover couldn’t help but explore and ask questions about everything in the castle.

“What is this?”

“A pen and paper.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you tell the maester a message and then he writes it down and gives it to a raven to send off.”

“And this?”

“A tub.”

“What does it do?”

“Bathes you.” It went on like this for hours, but he didn’t care. He was glad to share with her his way of life. Her naiveness at noble life was sweet.

When they cuddled up in his furs in their now shared bed, she laughed with giddiness. “Ask them to bring more.”

“My love, you’re under four bear pelts and the hearth is at full flame, you’re going to get hot.”

“Hot?”

“Warm, my girl. Too warm.”

“I don’t care. This is all so exquisite. You should’ve brought me here much sooner, you know.”

Cregan simply smiled, looking down at their son in his arms. “Did you have any names in mind for him?”

She hums, resting on her elbow to face them. “Cregan is quite a handsome name.”

“We can name give him a Stark name if you like mine.”

“Like what?”

“How about… Benjen Stark.”

“Benjen.” She whispered, sitting up and touching her son’s dark locks. “I love it.”

Her and Cregan locked eyes, staring at each other in silence. “You don’t have to go, my love.”

“I do.” She says, cradling Cregan’s cheek.

“I wish to marry you, make you Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

“I will be your… Lady… when I return.” She says, unsure of the proper term to use.

He laughs, “Wife. You will be my wife. I can have the maester teach you to read and write upon your return.”

“Truly?” She asks. “Like stories?”

“Stories, history, anything my betrothed wishes to read she can.”

“Betrothed?”

“It means we’re to be wed, at some point.”

She presses her forehead to Cregan’s. “I can’t believe I am here.”

“Neither can I, my love.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, and they fell asleep like that, Benjen full and warm in his father’s arms.

Cregan and his love were only able to share a few nights together before it was time for her to march with the graybeards.

“You are strong, my lady. Command these men like you did me, and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

Cregan lifted her onto her horse, and she nervously settled into the saddle. He stepped onto his own, Benjen tightly secured to his chest as the babe was to his mother when Cregan stumbled back upon them.

She took her hand in his, and he pressed a gentle kiss to it. “Come back safe to me, my girl.”

She smirked, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to kill some Southerners.”

“Goodbye, my sweet boy.” She says, touching Benjen’s hair one last time.

“Take care of our son, Cregan.” He nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

“I have a gift for you before you go.”

His master at arms came to him, handing him the freshly made dire wolf crest. He pinned it on her chest, and she looked down, tracing her fingers over the craftsman ship.

“You are a Stark… from this day, until your last day.” He said. She looked at Cregan, pride in her face.

“I’ll make you proud, my Lord Stark.”

He handed her the dagger, the very thing that brought them together. “I know you will.”

With that, she turned and slowly began to leave with her horse.

She turned to look back at them. “By the way, I killed your horse last year.”

Cregan’s smile faded, but then she laughed, and he couldn’t help but laugh too. She turned back around, and he looked down at his son, his beautiful little pup. The babe’s big gray eyes staring back at the ones he inherited from his father.

Cregan rode the opposite direction from her. He turned again to look at her one last time, and she turned to look at him too.

He smiled at her, letting the tears fall. She smiled back. He watched her ride the opposite way, and she watched him as he rode back to Winterfell until they could no longer see each other.

He would miss her greatly, but he knew she would return. This parting would not be forever, for they knew that they were bonded by love, seperated by only distance this time. No wall, no duty, no pain would ever come between them again.

He couldn’t wait for her to get back to them so they could start their life together.

Forever.

[alphajocklover]

The following story was a commission from a reader who would prefer to remain anonymous. They have given me permission to share this story. Quick thank you to them.

Made For This Town

Maxwell Ford was moving.

Specifically, Maxwell Ford was moving to a small town called Maxford.

Max Ford was moving… to Maxford.

It was almost funny, or at least it would have been funny if Maxwell wasn’t absolutely miserable about this entire thing.

Maxwell hated that they were moving again. His family moved quite a bit, his mothers job as a software engineer bringing them all around the country. Usually Maxwell was fine with moving. It was annoying but he was used to it. He was a fairly social guy and made friends easily. This time Maxwell doubted he’d make any friends at all, mainly because Maxwell was basically moving to the middle of nowhere.

When he had first heard they were moving to a town that shared his name he thought it was actually kind of cool. Even when he learned it wasn’t a city he had still been kind of excited. He had lived in cities his entire life, and had actually been curious about what it might be like to live in a small town. Then he had learned about what Maxford was actually like. There wasn’t a lot of information about it on the internet, which was a little strange since everything was on the internet these days, but what he had learned had soured him on the town completely. Maxford was… well it was weirdly normal. There was no other way to put it. The town was weirdly normal. Maxwell knew that a lot of small towns were conservative and focused on athletics, but Maxford seemed to take it to a whole new level. Everyone was conservative and athlete obsessed. Absolutely everyone! It didn’t sound possible, but try as he might Maxwell couldn’t find any semblance of any sort of counter culture. There were no nerds, no goths, no punks and no LGBTQ people of any kind. The only mention of LGBTQ people and Maxford were some quack conspiracy theorists online raving about some kind of reality changing forcefield. Maxwell was convinced that even if he found other nerdy or gay people like him in Maxford, they’d be absolutely crazy. It wasn’t like Maxwell could do anything about it though. He was just 18 and hadn’t finished highschool yet. He didn’t have the means to live on his own. So he resigned himself to spend his senior year surrounded by jocks. Though that didn’t stop him from pouting about it the whole ride there.

“God it’s like there's no cell service out here.” Maxwell groaned from the passenger seat of his family's subaru. Maxwell could hear his dad, Samuel Ford, sigh from the driver's seat, and could tell his dad was rolling his eyes without even looking. Maxwell knew it was all in good fun though. He and his dad actually got along great, which made sense considering they were both very similar. Both were skinny men who appeared younger than they were and had a love for sci-fi and video games. The only real difference was that Samuel was far more mature and less emotional then Maxwell. His emotional maturity and kindness was probably the only reason Samuel was able to get Maxwell’s mother, Rose, to go out with him. Rose was both attractive and ambitious, and Samuel absolutely adored her. She had driven ahead in the family's other car with a bit more of their stuff, so currently the car was just father and son.

“Son, I know you’re not really excited about this move…” Sam said sympathetically, a kind smile on his face “But I swear it won’t be as bad as you think. I know this town is different from the places we’ve lived before, but I know you’ll make friends.” Sam said. Maxwell doubted it, but said nothing and smiled slightly at his fathers attempts to cheer him up as they approached the city limits of Maxford. “You’ll see, son. As soon as we get in there…”

“You’ll be pulling pussy like fucking crazy.” Sam Ford said, a cocky grin on his manly face as he gave his son a knowing smile.

Max Ford puffed his chest slightly with pride as he smirked at his Dad. He wasn’t really worried about getting a new girl to go out with him, since chicks were basically putty in his hands. Why wouldn’t they be? He was a fucking stud. Over 6 feet tall with roaring, beefy muscles. He was so big he already had a place on the Maxford High football team without even having to try out. He had sent some pictures of himself to the football coach and got a starting place on the football team just like that. But Max liked it when his dad complimented him, since he had looked up to the man his entire life, so he pretended to be nervous about finding a girl for homecoming so his dad would try and cheer him up. His dad was fully aware his son was just playing, but studs like them had to build eachother up. As they drove through Maxford, Max thought about the upcoming school year with a cocky grin. He knew being the new kid in senior year might be a little weird, but a guy like him could make friends anywhere. Plus, a guy named Max Ford in a town called Maxford? It was like fate. Max was sure he’d be the king of his highschool in no time.

Sam pulled up at their new house, parking their SUV next to the family pickup. He got out of the car and sauntered over to his wife Rose, who was waiting for them. She had come earlier to get the house set up. Being a stay at home mom, Rose wanted to make sure everything was perfect for her man. Max rolled his eyes as his parents kissed sloppily, almost gagging as his dad groped his Moms ass. Turning away from them, Max saw a busty girl across the street, staring at him with unhidden interest. With a seductive smirk, Max stripped off his shirt, threw it to the floor, and flexed for the bimbo, who he couldn’t hear giggle and blush as he showed off.

Max laughed. A town full of hot girls and cool bros. It was like the town of Maxford was made for him. Or… maybe he was made for the town of Maxford.

**Hope you guys enjoyed another little trip to Maxford! I don’t know how the fact that the random town name I made up would also make a good jock name didn’t occur to me till now, but I’m grateful it did! If you like this, stay tuned for more or maybe even commission me. I already got another commission for a much longer Maxford themed story on the books! See you later!**

[save-the-villainous-cat]

jaded villain, optimistic hero. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

"I am not sure what to make of this," the villain admitted.

"I am not really either," the hero said. They let their head sway a little, as so often when they tried to think.

"It's not going to work," the villain said. They took a sip of their coffee and stared out of the window of the diner. It was foolish to assume the hero hadn't known about the villain's favorite place to have breakfast. It was foolish to assume that the hero didn't know anything about them.

The villain wasn't sure what the hero knew about them exactly - that was probably the most dangerous thing about them. The hero could gamble with information, could intimidate people without lifting a finger.

They could get what they wanted when they wanted and how they wanted.

Violence wasn't something the hero avoided but rhetoric was clearly their preferred method of crushing their enemies.

"Why do you think that?"

"You and I...we are just not really made to pose as a couple, are we?"

"Why not?" the hero asked. Their eyes found the villain. Tired eyes finding tired eyes. Given the hero's careful handling with words, the villain was surprised that they had told them a few weeks ago probably the most personal thing the villain would ever get out of them.

I am tired, they had said. I am very tired.

Looking back at the amount of people the hero had arrested this month, that statement was total bullshit. But the villain liked to think that the hero hadn't lied about it.

"Look at yourself. The way you carry yourself alone is totally different from mine. One might think you're military. I look like I crawled out of a dumpster."

"I don't see why two people like that shouldn't be acquainted," the hero said. They shrugged and tilted their head. "Or in love."

"Well..." the villain took another sip of coffee, "I just don't think it is very convincing. Why should someone like you be with someone like me? I doubt I can change my entire personality for one of your missions."

"You're not supposed to change your personality. In fact, I need you to be you." At that, the villain raised a curious brow and the hero kept holding eye contact like a predator eyed its prey. "Your thinking pattern is structurally different from mine. I need you to go through blue prints and codes with me. I need you to steal information and objects if necessary. I need you to kill if you have to. You can do all of this. I can trust you."

"That doesn't mean we look convincing as a couple," the villain said. They looked at the unfinished bagel the hero wasn't interested in anymore and then back at their own empty plate. A sleepless hero was a careless hero.

And a hungry hero was a dangerous hero.

The villain wasn't sure if the hero was a workaholic or if their boss was overworking them. Either way, there was no reason to skip meals and sleep.

"We have known each other for a long time. I know your weaknesses, you know mine. It would include more...touching for sure. But even that is something we have done for quite some time now, isn't it? You don't break someone else's ribs by simply staring at them from afar," the hero said. They took their bagel and stared at it lovelessly. "I am pretty sure I have touched every part of you by now, even if it was accidental."

"Hm." The villain stared out of the window, dully noting the three black vans with men in suits sitting in them, observing the diner. So what if it was actually pretty easy to pretend to be the hero's lover? What then? "It doesn't feel like I have much of a choice."

"I don't mean it to come across like that. You are my first choice for this mission. I know your loyalty knows boundaries and I respect that. I know your services are not for free and I don't have a problem with paying you handsomely. Working with you is easy," the hero explained. They put the bagel on the villain's plate and the villain was fully aware that the hero tried to manipulate them.

"You mean because I follow your commands blindly?" the villain asked. "Last time I did that, I got shot. Now, you want to work with me again. I wonder if that is desperation or if the people who work for you are simply incompetent."

"Compared to what we are able to do together, everyone I work with is incompetent." Despite the manipulative intention, those were sweet words.

The villain smiled.

"That is...somewhat flattering?" The villain took the bagel and turned it in their hand. "My shoulder still aches. Who guarantees that you will have my back this time?"

"I..." Suddenly, the hero didn't look as calculated. They weren't even close to the indifferent business expression they usually put on when they were talking about a deal. Usually, the villain did not talk to the hero with the intention of hitting nerves. It usually never worked out. "I apologized for that already. I sent flowers. It was a mistake. I got distracted. This time, I will protect you. I will put it in the contract, I promise. I will do my best to shield you."

Getting distracted was an interesting way of describing throwing up during a mission.

"I can protect myself. I am simply questioning if you are in the best shape for a two week mission. That's all." The villain leaned back in their seat and studied the hero. To some degree, everyone was pretending to have their shit together and most of the time, the villain was able to see the cracks.

But the hero had never cracked. Had never come close to imperfection except for this. The lack of sleep and food.

The villain doubted anyone would notice. The hero was incredibly untouchable in their line of work. Barely anyone they worked with knew anything about them — just like the villain in the beginning and still, every now and then.

They stared at the hero. At those eyes and that mouth. That nose and those teeth.

"You don't have to concern yourself with that," the hero said. "I promise I will do my best to keep you unharmed."

The villain took in a deep breath.

Fuck it.

"Fine. I'll see you Monday, then?"

"Yes, I will pick you up," the hero said. They were grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you."

"Thank me later."

The hero nodded eagerly and stood up, took the villain's hand to shake it but they did not expect the villain to tie them to the bed of the hotel room a week later while the villain was the one to carry out most of the mission for them.

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 3)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, canon typical violence (mostly all off screen), descriptions of dead/dismembered bodies, reader is injured (leg injury and slapped), the kidnapper emotionally manipulates the reader, on page murder. Author's note: Thank you so much for all the support it's been crazy!!! This chapter is a bit intense, I'm not going to lie. We just need to hold hands and get through this. But I swear, the next part of this will be sooo tooth rottingly sweet. It's so long that I actually had to make this five parts lmao. I could not stop with the comfort and softness. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o  @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararoseblog @harryshousewhore

The first thing I felt was rough rope as it scraped against my skin. I worked my eyes open, the task feeling too great. I was strapped to an old chair. Nausea swirled in my head as I tried to take in my surroundings. It was a plain, nondescript gray room. The walls were concrete. In the middle of the room, directly in front of me, was a large iron door. It looked like something you would find in a bomb shelter. Around my chair were shafts of moonlight provided by a skylight above. There was a bite in the air that made me shiver. My breathing was uneven as I weakly struggled against the ropes. 

“I see you’re awake. Wonderful.” The man with ice cold eyes appeared from the corner of my vision, a folder in his hand. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.” He lugged a metal chair in front of me and I cringed at the horrible screech as it echoed around the room. “Where is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett?” I blinked, my brain foggy. 

“I don't know who those people are.” The man tsked. There was a flash of anger across his calm face before it was replaced by cool indifference. 

“Bullshit, we see you coming in and out of their apartment.” My stomach churned, either from whatever they shot me with or from the creeping anxiety.

“Oh you mean Al’s roommates? I work for social services for her. I don’t know anything about them.” The man grinned. It was vicious and predatory. 

“You are a bad liar.”He sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do we have photos of you with both men? What? One not enough for you?” He flicked open the folder and pulled out two pictures. One was of Logan and I on the fire escape. It had been captured at the perfect moment to have clear shots of our profiles in it. The other was of Wade and I at the bar. No, not just the bar, the bathroom. I was half exposed, Wade’s face against my bare breast. The woman who interrupted us had worked for him. Now I was actually going to throw up. I had been followed for months at this point. “Now, I’m going to ask again. Where are they?” 

“They don’t tell me about their jobs, I swear. Please just let me go.” The man shook his head with a hum, sounding like a disappointed teacher, sliding the photos back into the folder. 

“I’ll leave you here for a couple days, see if that jogs your memory.” Days? 

“Wait no! Please!” But he had already disappeared through the metal door. In the doorway, I saw a woman waiting. I blinked in shock. The woman, the one from the dingy bar bathroom. She was the one who had taken our picture.  My kidnapper nodded at her before the heavy door thudded shut. Days did pass, the skylight allowing me to count by the motion of the sun. My body soon grew stiff and achy as I sat on the chair. I wanted to sleep, anything to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to calm my mind enough. The shadow of the woman never moved from the small window. I could feel her watching me, my arm hair standing up at the feeling. To distract myself, I thought of Wade and Logan, of them bursting in here and rescuing me in a blaze of glory. But as the days bled into one another, hope started to fade. 

The man reappeared after four days. He removed the chair from in front of me, opting to just stand. “Have you thought about your answer?” 

“I don’t know where they are.” It was the truth. They didn’t give me any information about their jobs. They could be on Everest for all I knew. 

“I don’t believe you!” He began to pace, wearing a line into the concrete floor. 

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, it’s the truth.” He rushed at me suddenly, fingers digging brutally into my cheeks as he gripped me. My fists clenched as I forced myself not to jerk away. 

“Stop bullshitting me,” his voice was a venomous hiss. “Tell me now.”

“Do you not understand me?” My voice had lowered too, anger boiling inside me. “Get it through your fucking head that I. Don’t. Know. You are wasting your time. Let me go. Do it before they find me here. They’ll kill you before you can even try to fight back.” 

“Oh is that right?” I knew he was toying with me, but I fell stupidly into his trap anyways. I was angry and tired and so fucking scared. My brain was barely functioning. 

“Wade’s gonna make a necklace of your intestines.” 

The slap made a stomach churning crack. My mouth filled instantly with blood from my split lip. My cheek throbbed in the aftershocks. Tears pooled and trickled down my pulsating cheek. Another thunderous slap caught my other side. Blood splattered across my sweats. It was so hot, it practically burned through to my skin. 

“What a shame.” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, neck stretched too far. The warm blood rushed down my throat and I gagged. “You had such a pretty face. I see why those two kept you around. It’s so nice to have some stress relief. But it seems that they’ve moved on to a better piece of meat now.” He winced when I spat at him, the saliva and blood sticking to his cheek. He touched it like he couldn’t believe it, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. 

“When they get here they’re gonna eat you fucking alive!!” His face twisted in rage. His grip tore at my hair as he ripped my head to the side. Something pricked my neck, cool liquid rushing through my veins. My vision began to fog, body feeling too dense, brain going fuzzy. 

“Sleep well.” 

It had been days. 

I watched the sun beams make their slow progression across the dusty floor, only to be replaced by the darkness of night. My face still stung and my lip kept dripping blood. I called to the woman who was still standing there, hoping that she would take mercy and help me. But I might as well have been shouting at the wall. No one came. No one helped. All I could do was wallow in my pain and loneliness. Maybe they had really abandoned me. What was I to them anyways? Exactly what he said, stress relief. Nothing more than a convenient body. Something to pass the time. If I was worth anything, they would have been here.

My eyes had just slipped shut, head lolling to my shoulder, when the door opened. “Good morning!” It was him. My shoulders slumped, hoping I could just ignore him, that he was just some hallucination. “Your saviors haven’t appeared. So we have come up with a solution.” I opened my bleary eyes when I heard the chair in front of me creak. He clutched my phone in one hand and a wickedly sharp knife in the other. He swiped my phone open before clicking on the screen. I could hear ringing and then someone picked it up on the second one. My eyes were fixated on the knife as he flipped it, catching the hilt each time. 

“Baby cakes?! Where are you? What happened?” Wade’s voice was horrifyingly panicked. 

“Aw baby cakes?” The tip of his knife traced my cheekbone and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't flinch and cut myself. “What a cute name.” 

“It’s not as cute when you say it,” I grumbled. My voice was thick through my swollen lip. 

“What happened? Why do you sound like you have cotton in your mouth?” The man pinched my busted lip, fresh blood bursting forward, and I whined in pain. My nails bit into my palms. Over the line, I heard a growl, letting me know Logan was also listening in. 

“Sometimes I just don’t know how to handle myself around such a pretty lady.” Wade let off a string of choice swears and Logan snarled. “She has such a naughty mouth. I see why you keep her around. But it seems you’ve left her for good, huh? She won’t be too pretty once I’m done with her.” 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Logan was spitting in rage. “If you do I swear I’ll rip that worm you call a dick and ram it down your throat.” I smiled despite myself, something warm unfurling in my chest. They were still trying to find me. After over a week, they were still hunting. 

“I told you,” I hissed, “they are going to eat you alive.” 

There was a split moment where I knew I had fucked up. His eyes snapped to me, lips pulled back in a horrifying smile.

Then the knife flashed.

The pain in my leg was indescribable. I thrashed, desperate to escape the blade stuck through my thigh. I knew I was screaming but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my ears. Fresh blood from my lip and tears traveled down my chin. More blood pooled under my thigh, soaking into my ruined pants. I was only faintly aware that others were shouting and someone was laughing. 

His hand hammered the knife in deeper, the wood seat cracking under me, the hilt flush with my leg. I wailed, pleading sobs of mercy clogging my throat. “Stop moving so much.” There was more shouting. My head knocked against the back of my chair. The corners of my vision grew dark. “Do you want to say goodbye? Who knows if you’ll make it to see them.” All I could do was weakly whimper. “She seems preoccupied. I’ll see you two soon.” He tapped my face, the force just under another slap. “You sound so nice screaming. Maybe I will actually keep you around.” 

He left me like this, bleeding, trembling, pinned to the chair like a piece of meat. More days passed and the bleeding didn’t stop. It wasn’t normal. I should have died like this. Cold was lingering on my skin and small shivers racked my body. My bare feet had long gone numb. Someone, my foggy vision only registered them as a blob of white, entered the room. They carefully removed the knife and then eased me out of my pants. They methodically stitched my skin together, the haze of shock covered the pain of the stitches. Once a thick white bandage covered the wound, they turned and left. 

On the fourteenth day, I heard shouting. Then gunshots. My head jerked from where I had been sleeping. Panic spiked. I needed to run. “Fuck,” I mumbled, looking around desperately for something, anything, to save me. The room was mostly bare besides a table against the opposite wall. Then I saw it. 

The knife. 

I tried to wiggle closer, but failed to move an inch. “Fuck,” I repeated, desperate now. More shouting and gunshots, closer this time. The more I fidgeted, the more of the seat fell away from under me. Think think think. I continued to sway, lifting the chair onto its sides before it cracked against the floor as it fell. Then I heard a splinter in one of the legs. I took a breath to steel myself before I tipped myself completely over. I nearly sobbed in relief when the chair leg connected to my uninjured leg was the one that snapped off. I awkwardly propelled myself across the scratchy ground, the exposed skin on my left side becoming ragged. The rope on my left wrist began to fray, just enough that when I got to the table, I was able to yank my hand off and reach blindly for the knife. The blade caught my palm but I gripped it tightly, ignoring the bite of pain. 

I made quick work of my other binds, the knife almost slipping from my wet grip, and rose to my freezing feet. My injured leg protested instantly, nearly giving out when I put weight down. But I had to run, had to escape. I limped toward the door, and looked through the small window. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard screaming. I had to yank hard on the door to get it open. There was a dead end to the right and a long twisty hallway to my left. I took a few tentative steps out. When no alarm sounded, I sprinted. 

The stitches in my thigh ripped right away. I couldn’t think about the pain. Only escape. I clutched my stolen knife close and ducked into any small nook I could when I heard people thundering by. I should have followed them, maybe found an exit, but the squelching sounds of limbs being severed launched me forward. I turned left, left, right, middle at a fork, up a flight of stairs. I was hopelessly lost but all I could think of was escape, running on pure instinct to find it.  

The smell of blood hit me first as I turned a corner. Body parts were strewn across the wide room. Intestines dangled from the ceiling beams. Heads, half crushed, lolled away from their torsos. I wretched, nothing came up besides bile. But I could see outside through large bay windows. My legs were like water under me as I moved to the door. I stepped on an eyeball, the firm jelly bursting between my toes. Just keep going. My head was swimming, nausea from the gore around me mingling with the searing pain in my leg. 

I collapsed. I could barely feel the pain as my hands slammed down on broken glass. Then I heard two men’s voices. I scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes, jamming my sore body into the smallest crack I could find. “I know she’s in here, can smell her.” My knuckles turned white around the knife. My breath was weak, I had lost too much blood. 

“Could you maybe sound less like a pervy vampire?” I heard boots lightly hitting the floor as they spread out. “Do you think this scared her?” He sounded timid, maybe even a little afraid. The first man laughed. 

“What do you think? You pulled this guy’s entire spine out! Of course she’s fucking scared!” The shout made me jump, huddling deeper into my hiding spot. “Fucking idiot.” A pair of red boots passed my hiding spot, then planted back in front of me. I sucked in a breath as fear rippled through me. My eyes closed tight.

“Hey,” the voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “There you are.” I was so on edge, so terrified, that the hand with the knife whipped out on pure impulse. The tip pushed through something firm, before that gave way to softness. It sunk deep, blood rapidly flowing over my hand. I couldn’t open my eyes. I had attacked someone and they were bleeding all over me. My victim barely made a noise when I stabbed them. 

“You can let go of the knife, you're okay.” A hand caressed my face and my teeth sunk into the leather glove, jaw latched tight. I felt like a cornered animal, ready to tear into anything that came near. “Sweetheart,” the name, the voice, pulled me back. I released the hand and opened my blurry eyes. Logan and Wade were squatted down in front of me. Their faces were covered but I recognized the suits. 

My knife was stuck through Wade’s neck. 

“Wade,” my voice shattered, tears welling. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see it was you.” He pulled the blade out with a little grunt. There was a hole straight through his throat. My stomach churned again but I held it back. The muscles and tendons laced together rapidly before the skin closed over it completely. 

“Don’t apologize. I said the height of romance was stabbing, didn't I?” Logan reached out again and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. A frown drew down his lips when he saw the bruises on my cheeks. “What do you say we get you out of here, yeah? I don’t think extreme violence is really your scene.” 

Logan was examining my leg the best he could without touching me. I could hear him sniffing as he leaned closer. “We need to take her to a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“They stitched me up but I think all of them have ripped now.” My head felt so heavy. “My fingers are cold…is that normal?” 

“We have to carry you out, is that okay?” As Logan asked, Wade was already reaching for me. He scooped me into his arms and clutched me tight to him. I hissed as my thigh stretched, head falling heavily against Wade’s chest. Logan walked beside us and I reached blindly for his hand. He gave it a small kiss, but didn’t hold it. 

After two weeks, I was safe. 

I was safe. 

But we had to get out of this building first. Logan walked a head to peer down corners before signaling we could move forward. Wade moved slowly, keeping a firm hold on me. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet. I felt limp and weak in his arms, ready to sink into sleep as soon as I could. To keep myself conscious, I tried to remember all our turns, but it felt like there was an impossible amount. There was a round of clicking and the shuffle of feet as we rounded a corner. 

“Ah shit.” 

“Fuck.” 

My sore eyes opened to find rows and rows of armed men. In front of them was him. There was a cruel smile on his face as he took me in. The woman was tucked behind him, her eyes pinned on me. “I see you pulled your stitches. You should have waited for me to get you instead of trying to run off on your own.” Logan snarled as his claws extended. 

“Listen here bub. I don’t make idle threats. So best believe I’m going to follow through with skinning you alive.” Wade moved suddenly, his back to the men. He moved far quicker than he had before. I heard men readjusting their guns, their anxiousness clear.

“And where are you going Mister Wilson?” 

“First off, Mister Wilson is my father.” I groaned as Wade placed me on the hard concrete floor, safely tucked behind a stack of boxes. He stood, “you can call me Marvel Jesus.” I watched with an unfocused gaze as his hand snapped open a holster and handed me the gun that it held. “Just dropping off special cargo.” I took it, my hands shook at the light weight. There was a flash of gold along the black metal but my hazy brain couldn’t make out the text. I carefully tucked it under my leg to hide it from view. Once that was done, Wade traveled back to Logan’s side. “What do you say darling?”

“Let’s fucking go.” My hands slapped over my ears at the thunderous noise of all those guns firing. I was desperate to drown out the screams, the wet slap of limbs falling to the floor. My first instinct was to take deep, calming breaths, but my nose was too full of the scent of iron. The time stretched, the fight going for hours. 

Just as a sense of shaky calm fell over me, hands grabbed me. I recoiled instantly. “Don’t be difficult.” It was him. He was trying to pick me up, trying to move me. But my body was dead weight and he struggled to lift me. Something cool pressed under my thigh. 

Now don’t be afraid of it. If you show fear around guns, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot. 

Okay, see this little switch? No, not me you insatiable minx. This. Get a feel for it. If you are ever in danger you have to know where it is right away. 

He was distracted, watching something over the boxes next to me, his arms suspended in mid air. A female scream cut through the rest of the deep shouts. That rush of time, the feeling that wasn’t easy to explain, snapped. I blinked in confusion. With the man’s focus somewhere else, I put every ounce of concentration into my hands, willing them to stay still, as I lifted the gun. I found the safety and flicked it back.

Now don’t get any big action hero dreams of just pulling this trigger and letting bullets fly. It requires a lot of force, so you have to pull the hammer back first. Make sure you hold it with both hands, okay? Last thing you need is a concussion from it flying back and hitting you in the head. 

My sweaty thumb slipped from the hammer. The movement seemed to catch the man’s attention. There was a split moment where neither of us moved. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for his own gun. I raised mine and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Both of my index fingers wrapped around the trigger. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left. 

You can’t look away, pumpkin. 

You gotta make sure anyone who is trying to hurt you is dead. 

I didn’t. 

One second his head was there, eyes bulging in fear. The next, just a cloud of red remained. Squishy chunks of brain, shards of skull, and a splatter of blood went everywhere. It was in my mouth, in my hair, across my bare legs. All sound died and was replaced by a dull ringing. His body slumped before it fell. I stared at it, dark red spluttering from the exposed veins of his neck, the liquid pooling on the floor. The concrete was quick to drink it up. Logan was the first to appear at my feet. He took me in, his face unreadable under his mask. I saw his mouth move but it was jumbled, words half broken. I shook my head, tapping my ears. It was like a dial slowly moving up on the radio. The sound of bullet casings hitting the ground, screams of pain, the thud of bodies. 

“You alright?” Logan sounded panicked, his loud gruff voice cutting through the renewed sound. I nodded. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry sweetheart.” I nodded again. There was one last shout of agony before silence fell again. Logan maneuvered the dead man off me, throwing the body carelessly away. He slipped the gun from my sticky hands before hoisting me into his arms. I buried my face in his neck, taking in his scent. Sweet, earthy, the tang of sweat. 

“We got you. I got you, sweetheart. Always will.” 

[captainfern]

hey captain, it’s me again. I have come to repent from my sins by requesting your blessing with a jealous dbf!price that doesn’t like other “man” (aka boys) around you.

Thank you for your service captain 🫡

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Marigold pt. 3

dbf!Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Marigold” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - what the request says but price shows you how jealous he is lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 1.8k • warnings - fem!reader, dad’sbestfriend!price, established relationship?, age gap [whatever you want it to be as long as it's legal lmao], jealous!price, possessive!price, unprotected piv, strong language

mmmmm look at that nose— yooooo what????? girl who said that oh my goddddd... 😏

a longer dbf!price fic will happen soon i’ve just got to start writing it LMAO

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Price never used to be a jealous man.

Past relationships came and went and he never found himself jealous if they spent time with other men, or had male co-workers or friends taking up a portion of their time.

It never bothered him, because he wasn't self-conscious. He knew that, at the end of the day, they'd come home to him.

But something changed within him. The past few months of building this secret relationship with you changed something within him.

Maybe it was the fact you were younger than him, thereby attracting younger men who, from knowledge, Price knew were total fuckheads. Or maybe it was the fact that you were just so nice— so polite, so smiley, such a good girl.

Upon re-evaluation, Price determined it was probably a mix of those two things.

The past week had been taking a toll on him. Watching the way you seemed to attract fucking idiots that fawned after you, showed off to you, all with the hopes of getting into your pants. Price knew you weren't dumb enough to let these morons get what they wanted, but the thought still made his jaw tick.

Today, especially, had him on the edge of his fucking seat. Not in excitement, or anticipation for anything. But because he was this close to ripping the trachea out of this guys throat beside you.

Price's best mate, your dad, invited some other friends around for a couple of drinks. They were mutual friends with Price, too, so he knew what he was expecting when two of them showed up. But he wasn't expecting one of them to bring their young adult son.

"This is Grayson," the friend introduced to your dad. "You don't mind that he came along, do you?"

"Of course not, mate. The more the merrier." Your dad said, offering Grayson a beer as everyone gravitated towards the living room, settling in on the couches there.

Not long after, you came home from work. Your eyes found Price's as soon as you walked through the door, and Price noticed the way your lips quirked at the corners, fighting a smile. Your dad was beckoning you into the living room before the smile could fully settle on your face.

And that's how you ended up here. Sitting on the couch across from Price, resting against the plush armrest. That cunt Grayson— stupid fucking name, anyway— sat beside you. Price saw how well the two of you hit it off. He saw how he made you smile with small joking remarks, how he kept you interested about whatever stupid fucking thing he was talking about. He made you smile, and nod, and laugh, and ask him more questions about his life.

The grasp Price had on his glass of whiskey was turning white-knuckled. If the force increased anymore, the tumbler would shatter.

Grayson dropped flirty remarks as the night progressed, your dad too engrossed in his own conversation to shield his daughter from the ridiculous amount of jokes and chat-up lines.

One thing that did stop Price from beating the shit out of Grayson in front of everyone was that you weren't flirting back. You were being nice, polite, but you shot down each one-liner with a cheeky quip, or a roll of your eyes. But, what pissed Price off was that Grayson, the dumb fuck, couldn't take the fucking hint.

"Hey, you want to come outside and get some fresh air?" Grayson asked you, already half off the couch.

"Um..." You hesitated, eyes flicking subtly over to Price.

He grit his teeth and shook his head, raising his tumbler of whiskey to his lips as he did so.

"Um... I'm okay for now." You said politely, smiling sweetly.

"Okay, no worries. I'll be outside if you change your mind." Grayson returned the smile, then left the room, heading for the front porch.

You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, avoiding Price's eyes. He was looking at you over the rim of his glass, and his stare was hot. So hot, you were starting to feel stuffy.

"I... I'm just going to pop outside..." You cleared your throat, telling your father.

"Alright, honey, see you soon." Your dad waved you off, not giving you much attention after that.

Ignoring Price's stare, you quickly shuffled across the room. You heard heavy footsteps behind you, and you tried not to squeal when you made it into the semi-seclusion of the entrance hall. You knew who it was.

You had a hand on the front door handle when Price's hand engulfed yours, pinning it there. His body pressed to yours, keeping your front pinned against the solid wood door. His chest heaved against your back, and you took a deep breath to try and soothe your nerves. It didn't help, since you could just smell him.

Price did much the same. He didn't even have to take a deep breath to smell your perfume, your shampoo, your everything. A smell he had grown obsessed with these past few months.

"Where're you going?" He asked, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Outside..." You whispered, flinching when a burst of laughter erupted from the living room, just metres away.

"Why?"

"Just... just to get some fresh air."

"Is that right?" The hand around yours squeezed gently. "No other reason?"

You shook your head, body growing warm at the closeness of the two of you.

Price hummed, sceptical.

"Do you not trust me?" You bit out, trying to keep your voice level.

"Oh, sweetheart, of course I trust you," he said, other hand grabbing your hip and pushing your backside into his pelvis. "But I don't trust him."

With that, he let go of you and took a small step back. You felt like you could finally breathe again. You turned to face him, your back now leaning against the door.

"Are... you jealous, Price?"

Price cocked his heat, swiping his tongue over hit lower lip in thought, eyes locked to yours.

"Jealous...?" He whispered slowly as if he was tasting the word.

You waited for his reply, raising your eyebrows expectantly. "Mhm."

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head and finally breaking eye contact, looking at the floor for a moment. When he looked back up at you, his smile faded.

"I am," he said simply. His tone was dark. "You wanna know why?"

You nodded, another loud spurt of laughter sounding from your living room. It made your eyes dart to the doorway briefly.

"Look at me." Price whispered.

You did.

"I'm jealous because I don't like little fuckheads like him thinking he has a chance with you," he said. "I don't like boys flirting with you. Talking to you like you're theirs. D'you understand that?"

You forced yourself to nod stiffly. Was it weird you were turned on by this conversation?

"So, if you want to go outside with him, sweetheart, then be my guest," Price gestured at the door. "But if you do, he won't be leaving here with working legs."

You gaped at him.

"Or a working cock, for that matter."

"Oh my god, Price." You whisper-yelled at him.

You pressed your thighs together, butterflies in your stomach. Was it sick that this was making you horny? You had so many questions for yourself at this point.

"So?" He implored casually, if he hadn't just threatened to turn off Grayson's fucking legs. "Are you going to go outside, or—?"

"Or what?" You whispered. It was meant to be challenging. But it probably sounded pathetic as the heat in your core increased.

"Or are you going to come upstairs?"

•º•

"Mmpf— mmm—"

"Shh, come on, sweetheart, quiet." Price cooed in your air, leaning over your back as he fucked you hard against your bed.

He had a hand to the back of your head, pushing your head into your pillows. His other hand was on your hip with a bruising hold, slamming your arse back onto him, ramming his cock into you over and over.

"Mmm— mhm—" You tried to speak to him. Tried to moan, tried to sob, tried anything.

But he continued to rut into you at an animalistic pace. The only sounds you could hear was the faint slapping of skin, and the subtle wet shlicks when his cock fucked deeper into your wet heat.

"You don't want Grayson hearing you, right?" Price whispered, dragging his teeth along the top of your spine. "You don't want him to hear how good you're getting fucked. Don't want him to hear how wet this cunt is and how fucking desperate it is for my cock. Do you, sweetheart?"

"Un-uhhmmm—" That was meant to be a no.

"S'what I thought," Price increased his pace, dragging his cock hard against your gummy walls, literally pounding you into your mattress. "You're— fuck— you're mine. No one else gets to hear your pretty sounds, or gets to fuck your pretty cunt, but— ah, fuck— me, yeah? Just... fucking... me."

Each word was punctuated by a hard thrust that hit that spot inside you perfectly, and your entire body shuddered as you came around him, crying into your pillows.

He continued to rut into you, grunting deep from his chest, his body curled atop yours while pinning you to your mattress. He cursed, muttering your name around a grunting moan as he came inside you. You whined at the sensation, your cunt clenching around him, milking his release. He groaned, kissing down your back before he pulled out. You felt yourself shiver at the emptiness.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Price asked, gently flipping you onto your back, massaging up your sides.

"Mhm..." You hummed, blinking lazily at the ceiling.

He leaned over you and placed a couple of soft kisses to your mouth. "Was I too rough?"

"No, no, you were good," you reassured him. "Really good. I promise."

"Okay..." Price kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue running along the seam of your lips.

Before the kiss could progress further:

"Price, mate, you up there?" Came your dad's voice from the bottom of the stairs, and both you and Price froze.

Price cleared his throat, shouting back: "Yeah, mate. Just going to the bathroom!"

"Hurry up then! The game's about to start!"

Price shot you an apologetic look as he clambered off of you and began to dress hurriedly. You watched him from your bed.

"There's nothing to be jealous of, Price," you said suddenly, and he paused his actions of buckling his belt. "I only want you."

He grinned, sly, cocking his head. "That so?"

You nodded, smiling with your teeth snagged on your bottom lip in a gesture of bashfulness.

His grin grew while he threw his shirt on. "Good. I only want you, too."

"That so?" You mimicked him, and he chuckled, crossing the room.

He took your head in both of his hands and kissed you. He stroked your cheeks with his thumbs when he pulled away.

"What am I going to do with you..." He tutted, shaking his head.

"A lot of things, hopefully."

"Fucking hell. You'll be the death of me, sweetheart."

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[kingkatsuki]

Squirting | Bakugou Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku x Reader

𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐚 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦.

Kinktober masterlist.

Summary: Midoriya is having trouble trying to make you squirt, luckily for you Bakugou is on hand to teach him exactly how to do it.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, pwp, cucking (kinda), fingering, squirting, dirty talk, one little bit of degradation, praise, multiple orgasms, Bakugou is v v mean to Deku and very much in love with reader, not proofread!

Word Count: 4.5k.

Your sex life with Midoriya was satisfactory, sometimes it felt like you shouldn’t complain. Hearing stories over drinks with Momo, Mina and Jirou about their conquests or relationships and the Pro-Hero men that couldn’t even find time for them during busy work weeks, nevermind find time to copulate, you felt lucky that you’d ended up with Midoriya Izuku. Because at least if nothing else, he scheduled intimate time for you both. Even marked it on a little calendar you kept pinned to your kitchen fridge, giggling over the word “smash” written on every other Sunday.

What did it matter if you had to fake a few orgasms, pretending to finish early so he wouldn’t continue fucking into your tight heat when you were bored and on the edge of climax. Waiting patiently for him to reach his peak before scurrying off to satisfy yourself in the shower. You were content, and that’s all that mattered.

Over time you’d both had conversations about spicing things up in the bedroom. Talking about various kinks or positions you’d like to try, Midoriya mentioned a certain roleplay scenario where you pretended to be a damsel in distress with Pro-Hero Deku swooping in to save you, thanking him for his service with your pussy. In exchange, you’d revealed one of the things you wanted to try more than anything else was to see if he could help you squirt.

Of course, Midoriya immediately began to research how to pleasure you. He wouldn’t be the perfect, dutiful boyfriend otherwise. But all the pages he seemed to read online, the videos he watched, nothing seemed to help in his endeavour to make you squirt. So in the last ditch effort, he decided to pick a friend who would be willing to help, someone he could trust, someone with no strings attached—

“Bakugou?” You tugged at the hem of the Deku shirt you were wearing, trying to pull it further down your thick thighs, “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t even tell her?” Bakugou stood, mouth agape in your shared bedroom, turning to give his friend a glare, “Fuckin’ Deku.”

“I told her! But we hadn’t arranged a day yet…” Midoriya mumbled shyly, lingering by the door.

“The most basic thing you could do and you didn’t even do that.” Bakugou scoffed.

“No, no. I promise, she knows!” Deku continued, “She wants to. We’ve discussed it.”

You wished he’d had the courtesy to at least shoot you a text, you would’ve had a few minutes to mentally prepare yourself or if nothing else put on a cute set of lingerie. You suddenly felt so vulnerable in front of the number two hero, wondering whether he really wanted to be here or if he had been promised something in return like you had with Midoriya’s fantasy.

“Do you want me to leave?” Bakugou looked at you as though you were the only person in the room, wanting to know what you wanted him to do.

“No,” Your face felt flush as he gave you a sly smile.

You looked like an innocent lamb prepared for the slaughter, and Bakugou felt like the big bad wolf ready to devour every inch of you. He felt debauched when Midoriya had approached him in his office one evening to ask for his help with something, already prepared to say no before he’d even heard what it was. But thank whatever Gods above that he didn’t, because it meant that he was now standing in the same room as you.

“Okay, sweetheart. Guess I’m stayin’,” Bakugou gave you a soft smile as he took a step closer to you, “You wanna tell her, or can I?”

“You can,” Midoriya came to stand beside Bakugou as you sat at the foot of their bed.

You weren’t naive, you could see there was a reason that the hulking Pro-Hero Dynamight was standing in your room and that you’d discussed with your boyfriend numerous times. You just hadn’t expected him to bring home the man tonight, you felt completely unprepared and an apprehensive ebb swirled inside your tummy. You couldn’t deny you’d held a crush on the Pro-Hero since Midoriya had introduced you years ago, it was hard not to when he was absolutely gorgeous. Aging like a fine wine as the number two seemed to hold a similar soft spot for you in return. But you’d never expected to act on it, so this moment had your heart fluttering in anticipation.

“Deku said you wanted help with somethin’?” Bakugou continued, “Said he wanted help to make you cum?”

The blatant explanation had your cheeks flushed and your cunt throbbing from his crude tone, biting down on the inside of your cheeks to stop the debauched moan from leaving your lips.

“To squirt-” Midoriya clarified.

“Same fuckin’ thing.” Bakugou rolled his eyes, moving to squat in front of you at the foot of the bed. His large palms pressed against your thighs as vermillion eyes stared up at you softly, gauging your reaction, “So? Do you want me to help you squirt, sweetheart?”

His palms felt warm against your skin, making you wonder how much warmer they’d be just before he ignited them for his quirk or in the sudden aftermath. Wondering if they’d be warm enough to scorch your skin and leave a mark, a reminder of your time together. You felt him squeeze your supple skin softly as he waited for your answer, obviously wanting consent before he continued further. You gave him a gentle nod as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth.

“‘m gonna need to hear you say it, princess.” Bakugou pressed, “Deku does too.”

“Yes,” You replied simply, watching Bakugou’s lips curl into a grin as he began to soothe his hands along your thighs, the calloused palms catching against your softness as he groaned low in his throat.

“Do you have a safe word?” You scrunched your nose slightly at the question, you’d never really felt the need for one with Midoriya before. The positions and kinks you’d both explored in the bedroom hardly warranted one, and often if you just told him to stop he would.

“No.” You whispered.

“Jesus,” Bakugou turned his head to glare at Midoriya, “Do you guys do anything?”

“We do—” Midoriya countered, “We just never need one. She says stop and I stop.”

“Well, I’m gonna fuckin’ need one.” Bakugou turned back to you, “If I do anything you don’t like, or it’s too much and you want to stop. Anytime, say boom. You got that?”

You found yourself nodding before you remembered what Bakugou had said before, “Yes.”

He grinned up at you, “What’s the safe word?”

“Boom.”

“Good girl.” The praise sent a jolt of electricity directly to your clit as you tried to squeeze your thighs together to give yourself some much-needed friction. A movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou as he gave you a coy smirk, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get to you in a second, okay?”

“What if she says boom during- you know? By accident?” Midoriya mumbled.

“What? You’ve fucked her so good you’ve got her screaming ‘boom’?” Bakugou snorted.

“Well, no but-”

“So I think she’ll be safe,” Bakugou stroked your cheek, “What do you think, sweetheart? You wanna change the safe word?”

“No,” You whispered, earning a grin from Bakugou.

“Atta girl,” He squeezed your thigh in confirmation as he turned his attention back to Midoriya.

“What do you actually do together?” Bakugou snorted, “Do you even know where the clit is?”

“Of course I do,” He mumbled, “I’ve made her cum.”

“What about the g-spot?” Bakugou continued, uncaring for Deku’s endeavours in the bedroom as he was more enticed by the sight of you nervously staring down at him.

“The what?” Midoriya mumbled.

“Jesus.” Bakugou rolled his eyes, “No wonder you need fuckin’ help.”

Bakugou stood from his position between your thighs as he held a warm hand out to you to move you to stand.

“Will you take your shirt off for me and get on the bed?” His gruff voice was soft as you found yourself nodding before he’d even finished asking.

Moving your hands down to the hem of the shirt you were wearing to leave yourself in your pair of cotton panties.

“Is this part of it?” You whispered.

“Nah, I just wanted to see your pretty tits.” He grinned as you saw Deku scrunch his nose in irritation behind you.

Bakugou had a completely warped sense of power having you completely naked while he remained fully clothed. Also seeing you sat there in what was obviously a shirt you’d stolen from Deku had him irritable, not wanting to make you climax while you were wearing the shirt of another Pro-Hero. It was bad enough that you weren’t his in the first place, you deserved better.

“You’re so pretty,” Bakugou groaned as he stood beside the bed, eyes roaming your exposed skin, “Deku’s so fuckin’ lucky, ain’t he?”

You looked over at your boyfriend who was watching the scene intently, a sweet smile on his face when his gaze met yours, an evident bulge thick in his pants.

“Do you mind if I touch you a little first, to help you relax?” Bakugou moved to kneel on the bed between your thighs as he hovered over you, still fully clothed.

“Don’t kiss her,” Midoriya called out from behind.

“Shut up, Deku. You wanted me here, you don’t get to bark orders at me now.” Bakugou spat, but to your disappointment, he avoided your lips as he pressed a gentle kiss against your collarbone.

“This okay?” He whispered as he reached up to cup one of your breasts tentatively, your nipple pebbling beneath his palm as you released a soft sigh.

The calloused pads of his fingers moved to pinch the sensitive buds as he twirled and twisted them between his digits, pulling more pretty noises from your throat as he felt his cock throbbing beneath his sweats.

“You like that, huh?” Bakugou smirked, leaning down to capture the other between his lips as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. Shamelessly clenching your thighs together as your hand immediately moved to the back of his head to thread your fingers through his messy mop of hair, nails grazing his scalp as you tugged roughly. Causing Bakugou to groan against your skin, sending pleasurable vibrations through you.

“Is this necessary?” Midoriya spoke as he sat down on the bed on the other side, causing Bakugou to pull back from your chest with a snarl. The cool air in the room cooled Bakugou’s spit against your nipple as you shivered beneath him.

“You want me to get her to squirt when she ain’t even horny?” Bakugou scoffed, “You slide it in dry, dumbass?”

“We have lube.” Midoriya mumbled, “If it’ll help?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to control his temper, were you really happy with this idiot? “If she’s turned on, it’ll be easier to make her squirt. You know that right?”

“Oh-” It was as though a lightbulb had been illuminated in Midoriya’s mind, as you knew he was probably fighting the urge to grab his phone to take notes, “I get it, keep going.”

“We’re gonna take these off so I can help Deku make you feel good, sweetheart. Is that okay?” Bakugou thumbed the edge of your basic panties, wishing you’d picked one of your sexier pairs today but he was still staring down at you with the most intoxicated look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Bakugou began to tug the cotton down your thighs as he noticed the silvery strings of slick connected between you and the fabric. Wondering if he’d manage to commandeer them by the end of the night as a depraved souvenir, “Fuck.”

In hindsight, it was probably a terrible idea for Bakugou to agree to this when he was so completely in love with you. If he had asked Kirishima for his opinion before answering he knew his best friend would’ve shot it down in an instant. Telling him not to get himself involved and end up hurt, that having a taste of you would only make him want you more. And now Bakugou could confirm this was true. It was as though he’d been led through the gates of heaven and been shown paradise, and now he didn’t want to leave. The moment he’d coveted for so long was finally happening, and now he’d had a taste of you it wasn’t enough. He was greedy.

“I’m not sure I can do it, I’ve never before-” You mumbled shyly.

“That’s cause shitty Deku doesn’t know how to do it,” Bakugou replied with a grin.

“No, I mean. I’ve never- even with myself—“ You trailed off, hoping you wouldn’t have to be subjected to the embarrassment of explaining.

“Oh fuck,” Bakugou groaned, “That’s so hot. You been trying to make your pretty little pussy squirt all by yourself, sweetheart?”

You gasped at his blunt words and how they had your clit throbbing harshly.

“How have you been trying to do it? You got toys or you use those little fingers?”

“Both. Mostly m-my fingers,” You whispered. You’d tried toys before but none had been tailored specifically to help women squirt, little bullet vibes or clit-sucking vibrators that seemingly did little to help in your endeavour.

Bakugou sucked in a breath at your response, trying to stop himself from cumming in his pants at the admission as he imagined you alone in your bed trying desperately to get yourself off with your little fingers and silicone toys to no avail. Oh, he’d show you how to cum and he’d have you cumming hard.

“You’re pure sin, sweetheart. Pure fuckin’ sin.” Bakugou groaned, “Don’t worry, Dynamight’s got you now.”

Bakugou moved his fingers to stroke against your outer labia, groaning at how soft you felt as he began to spread your folds between his thumb and forefinger as he caught sight of your tiny clit peeking out for him. Shamelessly staring at you as he committed the sight to memory, knowing that this would be the subject of his motivations on those lonely nights when he’s fucking his fist to the thought of you.

Dragging his fingers between your folds as the calloused tips caught your clit, causing your hips to buck as he continued lower. Circling your tight entrance as he began to press his middle finger inside you, feeling your tight walls beginning to squeeze around him.

Shit, you were so tight. Did Deku even fuck you at all?

“She’s so tight,” Bakugou mumbled through clenched teeth as he began to wiggle his finger inside you.

“I know,” Midoriya grinned as he watched his friend touch his girlfriend.

Bakugou continued languidly pumping his finger inside you as you felt his blunt nails dragging along the ridges of your walls, sweet whines spilling from your lips as he finally managed to slide another inside you to begin stretching you out around him. He was tempted to swoop down to taste you, but he didn’t want Midoriya to stop him before he’d even begun as he continued pumping his fingers inside you. His thumb pressed against your puffy clit as he heard the sinful groan that left your body, your walls clamping down around him as he watched your eyes clench shut in pleasure.

“When she gets close you wanna start curling your fingers towards you.” Bakugou curled his fingers as he pressed them against the spongy spot inside you.

“Curl my fingers?” Midoriya mumbled.

“Yeah? Like this,” Bakugou pulled his soaked fingers from your cunt as he showed them to Deku, his cock throbbing at how they glistened beneath the lights in the room as you made a sound of irritation at the loss of contact.

“Don’t whine, baby, don’t whine. I gotcha. I’m not gonna leave you unsatisfied.” Bakugou smirked, moving them to slip back inside your body, “Gotta show this dumbass how to please you right, don’t I?”

You sighed as he resumed position, continuing to pump his fingers inside you as you felt the tightness continuing to build in your stomach as he worked you towards your climax.

“And if you wanna speed things up you can put your palm here,” Bakugou moved his free hand to press against your pelvis firmly, increasing the tension as you bucked your hips, “See? Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” You choked on a gasp as your walls began to tremor around his fingers, Midoriya’s cock throbbing in his pants at the sight as he palmed himself through the fabric.

Bakugou’s fingers were constant on the same spot inside you, flicking his wrist with each pump as he felt your legs trying to clamp down around him. His thick thighs pressed between them to stop you from avoiding the sensation as he continued his precise movements.

“I feel funny.” You tremble, your hands fisting the sheets beneath you as you feel like you might need to pee. The shame and embarrassment throbbing inside you as you try desperately to hold yourself back, cowering away from your bliss.

“Don’t fight it, sweet girl.” Bakugou cooed gently, “Just let it happen.”

An unfamiliar sensation began to swirl in your pelvis, the coil inside you tightening as you cried out, writhing against the sheets as the sensation began to consume you.

“Stop, oh my god. It’s too much.” Tears began to cling to your lashes as you thrashed beneath Bakugou, his hand against your pelvis keeping you steady as he continued his movements.

“She said stop,” Midoriya’s eyes were wide with worry as Bakugou definitely did not stop.

“She’ll tell you to stop, but she’s got a safe word for a reason. Don’t you, sweetheart?” Bakugou pressed, vermillion eyes looking up at your face, “Do you wanna use the safe word?”

“No,” You managed to choke out, “Oh my god-”

Bakugou kept his thumb constant against your clit as his fingers continued beating against the same spot inside you repeatedly.

Your climax came so abruptly that you didn’t even register it at first, a jumbled mixture of words tumbled from your lips as you felt yourself come undone. Your mind was hazy with euphoria as both men stared between your thighs unabashedly, watching the clear stream of liquid spurt from your cunt and soak the sheets beneath you.

Tears began to stream down your temples as Bakugou pulled his fingers from your spent body, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your puffy clit to help ease you down from your high as Midoriya stared down at you in awe.

“Wow,” Midoriya whispered breathlessly as he stared down at the filthy sight in front of him, the sheets damp beneath you as you tried to blink back the white spots that blanked your vision.

Watching his friend doing such illicit things to you shouldn’t have made him feel so needy, so desperate. Groaning beneath his breath as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest as you tried to regain your breath, reaching out to palm one of your tits as you sighed blissfully.

“Good girl,” Bakugou squeezed your hip softly, his grey sweats now soaked with your arousal, “Did it feel good?”

Your walls continued throbbing as you nodded your head, your entire body aflame as both men stared at the mess between your thighs.

“Fuck it,” Bakugou loomed over you as he brought his lips down to your messy slit, dragging his tongue between your folds.

You jolted in surprise as your lips parted in a muted cry, feeling his tongue prodding against your tight entrance as he lapped at your release like a man starved.

“You already made her do it” Midoriya mumbled as he palmed his cock, his boxers felt as wet as the sheets beneath you as he tried to adjust his skin against the sticky fabric, “It’s my turn now right?”

He sounded like a child asking to play with a toy at Christmas, his palm wrapped around your thigh as he tried to pull you in his direction. Feeling Bakugou’s lips curve into a snarl against your cunt as he growled in irritation.

“Listen, I’m helping you out it’s the least you could do.” Bakugou pulled back from your cunt with a smirk, his chin glistening with your essence as he crudely wiped it off with the back of his hand, “Alright your turn, dumbass. Let’s see if you learnt anything.”

“Okay,” Bakugou moved to give Midoriya more room as your boyfriend settled between your thighs, his hands stroking against your soft skin as he gently dragged his fingers through your slit.

“Do you think you can do it again for Deku, angel?” Bakugou cooed as he lay beside you on the bed, his scent intoxicating as the warmth of his body heat began to surround you.

“Mmm, yeah.” You hummed, breathing a soft sigh as you felt Midoriya press a solo finger inside your fluttering walls.

“Is that good, baby?” Midoriya whispered as he began to pump it inside your pliant body, feeling your walls throbbing around him as you nodded your head.

“More,” You mumbled, keening as Midoriya happily obliged. Two fingers now pumping inside you as you began to roll your hips to meet his movements, feeling the pleasure beginning to build inside as you climbed towards the same peak.

“So fingers against her g-spot.” Bakugou guided, his hand moulding your breast, uncaring that it was covered in your drying slick as he thumbed your nipple. Your back arched off the bed as you leaned into his touch.

“Where?” Deku mumbled.

“Jesus,” Bakugou rolled his eyes as he moved back between your thighs to settle beside Midoriya, “Did ya not listen to anything I just fuckin’ told ya?”

“No, no, I did.” Midoriya mumbled, “I mean I can’t find it.”

You could feel Midoriya’s fingers messily jabbing inside you as they searched for the coveted spot, shifting uncomfortably beneath him as his nails began to catch against your spongy walls.

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” Bakugou grunted as he gave a final, lingering squeeze to your tit before shifting his body to settle back beside Midoriya, shouldering him roughly to make room between your thighs. Taking one of his fingers as he hooked it inside you beside your boyfriend's, the sensation causing you to gasp as both men filled you up. Bakugou deliberately wriggled his digit until it pressed against the exact spot inside you, almost as though it was already muscle memory, Midoriya following suit as he felt the smooth ridge along your walls.

“That— right there.” Bakugou groaned as he watched your face contort in pleasure, “See how much she likes it?”

Thrashing against the bed as you leaned into their touch, “More.”

Feeling the extra stimulation from the stretch of both men inside you at the same time as they continued to press against the spot, attempting to match each other’s rhythm but it was still off-kilter as Midoriya pressed away from you as Bakugou pressed against it. The sloppy movement actually left you feeling even hotter and bothered as neither allowed you a moment of respite, moaning sinfully as you felt the pleasure building inside you once more.

“Slutty girl,” Bakugou smirked, watching your face contort in pleasure as he kept his movements consistent.

Midoriya had never called you anything like it, and it left you feeling warm and craving the sound again. Wanting to hear Bakugou spew all kinds of filth against the shell of your ear as he helped you vault into the feeling of pure ecstasy.

“Put your hand there, man. Let her feel it— that’s it.” Beckoning Midoriya to place his hand on your pelvis to try and increase the tension building between your thighs while simultaneously holding your writhing body steady, “You like both of us at the same time, hah?”

“Fuck,” You choked on a gasp as a jolt of pleasure surged through you to descend directly to your core.

“Keep hitting it, she’s clenching.” Bakugou continued, flicking his wrist with more urgency, “She’s close, you gonna show Deku how pretty you are when you’re squirtin’ for him, yeah?”

“Yeah,” You cried out, the pleasure inside you overwhelming as you felt yourself being thrust into your bliss until the sensation was promptly stolen from you. Groaning indignantly as you felt tears welling in your eyes at the loss of sensation.

“Fuckin’ idiot.” Midoriya pulled away early, causing Bakugou to curse under his breath as he swiftly added another finger to resume his friend's movements.

Midoriya’s eyes widened as he spewed our apologies, resuming his movements inside you, “I thought she already came.”

“Just keep goin’ you’ll know when she’s done,” Bakugou snarled, biting his tongue to stop himself from starting a fight with his friend just as you were at the height of your climax.

“I’m gonna- I’m- oh my god,” The sensation was so overwhelming as you were plunged into paradise. Screaming as pleasure consumed you, your walls clamping down around both men's fingers as you came undone. You didn’t think you’d be able to squirt twice in a row, but you were proved wrong as a stream of liquid began to seep from your body.

Both men kept you riding through the pleasure as more clear spurts of liquid continued to spill out against their forearms and collect against the sheets. Pressing all four of his fingers against your clit to frantically rub it from side to side as drops of liquid began to spray beneath them. Making an even bigger mess than before as both men continued to watch in awe.

“Don’t pull back now, dumbass. Are you fuckin’ stupid or somethin’?” Bakugou snarled as your boyfriend pulled back thinking you’d already climaxed, “She’s still cumming.”

More desperate cries sounded from your lips as Bakugou prolonged your pleasure, you’d never felt quite so lightheaded as you did at this moment. The euphoria completely consumed you until all you could see were those same pretty eyes staring down at you, your cunt throbbing around his fingers as he began to slow his movements. This time allowing you to close your thighs around his hand as you reached out lethargically to wrap a hand around his wrist to stop him from torturing your overstimulated sex.

"Love yo-" Bakugou stopped himself before the words slipped out, hearing Kirishima's irritating voice at the back of his head, "Love this fuckin' pussy."

“S’too much,” You whined, feeling Bakugou’s fingers still inside you as he stopped tormenting your smooth walls, cherishing the aftershocks of you throbbing around him.

“Poor, baby.” Bakugou feigned sympathy, “But it felt good, didn’t it pretty girl?”

You were nodding before he’d even finished the question, unable to remember a time you'd felt so attractive and desired by someone. The look of absolute adoration in both men's gazes as they looked down at you with lust-blown eyes had a heightened pleasure soaring through you.

“You did such a good job for us, sweetheart. Looked all pretty and shit squirtin’ for us.”

“I didn’t think I could,” You mumbled shyly.

“Clearly hadn’t been doin’ it right, hah.” Bakugou grinned, finally pulling his fingers from your slick heat as you whined from the loss of contact.

“Can’t believe you’ve never done this for her before, asshole.” Bakugou scoffed, his cock throbbing painfully hard beneath his soaked sweats as he tried to commit the debauched sight of you to memory, “What else do I need to teach you, Deku?”

[shreddedparchment]

The Garden Gate

Pairing: Medieval!Loki x Reader Word Count: 6,514

Warnings: smut, mentions of infidelity, language, bodily fluids, jealousy, Loki in a poofy shirt

A/N: Well, I haven't done this in a while. I had to go look for an old post to see how I used to do these openings. LUL Anywho, y'all can thank @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for this one. She sent me a picture and then I asked her for three characters and three scenarios and this one is the one that spoke to me the most. I did put my own spin on it but that's just me. Anywho, I'm not sure how many of my old readers will read this but I hope y'all like it. Anything y'all have to say about it is also greatly appreciated. xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs!!

REBLOGS are always welcome!

Your family’s fall from grace had been nothing short of spectacular.

It had started first with the crumbling of respect from the men and heads of other houses. The gentry had taken offense to the shame of your father and eldest brother’s retreat at the battle for Carmine Valley, so named for the blush of trees that peppered the expanse of lush green and the strange but beautiful red waters of the central lake.

Had Lord Odinson’s own knights not been flanking from the western ridges, the valley would have fallen into the hands of the northern enemy forces. A great loss seeing as the valley was the largest producer of grain and vegetables in the kingdom.

The fallout had been catastrophic. Both your father and brother had been sent to the wild woods to the southernmost parts of the kingdom to work off their shame and languish in the dangerous labor camps where men were said to be torn into shreds by beasts as large as a carriage.

Even though you loved them very much, you couldn’t help the anger within your veins at their betrayal to not only the kingdom, but to your very family. The abandonment that their retreat meant. They knew what doing so would do to you, your mother, and younger brother.

If it were not for the King’s good nature, you’d have no doubt found yourself working in some brothel alongside your mother leaving your younger brother, at the tender age of seven, exposed to the worst parts of society.

The seediest brothels were not above selling children, you knew. No matter that the King had signed a death warrant for anyone known to sell or buy said company. It was the worst of sins and it breaks your heart to know that one man’s generosity saved all three of you from that life when he could have very well condemned it.

Knowing this–knowing how bad it could have been–doesn’t change the fact that your life now is still torture. Torture of a different kind, but torture all the same.

The King’s kindness came in the form of service. While your family was stripped of all titles and wealth, you’d also lost your beloved.

That is the true source of agony in your chest as you struggle with the bucket of waste water you’re holding, trying desperately not to slosh it around too hard. The last thing you want to do is to go to bed smelling of someone else’s bodily fluids.

The thick wool of your simple navy dress and the apron you keep tied over it are both great for absorbing disgusting materials. Already in need of a wash, the white ruffle along the neckline is frayed and yellowing despite the gown being only a few months old.

Edging along the courtyard wall, you try not to rush. The exhaustion in your body begs for sleep. Even months later the labor of working in the castle as a servant to former peers has not grown easier.

Wincing as the rough rope of the bucket burns the center of your palms, you almost sigh but instead freeze at the sight before you.

You’d know his silhouette anywhere.

The light is low here, a small lamp just beyond the open garden gate illuminates them from behind and hides their expressions but you don’t need to see to understand.

Her lips are parted, head pressed back against the door, hand braced against the warm brown and ornately carved wood. Her legs are parted a little too wide, a subtle motion of his left arm and the bunch of fabric around his forearm tell you enough of what you’ve stumbled upon.

You’re embarrassed and try to fade back into the darkness of the small courtyard behind you.

His shoulder length hair, black as a raven’s feather, is disheveled. You notice her hand gripping it tightly as his arm pumps.

A wispy, sultry moan slips through her parted lips and you stumble, gasping your own bit of surprise as you try not to spill the bucket’s contents.

A small splash, luckily away from you but the shuffle of feet and the rustle of fabric tells you that you’ve been noticed.

You look up, Lord Loki stands facing you, hands fisted as she hides behind him quickly adjusting her skirts.

“Oh, it’s you,” Lord Loki says, disdain in his voice.

Everyone here hates you. You already know this. Your father’s sins are your own. Nothing can change that.

“Finally where you belong,” the girl says and you recognize the voice with a small shock of pain in your chest. “You smell like piss.”

Lord Loki chuckles and you shrink just a little. More embarrassed by your own situation than catching them in the act. In fact, you’re disgusted by both of them, not only because of their audacity to do this at all, but because the woman whose fingers Lord Loki were just in is also your once beloved’s fiance.

Your former confidant. Lady Amora Antress. You’d once considered her your closest friend. Now here she stands, betrothed to one brother while fucking the other. The venom she spits at you is also unappreciated and painful to hear.

How long had she hated you before your downfall? How long had she waited before pursuing Thor?

“Aren’t you going to reply to her ladyship, servant?” Lord Loki asks, gleeful mirth in his voice as he takes a step towards you.

You bow your head even more, holding the bucket in your hands as still as you can while your hands struggle with the burn of the rope.

Amora scoff, “Pathetic. Leave her be, Loki. She’s where she deserves to be. She’s not worth the breath in our lungs.”

You don’t mean to cry. The utter betrayal of your once friend hurts more even than the loss of your once future husband.

“Are you crying?” Amora laughs, moving around Lord Loki, her shoes clicking against the brick of the courtyard. She stops in front of you, arms crossed over her ample bosom, still exposed more than it should be from what she and Lord Loki were just about to do. “You’re pathetic. The least you could do is be invisible while you serve.”

You say nothing, fist tightening around the rope. Pain shifts into rage at the cruelty in her words.

The wind blows and you can smell the scent of their near copulation. Luckily, it’s driven away by the vines of jasmine that creep along the tops of the brick wall.

She doesn’t deserve Thor. But you know that he never deserved you either. The rate at which he moved on…

Almost as if she’s sensing your thoughts, she takes a step closer and drops her voice to a whisper. You know Lord Loki will still be able to hear.

“Poor little flower, so careless and trusting.” She smiles. “You know it was so easy to seduce Thor. Even before your disgrace of a father betrayed his kingdom, Thor came to my bed often. Such a chaste little thing you were. You had no idea that every night after he whispered sweet promises in your ear of a happy future, he was burying his cock deep in my cunt, whispering how glorious I felt around him. Promising that even after you married, he would slip away and fuck me because no cunt could be as good as mine.”

Whore. Your heart shattered. Finally your eyes met hers.

She took a slight step back at whatever she saw in them. The hatred coursing through you set your teeth on edge. You wanted so much to rip her hair from its roots. If you could gouge her eyes out with your fingers without the consequence of a beheading, you would.

Perhaps she could see that promise of death in your eyes.

She scoffed, a reaction to whatever fear she felt in that moment.

“Now, now, ladies.” Lord Loki chastised, “Let’s keep things civil.”

“Civility? From a servant?” Amora looked at him then back at you, her hateful smirk twisting her pretty face into an ugly mask.

No…this is her true face. Her long blonde hair, pale skin, and green eyes might make her superficially beautiful, but you can see the true ugliness in her now.

“Trash knows no civility.” She spits.

Done with this encounter you make to move around her to finish your duties. You need rest. Body and now soul exhausted, the sanctuary of your quarters beckons like a beacon.

She steps in your way, smiling cruelly as she does.

You make to move around her again. She blocks you once more.

Body shaking with rage, you don’t bother stopping this time as she steps in front of you. Instead you let yourself fall against her, your bucket sloshing loudly as you angle the wide opening towards her.

The smell of piss and shit slices through the scent of sex and jasmine.

Amora screams, stepping back quickly until she bumps into Lord Loki who quickly pushes her away from himself, a wrinkle of disgust on his handsome face.

The green damask pattern of her silk gown grows slowly darker as the piss soaks into the fabric. A dark brown stain sets in towards the bottom.

“You probably should have moved out of my way, my lady.” The casual tone of your voice, the respect you can now fake like a professional grifter sounds so real that your taunt sounds like an apology.

“You bitch!” Amora growls.

Lord Loki catches her by the arm before she can move towards you.

“Perhaps, Lady Antress, you may want to go and change? If what you say is true and my brother will seek you out, I doubt very much he’d desire your company if you smell like shit and piss. No matter how delicious your cunt may be.” Lord Loki’s smirk gives away his delight at Amora’s distress.

Almost as soon as he’s grabbed her, he drops his hand and angles himself away from her slowly to avoid being soiled as well.

“Forgive me, my lady,” you curtsy, a perfect bow. “It was an accident.”

Amora glares at you then looks at Lord Loki who has taken to pressing the fingers of his right hand against his nose to shield from the smell, affixing her with a look of amused disgust.

Amora huffs, “Fuck you.” Then turns and stomps past you across the courtyard and disappears into the castle.

“That was nicely done,” Lord Loki says once you’re alone.

You give him a quick curtsy and move towards the gate to toss the remaining waste where it belongs in the river just past the far end of the large hedged garden.

Ignoring the sound of his following footsteps against the gravel and footstones, you wander through the fragrant rows of flowers.

“If anyone had been watching, no one would have doubted your sincerity with that apology.” He declares, hastening his footsteps to catch up with you, settling in to your right as he matches your pace. “I’m impressed. You never gave me the impression that you even knew how to lie let alone be deceptive.”

Grinding your teeth, you attempt to ignore him. You don’t engage.

He reaches out to grab your arm but you stop and twist away from him, disgust on your face as you stare at his left hand pointedly.

For a moment he looks confused and then laughs once in realization and takes his hand back.

“You won’t tell my brother, will you? About my…meeting with Lady Antress?” Lord Loki doesn’t sound like he actually cares.

You know that he and Thor never truly got along once they were of age. As children they had been inseparable. You’d followed them around and they’d welcomed you into their company as a playmate despite your gender.

Not until you also were of age did you realize that your parents and their parents had seen your friendship as an indicator of good fortune for a future marriage.

As the elder brother, Thor had been chosen. Your heart, having been devoted to Thor even as a girl, had been so full. Eagerly you’d thrown yourself into the arrangement of your marriage. Only now did you begin to realize that perhaps your heart had been the only one truly invested in the promises that Thor had made.

Agony cuts you again, tearing your heart apart a little more as the feeling of stupidity makes your eyes prick with tears again.

“Did you truly not know that Thor and Amora were fucking?” Lord Loki asks, voice devoid of anything but genuine curiosity.

A tear slips down along your cheek as you turn and resume your walk. Lord Loki follows.

“You wound me.” He says, voice low. “Were we not also friends before?”

Scoffing, you readjust the bucket and wince at the pain of the rope as you feel your skin break. You drop it, Lord Loki stepping back quickly but nothing splashes out this time. Most of the contents were currently soaking through Amara’s gown.

You lift your hand up, staring at the peel of skin and the slick of the pink muscle beneath as red begins to pool along the edges of the tear.

Just another wound. It’ll seal and heal and scar, joining the others on your once smooth hands.

The bite of pain gives you a reason to let your tears fall. You don’t hold them back as you sob quietly, uncaring of the audience to your humiliation.

“He’s an asshole,” Lord Loki states, stepping up in front of you. “Always has been. Arrogant, proud, and foolhardy. Thinks with his cock more than his brain.”

Again, you scoff. The irony of Lord Loki, whom you just caught fingering your former best friend in the garden, telling you that Thor thinks first with his cock does not escape you.

Lord Loki clears his throat, embarrassed?

“If I’d been your betrothed,” Lord Loki continues. “I’d have worshiped the ground you walk on.”

“You’re a liar, and just as susceptible to Amara’s games as he apparently is. Does it make you feel happy to sleep with your brother’s fiance? Does it give you pleasure to betray him?” You spit at him, angry at yourself, at Thor, at Amara, at your father and brother.

You’re just so angry. You’re always angry now. Even when you’re sad, you’re angry.

“Are you really worried about my betrayal against him when Amara just exposed him for the hypocrite he is?” Lord Loki demands, a little affronted by your ire.

Biting down hard on your lip, you squeeze around the wound on your hand.

“You’re all hypocrites. All of you deserve each other.” You realize and reach down to take the bucket again but are stopped by Lord Loki’s hand as it takes hold of the bucket for you.

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything and instead moves towards the gate at the end of the garden.

Quickly, you hurry after him, eager to take the bucket from him before anyone might look out onto the grounds and see him interfering with your duties. The punishment you’d receive would be painful.

“My Lord, please,” you finally beg, unable to really catch up with his long legged stride. “I’ll be punished if they find out.”

Lord Loki says nothing but strides out through the gate into the wooded expanse behind the garden.

Expertly, probably from the many hunts he’s gone on around the castle, he winds through the trees towards the rushing river whose roar you begin to hear.

“My Lord,” you hurry after him, nearly catching up but then he turns and disappears behind a tree only to emerge before another one. “Please,” you beg.

Taking a quick glance behind you towards the castle and its countless illuminated windows, you don’t see anyone watching but panic has begun to take hold.

He shifts and turns, stomping over the wild grass, the occasional crack of twig or fallen branch as he steps onto it, eaten by the rush of the water now louder.

You’re almost running now to keep up with him and still you lose sight of him when he turns around a particularly large tree. You stop beside it, scanning the area for him desperately.

The dungeons are so damp this time of year. You don’t want to get locked up if you can help it. Illness is something you don’t have much experience with and with your body weak and unhealthy now compared to the grace and flush of perfection you’d been with money and a constantly full belly, you might succumb to any serious illness.

You don’t want to die, despite the hardships you face.

With no sign of him, you move towards the section of river you always go to empty your buckets.

Minutes later you break through the treeline and spot Lord Loki crouched by the water, damp bucket set beside him now empty and rinsed.

Breathing heavily, you try to catch your breath and press your hand against your thundering heart, forgetting for a moment about the wound there and hiss.

Lord Loki rises, turning to look at you with a furrowed brow as he shakes the water from his hands and dries them on his dark emerald jerkin. He pulls down the puffed sleeves of his black shirt, fastening them around his wrists again but only finishes one before he’s holding his hand out for you.

“Come,” he orders. Not a request.

You don’t move, holding your wounded hand still as you watch him, pale skin nearly glowing in the light of the moon.

“Come here,” he orders again and this time you move towards him only a step. He steps towards you once, his hand held up again with more emphasis. “Shall I say please? Am I wrong? Were we not also friends?”

He smirks, amused by your hesitation for some reason.

Asshole. How dare he throw the past in your face. It’s coercion to remind you of your bond as children.

Unwilling to let him get the satisfaction of seeing you be defiant, you close the distance between you.

He takes your hand, holding it up close so that he can see it clearly. The moon is bright enough that he can and he pulls you towards the river’s edge. Squatting down again, he pulls you down with him.

You kneel, inching towards the edge as he pulls your hand into the water.

A hiss escapes your lips as the water coats the wound, tugging at the bit of skin still holding on until it tears free.

He holds it under the water for a minute then brings it back up to examine, pulling your arm so that you shift to face him and he does the same, kneeling before you.

“It’ll scar,” he realizes, but notes the other small scars that now cover your palm underneath the base of each finger.

You watch him as he traces each scar with his thumb, the golden emerald ring on his finger cool to the touch after being submerged in the cold river water for a bit. It feels nice against the heated skin of your palms. The friction of the rope burning them both.

“I remember when your hands were soft,” he notes.

Self conscious, you make to yank your hand from his grip but he tightens it and meets your eyes in silent order not to try that again.

Holding your gaze, he brings your palm up towards his mouth. Heart hammering against your chest, you try again to yank it from him but his lips close around the wound.

A strange tumble of knots in your stomach work their way up into your chest and constrict your heart.

More strange than that, a shift between your legs has your face and neck burning. Ears so hot that the breeze of the late spring air feels cold in comparison.

“Stop that,” you tell him, voice weak from shock at both his actions and your body’s reaction to it.

He does. Pulling your hand away from his mouth to look the wound over.

“The bleeding stopped,” he states, then reaches for your apron.

The tearing of fabric sends our heart seizing but more arousal pools between your legs. Embarrassed, you look away from him as he wraps your hand tightly. He must have dealt with many small injuries on his hunts because he ties the wrap around your palm securely and nothing save for cutting the fabric away will undo it.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and deep. Almost dark in the way it slithers across your skin in a sultry embrace.

“No.” You answer honestly. “And it’s probably only because I caught you and you didn’t get to stick it in Amara.”

He releases your hand as you pull against his grip but he reaches forward to place his hand on your cheek. His left hand.

You almost pull away but remember him drying his hands on his vest. He’d deliberately washed both hands. Why?

“I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I would have worshiped the ground you walk on. I still can, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m a servant,” you spit, turning to look at him with anger and betrayal. “Anything you do to me will be forced merely by the fact that I cannot deny you anything you might want.”

Lord Loki frowns.

“You think so badly of me?” He wonders, hurt in his green eyes.

Your mind flashes back to your childhood. You, Thor, and Lord Loki running to the stables of his estate. You fall. Both Thor and Lord Loki stop but it’s Lord Loki that rushes back to you, helping you up and dusting you off as you cry loudly.

Thor rushes away, laughing in his eagerness to mount his horse.

More memories of your childhood assault you with images of Lord Loki and his kindness. Frequent acts of compassion and what you might have once considered friendly love. Thor’s are fewer and mostly contained to the days after your betrothal had been agreed upon.

“You will never be a servant to me,” Lord Loki assures you.

“It is what I am,” you counter. “You cannot simply ignore it.”

Lord Loki sighs, “You’ve always been so stubborn.”

He lets his hand glide down along the side of your neck, over your shoulder, down along your arm, and then he settles it along the side of your waist, the shape stiff thanks to the corset underneath.

It’s almost unbearable that he’s here, in your shame of servitude. His touch is confusing. You almost ask him why it feels so strange but instead focus on what’s most important.

“Is it true?” you ask, voice wary and quiet.

“Is what true?” There are so many things you could mean, you realize.

Part of you almost doesn’t want to know. So you hesitate.

Something softens in Lord Loki’s eyes as if he suddenly knows what you’re going to ask.

“Were…did Thor and Amara…?” You shake your head, trying not to let the pain show.

“Yes,” he answers, voice firm. He wants you to know that it’s true. No hesitation in his answer. “A few times even with you nearby. You almost caught them a handful of times. Were you only a few moments earlier or later.”

Head falling, you can’t help the tears that spring forth. So much of your past had been a lie. The strength of your house. The friendships you held dear. Your betrothed hadn’t truly loved you. If he had, he would not have betrayed you.

“My brother paints a pretty picture. Despite what he wants others to think he is changeable. He is impatient. Clearly that was his undoing with you. He is rash and prideful. He doesn’t think about what he does before he does it and because he would be insulted by it, would it not be sweet revenge to dangle what he wanted most in the open for all to see?” His words are slow and sure.

The last bit of his speech is careful and calculated. You can hear the manipulation in his words even though he tries not to let you. You’ve known him too long. Lord Loki also changed when you were betrothed to Thor. A shift of his usual kindness had taken place and the sneering Lord had been born. Intent on his own machinations to pry forth the dreary truths of his life.

He’d never been cold and harsh but he became so after your engagement. Thor had called him a snake and even then you could see it. The skill with which Lord Loki had developed his manipulating tactics and the precision with which he enabled them are known to you.

So you know what he’s saying even if he won’t say it clearly.

He takes hold of your chin and slowly lifts your head until he can see your eyes. There’s a strange eagerness in his own greens as he tries to read you. There’s a question there, an uncertain probing as his hand at your waist grows tighter, wrapping around to rest on your back, arching your body towards him.

That strange feeling between your legs surges. It’s Amara’s sneering face that breaks down your defenses. It’s the pride in her words as she’d bragged about being with Thor while you were still betrothed to him that shatters your will.

You do want to get revenge. You want Thor to know that you don’t care anymore. That he means as little to you now as you did to him then.

And what better way to show him that than with the one person he’d hate it happening with the most?

He might overlook some random stablehand. He might ignore some merchant’s son, even if he were above your station.

With Lord Loki…the bite would be as harsh as the sting of Amara’s venom was to you.

“Loki…” you whisper and he surges forward.

His lips are over yours, moving and massaging as you at first merely take his kiss.

He hates it. He pulls back and tilts his head the other way, kissing you more enthusiastically, trying to draw some type of reaction from you.

It’s taking you longer to submit than you thought it would take.

He pulls back one final time and tilts his head back again before this time pressing his lips against your own slowly. He doesn’t move then but instead waits, puckering against yours as he tugs you towards him instead of shoving himself onto you.

Strong lithe arms wrap around your waist and pull you up onto your knees and against his chest. He holds you so close, so tight. It isn’t rough or demanding but needy. As if he can’t get you close enough to his own body and he can only draw you closer and closer in the hopes that it’ll fill something in him that needs filling.

You place your hands on his shoulder as you tilt your head back with his kiss.

Finally, you find the strength in your body and pucker your own lips and return this gentle kiss.

Shock flashes in his eyes as he opens them to look at you. You watch the confusion bloom in them but then shut your own and give in.

Loki’s lips part and envelop yours. It shocks you the way it sends those knots back into your stomach. In response you do the same, enveloping his lips with your own.

Loki’s hands splay out against your back and he groans as he opens his mouth and the tip of his tongue slides against the crease of your lip in question.

In answer, you open for him and welcome his searching tongue with your own. The taste of him, the scent of him, it overwhelms and you gasp as you lose yourself in the moment.

You feel his hands drift around to your front, his right sliding up along your bodice until he can cup your breast, a groan slipping through his lips as he breaks your kiss and traces wet open kisses along your jaw, neck, and shoulder.

“Loki…” you gasp without ever having given your mouth permission to speak.

He bites your neck when you say his name. You moan and he licks the spot to soothe it.

“Loki…” You whisper again.

He’s driven mad by it and before your mind can understand what is happening, he’s laying over you, hands moving wildly underneath your back, running along your sides, fumbling around until he finds where your dress is fastened and he pulls at the ties.

“Should I stop?” He asks, breathless and looking as if he would like nothing more than to keep going.

“No.”

“Mm,” he moans and kisses you again, tongue claiming your mouth as his own.

You can feel him tearing away your apron and then your dress. Too eager to pull it off you completely, he merely shoves it down so that he lays spread out along your waist.

He looks down at you, the corset you wear hiding very little of your breasts. He kisses them each in turn, the soft fleshy bits that pool up above your undergarment.

You shudder at the touch of his lips.

“Has anyone kissed you here before?” He wonders. You’re not sure if he wants  an answer or not but you shake your head anyway.

As he nuzzles the soft flesh, his hands work on the corset, pulling at strings blindly until it gives way and he pulls it off of you exposing you completely.

The cool air of the night perks your nipples more than his touch already has and he takes both breasts in his hands, pushing them together as he stares to the point of embarrassment.

Before you can cover yourself, he takes one into his mouth, suckling softly to draw soft moans from your open mouth.

He sees it, your gaping mouth, and seals it with his own, his tongue nearly in a frenzy as he devours your whimpers.

Cool air hits your suddenly exposed legs. You gasp sharply as he thrusts suddenly and the hard press of his cock rubs against you, shielded only by the fabric of his pants.

“Shall I stop?” He asks again, hands running down along your torso where he takes each breast in hand, massaging them slowly before rolling each of your nipples in slow deliberate circles.

“Don’t stop.”

It’s almost torture when he removes his hands from your overheated body. But you enjoy the sight as he removes his jerkin, followed shortly by his shirt. His body is sculpted but tight, not bulky. Lithe limbs hard and eager as he reaches down beneath your skirts in search of what he desires.

He hisses when his fingers touch you, soaking wet, and you reach down to hold his wrist not to stop but simply to hold on.

The thought crosses your mind that he’s already had someone else like this tonight and it almost makes you pull away. You’re so close to stopping but he sees the thought in your eyes and leans over you, removing his hand he leans over you, pressing his chest against yours and silencing your thoughts with a slow kiss.

It burns through you, the meaning clear.

“Shall I only touch you from now on, darling?” he whispers, kissing your chin then suckling along your throat.

He’ll leave marks…

“Tell me and I will only touch you.” He promises.

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep, Loki.” You chastise him, mood nearly breaking again at the memory of the endless promises Thor had made you.

“I will never break a promise to you. Tell me to refrain and I will. I meant what I said,” he kisses his way up to your ear, licking the shell of it before hot breath sends your skin prickling. “I will worship the ground you walk on if you will only let me.”

He thrusts again. You shut your eyes, gasping at the cock straining for freedom.

“H-How do I know I can trust you?” You ask, unintentionally letting him see how desperate you are to do so.

He kisses you again, genuine and hungry for it.

“Give me a week and I shall truly prove it. Trust me until then and you shall see the depths of my willingness and devotion.”

He thrusts again and maybe you’re a fool for allowing yourself to consider this when he’s got you right where he wants you, but you nod.

“Only touch me,” you order him.

He smirks. He reaches down between your legs again and with one finger slowly strokes from the bottom of your cunt to the top, the lurid sounds of your wetness poignant despite the rushing river beside you.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises.

One finger. He uses only one finger and the pressure is intense. Sensations you’ve never felt before awaken every nerve ending in your body. His thumb presses against your clit and you nearly sit up with the shock of pleasure that rushes through you.

He adds a second finger, moving slowly as he pumps them in and out.

“Shall I stop, darling?”

“Never stop,” you gasp, still gripping his wrist.

Another smirk on that handsome face, his green eyes dazzling you as he shifts back to his knees.

He licks his lips as he pulls a tie free at the front of his trousers and slowly pushes them lower and lower until he can kick free of them completely.

The length of him is breathtaking. He reaches down and strokes his cock, slowly running his thumb along the shiny pink head before he scoots closer, your skirt blocking him from view.

He rubs himself against you, slicking himself with your own arousal.

There he waits, watching you as you brace your hands on the soft grass beneath you but open your legs wider.

Your eyes meet and both of you know that there will be no coming back from this choice. Nothing either of you do will ever erase this line you’ve nearly crossed completely.

He pushes in slowly, leaning over you as he gets deeper and deeper until he’s buried completely. Chest to chest. Face to face. He grunts deep, face twitching as he settles within you.

It’s so much pressure it’s painful. The feeling of him is so foreign. You’re not sure whether it feels good or not.

“Fuck,” he whispers and tenses then shudders. You feel a wave of heat within you, followed by the sensation of slow moving drippage. “You feel…”

He seems lost for words. Do you feel terrible?

He pulls his hips back just a bit and pushes back in.

You whimper, pushing against his chest to look down where your bodies connect.

“Loki,” you fret.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “Be calm my sweet. I will ease you into this.”

Each thrust into you, his pelvis pushes against your clit and each time you moan, wishing he’d do that more. The feeling of him is filling, strange, but not unpleasant. Just different.

As your body relaxes a bit more, Loki’s thrusts grow faster. You smile unintentionally as he presses against your clit more often.

“You like that?” he wonders, stopping as he pushes all the way in and then rolls his hips against you.

Your responding moan gives him confirmation and he settles himself over you fully.

As he thrusts he presses harder against you, lingering for a moment before doing it again and again. The slap of his skin against yours grows louder and he finds a rhythm that has you both breathless and moaning.

“Loki,” you plead, feeling the build up of tension within your body.

“Come for me, darlin,” he kisses you, subduing your voice as he pumps into you.

You’re unsure for certain what he means but your body seems to listen. You wrap your legs around him, holding him as close as you can as he continues to thrust into you. The sweat of his body glistens in the moonlight. The soft silk of his hair tickles your skin as he arches up slightly so that he can take your breast into his mouth again as he keeps pumping into you.

You feel it…so close.

“Loki,” you whimper, wanting to reach the end of this tightrope.

He growls once and brings his hand down between your connected bodies. His thumb presses against your clit firmly. He presses and presses, rolling it in small circles with such precise pressure.

Your body explodes into endless fuzzy light. You arch into him, trembling as his thumb continues to draw pleasure from you in spasms as he keeps moving his cock in and out.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts and thrusts one final time his whole body tight in its release as that same sensation of heat fills you again.

Both of you seem to have stars in your eyes as he collapses on top of you, kissing you slowly with his eyes wide open to watch the expression of pure bliss on your face.

“I think-” Loki says, pulling back as he slowly helps to pull your dress up a bit to cover your exposed breasts. He kisses each one before he does so. “-it goes without saying that I would appreciate it if I was the only one allowed to touch you.”

You’re floating, swathed in golden light, unable to process anything he’s saying because of the pure escape from and yet complete connection to your body Loki’s cock just gave you.

You hear him chuckle. He pinches your cheek, drawing your attention back to him.

“Agreed?”

“What?” You gasp breathlessly.

“No one may touch but me. And I will touch no one but you.” He declares. “Is that understood?”

The authority in his voice draws your legs wide as that throbbing from before is renewed.

Loki’s face twitches at the movement.

“Show me again,” you plead.

“Tell me no one else will touch you,” he orders.

“No one else will touch me,” you agree.

“If you betray me,” you begin.

Loki’s eyes soften. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips.

“I promised you that I would worship the ground you walk on.”

He kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your mouth against his.

“One week, my darling. I’ll prove to you my devotion.” He promises.

The sincerity in his voice has your legs spreading again and he hisses as you shift. Inside you, you feel him harden.

“Show me…” you beg.

“You’re going to be insatiable.” He realizes.

And revenge against Thor aside, you realize that being with Loki might be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.

“Do you have any idea how long I have waited to make you mine?” Loki wonders, stroking your cheek.

“How long?” You wonder, reaching up to take hold of his hand.

“I’ll show you.”

There will be NO tags.

[coralinnii]

Hello! If u dont remember me I'm the person that requested the villainess au Trey x reader from a long time ago, just wanna drop in and say I really look forward to your works and hope you have a great day/night/time! Sorry for bothering you if this message ends up being a bother

‧₊˚✧ Being Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy‧₊˚✧

feat: Trey

genre: slow burn, coworkers-to-something more

note: no pronouns were used for reader, reader is implied to be old enough to work, mentions of poisoning and assassination attempts, reader is somewhat emotionally constipated.

extra note: While Trey is not quite in-character as I would like, he is supposed to be younger than his canon version, so I wanted him to be more unsure and inexperienced than his future self.

I did it, I finally got this done. Praise me (don't)

Being Reincarnated as the Bad Guy aka Villain/ess AU masterlist

You don’t get paid enough for this nonsense. No, you seriously don’t.

One minute you were finally getting off a particularly bad shift at work, only to be in this strange world you don’t recognize…as a low-ranking servant to the bloody royal family!

The rules, the standards, the pretentious nobles you have to smile in fear of having your neck sliced…where’s OSHA when you need them?

At least your coworkers were decent and you’re not in charge of anything too major like waiting on the Queen or her son, unlike that young aide-in-training you see running up and down the palace…poor Sir Clover.

Not your problem, though

…Until a couple of greedy noblemen forced a vial of poison into your hands, promising you a grand reward of money and status for your compliance. They wanted you to spike the drink of the crown prince’s closest aide-in-training so they could plant their own men by his side.

With your best service smile on, you handed back the vial back.

“No ❤️”

When they try to threaten you, you kindly remind them that if they plan to drag you in the mud, you’re not above pulling them along with you.

“If I’m going down, I’m dragging everyone with me.”

Once that was over, you wanted to cleanse yourself from this ugly conspiracy. You were way too busy worrying about your own neck, and you assumed that Sir Clover was cautious over his own safety that you, a mere worker bee, have nothing to contribute.

However, you do notice that the young green-haired man seems to prioritize others over himself, and the lights to his room are often still lit until late into the night. An honest young man burdened with responsibilities; his defenses may not always be on guard…

Ugghh, what a pain in the-

“Um, excuse me?” You looked to the tall nobleman trying to capture your attention.

“Yes, Sir Clover?”

“Were you originally scheduled to work today?”

You held your urge to click your tongue. Of course, Trey would be aware of at least who was scheduled to wait on Prince Riddle and him. What an annoyingly conscientious man.

“My colleague was feeling unwell so I offered to take her place for today. I apologize for not informing you beforehand.” You bowed politely which made the bespectacled man a little flustered.

“No, I’m grateful she could take a rest. Thank you for taking up the role but please let us know next time so we can offer some medical help if needed.”

That wouldn’t be necessary, you thought as you nodded regardless. Your coworker wasn’t really sick in any way but she was more than happy to switch schedules with you.

Many of the servants are under the impression that you harbored a crush on the admittedly cute aide-in-training since you were caught glancing at his direction more often than usual. It wouldn't be surprising if your “crush” in question is also aware of the gossip, which leads to his tenseness around you. Be it kindness or hesitance, Sir Clover chose not to reprimand you for doing as you please.

“What a pain, but I guess it works in my favor anyway.”

A knock rang through the room and with Riddle’s permission, an anxious maid came in with a tray carrying a tea set, confusing everyone in the room.

It’s not time for afternoon tea yet.

“What is the meaning of this?” For someone so young, Riddle’s sharp tone ran a deadly chill down everyone’s back. “Afternoon tea is not for another 13 minutes.”

The maid stuttered in fear, the tea set clattering slightly in her hands. “T-The servants thought that His Highness and Sir C-Clover have been working tirelessly today and perhaps some tea could help.”

You had too much of a survival instinct to dare look at the prince but the silence and building heat in the air was evidence enough that the thought was not appreciative.

Trey was quick to clear the tension with an awkward cough and a smile. “Thank you, I could use some.”

At his words, you dutifully proceeded to reach for the set when the maid hastily pulled it away from you.

Strange

“I-I can do it. Please excuse me” Without sparing a glance towards you, the maid quickly set the tray down on a nearby table and worked to pour a cup.

You’ve seen this maid only a few times. She was a new addition to the roster, too new to approach the royal family but here she was. She hadn't even learned how to properly hold the pot which was noticeable to everyone but was ignored (at the behest of Trey’s wordless plea) due to assumed inexperience.

“She’s so nervous but here she is, so adamant about serving some damn tea…”

A suffocating feeling rising in your throat, you watched with trepidation as the maid walked towards Trey while holding the teacup almost too preciously.

“Eek!” The maid shrieked when your hand squeezed her wrist in an unforgiving grip. She turned to question you but your glare kept her silent.

Trey looked at you with confusion, but your attention kept on the shaking maid and the teacup. With your other hand, you reach for your silver brooch given as part of your uniform to symbolize you as a person of the royal family.

The confusion in Trey’s eyes turned to disbelief when he watched your silver brooch become a damning color as you dipped the silver into the tea.

The broken maid would have crumbled completely onto the pristine floor if not for your hand still on her wrist. While she seemed to be a bumbling mess begging for her life, you couldn’t risk her making a run for it.

You don’t get paid enough for this nonsense.

”So, it was a plan to replace me…permanently.”

You stood silently in front of the solemn man in his office. After arresting her, it was easy to extract information from the maid and prince Riddle is gathering evidence for their act of treason, including your own interrogation.

“You are the trusted aide-to-be of the prince that cannot be bribed. You’re considered an obstacle.” You bowed your head. “I apologize for not speaking out sooner but if it were just my words without evidence, I could have my tongue removed for accusing nobility.”

If it was just you, then you wouldn’t be as confident. But to think that those corrupted nobles managed to convince someone else to do their dirty work. They were desperate and now that there was an attempt, the higher authorities have to take action.

“I shouldn’t feel bad for that maid…why should I for the choice she made…” you could still feel the sensation of that woman’s shaking body in the hand that held her. You don’t like it.

“Ha, you really don’t sugarcoat your words.” Trey’s voice pulled you back as he tried to laugh but his young body felt too heavy to put his whole heart into it.

But it’s finally over. The poisoning failed and those stupid noble scums were on Prince Riddle’s hit-list. That feeling of guilt that ate at your heart could finally rest in peace…right?

Even when he was the victim of all this, Trey was still sitting in his office in charge of investigating his own assassination attempt, on top of his usual duties in assisting the Royal family.

“Thank you for your time,” he even dares to smile kindly at you with dark circles under his warm eyes. “If you could, please call over the head staff to plan on interrogating the rest of the servants.”

“No.”

“N-No?”

“I won’t be doing that. I could ask the head staff to leave his schedule open if needed or if he could handle it with the guards since that’s his f*cking job,” You stared right into Trey’s eyes which widened in surprise. “For now, I humbly suggest Sir Clover to take a rest in his room or to work on something other than your assassination case.”

You didn’t wait for your stunned employer to reply as you bowed politely once more. “If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave.”

You moved away, making your way to the door before pausing. You glanced back at the young man in such a large office and your consciousness felt heavy. Your body was physically no older than Trey or Riddle but the weight on their shoulders was immeasurable, too much for either of them to handle on their own.

“Sir Clover,” you refused to look him in the eyes, “if you ever need anything…I’m willing to assist however I can.”

Immediately regretting your embarrassing words, you quickly added “but during work hours only!” before hastily leaving the office.

A shame really, since you missed the way Trey let out a genuine laugh after so long.

[seventhcallisto]

Chapter V — "just one."

Deep down.

Toc/cw; mdni!!!!!!!!! MATURE CONTENT!!! Fingering(f. Receiving x2) multiple orgasms, heat funk, yunho is a pleaser. Biting, Begging, & Big dick!yunho (duh). Mention of size difference, unprotected sex but don't worry men have unrealistic birth control(amen), cum eating(x2), knotting, slight overstim. Aftercare, cuddling, lots of kissing and fluff, yunho is a service dom omfg. Slight breeding kink if u squint. Joong is a little shitbird, joong teasing you, lots and lots of teasing. Breast worship. edging. Left Unfinished(m!(un)receiving). It's okay tho. Overwhelming tears from stimulus. ussy drunk. Cockadoodledo drunk. What else kinda drunk is there yknow. DONT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE!! JUST BLOCK OR SKIP ☆ thank yew. Also, completely fiction.

pet names/nns; baby, omega, pretty girl, angel, _ girl (yours). Yun, alpha(yunho). Joong(hongjoong). Hwa(seonghwa).

Wc; 11.6k!! (I figured out how to wc r u proud?)

Yunhos friends have no clue why he left so abruptly, texts flood his messages and calls that immediately get put on hold, but besides that, he's too busy on the phone with you, ignoring all of them just to help you. He texted seonghwa as fast as he could when he was walking down the sidewalk. Surely all typos. Yet no response from the eldest member. His car is a silent buzz as he flows down the highway back to the apartment where he knows you are. He's glad he didn't drink, he was supposed to be the driver for the night, he's gonna have to apologize about that later. The heat in his fingertips dig into the cold steering wheel. When he tries to distract himself from the gasps and whispers you produce on the speaker of his phone- slotted into his cup holder.

Begging for him to be there, asking for him. Maybe he even ends up regretting going out at all. Truly, it was to distract himself from you. To get away from your scent and your words and everything in-between. He shoulda known in your heat it's not safe for you on the floor of your apartment complex. The last two floors are full of alphas and betas.

Omegas have their own section of building just for this reason. And yet he still thought it was safe to leave you at home with his other members who he knows will take care of you if anything, who are probably completely passed out and oblivious to your quickly arriving heat. You could easily slip out of your room and wake them up, could even leave the apartment and knock on the next door where many other alphas live. Who yunho assumes would gladly help poor omega you out.

You called him, though. Yunho feels obligated to take care of you like the alpha he should. He's with you, soul and spirit, dedicated to help you through this. Even if he isn't there in person yet. Yunho tries to even his breathing, even if for a moment.

"You still there omega?" He asks, you've been silent since you begged for him to be there with you. Since he said he was gonna take care of you. "Yes.. 'm still here alpha" your whisper is more of a whimper. And, holy shit. Yunho's pants feel tighter the way you say it. His finger flips his blinker on as he nears the exit.

“It- yunho-” the shuffle of you stuffed in your closet gets yunho's cogs moving again. “I know baby” it just slips. “You can wait, yeah?” his teeth pry on his bottom lip. Turning off the exit.

“No, i can't- it's too much” your cry makes him take a quick inhale. “Okay, okay” yunho knows the route to the apartment. He knows it very well in fact. He takes the shortcut. “I'll help you out as much as I can,” yunho's head falls to his seat. “I need you to lay on your back for me” he commands.

You shuffle to do so, pushing the phone as close to you as you can as if it will get Yunho closer. Yunho swallows the saliva in his mouth, gulping down his nerves.

“I need you to prep yourself, you can do that can't you?” he tells- no, he's asking you. Genuinely wanting you to answer him. Shuffling of fabric already tells him the answer, never in yunho's wildest dreams would he have had one of his life long fantasies come to life. Porn isn't the same when it's you, the bane of yunho's existence, doing exactly as he says.

Your fingers work diligently to peel off your pants- shorts- whatever and everything other than your shirt. Struggling in the confinement of your tiny closet and tiny nest. “Okay” you say into the speaker, panting heavily. Brain full of flowers and the scent of yunho under the amount of clothes you're sitting on top of. “I can do it”

Praise falls off the tip of the gray haired alpha’ tongue. Turning into the parking garage. You are in this building, so close, yet so far. Before Yunho hops out of his car, he picks up the bag he left earlier in the day from his back seat, stretching to grab it. He shoves his hand into the plastic bag to grab the small bottle. Just in case, he tells himself. The tall man pops open the lid after a few seconds of reading the label, dryly throwing back two sea blue colored pills. Birth control,(more like sperm control), two just in case. Yunho knows it's the fast acting kind- which the label said. For emergency purposes. This is definitely one of those emergencies.

Of course, the elevator rises very slowly. His fingers fiddle with his phone nervously pressed up against his ear. Your sighs and silent words make Yunho's pulse speed up.

The floors begin to level out, no longer in the parking lot, 1, 2, 3 and so forth. He counts every number, every level pass. Finally, It reaches your shared floor. Yunho doesn't even let the doors open fully, thankfully, your scent isn't in the hallway. So you must not have left your room since calling him. He pulls out his wallet, pushing through them for the keycard to the apartment. “I'm outside the apartment okay? I'm hanging up, I promise I'll be right there, I'm just outside” he hangs up before you have a chance to speak. He knows if he hadn't he might have forgotten about turning it off. Yunho isn't in the mood to have a dead phone because he left the call going.

As soon as he gets the door open, he isn't wasting time to take his jacket off. His shoes, though, get kicked off and left messily behind him. The door clicks shut, locking automatically. The apartment is void, no movement or sounds that meet yunho upon entering. Yunho takes quick strides to your bedroom door, the same scent from before becoming more powerful. More sweet and more alluring. He knocks gently, before pushing it open.

You're nowhere in sight, Yunho feels like a predator stalking your whereabouts when he enters your room. He hasn't been here for a while, he closes the door behind him, locking it with a click. He calls your name gently. Your messy head is the first thing that catches Yunho's eyes. Followed by you kicking the blanket off your feet in the closet, stumbling over to him.

You practically pounce into his embrace, curling your legs around his hips. He helps you the rest of the way, wrapping his arms around you to hold you up and grabbing your waist in his tight grasp. Yunho can feel the heat radiating off of you. He's lucky enough that he's still cold from the nightly weather outside. You are like a fireplace, steaming up on impact with his cold body.

You get as close as you can, shoving your face into his primary scent glands. Your heels digging into him to bring him further into you. Soft whining of his name as you swish your lips around his neck, pushing your scent out.

Yunho needs to take a deep breath. And assess what he's got to do. You're very obviously in an omega mindset, clinging to him like a lifeline. His hands slide up to hold your thighs, soft and pliable under his firm grip. You wiggle from the grasp.

“Did you prep?” he asks, swaying over to your bed, it's large enough to hold the two of you. You shake your head. “I need words, omega” he pulls your head from his shoulder, his knee hits your mattress. Still supporting you, Yunho slowly leans down to plant you on your bed, sitting on his knees between your legs. Watching your head fall over one of your pillows he swiftly slotted behind you. “No, I couldn't,” your pouty lips make Yunho mimic your face with his own smirky pout. “You need me to do it for you baby? Is that what you want?” Yunho unhooks your legs from his lean waist, holding your calves between his large hands. They almost wrap around them entirely.

He scans the way your chest falls with every breath, an oversized plain white shirt. And of course, no bra. Which yunho somehow knows you can only sleep comfortably without. Lastly, the shirt only rides up enough to see that you aren't wearing shorts. He can't torture you any longer, your eyes are begging, hands grasping at his jacket, hoping to tell him to take it off. He drops his hands from your calves to slot it off over his heavy shoulders. Sighing into your palm when you bring him back down and towards your lips.

You taste how you smell, only heavier. More heavenly to yunho. His tongue prides into your bottom lip. You slip it open to let him in, moaning into his mouth. His hands wonder, finding his way to your thighs and up, closest to where your hips jut out upon impact. Wet, Yunho sucks on your tongue when he pulls back, eliciting another strangled moan out of you that has him pulsing. “Yunho” you call out, whining. His fingers slide under the shirt and over your underwear, caressing your soft skin. “You need me here? is this where you want me?” he teases with his questions, drinking in your expressions. You nod eagerly. Yunho’s long digits pull the hem to the side to push his thin fingers through your folds. Watching you for a reaction with lidded eyes, biting back his lip. You preen, head falling back, hips twitching. He gathers the slick you produced, making sure to rub it around his two digits to lube them up up and down, poking and swirling around your clenching hole.

The tip of his middle finger prods into you, fully being embraced by your walls. Yunho's fingers are long and big, definitely bigger and longer than yours. His thumb angles up to rub into your sensitive bud, gathering slick on the way, slow calculated circles that have you writhing for more. Yunho's finger begins curling up into you, pressing against your soft gummy walls. Yunho didn't think he'd get to see you like this, get to feel you like this. “More, please, please alpha” you cry out, biting against the arm slotted over your face. And he obliged, pushing his pointer finger into you. It's an easy slip, thanks to your dripping core. Yunho moans quietly at the pulse of your heartbeat at his fingertips.

You're so unbelievably horny that you're pulsing for him. Muffling your whiney breaths. Yunho's fingers gain speed, slipping in and out to pry you open, to prep you. Bending and prodding that spot you keep jolting at. He finds it and abuses it as much as he can. Watching you unfold and get closer to your high. Just a bit more, he can tell you're already getting antsy. So horny it only takes a few strokes of his thin fingers to get you worked up close to your high.

“You feel so good baby” he whispers to just you. Just you. You mewl at the praise, pulling him back down for another heated kiss. More desperate and begging. You're softer than Yunho could ever imagine, wrapped around his fingers when he digs them into you, plying and squishing into your g spot. Your lip gets pulled up into yunhos when he sucks air into his lungs.

Yunhos got you so close, your leg pressed over his lean thigh that digs into the mattress under you. Watching the way his fingers disappear into you quickly. You're not hurting for a knot when he has his fingers buried to the hilt in you. If your mind wasn't foggy, you'd surely be savoring this. But you're still only thinking about needing something bigger, Yunho's knot. You gasp at the magma pooling in your stomach, looking to yunho. You're a jumble of words. Already messy from just his fingers.

Yunho catches this, his thumb hooking onto your clit and swirling. “Just one baby, then I'll give you what you want” he groans into his words, taking as much pleasure from this as you. His eyebrows pull taunt over his eyes, mouth lulled open from focus. “Come on omega, cum for me” he calls on, looking you in the eyes. Dark, cloudy, and full of lust.

The tension breaks, squeezing your thighs around yunho's hand. A silent whine, at the attack of your senses. One of the most weakening orgasms you've ever felt. Twitching at the thumb that Yunho keeps pacing you with. Overstimulating you the slightest. You couldn't get this kind of high from your own hands throughout your first heat. He presses soft gentle kisses to your face as you come down, slowing the movement of his hand. He sighs with you. Completely turned on.

The neediness for more is slowly returning, there's only so much one high can do for your faziness. You squirm when he begins pulling his fingers out, whining at the loss of feeling stuffed, underwear snapping back over your wet core. Yunho thinks it's not enough prep, but you can't wait any longer and he knows that. Before he pulls to sit up, he leans on his calves. Watching the way your slick trails down his hand, sticky and warm. He can't help himself, taking his fingers in between his lips, humming around the digits when he holds eye contact with you.

That's got you going again, whining for him, panting gently. “You taste amazing mega, so perfect” his eyes trace your features, his words making you melt into a puddle. He comes down to level with you, his knees once again slotting between yours, pushing up to bend you back over his thighs. He brings himself in this time, using his free hand to pull you onto his mouth. You moan at the taste of yourself, scrunching your face up into him.

Yunho's free hand pulls at your underwear, one frustrating tug halfway down your legs, fuck it. He pulls with a hard tug, snapping them off, he's not moving anymore to get them off. Tossing them to the side. The cold air makes you clench around nothing. Shifting closer to him. Yunho's tongue and mouth is like water in the desert. He draws you in with his palm against the scruff of your neck, you reach between you both. Needing to feel him.

Your fingertips skims the bulge of his jeans, he's big, big enough to stand out from the denim and leave an indent. So big, you're beginning to drool. He bucks away from your touch, moaning once under his breath as you pant against each other's lips. His hands reach to swat yours away, shushing your whimpers for the contact. “no touching, ‘M gonna take care of you omega, like I promised” he works on his belt, tossing it across the room. He decides his dark shirt is more important, pulling it straight up and over him.

Yunho's lean physique is beautiful. Almost shy under your eager eyes, he smiles down at you, shoving his shirt under the soaking spot on the bed, right under your bum he lifts so easily up. Your blankets are definitely gonna need cleaning. As soon as he's done helping ease the hurt, he'll get to fixing up your bed and making it comfortable. You let him do what he needs to, fiddling patiently, no touching.

No touching. Your feet curl in anticipation, wiggling at the command, the slow drip of your slick is beginning to pool down your center. Your thighs curl together at the feeling.“Yun- alpha” you whine, watching him undo his jean buttons and zip down his zipper. He looks up for a split second at your call, “i know, i hear you omega” he leans up to take your shirt off for you. Completely down to allow you to play pillow princess. He leaves a trail of gentle kisses down the center of your chest, memorizing your reaction and your breasts. Yunho is a fan, a big fan and he definitely will worship your tits when he gets the chance. He shoves his jeans down the rest of his knees. Despite being told no touching, you reach to help pull the rest of them off.

With some struggle on your part, huffing impatiently and tingling because of the ache fully coming back. Yunho kicks his tight jeans across your room, they land somewhere with a dull thud. His hands pull at your hips and turn you over to your side. You don't ask questions, letting him do what he wants with you. “You ready?” He asks looking up from your leaking hole, and well- you're so eager you think you've been begging this entire time. “Yes, alpha, m ready” You plead desperately. “you're doing great mega, so patient for me” the prod of yunho's hand as he spreads open your cheeks makes you gasp.

“Look, you're dripping all over” He chuckles, a first genuine and teasing chuckle, like he can't believe he's able to get you this wet. His wide and big hand keeps you spread open, holding your cheek up. As his other hand pulls back to grip his cock. He passes it between your leaking folds and glazes just over your clit. You buck, your head falling back. “Please please’ please put it in alpha-” you cry, wiggling and trying to push your hips towards him. Yunho shushes you quietly, his hand spread over your stomach to stop you. “Be good ‘mega, you'll wake the neighborhood” he hushes you with a tipped groan as you slick over him, he uses his free fingers to spread it over him as much as he can patiently. Prodding the tip into you.

Groans of curse words slip off Yunho's tongue. Only an inch in. He's not even fully in you, yet he can already feel your weeping hole squeezing him in a death grip, attempting to adjust to his size even though he's only pushed the smallest bit of him inside you. Yunho didn't think he'd fit at all. He pushes your leg closest to his chest farther up, spreading you open wider for a better angle. Your pants and moans, and sticky skin makes Yunho painfully impatient. Inch by inch, he pushes in slowly in case the stretch is too much for you. Holding your thigh in his large palm so you can't jolt away. Breathy groans he lets out are much quieter than yours. Yunho slides himself the rest of the way in with a single thrust of his hips. His eyes fluttered at the clench. Almost painfully tight around him, it's more than he could ever imagine, the daydreams are nothing compared to the real thing that's your needy cunt. He ruts up once by accident, eagerly needing to feel your squishy walls wrapped around him all along his length. He praises you for taking it, panting into his words. “mega, you’re so perfect- Auh– fuck- you fit me in so well. so good for me.” he pulls your thigh against his chest, sandwiching closer to you, he's so vulgar, yunho hardly ever curses around you, but the way you have him has him letting loose. his hand trails a sweaty pattern against your thigh as he rubs it up and down soothingly.

Your greedy gasp and shuddered body being so full fills you with delight, his tip presses the deepest part of your silky walls that has you seeing stars. You're vocal but so silently about it, the stretch of yunho's cock should be impossible, you know alpha cocks are huge- but this is not what you imagined, yunho is completely different. Your gasps of pleas whisper towards Yunho in your dark bedroom. He can still somehow make out your face from the city lights shining through your curtains. Full of pleasure, tortured pleasure, he loves the faces you make, so pretty and so tortured as he helps you adjust to his length. You pull his arm as close as you can get it, tiny hand wrapping across his wrist, wanting him closer. He bends down over you, squishing you into the mattress with his much larger body, the angle makes your clit jump from the squeeze of the push of pressing against each other. He captures your lips in a cut off moan, trailing sloppy kisses down your jaw. He rocks his hips once, then twice to check if you’re good enough to go, groaning at the tantalizing dig. Yunho might have almost came from just being inside you, you're so perfect, he's starting to think you've ruined him for anyone else. You keenly twitch, mewling into his ear. His tip is already hitting your cervix, how big is he? His hand finds purchase next to your head. Bending the mattress.

Yunho's eyes are like obsidian, boring into your own, his silver-gray hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, soft swipes of his tongue poking out to wet his lip. His fingers searching for your free and loose hands to wrap your hand in his own. The first snap of Yunho's digging hips has you blinking back overwhelmed tears. He begins to set a pace, fluttering his eyes at the feeling encompassed by you. Given by you. Jaw falling slack as he pants out. You whine his name, melding perfectly against his big form. Yunho pushes in more than he pulls out, snapping his hips towards your own in steady deep movement.

“More, more- please, yun-” you beg so nicely yunho has a hard time not fulfilling your request. His smooth lips press into your forehead, his hips smacking into your own in big thrusts when he speeds up. He pulls your leg over his shoulder, the bend is imaginable. You're not that flexible, but yunho will make you. His fingers unlatch from your interlaced hands, tracing down your body- his pointer and middle finger swirl around your clit, you twitch and writhe at the sensation, pelvis pulling back at the added pressure. Gasping and moaning out so much so your head begins to dig into the space between your pillows. Hair astray. Yunho wants to memorize this to heart, your sweaty face full of pleasure, jaw slack. Pretty moans- when he's away by himself he wants this to be what he thinks back to. And how you called to him in the night to make you feel this good, to do you this good. He bites on his bottom lip, his darker eyes boring into the joint section between the two of you. The suction has him biting back the need to pop right there.

Yunho is a diligent lover, he craves touch and affection during sex and he's definitely using this as his opportunity to get it from you, not that you mind at all, you preen at any affection the alpha will show you. His other hand, not holding your own, leans heavily into the pillow next to you, flexing his biceps and muscles that appeared from years of hard work. Your free hand grabs on, scratching and anchoring yourself to him. “how're you feeling ‘mega? I- fuck- i told you I'd take care of you- so good for me, so- shit- warm” He asks between heavy pants, his hips stuttering against you, pushing you harder and harder into the mattress. More and more like you want. Even when filling you completely to the brim with his big dick he's still only asking about you. You're cockdrunk, almost so close to the verge, even though Yunho isn't rough and completely pouding you, his cock is enough to satiate that neediness for something to break you. A line is forming on your brows, your stomach beginning to knot from the way he pounds and works his fingers over your bundle of nerves.

Yunho's pace is heavy, digging into your core and pushing your hip into your stomach, the pressure building up and rubbing at the perfect angle that has you arching into him. “alpha, Yun, ah- good, feel soso good, don't stop- please-'' You're begging for who knows what, yunho definitely knows he isn't gonna stop. The slap of sticky skin collects in your dim bedroom, the smell of yours and yunho's scents mixing. Your sweet dew and vanilla under the woody scent yunho always has, collides. The coil in your stomach is tightening and so deliciously close to breaking. Yunho can feel it, the clench of your walls around his cock has him burying to the hilt with every thrust and push “you want me inside baby? Need my knot?” he asks between heavy pants and grunts, you nod sloppily, spewing words. His knot begins to grow at the base of his cock. And maybe he even imagines that he didn't take that BC earlier. That his cum will take, and his knot will drive you crazy enough to ask him to mate you for life and give you so much more.

“yes, inside please, I'm close, mclose so close ahh- yun-'' your mouth falls slack, pulses of white flash through your brain at the stimulus, yunho tips over the edge with you as your cunt flutters around him. His knot fully ties itself into your womb, hot spurts of cum, leaking from his tip as your name falls out. Yunho, as if on instinct, fang sharp-teeth pop open. He bites on your shoulder, knowing he can't mark you, can't mate you as his- yet, just not yet. When you reciprocate with a bite so close to his primary glands, his hips jut up into you, pushing his cock even deeper if possible. You twitch and shake as your orgasm begins to wash away, twitching some more at the overstimulation of yunho's length pulsing the last few spurts into you, warm and hot and so so much of it- so much so it is already creating a white base around the joint area between you two. His knot doesn't stop growing until he's panting by your head, kissing your sweaty skin so softly. You lean into his touch, preening at the affection with closed eyes. Your pants are heavier compared to his, somehow yunho isn't breathing as hard as you.

He slides down next to you, the tug of his knot still connected. He cups you close, stomach to back. Yunho definitely prefers spending his night like this instead, helping you through your heat and first couple of weakening orgasms. He knows some if not a good amount about omega gender, thanks to you- he did the research. He's glad he did, he knows you'll be spent- but if he asked, you'd be willing to go for more rounds. And he'd be happy to do so to satiate your needs. But you are still in the beginning of the haze, you can only take so much for your first heat with someone else and not completely pass out.

Moments of breathing in air and time in the earliest of morning. Yunho is your first, not overall- but heat wise. He's got to take pride in that. And he does, your duvet is buried under you and Yunho's dark shirt has cum splotches so he can't throw any of it onto you to cover you both comfortably. Your foggy brain must be subsiding by now and for some reason yunho feels shy being so naked even though he drilled you into your mattress and left you dazed after two orgasms. Your head pushes back against his shoulder, looking up at him. He catches your eyes, the smallest of smiles at your fucked out face. “Hi baby” he whispers in the dark, rubbing his free hand against your chin. Your eyes blink up tiredly from his warm touch.

“Hi yun” you smile, looking at the way Yunho's silver hair falls over his forehead in waves, his other arm and hand propping his head up. His eyes fall over your lips, smiling down, he leans into you to capture your swollen lips with his own pink ones. The post haze of orgasms washes away. But the heaviness of Yunho's knot pulses once more. You twitch, pulling away from his lips. The knot is tied so tightly to you, it makes you feel as though you're still stuffed. And you are. Yunho's cum is buried in you so deeply thanks to his knot and his cock that it makes your heart skip with appreciation. You never thought going commando would be so good, never thought a knot so deeply in you would make you feel even better. Is this what you were missing out as a beta? Yunho's hand finds its way over your stomach, pushing down on the bulge ever so slightly that has you whining and digging your hips back into him. “You did so well, took me so well” he whispers, pecking your neck with a singular kiss. The ache subsided, even if for a moment. Yet you clench at his words.

You know what happened, you remember everything that happened. Other than yunho smelling like he was at a bar and grill before you pounced. Did you steal him away from something? You turn your head to look at him. Smoothing your finger over his overgrown sideburn. His eyes scan your face, observing your nakedness in the dark. “Where were you?” You ask, whispering to him. He inhales softly, the fan of his breath cooling the sweat from your face. “I was getting some food and drinks with friends” he answers earnestly, rubbing soft circles into your hip. He still doesn't pull out of you, his knot so close to dissipating. Chest bumping against your back as he breaths.

“I'm supposed to drive them home” he chuckles airily, knowing the way you're gonna react before he even says it. “it's okay though, there was another designated driver” he reassures your worries. Taking them off your shoulders. You turn your head back into the pillow, reaching down to lock your hands in his. It's intimate and risky, but yunho doesn't pull away and you're thankful. “Your friends are going to hate me” you pout. He leans up. Left hand falling over the otherside of you. “No they don't- they won't either” he skims a soft kiss over the bite mark he left. Red and deep.

Good thing you don't have any more photos to take any time soon. A week should heal that up if he keeps his teeth to himself the entire time. Your pout becomes a shy smile because of his affection. The prettiest of smiles yunho adores. He peppers kisses down your arm and shoulder, basking in the way goosebumps raise to the surface of your skin. It feels like a honeymoon phase, yunho has always worn condoms, but never has he let his knot dig into someone before, you get his first time without a condom- and his knot. He feels so warm and he knows it's because he loves you and he has his connection to you still inside. It's triggering some primal urge in him to be lovesick. You hum through your smile quietly. Soundlessly falling back into silence. Your fingers prying and bumping against yunhos when you breathe, caressing the veins and length of his digits compared to yours. His right arm is under you but he doesn't care. He wants to be crushed by you, even if you aren't at all heavy. Your locked fingers pulled over your stomach as he anchored them there, fingertips feeling so very comfortable pressed against you.

Yunho begins to pull out, ever so gently. He pats your hip beforehand as a warning. You scrunch up at the loss as soon as he's fully out, missing the way you felt full. You whine for Yunho when he begins to tug away from you, unlatching your fingers. “I got to get you cleaned up” he reassures, kissing against your jaw facing away from him. His lean body is pulled away from you, suddenly making his spot behind you cold. He shoves his briefs on. But before he goes he opens the closest window to air out the scent of sex in the air. Afterwards, he walks to your adjacent door. Sadly, you have to share a bathroom. He peeps his head out your door, looking into the hallway. Back and forth.

He turns back to look at you, smiling gently. “I'll be right back okay?” He whispers loud enough for you to hear. You curl up into yourself, holding a hand between your thighs to prevent any leakage. It doesn't work well. “Hurry, please” you whisper back. Yunho bites his lip, looking you up and down once more. He pulls away, closing your door behind him ever so quietly.

In the silence of your bedroom, your head falls back against your pillow, the pulsing ache no longer activating in your stomach. Maybe a knot does satiate the need for more after a while. You're surely tired though because you slept terribly and are still needy for affection. Yunho's words wrap around your mind, you try to plug your fingers against the cum beginning to drip out. It's as helpful as it seems. You wait a minute longer, then two, then three. Beginning to twist your ankle in anticipation.

You sit up before Yunho comes back in, clothing thrown over his right arm and a single blanket, a deep gray towel and a water bottle in his left. Black sweatpants hang off his hips, this time his loose shirt is white. “up” he beckons you up to the headboard of your bed. When you scoot up to readjust he pulls off your duvet, leaving your almost spotless sheet under you. Sitting down on the edge of your feet, your hand withholds the liquid in you as you lay on your back, head propped up against the pillows yunho laid out for you, sitting up slightly.

He hands you a water bottle after pouring some of it onto the towel. Urging you to drink it, his free hand prys your wrist away from your sopping core. Suckling a harsh hum at the pour of yours and his cum leaking out. The towel scraping up against your cunt makes you sensitive, thighs tensing and hissing away. He acknowledges it, kissing the top of your propped knee and pulling you back. Gauging your reaction with every swipe of the towel to make you the least uncomfortable he can. It makes your heart swell. Hiding your smile behind a chug of water. He's gentle with his care, checking your thighs for any more residue.

When he's done he plants the towel and his soiled shirt in your laundry basket propped next to your door. As much as he hates taking his scent off of you. You will get sticky and uncomfortable with it plugged into you all night. He might come back for his nasty shirt later though. He wipes your dirty hand away, kissing your fingers softly as soon as he's done. Your heart skips.

“Better?” he asks as you hand your water to him, he places it on your dresser. You nod, still naked. He almost forgot. A light gray shirt yunho keeps around -that you know is pretty expensive- gets pulled over your head easily. It's big, just as big as Yunho, maybe even more. It smells like his cologne, and his scent of citrus and vanilla, heavy. The masculine smell of sandalwood is the most prominent. You breathe him in, missing the scent he produced during your intimate moment. Next he's slipping you into a matching gray pair of his briefs, they're a bit big, but it doesn't matter to you.

You're so grateful for the attention Yunho is giving you. He doesn't need to be gentle, but he is anyway, and it's making you feel all the more soft and so head over heels. You pull Yunho close as soon as he's done. Head slotting into his pale neck. You trail kisses against your own mark you left on him, kissing more heavily on the bite you left, nuzzling your nose into him. He sighs dreamily, a long arm wrapping against your back. His knee falls to kneel onto the bed, laying half over you gently. Consuming you with his scent and body. He prefers it like this, when you're completely full of him and smell like him. Tiredly begging for his touch after he already gave you everything you wanted. You wiggle to get comfortable, locking your leg over his hip. Whilst his leg slots between your legs. He kisses the top of your head. Rubbing soothing pats against your back. As his other hand reaches for the blanket he brought in. White and thin with crochet patterns, definitely taken from the end of his bed.

Easily, he pulls it over the two of you. Comfortable and surrounded by yunho. Your head isn't sweating thanks to the breeze from the window. Any sweat you had cooled along with the water he gave you. So sweetly, taking care of you and even cuddling you. How are you so lucky right now? You couldn't ask for a better second heat phase.

“Thank you” you mumble against Yunho's neck. You feel the shuffle of his gray hair press against the side of your head when he turns. “Don't thank me” he huffs into a grin. His palm coming up to caress against your shoulder. If it's unconscious, you don't know. But his hand lands directly over the bite he left. Your eyes slink, closing down thanks to the lullaby of Yunho's heart beat and soft breaths.

In the silence of the early morning, one of your many daydreams comes true, buried under yunho and everything that smells like him. Yunho, just prefers you, your soft and squishy skin against his. His fingers slip under the collar of his shirt.

“I love you” he whispers the quietest, just as your mind begins to drift. You whisper back, slurring. “love you more” you don't care if it's early, or if he's just saying it after such an intense night together. You don't even know if he's just saying it in an affectionate way. But you mean it when you say it, I love you more, cause you do. Yunho has you whipped around his finger after knowing he can take care of you even after you already had the biggest crush on him before. The best is him afterwards, sticking by your side.

It's more than a year back, your dream blending into a memory. You're presenting at an award show, gladly introducing artists. Preppy voice loud and simple to suck the crowd in. In the prettiest of pastel outfits some snooty stylist gave you to wear. You know behind the screen out there your boys are cheering you on. And it keeps you grounded. Despite being on TV the most nerve-racking thing is your ex. Who's also a host, they don't know though. You guys kept it wrapped under the media for about a month before he was caught cheating on you with another popular idol. Not cheating to the media though, they assumed those two were together, but you were devastated for a week nonetheless.

You wonder why you even liked him in the first place. He's cute, funny, complicated, and talented. An omega, which you didn't care about. But his attitude was that of a spoiled brat who always gets what he wants. Maybe you thought that was really cute, when he would beg you for pda when he knew you were private, and when you would say yes, he'd accuse you of trying to expose the secret. It reminds you of someone else now, a less bratty and less annoying guy, who doesn't give a fuck about pda and will show you off at any chance because he likes to tease you. Somehow, that relationship never raised suspicion.

Your ex is a fairly popular guy, more so than you. Your group was still rising to some. And his group was popular from the get-go. Thanks to one of the big ents. Your trainee days got you a spot here, he recommended you, leading to you two seeing each other often, then soon dating. You got the opportunity before he cheated. You never understood why, but you weren't gonna give up just because he was going to show up. No way. You stand tall and proud, gleaming for the screen as does your ex who continues to scoot closer every camera shot.

You try your best to ignore him when you're on ad break, getting your makeup reapplied. “Can we talk?” He asks over the bustling makeup artists, you're thankful they're shielding you from him. “No,” you huff. “I'm getting my touch up done, please leave” you say as politely as you can. Honorifics and all. He grimaces. Stepping closer.

“I'm sorry-” you sigh at what's to come. Another sob story, another lie. You're not some silly girl, you're mature, you're an adult. You know the signs. And you know cheaters can change, yes, but something tells you he won't. You taught yourself to follow your gut feelings. And now, you still will. “No, you're not sorry, you're guilty you got caught. You’re sorry because you got caught, you're not sorry to me at all.” even though it was just a month, you took your time doing everything for him in it. First relationships always move fast. You risked that with him, leading him through his first time with you as a couple.

You took the reins and he abused that. His eyes well with crocodile tears. Before you can speak once again, his sorrowful eyes land on a figure looming behind you. Scowling, his tears seem to dry up quickly as if they were just for show. “Great” he laughs angrily. You're so very confused but when a large hand lands on your shoulder, you know exactly who it is. The whiff of vanilla and sandalwood following.

“Yun” you greet, a soft realization that he came to see you, your soft, smiley, extremely taller member came to watch you. And he knows exactly who the fool in front of you is, Yunho's black hair falls perfectly over his forehead as he scales your ex up and down, the tiniest of a forced grin on his taunt lips. “Hey, I didn't know you were working as a host” yunho is older than your ex, and he doesn't greet him as a friend. Nor does he acknowledge the tears. Honorifics that sound like venom falling from the pretty tip of his tongue.

Your ex doesn't bother to bow his head either, sticking up to your older group member. “I got her the job” he scoffs slightly into his words, shifting on his feet. Looking anywhere else except for the tall man's eyes. You feel completely squashed and kind of embarrassed from this interaction. Your ex is still trying to keep up a brave face under his extremely pink eyebrows. “Really?” Yunho looks back down at you, the smallest of smiles, but genuine. He squeezes your shoulder softly, glancing between your eyes mischievously. “Then I'm sure she'll be the best, she might end up being better than you” he chuckles, meanly, yunho is hardly ever mean. You can't help the snort of laughter falling out of your nose. You don't regret it. Your exes eyes twitch, not a single word. He storms off and bumps shoulders with yunho. Like a child, he stomps away.

You turn to Yunho, and notice you're both grinning. Soon a fit of laughter erupts from your throat and his. It's short lived. His hand falls off your shoulder, you miss the weight of his heavy hand. He takes a seat against the vanity, the light from the bulbs showcases his figure. Lean and tall, taking up the space with his big figure. You have to advert your eyes from staring. When he turns his head back to you. Even though you're done with your touch up, you can't seem to stand up out of your chair and move on.

Yunho's foot nudges your ankle, calling for your attention. You look up, crossing your arms subconsciously and force out a smile the best you can. The most naturally you can. “Are you okay?” His eyebrows crease in worry, his head lowering so you know he isn't demanding you to answer him. You clear your throat, shifting in the luxurious white chair. “Yeah, he sucks..” you laugh. Trying not to let it affect you. Trying. Is the key word. Your teeth wiggle your bottom lip, falling back into thought. Yunho ever so keenly notices your behavior. Squatting down in front of you. You jolt, leaning up to see what he's doing, before you can ask, he's tugging your shoe into his lap. Tying the laces delicately between his thin and long fingers. He never looks up, even as you try to tug away. “I'm not a kid” you huff, shaking your head at the thought of Yunho Bending his own extremely expensive pants to tie your shoe. You can hear the smile in his voice as he talks, “then how come you always forget?” When he finishes, he looks up. His hand unknowingly caresses the back of your ankle and calf.

You take a breath, fiddling your fingers together. “Forget what?” he laughs. Placing your foot back on the ground to check your other shoe. “Forget to tie your shoes” you gawk, “no I don't-” you attempt to pull your foot back, his fingers latch around your ankle. Smiling back up at you. Even though he's real, he looks unreal smiling up at you like some prince sliding your glass slipper on. “Yes, you do, remember during practice you used to always wear velcro shoes? Bet you didn't think I'd remember that-” “you remember what shoes I wore years ago?-” “you never wore laces, and when you did. I had to break formation to catch you when you'd trip over them." His breathy laugh has you smiling shamelessly.

“Honestly, it's like you were hoping I'd catch you” his finger comes up to push the hair out of his eyes, straightening out his bangs. He looks up at you from under them. Teeth on display thanks to his pretty smile. You fumble to say something. “no, I was just bad at taking care of my shoes,” you laugh, scratching at your eyebrow. Nice save. Knowing in reality he wasn't far off, or that most of the time you wore the same pair of velcro shoes for every practice. And when you began noticing they were gross compared to your members whose shoes seemed much better than yours, you'd exchange them for one of your other laced sneakers. Ashamed of the peeling fabric and the staining, and he was right, you were always bad at tying them properly.

“At Least you were there to catch me” you smile, watching him stand up to his full height. Shyly smiling back, as he looked away. “I'd always catch you,” his voice echos. Your dream-like fog begins to dissipate as the memory ends.

You wake up with your thighs stinging as if you just worked out your quads for an hour. Feeling like jelly and still tired. Atleast you're not still needy for a knot, whatever yunho did last night really dimmed down your heat. Or was it still too early for you to be in full bloom? The morning sun beams rays along your face and bed, waking you from your sleep. The only warmth you feel comes from your spot alone, and when you begin shifting around in your bed tangling out of the white blanket. You notice the bigger body you fell asleep next to isn't there anymore. Whining into the air sadly at the feeling of loss in your chest. Did yunho leave?

No, the running of water across the hall from your door catches your attention. The door which is now open is cracked almost all the way, you wait and watch. Jongho passes, too busy talking to the person behind him to notice you're awake. Mingi, equally distracted mumbles poutily to jongho whos harshly whispering in front of him. You’re too tired to move, and way too sluggish for things to register, just hoping to see yunho pass through the door. Quiet whispers flow down the hallway and meet your ears, cluttering of kitchen appliances and the beeping of the rice cooker makes you remember how easy it is to get lost in the morning buzz of the apartment.

Yunhos hand slots in from the corner of your eyes, he's still turned over his shoulder, talking to someone, wearing the same clothing from last night. Mumbles of whispers and discussion hanging in the air until his eyes flash back to you. Out of the spot he left you in and scratching at your shoulder. The indent of yunho's bite beginning to scab over. As if you hold the universe, yunhos shocked face makes you look up at him full of questions. His neck bobs as he swallows harshly, turning his head back to the figure just out of sight.

When he's done speaking he walks back into your room, and as soon as he reaches the end of the bed his hand greedily reaches over to smooth his palm against your waist, pulling you into his side with a gentle tug. You groan at the ache in your hips from the shift. Yunho apologetically smiles. Bare face on display from the sun. “Hey, how are you feeling?” he leans his palm against the pillow, half of his body leaning over you whilst he drapes his leg off the bed.

You watch his bare face and plump lips pull into a nervous grin. Needy, so needy. He's so pretty, so bare and so attentive. His hand fiddles with the edge of the shirt he gave you. The caress of his fingers there is so docile, like it's meant to be there. “I'm good” you sigh out, reaching for his waist to hold him. “sore,” you grin shyly. He huffs a laugh, “I know.. d'you need anything?” he lips fall open at the end of his question. You really can't help it, not when yunho is drawing you in and making you feel so special. “A kiss?” You speak clearly, just to him, looking up hopefully through parted lashes. Yunhos grin spreads, red tint rising to his ears. He doesn't have to say anything, his eyes fall over your mouth, folding himself down to plant the smooth taste of his minty toothpaste on your own lips.

He pulls back because of his wide smile, too giddy to keep going. You laugh “stop smiling, I'm trying to kiss you” your hand catches his cheek, awkwardly leaning up into him. “No, you” he snickers, his larger palm reaching your own cheek. He pet's his thumb across your lip, pecking you once again. Then once more. He pulls back before you go in for a third. Teasing you with a cheeky grin. “you have to eat something” he nods, but before he can get up and leave. You're reaching for the pocket of his sweats. Whining, pouting. “Don't go” you huff, laying your head back down on the pillows.

“I'll get hongjoong, okay?” He leans down to pick up your hand, kissing your knuckles. The mention of your captain, your other member- who you still don't know is okay with you calling him your boyfriend- makes you nod. You miss joong, even though he hasn't gone anywhere. He was sleeping. You crave the attention as soon as it's gone with yunho.

Slumped against the bed, you toss to lay on your back, pushing your messy-sweaty hair away. For a few seconds your eyes lazily pull back down, thighs squishing together. The click of your door shutting and the bed dipping has you jolting, coming back from your thoughts. Hongjoong is too occupied shuffling under the blanket to notice your face. And when he does, he's smiling ear to ear at the proximity of you. His hair is a mess, wearing a crochet purple crew neck that's too baggy, a pair of comfy black sweats. Much more dressed and put together than you at the moment. If he smells yunho on you, he must not care. His fingers thread through the back of your hair. Pulling your face into his so he can place giddy kisses all around your cheeks, nose, jaw. Everywhere.

Your lips pull back into a smile, giggling at the way he tickles your face with preppy kisses. His nose scrunches, loving the sound of your laugh. He lays a final deep kiss on your lips, one full of yearning and attention, and everything hongjoong is and more, missing the way you kiss up into him. “I missed you” you simply say when he pulls back. His eyes shift between yours. “I missed you more pretty girl” he sighs, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks. Messy brown hair clouding around his eyes. He lays his head down comfortably on the pillow next to you, threading his fingers around your back to pull you closer.

“Did yunho take care of you?” his hand falls over your hip, rubbing patterns with the tip of his pointer finger. You nod, biting your lip. Memories of last night, flood you. Hongjoong hums softly, his soft dark eyes tracing your features. “he's a good alpha, ‘m proud of him.. You’re not too sore?” he smiles, a certain bite to his tone. You do as well, giddiness building in your stomach. “No, not too much” you nod, pushing your neck towards him, presenting your most sensitive spot. Docile, so docile. Hongjoongs lips fall there, kissing soothingly. “You did good ‘mega. Took yunho so well didn't you.” He whispers straight to you. Heavy lipped and nipping by your scent gland. You whimper and just like that you're a puddle in hongjoongs hands. He sits up to slot his hips between your own, pressing his weight down onto you.

“Be quiet for me okay? Can't have you telling everyone what we're doing”

The bulge of hongjoong in his loose pants has you gasping when it grinds over your clothed cunt. He pulls away from your neck after attacking it with suckling kisses and nips that'll turn into hickey's. Admiring his work. He grins. “So pretty” he sits back on his knees, the blanket leaves with him, leaving you unprotected. Your greedy hands reach up to grab him, stop him from staring down at you with his prying eyes, and when he captures them, interlocking your hands between his own to hold close to his chest, he leans forward and you take his plump lips between your own, biting on his bottom lip in appreciation from the plump of it. He sighs into your mouth, his hands parting from yours and digging down into your hips, lifting the hem of yunhos large shirt to trail his hot hands under. They smooth up, and stop just short of your ribcage.

You know the question, consent is the upmost important thing to hongjoong. “Please touch me joong” you tell him before he has the chance. Holding his face close to yours, he smiles, that shit eating grin he always has, the teasing one he uses to perform. Already, you can feel the damp spot in yunhos once clean briefs getting wet. “You want me to touch you where? Huh? Tell me where pretty girl.” he hums, and goodness is it exhausting being teased. You don't even want to say it, too impatient for words. You grab hongjoongs hands off your hip and rib cage, dragging them up and over your breasts just under your shirt. It pools at your collarbone, just under your chin.

“There, touch me there joong” you plead, eyebrows creasing. Hongjoongs hot palms knead into your tits, causing your nipples to pebble up from the friction. Oh so sensitive. Everything must be heightened by now, you want to be touched everywhere. Hongjoongs eyes heavily watch your expressions as he takes your left bud between his fingers and tugs. You yelp as quietly as you can manage, turning your head away. The snicker from joong makes you shy, like he's laughing at you. His head falls down, blowing over the sensitive bud between his right hand, when it pebbles, he takes it into his wet cavern, humming against it and suckling harshly. Not expecting it, your hips jut up from between his knees. Whimpering.

Hongjoong presses himself closer to you, slobbering over your tit and squeezing it with his large palm. He pulls off with a pop and plants kisses along the space around it, looking up at your slacked expression has his shorts tightening even more so. This is what he wanted when he got up that morning, when he figured out the smell of sex was coming from your room and the way yunho cuddled into you as you both napped. The brown haired male takes your other pretty bud into his mouth, lapping at it with his tongue. Your heat hadn't quite hit, it isn't until tomorrow, it's too early to tell though. And the smell of your soiled clothes in the laundry basket tells joong something definitely happened that involved your heat. You scent is addicting, it already had joong jolting into his fist in the bathroom. Too eager waiting for you to get up. He tugs with his teeth, suckling and swishing the pliable fat between his soft hands, your choked sob goes straight to his cock.

He can't take your noises anymore, or the way your hips won't stop wiggling under him. Grazing against his sensitive area unknowingly. He trails wet kisses down your stomach, when he reaches the top of the underwear that hides you away. He looks up for permission. Hongjoongs pretty eyes never fail to make you lose your breath, heaving. Chest glistening, you nod sloppily. An appreciated kiss is laid on your hip bone before he's tugging off yunho's briefs and tossing them to the side of his leg.

Cold air meets you as hongjoong throws your legs over his shoulders. His eyes scan your glistening core, kissing down your knee and thighs, as soon as he gets as close to where you want him. He bites into you, hard. You twitch, and whine, biting down on your tongue. The pulse of the spot has you aching as he kisses the hurt away. The next second his nose is pressing into you as his firm tongue falls out to lap up all the mess between your folds. A shuddered sigh knocks out of you. As he trails up, he takes your clit between his pink lips, sucking hard. Your thighs clench around his head. Bucking away at the overwhelming feeling. You can feel the grin forming on his face.

His palm pushes against your hip to get you to stop moving, tongue jutting out once more to lap your taste up. So sweet, and so dewy on the tip of his tongue. He swirls it around your nerves, groaning softly at the taste. You preen. “You're so wet” he mumbles, bumping his nose against you as he trails down to your hole, he blows a huff of air on it as he takes. Making you clench, “I could just put two in and it wouldn't hurt you're so wet, yeah? Think you could take two for me?” He looks up through his dark eyelashes, Bending your knees over his shoulders. Joongs thumb prods your bundle, catching you off guard from the tug of it as it digs into your clit in lazy swirls. You choke out a soft moan. “Words” he reminds you, nipping the skin by your knee, withholding your eyes in his hazy gaze.

“Yes, I can take two joong, I can do it-” you beg, and hongjoong has a hard time holding back his predatory smile. “Pretty girl, already falling apart, I haven't even done anything” his snicker has you feeling bullied. His head dips back in, his wet muscle coming out once again to replace his thumb, licking you. You're relishing in the slow build up, holding his hand over your hip. Panting out. Joongs finger prods at the tight ring of your entrance, twisting between the flutter of your walls and completely digging into you. You gasp at the first, pushing back against the second prod of hongjoongs ring finger. He hums over your clit, molding his tongue to the bud, his lips wrapping around it.

Hongjoong's getting pussy drunk. He's getting greedy feasting on you, his hips rut into the sheets, sparing him the feeling of the pent up need to release for only a couple of split seconds before he's digging it back down as soon as he hears how sloppy he's making you. At this rate, hongjoong might just cum in his pants, and he wouldn't care. Your pleasure is his pleasure. His fingers dip up, pushing and prodding for the spot that'll have you seeing stars. Memorizing how you react to every twist and pull, he sucks down on you, and huffs for air that has you tensing around his slender fingers. He wants to take his time to savor this. But he knows Yunho will be back with your food as soon as it's ready, Seonghwa said it'll be done in 15 minutes or less.

His fingers piston into the spot that catches your throat, his lips tugging around your bud, suckling and tugging like he's trying to milk you for your orgasm. It's almost there, coiling in your stomach and burning closer and closer. Your eyes are screwed shut, no longer able to stop the blurriness from overwhelmed tears crowding your lash line. Your hips twitch under his palm, digging you down into the mattress so you can't escape his tongue and fingers. As joong comes off you with a squelched pop, he blows air back on the bud. You buck, his thumb comes up to take his place, tight circles digging into your swollen clit.

“There you go,” Hongjoong says as a particularly hard clench squeezes his digits. “Must have been so horny to take yunho last night huh? you're still so tight on my fingers” he curls them as he mentions them. The sloppy noises of his extended fingers hitting around your hole has you hazing in and out of breath. “How'd you get him to fit?” He asks, humming into his words as if this was some normal conversation. You can't even respond. Twitching and pushing up into his particularly hard thrusting fingers that slap and echo in your ears. “Poor girl, needed a cock that bad you let him in without enough prep” he tsks.

Your orgasm builds and is so tantalizingly close, your head lulls to the side, pants and whines. Your hand digs into hongjoongs wrist, holding him as if that'll keep him there. His hand spreads so far across your hips that the slight push down has you feeling his fingers in your stomach. “Yunho told me how desperate you are, how good you were for him, now i know he was right” hongjoongs teasing tone has tears streaming down your face. You know he feels your heartbeat speed up and you clench, but when you meet that crossroad he stops stroking his thumb and has you falling back in a loop. “Not yet” he says this time, sighing into his words.

He pumps them in some more, the pool of your slick trailing down between his fingers and your thighs. There's so much, so much the sheet is wet. Your toes curl at the build up. This time, he continues. “told me you look so pretty when you cum” he whispers heavily, mouth falling open, watching his fingers disappear and reappear from your sopping hole.

“please, joong, please, please” you beg for your release. He pretends to think about it. Building you up again. So, so damn close. A slight moan comes from his throat, pleased at the gumminess of your walls. “Come on pretty girl, let me see” he gives you the go ahead, his teeth digging into his plump lip, his eyes finding your face and watching. That's all it takes for you to shake as you cum, digging down into the sheets with a strangled gasp. Your mouth falling open, legs twitching. Even your toes curl at how hard it hits you. His fingers never stop bullying you until you're shaking and trying to close your thighs. He pulls the out, then takes him in his mouth to clean them off. His eyes fluttered close, as if its some ice cream dripping from a cone that's cold on the taste buds. You're huffing pants loudly. So much so you have to close your mouth and try to breath out of your nose.

Giving you a second, Hongjoong lays a kiss on the top of your knee, then the other. He reaches next to him, and you realize he's grabbing yunhos briefs again. Pulling them back up your legs. The fabric sticks to your center. You pout at the feeling behind close lids. He pulls the blanket back over him like a cape, kissing gently up your stomach before pulling your shirt back over you. Helping you seem more put together. He smiles as if he didn't do anything at all when he pulls you to lay over him. Swiping the drying tears off the side of your eyes. He kisses each side of your cheek where they fell. Lovingly, gently. Much more softer than he was seconds ago. He peppers a kiss down your nose and lands it on your lips. “You didn't get to finish” you pout, he lays his head down next to yours. His lips falling into a small grin. “That one was for you” he takes your fingers between his, kissing each of the tips of them and down your wrist.

“But-” you pout, his eyes pull up into a smile. “so greedy” he laughs, kissing your nose again. Fingers fiddling with yours over his chest. “There's no time for it pretty girl, someone might walk in on us” he hums, grinning so cheerily. Your head falls over his shoulder, embarrassed. His lips lay over your forehead. His right hand coming up to rub against your back. Soothing yunhos creasing shirt down. Although that fuzziness isn't returning. You think you've got atleast another hour thanks to hongjoongs prying hands.

As if on cue. Yunhos head pops in through the door, when he pushes it open, seonghwas right behind him holding a tray. They must be the only ones to know you're awake, because all the sudden, the thumping of the guys rushing into the hallway make you realize you're awake and coherent and they're most likely coming to check up on you.

Hongjoong laughs at the sound as if this is some goofy cartoon, sitting up along with you. Seonghwa dips the platter on the bed, sliding it to you when he takes a criss crossed seat on the end. Smiling gently. “Hi hwa” you greet, wrapping your arms around him over the tray, you can't help it. You plant a kiss on his cheek. He beams, patting your hip and looking back down at the tray to make sure it didn't spill. Pancakes and an array of sausages, fruits. A meal fit for a goddess. Compared to easy snacks and reheatable meals you had for your first heat- this is heaven on your bed. You feel so very greatful. “thank you” you reach for his hand. Squeezing it gently. He smiles, shyly looking down.

You finish the last of your food. Syrup still sticking to the corner of your lips. Joong had gotten up to stop the fighting of yunho and the guys, taking your tray with you. Yunho had stepped back to fight off the rest of the crew, like he was your protective shield whilst you ate, you can still hear wooyoung, mingi, and san whining. Seonghwa took his seat in joongs spot, too far away from you. You have to scoot up over to him for him to get what you're doing. He meets you halfway. Looking you over.

“You don't smell like sex” you cough. Sputtering, covering your mouth with your hand so you're not accidentally spitting on him. Seonghwa laughs, plump lips pulled into a smile over his cheeks. “Hongjoong said give him a few minutes so..” he nodded in thought, pinching his fingers together over his lap. “for some reason i don't think hongjoong can finish that fast,” is your face on fire? You're so very warm with seonghwas casual words.

“I finish that fast” you spurt out. God, are you digging yourself a hole to die in? Seonghwa looks the least bit shocked, if not somewhat happy at your words that have you internally crying from embarrassment. “Then you're well taken care of.” he nods, taking your hand in his. “yeosang’s running a bath for you. Should be ready.” he intertwines your hands in his, fingers spreading over yours. Hwas other thumb reaches to swipe the syrup from the corner of your mouth, popping it into his after to suck off the residue. Oof- as if that's not equally as sexy as hwa is.

“Let's get you cleaned up angel”

A/n; I'm so sorry. (Nu-uh). this is posted as soon as I tag n all that jazz so I can sleep when it goes out ☺️ I spent all night writing this(I'm a whore) and I had to step away a few times to collect myself. Gifs are edits, I turn them into gifs/edit gifs (ily editors!) Comments push my motivation, thank you all,, muwah. P.s would yall be upset if seonghwa had an oppa kink(theres proof I'm p sure help)

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[upat4amwiththemoon]

The stars

Summary: I see my lover when I look at the stars.

Pairing: Carol Danvers x female!reader

Warnings: sexism, men, it’s the 80s, some angst

Word count: 3902

a/n: second chance romance trope, I’m so happy with this you guys!!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

1985

Pancho’s bar wasn’t the fanciest place to work at as a young woman, especially because most of the customers are men from the air force. Their favorite past time besides drinking is trying to seduce Y/N, and get her number. But she isn’t interested in them, and never will be, though that’s something she’ll keep to herself. At least the constant flirting leads to good tips, which will eventually help her get out of the bar.

Y/N dries a glass with a rag now that she has some downtime. The rush time will start soon, so she wants to prepare for it to the best of her abilities. There are few regulars sitting either at a table or by the bar, but she knows they’ll let her know if they need anything, otherwise they like to quietly drink to their sorrows.

When the bell by the door rings, Y/N quickly glances at the new customers way, she only sees the air force logo on their clothes, making her roll her eyes. They’re out early today. She sets the cleans classes to their places and washes her hands, taking a deep breath, she gets ready for the onslaught of vulgar words.

“Hey, could we get two beers?”

Her head snaps up when she hears the feminine voice. Two women are standing in front of her with the air force clothes on and friendly smiles on their faces. Y/N stares at them with wide eyes for a moment. Sure every now and then women wonder into the bar, but she has never seen air force women come in.

Y/N regains her composure and grabs two beer glasses. “Sure thing! Which beers would you like?” Her customer service voice is cheery and slightly more high pitched than her normal one.

“Sierra Nevada, please.”

“Coming right up.” As Y/N moves to the taps to pour the beers, the two women start whispering and throwing looks between each other. Without Y/N noticing, the blonde woman’s gaze moves to places her eyes shouldn’t go. “Here you go.” She sets the beers in front of them.

“Thanks,” the woman glances at Y/N’s name tag, “Y/N. I’m Carol.” She hands some bills to pay for both of the drinks. “And this is Maria.” Carol states when she gets nudged to her side by the other woman.

“Nice to meet you.” Y/N says, her voice slower as she tries to figure out her intentions. Carol’s tone is similar to the multiple men who like flirt with her, though more genuine sounding, but surely that’s not what she is doing with her. “Here’s your change.”

“Keep it.” Carol winks before she and Maria go over to a table and sit down, leaving flustered Y/N at the bar.

She pockets the tip and start rearranging the dishes, trying to occupy her mind from wandering to incredibly good looking Carol.

When the clock strikes midnight, the bar is already at full swing. People are dancing to the loud music coming from the jukebox, and occasional bursts of laughter can be heard from the tables full of men, drunk men.

Y/N has been moved from behind the bar to the floor, bringing back empty classes and taking people’s drink orders. Because the other workers are men, they believe having a woman on the floor is better for business.

“Hey, sweetheart!” A drunken air force soldier shouts from a table full of them. He is waving his hand around in a come here motion. With a sigh, Y/N puts on her best smile and makes her way over to their table. “How much for a pretty girl like you to sit with us?” He waves a wad of cash in the air, his mouth formed in a grin that show his teeth. The others are staring at the two like it’s the best entertainment they’ve ever seen.

“Unfortunately I don’t have time to sit with customers. Is there anything else I could get you?” She smiles, holding a tray under her arm. She wants out of the situation, not liking the feeling of all the men’s eyes on her.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart.” The way the man says sweetheart makes Y/N want to gag. “Aren’t you supposed to do anything the customer want, eh? Besides, girls love money, don’t they?”

“I have to go help other customers, let me know if you want more drinks or something to eat.”

As Y/N goes to walk away from the table, the man grabs her arm. “Well hold on a second,” he slurs his words, “I ain’t done with you yet.”

Huffing, she glares at the man. She’s starting to get annoyed. “Listen, mister, I’m working right now, and have to attend to other customers as well.” Her voice has lost its cheery tone. “So, let me go.”

“Ooh, feisty!” One of the other man at the table comments. It makes the other laugh loudly, and enrages Y/N. She is aware this is a man’s world, but she is not going to be their entertainer.

Before Y/N can retaliate, someone else steps in to her rescue. “Hey. She said to let her go.” Carol stands next to her with her back straightened and shoulders pulled back. “So let her go.” Her voice is low, and her eyes are cold. She looks like someone you don’t want to mess around with.

“Well look at you,” the man scoffs, “it’s the wannabe soldier.” He sneers.

“Let the lady go, I’m warning you.”

“Oh, you’re warning me?” He stands up, still holding onto Y/N’s arm. All the humor has left him. “And what are you going to do about it?” He stands slightly taller than Carol, but it doesn’t seem to deter her.

The tension between the two start to grow. Y/N stands there, frozen, keeping her eyes on Carol. She doesn’t want to deal with this right now, her shift is supposed to end soon.

Suddenly, Carol raises her fist, and punches the man square in the jaw. He stumbles backwards into the chair he was sitting in, finally letting go of Y/N. “You bitch!” He shouts, wiping blood away from his lip. He goes to stand up, but before the situation escalates any further, one of the other bar workers come to escort him out.

“You okay?” Carol turns to look at Y/N once the men are out of the bar.

“Yeah,” she rubs the spot the man was holding onto, “thanks for helping.” Her mouth grows into a small smile. “That was kinda amazing.”

Grinning, Carol shrugs. “I have a things for saving pretty ladies who happen to work at this bar.”

Y/N lets out a small laugh as she shakes her head. “Okay, superhero.” Her voice is playful, but she can feel her cheeks flushing. “I have to get back to work now.”

“When do you get off?” Carol follows Y/N around while she picks up empty glasses.

“In twenty minutes.”

“I’ll walk you home,” she states, “me and Maria, I mean. You shouldn’t walk alone this late at night.”

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek. She glances at Carol, feeling warmth rush over her body when she sees the hopeful look on her face. “Alright. I’ll see you in twenty.” Giving her a smile, she returns back behind the bar.

Carol has a huge grin on her face as she stares at Y/N work. “What did I miss?” Maria walks over to her, having been occupied by beating a man’s ass in pool.

“We’re walking her home.”

Maria glances at Y/N, and nudges Carol’s side with a smirk. “You like her.”

“Maybe.”

1987

The front door of Y/N’s small, crappy apartment slams shut as she comes home from her shift at Pancho’s bar. It’s late at night, Y/N is exhausted, and she is sweaty, and she just wants to fall asleep without worrying about anything.

She throws her keys somewhere on top of the dresser she has next to her front door, and kicks her work shoes out of her feet. “Jesus!” A shout leaves out of her mouth when she turns around. Carol is standing there with a sheepish smile and a bouquet of flowers. “You scared the crap out of me.” She mumbles, holding a hand on her racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry.” Carol sets the flowers next to Y/N’s key. “You gave me a key, so I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t remember you were working so late.” Her voice isn’t radiating the confidence it usually is. It’s softer and nervous.

The bouquet is big, it has more flowers Y/N has ever gotten before, and it’s wrapped with pink paper. “Thank you.” She smiles, picking up the bouquet and going to her so-called kitchen to put the flowers in a vase.

Carol follows her, staying close by, but still giving her space, she can see how tense Y/N’s body is. “Tough day at work?”

“Something like that.”

It turns quiet while Y/N fills a vase with water from the tap. The apartment doesn’t have any separate rooms besides the bathroom. All the kitchen appliances, a bed, small couch and a television are within reach of each other. It’s definitely not something Y/N wants to spend her whole life in, but she can survive in it, and that’s enough for now.

“How long were you waiting?” The vase gets set down to the single counter she has in the kitchen area.

Glancing at the clock, Carol hums. “Like, a couple of hours, maybe.”

“Carol,” Y/N sighs and rubs the space between her eyes, “you should’ve gone to sleep, don’t you need to be at the base tomorrow?”

“I took a day off.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To spend time with you.” The way Carol’s voice is so gentle makes Y/N want to cry after the day she has had.

Today’s shift felt ten times worse than any other shift in the past, it was full of drunk men and angry customers who genuinely believed in the fact that customer is always right, even when they aren’t. On top of that, her manager thinks the customers are more important than his employees, so he always found a way to satisfy the angry customers, which made them see Y/N as the bad guy.

“Hey,” Carol’s hands go to her cheeks, rubbing them softly, “why are you crying?”

“Sometimes I can’t handle it all.” She gets pulled into a warm embrace. “I was supposed to get out of here ages ago and see the world, but I just can’t get out of here.” Y/N sobs quietly, trying to hold herself back so she wouldn’t ruin Carol’s clothes with her tears and snot.

But Carol doesn’t care. One of her hands is rubbing Y/N’s back, while the other rests at the back of her head. She stays quiet, letting Y/N sob it all out in peace.

The two have been officially seeing each other for a while now. For the first year and a half they mostly danced around each other, both too anxious to make the first move in case they got the wrong impression, and the other person wasn’t interested in women after all. However, during that time, they became very close friends, so when Carol finally did do the first move—thanks to Maria—they moved forward pretty quickly.

Once Y/N tears start to subside, Carol whispers, “take a shower, I’ll make you a snack and ready your bed for us, okay?” Y/N nods, gives her a small peck to the cheek, and makes her way towards the bathroom.

Carol and Y/N are laying on top of each other on the bed as they watch a random movie that’s on one of the night channels. They should be asleep, but they really wanted to spend time with each other, as they don’t have a lot of opportunities to do so.

“Can i ask you something?” Y/N’s quiet voice almost goes past Carol.

“Yeah.”

“Why air force?”

“I’ve always wanted to fly.”

“Isn’t it scary?”

“No.” Carol smiles. She loves the feeling of being free in the air, having the possibility to go anywhere in the world she desires. Y/N hums quietly, not saying anything. “Why do you ask?” Carol tries to move her head in a way she’d be able to see Y/N’s face in the light coming from the television, while not disturbing her position on top of her.

“I just think it’s dangerous is all.”

“Are you worried about me?” She grins.

Y/N’s hand is resting under Carol’s shirt, tracing different shapes on her side. “Kind of hard not to be when i’m in love with you.” She whispers. The grin on Carol’s face falls at the words. She isn’t sure if she even heard her correctly, but she really hopes she did. Y/N moves her head up to see her. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The sentence assures Carol she heard correctly. “You won’t lose me, because I’ll always come back home to you. I love you.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

They kiss, both feeling the smiles on each other’s faces. Carol tightens her arms around Y/N as they pull away. She closes her eyes and listens to the soft sounds of Y/N’s breathing melting in with the sounds of the television, as they fall asleep.

1989

Y/N paces around her house, ruining her nails by biting them. Her eyes are locked on her phone. She is waiting for a call, from anyone, as long as someone calls her and tells her she is overthinking things, that Carol is okay. She has called Maria three times by now, and the air force base once, but none of the calls have been successful.

Carol was supposed to come over four hours ago, straight from work, but she hasn’t arrived yet, nor has she called Y/N to let her know she’ll be late, that’s what she usually does.

Groaning, Y/N picks up the phone and punches in Maria’s number, calling her again. “Come on, come on.” She mumbles, tapping her foot to the ground in a rapid pace. “Damn it!” The phone drops to the table with a crash, few plastic pieces flying off of it from the impact.

No one is answering.

She sits down to the couch, it creaks slightly every time someone moves on it, which had led to some uncomfortable make out sessions with Carol.

Most of her nails are already too short to bite, so she moves to the skin around her them, biting them until she bleeds. Her eyes are locked onto the muted television, desperately trying to distract herself from her thoughts. She is aware of her tendency to overthink and catastrophize things, she always thinks Carol is dead if she hasn’t called by the time she promised to, but that was never the actual situation. This is the same case. Carol isn’t dead, she just got caught up at the base. Nothing horrible has happened.

A knock on the door makes her body relax. Carol is finally here. She lets out a relieved laugh and goes to open the door, however, her face turns to a frown once she notices Maria standing behind it.

“Hey, where’s Carol?”

Maria looks tired. “Can I come inside?” As Y/N nods, she steps in and looks at the floor. “I think you should sit down.”

“Maria-“

“Please,” she looks up at her, “sit down.”

Y/N sits back down on the couch, while Maria stays standing up. She is gathering her thoughts while trying to take deep breaths. “Carol volunteered to pilot with Doctor Wendy Lawson on something important, and the plane, uhm..it-“

“Don’t you dare say it, Maria.” There are tears gathering in the corners of Y/N’s eyes. She knows where this is going, but she wishes she didn’t.

“The plane crashed.” Maria sits down next to Y/N when she starts properly crying. “They couldn’t find anyone, Carol is classified dead. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I wanted to come tell you because no one else would’ve.” No one else knows about their relationship.

Not being able to say anything, Y/N just leans against Maria, who has started crying as well. The person they both consider closest to them, is dead.

1995

It has been a week since Carol helped the Skrulls to get out of the Kree’s line of fire, which means it’s been a week since she got her memories back. Ever since then, only one thing has been in her mind, her lover.

It’s early morning as Carol and Maria drink coffee in the latter’s kitchen, Monica still sound asleep upstairs. “What happened with Y/N when I disappeared?” Carol asks, her voice quite hesitant.

Maria sets her cup down. “I’m not sure. She was obviously pretty devastated when I told her what had happened.”

“She doesn’t still work at Pancho’s, does she?”

“I don’t think so,” Maria frowns, “but Carol, I haven’t talked to her in a long time. She stopped answering my calls three years ago. I don’t know where she is, or how she’s doing.”

Sighing, Carol stands up. “I have to find her.”

Naturally, the first place Carol goes to is Y/N’s apartment, though she really hopes she won’t find her there, that she moved on and started travelling the world like she planned to.

She knocks on the door and waits. Nothing happens, so she knocks again, just in case. She’s almost ready to let out a sigh of relief, but soft sound of footsteps coming from inside the apartment stop her. As the steps grow closer, a small, selfish part of her wishes it’s Y/N who opens the door.

Somehow she feels more pain than relief when the door opens, and Y/N stands before her.

They stare at each other, both stunned by the sight in front of them. Y/N has bags under her eyes, and her hair is messy. She is wearing an old t-shirt that once belonged to Carol, her legs are bare.

She goes to slam the door closed, thinking she has finally gone mad, but Carol’s hand stops it from moving. “You aren’t real.” Y/N’s voice is shaky. Her eyes are closed, she doesn’t want to see the person standing in front of her, because it can’t possibly be Carol.

“I’m real.” Carol whispers, but Y/N only shakes her head as an answer. “I didn’t die, I was captured by Krees after we crashed.”

“You aren’t making any sense, you aren’t real.”

“Can you let me in, please?” Gently, Carol sets her hand on top of Y/N’s hand, that is still holding onto the door. The touch makes Y/N open her eyes, and turn them towards Carol. She stares at her for a long while before opening the door wider.

As Carol walks inside the familiar apartment, she looks around for any changes, but it looks exactly the same as it did six years ago. She hates it. While Carol walks deeper into the tiny apartment, Y/N stays by the front door. Her arms are crossed over her chest in a protective kind of way.

“You weren’t supposed to stay here.”

“I couldn’t leave y-“ she stops herself, “Carol.” She isn’t entirely sure if the woman in her house truly is her Carol. “What happened? Who are the Kree?”

“It’s a long story.” She has a gentle grin on her face, one that reminds Y/N so much of the way Carol used to look at her. “You might want to sit down for it.” Y/N shakes her head, staying right where she is. Carol frowns, but nods, sitting down to the couch. It still creaks anytime weight gets put on it. “Shorter version of it is: when we crashed, Dr. Lawson told me the truth about her mission before he was shot by a Kree. Before he could kill me too, I destroyed an engine, which made me absorb energy of a Tesseract, so the Kree took me with him to their planet Hala. I was integrated to their society, I had no memories of my human life. A bunch of years later, I crashed back to Earth, a lot of fighting happened, I discovered my true power and my memories, and helped the Skrulls.”

“I don’t know what any of that means.” Y/N whispers. Any time Carol used to talk about air force things with her, she felt dumb, but all of this is making her think they aren’t even speaking the same language anymore.

“I was in space, and I have powers now.”

“Like a superhero?”

Carol smiles, nodding. “Yeah, I’m a real life superhero now.”

“You already were a superhero in my eyes.”

Standing up, she takes a few tentative steps towards her. All she wants to do is hold her, kiss her, tell her she’ll never leave her again. But Carol can still see the hesitation in Y/N’s eyes, she can see the years of pain and exhaustion in her expression.

“But then you died.”

Carol stops. She’s close to Y/N, but too far away to touch her. Oh, how desperately she just wants to feel her soft skin under her palm again, even if the years without her have hardened it. “I’m here now.” She pleads with her eyes—please believe me.

“You won’t stay,” Y/N states quietly, “if you’re a hero now.”

“I can take you with me, wherever I go. I won’t leave you again. I’ll help you get out of this place.” Carol takes another few steps forward, reaching her hand towards Y/N. “Please give me another chance.”

Y/N stares at her hand. It’s more calloused than before, rougher. She grips the skin on top of her ribs tightly, trying to ground herself, she feels like ripping herself apart.

“Please.” Her voice cracks. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears. “I can’t live without you.”

Y/N grabs her hand with her own shaking one. Carol squeezes with a smile, pulling her close slow enough that Y/N can stop her if she wishes to. Once they are chest against chest, she pulls her into a full embrace. The waterworks start from the both of them the second they’re in each other’s arms. Carol letting out all of the pent up grief she wasn’t even aware she had, and Y/N still trying to grasp the reality of the situation.

“I missed you.” Y/N chokes out between her sobs. “I missed you so much.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Carol holds onto her girl so tightly, pressing her against her body like she’d disappear if she let go. “I’m going to show you the world now, because you deserve so much better than this place. I’ll never let you go.”

Although, Y/N doesn’t trust in promises anymore, some small part inside of her sparks hope, that she’ll truly never be separated from Carol again. She’ll even go all the to the stars for her if she has to.

[sleep-i-ness]

Room Service (Sirius Black x reader)

Synopsis: Marlene, your best friend and roommate, has gone to class and left you with her mess to clean up.

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

“You have to be kidding me.” You stared at the drunk man passed out on her bed. “Hey, Marlene, I think you forgot something!”

Your roommate did not reply, not that you had expected her to when you’d been awoken by the door slamming shut. She had returned at 4am, making such a racket that you were startled awake, the thought of burglars jumping through your mind. Until you heard the giggles and loud shushing. This must have been Marlene’s latest. It wasn’t that you minded; well, at least you’d known what you’d be getting into when you agreed to live with Marlene, but this hadn’t been part of the agreed roommate duties.

You'd like to say that this was the first time that this had every happened, that Marlene had brought a guy back in the knowledge that you were sleep next door, fully aware that you had a 10am class. But when she regularly woke up after a late night of partying for her morning run and 9am lecture, you didn't expect her to really understand. And sure, she had let you kick her out before, and hadn't complained about you bashing around in the kitchen until the early hours of the morning when you were too stressed to do anything other than bake. But it wasn't exactly on par with the level of noise that you had to deal with.

The door had swung open, and the sound of her hushed giggling had your groaning; the walls were so thin you could hear the creak of her bedsprings as they tumbled onto her bed, the squeak of movement, and you'd covered your head with your pillow.

And now you were here. With a drunk man, who, despite your reservations, really couldn’t be left alone to sleep his way through the morning. Who knows what he'd do? Or where he'd vomit. You shuddered at the thought.

Your phone buzzed and you tapped at the screen, groaning at the rather apologetic message from Marlene. "I'm so sorry, I had to dash, please, please get the man out of our flat. I'll owe you big time."

You rolled your eyes, and took a step into Marlene's room, noting with distaste the clothes strewn all over. And then took a deep breath as you spotted the pair of men's boxers just lying out in the open. A drunk unconscious man was one thing. A naked drunk unconscious man was entirely another.

You crossed the room, sidestepping the discarded underwear and crouched beside the bed, suddenly grateful that at least Marlene had left a water bottle beside the bed.

You tapped him on the shoulder. No response. Shaking him slightly, you frowned at the complete lack of movement. You hated to think what that meant for Marlene last night. In all fairness, the noise hadn't gone on for long, which you'd been thankful for at the time, but now you could probably chalk that up to something entirely separate.

Sighing, you turned your back on the man for a moment, shuffling around the room to pick up what you assumed to be his clothes. If Marlene had left you to deal with this, she could deal with you accidentally giving her stuff to him anyway.

With a deep breath, you pulled the covers off the man, turning your head away from the sight of the lower part of his body with a grimace. No, you certainly did not want to see that.

"Okay," you murmured, staring at the pair of boxers in your hand and then looking back at the man. "Let's get you dressed."

It would be a lot easier to deal with a dressed man, yes. You hooked one leg hole of the boxers over his leg, and then the other, lifting each limb to shimmy them up his body.

"Uh, hello?" the man slurred, and you jumped, backing away from him.

"So, you think you can get yourself dressed?"

"Uh," came his rather intelligent response as he looked down at himself, and then stumbled to his feet, tripping over the boxers as he did so.

"Woah, woah," you rushed forward to catch him before he tipped onto his face; you were not taking him to A&E if he broke his nose. Together you managed to pull the boxers up round his waist and you sighed with relief. Not naked anymore. You could deal with this.

“I think I’m gonna be-” the man clasped a hand over his mouth, body convulsing as he retched and you jumped back in disgust, grabbing the nearest receptacle to hold out in front of him. Marlene could buy a new bin.

You grimaced as he fell back onto the bed, clutching the bin as he went down still retching. He pushed himself up, pinning the bin between his knees and leaning over it, dark hair hanging around his face. The retching subsided after a minute and the man placed the bin down on the floor delicately, looking up at you with a grey pallor to his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, at least having the decency to seem sort of sheepish.

“Do you think we can get you dressed now?”

He nodded vigorously, and then groaned, hitting his head back against the wall with a thunk. You rolled your eyes; what a start to the morning. The clock on Marlene’s bedside table read 7:43 and you were at least grateful that you had a good two hours before class. Plenty of time to get him out, although with the lack of coherent movement from him, you doubted it would be an easy feat.

You sighed and grabbed his trousers from where they lay on the opposite side of the room, laying them out at his feet for him to give it a go. He just stared at them. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Grumbling under your breath, you began to yank them up his legs, stopping when you got to his knees and just looking at him with raised eyebrows.

He stared back at you, forehead wrinkled. And then jolted, pulling himself to his feet where you could continue to manoeuvre the trousers up. Why did he have to have such tight trousers? It was taking real effort to get them up over his body.

The rest of his clothes followed a similar pattern; you would offer them to him, he would look at it dumbly and you would just sigh and dress him. It was like the dolls you used to play with as a kid, if they were a fully grown man who was a lot less pliant.

“Who do you live with?”

“With Prongs,” the man mumbled, lying stretched out on the bed again.

You rolled your eyes. At this rate they were going to get permanently stuck that way. “Prongs?”

And that was how you met James Potter at about half eight in the morning, in his dressing gown and bedhead. He blinked at you blearily from the doorway, mouth opening and then closing again. In all fairness, this probably wasn’t the best first impression; you still in your pyjamas and trying your hardest to hide the grumpy expression on your face.

You would’ve felt guilty if it weren’t for the look of realisation dawning across his face at the sight of the man leaning on you.

“I’ve got something that I think belongs to you.” You pushed the man into him, trying to hide a snort as he stumbled into James’ arms.

“Sirius,” he sighed. James righted Sirius, pushing him to lean against a wall and ignoring how he slid down onto the floor with a soft thud. “I’m sorry.”

James rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for bringing him back. He usually manages to make his way home at some point in the morning, but he’s never had a girl accompany him back.”

You pulled a face. He definitely had gotten the wrong end of the stick, and it filled you with a sort of revulsion, especially having seen him throwing up in your roommate’s bin.

“My roommate had an early class so left me to clean up her,” you waved at Sirius slumped on the floor, “mess.”

He laughed awkwardly, scratching at the back of his mess. The silence dragged on and so you smiled, although you were pretty sure it came out as a grimace. “I’ll be off then. Enjoy.”

“Thanks again!” James called out after you and you just waved him off.

--

You sat on your couch, textbook in hand as you stared at the meaningless words on the page. You couldn't comprehend anything before your eyes; nothing had been going in for the past hour. Most people were out on a Friday night, but the stress of university meant that you were less than willing to sacrifice her learning for partying every night. Marlene believed the complete opposite and thus you saw very little of each other, especially following the incident with Sirius. Tonight, however, was an exception.

"Hey bestie," Marlene wheedled, her tone already insinuating that she wanted something. Plonking herself next to you on the couch, Marlene wrapped her arms around you. "Have I ever told you how much of a great friend you are?"

"Alright, what are you after?” you sighed, shrugging her off. "You only act this clingy when you want something from me."

"Come out with me tonight. You've been cooped up indoors for hours now and you need to let your hair down. There's a gig at the pub, it’s some band with guys from campus and it’s going to be really chill. Dorcas and Lily will be there, you like them, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I really have to work though,” you protested, running your fingers through your unbrushed hair, wincing as they caught on a knot.

“Y/N! You’ve been working all week; you need a break. Trust me, love. Go take a shower and I’ll pick out an outfit for you.” Marlene sighed exasperatedly, pushing you off the sofa as you hesitated. “And I owe you many, many drinks to say thank you.”

“We have two hours to get there,” she hollered up at you. “Even I don’t take that long to get ready, so you have no excuses.”

Stepping into the pub, you weren’t sure how Marlene managed to talk you into this. It was probably the promise of free drinks; she owed you at least until the end of term. The room was packed full of people and if Marlene hadn’t been holding her arm, you would’ve been lost instantly. Marlene lit up, waving frantically at a group in the back – you were too far away still to be sure, but you were almost certain that it would consist of at least Dorcas and Lily and whichever other poor friends they’d managed to drag along.

“Lily! Dorcas! Mary!” Marlene squealed, bounding forward to hug them. “Look at us! The gang all back together!”

You laughed; although you would never admit it to Marlene, you were sort of glad that she’d dragged you out. You never really got to see the others much anymore, but you’d all been thick as thieves at school together and it had been a real shame to drift once you’d gone off to separate London unis.

“Oh my God.” Marlene stopped dead in her tracks, any excitement completely wiped from her as she stared at something behind you, eyes wide. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hide me, he’s here.”

“Who?” You turned around, scanning the crowd for whichever one of Marlene’s hookups had emerged. Not that you necessarily knew what all of them looked like; more just how they had sounded. Well, not like that.

“Sirius Black,” she groaned, hiding her face in Lily’s shoulder. “I don’t want to see him.”

Your eyes caught on the very familiar face, and you winced as you watched him weave through the crowd, followed by James. He looked a lot better not throwing up in your bin, you mused, and then froze with horror as he made eye contact with you. And winked.

Disgusting.

James followed Sirius’ gaze and laughed, turning to whisper something in Sirius’ ear, who stumbled slightly in response. And then straightened and started towards you.

“Marlene,” you reached out your arm behind you, feeling around as you tried to pat her. “Marlene, he’s coming over here.”

“What?” She sat bolt upright and shook her head. “No, I’m out of here.”

You spun round, eyes wide. “You can’t just leave me, he’s your hook-up.”

“Not my problem anymore. One-night stands should stay as one-night stands.” And she slid out of her chair and away from the table, Dorcas and Mary trailing after her. The traitors. You stared at Lily who just shrugged, with a sort of resigned you-know-what-Marlene-is-like expression, and then glanced behind you with an odd little smirk. Of course she was enjoying this.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You spun around, grimacing at the sight of Sirius Black. It was a shame how pretty he was, it made it harder to be irritated by him. But then you pictured the image of him throwing up in your bin and that feeling was very quickly squashed.

“Prongs says I know you,” he glanced back, and you followed his gaze to see James smirking at the pair of you. You flipped him off and he laughed. “Won’t tell me how. Care to elaborate? Did we, uh-”

“No,” you scoffed, mouth twisting into a grimace. And then you smirked. “I don’t know if you remember my flatmate, Marlene; she’s gone off somewhere. I had to evict you from our flat the next day.”

He frowned. Opened his mouth. And then closed it again.

“I think we really got to know each other when you threw up in our bin. Or maybe when you were still too drunk to get dressed by yourself so sort of lay there like a Ken doll.” You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, delighting in the look of horror dawning across his face. Oh, he deserved this.

Sirius rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m going to need another drink to hear the rest of this.”

“I’ll have a vodka lemonade.”

He sighed. “I’ll make it a double.”

[ohbo-ohno]

lamb to the slaughter

summary: Recently injured, discharged, and desperate for money, Johnny manages to find a job at a local prison by calling in a favor. What seems like just the blessing he needs to get himself back on his feet quickly becomes his worst nightmare when one of the prisoners fixates on him in the worst way possible. (or: dark ghoap prison au. mind the tags!)

word count: 26.3k

cw: GRAPHIC NONCON SEX, trans soap, victim blaming, transphobia, watersports, forced feminization, drugged sex, use of the word "faggot" during sex, prisoner ghost/prison guard soap

author's note: many many endless thanks to ceilidh, who served this plot on a silver platter to me when i was complaining pathetcially about being incapable of thinking. also lumi for listening to me scream ily <3 two quick disclaimers: (1) i do not know how prisons work, and i did not google anything about them for this fic bc i knew i’d get bogged down in research lmaoo. this fic goes by my rules, which means everything that happens works for plot convenience and not by any real world logic. (2) this plot is held together by duct tape and sex scenes, pls do not come here looking for a rich story

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

The man in front of Johnny is familiar. Not because they’ve met before, but because he’d spent nearly a decade surrounded by men just like Herschel Shepherd - tall, broad, commanding assholes like him had been his least favorite part of being enlisted.

Johnny spent his entire military career being doubted and underestimated by mirror images of the man in front of him. He sees the doubt now in the way Shepherd looks at him, the way his eyes linger on Johnny’s middle and the quick expression of shock when he’d walked in the door and stood eye-level with the ex-General. 

It makes him want to let his lip curl, to bite out something insulting, but this is his only worthwhile job prospect so he holds his tongue and shifts in the uncomfortable chair set in front of the dark wood desk.

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, folding his hands over his stomach and leaning back in his seat. His shirt is tugged tight over his abdomen, almost pulled out from where it’s tucked in his pants. Johnny wonders if he’ll try and get in shape again when he realizes, or if he’ll fully let himself go and embrace the beer-belly he’s halfway to. “I’ll be honest with you, MacTavish - if you didn’t come highly recommended, I wouldn’t consider you for a second.”

Johnny barely keeps from snorting. That’s certainly an interesting way to say if I didn’t owe John Price a near unrepayable favor I’d laugh you out of the building .

“I know, sir.”

“We’ve never hired someone with your…” Shepherd pauses, bites his tongue like he’s tasting something nasty. “ Condition .”

Johnny resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I know, sir.”

Shepherd looks like he wants to say something about Johnny’s tone, and he probably would have were they still in the military. But in the concrete walls of his office, he only sighs and sits forward, forehead creasing. “I suppose you’re lucky you’re so tall. The inmates might not even notice.”

Johnny wants to say obviously, you wanker, I’ve been injecting hormones into myself for over a decade and I’m taller than you are .But he can’t say that, or anything like it. The fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter how tall he is, or how long he’s been on testosterone, or how muscular he is - because Shepherd already knows what he was born as, and nothing else will matter to a man stuck so firmly in the past.

That had been one of the only things Johnny was looking forward to outside of the military - the chance to meet people who didn’t know he was transgender before he could even introduce himself. In the service, every superior he’d ever served under knew he had transitioned before they knew anything else about him. It had never mattered that he could hardly look less like a woman, they were going to treat him differently because of something he never could have controlled. The thought of his first boss as a civilian only seeing the M on his ID, of not dealing with the shock and confusion and inevitable prejudice that come with being trans, was one of the sole bright spots he’d thought of after being discharged.

He grits his teeth now, sitting in a shitty chair with cracking vinyl in a superior officer’s barren office. Somehow, thousands of miles away from any military base he was ever stationed at, Johnny feels like he never fucking left the service. His knee twinges in pain and he barely manages to keep from shifting to try and ease it. 

“Folks usually cannae tell,” he finally replies. “Not unless someone tells them.”

Shepherd catches the implication in his tone and nods to himself, letting his head roll to the side. “You’re a surprise hire, so the other guards won’t know of course. It’s probably for the best if you keep it that way.”

“Probably,” Johnny agrees, just barely keeping the sarcasm from his voice. He tacks on a, “Sir,” for good measure. 

Shepherd eyes him again, scanning him head to toe like he can see all of Johnny’s weak spots. It takes effort not to shift in place and stretch his stiffening knee. The damn thing hasn’t stopped aching since he was let out of the hospital, even with the painkillers he takes daily. He worries about how much worse it’ll be when he runs out.

Finally, Shepherd grunts and stands, leaning his weight against palms laid flat on the desk. “You’re dismissed, MacTavish. Officer Garrick will be waiting for you just down the hall. He’ll give you a tour and help you get settled”

Johnny nods and stands, finding himself grateful when Shepherd doesn’t offer a hand to shake. Neither of them are under any illusions that the other wants them there, and Johnny’s glad he’s not expected to pretend this is anything but his final resort. There’s no coming up with a lie about how he wants this job, no pretending his strengths and weaknesses fit into this career - just a silent acknowledgment of an owed favor and a contract with his name signed on the dotted line. 

He lets Shepherd’s office door close behind him and takes a deep, stabilizing breath, a modicum of tension melting from his shoulders. 

The air in the prison is warm and stale, and Johnny feels like he can’t quite get a full breath in because of it. The halls are suspiciously silent, and if he were still a betting man he’d say the air conditioning has gone out and left the whole building just past the point of comfortably warm. 

His steps are near silent as he walks back the way he came, his old training keeping the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It’s a conscious effort to keep from limping at all, and his right knee screams at him for it.

Johnny’s determined not to show any weakness, though. He can sit on his ass as much as wants to give his bum knee a break - after work. But here in this building, he knows he can’t can’t show such an obvious weak point.

The man waiting for him at the end of the hall strikes the same chord in Johnny’s mind as Shepherd had - they both look like men straight out of the military. Garrick is a few inches taller than Johnny, with buzzed black hair and a dark complexion. 

“Hey,” the man smiles, standing from his relaxed position against the wall once Johnny gets within a few feet of him. “Officer MacTavish, right?”

“That’s me,” Johnny confirms, holding a hand out for a quick but firm shake. “You’re Garrick, then?”

“Call me Gaz.” Garrick smiles, wide and easy, showing off teeth just slightly crooked in his mouth. Johnny smiles back, almost surprising himself with how easy it comes. “It’s my callsign, from when I was enlisted. Nothing else ever quite feels as natural, least not when I’m armed like this.” He laughs, open and light, and Johnny finds more of his tension easing away.

“You can call me Soap, then,” he says, falling into step beside Gaz as the man leads him down the hall. 

“Alright, Soap, I’ll be showing you around and giving you a quick rundown of everything you’ll be expected to do. You ready?”

“Course. Lead the way, Officer.”

———————————————————————

The job ends up being easier than Johnny expected. He almost wants to turn to Gaz and say that’s it? You just want me to babysit these killers all day? Is that really all you do? But even Johnny’s rusty - and that’s being kind - social skills tell him that would be a step too far on his first day.

Gaz tells him that the first few weeks will be easy, that Johnny will mostly just be expected to travel with a pack of other guards and act as an extra set of eyes. He’s to go where his CO tells him to go, watch who his CO tells him to watch, and do what his CO tells him to do. Really, it’s nothing too different than he’s been doing for the last decade - except here there are no targets , only prisoners, and his objective is to keep them alive instead of killing them. 

Quite frankly, it all sounds boring to him. The thought of standing around for hours on end and watching prisoners just go about their day-to-day lives sounds like hell on both his bad knee and his attention span, and Johnny’s far from eager to start his new job.

But it’s the only place he’s found that’ll pay him nearly enough. Anywhere else, and he’d have to stop sending money to Nan, and it’s not like any of his cousins would be decent enough to pick up the slack - they’ve long since proved that they’ll smoke or gamble any spare change away before taking care of anyone else. So if he wants to keep the lights on for his family, he’s not getting out of here before any of the prisoners.

“We really don’t have much of a behavior issue here,” Gaz says on their way out, the sun just beginning to set as they stop just outside the door. “The prisoners have their own hierarchy, and they tend to keep themselves in line. But when they don’t-” Here he smirks, sending a conspiratorial look Johnny’s way. “Well, that’s what the baton and taser are for. Don’t be afraid to use them if you need to, alright?”

“I’m not worried,” Johnny says, waving the other man off. “Plenty of the men I was deployed with probably shoulda been locked up, same as these blokes. If I can’t handle them, I’m worse off than I could’ve thought.” 

They share a laugh, and Johnny can physically feel some of the weight lifting off his shoulders when he realizes he doesn’t have to force it. Maybe the new job won’t be so bad if he can make some real friends.

The thought tugs him to a stop, stalling his laughter. Friends. It’s been nearly a decade since he’d had a friend. His fellow soldiers were brothers in arms at best, despised acquaintances at worst. The prospect of having a coworker he’s truly amicable with, someone he’d maybe go out for drinks with, gives him more hope for life as a civilian than any mandated therapy session ever had.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gaz says, once they’ve both stopped laughing. “Where you parked?”

“Oh, uh- I’m takin’ the bus for a bit. Car’s in the shop,” Johnny explains, wincing internally at the lie. He’ll have to come up with something a little more permanent before long, but the explanation is satisfactory enough for now.

“You sure?” Gaz’s brows furrow a bit, in what reads to Johnny as genuine concern. “I don’t mind giving you a ride, the bus is quite a walk.”

“I’ll be fine, mate,” he reassures, clapping Gaz on the shoulder and turning away, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, yeah? See you then.”

He doesn’t wait for the other man’s response, just wraps his jacket tight around himself and tucks his hands beneath his arms. It’s just cool enough for him to shiver, and to wish he’d worn boots instead of runners.

The prison yard is full of inmates as Johnny walks by it - a good distance away from the fence, but still easily visible. He knows they’ll be out for another ten minutes or so after he’s officially off the clock, which means they’ll be locked back in their cells before long.

As soon as one of them catches sight of Johnny - and his ugly khaki uniform - they start howling and shouting through the fence.

“‘Ey, where you goin’ Officer? Headin’ home to your nice mansion?”

“Goin’ back to fuckin’ suburbia, pig?”

“Don’t you come back, damn polis! I see you tomorrow, I’ll make you my bitch!”

Johnny’s lip curls at the insults, and he has to force himself not to shout something back. His pride chafes against his silence, but he knows instigating will only make things worse. Still, he’s tense as he walks, jaw clenched tight enough to give himself a headache when he hears a wolf-whistle as he turns the corner.

Jackasses, all of ‘em, he thinks, only relaxing when he knows he’s no longer within their sight. He can see the bus stop now, even though it’s a few blocks away.

His knee twinges just as the first drop of rain hits his nose and Johnny sighs, hustling as much as his aching leg will allow.

He’s soaked to the bone by the time he finally makes it to the bench. 

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny finds himself in surprisingly high spirits. The bus had been right on time that morning, instead of ten minutes late like it had been the day before, and it’s started to sink in that he’s finally got consistent work - and more importantly, a consistent paycheck. His walk to the bus, and then the prison, is clear and pleasant, not a cloud in the sky.

By the time he finally clocks in, he’s almost walking with a pep in his step. The only thing that clouds his mood is the pain in his right knee - he hadn’t walked as much as he had yesterday since finishing off his physical therapy, and he hasn’t been doing the best at keeping up with his exercises. The joint is stiff and tense today, and it’s harder to mask his limp. Not impossible, but something he has to focus on.

Still, the dull pain isn’t enough to fully cloud his spirits. He picks up his baton and taser from the staff room, clipping them to his belt and smiling at Officer Garrick when the other man steps in.

“Mornin’,” he calls, glad to see the other man step to a cubby right near his to start getting ready for their shift. He counts the keys on his keychain, making sure that they haven’t impossibly disappeared, and hooks it through a belt loop, tugging to check that it’s secure.

“Morning, Soap. I’m glad to see you’re in high spirits.”

“Aye. Got a good night’s sleep, got me ready to take on the day.” It’s a lie - Johnny hasn’t truly gotten a good night’s sleep since he came home. He’d heard similar things from other soldiers, something about a real bed being too comfortable, but he had managed to sleep decently the night before.

“I’m glad. You’re working under Officer Graves today, and… well, he’s not particularly popular with most of the guards.”

Johnny cocks an eyebrow at Gaz, leaning his hip against the counter as the other man readies himself. “Really? I figured I’d still be with you a few more days.”

“Neither of us are that lucky, I’m afraid.” Gaz smiles at him sardonically, then steps back and holds a hand toward the door. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The walk to the lobby of the prison - a large room right before the entrance into the actual prison, but with thick windows to see in - together, both lingering at the back of the small crowd of guards.

Johnny’s boss - Graves, a man he hadn’t met yet but already had a sour opinion of, thanks to Gaz‘s description of him during their tour - stands at the front of the room, reading off job assignments from memory and sending guards into the prison to get ready for the day.

“Garrick, I want you in the yard today. Keep an eye on Vargas - he’s been gettin’ too cocky recently. And then… ah, our new guy.” Graves smiles at Johnny as he stands from his place against the wall. Gaz pats his back heavily as he heads off, and Johnny moves towards his new CO when the shorter man gestures him forward.

“I want you to take food to our guy in solitary,” Graves says, clapping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. He’s got to reach up, since he’s several inches shorter than Johnny, and something about that difference makes his spine straighten. “He’s a mean bastard, but he shouldn’t cause you too much trouble. You won’t get the easy assignments everyday though, rook, so don’t get used to it.”

Johnny just barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “Aye, I’ll manage. Where’s solitary?”

Graves claps him twice more, then steps away. “Read the maps on the wall, MacTavish, it’s not my job to hold your hand,” he says, turning away. “Parra! What’d I say about gettin’ close to the cells like that?”

Johnny grumbles under his breath as he turns to the faded map pinned to the wall. It’s not the easiest thing to read - one corner is unstuck from the wall, and the creases across the whole paper are so deep that certain words are unreadable. But Johnny’s read more confusing under worse circumstances, and it doesn’t take him long to find himself and the cafeteria on the map.

There are a few guards already in the large room when he arrives, most of them paired off among each other and lingering around the edges of the room. He doesn’t bother talking to any of them, and instead heads straight for the assembly-lines of cooks, eager to get his first task done and hopefully get assigned to something he can stand still for.

“Excuse me,” he calls, waving down the first woman to look towards him. “I’m supposed to be taking breakfast to a prisoner in solitary. Have you got that for me?”

The woman he’s speaking to - Rhonda, her name tag says - looks entirely unamused by Johnny’s presence, but she slides a tray of food across to him.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling at her. He’d always enjoyed getting the tougher soldiers to crack when he’d been assigned to their teams. Seeing a burly sniper’s lips finally twitch after days of joking around felt nearly as good as praise from a CO, and something about Rhonda makes Johnny think she’ll be ten times harder to amuse than even the most hardened soldier. “Should I just bring the tray back to you, then?”

She gives him a long look, scanning him head to toe. “You new, then? He’ll give the tray back to you when he’s finished, then you drop it off with the busboy.” She points over to an older man leaned against the counter, cigarette hanging loose from his lips despite the strict ‘no smoking’ policy Johnny had been warned of. He only notices a moment later that the fag is unlit, and the man seems more interested in rolling it between his teeth than smoking it.

“You’re a doll,” he says, winking at Rhonda as he picks up the tray and only grinning more fully when she rolls her eyes and turns away. “Back in a jiffy!”

He’s almost positive he can hear her curse at him under her breath, and that only makes his smile feel more real.

The walk from the cafeteria to solitary isn’t a long one, but it is lonely. Johnny occasionally passes or spots another employee making the rounds, but none of them bother to even acknowledge his presence. After such an open greeting from Gaz, he’d expected most of the guards to be somewhat like him, but he’s quickly finding that it seems to be the opposite. He can’t bring himself to be too disappointed, though - he’s content enough with just one friend for now. He tells himself that he never would have been able to keep up with more than that - he barely keeps contact with family, these days - and pretends he doesn’t feel just the slightest bit disappointed.

The solitary confinement hall has ten cells, five on each side, though only one of them is closed and locked. There’s a guard waiting at one end of the corridor, half-asleep and leaning most of his weight against the wall, but he jerks straight when Johnny clears his throat.

The man has to blink for a minute to clear the sleep from his eyes, and Johnny cocks a brow as he waits.

“Oh, are you here to take over? Good, good, my shift’s already run long and Shepherd’s been a bitch recently about overtime.” The man’s already straightened and several steps away by the time what he’s said clicks in Johnny’s brain.

“I’m not here to take over your shift, mate, I’m just here to give the inmate his…” he trails off as the man doesn’t turn around, fully disappearing around the corner before Johnny can finish his sentence. “...food.”

With a sigh, Johnny turns toward the cells. The doors are all nearly identical, the only thing differentiating them being their signs of wear and the light above their frame - one green, nine red.

Not fully sure what he’s meant to do, Johnny bends to slide the long and thin slot near the ground open, nudging the tray through and wincing when it clatters to the floor. After a moment of silence he stands back up, lingering unsurely.

When the silence stretches a full two minutes, he pulls open the small window at his eye-level, squinting to see into the dark room.

It’s empty.

For a moment, Johnny can do nothing but stare. But no matter how many times he runs his eyes over the same details of the room, they don’t change. Nothing moves, not even a shadow against the wall, and the room appears entirely empty.

“Anybody in there?” He calls, wincing internally at the choice in wording. He sounds like he’s asking if a bathrooms empty, not making sure a likely violent criminal hasn’t fucking escaped.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no response from the empty room.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Had something like this happened in the military, had someone else fucked up so massively that every person even tangentially involved was at risk for punishment, he’d have helped the idiot cover it up and then told everything to Price and let him worry about whether or not it needed to be taken any further.

But here, Johnny can’t put himself at risk. He doesn’t have Price’s reputation to fall back on, doesn’t have tenure or medals or broken records to cushion his fall. If he’s caught in any sort of crossfire here, he’ll lose everything.

He worries his tongue between his teeth, shifting to ease weight off his bad knee. He can’t make any decisions without knowing all the information, so he cautiously unhooks his keyring from his pants and finds the right key, unlocking the cell door.

The hinges are loud as the door eases open, and Johnny only just barely manages to keep from jumping at the broken silence. His palms are beginning to sweat just a bit, but his hands are steady as he just barely cracks the door and steps inside.

He’s hardly a full step into the cell when a hand grabs him by the collar, tugging him into a fist to his eye. Before he can do more than grunt at the burst of pain, he’s shoved face first into the rough cinder block wall, his arms yanked behind him and twisted painfully.

“Fuck!” Johnny hisses, tension lining his every muscle.

The man behind him is silent, but Johnny can feel the long line of him pressed against his spine. He’s a big fucker, not a bit of Johnny’s back isn’t being touched, and he can feel breath ghosting over his mohawk.

“You’re new,” the prisoner says after a long few beats of silence. Johnny bares his teeth against the wall, jerking in the man’s hold. “Ah, ah,” he scolds, tugging Johnny’s wrists back and pushing his shoulders forward with his free hand, tugging his arms uncomfortably in their sockets. “Stay still.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Johnny sneers, dropping his head a bit and allowing his face to twist in discomfort since he knows the prisoner can’t see him. “You’re gonna stay in this hellhole twice as long once Shepherd hears about this, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again, ye bastard.”

“You a snitch?” There’s an amused tinge to the man’s voice, one that has Johnny growling and jerking in his hold again, damp forehead pressed to the wall. “You gonna go tattle on me, Officer? Tell them the big bad prisoner roughed you up a bit?”

“Get the fuck off of me,” Johnny hisses, kicking his good leg back to the prisoner’s knee. He doesn’t manage to hit him, but the man has to spread his legs a little further to dodge the blow. Before he can force Johnny into an even harsher hold, he kicks his leg back again with even more force. The prisoner makes a rough sound low in his throat when the heel of Johnny’s combat boot digs into his balls, his hold on Johnny’s wrists slackening immediately.

Had Johnny had any less experience in hand-to-hand combat, he wouldn’t have been able to jerk free before the prisoner got his bearings back. He can feel the man’s hold tightening just before her jerks away, turning quickly and landing a solid blow to the center of his chest.

The prisoner stumbles back just half a step, more out of surprise than anything he’d guess, but it creates more than enough space for Johnny to slide away from him and quickly throw himself out of the cell. Just before the door can slam closed, pale fingers lock around the corner.

It’s only Johnny’s momentum and his adrenaline that gives him enough strength to force the door closed anyway - were he not throwing his entire body weight backwards, he knows the prisoner would’ve been able to keep it open.

There’s a barely muffled curse as the man’s fingers are crushed in the door frame, and only Johnny pounding them with a closed fist gets him to fully let go. It only occurs to him a moment later that he has a baton on his hip for this exact moment, but he’s too busy trying to breathe through the adrenaline rush to care about his idiotic mistake. 

He swallows thickly, working saliva back into his mouth, and takes another step further away from the door. He takes a long breath to make sure his voice is steady, then speaks loud enough for the prisoner to hear him. 

“You know the routine. Eat your fuckin’ food, then slide the tray back out.” He tacks on a “Bastard,” his head already starting to pound. He’s not actually sure if that’s what the routine is, but he can’t imagine it’s anything else. 

When the prisoner doesn’t respond, he takes another few steps away and leans where the other guard had been. He presses his fingers around his throbbing eye socket, hissing at the dull but growing pain. He’ll have a nice shiner, for sure, but as best he can tell there’s no further damage.

It only takes a few minutes for the prisoner to toss the tray back out, the plastic clattering loudly in the silent hall. It’s completely clean, just crumbs and a residual grease left smeared on the plate.

He crouches down to grab the tray and nearly jumps out of his skin when he glances up and sees the top half of a face glaring at him from the small opening.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he hisses, jerking back and away before he can really manage a good look at the man. He sees pale skin and shadowed, deep-set eye sockets, but not much else.

Johnny curses as he slides the little door shut, scolding himself for having such a visceral reaction to a man. A man who can’t possibly be the worst thing he’s ever faced, a man who’s literally locked in a cage. It’s a blow to the ego to have gotten so worked up over an unarmed prisoner when Johnny has multiple weapons on him, easily within reach.

It’s pathetic, is what it is. Pathetic, and a sharp reminder that he’s not the same man as he was even a year ago. Sergeant Soap MacTavish and Officer John MacTavish aren’t the same, no matter how much he tries to tell himself nothing’s changed since he was before being discharged. Everything’s changed, and this is just salt rubbed in the wound of it all.

He’s just turning around to head back to the cafeteria when he hears a new voice call out. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Smith is supposed to be on duty right now.”

The man heading towards Johnny is around his height, with brown skin and dark hair. He wears a uniform identical to Johnny’s, except the nametag over his heart says PARRA instead of MACTAVISH.

“Brought breakfast for ‘im,” Johnny explains, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and unable to keep a scowl from twisting his lips. “The other officer - Smith, I guess - left before I could tell that to him.”

Parra rolls his eyes, stepping fully forward and glancing over at the locked cell door, checking for something Johnny can’t think to look for. “Sounds like him. He’s always trying to get off early, doesn’t care who he dumps his shift onto.” He gives Johnny a considering look and a small smile. “Thanks for waiting for someone else to show up. A lot of new guys would just leave the job to someone else.”

Johnny doesn’t bother to correct him, figuring it can’t hurt for Parra not to know he’d been about to leave. 

“I’m Officer Parra,” the other man says, offering a hand. “But you can call me Rudy.”

“Officer MacTavish,” Johnny returns, shaking the man’s hand. “Johnny.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Rudy smiles. “You can head off now. Graves’ll want you assigned to something else soon, best not to keep him waiting on your first day.”

There’s something odd in Rudy’s tone that makes Johnny unsure of the man, something almost judgmental. He gives the other guard a stiff smile, and turns to leave with a, “Thanks, mate. I’ll be seeing you,” sent over his shoulder.

He only gets turned around once on his way back to the cafeteria, and it’s only because he can’t quite shake the feeling that someone’s watching him. There’s something keeping his arms covered in goosebumps despite the warm air, some instinct making him fight the urge to glance over his shoulder no less than five times.

It’s through sheer force of will that he doesn’t. He knows with absolute certainty that no one’s following him, because the hallway is dead silent besides his quick footsteps. But that feeling still doesn’t dissipate, and that puts Johnny on edge.

The cafeteria is packed full of prisoners when he finally arrives, but none of them pay him any attention as he skirts around the edges of the room to drop the empty tray on top of a pile of other dishes. The busboy doesn’t give him any attention, so Johnny turns to scan the room for Graves.

He’s standing near the main entrance to the cafeteria, not the side door Johnny had come through, and leans against the wall just a foot or two away from a group of guards. They’re laughing just loudly enough to be obnoxious and Graves taps his baton against his palm, somehow making a show of the simple motion.

Johnny tries not to feel too irritated before even speaking to the man again, but it’s difficult.

“Graves,” he calls as he steps to the man’s side. “Got the prisoner in solitary fed, what’d you-”

“It’s Officer Graves, MacTavish,” Graves corrects, his tone snappish but lips quirked in a grin. “I’m your boss, not your equal.”

Johnny expects him to barrel on and say something else, but Graves only raises a brow and waits for a response.

“Right,” he forces out, trying not to grind his teeth. “Officer Graves. I fed the bloke in solitary, where do you want me now?”

Graves gives him a long look, something sharpening in his gaze. “You can shadow Garrick for the rest of the day, learn the ropes a bit more.”

Johnny’s nodding and already turning away when Graves says, “Hey, what happened there?”

“What?”

Graves uses his baton to point to his own right eye, head tilting. “Got some swelling going on there, MacTavish. Anything we should know about?”

Johnny turns back, considering for a moment before deciding he’s got nothing to lose since the prisoner didn’t actually manage to escape.

“The cell looked empty when I shoved the tray through. Thought the prisoner must’ve escaped somehow, but I double checked before reporting anything. The bastard must’ve been hiding somewhere, he got a good blow in before I got him off me and locked him in.” 

Graves laughs at that, a sharp and loud sound that makes Johnny’s shoulders inch towards his ears.

“Yeah, that’s Ghost for you. Seems like he hazed you for us, rook.”

Johnny cocks his head. “Ghost?”

Graves hums, nodding. “Sure. His real name is Simon Riley, but everyone here just calls him Ghost. Big bastard, mean too. He’s in solitary more often than not these days, but that’s perfectly fine with me. The men get real testy when he’s in genpop with the rest of ‘em, always trying to take his place.”

“Why’d they call him Ghost?”

Graves scoffs, and one of the men next to him snickers. “You joking? You met the man this morning - they call him Ghost because of the way he disappears. Then fools like you go looking, and he takes you out before you even realize he’s there.”

A part of Johnny wants to bite out something about how he wasn’t taken out, and he actually got the best of this Ghost, but he locks the words behind his teeth and lets Graves’ dig roll off his shoulders. He nods, and takes another step away. “Well, he won’t be gettin’ the drop on me like that again, I know that.”

Graves laughs again, like Johnny’s a fool, and it takes everything in him to turn and walk away instead of knocking him out.

———————————————————————

The rest of the day goes as he had expected. He and Gaz follow the prisoners from room to room like shepherds, watching them try to find anything to fill the time.

Gaz talks while they watch. He tells Johnny about certain inmates’ personalities, tells him who’s someone else’s bitch, tells him how to spot a conflict they actually need to step in and de-escelate. Johnny listens intently, even if his mind wanders during some of the more boring explanations.

Eventually, when Gaz’s voice has gone flat and Johnny has stopped asking clarifying questions, the conversation moves into stories about their military days.

Johnny learns that he and Gaz had just barely missed each other several times. He learns that the other man knows Price too - and that they’re closer than Soap had been to his captain - and that Gaz had left instead of being discharged, that he has a sick mother at home to take care of.

When Garrick asks why Johnny left, he hesitates. It would be nothing to explain that his knee has been blown to smithereens, that he’d been discharged because he could hardly walk for weeks, let alone be of any use in combat. Gaz has surely seen worse injuries, just like Johnny has, but there’s still something that makes him pause before explaining.

When he fumbles around an explanation involving his elderly Nan and deadbeat cousins, Gaz only tuts and gives him a sympathetic look, and the conversation moves on. But Johnny’s lie lingers at the back of his mind, like an itch he can’t quite reach between his shoulders.

The day passes… well, not quickly, but not necessarily slowly either, with Gaz by his side. Six-thirty rolls around, and Johnny feels satisfied with his first day. 

He’s walking towards the staff room with Garrick and another officer, Keller, when Graves stops him.

“MacTavish, c’mere for a second.”

Johnny glances at Gaz to see if the man has any idea what their CO could want from him and receives an entirely useless shrug in return. With only a small amount of trepidation, Johnny turns towards Graves and steps into the adjoining hall the other man gestures him towards.

“I need you to stay a bit late,” Graves starts, his expression far from mocking like it had been this morning. “I’ve got an assignment for you. You’ll be paid overtime.”

“Alright,” Johnny says slowly, shifting his weight onto his good foot. He’s more than willing to stay for a little bit of extra money, but there’s something in Graves’ expression that makes him feel like he’s missing something. “What’s the assignment then?”

Graves runs his tongue over his top teeth, then sighs. “Ghost showers on his own - some deal he made with the warden, don’t ask. He can’t be in there with other prisoners, but someone has to watch him to make sure he’s not sharpening another knife from his toothbrush. He’s requested it be you.”

Johnny’s still stuck on toothbrush knife when Graves’ look goes from reluctant to expectant. Then, what he’s said clicks.

“He… requested me?”

“That’s what I said.”

Johnny can’t help but let the skepticism bleed into his expression. “So he gets to request whatever he wants? And he gets it?”

Graves sighs impatiently, like Johnny’s asked him the stupidest question possible. “Ghost makes requests like this for the same reason he showers alone. He’s got some sort of deal with Shepherd that gets whatever he wants, and today what he wants is you. God only knows why, but quite frankly, I have no interest in questioning the man. If you’re so curious, ask him yourself.”

Johnny scowls, not bothering to disguise his expression at all. Graves only manages to get more irritating everytime they speak, and Johnny’s got no patience for dealing with him. “Fine. Where are the showers, then?”

Graves gives him quick directions. “Oh, and you’ll have to stand in the showers with him. You stand just outside, he’ll get the best of you. We’ve lost enough guards that way, and I don’t want to deal with training another newbie.”

“Wait,” Johnny says, stopping Graves before he can walk away. “Did you say in the shower with him?”

Graves scowls at Johnny like he’s something rotten. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of the man already, rook?”

“You just said he’s taken out multiple guards!” Johnny defends.

Graves rolls his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Keep your baton and your taser on you, and don’t drop the soap. Simple.” He smirks, giving Johnny a patronizing look. “Don’t work yourself up about it.”

Graves walks away before Johnny can say something insulting back, which - as annoying as it is to not have the last word - is probably for the best. Johnny’s hands are already clenched into fists at his side, and even with his very limited job experience he knows punching your boss on your first day would be a mistake.

Still, the sight of Graves swaggering away before Johnny can say something equally rude to him is bitter, the implication that Johnny is a coward is even more so. He can’t wipe the scowl from his face as he heads to solitary confinement, the tension in his spine only growing. 

Rudy is still on duty when he arrives, not looking any different than he had that morning, and not moved an inch from where Johnny had last seen him.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ back in this wing?” Parra asks, his lips lifting in a smile as he stands from the wall to greet Johnny. 

“Graves sent me to take Riley to the shower,” Johnny explains, rolling his eyes in what he hopes comes off as more I-hate-extra-work than I-hate-our-boss. 

“He’s got you on that now?” Rudy lifts his brows, glancing over at the cell door like he’s looking at Ghost. “Well, better you than me - truth be told, he always creeped me out a bit. You got your cuffs?”

Johnny dangles them from his pointer finger and Rudy nods, moving forward to unlock the cell door.

“Alright, you know the deal, Ghost. Back of the cell, facing the wall,” Rudy calls out, his tone not changed at all from the way he had spoken to Johnny. He watches through the eye-level window for a few long moments, then grunts, satisfied, and swings open the door. 

Part of Johnny is still expecting to see an empty cell, even knowing that Parra had just watched Riley. But sure enough, there Simon Riley stands at the back, facing the wall.

The cell is smaller with him in it. Ghost is all filthy jumpsuit and broad back, nothing but a pale neck and buzzed blond hair from what Johnny can see. There’s hardly a foot between the top of his head and the ceiling, and if he were to lift both his arms he’d be able to touch each wall with the palms of his hands.

He holds perfectly still, hands tucked behind his back, and he’s still one of the most threatening people Johnny’s ever seen. The air around him feels rotted, like the very atoms of oxygen are saying stay away, this one’s dangerous.

Unfortunately, Johnny doesn’t have the luxury of listening to his instincts. He steps forward with feigned confidence and snaps the suddenly pathetic looking cuffs around wide wrists with as little hesitation as he can manage. When Johnny steps back, Ghost turns with him and takes a step forward.

If he was intimidating from the back, he’s terrifying from the front.

He’s got a wide jaw and a heavy brow, with a crooked nose and thin lips. He’s got stripes of nearly white skin across his cheeks and neck, little scars that are at all different stages of fading. His eyes are brown, and the dark lighting in the room combined with his deep-set eye sockets make him almost look like he doesn’t have any at all. 

His face is flat, still, and unexpresive. Something about the complete lack of expression is more intimidating than the half a foot and hundred extra pounds of muscle he’s got compared to Johnny. 

But Johnny’s far from inexperienced in putting on a brave front when facing something dangerous, and he doesn’t let Ghost see how shaken he is. He fixes a scowl on his face and steps out of the cell, unclipping his baton and using it to point down the hall. “You know the way.”

Riley’s head tilts, like he’s considering whether or not he should listen, and he gives Johnny’s body a long, invasive look. It takes every ounce of training he’s had not to flinch or try to adjust his stance.

A long, silent moment later, Ghost steps out of the cell and begins the walk to the showers. Johnny is close behind him, baton in his palm and muscles locked, ready for anything the prisoner might try.

Once he’s sure they’re far enough away that Parra won’t hear, Johnny says, “You pull some shit like you did this morning ever again and I’ll break your fuckin’ knees.”

Ghost is silent, his steps unfaltering. Johnny scowls behind his back, frustration quickly building. “Ye hear me? It won’t be your buddy Shepherd you deal with next time, it’ll be me. Whatever deal you’ve cut with him won’t matter then.”

Again, silence. Johnny scoffs when he realizes he’s not getting a response, poking the butt of his baton into the small of Ghost’s back to urge him on a little faster.

Johnny’s lip curls as he swings the door open, turning his body enough to allow Riley plenty of room through. The man still brushes his arm along Johnny’s chest, and it’s a conscious effort to keep his breath from hitching.

When Johnny follows Ghost into the showers, letting the door slam shut behind him, Ghost looks back at him and raises a brow. The look is distinctly unamused, and Johnny glares as he leans against the wall, trying to make himself seem confident and assured.

“I’m here to make sure you don’t kill yourself or plan to kill someone else. That means I’m not leavin’ this room while you’re in it,” he gripes, undoing Ghost’s cuffs with just a bit more roughness than strictly necessary. When Ghost’s look doesn’t change from that who the fuck do you think you are expression, Johnny smiles rudely up at him. “Get over it. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Ghost blows a sharp breath through his nose, maintaining his silence as he takes a step further into the room and begins to undress.

Somehow, Riley almost seems bigger without clothes. Every pale bit of skin exposed only serves to reassure the voice in the back of Johnny’s head screaming danger!. He’s muscular, but his entire body is covered in a layer of fat that only serves to make him seem bigger, stronger. 

When he turns towards Johnny, every single part of the officer’s mind is screaming at him to run .

Ghost sets off Johnny’s flight reaction like nothing in life ever has before. He’d never once thought to run from a terrorist, or a bomb, or any sort of combat situation. Now, standing with a baton in hand in front of an unarmed man, he feels the distinct urge to fucking flee .

It only makes him more determined to plant his feet and stand strong. If he can face down crazed terrorists, he can sure as hell face one convict. 

Johnny’s careful to avoid looking between his legs when he kicks his pants off. He very intentionally keeps his eyes locked on Ghost’s chest, unwilling to look away but equally unwilling to examine the larger man any more intently than he already has. 

Ghost stands completely still, naked as the day he was born, for a few long seconds. Then he smirks, blows another sharp breath through his nose, and turns away. 

Johnny doesn’t move from his spot by the entrance. He’s still firmly in the showers like Graves told him to be, but across the room from Ghost as he chooses the shower head furthest away from him. He faces the wall and because he’s so far away, Johnny gets a full view of his body. His back is as scarred as his face had been, but instead of clean and thin scars there are burns and gnarled marks he recognizes as gunshot wounds.

To Johnny’s relief, Ghost doesn’t take his time. He’s quick to cover his body in soap and rinse it off, hardly taking any time to scrub himself clean at all. Somehow it doesn’t surprise Johnny that this man doesn’t care much about his own hygiene.

He’s turning the old faucet off hardly five minutes after turning it on. When he turns around, Johnny quite can’t look away before he sees that his cock is half-hard, thick between his legs and almost curving upwards, but it’s almost like he’s too heavy for it to fully lift.

Ghost’s face is still set in that flat, deadpan expression as he begins to stride towards Johnny, completely ignoring his pile of clothes. Johnny scowls, standing up from the wall and straightening. “What do you think you’re-?”

Ghost’s hand is around his throat before he can finish, slamming him back into the tile wall. Johnny’s head cracks against it and his scalp presses into the grout..

“Why do you talk so fucking much?” Riley hisses, nose to nose. His body presses against Johnny’s, soaking the front of his uniform. “Didn’t anybody ever shut you up?”

Johnny can’t help but be offended as he raises the baton and slams it into Riley’s side - he hasn’t rambled nearly as much as he had on missions, here he’s downright quiet - but the bigger man just eats the blow. Johnny feels like he’s hit a punching bag, like Ghost won't be hurt no matter how hard he hits.

When Johnny slams the baton into his side again, Ghost’s free hand rips the taser from his belt. He can’t help but make an aborted growl, but one flex of Riley’s hand silences him completely.

Ghost holds the taser between them, letting it hover just a few inches from Johnny’s neck, and presses the trigger to let the electricity dance. Johnny doesn’t flinch, only struggles and glares. When Riley smiles, Johnny swings for his head.

It’s nothing short of humiliating, how quickly Riley has him fully trapped. It seems to take the same amount of effort for the prisoner to throw Johnny’s taser to the side and rip his baton from his hand as it had for him to shower - almost none. 

“You gonna be good, or am I gonna have to get mean?” The larger man growls, tapping the baton against Johnny’s hip and bearing down on him. Like this, with the way Ghost towers over him, Johnny feels completely covered by the man. The overhead lights are blocked out by his body, and Johnny is completely in his shadow.

He strains back towards the wall, manages to get just enough pressure off of his throat to gasp, “Fuhck- yew-”.

Riley’s answering smile is sharp, cruel. “Beg me properly and you might just get what you want.”

Johnny’s face twists in rage, but before he can do anything in retaliation, Ghost slams the baton into his right knee and releases his throat.

Johnny’s vision whites out as he falls to the floor, the tile unforgiving against his knees. His ears are ringing when he can see again, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s from the echo of his own shout in the room. 

He only manages to get one foot beneath him when Riley locks a hand in his mohawk, tightening his fingers and twisting until Johnny’s pulling away with a wince. He forces the smaller man’s head to the wall then steps closer, so his feet bracket either one of his knees. His neck is wrenched at an uncomfortable angle, Ghost pushing him down so he’s bent backwards with a sharp arch in his spine.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Johnny hisses, face still screwed up in pain as Ghost presses his hips forward, his damp and quickly hardening cock sliding against Johnny’s cheek.

There’s a low chuckle from above him, and Johnny twists his head to the side, baring his teeth to bite-

The baton presses against his throat, just below his Adam's apple. 

“Keep your teeth covered or I’ll knock ‘em out,” Ghost growls, pressing hard enough for Johnny to choke on his next breath of air. He closes his mouth tight, grimacing as he feels a few strands of hair pulled out of his scalp. “Good.”

The praise chafes against his skin and Johnny opens his eyes just enough to glare up at Ghost, hands pressed against his thighs.

Ghost grins down at him, all sharp teeth and malice. “You gonna put up a little fight? I got no problem knocking you out and using you when you’re all limp and quiet. That how you want your friends to find you? Want them to see you fuckin’ ruined?”

Johnny’s fingers flex around the muscle of Ghost’s thigh, but he doesn’t push him away. There’s no doubt which one of them is stronger, especially with Johnny’s knee screaming in pain beneath him. 

If the military taught him anything, it taught him to endure. As much as it frustrates him to lean into the wall behind him, to not rip Riley’s balls right off his body and bite his dick off, Johnny knows that isn’t the right choice here. 

“Good,” Ghost rumbles, the hand in Johnny’s hair loosening fractionally. Not enough to really relieve any pain, but enough to be noticeable. “Might keep you around. Fuck this pretty mouth whenever I want.”

“Just get it over with,” Johnny hisses, swallowing and wincing when the baton presses against his throat more harshly for a moment.

“Eager,” Ghost hums. 

Luckily he doesn’t say anything else, just tugs Johnny’s head back a little more and presses the tip of his cock against his lips. Johnny can’t help the way he winces when Ghost pushes into his face. He can’t bring himself to let his lips part, can’t give even another inch when it already feels like Ghost has taken a mile.

There’s an annoyed huff from above him, and Ghost’s hand leaves his hair to pinch Johnny’s nose shut harshly. His eyes fly wide open, staring up at the man in shock, and his shoulders curve in an effort to let him pull away from the unexpected pain. 

“Open up, c’mon.” Ghost’s hips move leisurely back and forth, sliding the ruddy head of his cock along Johnny’s lips and over his cheeks, covering him in sticky pre-cum. No matter how much he thrashes and tries to pull away, Ghost’s fingers only squeeze tighter and follow him.

Johnny holds out for as long as he can, but eventually the burning in his lungs gets to be too much and his lips part - hardly an inch - to let him breathe deeply. As soon as he hears the inhale, Ghost’s hand flies from Johnny’s nose back to his head, shoving his face forward until his mouth is stuffed.

He chokes immediately, eyes flying wide open. It’s not that Johnny’s unfamiliar with something in his mouth, it’s that Riley’s cock is so large he can barely open his jaw wide enough to let him in. He feels like a snake, except instead of swallowing his prey, his jaw is forced to unhinge for another man’s pleasure.

“That’s it,” Riley hisses, ignoring the sick gluck-gluck sounds as he pulls back and pushes his way in farther. “Fuckin’ take it.”

Johnny nearly chokes on bile, lungs heaving as he tries to breathe around the intrusion inside his throat. Ghost has no sympathy for his struggle, doesn’t give him any time to adjust as he lodges himself firmly inside the channel of Johnny’s throat.

Tears stream from Johnny’s eyes, from both humiliation and the strain of being face-fucked. Every time he tries to close his eyes, to let himself drift away even a bit, the hand in his hair tightens far past the point of pain. Ghost doesn’t speak to him again, but the heat in his eyes and the angry snarl of his lips tells Johnny exactly what he wants - eye contact and Johnny’s pain. 

The only mercy is that Ghost doesn’t last long. Johnny isn’t fully cognizant enough to try and keep track of how long the violation lasts, but it can’t be more than a few minutes. Johnny can see the way Riley’s chest heaves as he gets closer, the way his shoulders hunch and the way his hips work in faster, shorter thrusts to get himself off.

He comes in long, thick spurts straight down Johnny’s throat. Another mercy - he doesn’t have to taste it, doesn’t have to do anything more than let his throat work in instinctive swallows to keep the foreign liquid from choking him.

Ghost isn’t quite panting when he finishes, but it’s a close thing. He’s leaning over Johnnt enough that every time he breathes in, the curve of his stomach covers the bottom part of his face from Johnny’s view.

Once he’s drained himself dry, he pulls his cock back enough that just the head of it rests behind Johnny’s teeth, the whole length of him softening.

Just as Johnny begins to wonder what the fuck he’s doing, why this nightmare hasn’t ended, Ghost sighs and rolls his head back on his neck, looking up at the ceiling. Another breath later, a sour taste begins to flood Johnny’s mouth.

He’s tearing away and sputtering as soon as he realizes what’s happening, throwing his head back against the tile so the warm stream of piss hits his neck instead, pouring down his chest instead of his mouth. He can’t throw himself to the side, only succeeding in hurting his neck when he tries because of the iron grip Ghost has on his mohawk.

“What-” he gasps, teary eyes wide as he stares up at Ghost. “What the fu- what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Riley scowls down at him like he’s done something completely unreasonable, jerking his soft cock slowly as he continues to piss. The hand on Johnny’s head tries to force him down again, but he fights back this time and manages to only catch a few drops on his chin instead of having his mouth forced back onto the man’s dick.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Ghost scowls, pointing himself straight at the bit of chest exposed by Johnny’s shirt as he finishes. The rancid stench is heavy in the warm air, choking Johnny. “Figured you’d need a reminder of your place. Clearly I was right.”

Johnny’s seething, every muscle made tense from his anger as he flushes dark. “You evil fuckin’ bastard,” he hisses.

There’s a single, sharp laugh above him as Ghost finally - finally - steps away, beginning to pull his jumpsuit back on as if absolutely nothing is amiss. Johnny doesn’t shift from his spot on the floor but to move as much weight as possible off his right knee, wincing at the horrible pain of it.

Before he can work himself up to standing, Ghost is stepping closer to him and turning the faucet above his head. Immediately, a shower of cold water pours onto Johnny’s form.

His gasp is loud as he rockets up, stumbling back into the wall when his bad leg won’t take his weight. The water is freezing cold as it drenches him, and his fingertips go numb in seconds. His mohawk goes limp from the water, the gel he usually uses to keep it neat melting away and leaving his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

He’s panting when he finally lifts his head, body adjusting to the cold. He pushes his hair back and away from his face, cringing at the wet thud of it against the shaved sides of his head as he slams his other hand into the wall, desperately looking for the faucet.

When he finally finds it, he jerks it to off, nearly heaving as he shivers against the tile.

“What the hell,” he whispers, staring wide-eyed across the room. He can’t tell what’s real and not anymore, can’t tell if this is just one of his bad nightmares, or if an inmate really skull-fucked him, pissed in his mouth, then dumped water on his head.

He blinks slowly, dumbly, before he drags his eyes over to where Ghost stands a few steps away, arms crossed and handcuffs held loosely in one hand. When Johnny only stares at him silently, Ghost lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”

Johnny’s jaw drops, leaving him gaping like a fish. “What?”

“You want to see Parra still stinkin’ of piss? You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Johnny can’t do anything but stare.

———————————————————————

The walk to the bus stop is long and miserable. Even though it’s not raining, Johnny is soaked to the bone just like the day before, and he limps down the cracked sidewalk at nearly a snail’s pace. 

His leg hasn’t hurt this badly since he first got out of the hospital, and although his eyes won’t focus and he still feels off-kilter, he can’t help but be glad he’s late enough for all the prisoners to have left the rec yard. There’s no one to see his walk of shame.

His mind wanders from thought to thought, willing to land on anything that doesn’t make him think of what happened less than an hour ago. He flinches physically every time his thoughts shift in that direction, the reality of it too raw to examine.

His knee burns and feels like it must have tripled in size, his pant leg tight from the swelling. The sound of his shoe scraping on the concrete is like nails against a chalkboard.

He can still taste the piss in his mouth.

On the bus, the driver seems to go out of his way to hit every pothole and speed bump as roughly as he can. Every jerk of Johnny’s knee against the wall brings him a little closer to tears.

He hasn’t felt so out of control in a long time. He can’t control his pain, can’t control his body (his hands shake, his breath shakes, it feels like his goddamn heart shakes), and he can’t stop remembering how Ghost had blocked out all the light in the room, how he’d forced Johnny down and taken the reins, how he’d-

He’s not sure he’ll make it home without losing his lunch.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He stumbles near his trailer, nearly loses his balance and only keeps it because the idea of falling to his knees sounds worse than death, and retches into the overgrown grass.

He brushes his teeth more times than he can count. The last time he vomits, there’s nothing left to come up but stomach acid and spit.

——————————————————————— 

Gaz does a double take when he sees Johnny the next morning, eyes widening in what would be comical shock if Johnny felt any less like a dead man walking.

“Shit, what happened to you, mate?” Gaz attempts a smile as he stands at his cubby, but can’t quite keep the concern off his face. “Rough night out?”

Johnny’s cheek is almost bloody from how hard he’s biting it. “Something like that,” he manages to mutter, his voice gravelly and hoarse. 

Gaz gives him a look, like he wants to push for more, but luckily he drops it. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re with me today. We’ll keep you in some quieter areas until that hangover goes, yeah?”

Johnny just grunts and follows Gaz out of the staff room, not bothering to correct his assumption.

———————————————————————

“MacTavish!” Graves calls, stepping between Gaz and Johnny while they’re both locking up their weapons for the night. “You’re on overtime again tonight,” he says, slapping Johnny’s shoulder with a forced familiarity before turning away, already moving on.

“No,” Johnny spits, the word flying from his mouth before he can even fully register what Graves has just told him. His lip curls at just the thought, and he feels the saliva in his mouth thickening.

Graves stops in his tracks, throwing a look of confusion and annoyance over his shoulder. “No? C’mon, Officer, I know you want to go home, but just suck up the extra hour-”

“No,” Johnny repeats, his voice a little too loud and a little too harsh in the otherwise silent room. “I’m clocking out. Find someone else.”

Graves turns fully towards them now, eyes narrowing when he sees Johnny’s resolve. He picks up on Gaz’s confusion beside him, but the other man shifts closer and Johnny knows he’s on his side.

“You don’t get to say no to something like this, MacTavish.” Graves’ voice has taken on a harsher edge, and it’s the most authoritative Johnny’s heard the man since he got the job. Still, it’s not anywhere near intimidating enough to convince him.

Johnny hikes his chin in the air a bit, glaring down his nose at his CO. “Overtime is optional, right? I’m not taking it. My shift ended ten minutes ago. I’m going home.”

Graves shakes his head before turning and stepping away. “I’ll have to tell the warden. Not a good impression to make in your first week, rook. You hated looking at Ghost’s ugly ass that much, huh?” He scoffs like Johnny’s a fool, and lets the door slam shut behind him.

Johnny ducks away from Gaz before they can walk out to the parking lot together and hugs the grimey toilet bowl in the staff bathroom, losing what little lunch he’d been able to stomach. The sky is dark with rain clouds when he steps outside.

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny is stopped by the warden himself before he can even clock in. 

“MacTavish,” Shepherd grunts, barely leaning out of his office. “Come see me.”

“I need to clock in, sir,” Johnny says, gesturing to the nearly broken machine set on an old folding table.

“See me first,” Shepherd says, ducking into his office without any other explanation.

Johnny’s knee is miles better than it had been the day before, but it’s still more difficult than it should be to cover his limp as he heads to Shepherd’s office. The brace he’s worn the last few days helps somewhat, but really only helps keep him from getting stiff or overextending.

“Close the door behind you, son,” Shepherd says when Johnny joins him, already settled behind his desk. He mimics the same position he had when Johnny had first sat in front of him - leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, chin tilted towards his chest.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” Johnny asks after shutting the door, lowering himself slowly into the uncomfortable chair. He can’t help but wonder if it would’ve been smarter to stay standing, if this is a we won’t need you here again sort of meeting that he’ll want to get out quickly.

“Not yet,” Shepherd says after a heavy silence, tilting his head to the side. “Graves tells me you refused overtime last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And why is that?”

He manages not to flinch, but just barely. “I was tired, sir. Just wanted to get home and get some rest.”

Shepherd’s expression stays flat, but there’s an unimpressed spark in his eye. “And it’s got absolutely nothing to do with what your overtime task was, then?”

Johnny wants to bristle, wants to bite back, but he keeps himself under control. “I find inmate Riley… unpleasant to be around. To put it lightly. Sir.”

Shepherd scoffs, rolling his eyes and leaning forward. “Every damn person in this prison is unpleasant to be around, boy. That doesn’t mean you blow off orders and come and go whenever you please.”

Now Johnny does sit a little straighter in his chair, insulted. “I’ve stayed for my entire shift every day I’ve worked for you.”

“That’s not much to brag about, MacTavish, you haven’t even been here half a week.”

Johnny takes a deep breath, reminding himself just how badly he needs this job. “I’m not required to take overtime, sir, and I believe my job performance has been satisfactory otherwise. Is that all?”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow, and Johnny knows they’re both thinking the same thing - were they still in the military, that kind of talk from a subordinate wouldn’t fly. But despite their shared past, they’re not in that environment any more - Johnny’s behavior isn’t insuboridnate here, and they both know it.

Shepherd takes a long moment to respond, setting his still-linked hands on his desk and leaning his weight onto them.  “No. You’re right in saying that overtime isn’t required. But I’m looking for employees who show dedication to their job and an ambition to grow in this career. So far, I’m not getting either of those things from you. I need guards who are willing to go the extra mile, not guards who can’t stay an hour after their shift to watch one goddamn man shower.”

Johnny takes a deep, stabilizing breath. Shepherd's tone is harsh, mean, and damn near identical to every CO Johnny had in the service. Before he can argue his case, the warden speaks again.

“Listen, I understand that you’re still adjusting to civilian life. I’m not cruel.” He spreads his hads in front of him, open and inviting. “I’ll give you grace. But I need men who are willing to listen when I give them an order. If that’s not you, then I think it’s best you start looking for another job.”

Johnny’s eyes shut for a moment against his will, and the breath that’s punched out of him has a distinctly defeated air to it. “Alright. Alright, I understand what you’re saying, sir.” He swallows thickly, working the words past his throat. “It won’t happen again.”

Shepherd nods, something vaguely understanding in his expression. “Good. Overtime is time and a half pay, so you’ll be well-compensated.”

Well-compensated. The words sound vile in Johnny’s mind, and he wants to kick and scream and say nothing could compensate for what that man did to me .

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes. Dismissed, Officer.”

Johnny nods, standing and taking quick steps to the door.

“MacTavish?” Shepherd calls out, just before his hand lands on the doorknob.

Johnny doesn’t turn before responding. “Yes, sir?”

“It’ll get easier, son.”

Now Johnny turns, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Shepherd is leaning back in his chair again, but now there’s something almost pitying in his expression. Something vaguely sympathetic.

Johnny leaves the office without responding. He worries if he opens his mouth, he’ll just start screaming.

———————————————————————

Overtime doesn’t get any easier. In fact, every day Johnny’s forced to watch Ghost shower it gets more and more difficult to ignore the voice inside his head screaming to run, regardless of all the arguments he’s made that tell him he has to stay.

The first day back, he’d tried to tase Ghost when the other man came toward him. He’d had his baton in one hand, the taser in the other, but he’d quickly learned that Ghost’s sheer size made him an almost impossible opponent to fight - the taser was knocked out of his hand before he could’ve even reached Ghost with it, and the baton went just as quickly. 

Johnny had thrown a sloppy punch towards Ghost’s face and had only gotten a mean laugh in return. 

“Got a little more fight in you today, huh?” Riley had hissed, their faces pressed so close together that Johnny could feel his breath. “You can kick and scream all you want, boy, but this still ends the same way.”

The second day, he’d thought about not going into the shower and instead standing in the hallway and getting the drop on Ghost. But he’d glanced up and seen a little blinking red light, a camera, in the corner between the wall and the ceiling and knew that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself were he to lose, and Ghost assaulted him on camera. So he followed the priosner into the showers, feeling like a man sent to the gallows.

He’d tried to bite Riley’s dick before he could choke on it that day. At the first scrape of teeth, Ghost had shoved his thumbs into Johnny’s mouth and hooked them between his molars, holding his head still like that instead of by the hair. Johnny had nearly choked on his own vomit, and his lips were numb for what felt like hours after.

The third day, Johnny kneels before Riley can knock him down. He’s already worried something is seriously wrong with his bad knee, and Ghost hadn’t spared it at all. Gaz had asked if he was alright that morning after seeing him limp, and had offered to bring a knee brace he kept at home - Johnny hadn’t bothered to tell him he was already weaing one. He can’t afford to take a day off because he can’t walk, so he kneels and pretends the small submission doesn’t choke him.

Defeat is bitter on his tongue as Johnny watches surprise mingle with satisfaction when Ghost watches him lower himself. He only stays on one knee, unwilling to put any weight whatsoever on his right knee, and Ghost - miraculously - allows it. 

When he stands in front of Johnny and strokes himself to full hardness, he mutters quietly, “Knew you were a fuckin’ faggot.”

Johnny’s flinch is hidden by his reaction to Ghost’s cock being unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth. This time once he’s finished himself off and made sure to let every drop of his come drip down Johnny’s throat, he steps to the side to relieve himself instead of using him as a urinal. Johnny’s almost ashamed of how grateful he finds himself feeling.

On Sunday, his first day off, Johnny leaves his bed exactly once. He gets up, pisses, and lays right back down with a pillow elevating his leg. He sleeps fitfully for nearly 12 hours and wakes up nauseous, only just choking back bile before ruining his floors. His Nan calls twice and leaves two voicemails when he doesn’t answer.

On Monday, Ghost is let out of solitary confinement.

———————————————————————

A full day of rest has done Johnny’s knee a world full of good.

While still not fully recovered, he doesn’t feel sick when he tries to walk without a limp anymore. The brace helps him with that, and with Riley coming out of solitary Johnny can’t help but hope that he’ll have a chance to truly recover a bit.

He tells himself that he can put his hellish first week in the past now. Ghost is out of solitary, which means Johnny will have a better shot at avoiding him and sticking with the other guards.

Monday morning, Graves reassigns him from genpop to protective custody. It’s the first time he’ll be separated from Gaz for any length of time, but Johnny’s too high on his sudden distance from Ghost to care too much. If anything, this gives him a better chance to bond with other guards.

His hopes don’t quite come true - all the guards working in protective custody are quiet, with no interest in talking to each other, let alone a new guy. The silence isn’t unbearable for the first few hours, but Johnny already knows that multiple days spent with people so unwilling to respond to anything he says would drive him crazy.

It’s after lunch, when he leads ten prisoners from the cafeteria back to their cells with another guard tailing them, that everything goes wrong.

While Johnny almost has the layout for the prison memorized, there are still moments he gets turned around or confused. And having only been to the section of the prison with PC cells once - that same morning - Johnny’s not the most confident on how to get them back. He takes a left turn instead of a right, and for some godforsaken reason, the other guard doesn’t correct him.

Instead of turning into the large protective custody dayroom where prisoners spend their time when they’re not locked in their cells, Johnny turns into the general population dayroom.

He hardly has time to realize what a monumental mistake he’s made before he and every person following behind him is swarmed by prisoners. 

Johnny’s knocked to the ground by one of the largest men as he dives for someone behind him, and his wrist is nearly crushed beneath a filthy white shoe when he reaches for his taser. The prisoners all but stampede him in an effort to swarm the men from protective custody, and Johnny can hardly see through the sea of legs.

Someone trips over his good knee and falls to the ground beside him. On instinct, Johnny lunges for him, trying to push himself up off the floor in the space the other man has created. But before he can get more than one foot under him, that same prisoner tackles him back to the ground and wraps a hand around his throat.

This time, when Johnny swings his baton at the man’s side full force, he falls to the ground and curls into a ball. The commotion around him is nearly deafening, and only growing louder and louder as guards get involved to try and pull the prisoners off of one another. He can see several men fall to the ground, shouting from the pain of being tased.

Johnny’s just barely managed to get to his feet when the prisoner in front of him throws himself to the side, and he only has a split second to register that the black blur swinging towards his head is a baton before everything goes black.

———————————————————————

Johnny wakes, hours later, to a dull pain in his head and a parched throat. 

He groans as he rolls his head, tongue darting out to try and wet his lips as he squeezes his eyes tight against the pain. His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his tongue feels swollen. While his head feels like there’s a person trying to crack him open down the middle, there’s something soft around the edges of his consciousness, something that makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud instead of laying on a thin mattress.

As more of his senses start coming back, he realizes where he recognizes the soft feeling from - his last stay in the hospital. The fuzzy feeling in his head, the total lack of any emotion that isn’t contentedness, the steady beeping to his side, and the way his bad knee feels completely normal all tell Johnny that he’s higher than a kite on pain meds.

His nose scrunches when he tries to open his eyes for the first time, some uncomfortable crust making them itchy and heavy. He lifts one hand to clumsily paw at his face, only making him itch more as he rubs the crust into his own skin.

Somewhere in the room, he hears a door open and close quietly. He blinks quickly to try and clear his vision, but can only recognize the man when he steps right to Johnny’s bedside.

“Ghost…?” He murmurs, his voice cracking. 

The man above him hums quietly. He sets one hand on the railing of Johnny’s bed and leans in close, bringing his face into full focus as he hovers less than a foot above Johnny’s face. One of his big hands comes up to Johnny’s face, swiping roughly over his eyes and clearing the gunk from them.

“Well, look’it you,” he says, voice low and quiet. “High as a kite. Got yourself in some trouble, huh Officer?”

Johnny scowls - or well, he means too, but he can’t quite feel his face move into the expression - and clumsily bats Ghost away. The older man stands back up with a quiet laugh, reaching to the side and above Johnny for something.

“Not m’fault,” he slurs, trying to twist and follow Ghost’s arm. “Should’a… shouldn’ta… mmph.” His voice trails off, whatever defense he’d been about to use floating away from him. “‘S not m’fault.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Ghost says. Johnny can see now that he’s holding a clipboard, scanning over the information and flipping between the top page and the one beneath it. “John MacTavish, hm? Johnny. Fits you.”

“Tha’s me,” Johnny says, and now he can really feel the way his lips tug up. “Only Nan calls me tha’ though.”

“What, Johnny?”

“Hmm.” 

Ghost is silent for a long moment, and Johnny’s eyes begin to droop again. He feels obscenely comfortable, more comfortable than he even does in his own home these days. Even with Riley looming over him, he can’t bring himself to feel much more than tired .

He can hear Ghost rummaging around beside him, but doesn’t bother to look and see what’s going on. His eyelids flutter when a moment later the bed sinks with Ghost’s weight, but even that is hardly enough for Johnny to bother moving. 

“Hey,” Ghost says, his voice a tad louder than it had been before. Johnny moans low in his throat, tossing his head on the pillow in a distinctly whiney way. 

“Hey,” Ghost repeats again, and a moment later there’s a sharp tapping at the side of his face, a calloused palm clearly trying to get his attention.

“Whaaat?” Johnny groans, tilting his head away from the hand and only opening his eyes enough to glare at Ghost. He bats at the hand and manages to grip it loosely, tugging it away from his face. He hardly notices when it shifts to rest over his pec, fingertips resting high on his side.

“Don't pass out on me, now,” Ghost commands. “I think this’ll be more fun if you’re awake.”

“What’re ya…” Johnny slurs, trailing off when Ghost turns closer towards him and sets both hands on his hips. “What’re you… doin’?”

“Quiet.”

Johnny makes a pouty sound, but he doesn’t move to stop Riley as he hooks his hands in Johnny’s pants, tugging harshly a few times until they rest around his knees. He leaves his boxers on, takes a second to snap the elastic band against Johnny’s sensitive stomach and huff a laugh when Johnny squirms.

Ghost makes a small sound that Johnny doesn’t put any effort into identifying, and then suddenly cups his cunt with a large hand. The way Johnny squeaks would be embarrassing, if he still had the capacity to be embarrassed. Instead he only squirms in place, trying to wriggle up and getting nowhere.

“Don’t tell me…” Ghost trails off, his fingers burrowing between Johnny’s lips and feeling him up thoroughly. “No kiddin’. You’re not even a real faggot, Johnny?”

The sound that slips from Johnny’s lips is pathetic, and he shoots Ghost the best glare he can manage while the machine beside them slowly beeps more and more quickly. “D’nt call me tha’...”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, shifting up and to the side so he’s between Johnny’s legs. “You’re not a fag then? Got a nice fat cunt here, MacTavish, you tellin’ me you’re a woman?”

“Nooooo,” he moans, trying to shut his knees but only squeezing Ghost closer. “‘M not… ‘m not either….”

The sound that comes from Ghost is distinctly mocking, and Johnny’s chest tightens. “Really? I can feel you gettin’ all wet even through the boxers, you’re one of them.”

Johnny hums a negative, digging his head back into the pillow. Ghost ignores him completely, and tugs his hand away for only a second before stuffing it fully down the front of his boxers. “C’mon then, Johnny, you answer me - you a faggot, or a woman?”

Johnny’s breath grows heavier as Ghost grinds his palm against his t-cock, hips working in small motions as his body takes over. He moans a little, one hand lifting to grip Ghost’s forearm.

There’s another, sharper sensation in his face, the other cheek this time. It hardly registers as painful - more as rude - but it’s enough for Johnny to blink up at Ghost. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he growls, flipping his hand to pinch Johnny’s cock between two of his knuckles, squeezing until Johnny wheezes.

“F-fag! A fag,” He gasps, just barely remembering what Ghost had asked. “Not-not a woman, y’can’t… can’t call me tha’...”

Ghost coos, lessening the pressure between his two fingers. “Cute, Johnny, but I’ll call you whatever I please.”

Before Johnny can gather enough focus to reply, Ghost twists his hand again and stuffs two of his thick fingers inside of Johnny’s leaking hole with no warning.

Johnny keens, just barely louder than the suddenly racing beep-beep-beep echoing in the room. When he tries to close his legs again, tries to hide from Ghost’s assault, the older man tugs one of his knees higher on his side, leaning forward and forcing Johnny to stay spread.

There’s no real discomfort or pain - either because he’s slick with his body’s betrayal or because of the painkillers, Johnny’s not sure - and when Ghost angles his palm the right way, fingers stroking just so inside of him, Johnny melts into the pillows with a whorish moan.

“Oh, is that it? That the spot?”

Johnny feels like there’s something he should be upset about, something in Ghost’s tone that scrapes at his mind, but he can’t think past the warmth slowly spreading through his abdomen. The best he manages is a quiet sound of agreement, hips working in lazy thrusts to try and get more more more. He hardly notices when Ghost slips a third finger inside him.

“Open your eyes, Johnny, c’mon.”

It’s only the sudden fourth finger, the slight hint of a burn at his center, that has Johnny blearily blinking up at Ghost. His fingers tighten only painfully in the sheets as he tries desperately to grind himself to orgasm. Riley hooks Johnny’s leg a little higher on his hip, pressing his hips to the back of his thighs.

“There y’are,” he grunts, leaning close so his face is all Johnny can see. “Fuck, you’re gone, aren’t ya? Bet you can’t even tell I’m stretchin’ you. Waste of my fuckin’ time then, huh?”

“N-” Johnny hiccups, his back arching as Ghost’s fingers slip from his hole, moving instead to undo his own belt. “No, please, y’can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Ghost asks sharply, snapping his belt off and pulling his fat cock out. “Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for, little cock dumb slut. Not good for much else than bein’ my hole, huh?”

“Stop,” Johnny gasps, trying to coordinate his limbs enough to at least try and shove Ghost off, only really succeeding in resting his hands on the larger man’s biceps. “Tha’s… tha’s fuckin’ mean, y’can’t say that…”

Ghost laughs as he shoves himself inside of Johnny, no mercy and no sympathy. Johnny’s back arches high off the bed, his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut as Ghost’s hips press flush with Johnny’s thighs in just seconds.

He can’t feel anything but warmth and pressure. He’s reduced into nothing more than a writhing body and his fucked full cunt. His breaths shudder out of him in sharp bursts as his body reckons with something he can’t fully feel.

“Fuck,” Ghost hisses from above him. “Tight little bitch.”

Johnny keens high in his throat, tears springing to his eyes at the terrible mix of degradation pleasure. He feels like he’s drowning in sensation, like he’s desperately trying to keep his head above the water during a hurricane.

He fully stops breathing when Ghost pulls out the first time, struggles to get any air into his lungs when he’s slowly filled again. The tears drip down his temples, mixing with the sweat already dampening his skin.

“Bet you hate this, huh?” Riley pants, hips beginning to truly work against him now, the slap of it loud in the dark room. “You love your little fights, love hissin’ and spittin’ and tellin’ me how much you don’t want it.”

Johnny tries to lick his own lips and wet them, but doesn't manage to tuck his tongue back into his mouth. He’s left panting like a dog, drool dripping down his chin. Ghost nearly growl when he sees, his thumb landing solidly on Johnny’s tongue and holding it down.

“Almost had me convinced,” he says quietly, like a secret shared between just them. “Never saw you get hard. Thought you really might not be a fag, thought a little fuckin’ brat like you havin’ lips like this was just another cruel joke.”

He huffs, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “But that wasn’t it, huh? Nah, whatever bastard made you just knew a whore like you would need three holes. Two wouldn’t have been enough, huh? No, whiney little sluts can’t have any less than three.”

Ghost’s words float in and out of Johnny’s head, dripping into his ears and his mouth and immediately melting away. He’s consumed with the burning pleasure in his center, able to think of nothing but reaching the crest of sensation he can practically see.

“Pleathe-!”

“Please what?” Ghost growls, shifting forward. His elbows rest on either side of Johnny’s neck, the smaller man’s knees hiked high on his side, and he starts to really drill into Johnny. “Need it harder, huh Johnny? Want me to get you off, when you’re all pretty and drugged and can’t do shit to stop me?

Johnny whines, trying to draw his tongue out from under Ghost’s thumb. The bigger man only grunts, leaning forward and spitting a wad of saliva onto his tongue. Then he lets Johnny close his mouth, letting him swallow.

“Yeah, there you go,” he breathes, staring between Johnny’s lips and the column of his throat with an intentness Johnny can’t even begin to understand, not with the way his pace doesn’t stutter at all. “Gonna fill you up from both ends, make sure you fuckin’ feel this tomorrow. Might fuck your mouth when you pass out, make sure you’ll fuckin’ breathe me.”

Johnny’s got no idea what’s being said to him, too lost in the way Ghost’s stomach rubs against his cock, the way his body is covered completely, the way his thighs clench around Ghost as tightly as possible and yet the man doesn’t slow at all. Even with his mouth closed, he still drools, can’t stop moaning and panting as Riley forces a space for himself.

“Yeah, just like that, tighten up for me. C’mon, c’mon-”

Johnny’s wail nearly drowns out the way Ghost eggs him on, his body bursting into flames as he’s finally shoved off that edge. He feels everything and nothing, raw and numb, comfortable and wound so tight he’s sure he’s about to snap in half. His throat aches from his volume, but he can do nothing but grab on tight to Ghost’s shoulders and try to ride out his orgasm.

He can’t even tell when Ghost finally comes, only really registers a loud grunt in his ear and the way his hips slow to a stop inside of him. 

Johnny’s already fading when Riley pulls out, would hardly have noticed if he hadn’t seen Ghost standing fully from the bed. He can’t move from where Ghost has left him, his knees splayed wide and leaving his cunt bared to the room. 

He’s too tired to open his eyes, too high on painkillers and ecstasy to care that he can’t. Before long, he’s falling asleep to the obnoxious sound of his heart rate monitor slowing. 

———————————————————————

When Johnny wakes up the next morning, he’s sore and confused.

“Wha’...” he breathes, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing a hand over his face. His head throbs, but that’s far from his biggest concern as he takes stock of his body.

“Oh good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says, and once he clears the sleep dust from his eyes Johnny can see Gaz lounging casually in a chair next to his bed. “Good timing, too, Graves just left.

“Graves?” Johnny asks, clearing his throat when he hears how raspy he sounds. “What the hell happened?”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to grab a watter bottle from the small table beside the hospital bed and offer it to Johnny. There’s a terrible taste in his mouth, and Johnny gratefully takes the bottle and sips from it. “You really don’t remember?”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow, and he thinks back to the day before.

It all comes back to him quickly once he can work past the pain in his head - his new assignment, the unfriendly other guards, his stupid mistake, and the ensuing brawl. What’s harder to remember is what happened after, what happened when he woke up to a dark room and a guest who’s face he can’t quite see.

There are vague impressions of a man - a large man, a heavy man, he can remember what he felt like on top of Johnny - and the dull ache between Johnny’s legs gives him a good idea of what the man did to him.

It’s hard to keep his breathing even.

Gaz doesn’t seem to notice, rambling on. “Graves is sayin’ you did it intentionally, said some real dumb shit about you, mate. You’re damn lucky you’ve somehow got the warden’s favor - I’ve been here a few years now, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone make a mistake like this and keep their job.”

Johnny groans, throwing himself back onto the mattress. “Thanks, Gaz. Very comforting, you are.”

Gaz laughs, patting Johnny heavily on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, they don’t pay me for my bedside manner. C’mon, they’re kicking you out.”

Johnny lifts his head enough to look at the other man. “Kickin’ me out? Really?”

Gaz gives him a don’t start look, standing and gathering a bag Johnny hadn’t noticed before. “They already let you stay overnight, mate. You’re lucky they gave you a bed at all. Plus, warden gave you the rest of the week off for recovery. You’ve got no room to complain, my friend”

It takes a bit for Johnny to feel steady enough to leave, longer for he and Gaz to make it outside of the prison. He gets nasty looks from several of their coworkers, but he lets their clear irritation slide off his back. As long as he’s got a job, he couldn’t care less what the others think of him.

It’s difficult to get Gaz to let Johnny go home on his own, but once he promises to take it easy for the next few days - and overplays his own exhaustion just a bit - the other officer lets him go after exchanging numbers and making him promise to text if anything changed.

Johnny can’t quite work up the nerve to check between his thighs until he’s in the privacy of his tiny shower. 

He probes at his sore hole with tentative fingers, wincing at the slight sting of pain and resting his forehead against the tile. He only opens his eyes for long enough to recognize the liquid coating his fingers before he lurches out of the shower and kneels above his toilet.

He’s not sure what it says about him that he doesn’t actually vomit - is he just getting used to the constant violation, or is there too much else wrong with him to feel overwhelmed by this?

He doesn’t think about it for long, just lets his stomach settle, quickly cleans himself in the shower, and then buries himself beneath his thin blanket and throws himself into the oblivion of sleep.

———————————————————————

The first day Johnny goes back to work, he decides he has nothing left to do but resign.

It’s a choice he agonizes over every single day he spends cooper up in his small mobile home. This job had come as a blessing, and had only come in the first place because he’d been owed a favor by John Price who’d called in a favor of his own. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve never been lucky enough to get here.

And he’s about to throw it all away.

It’s hard not to feel disappointed in himself, to not say suck it up and get over it . But Johnny’s nightmares have shifted from explosions and gunfire to a weight over his chest and a cock down his throat. He wakes up soaked in sweat and panting, slick between the thighs but shaking with fear. He gets flashes of that night in the med wing sometimes, images of Ghost hovering above him, the feeling of something on his tongue and something else in his cunt.

He can’t handle another violation. 

So walking to the bus stop, the whole ride over, and the walk in, Johnny is thinking about how he’ll manage to quit without offering to serve his two weeks. If worse comes to worst, he figures there’s nothing anybody can do if he just stops showing up.

When he stops by Shepherd’s office and asks for a meeting, he’s confident he won’t even spend an hour in the building. That confidence is crushed the moment Shepherd looks at him with pity instead of frustration.

“MacTavish…” he sighs. “I know what you’re trying to get out of.”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow. “Sir?”

Shepherd sighs, and leans forward to bring something up on his computer. “The only places without cameras are the shower and the cells. Everything else in this building, I see.”

There’s a pit forming in Johnny’s chest, but he can’t do anything but say, “I’m not sure what you’re implying, sir.”

The look Shepherd sends him says yes you are, and the man turns the screen of his computer around to face Johnny.

It’s… it’s him, in a hospital bed, with Ghost over him. Johnny’s jaw drops open as he watches his legs get hiked up higher on the other man’s chest, the bulk of him covering Johnny’s cunt, but the spread of his legs doing nothing to hide the slick dripping from him.

The video is silent but horrifying. Here’s what Johnny has forgotten, what’s slowly been coming back to him in his dreams, and it’s being played for him by his boss. 

“Sir…” he says, unsure of what he’ll say but knowing it has to be something. “I don’t…”

“You can’t quit,” Shepherd says, straightforward and with no bend.

Johnny can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “I have to.”

Shepherd lays his hand flat on the desk, making just enough noise to startle Johnny. “No, son. You’ll be staying here. If you don’t, I’ll take that video right to the police myself and have them charge you with assault.

Johnny’s eyes fly to Shepherd’s, his brows arched high on his head. “Assault? Me? But- look at the video! I was injured and high off my ass!”

“You’re also an officer, with power over the prisoners.”

“Power? Look at what the bastard did to me!” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, wants to break the computer screen so no one ever sees that clip again instead of bringing more attention back to it. 

Shepherd winces, very intentionally not looking at the screen. “An argument could be made that you… encouraged him. You’re in the position of power, and that makes you at fault.” 

Johnny grits his teeth, glaring. “I was drugged and-and… well, if anyone was assaulted it certainly wasn’t him.”

Shepherd leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “You can’t have it both ways, MacTavish.”

“I- What?”

“Either you’re a man or not. Look at the size of you, son. You think anyone will believe that you couldn’t have fought him off?”

Johnny’s speechless, unable to do anything but stare at Shepherd, mouth gaping.

“Or you’re a woman, and no one would be shocked to hear a tragic story about a female officer being overtaken and assaulted by her male prisoner. Is that you? That the story you want to tell?”

“I’m not a fuckin’ woman.”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow. “Watch your language with me. Those are the only two stories you could sell in court.”

“They’re not -”

“Yes, they are,” Shepherd hisses, suddenly more incensed as he leans forward and lowers his voice. “You don’t have a goddamn choice here, MacTavish. You keep this job, nobody else needs to know you fucked Riley. You leave, I’ll make sure every person you’ve ever looked at sees the goddamn video of it.”

Johnny reels back in his seat, hands shaking and mouth bone dry. He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe that this is the point his life has brought him to. “Why? ”

Shepherd sinks back in his seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose and suddenly looking ten years older. “Because he doesn’t want you to quit. Riley and I have a deal, and it’s a damn fragile one. He’s fixated on you for whatever reason - I let you walk, all my hardwork with him goes down the drain.”

Johnny’s teeth grind in the back of his mouth. “Sounds more like your problem than mine.”

Shepherd glares. “It became your problem when you let him fuck you.”

“I didn’t let -”

“Video, MacTavish. I can see exactly what happened.”

Johnny’s face flames, and he squirms in his seat. “It wasn’t… I didn’t want to…”

Shepherd’s voice is almost mean when he says, “Didn’t seem to fight that hard.”

Johnny nearly flinches, and doesn’t say another word. 

“Listen,” Shepherd sighs, turning the computer around and finally running off that horrible video while seemingly doing his best to look at as little of it as possible. “The job pays well. You’re good at it - well… you could be good at it, if you tried a little harder.”

There’s a part of Johnny that’s offended, but the rest of him is too baffled by this entire meeting to do anything but listen.

“If Riley wants to…” Shepherd winces, the tiniest flush coloring his cheeks. “If he wants to be in a relationship with you, let him.”

“Relationship,” Johnny hisses, lip curled in disgust at the word. “Is that what you think-?”

“I don’t give a damn what he wants from you, MacTavish,” Shepherd cuts him off, glaring. “You’ll put up with it, and if necessary, you’ll do it with a smile. Either that, or I make your life much, much more difficult going forward. Do we have an understanding?”

Shepherd’s tone makes Johnny want to leap forward and claw the skin from his face. Not quite mocking, not quite pitying, not quite frustrated, but all authoritative and pissy. Again, Johnny is reminded of how much he hated men like this in the military.

After a long moment of silence, Shepherd sighs and holds out a hand. “C’mon, son. We both know you’re staying. This can be as easy or as hard as you make it.” He pushes his hand a little further out, like he’s expecting a handshake.

Johnny ignores him completely, storms from the office, and slams the door on his way out.

———————————————————————

The next weeks pass in a blur.

Whatever hope Johnny had of having a normal life post-military, of getting closer to Gaz and maybe even other officers, is well and truly crushed after Graves informs him he’ll be permanently assigned to Ghost from then on. 

Johnny refuses to look at Gaz long enough to see the man’s expression of sympathy, but he hears it in the quick gasp and the little rumble of sound.

Ghost doesn’t quite smirk or smile when Johnny walks up to him on that first day back, but there’s a smugness radiating off him that makes Johnny scowl.

It’s lunch when Riley calls him over for the first time. He doesn’t make a show of it, only flicks his gaze over to Johnny long enough to make eye contact and raises a hand to beckon him.

Johnny pretends he doesn’t see at first, shifts and stares at a wall. Ghost doesn’t let it go, and shouts, “MacTavish!” across the room after a moment of silence. 

Graves glares at him and jerks his head over with a sort of what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look.

He can’t help but feel a little like a kid when he storms toward Ghost, unable to keep the frustration hidden when he feels like he’s drowning in it. “What?”

Ghost gives him an unimpressed look. “Watch it. You’ll come when I call you.”

Johnny grits his teeth. “Course, sir,” he bites sarcastically.

Riley’s lip twitch, at that only pisses him off more. Ghost shifts back in his seat, the tray in front of him already wiped clean - the food looks disgusting to Johnny, but Ghost had eaten so quickly you’d think it was the best thing he’d ever had. 

“You think that’s as embarrassing as I can make things for you?” He asks quietly, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “I could do anything I wanted to you right now, and not a man in this room would stop me.”

Johnny’s lip curls. “What do you want?”

“I want you to mind your manners when you speak to me,” Ghost snaps, his voice rising just a bit. Johnny’s sure he’s not loud enough for anyone else to have heard, but he shifts uneasily anyway. 

“Fine,” he hisses. “Now what do you want?”

Riley doesn’t quite look satisfied, but he drops it. “I’m doin’ you a favor here, Johnny. You rather I not tell you the rules, let you stumble all blind into a punishment in front of anyone lucky enough to be nearby?”

Johnny’s head jerks down a bit in instinctual frustration. “Okay. Alright, fine. Just get it over with.”

Ghost hums low in his throat. “You’ll look at me when I’m speaking to you. Start now.”

Johnny bites his tongue as he raises his eyes, glaring into Ghost’s with all the anger he can muster. The man only smirks, murmuring a “Good boy,” in that tone that Johnny still hears in his dreams sometimes.

“I want you by my side unless I’m in my cell - then, you’ll stand outside when you’re still on duty. If you need to be somewhere else for some reason, you’ll come immediately when I call.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog,” Johnny can’t help but argue.

“You’re whatever I tell you to be. I ask you to crawl behind me on fours, and you’ll do it - happily . Or are you so eager for that little video to make it’s way to good ol’ Graves’ pocket?”

Johnny’s face flushes, and he inches closer, ducking down as if they haven’t already been speaking quietly enough for no one else to hear. “You can’t- you can’t show that to anyone. I don’t know what you have on the warden, but-”

“Exactly,” Ghost cuts him off, glaring. “You don’t know. And you won’t, because it’s not information for you. All you need to do is fuckin’ listen, and you aren’t doing a good job of it so far.”

Johnny grits his teeth, straightening. “What’s your next rule, then?”

Riley considers him for a second, then leans back on the metal bench. “Next rule is you’ll speak to me with respect. I outranked you in the military, and I outrank you here. You’ll watch your-”

“Wait,” Johnny interrupts, brow furrowed. “You were in the military?”

“Don’t interrupt,” Ghost scolds, glaring. “But yes. Not with you, but I was. Made it up to Lieutenant before I got out.”

It shouldn’t change anything for Johnny, the revelation that he and Ghost have a common background. And it doesn’t - not really - but there’s something in his mind that just… shifts, a bit, after learning that he and Ghost have similar roots, that they were maybe even in the same place at different times. Somehow the idea doesn’t quite fit with everything else he knows about Ghost. 

“But regardless, I won’t tolerate a brat. You’ll behave and watch your mouth when you’re with me. Understood?”

“Fine.”

“Fine…?”

Johnny’s lip curls and his hands tighten into fists at his side. “Fine, sir.”

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles with a smirk. “You won’t touch yourself without permission. That’s your third rule.”

Johnny can feel his face flaming, and he ducks his chin close to his chest, shoulders hunching in an attempt to hide himself. “What? ”

Ghost’s smile is ugly on his face, wide and showing off crooked teeth behind thin lips. “That pretty pussy belongs to me now, and I don’t want your grubby hands on my property.”

“I’m not- my hands aren’t-” Johnny huffs, shaking his head a bit until a strand of loose hair falls into his eyeline, then pushing it away with a small sound of frustration. “I’m not your property.”

“Oh, yes you are. But there’s no point in arguin’ with you, you’ll understand soon enough. That’s it for now - we’ll start you off with the simple stuff so you don’t fuck up too soon.”

“Oh, thank you,” Johnny rolls his eyes sarcastically, back to glaring at the table.

Ghost grunts, smacking a hand beside his tray with just enough force for Johnny to jump. “What the hell did I just say about the attitude?”

Johnny stares at him wide-eyed for a second, but quickly relaxes into his frustration. He swallows his pride and says, “Sorry.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, glaring up at Johnny. “You’ll make it up to me later,” he decides. He stands from his seat with little warning, nudging the tray closer to Johnny. “Drop the tray off, then follow me to the rec room.”

He can feel every single pair of eyes on him as he walks to the busboy, and Johnny can’t help but think that he’s never once in his life felt this much scrutiny before. But he ignores every one of them, his eyes carefully forward and just slightly unfocused so he doesn’t have to see the way their heads turn.

He follows Ghost to the rec room, his pride in tatters. 

And that’s where it begins. The indignities only get worse.

Ghost informs him slowly of more rules. Johnny’s never to sit near Ghost, only to stand (sitting is a reward, and one he finds quickly is very rare). He’s only to look Ghost in the eye when responding to him, and never to look anyone else in the eye when he’s shadowing Ghost (“You’re on my time, you won’t give a spec of your attention to anyone that’s not me.”). 

And the sexual favors… Johnny is just glad they’re kept private. Ghost only ever touches him when they’re alone, and they’re only truly alone during Ghost’s solo showers and when he tugs Johnny into his cell for the last hour of his shift.

The taste of Ghost’s cum becomes unfortunately very familiar, and the bruises on Johnny’s knees never quite get enough time to fade before new ones appear. The only small blessing he can see is that Ghost never pisses on him anymore. 

He still fucks Johnny’s mouth in the shower, but he’ll take any amount of skull-fucking over the humiliation of being treated as nothing more than a urinal. Even after weeks of nothing but blowjobs being forced on him, he still tenses for that sour stench after every once.

Johnny also learns that Ghost is - predictably - as mean in bed as he is out of it. Half the time, the bastard isn’t even decent enough to give Johnny a pity orgasm when he assaults him.

He’s also incredibly creative with his dirty talk, and infuriatingly that’s usually what gets Johnny off - when he’s allowed to get off, that is.

Pretty fuckin’ cunt, made to take my cock, huh?

Should keep you tied to the bed, use you as my own goddamn mattress so I can fuck you whenever I want

You’re awful loud today, baby, you want the others to hear you? Hm? Want them to come knockin’ and ask for a turn riding this tight ass?

Nothin’ else in the world compares to a hot hole like this, shit, I’d kill a man to have fucked you when you were a virgin.”

Sometimes Johnny thinks about rubbing himself to completion at home, on the nights when Ghost edged and denied him time and time again and his boxers were sticky with his slick when he took them off. He never quite works up the nerve, though, sure that Ghost would somehow know what he had done and unwilling to face any more severe of a punishment from the prisoner. 

His service to Ghost extends outside of the purely sexual, though. That comes as more of a surprise than it probably should, and there’s something about it that’s more difficult for Johnny to bear.

When Ghost fucks him, it’s a fight. Ghost likes it like that, and Johnny gets to tell himself he tried the best he could to keep the other man’s hands off of him. It’s as close to a win as he can get in this situation, and he forces himself to be okay with that.

But all the little things Ghost expects him to do - serve his food, clean his cell, bring him any book he asks for, give him a damn massage once - they feel more… willing. Like Johnny is choosing to do these things for Ghost. And he knows that he is, technically, but only because he’s terrified of what would happen were he to disobey.

And still, that’s not enough of an excuse to calm his psyche. He goes home to his trailer and feels filthy, showers for so long every night that his water bill has become egregiously high. He picks at his nails constantly now, never quite feels like he gets them fully clean. The thought that his service to Ghost is willing, is consensual, haunts him.

He thinks that’s what Riley enjoys the most - the inner turmoil. Sometimes when he asks Johnny to do something particularly embarrassing, he’ll watch the way his face twists with an expression that can’t be described as anything but gleeful greed. He comes fastest when he threatens to fuck Johnny in front of his coworkers, or when they can hear other voices. Nothing seems to get him off quite like Johnny’s anger and humiliation.

So it should come as no shock that one of his favorite things to make Johnny do is work out with him.

Ghost works out while all the prisoners are in the rec yard, usually monopolizing one machine and scaring off anyone else who comes too close. But because of his deal with the warden (and Johnny curses that man more and more every day), he gets an extra hour outside that no one else does.

Outside of the context of their dynamic, Riley is one of the best trainers Johnny’s ever had. He certainly pushes him harder than anyone else has, and he makes sure they’re both working out all parts of their body.

Unfortunately, he’s more than a little unfair to Johnny. 

He always uses whatever maching he’s picked for that day first, and he never lets Johnny adjust the weight down to his own level. Johnny’s big, stronger undoubtedly than most of his coworkers, and damn proud of it. But he’s not Ghost big, not able to do many reps with the shitton of weight Riley uses.

But that doesn’t matter - Riley tells him to do it, so he does. He’s usually little more than a noodle when he’s done, but he can usually force himself to do at least half of the workout that Riley did.

He always spots Ghost - and does it correctly, no matter how much he wants to strangle the man. It’s probably his favorite act of service Ghost forces onto him, because he sees prisoners helping out other prisoners across the yard every day. Granted no guard is stepping in to spot them, but it’s better than being the only person waiting at the beck and call of another.

So he spots Ghost without complaint, even though the older man never once needs his help. It’s unfortunate, too, because Johnny’s pretty sure he could just pretend to not be strong enough to help the other man if he were to get stuck, but unfortunately he’s not that lucky.

While he spots Ghost, he finds that the favor is almost never returned - not unless Johnny is so weak from the previous day's workout that he can barely do a full rep. 

When they’re doing bench presses, Ghost stands above Johnny’s head, damn near blocking out the sun, and smirks when all he can do is try his absolute hardest to keep the bar from choking him. 

On most days he can manage a pathetic few reps, but there was one day where he really, truly couldn’t do it. He’d been lucky and nobody else had been in the rec yard, but he still remembers it in his dreams sometimes.

Ghost had known before Johnny even sat down that he wouldn’t manage, he could see it in the prisoner’s face. The last few days - their first days working out together - had been hell on his body, and he could barely raise his hand enough to wave, let alone bench press several hundred pounds.

“Ghost…” he had muttered, laying on his back and looking uneasily at the bar above him. “I really don’t think I can-”

“Quiet,” Ghost said, stepping so close that Johnny could see his bulge right above his head. “You’ll be fine. I’m spotting you.”

Johnny can’t help but scowl. “That is not spotting.”

“Well, it’s all your gettin’. Hurry up, the more time you waste here, the longer I’ll keep you after your shift.”

“Shit, okay, okay, I get it,” he said, wrapping his hands around the bar and taking a deep breath. “You swear you’ll-?”

“Johnny.”

“Fine, fine.”

He’d managed a single rep - which was impressive enough for him, quite honestly. But it wasn’t enough for Riley, who grunted a negative and a “Keep going.” when Johnny tried to put the bar back in its place.

“Ghost,” he had panted, on the verge of whining.

“Johnny,” he’d mimicked, voice pitched insultingly high. 

He doesn’t get a full second rep in, only just barely manages to hold the bar above his throat with shaking limbs. His whole body is shaking, and he’s drenched in sweat.

“Riley…” he gasps, teeth clenched so tight he’d be worried about cracking one if he wasn’t so focused on not dying.

“Need some help, Johnny?”

He can’t do much more than grunt an affirmative sound, but for once Ghost doesn’t make him beg. Instead he wraps both hands around the metal bar, and sort of pushes it forward a bit.

“Wha-?” Johnny manages, before he realizes what Ghost has done. He’s trapped him securely beneath the weight - Johnny’s not strong enough to push it away from his chest, and if he moves too much he risks rolling it forward and onto his neck. It’s an incredibly dangerous position to be in, and the fear only makes Johnny shake more.

“There we go,” Ghost says quietly, patting Johnny on the head once before stepping away.

“Ghost?” He gasps, rolling his head to the side as he desperately tracks the other man. “C-c’mon, ye can’t-”

“Don’t waste your breath, Johnny, you’re already panting like a dog,” Ghost scolds, tapping him lightly on the stomach as he passes. He tugs the weight a little further down, and to Johnny’s relief it allows the slightest bit of strain to fade.

Ghost grips him roughly by the knees, forcing them to spread wide on either side of the bench. 

“We’re gonna play a little game, Johnny,” he rumbles, yanking down Johnny’s pants and boxers in two quick tugs. “You finish that rep before Graves calls us in, I’ll let you come. You don’t, I fuck you in front of him.”

“N-no!” Johnny gasps, one leg jerking up as he squirms. His pants are tugged off one ankle, left loose around the other, and he feels sweat dripping from his navel down to his center already. “Y-you can’t.”

Ghost hums, and a thumb parts Johnny’s folds. “Then you better get that bar up, boy.”

Johnny’s sobbing before he even registers Ghost’s mouth on him.

The experience is the very definition of overwhelming. He can hardly breathe with hundreds of pounds resting on his chest, and Ghost’s tongue feels like magic on his cunt. He licks Johnny’s engorged clit, knows just when to wrap his lips around the bundle of nerves and suck. When Johnny gets too close to the edge, when his whimpers turn to whines and his moans pitch up, Ghost ducks to Johnny’s hole and spends time drinking all of his slick.

He has absolutely no idea how long it will be until Graves shows up, and the thought drives Johnny insane. At any moment the other man could walk out and see them, see Johnny pinned and Ghost eating his cunt like he’s starving.

With a gasp at a particularly rough edge, Johnny gets the bar a few inches off his chest. He feels like he’s suffocating when it drops back down.

“Good,” Ghost purrs, one hand lifting from where he’d been holding Johnny’s lips open to stroke his stomach beneath his shirt. “Almost there. Go on, try again f’r me." He sounds drunk on Johnny, his words slurred and muffled. Johnny doesn’t sound any better, sobbing and moaning in equal turns as he’s driven to the edge again and again.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He’s just able to time his breathing, erratic as it is, with his effort in pushing the bar away. His muscles scream at him as he gets it higher and higher in the air, and every single part of him goes completely limp the moment he stops gripping the bar.

“There ya go,” Ghost growls, and Johnny groans as the vibrations sink into him. “Tha’s my fuckin’ boy.”

Johnny whines, manages to muster up just enough energy to lift one hand and drop it onto Ghost’s buzzed head. He can’t do anything but keep it there, but it helps him feel less lost in the pleasure. He doesn’t even have enough strength to grind against Ghost’s hand, but the other man doesn’t need the help in getting him off. 

By the time he’d gotten re-dressed (by the time Ghost had re-dressed him), Graves had been walking in the door. He’d only given the two of them a nasty look, and Johnny’s face had burned bright at the realization that they’d been caught.

“Inside, you two. Now.” Was all Graves had said, but Johnny had trouble even glancing at the man for days. 

Ghost had never been that hard on him during a workout again, but the threat of it was always there, and it was more than enough to keep Johnny from complaining again.

That’s how most of their dynamic worked - the second Johnny pushed back against Ghost’s control even minutely, he was met with swift and firm punishment. Unwilling to experience whatever degradation Ghost chose again, he’d be sure not to repeat the same mistakes.

And Johnny finds that when he listens, when he doesn’t question Ghost and doesn’t let the humiliation get to him, the man verges on kind. In his own sick and twisted way.

(At night, alone under his sheets, Johnny wonders if Riley is really soft, or if he’s too used to the man’s cruelty and simply thinks anything less than that is kind.)

———————————————————————

Two months into their “deal”, Johnny’s world is brought to a sudden stop again. 

He’s in the staffroom - an hour early, because Ghost expects him to be there when he takes his showers, which happen to be first thing in the morning - when Gaz walks in, a small paper bag in his hand.

“Hey, mate,” he beams, quickly walking towards Johnny. “Glad I got here early enough to catch you, feel like we’ve hardly talked in ages.”

Johnny gives his best sympathetic smile, checking the bullets in his gun. “Sorry, mate. Job’s been wearin’ on me more than I thought it would.”

Gaz quickly looks away, nodding rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” There’s an almost-awkward moment of silence before Gaz holds out the bag he’d brought. “Oh, I brought donuts. Y’know, to celebrate the good news.” He shakes the bag enticingly. “Want one?”

Johnny grins, quickly snagging the bag and tugging out a maple log. “Thanks, I love these. What’s the good news?”

He’s taking his first bite of the treat, savoring the taste of it on his tongue, when Gaz makes a shocked noise “You don’t know?”

He’s still chewing, so the only response Johnny can give is a shake of the head and a raised brow.

“Huh, I’d figured he’d have…” Gaz trails off a bit, his own brows furrowing as he takes the bag back. “Well, I guess I get the pleasure then - Ghost was up for bail, and he got approved.”

Johnny chokes on his next bite of donut instantly, bending in half and coughing desperately.

“Shit, mate!” Gaz exclaims, whacking him hard enough on the back to dislodge the little bite of food and allow him to suck in gasps of air. 

“He’s-” Johnny gasps again, then straightens. “He’s what?”

Gaz looks completely surprised, leaving his hand on Johnny’s back just long enough to make sure he’s stable before letting it drop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. I figured with your… relationship, he would’ve been the one to tell you.”

Johnny nearly chokes again, spluttering in shock and leaning his entire weight against the counter. “Relationship? We’re not in a-a relationship!”

The look Gaz gives him is a mix between pitying and disbelieving. “Come on, mate, you don’t have to lie to me. Everyone knows already.”

Johnny gapes and can feel the blood draining from his face. “Everyone?”

“Well you weren’t exactly subtle,” Gaz counters, his own brows furrowing now. “You really didn’t know? About either thing?”

“No!” Johnny exclaims, turning so he can lean his back on the counter and bury his face in his hands. “I don’t even-” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’ve given me too much to deal with here, mate.”

“Well to be fair, I didn’t think I’d be revealing anything to you this morning.”

Johnny spreads his fingers just enough that he can see through them, shaking his head at the linoleum floor. He can’t bring himself to look over at Gaz, not knowing… not knowing that the other man has known, and known this whole time. 

“Nobody judges you for it, by the way,” Gaz says quietly, a few moments later. 

Johnny raises his head, glances at the other officer once before looking away again. “What?”

“For your relationship,” he explains. “Love is love, and all that. Most of these men are in here for life, you’re not the first one to start a relationship with one of them, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

Johnny only groans again, throwing his head back and staring blankly at the ceiling.

As humiliating as it is to know that all of the guards have known about his thing with Ghost, he can’t help but think back to the first thing Gaz had mentioned. 

His brows furrow as he turns to fully look at Gaz again, trying to ignore his blush. “Did you say he’s out on parole?”

Now Gaz smiles again. “Yeah, I can’t believe you hadn’t heard! I mean granted, I only saw it in the paper this morning, but still. Can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”

Johnny can only stare at the other man with his mouth agape. “Do you still have the paper?”

Gaz frowns a minute, then swings his bag off his shoulders and digs through it for a moment before pulling out a rolled up newspaper. He flips it open, turning past the first few pages and then pointing to a smaller box in the bottom left hand corner.

“Here it is,” he says, then begins to read it out loud. “Infamous illegal weapons seller Simon “Ghost” Riley released on parole today - mistake or mercy? Not their best work, admittedly, but I suppose no one usually reads this far- hey!”

“Gimme that,” Johnny mutters, snatching the paper and ducking close to read it more closely.

There isn’t much more information - the small article only lists the day Ghost was arrested, all his charges, and the accomplices arrested with him but sent to a smaller prison.

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathes, dropping the paper and leaning back. “Holy shit.”

Gaz snatches the paper back, looking at Johnny like he’s lost his mind. “Is that a good holy shit, or a bad one? Because I figured you’d be happy about this, honestly-”

“I have to go,” Johnny interrupts, quickly tearing all of the gear he’d already put on off and striding out of the room. 

“You’re welcome!” Gaz calls, just as the door closes behind him. 

The warden’s office is only a few doors down, and Johnny’s just barely restraining a smile as he throws the door open without knocking.

“I quit.”

Shepherd looks up from his computer, blinking dumbly at Johnny. “Excuse me?”

“I quit,” he repeats, stepping into the officer and glaring at the warden, still unable to fully control his smile. “Your buddy Ghost is out of here, so you’ve got no reason to keep me either. I’m quitting.”

It seems to take a moment for Shepherd to process the words, but once he has he sits back with a sigh, tugging open one of the drawers.

“I supposed I should’ve expected this,” he says, pulling something out and then shutting the drawer. “You know, you’re welcome to stay on if you’d-”

“No,” Johnny says quickly, fully glaring at the man now. “You and I both know there’s no reason for me to be here anymore with him gone.”

Shepherd thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Fair enough. You’ll want these, then.”

He holds his hand out palm up, with two small flashdrives resting there 

Johnny grabs them before the ex-general can take them away, then frowns in confusion. “What’s on them?”

“Every time you and Ghost were… intimate where a camera could see you. I figured you’d want to have them.”

Johnny’s face flames again, but he nods jerkily and stuffs the drives into his pocket. He’ll burn them the second he’s home. 

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, heaving himself out of his chair and holding out a hand. ”You did me a favor keeping that brute in line. I have to thank you for that.”

Johnny can only stare incredulously at the man. A thousand angry tirades run through his mind, righteous words he could spit at the man, accusations to lay at his feet and hopefully dig at whatever conscious he’s got left.

But Johnny doesn’t have room for any of them right now. All he can think about is how he’ll never have to see Simon “Ghost” Riley again.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he says with a slowly growing smile. “And I have no respect for you. Goodbye.”

And with that, Johnny turns and leaves the office. He’s all but whistling his whole walk home, hardly even noticing the twinge in his knee.

———————————————————————

Johnny’s place isn’t anything close to nice, but Ghost doesn’t mind. 

He stands on the gross outside the trailer, smoking a cigarette and appreciating the cool air. Even though he’d had any privilege he could’ve asked for while locked up, he can still feel the difference in the air knowing that he’s free now.

It hadn’t been difficult to find Johnny’s address. He’d demanded the man’s full file from Shepherd before leaving, and the old bastard had been more than willing to hand it over.

Simon will go back and kill him someday. No one who allowed Johnny to be hurt like that should live. 

He hadn’t thought much about where the officer lived, but he’d thought plenty about how he behaved in that home. He’s far less interested in the fact that Johnny lives in a trailer with peeling paint and old tires, and far more interested in what’s inside the tin can that can tell him all about who Johnny is when he’s alone.

And he’s… messy. Very, very messy.

A part of Ghost likes to think it’s because of him, that Johnny is too exhausted after a long day meeting his standards and taking his cock that he comes home and doesn’t do anything but collapse into bed. Another part of him is disgusted by all the fast food containers and already plans how he’ll whip the boy into shape so he can actually see his countertops. No wonder he's struggled so much with their workouts.

The trailer is small, certainly meant for a bachelor or someone travelling with just a partner. The bed in the back is messy and unmaid, and it’s only two or three feet away from the small kitchen area. Between those, the couch, where a laptop is charging on one of the cushions.

Simon digs around while he waits for Johnny to come home. He figures it won’t be long - the second he learns that Ghost is out, he’ll realize that Shepherd has no reason to blackmail him anymore and run as fast as he can.

Ghost smirks at the thought of how surprised he’ll be when he gets home. He’s damn near giddy to see his boy, to see his face drop when he recognizes the man in his home. He wonders if the anger or despair will take over first - he desperately hopes it’s anger, though he wouldn’t mind seeing Johnny cry at the sight of him.

For now, he snoops. 

Johnny doesn’t have much of anything. He’s got a full sleeve of condoms next to his bed that Ghost snorts at before tossing in the trash, along with a few bottles of lube and a couple simple dildos. His clothes are all similair, and he’s only got a few pairs of jeans. 

The most interesting thing is the small gun kept in a cabinet over the sink - it’s an almost pathetcially small thing, but Ghost grabs it and tucks it into the back of his pants regardless. He’s well aware of Johnny’s skill with a gun - he’d been a sniper for a bit, according to his file - and has no intentions of dying before he can properly tame the little brat.

It takes about an hour for his boy to come home. Longer than Simon had expected, but he won’t hold it against him. 

He can’t help the spark of sadistic excitement in his chest when he sits himself on the edge of Johnny’s bed, forcing himself into a more casual position so Johnny doesn’t think he’s too eager.

His boy’s reaction is everything he’d hoped for.

Johnny’s face is lit up in excitement when he first opens the door, lips spread in a wide grin and shoulders rolled back. When he lays eyes on Ghost, it takes a second for that expression to drop.

(The sight of Johnny staring at him, beaming, makes something old and dead shift in Ghost’s chest. He’s not sure he or Johnny will like the things that feeling drives him to do.)

Ghost can see the exact moment Johnny realizes he’s not dreaming, realizes that Ghost has followed him home. It’s the way his smile drops slowly, the way his eyebrows pinch together and he blinks rapidly. His shoulders fall forward, like he’s trying to curl in on himself.

He doesn’t even close the door behind himself.

Simon cocks his head to the side, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs wide - he’s nearly the width of the damn trailer.

“Welcome home, Johnny.”

Just like he’d suspected, it’s his voice that shifts the ex-officer from shock to anger. In a heartbeat Johnny goes from gaping and blinking to snarling and tightening his hands into fists.

He takes a single step forward, then seems to realize how close just that small movement brings him. He points an angry finger at Ghost, nearly spitting angry. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“Language,” he corrects automatically, barely resisting the urge to smirk at the angry sound that bursts from Johnny’s chest. “You didn’t think we were finished, did you?”

Johnny’s face is going red from anger. Briefly, Ghost wonders if he’s going to pop a blood vessel.

“Get out!” He shouts, hands shaking in anger. “You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here! I’ll call the police, get you arrested for breaking and entering!”

Now Ghost really can’t help the way his lips curl. “No, you won’t.”

Johnny’s lip curls into a nasty snarl at the challenge. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

Ghost lets his head tilt leisurely to the side. “Because you want to be a good boy for me too badly.” He lets on hand shift to his pocket, lips twitching further up when Johnny flinches at the movement, and pulls out two small hardrives. “And because I have these, and I’ll spread them as far as I need to to keep you well-behaved.”

He knows Johnny’s got a pair of his own, knows that Shepherd just wanted to get rid of them, but that doesn’t dampen his reaction to the small drives. Johnny’s staring at his hand like he’s holding a nuclear weapon, like his world ends with those harddrives.

When Ghost closes his fist over them again, Johnny lurches forward before stopping himself. Ghost tuts, then sits forward. “Now, I think we’ll go over the new rules. Since we’ll live together now.”

That’s what finally makes Johnny snap. A sound of pure rage tears from his throat as he dives for the cabinet above the sink. In the second that he’s not facing Ghost head on, Simon quickly follows and presses himself along Johnny’s back.

He cocks the gun, holding the barrel of it to Johnny’s temple. It’s not loaded, of course, but the boy in front of him has no way of knowing that.

“Looking for this?” Ghost says in his unblocked ear, nose running along the shell of it. “Tsk, very naughty, Johnny,” he teases.

Johnny’s shivery in front of him, his system no doubt overloaded with all sorts of feelings. Ghost pushes his nose just behind Johnny’s ear, inhaling deeply and sighing at the pure scent of him. He can’t wait until he knows each and every thought passing through that brain, can’t wait until he can predict Johnny better than Johnny can predict himself. He’s already halfway there.

“Are you gonna be good, or am I gonna have to shoot you?” He asks quietly.

“Don’t-” Johnny gasps when Ghost presses the gun a little harder, trying his best to move away from the pressure but pinned too tightly. “Don’t. Please.”

It’s the crack in his voice that makes Ghost soften, just the tiniest bit. 

“On your stomach, on the bed.”

He moves back just enough for Johnny to pull away, watching intently as he starts to pull away from the cabinet. 

Johnny’s moving slowly, one step only half the length it was before, but Ghost doesn’t rush him. He relishes in the sight of Johnny curled in on himself, afraid and obediant.

Then, without warning, Johnny whirls around and punches him square in the chest.

It’s the same damn move that got him the first time they met, and he’s just as unprepared for it this time. He only stumbles back a step or two, but for a man as highly trained as Johnny that’s more than enough room to do damage.

Before he can regain his balance, Johnny’s burying his shoulder into his chest and shoving him to the side. Ghost falls flat on his ass, stumbling out of the open door and the few rickety old steps into the dirt below. 

Johnny flies down after him, landing with his knees on either side of Ghost’s ribs and wrapping his hands around the larger man’s throat.

Ghost chokes when he squeezes, reaching up to try and yank Johnny’s hands off of him. But the younger man has adrenaline and fear on his side, and he hangs on like his life depends on it.

A moment later he leans back, still firmly choking Ghost but letting his eyes run over the man and the ground beside him. It takes a moment for Simon to realize what he’s looking for.

“Dropped… it…” he chokes out, his lips tilting up into the slightest of smirks despite his delicate situation. The gun had flown from his hand as soon as Johnny knocked him off his feet, but he can’t see around the other man to know if it had landed outside.

Johnny’s hands flex against his throat, strangling him with just enough strength that black spots begin to dance across his vision. Still, he’s hardly weakened, and he throws a rough punch at Johnny’s face with his quickly fading strength.

The boy dodges it, but just barely since Simon’s reach is longer than his. He can see that the other man is considering something, and his hands squeeze harder again as he leans closer to Ghost’s face.

Oh, he thinks a moment later. I see. Smart boy.

Ghost lets his hands smack at Johnny’s face and arms a few more times, then slowly pretends they’ve gone limp in the dirt next to him. A few seconds later, his eyes flutter shut.

For a long moment Johnny doesn’t remove his hands, and Ghost worries he’s miscalculated. But then there’s a relieved sigh above him, and the hands disappear. Had he any background other than his own, Ghost would have sucked in heaving breaths and given himself away.

As it is, he doesn’t move until he feels Johnny’s knees leave his ribs.

He’s up and behind the smaller man almost immediately. It takes a second to catch his balance, his brain still deprived of oxygen and only half-awake, but he’s got enough coordination to grab Johnny by the ankle before he can get fully inside the trailer.

Ghost laughs at the way Johnny shrieks in rage, free hand clawing at the dirt as he pulls himself forward and Johnny back. When he raises his eyes, he finds himself staring down the barrel of the gun.

His breathing is still harsh and uneven, and his grip on Johnny’s ankle is secure. He glares at the boy, not the gun, and growls, “Go ahead. Do it.”

Johnny’s hands are both on the gun, both shaking, and his eyes are wide with adrenlinea and fear. With only a moment’s hesitation, he pulls the trigger.

It clicks, empty.

Ghost gives himself just enough time to appreciate the shock in Johnny’s eyes before launching himself forward, forcing them both up a step and grabbing Johnny roughly by the jaw. With one hand on his ankle and the other on his face, Johnny’s tucked into a small ball beneath him.

“You want me dead, Johnny, is that it?” He growls, heaving hot breaths across the boy’s face. “Gonna shoot me then bury my body in this dump?”

Johnny’s expression of shock quickly twists to one of anger, and he spits into Ghost’s face. “Go to hell, ye bastard.”

Ghost bares his teeth, forcing himself even closer into the smaller man’s space. “You’ll pay for that.”

It’s all too easy to force Johnny up, to shift his hold from jaw to neck and to throw him inside the trailer. This time he makes sure the door is closed and locked, then turns back to his unruly pet.

He easily swipes the laptop away when Johnny tries to bash it over his head, storming towards the smaller man and grinning when the other man stumbles backward.

“Wait- don’t-” Johnny tries as he falls back on the bed, Ghost quickly following him. He drops the empty gun beside them, locking his hand back around the front of Johnny’s throat and holding him down on the bed.

“Wait, don’t,” he mocks, spitting on Johnny’s face. He laughs loudly at the way the younger man winces, eyes scrunching up at the action. “You know your beggin’ only makes me harder, baby, it’s like you want this.”

Johnny’s sneer is ugly, but his anger is beautiful as he glares up at Ghost. “I don’t want anything from you except your pain, bastard. I’ll fuckin’ kill you, first chance I get.”

“Which is why you’ll never get a chance,” Ghost taunts, leaning close enough that he can press their noses together. “You’re too fun for me to let go of you any time soon, Johnny, so fight all you want - it only makes your submission sweeter.”

He forces his lips to Johnny’s in a rough, but passionate kiss. The smaller man doesn’t reciprocate, but Ghost is perfectly content to nip and lick at his lips anyway. He’ll have the boy slobbering for it soon enough.

“On your stomach,” he says against Johnny’s mouth, moving his hand to the man’s shoulder to urge him over. 

“Riley,” Johnny gasps, trying to stay on his back. “Don’t.”

Ghost shoves him over anyway, pressing his face to the side of Johnny’s once he’s flipped and wrapping his arms around the man, relishing in their size difference. Even with Ghost’s workout regiment, he’s still so much smaller.

“Simon,” he says lowly. “You call me Simon. Or Ghost.”

It takes almost no effort to tug Johnny’s pants and boxers down. He kicks them both to the side, then pushes Johnny’s chest up and shirt off while he considers what the first color of panties he’ll put the man in will be.

He forces Johnny’s feet wide with his own, smirking when he whines at the stretch. Then he grabs both of Johnny’s hands where they’re clawing at his sheets and folds his arms behind his back, locking one hand around both forearms so he can hold the boy down.

“Let’s see you now,” he mutters, leaning back and using his free hand to spread Johnny’s ass cheeks. “Oh baby, you’re so soaked for me.” He makes his voice intentionally mocking, feels himself twitch in his pants when Johnny shivers at the sound of it.

He quickly yanks down his own pants and boxers, letting them fall to his ankles carelessly. He indulges in a few strokes to get himself to full hardness, then passes his thumb over Johnny’s cocklet a few times.

The younger man jolts at the sensation, head thrashing against the sheets as his back arches further into the touch. Ghost can’t quite make out what he’s trying to say, but he gives him a rewarding rub anyway.

“Did well gettin’ yourself read for me,” he praises, dragging his hand up to prod at the tight hole dripping slick. He carelessly tucks two fingers inside Johnny, only using them to pull out more slick and watch the way it coats his clit. “Too bad none of it’s gonna matter. Tsk, such a waste.”

Johnny raises his head enough to turn to the side and look at Ghost, confusion marring his pretty face. His eyes are glassy with tears, but none have fallen yet. Ghost knows that’ll change soon.

“What?” Johnny asks quietly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Ghost smiles, moving his two soaked fingers up a little further and tapping a few times at the tight hole he’s yet to use. “You were very bad, Johnny. Only good boys get their cunts used. Bad boys need to learn a lesson.”

Johnny whimpers, burying his face in the pillows again. When Ghost sticks the tip of one finger into the tight furl of his ass, he rockets up like he’s been shocked.

“L-lube!” He gasps, already writhing in place with just the smallest amount of penetration. “In-in the table.”

Ghost sighs, wiggling the tip of his finger inside of Johnny and smiling at the wince he gets in return. “No lube for you today, Johnny. Since you liked spit so much earlier, I figured we’d use that.”

He watches Johnny’s eyes go wide as he spits a large glob directly where his finger is, laughs when Johnny’s “Wait-” is choked off as he shoves his finger the rest of the way in.

He quickly begins thrusting the digit in and out, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to keep him pinned. He stretches the boy as much as he can with one finger, but quickly adds a second with just a bit more spit.

Johnny whines high and loud, like he’s in all sorts of pain, and Ghost moans, grinding himself against the boy’s thigh.

“That hurt, Johnny?” He asks, his cock throbbing. “Your little asshole sting?”

Johnny hisses through his teeth when Ghost folds his finger and tugs. “You know it does!”

Ghost laughs, pulling out just long enough to slap his cunt playfully. “Course. That’s the whole point.”

He drags his fingers through the slick, doing his boy the kindness of bringing some of it back up to his ass to give him a little more lubricant.

Three fingers, it turns out, makes Johnny squeal like he’s being shot. His feet stamp against the ground angrily, and he throws his head back and forth like he’s looking for something to bite. Ghost can’t help but chuckle at how stupid he looks, only encouraging him by spreading his fingers.

“You feeling a little dry, Johnny?” He asks, pulling out to stroke over the hole and see how it’s stretching so far. He’s moving faster than he should, so it only just barely winks at him, but there’s little resistance when he slips all three fingers back in.

“Yes,” Johnny hisses through visibly gritted teeth, cheek laid flat on the bed so he can glare balefully at Ghost.

“Hmm. Want some more of my spit?”

Johnny splutters, trying to rear up again before Ghost muscles him back down. “You fuckin’- I need lube, Riley!”

Ghost frowns down at Johnny’s sex, fucking him roughly a few times in retalliation. “That’s not what you call me, stupid boy.”

Johnny hisses angrily, stomping once. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid!”

Ghost rumbles a disagreeing noise, tugging Johnny’s arms a little tighter. “Then how come you’re so bad with simple instructions? Can’t mind your manners, can’t call me the right name… can’t even ask for what you need from me properly.”

“I don’t need you to spit on me!”

Ghost sighs, like he’s dealing with a misbehaving puppy instead of an enraged man. “I won’t give you what you don’t ask for,” he warns, pulling his fingers out. “But if you’ve got all the lube you think you need…”

He lines the tip of his uncut cock up with the small, understretched hole. Johnny’s complaints rocket in volume when he realizes what Ghost’s doing, and the larger man slips his cock a little lower and rocks his hips back and forth to soak himself in Johnny’s slick while he listens to the younger man beg.

“Wait, wait-! No, no, no, nonono, please, please, don’t! Ghost!” He cries, head thrown back and thrashing as wildly as he can. Ghost’s cock only drips more precum as he’s forced to wrestle Johnny down, leaning most of his body weight onto the man beneath him. “Ghost, Ghost, Simon, please, please don’t fuck me there! Not- not without-!”

He breaks off into only pants, so Ghost grinds a little harder and leans close to spit, “Without what?”

“Spit! Without spit, please, please spit on me again Ghost!” Johnny cries, face streaked with tears and eyes screwed shut. 

Ghost hums as he shifts a bit, making sure that his cockhead drags from asshole to clit to fully soak himself and Johnny. “That what you want? Want me to spit on you, sweet boy?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Johnny sobs, blinking slowly up at him.

Ghost smiles, leans close, and spits directly onto the apple of Johnny’s cheek. The flabbergasted expression on his boy’s face is more than worth any fighting he needed to get here.

“There you go,” he purrs, grinding himself a little more slowly and making sure the head of his cock rubs against Johnny’s clit. “What do we say?”

“You- you said you’d… on-on my…”

Ghost tilts his head, his smile sharp. “I said I’d give you my spit, baby, nobody said anything about where. Why don’t you stick your pretty tongue out and taste it for me.”

Johnny doesn’t listen, but Ghost lets it slide because his little confused expression is making him ache.

“But I’m too dry,” he says quietly, staring up at Ghost. “I’m gonna- I’ll tear.”

Ghost coos, pulling back just enough to line his cockhead up properly with Johnny’s ass. “Not if you relax for me.”

Then, he pushes himself in. 

He knows he’s risking Johnny injury, so he dips his free hand down to rub his clit so he stays as relaxed as possible. As much as Ghost loves seeing Johnny cry, he knows he’ll be able to fuck him more if the boy isn’t torn.

He cries big, fat tears as Ghost pushes himself into the hilt. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give Johnny time to panic and tighten up, only forces himself in and keeps his fingers moving quickly on the clit beneath him.

“There we go,” he breathes once his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. His eyes flutter shut, rolling his head back on his neck and luxuriating the tight heat of his boy beneath him. “Feel so good for me, Johnny.”

The man beneath him is only animal noises and sniffles. Ghost can tell that he wants to tense, that he wants to fight, but the mix of Simon’s hand on his cock and his instincts keep him loose enough that he doesn’t tear.

“Look’it that,” Ghost whispers, dragging his finger from clit to hole and tracing around the stretched rim of it. “And you thought you couldn’t take it. Like I said - stupid thing.”

Johnny’s keen is high-pitched and wounded as Ghost slowly pulls out, watching the place where they meet intently.

When he slams back inside, Johnny screams.

His pace doesn’t let up from there. Once he’s assured Johnny won’t tear, he fucks him with all the strength and roughness he always does. He pays almost no mind to Johnny’s pleasure, using him only as a fleshlight for him to get off in.

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to balance himself and really start to fuck him. “Made for my goddamn cock, shaped to my will exactly, I’m never fucking letting you go.”

He’s panting over Johnny, back hunched as he works himself up. “Never felt anything like this. No man, no woman, just you, Johnny. My perfect, tight boy, huh? Cunt or ass, you squeeze me like you never want me to fuckin’ go. Proper fuckin’ cocksleeve.”

Johnny’s sounds are caught between pleasure and pain as Ghost slowly wears him down, tears streaming down his face but hips twisting back for more. 

“Too bad you were bad, huh?” Ghost pants, putting his mouth right beside Johnny’s ear. “Coulda been fucking you in that pretty cunt. Could’ve stuffed you full of my cum, given you a nice little creampie. You want that? You want me stuffed deep in your guts?”

Johnny’s nowhere near coherent enough to speak, but Ghost is more than capable of talking for the both of them. “Coulda bred you, baby. Coulda given you a pretty little thing in your tummy, coulda filled you up and made you mine. Might still, if you can learn to be good.”

Ghost’s hips begin to work erratically as he reaches the edge, uncaring for any sort of rhythm or consistent pace as he focuses purely on getting himself off.

When he finally does reach his climax, he swears he sees stars.

It takes a long time for his cock to soften fully, for Johnny’s ass to stop milking more and more come out of him. He doesn’t mind, of course, only half-heartedly humps Johnny to finish himself off.

As he begins to relax on top of Johnny, the younger man only tenses.

“Ghost,” he whines, wriggly desperately. “Ghost, c’mon, it’s my turn.”

Simon huffs a laugh against Johnny’s nape, free hand coming up to run through his mohawk. “Your turn? For what?”

Johnny whines liked a kicked dog. “To come. C’mon, I’m so close, just need a little-”

Ghost quickly pulls out and angles his hips away, so Johnny’s cunt is left with only the cold air. The little brat cries like he’s been shot, hips working fruitlessly against the bed.

“Told you you’ve been bad,” Ghost mutters, quickly crashing from his high but keeping Johnny firmly stuck beneath him. “You don’t get to come tonight.”

Johnny wails, and Ghost can’t help but laugh as he finally stands.

Johnny’s all squirming and begging beneath him as he digs through his pants pockets.

“No, no, Ghost, please, I need to come! I can’t- I can’t do this, c’mon, I’m so close, you got me so close, you have to-! Please, Simon, come on!”

“Settle,” Ghost rumbles, giving his forearms a tight squeeze as he pulls the handcuffs out of his pocket. It had been all too easy to take them from the staff room before leaving, and he sets them on the bed as he finally lets go of Johnny’s wrists.

Like he suspected, he’s too desperate to do much but beg. The most he manages is flipping onto his back, but Ghost is lifting him by the hips and forcing him further up the bed before he can try anything.

“I can’t settle, Ghost, you’re fuckin’ blue ballin’ me!”

Ghost gives him a sardonic look as he knee-walks further up the bed, grabbing Johnny’s left wrist in one hand and using the other to quickly handcuff him to the small curtain rod above his bed. “What balls? All you’ve got is a cunt.”

Johnny’s too distracted by his new predicament to care about Ghost’s comment, staring at his hand with wide eyes. Simon steps back just long enough to fully strip, throw the gun to the ground, and toss a blanket onto the bed.

“What-? Where the hell did you get these?!” Johnny spits, yanking his wrist on instinct and curling away from Simon.

“Where the hell do you think?” Simon grouses, throwing himself to the bed next to Johnny and tugging the other man down. “Get down here. We’re sleeping now.”

“We’re-?” Johnny jerks in Simon’s hold, but he can’t do more than squirm. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Uncuff me! Now!”

“No,” Ghost grunts, pulling Johnny even tighter to him and squeezing to quiet him down. “You’re not runnin’ away from me. Sleep.”

“How the hell can you expect me to sleep with one goddamn hand in the air?!”

Ghost groans, quickly covering Johnny’s mouth with one hand. “Quiet. Sleep.”

He doesn’t even flinch when he feels Johnny bite his hand. He does consider investing in some smaller ball gags for Johnny to wear to bed, if he’s going to kick up such a fuss every night.

After a few minutes of stillness and silence, Johnny relaxes in Ghost’s arms. He knows it’s purely instinctual, knows that he’ll probably wake up to Johnny’s best murder attempt in the morning, but for now he feels content.

He’s confident he’ll be able to break Johnny down into the perfect little pet. He’ll never get rid of all the boy’s fire - that’s half his fun - but he’ll make sure Johnny understands the proper power hierarchy, understands when to fight and when to listen.

For now, he falls asleep with his boy safe and secure in his arms.