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#there’s certainly something going on and I can’t work it out for myself
callsign-rogueone · 21 hours
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the dress - i.c.
Imogen Cardulo x reader Imogen finds you getting ready for a night on the town, and makes it clear what she thinks of that idea. part of my Valentine’s Day celly! 💕 #9: love confession words: 980 🏷: no book spoilers. reader wears makeup and a dress, but no pronouns used. very mild argument, talk of drinking and hookups, it's mentioned that reader had one (1) shot (I may be sober, but I can still write about drinking!), Imogen calls you sweetheart twice. I cannot believe it took me this long to post something for her! I just wanna be her cute little femme girlfriend so bad bro 😭
You shut the eyeshadow compact, satisfied with your work. It’s been a long time since you’ve bothered to do yourself up like this, and you almost don’t recognize your reflection, but it looks nice.
You hear the door unlock, straightening up.
“Oh, hi Im,” you greet, your cheeks warming. You weren’t expecting to run into her, but you suppose it was inevitable; you do share a bathroom, after all.
She stares at you blankly for a moment, taking you in -- she’s never seen you like this, ever. “What are you wearing?”
“A dress,” you answer, moving in a small circle to show her the full extent of the outfit. “I bought it first year, but I’ve never had a chance to wear it. Do you like it?”
It’s cute, a pretty shade of light blue patterned with tiny white flowers, cap sleeves and a short skirt that flutters as you move, but it's definitely not seasonally appropriate -- it’s very likely going to pour rain tonight, and that thin cotton isn’t going to keep you warm at all, especially when it only extends to your knees. She doesn’t see your flight jacket anywhere, either.
“I do like it. But why are you wearing it?“
You gather up the makeup back into the little bag you keep it in, pulling the drawstring tightly. “Me and the infantry girls I met last week are gonna go into town to hook us some civilians. Wanna come with?”
You stumble a bit as you turn, still unused to the heeled shoes you’d borrowed from your new friend. 
Imogen reaches out to steady you, setting a hand on your back. She sniffs the air twice, undoubtedly smelling the shot of whiskey you’d taken earlier -- you hate the stuff, but it does the job, and you can’t really complain about the taste when there’s nothing else available; cadets aren’t supposed to have any alcohol in their rooms.
“I only had one shot,” you defend, seeing the unamused look on her face, “and I’m gonna need one or two to convince myself to go through with this.”
“To go through with what?”
“Y’know…” you gesture aimlessly, embarrassed. 
She raises an eyebrow. “No, sweetheart, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”
“To go out to a tavern and take somebody home. Or to be taken home, I guess, since we can’t have visitors. I’ve never done anything like this before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?” You manage a smile and a nervous laugh.
The anxiety radiating from you is her last straw, but she treads carefully, knowing you’re a little fragile right now. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” you ask, looking genuinely confused. 
She can’t take it anymore. “Gods, how naive are you? Do you have any idea how dangerous this plan is? Walking half a mile to town at night in the cold with a group of girls you hardly know, dressed like that, just so you can get drunk and hook up with some stranger who you’ll never see again?”
You take a step back, grateful you don’t stumble again, and cross your arms over your chest in a show of intimidation that doesn’t work at all. “I can protect myself. And you don’t get to tell me what to do, or who to hang out with, and you certainly don’t get to tell me who to fuck. Why do you even care?”
“Because I want you to be safe, and because you’re worth so much more than just a drunk hookup. You deserve someone who actually cares about who you are inside, about your feelings. You’re a good person, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
You deflate, looking down at the floor in shame. “You’re right, it was a dumb idea,” you mumble, rubbing your hands over your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up. 
“C’mere,” she coaxes.
You step out of the shoes, taking a few steps across the cold tile toward her and letting her wrap her arms around you.
She smells nice. 
There’s a moment of still quiet, just the distant sounds of water moving through the pipes.
She rubs a hand over your back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says quietly. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.”
“S’okay,” you mumble, but she isn’t entirely convinced.
“Hey,” she says softly, “you know I love you, right?”
You blink. “What?”
She stiffens and pulls away, realizing what she’s admitted, but it’s too late to take it back. “I’m in love with you,” she repeats. “But if you don’t feel the same, I— mph!”
She squeaks in surprise as you tug her back to you by the collar of her flight jacket, connecting your lips. 
You taste like malt liquor and strawberry lip gloss, and it’s intoxicating; she can’t get enough of the thing she’s wanted so badly for the last year.
You pull away for air after a moment, resting your forehead against hers. “I do feel the same, for the record. I’ve been in love with you for months. Tonight was going to be a desperate attempt to get over you, but that’s clearly never gonna happen.”
She smiles. “I’m glad I found you here, then.”
Rain splatters against the frosted window, a downpour starting outside, and you can’t help but laugh -- there’s no way you would have made it all the way to town and back like this; you’d be soaked before you got past the front gates.
“How about I go change into something warmer, and then we can start making up for all that lost time,” you suggest, picking up the shoes and your makeup bag. 
“That sounds perfect,” she agrees, giving you another soft kiss. “See you in five minutes?”
You grin at her over your shoulder as you push open the door. “I’ll make it three.”
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entropys · 1 year
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jjunieworld · 1 month
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sex for dummies! 𓄹 📈 ₊˚ ␥
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pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader
genre: academic rival au, rivals to lovers, smut, some angst, university au, academic rival!sunghoon, glasses!sunghoon, kinda tsundere!sunghoon, some fluff if you squint, mentions of debates
synopsis: your life seemed to be going perfectly as student body president and smartest person in your university… until your grades started to slip. it got worse when you have to be tutored by the student body vice president, park sunghoon, your rival and the person you hate the most. it then somehow got even worse when he ends up being your partner for your debate team’s competition.
warnings: mean dom!sunghoon, bratty sub!reader, brat & brat tamer dynamics, unprotected sex (gasp, no!!), creampie, multiple orgasms, petnames (baby, good girl, slut), a lot of overstimulation (f. rec), slight fingering, hate sex, rough sex(?), dirty talk, exhibition(?), a lot of degradation/humiliation (f. rec), some possessiveness, some marking, they’re arguing all the time (like all the time), manhandling, some hair pulling (f. rec), super sweet aftercare …. jesus this is so filthy LMAOO
word count: 14k┊masterlist
a/n: plotting this was a wild ride but actually writing it… that was a whole journey… i didn’t mean for it to be this nasty but i dunno what can you do ¯\(◡‿◡✿) /¯ hdjsbfjdnd!/;)! and i’m gonna be real with you all… idk shit about debates i had to google everything lmaooo i hope you enjoy! ♡
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“i certainly didn’t expect this from you, y/n,” your teacher said, a look of deep disappointment on her face. “you’re the top in all your classes, in the whole school, why are you letting your grades slip like this? is there something going on?” she put a comforting hand on your shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked between you and your latest test scores.
it’s not that they have dropped dramatically—like from an A+ to a sudden D average—but they have been slowly going down more and more. your once perfect scores now barely making it past a ninety percent. you didn’t even know why your scores were falling. you haven’t felt particularly stressed and there wasn’t anything going on in your personal time. maybe it was because exams were nearing closer and closer? but you’ve always aced them, so that couldn’t be why. maybe you’ve been distracted? you felt like you’ve been distracted.
you gave your teacher, mrs. yoo—who was also your debate coach, a shake of your head, “no, ma’am, there’s nothing like that. i’m not sure why they’re slipping, but i’ll work harder from here on out!” she nodded, putting the papers back into the manila folder they were in. “good, we can’t have our student body president falling behind, especially with our debate competition right around the corner and the upcoming exams! i took it upon myself to ask one of the debate team members to help tutor you.”
it was your turn for your brows to furrow, “but, ma’am, i don’t need tutorin—“ mrs. yoo cut you off with a deep nod and a raised hand, “i know, i know. let’s not call it tutoring… let’s call it… helping. assistancing.” as she spoke there was a knock at her classroom door and the sound of it opening. “oh! here he is!” mrs. yoo added. you had to hide the anger that wanted to make itself known at the person who walked into the classroom. with a smile and hidden smugness in his walk, park sunghoon stepped into the classroom and to you and mrs. yoo.
you didn’t miss the way his stare mocked you, the slight upturn in the corner of his mouth. mrs. yoo gave sunghoon a warm smile, “y/n, i’m sure you know sunghoon, the student body vice president!” it took everything in you to twist the corners of your mouth into a polite smile. “of course, i know him well!” you said as you turned to him. oh, you knew him well alright. knew how good and well you hated every inch of him. knew well how infuriating he was, especially since he noticed your grades slipping. knew well every snide remark he would make about how he was ahead of you, smarter than you, better than you.
sunghoon pushed the frames of his glasses up his nose bridge, his smile widening at you. you could read his expression, how the mighty fall. you were sure him “tutoring” you until your grades got to how they were before would fuel him for lifetimes to come.
sunghoon nodded at you, his attention turning back to mrs. yoo, but the smugness in his smile never leaving. “he’ll be assisting you until you’re back on your feet. the meetups will be on your time, so discuss that amongst yourselves. i’ll be checking up on the two of you here and there for updates on how the process is going,” mrs. yoo said, giving the two of you one final look. “oh! and before i forget—the two of you are teammates for the debate competition. your president should be holding a meeting about it all, so the two of you can work on that as well!” mrs. yoo added, giving the both of you a bright smile.
just when you thought things couldn’t get worse today, you now have to be his teammate? your blood boiled inside and you so badly wanted to wipe the smug grin off of sunghoon’s face. giving your teacher a forced smile and a nod, you turned to leave the room with sunghoon hot on your trail.
“didn’t you say that you were the smartest here?” sunghoon asked you, coming around you to face you and making you stop in your tracks in the middle of the hallway. the polite facade had dropped and smugness reeked from him. he crossed his arms over his chest, cooing sarcastically, “is the student body president falling down a couple notches? do i have to step in for you?” you scoffed and rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, “i don’t need help, especially not from the likes of you.”
sunghoon fell smoothly into step beside you and you cursed him in your head for his long legs. “seems like you do if i’m being begged to help you,” sunghoon remarked. he moved in front of you again, leaning against the archway before the exit of the building to block your path. “just try not to drag me down with you. i don’t need my scores being effected by fucking idiots, and i don’t need to waste my time tutoring them either. meet me in the library tomorrow after the debate meeting so i can get this over with.” sunghoon swiftly turned and exited, leaving you fuming in the archway still.
slamming the exit door open, you furiously scanned your surroundings to see that sunghoon was already gone. groaning loudly, you stormed off to where your car was. you hated him. hated all of his stupid little remarks and snide comments. hated all his taunting in and out of classes. you hated how he thought he was better than you when everything stated that you were better than him. sure, your grades may be a bit on the lower side right now, but you were still the smartest in your university. still student body president—even if the title didn’t really mean much in regards to power, you still fucking had it, while he was vice president.
and now you had to be his debate partner. now the two of you have to spend even more time together than you want to, writing your speeches around the other’s and making sure nothing coincides. it felt like your life was beginning to slip through your fingers. what was happening?
your foot tapped in an annoyed rhythm as you checked the time on your phone again. sunghoon was late. you didn’t know how—you both left the meeting at the same time. at the sound of approaching footsteps, you looked up, a sneer on your face. “what the fuck took you so long? you’re wasting my time,” you spoke at sunghoon’s approaching figure.
sunghoon gave you a lame grin, “i was reserving a study room... and we both know you have nowhere else to be.” he made his way past you, not even stopping his stride, and you followed behind him. he looked back for a moment and added, “except for below the ranks.” you scoffed at him as he turned into the study room.
“the only one who will be falling in the ranks is you after these exams,” you shot back, throwing your stuff onto the table and sitting down in one of the seats heavily. sunghoon raised his eyebrows, pressing his his lips into a tight-lipped smile, “tell me that when i’m not the one tutoring you right now.” you huffed in annoyance as you got your books from your bag.
the triumphant smirk didn’t leave his face the entire time he walked you through all the portions of the subjects you were falling behind in—which you barely needed his help with since you knew them so well already. “so now do you understand why they can’t intersect?” sunghoon asked slowly, staring at you behind wide wire frames with slightly wide eyes. he spoke to you as if speaking to a child who didn’t know that the sky was blue.
“im not fucking stupid, the concept is easy,” you spat, leg shaking underneath the table that you leaned onto, your head resting on your hand in annoyance. sunghoon shrugged a little, “apparently not!” with a roll of your eyes, you closed your textbook with a little hostility. flipping your notebook back to the front and sliding the books back into your bag, you said, “that’s enough for today.”
sunghoon snickered and cooed, “is the dummy too fried? i can dumb it down more for you!” you stopped your motions to give him a sharp glare. “same time tomorrow, asshole,” you stated as you swung your bag over your shoulder. sunghoon leaned back in the chair across from you, his arms crossing against his chest and exposing his bare arms from his rolled up sleeves. he shook his head, “no. busy.”
you exhaled deeply at the simplified sentence. “i don’t care,” you replied as you turned towards the door. “cancel,” you added, and walked out. out the corner of your eye, you could see the smile on sunghoon’s face.
for the rest of the week, you met up with sunghoon for your “tutoring” sessions. they were always in the same study room in the back of the library that was less occupied, “i don’t need anyone seeing me with someone like you,” sunghoon had said.
sunghoon slapped a packet onto the table in front of your seat as you took your bag and coat off. except for your first session, he was always here before you.
you looked at him with a raised brow, “what is that?” sunghoon tilted his head to the side and squinted his eyes slightly, “me giving you the pleasure of a mock-up exam. made just for you, aren't i so sweet?” a large smile that showed his teeth appeared at the end of his sentence. scoffing as you took the seat across from him, you slide the packet over to you and flipped through it.
“complete it, and i’ll grade you. you may begin,” sunghoon said and pulled out his phone as he got comfortable in his seat. “grade me?” you laughed incredulously. who did he think he was? “that’s what i said,” he replied, not bothering to look up from his phone. “you’re not my teacher!” you exclaimed and just as quickly sunghoon replied, “i am right now.”
sighing scornfully, you flicked the page of the packet over, the loud sound making sunghoon raise an eyebrow but not his eyes. you rolled your eyes and threw the packet back on the table as you got out a pen. “this is ridiculous,” you muttered as you looked over the first question. “i know trying to sweet talk the teacher usually works in movies, but that’s not going to work here,” sunghoon spoke as he glanced up from his phone at your constant complaints.
“i didn't waste my time making the mock-up for you not to complete it,” he added. your jaw hung open and you clenched your hands into fists. “you wish i wanted to fuck you for extra credit right now,” you shot at him with a raise of your eyebrow. sunghoon just gave you a pity laugh as he turned his attention back to his phone, “you wish you could fuck me. sorry, babe, i’m too high up for you to touch.”
the next session he slapped the graded mock-up onto the table as you walked in. instead of sitting in his usual seat, he was sitting against the table on the side nearest to the door. “you’re wasting my time. why do you still show up if you’re not improving?” sunghoon said as he rose to his feet, annoyed. you took the packet and looked at the grade he gave you and turned to him in confusion. “what are you talking about? this is an A+!” he narrowed his eyes slightly at you, “and it’s not good enough, did you hear what i said? you claim you're so much smarter than me, yet your score isn’t even touching mine.
you scoffed as you threw the mock-up exam on the table next to you. “let’s see your score then!” you replied, raising your arms in the air and letting them fall to slap against your thighs heavily. “what did i tell you yesterday about the movies? we have a test coming up and i bet you’ll fail. are you seriously this dumb?” sunghoon said, shaking his head with furrowed brows.
he couldn’t be serious right now. you sarcastically nodded, turning away. “yeah… why don’t you unzip your pants and i can suck you off for a higher score?” you asked, turning back to him with a tilt of your head and your eyebrows raised. sunghoon laughed wryly, “you wouldn’t even be able to handle it… you can’t even handle the simple questions i give you. what makes you think you could handle my dick down your throat?”
“well, pull it out and we can see for ourselves!” you said loudly as you crossed your arms. the two of you breathed heavily, anger coming off of you in waves as the tension in the room grew thicker and thicker. a long moment of silence spanned between the both of you as you glared at each other, daring the other to stand down.
sunghoon shook his head to himself ever so slightly before taking one long stride and closing the distance between the two of you. he pushed you up against the wall behind you and his lips were suddenly on yours. your mouth opened in a slight groan and he slid his tongue inside your mouth as your arms raised to wrap around his neck to pull him closer. sunghoon’s hands fell to your hips and he pressed you tighter against the wall.
your tongues battled each other for dominance as you kissed each other desperately. your fingers tugged the ends of his hair and the motion caused him to let out a low moan. sunghoon gripped the jacket you wore at your hips and you could feel the growing bulge against his pants, the kiss turning sloppy.
a small whimper escaped your lips and that broke you out of your fog and made you realize just whose lips are on yours. you push sunghoon off of you, causing him to stumble backwards a little, as you take heavy breaths against the wall. sunghoon’s hands are clenched into tight, white knuckled fists near his sides and his glasses had fell down his nose. his chest rises and falls heavily with his labored breathing. the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, slight shock and horror flowing through the both of you and—now sexual—tension suffocating you.
you licked your now plumped lips and sunghoon’s eyes followed the motion. silently, you grabbed your bag and walked out the door of the study room. you walked through the library as quickly as you could, not wanting to spend another moment in the same place as him after what had just occurred. not wanting to look at him and kiss him again.
to say your next couple session were awkward and tense would be an understatement. you had thought about not even showing up, but you didn’t want mrs. yoo to be on your case. you and sunghoon had barely spoken to each other at all, not even your usual remarks here and there. either he would give you another mock-up test and you would fill it out and he would grade it the next session, or the two of you would be on opposite sides of the table with your laptops opened, working on your speeches. the most communication the two of you had was when one of you would spin your laptop around with a raised eyebrow to make sure you were both on the same page with your speeches.
you couldn’t stop thinking about his lips on yours, the need in the way he kissed you. why did he do that? and why would you kiss him back? clearly, you weren’t in your right mind. you would leave your sessions early, the tension in the air so thick you just had to get out of the small study room.
“i hope everything is going well?” mrs. yoo asked the both of you after class. you glanced over to sunghoon who stood next to you near your teacher’s desk. a big smile was suddenly plastered across his face, “everything’s going great! y/n is really improving!” you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. mrs. yoo’s face lit up, clearly charmed by the resident golden boy of your university, “that’s wonderful! i’m curious to see how you’ll score on tomorrow’s test!” mrs. yoo turned to you, a warm and encouraging smile on her face. “i’m curious too!” you exclaimed as you smiled back.
you and sunghoon walked to the library study room in silence. it was starting to wear at your mind and you couldn’t take it anymore. “i thought you said i was gonna fail?” you asked, turning to sunghoon with raised eyebrows. his hands were buried deep in his pant pockets as he turned to you, “you are.” rolling your eyes as you opened the study room door, you sat your stuff down while taking your jacket off and turned your attention back to him. “so then why didn’t you say that to mrs. yoo? trying to protect my feelings?” you cooed as you mockingly put a hand to your heart.
it was sunghoon’s turn to roll his eyes, “somehow your score keeps dropping. do you have worms for brains or are you not taking this seriously?” he shut the door and sat his bag on the empty chair next to the one he usually sits in. you walked up to him and trailed a finger down his chest. “oh, i’m taking this very seriously,” you replied overly flirtatious, not being able to help the slight laugh that escaped your lips at the end.
sunghoon pushed your finger off of him. “if you’re not gonna take my grading seriously then you can tell mrs. yoo why you’re gonna fail her class and be dropped to the lower ranks. you can also tell her how you’ll lose your title as president and how it’ll go to me.” he said with his signature smug smirk. you just laughed more, it was so easy to get him annoyed.
you leaned on the table towards his standing figure, giving him your best bedroom eyes, “you can grade me in something else, mr. president…” sunghoon gave you an incredulous look and was quiet. it was hard to stifle your laugh at his reaction. sunghoon sighed deeply, squeezing the area between his eyes and he shut them tightly. “fine…” he muttered and it was so low that you barely heard him. you leaned towards him further with a smile, “what was that?”
what you didn’t expect was to be pushed up against the wall again, sunghoon’s lips on yours hungrily. “i’ll grade you on how well you please me,” he said against your lips as he pinned your arms above your head. you caught your breath and replied, “i bet i’ll get an A+!” your blouse was then being pulled over your head, leaving you in your bra. your eyes caught the large square window that looked into the room and you were suddenly glad that nobody really came back here.
sunghoon’s lips were back on yours and you jolted at the cold touch of his fingers at the hem of your panties under the skirt you were wearing. “take these off,” he demanded breathlessly, pulling them down a little. your fingers overtook his and you did what you were told as sunghoon pulled his shirt off and started to unbuckle his belt. shivering from the cold air of the room, you pulled sunghoon back towards you for a kiss as your hands worked at the buttons of his pants once his belt was off.
you were dripping with need as he pushed your hands away and broke your kiss so he could take his pants and boxers off. your eyes fell down to his large cock with wide eyes. “like what you see?” sunghoon smirked as he grabbed your arm and moved you to the table.
he instructed you to take your bra off as he harshly pulled down your skirt. never in a million years would you think that you would ever be completely bare in front of park sunghoon and he would be completely bare in front of you. never in a million years would you think that he would be pushing you up onto the edge of the table, his hard cock brushing against your clit, as he spread your legs so your wet pussy was on full display for him.
sunghoon trailed the wetness with his thumb, causing you to jolt. he chuckled a little giving you a mocking sad face, “i barely even touched you… i thought you could handle it?” you glared at him and shut your legs, shifting them to the side. “says the one who was so desperate to get me naked,” you scoffed. “i could say the same about you,” sunghoon replied as he gripped one of your knees to open your legs again.
when you opened your mouth to retort, he pressed his lips to yours in an open mouthed kiss to shut you up. “you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” sunghoon asked against them and chased your lips when you tried to pull away. all you could do was nod in slight annoyance. you gasped when his fingers entered you and he started to pump them in and out. “then shut up and take my cock like one.”
sunghoon removed his fingers after a couple moments and spread your wetness over your clit. your back arched as a moan escaped you lips. smiling, sunghoon pulled away and lined his cock with your entrance. you gripped onto his biceps as he slowly started to push himself inside you, his hair falling over his glasses as he looked down.
“i hate you,” you finally spat back at him. he glanced up after bottoming out, letting out a heavy breath. you glared sharply at him. it was the only thing you could think to do to distract yourself from how full of him you felt, to stop yourself from grinding your hips towards his. sunghoon rested his hands on your knees, squeezing them slightly. he cocked his head to the side and teasingly asked, “do you? the way you’re clenching around me right now says otherwise.”
without warning, sunghoon started rolling his hips at a fast pace. your nails dug into his biceps as your brows knitted together from the pleasure. “fuck…” sunghoon muttered as he closed his eyes and threw his head back with an open mouth. “you don’t fucking know what you do to me. i imagined doing this every time you opened up that stupid little mouth of yours.”
you whined at his relentless pace, and had to sit back on your hands with a heavy breath. “like—like you ever could…” you moaned out. you were well aware that he was doing just that right now, but you didn’t care. you just wanted a reaction out of him. sunghoon looked down at you with a stupid grin, his hand moved from your knee to rub circles onto your clit with his thumb, “baby, what do you think i’m doing right now? i know you aren’t this dumb…”
you took your lip between your teeth to stop the moan that wanted to desperately come out of you. “t-this is nothing… this is me doing you a favor,” you whimpered, squirming at his fast circles. sunghoon laughed arrogantly, the loud sounds of his skin slapping against yours filling the room, “a favor? please. you were so eager for my cock like the little slut that you are that it was all you talked about since we started these fucking sessions.”
your body twitched as the knot in your stomach got tighter. sunghoon put the hand that wasn’t circling your clit behind your head to pull you to him, looking at you with blown out wide eyes and an intensely strange type of hunger. pulling your head back by your hair, his lips crashed onto yours sloppily. moaning against his lips loudly, you felt your walls clench around his hard cock tighter.
sunghoon let out a low grunt, pulling away from you and squeezing his eyes shut. it was a miracle nobody had come back to the study room yet. he was fucking you so hard that the table shook with every thrust and the chairs rattled. the sound of your moans and skin slapping together along with the wet sounds from his cock inside you should raise some warning bells. if you were in your right state of mind right now you wouldn’t be doing this at all.
your legs started to tremble and your whimpers got louder. you tried to push sunghoon’s hand away from your clit but all he did was swat away your attempt. “no. you get what you ask for, my stupid little slut. this pussy is mine until i’m finished with it,” sunghoon said lowly and kissed you, thrusting faster. you moaned against his lips and tried to still your heavy breathing, but to no use.
sunghoon pulled away, his teeth biting your lip briefly, when you tried to squeeze your legs together. “what did i just fucking tell you?” he spat as he harshly pushed your legs apart again.
you barely even heard his words, too busy with the sweet relief of his hands off your throbbing and sensitive clit. the way his thrusts slowed. “t-too much…” you trailed, crying out when his pace picked up again. his hand was back at your clit again, fast circles sending you over the edge as your back arched more and you gripped his shoulders for support. you buried your face into his bare neck as loud whimpers flew out of you.
“shh…” sunghoon shushed lowly in your ear. for a second, you thought he was gonna be sweet until he harshly added, “keep quiet before someone hears us and we both get in trouble. don’t wanna ruin that good girl image you have now, do you?” you cut off another whimper with the bite of your lip. you were sure to draw blood with how hard your teeth were biting down.
“that’s my good girl,” sunghoon soothed, pulling your head back. he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips as he looked down at you through the frames of his glasses. you avoided his eyes, shutting yours tightly altogether with knitted brows as the band finally snapped and you came around him, your body twitching. you could just hear the smug smirk in his voice when sunghoon suddenly said, “i’ll stop when you beg me to.”
your eyes flew open and your grip on his shoulders tightened. how was he not a mess from all of this like you were? how could he still ram his cock in and out of you, fingers rubbing fast against your clit, with your mixed release and arousal making everything so slick without a single tremor in his voice? you stared at him with the most furious look you could muster, “n-never.” sunghoon’s smirk widened. “you’ll be too stupid on my cock that you won’t even think twice,” he replied.
sunghoon pulled out of you, letting out the first moan you’ve heard from him as you pulsated around him. “fuck…” he breathed as he watched your cum drip out of you. your head fell back as you breathed deeply through your nose, legs still shaking. sunghoon grabbed your arms and pulled you off the table. you wobbled tremendously as your feet hit the floor and you had to hold onto sunghoon for support. he spun you and pushed you down hard on the table, sticking his cock back inside you.
he held your shaking hips steady with firm hands as he pounded into you from behind. sunghoon must’ve been close, because he was letting his moans out more freely. “fuck, y/n… your pussy feels so good around my cock,” he whimpered. the overstimulation had your fists clenching and whines leaving your lips. “f-fuck you, s-sunghoon,” you murmured and looked back at him. with another moan, you came around his length again.
with a stuttered laugh, sunghoon lifted you up against his chest and your head fell back to rest against him. his arm wrapped around your breasts and your lower stomach, holding you tight to him as his cock thrusted deeper into you. your eyes fluttered open to look up at him. sunghoon pecked the side of your mouth, “you are, baby.”
his lips fell down to your neck and he began sucking marks onto it, making you shiver. “when i’m done, everyone will know who you belong to,” sunghoon whispered lowly in your ear. he groaned and buried his head into your neck as he came undone inside of you. you whimpered at the feeling of being so full, sunghoon’s low whines in your ear, and the fact that he just didn’t stop. even after he came.
you felt the cum dripping down your thighs and for once in your entire life, you were grateful for sunghoon. if he wasn’t holding you so tightly to him you would’ve fell over. “s-sunghoon…” you whined just before he brought his lips to yours. he hummed against your lips, a smile spreading. you didn’t want to beg, you refused to beg, but the pornographic sounds emitting from your two bodies and the waves of pleasure flowing through your body were making you extremely hazy.
“sunghoon…” you whined again against his lips. he kissed you slowly, which was a contrast to how fast he was fucking into you right now. “i already told you what to do,” he replied before going back to kissing you. you shook your head, you didn’t want to. whimpering as you came once again, you whispered “p-please…” against his lips.
pulling away and chuckling lowly, sunghoon said, “please what, baby?” you scrunched your face up. you just couldn’t believe that he was making you beg and you just couldn’t believe you were actually about to do it. “please… it’s t-too much. p-please stop!” you begged him. placing another slow kiss against your lips, which he made sure to drag out with a smirk, he leaned you against the table to pull out.
your legs trembled and your walls clenched around nothing at the sudden feeling of emptiness. you fell onto the table for support as your chest rose and fell hard. vaguely, you could hear sunghoon moving around behind you, but you could barely keep your eyes open right now.
you felt gentle hands pulling you up and turning you around. “lay back on the table,” sunghoon said softly, tissues in hand. you didn’t have it in you to argue so you did what you were told. you felt him wiping between your legs and squirmed and jolted at his touch with how sensitive you were. at least the coldness of the table helped provide you comfort against your burning skin.
sunghoon grabbed your waist and helped you sit up. at some point he had grabbed your blouse, which he was now putting above your head after helping you with your bra. there was silence in the air as he got you off the table to put the rest of your clothes on, but it wasn’t a heavy silence, it was actually a comfortable one.
once you were all dressed and sitting in a chair with your coat on, he put the rest of his clothes back on too since he was only in his boxers. he outstretched his arm once he was done for you to take and you stood up with wobbly knees to grab it. “why are you being so nice to me?” you asked him quietly, more genuinely curious than suspicious. he swung your bag over his other shoulder, “i just overstimulated the shit out of you, it’s the least i could do.”
after making sure the two of you had everything, he then added, “or call it post nut clarity… i don’t really care.” you rolled your eyes at him as he led you through the library. both of your names were suddenly called and you heard approaching footsteps. turning in unison, a confused look on your face, you saw as your debate team president ran up to you.
she looked over the two of you, your intertwined arms, your closeness, and the fact that sunghoon was carrying your things with a shocked smile. “oh! you two have gotten close!” she remarked. you gave her a polite smile, your nose scrunching slightly to speak but sunghoon beat you to it, “she was having a hard time and i was around, so i’m just helping her out!”
you so badly wanted to glare at him for the double meaning of his words but didn’t want to give away what had just happened in one of the study rooms. “oh no, what happened?” your debate president asked, her brows drawing together with worry. “she’s overstimulated,” sunghoon smiled and your eyes widened as you glanced at him. “it’s been a long day…” you quickly added, cheeks heating up as you ignored the smile on sunghoon’s face. “you know, all the fluorescent lights and everything…” your president nodded, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder as she wished the both of you well.
once you were out of the library, you harshly nudged sunghoon, which didn’t really do much but make you stumble. “you fucking asshole! why would you say that!” you whisper-yelled, looking around you to make sure none of the students passing by heard. sunghoon beamed, laughing loudly, “it’s not my fault you thought of it that way!”
throughout the test, you kept looking across the room at sunghoon. you wanted to walk over and laugh in his face. this test was absolutely easy, even easier than before. you were going to pass this test with flying colors and score above whatever sunghoon gets. you were giddy with excitement to brag in his face.
at the end when all the tests were collected, you looked over at sunghoon again only to find him already looking at you. his head was resting in his hand and he looked slightly spaced out, but when your gaze met his he straightened and cocked his head to the side while raising an eyebrow. “A+, asshole!” you mouthed with a wide smug smile. sunghoon shook his head with the ghost of a smirk and mouthed, “you wish.”
“when did the two of you start dating?” you heard your debate team president say as she came up to you, leaning next to where you sat. you turned to her with a confused upraised brow. “what are you talking about? we aren’t dating,” you gave a shocked laugh. is she serious? you dating sunghoon of all people? please. you had standards. letting him fuck you was more than enough.
your president looked at you with complete surprise, “you aren’t? oh…” you laughed again as you packed up your things. “you two would make a cute couple!” she smiled. you rapidly shook your head and scrunched your face up at her comment, hanging your bag off your shoulder, “he wishes.” your president laughed, giving you a look, as she turned to leave.
you started to walk after her but felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you back, keeping you in the empty classroom. turning with your eyebrows raised, you gave sunghoon an annoyed expectant look. “how was the test, dumbass? too hard for you?” he pouted and you scoffed at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna be so good to watch your face fall when you see i’ve gotten a better score than you!” you exclaimed and then moved to walk out of the class.
sunghoon followed behind you, “oh, please! i already told you your scores aren’t even touching mine in the slightest. keep dreaming.” you pushed the door open to the building and the afternoon breeze brushed against you. walking towards the direction of the library, you said, “yet i can guarantee you i passed that test with flying colors!” sunghoon just scoffed and the two of you walked the short distance to the library in silence.
when you pushed open the study room, you sat your stuff down and got your laptop out to finish working on your debate speech. the competition was in a couple days and you still had half of your speech to write and make sure was absolutely perfect. “so, what is my grade? A+? i bet it is,” you asked, looking up at him from your seated position as he pulled his laptop out across from you. sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows at you, pushing his hair out of the frames of his glasses. “yesterday…? and you say i’m the idiot,” you added, muttering the last part.
sunghoon mockingly thought for a second before swiftly replying, “i’d give you a D-.” you scoffed, “a D-? you’re such a liar.” he shrugged, clicking some keys on his laptop in front of him. “you sucked, but it was what i expected from someone of the likes of you,” sunghoon replied.
“you weren’t saying that when you were moaning over how good my pussy felt,” you smirked at him with a triumphant raise of your brow. “couldn’t even keep your lips off of me! hm… i’d give you an F average.” sunghoon snorted, “you weren’t saying that when my cock was deep inside you and you kept cumming around me.”
your eyes narrowed at him and you felt your face heat ever so slightly, “only because you were overstimulating me! of course i was gonna cum! then you wouldn’t stop or slow down!” sunghoon leaned forward onto the table on his elbows, a devious smirk playing on his lips. “don’t act like you didn’t fucking love it like the little slut that you are,” he said lowly. you leaned forward too, using his own smirk against him, “only if you stop acting like you don’t want to strip me naked right now and fuck me again.”
“yeah, only so you’ll stop acting like a fucking brat,” sunghoon replied. you smirk grew into a flirtatious smile, “awe, you wanna kiss me so bad!” sunghoon rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his laptop and you smiled widely before doing the same.
after about an hour of working on your speeches and cross checking them with each other, your laptop dinged with a notification that your test was graded. “test scores are out!” you exclaimed, hurriedly clicking on the notification to take you to your gradebook. out the corner of your eye you saw sunghoon lean into his laptop.
“98.75,” sunghoon said. you jumped to your feet in celebration, “99.25, fucker!” you then leaned over your laptop towards him so your face was only a short distance from his. “suck. on. that!” you exclaimed, smugness dripping from your voice. “miss me! miss me! now you gotta kiss me!” you then teased, tilting your head back and forth at him. sunghoon got up from his seat slightly and leaned towards you until your faces were just inches apart. “now everytime you get a high score you’re gonna think of me fucking the shit out of you. right on this table. congrats!”
sunghoon pressed a kiss to your lips before going back to his speech. you stood there for a quick moment completely stunned as your face heated. sunghoon didn’t even glance back up at you or anything. he was completely focused on his speech, eyes trailing the lines on the screen. “fuck you,” you mumbled, going back to your speech with annoyance flowing into you. “think you’d be able to handle it again?” he replied smoothly, eyes never leaving his screen.
your debate team competition was tomorrow and you were so thankful that you managed to perfect your speech a couple days before. you were also thankful that you no longer had to be “tutored” by sunghoon since your grades were back to what they once were. though, you were not thankful that you still had to spend more time with him. that would all end soon though, thankfully.
stepping onto the bus that your debate team president somehow managed to secure, you made your way towards the middle of the bus and chose a seat at random. there weren't a whole lot of people on the debate team, so it was a small bus. you scooted towards the window and leaned your head against it, staring out at the parking lot of your campus.
the location at which the competition was being held and where your hotel was wasn't that far away. maybe a two or three hour drive from your university? either way, you felt exhausted and all you were excited to do was sleep the ride away.
turning, you watched your members file into the small bus, laughing and chatting away amongst each other. your eyes couldn’t help but trail sunghoon as he stepped onto the bus and the sun reflected off his glasses, catching your attention. his eyes immediately found yours and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. you rolled your eyes and looked away, finding the seat in front of you way more interesting.
you looked back over to him when you saw him getting closer. he sat in the seat ahead of you on the opposite side of the bus. leaning against the window and throwing his feet up onto the rest of the seat, he looked over at you over the rims of his glasses. “like what you see?” he mouthed and you rolled your eyes again, ignoring how his words brought up memories of the two of you fucking, and continued to stare.
sunghoon pulled out his phone and started scrolling on it for a little bit. he must’ve felt you still staring at him, lids droopy, because he glanced back up at you. “sleepy?” he mouth and then pouted, doing a fake crying motion. you didn’t have the energy to shoot something back at him so all you did was nod, lids fluttering closed for a second. “so go to sleep,” he mouthed.
you sighed deeply and glanced around the bus. the bus was quiet besides the sounds of wheels going over concrete and the occasional rattling of the things on the bus. majority of your members were either asleep or on their way to it, and mrs. yoo was asleep as soon as she got comfortable in her seat at the front. “can’t,” you mouthed to sunghoon, followed by a shrug.
even though you were dead tired, for some reason your eyes just wouldn’t close besides the occasional flutter. you watched as sunghoon sighed lightly before moving over to your seat. he sat his bag down on his lap, patting it down a little, and turned towards you. you looked back at him, confusion clear in your eyes. he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you towards his lap, insinuating that you rested your head on his bag.
shifting a little so you were more comfortable, you laid your head on his bag. sunghoon’s arm laid across the side of your waist and his hand rubbed soothing circles into it. “don’t think this is because i like you,” he whispered to you. you looked up at him. “mhm… and you wanna kiss me,” you quietly muttered, sleep heavy on your tone.
“you want me to kiss you again,” sunghoon quietly shot back. your eyes drooped shut as you replied, “mhm… sure do.” sunghoon’s hand moved from your waist to your face as he turned it so you were facing him again. he leaned down and his lips met yours in a slow and sweet kiss. when he pulled away, he whispered with no punch, “you get what you ask for, idiot.” you just hummed, already half asleep as he continued to rub soothing circles onto the side of your waist.
at some point, probably immediately after sunghoon had kissed you, you had fallen asleep. it’s quite surprising how easily you were able to simply from laying your head in his lap. when you woke up, the sun was setting and the streaks of pink and orange greeted you. you were still facing sunghoon a little, and you could see how he was fast asleep.
his hand was still across your waist, and you had to gently and slowly move it to his lap so you could sit up without waking him. the whole bus seemed to still be asleep, except for the bus driver, and you checked your phone to see that there was still about forty minutes until you reached your hotel. turning back to sunghoon, you giggled lightly to yourself at how his head leaned back on the seat as he slept. slowly you took his glasses off his face and put them on yours.
poking his cheek, you had to stifle your laugh as he jolted slightly. you stared at him with a dumb smile on your face as his eyes fluttered open and he blinked rapidly for a moment. he straightened, his eyes finding yours with a ghost of a smile on his mouth. “damn your vision fucking sucks,” you immediately said, your voice low not to wake anyone.
his vision actually wasn’t that bad, only slightly blurry for you, but you could still see out of his glasses just fine. “no shit sherlock,” sunghoon replied. “what do you think i need glasses for? and my vision isn’t even that bad, i can still see fine without them.” it was just so funny to tease him and see what his reaction will be. you couldn’t resist doing it, especially not when he would always deliver.
you started dramatically posing with his glasses, trying to keep the smile from growing on your face. “do you think your glasses are the look for me?” you playfully asked him. “do i look beautiful?” immediately sunghoon replied, “no, you look hideous.” he took his glasses back from you and put them back on his own face, his eyebrow raising at you after.
you let out a quiet laugh and wrapped your arms around his neck. you then countered, “awe, baby, you think i’m so beautiful? you wanna kiss me again?” you pouted your lips as you waited for his answer. sunghoon just rolled his eyes. “totally…” he whispered, placing his hands on your waist. “i definietly do.”
smirking slightly, you leaned in and kissed him just as slow and sweet as he did to you earlier. only this time, you deepened it. you could practically feel sunghoon’s shock coming off of him in waves and it made you smile into the kiss. you pulled away suddenly, a playful smile on your lips, “you get what you ask for!” you then gasped lightly and whispered really low, a hand over your mouth, “not here, nasty! there’s people around!” when he tried to kiss you again.
you tried to move your arms from his neck and turn away but sunghoon pulled you closer to him. “nuh uh…” he muttered his lips pressing to yours for a chaste kiss. “that didn’t bother you before in the study room,” he whispered close to your ear sensually. your face heated as he pressed another kiss to your lips. “didn’t bother you when we were shaking the table and your moans could be heard across campus,” he whispered in your other ear before pressing sweet kisses to your neck. you had to resist the urge to moan as you glanced around the bus to see everyone still sleeping, your face on fire.
the marks from his lips on your neck the last time has just started to almost completely disappear. you had to wear turtlenecks or keep your scarf on during the day, which—thankfully—the weather outside was chilly. “go back to your original seat,” you replied, pushing his head away from your neck. you pushed at his chest but he didn’t budge. “or what?” he challenged eyes boring into yours.
you rolled your eyes and tried to scoot as far from him as his hands pulling you towards him would allow. “we both know who’s in charge here,” he spoke quietly, lips on your jaw when you turned your face away from him. “and we both know i have more than enough reasons to punish you.” his breath fanning on your skin sent a shiver down your spine and it made sunghoon chuckle.
sunghoon guided your face back to his with the tip of his finger. he gave you another slow kiss before breaking away with a smug smirk and grabbing his bag to move back to his original seat. you breathed heavily and tried to still your rapidly beating heart. every moment you spent with him was always filled with such intensity, such tension that by the end of it you felt like you ran a marathon while holding your breath the entire time.
you glanced at him to see that he was leaned back against his window towards you, arms crossed in his lap, his hair over his glasses slightly and eyes shut. you stared at him for a moment as your heart rate increased more. how did he always manage to make you feel like this?
shaking your head at the thought, you watched as his chest rose and fell until he was asleep again. you didn’t have anything better to do, and you weren’t tired, so you watched him until more people started to wake and it was almost time to get your suitcases from the back of the bus to go into your hotel.
“are you sure you don’t want to go to the pre-competition party?” your debate team president, and hotel roommate, asks while half her body is wrapped around the door to your room. a couple of your other members are outside the room waiting for her. “i’m fine! truly, i am. i’m really tired and just want to head to bed early,” you tell her, lying through your teeth. “go have fun! don’t stay out too late!” she laughs and responds before stepping out, “can’t say that i won’t!”
you sigh as the door closes and the keycard lock clicks into place. dropping onto your bed for the night, you stare up at the ceiling as thoughts of sunghoon flow through your mind. that’s what you really wanted to stay in for. he’s been in your mind a lot recently, and not just of the occasional thoughts of how much you hated him.
do you even still hate him? you didn’t know. the relationship between the two of you was all over the place, lines blurred everywhere. you hate each other, but the two of you have slept together—and you don’t even know if you could label it as hate sex at this point. you hate each other, but occasionally sunghoon kisses you, and today you kissed him?
what makes you even more confused, and shocks you to your core, is the fact that you don’t seem to mind the weird relationship you and sunghoon have. in fact, you actually kind of like it. it makes you look over all of your interactions with brand new eyes. you’re ripped out of your thoughts by a knock at your door. sliding from the bed, you walk over to the door and open it, only to be faced with the person running rampid in your thoughts himself.
sunghoon had his laptop in his hand and he looked at you expectantly. wordless, and still a little in your thoughts, you move to the side to let him in. “what are you doing here?” you ask him. sunghoon waved his laptop in the air as he got settled at the desk in your hotel room. “we need to go over our speeches one last time before the competition tomorrow,” he replied.
a smug smile graced your features and you boasted, “i’m already finished with mine! must be because you’re so inferior to me that you aren’t!” sunghoon snorted, “these are just revisions, i finished mine a week ago. can’t say the same for you, unfortunately. i’m not the the one who was feverishly scrambling to finish my speech two days before the competition.” you rolled your eyes even though his back was to you. you completely forgot that you had finished your speech with him present at the study room. “fuck off,” you muttered.
a comfortable silence filled the room as you laid on your bed staring at the ceiling and sunghoon typed at the desk. you were bored out your mind. the music from the party outside where the pool was floated up to your ears. even being on the third floor, the music was decently loud. almost every debate team that’ll be partaking in the competition was down there.
“sunghoon,” you whined. “i’m so fucking bored can you hurry up.” you heard him chuckle, “that just makes me want to go slower.” silence overtook the room again for a couple minutes before you whined out again. “i’m bored,” you turned to stare at sunghoon’s side profile. you just realized how pretty he was. “what do you want me to do about it? shut up so i can focus,” he replied.
every couple minutes you would whine about how you were bored. you could see the irritation continuously building in sunghoon’s shoulders every time you opened your mouth. at first you really were bored, but then you saw how it was annoying him and that became entertaining to you. especially when he started to just flat out ignore you.
standing from the bed, you walked over to him, running your fingers through his hair and resting your head on top of his. you whined out once again, dragging out the vowel, “sunghoon i’m bored!” you glanced down to his laptop and saw that he was basically almost done. he had only a few more paragraphs before the end. a mischievous smile curled your lips as you thought of something that would make him really annoyed.
moving to the side and leaning in front of him, you lifted your leg over his to straddle him. sunghoon let out a loud annoyed sigh as you put your hands on his shoulders. he stared at you with furrowed brows, his arms falling to his sides. you pouted, “what? you don’t want me now?” sunghoon breathed in hard, “no, i don’t.”
you grinded against him and his hands flew to your hips. “do you really wanna get on my nerves?” he asked harshly. truthfully, besides being entertained at seeing him annoyed, you don’t know why you were straddling him. why you were currently grinding against him again and his hands at your hips were holding you firmly still. you didn’t know why being in his presence filled you with such an intense need that you just had to provoke him to the point where he would touch you in some way.
a playful smile started to take over your pout. sunghoon sighed deeply and scooted his chair back away from the desk a little. your smile only grew when suddenly his lips were on yours. the kiss was just as desperate as you felt and just as intense. it reminded you of the time the two of you first kissed. the desperate need that left you breathless and made you run. but you weren’t running now. you wanted sunghoon—you needed him.
grinding against him again, he sharply inhaled and pulled away from you. you could feel his growing bulge and could feel how much wetter you were getting. he moved to stand and you got off of him. your body felt of fire and you shook ever so slightly in anticipation from whatever might happen next.
sunghoon moved to your bed, “where’s your roommate?” he asked and looked to you. his stare was intense and emotions that you couldn’t decipher swirled in his eyes. “the party,” you replied simply. “she won’t be back until late… or at all if she’s with her boyfriend.” a shiver ran down your spine at sunghoon’s satisfied smirk.
he laid on your bed, back against the headboard with an arm behind his head, his intense eyes never leaving yours. “are you just gonna stand there like a fucking idiot or are you gonna start taking your clothes off?” he asked you in the sweetest tone you’ve heard from him yet. “you want my cock so bad? come here and ride me.”
your mouth fell open and you stuttered over what to do next. you didn’t know why you were suddenly so shy. “and if i don’t?” you managed to say, the confidence was leaking out of your voice. sunghoon tilted his head to the side, his eyes trailing up and down your body from across the room and heating it up even more than it was before. “then i’ll leave you here all fucking needy,” he said simply.
slowly, you started to remove each article of clothing one by one. you kept avoiding his intense eyes that never left you, especially when he lifted his hips off the bed to take his sweatpants and boxers off, hard and leaking cock on full display. you only got a brief moment of tranquility from his stare when he went to take his shirt off.
you stood completely naked in front of him. he had shifted down on the bed a little, him completely naked now too. for some reason, even thought this isn’t the first time you were naked in front of him, this time felt different. you felt suddenly exposed, like the fog between the two of you had disappeared and you were seeing each other clearly for the first time. he had to feel it too, or else he wouldn’t be staring at you so intently, his brows slightly knitted together.
after a moment of silence, a moment that felt like eternity with the thick tension in the air, sunghoon finally broke it. you stood with your hands intertwined together in front of you, squirming a little to find some way not to feel so exposed. your eyes were firmly on the bottom of the bed where you could just barely make sunghoon out in your peripheral vision.
“come here,” sunghoon said softly. your eyes fluttered up to him and you moved slowly towards the bed, perching just at the end as you sat back on your knees. the room suddenly felt cold and goosebumps formed on your skin. sunghoon shifted a little so he was sitting more against the headboard again. “closer,” he said in the same soft tone. he put his hands to his sides as his eyes trailed over your face.
you crawled towards him slowly, and immediately regretted it when you looked up at his sharp intake of breath. you straddled his thighs, his big and hard cock brushing against your stomach. sunghoon moved his hands from his sides to your waist and caught your lips in a sweet and soothing kiss.
you moved your ridgid arms from your sides to around his neck, fingers combing through the bottom of his hair. the longer you kissed sunghoon, the more you felt your nerves dissolve and the more your need for him grew. you got up on your knees and grabbed sunghoon’s cock, which made him let out a moan against your lips, and lined it to your entrance. slowly, you slid down his length until he was fully inside of you.
you did as he told you to do and started to grind your hips, pulling away from his lips to whimper at how good he felt. his long cock rubbed against your sweet spot so well and you rolled your hips faster and faster as the waves of pleasure hit you one by one.
sunghoon kissed you slowly as you came undone on top of him. he smiled against your lips as you kept pulling away to moan or whimper from his cock inside you. it almost made you forget that he was annoyed with you—almost. it almost made you forget until you fell against him with your head buried in his chest as you pulsated around him and he lifted your hips so you were sitting on your knees slightly. until you pulled away from his chest with knitted eyebrows and he stared at you with intense, blown out eyes. until he gripped your hips so you wouldn’t move and fucked up into you so hard that it made you cry out.
tears brimmed in your eyes and you couldn’t stop the breathy stuttered whimpers that escaped you even if you tried. “s-sunghoon…” you moaned out. sunghoon threw his head back onto the headboard at his name on your lips. “what? this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked you, mock sweetness in his voice. “when you kept grinding against me, this is what you asked for, isn’t it?” he slammed his lips on yours, humming at the way you clenched around him again, warm cum dripping down his cock.
“a-asshole,” you pushed out, glaring at him because that was all you could do. his eyebrows raised at you and he let out a wry laugh, “baby, you have no idea.” suddenly you were being pulled off the bed. suddenly sunghoon was throwing the balcony door open and the cold air was nipping at your skin.
you were being pulled to the balcony, party in full swing below you and music attacking your ears. you were lucky that if someone were to look up three floors that they’d only see your fucked out expression as sunghoon bent you over the railing and stuck his cock back inside you. “since you wanna be a fucking brat for me, you can be a brat for everyone. let’s show everyone how much of a fucking slut you are.”
the retorts quickly died on your tongue when sunghoon began moving, smacking his hips harshly against your ass. “aren’t you such a good girl? already cumming twice against my cock. you want more? cause i’ll give you fucking more,” sunghoon leaned down to your ear to ask you over the music. you nodded, severely regretting pissing him off. your legs wobbled underneath you.
you already knew what was coming next when you felt his hand wrap around your waist. he pulled you up and said harshly, “use your fucking words. are you trying to annoy me more?” you swallowed down the moans in your throat. “n-no,” you whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut. “i w-want you to give m-me more…” if you thought him making you beg for him to stop the first time he fucked you was humiliating, it had nothing on this.
your back arched and that just made it worse. he pulled you back to him by your hair and you moaned at the pain and from the pleasure of his cock ramming in and out of you. you heard him smugly laugh behind you and you opened your eyes to look at him. he stared directly into your eyes, “you’re mine. and your pussy for the night is mine to do with what i please. do you understand?” you nodded.
remembering to use your words, you pushed out, “y-yes.” sunghoon’s lips were on yours with a sloppy kiss that ended just as fast as it started. “and who do you belong to?” he asked you, mouth by your ear. you inhaled as deeply as you could with the pleasure ripping you apart. “you,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. sunghoon gave you the sweetest smile and followed it up with the sweetest kiss. “good fucking girl.”
he brought you back inside and shut the balcony behind you. you barely got to breathe a sigh of relief that cold air wasn’t nipping at your skin before your face was buried in the comforter and you let out the loudest moan you’ve ever let out before. sunghoon fucked into you so deeply, his own loud moans escaping him, that it sent you over the edge. you clenched around him again and he whimpered out a, “fuck, baby… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep clenching around my cock like that.”
you whimpered out something even you couldn’t understand, thick tears rolling down your face from the ecstasy. you let out another loud moan, the rope inside you about to snap. “you drive me f-fucking crazy, y/n. do you know that?” sunghoon stuttered. the two of you came at the same time, intertwined moans and whimpers filling the hotel room.
sunghoon fell over you, managing to catch himself with his hands at your sides as you felt his cock twitch inside you from his release. he pulled out from you slowly, whimpering at how you clenched around him in the process. he laid down on the edge of the bed and helped pull you up so you straddled him again and laid against his chest. sunghoon’s arms wrapped around you as you both breathed heavily.
once you felt your body still and you no longer felt like you were being ripped apart by his huge cock giving you waves of pleasure, you sat up with sudden determination. sunghoon looked up at you through half opened eyes and tilted glasses. you took his cock, relishing in the way he moaned and dug his head into the blankets as his eyes squeezed shut, and slid it back inside you. you tried not to double over at the sensitivity and how you could feel every vein on his cock inside you.
you placed your hands on his chest and looked down at him, eyes burning and the hint of a smile on your lips. sunghoon laughed, and it had to be the first time you’ve ever heard him genuinely laugh. a genuine smile spread across his lips after. you felt your heart flutter at the sight despite your plans. “want me to get a taste of my own medicine, huh?” sunghoon smiled up at you, causing your own to grow, and you nodded as you started to rock your hips back and forth.
sunghoon put his hands on your hips, whimpers leaving him and making his teeth clench. you picked up your paced and he stared up at you through knitted eyebrows. your smile grew more as you got to watch every moan, every whimper, and every whine that left his mouth, just as he did you. it didn’t take long for sunghoon to cum again, and thank god for that. you didn’t know how long you could take being hit with more waves of pleasure.
his hands gripped your hips hard as he moaned out your name. you giggled and continued to move your hips, creamy sounds coming from the motion. “o-okay, y/n…” sunghoon whined and you shook your head. “beg me to stop,” you demanded, giggles on your lips. “st—okay! s-stop. please stop!”
you smiled and pulled yourself off of him slowly. sunghoon let out a shaky breath and looked over at you, “that’s the only time i’ll let you do that.” you looked over at him from your spot next to him, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “who says there will be a next time?” you replied. sunghoon just shook his head at you and laughed, “we both know this isn’t the last time.” you laughed and gave him a quick kiss. “so then you know that that won’t be the only time!” you sweetly exclaimed.
he sat up and you followed, standing to your feet and almost falling to the floor had it not been for sunghoon catching you. he sat you back down on the bed, helping you to move back against the headboard. “stay here... i’ll get a towel to clean you up,” he chuckled and you nodded. you weren’t even shocked like how you were the last time that he was being so sweet. in fact, after the way he just fucked you, it was a welcome change. even if the one-eighty made you dizzy.
sunghoon grabbed your clothes off the floor and sat them beside you as he started to clean you up. “you might want to put on something warmer… i did have you out in the cold naked,” he spoke softly as you put your shirt on. the clothes you were wearing before was a long sleeved pajama top and pajama shorts. the room was already a little bit cold, so maybe he was right. “all i packed was pajama shorts…” you trailed as he finished cleaning between your legs.
“you can wear my sweatpants,” sunghoon replied and reached down to the floor to grab them. he handed them to you and stood to his feet to clean himself off. “well then what would you wear?” you asked, brows furrowing. sunghoon shrugged, “i’ll be fine. i’ll just wear my boxers and put a different pair of sweatpants on when i get back to my room.” he put his boxers on and helped you to put your underwear and his sweatpants on. he then turned for the bathroom.
suddenly, and at full force, you realized that your night together—your time tonight with him—was coming to a close. and you realized how you didn’t want him to leave. sunghoon came out the bathroom in just his shirt and boxers and halted in his steps to stare at you. it was the most openly longing brief stare and it made your heart explode in your chest before he turned away to his laptop.
he gathered his laptop and turned back to you, a less intense version of his intense stare from earlier drilling into you. you could see that brief longing hiding behind it. you panicked from the intent attention and said, “don’t stare at me like that.” there was that genuine smile that made you want to melt. “or what? you can’t even move,” he replied, a laugh at the edges of his voice. you rolled your eyes playfully as he came up to you and pressed a kiss to your lips.
sunghoon turned to leave and you grabbed his hand, making him turn back towards you with knitted brows. “can you stay with me?” you asked shyly as you looked down to where your hand held his, “…please?” you dared a glance at him and saw as the corners of his mouth were trying hard not to lift. he nodded and moved to set his laptop back on the desk, along with his glasses.
you scooted over in the bed and got under the covers and he did the same after turning the lights off. sunghoon pulled you closer to him in the darkness, until your head was to his chest. you looked up at him and he kissed you slowly, and this time it felt more intimate rather than teasing. “you don’t hurt anywhere do you? are you sore?” he asked quietly between kisses. you shook your head, “no but i’ll probably be sore in the morning.”
“i’m sorry, baby,” he spoke, kissing you a final time before resting his chin on your head and pulling you closer. you inhaled his scent and shut your eyes, a sudden wave of tiredness hitting you. “i know you’re tired,” he then said. “go to sleep, i’ll be here to help you.” you nodded and let yourself drift off. when you woke up the next morning, sunghoon was gone.
you and your debate team members were rounding back up onto the bus after a successful debate competition, tired smiles and sleepy yawns everywhere. it was a miracle that you were able to speak so confidently at your competition after what happened last night. especially with your emotions all over the place when you woke up to find that you were completely alone in your hotel room.
you and sunghoon haven’t spoken—besides at the debate—all day. and if you were being honest… you were kind of avoiding him. you just couldn’t be around him after last night. he made your head foggy and your heart pound and you were helpless to stop it. the two of you weren’t even friends, and you clearly weren’t dating, so what were you?
all of your members were sound asleep as soon as they stepped on the bus and you smiled a little to yourself. they must’ve had a fun time at the party last night. you had your head leaning on the window as you watched the passing scenery. you didn’t turn when you felt the seat dip next to you.
you had felt sunghoon’s eyes on you, that burning intensity, but you couldn’t look at him right now. you closed your eyes when you felt his arm wrap around you and you were pulled to him. “sleep,” he spoke softly, his hand brushing the side of your face that was now in his lap. you couldn’t, so you just nodded as you kept your eyes closed. you slowed your breathing until you felt his slow and cracked your eyes open as you slowly turned to look up at him.
sunghoon was fast asleep, his head drooped down towards you and glasses hanging down his nose. you wanted so badly to cup his face and kiss his lips, and that thought caught you off guard horrifically. slowly, you began to put the pieces together.
the way your face would heat and your heart rate would pick up... the way you always seemed to find him in any crowded room, your eyes always lingering on him… the way you wanted to be near him—needed to be near him, to have his lips on yours to the point where you would constantly provoke him… you had feelings for park sunghoon.
your eyes widened significantly and you were glad that everyone was asleep for your realization. you liked sunghoon. you liked him, and your feelings for him were only growing more and more as you spent more and more time with him. before you even realized it, your hand was raising to move the hair that had fallen in his face. your eyes widened as he stirred slightly and you froze. thankfully, he stayed asleep and you dropped your hand as you continued to stare.
you had stayed there like that, just silently watching him for almost the whole bus ride. when you saw him stir you quickly shut your eyes and slowed your breathing again. you felt him shift ever so slightly and heard him let out a low sigh. his fingers brushed your face softly, the pad of his thumb brushing back and forth before his arm rested across your waist.
after a few minutes had passed, you pretended to wake up, eyes fluttering open and connecting with his. you blinked a couple times before moving to sit up. glancing around the bus to everyone’s sleeping forms, you saw him furrow his eyebrows a little in your peripheral.
when you looked back at him, head leaning back against the bus seat, sunghoon had cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your lips. he went to stand but you grabbed his hand. your eyes widened slightly and he turned back to you in slight shock, eyebrows raising. you stared at him with wide eyes and pulled him back down lightly.
what if he didn’t want this, didn’t want to be with you? what if all he enjoyed between the two of you was all the kisses and the sex with no strings attached? sunghoon sat back down and you turned to lean against the window, thoughts racing.
when you got to campus you had basically sprinted away from the bus after getting your things to your dorm. you were glad that you didn’t really have to spend anymore time with sunghoon, since you didn’t need his “tutoring” and the debate competition was over. maybe you can try and get rid of these feelings, try and go back to the way things were before you and sunghoon ever even kissed.
you laughed wryly to yourself as you put your stuff away in your dorm. things will never be the way they were before. that ship sailed as soon as his lips touched yours, as soon as you were both naked and your bodies were pressed together.
you had avoided sunghoon in all the classes you shared, inside the hallways, and anywhere on or off campus. you never realized how much he was always in your orbit before you were actively trying to stay out of his. it was going well, you were ignoring his stare on you, lost in your own thoughts as the class was about to end.
that’s when you felt someone lean down next to you and a, “you’re mine.” was uttered. at least, that’s what you heard. you jumped, looking over to see no one other than sunghoon. your mind flashed back to the hotel and you blinked a couple times to clear your thoughts. with knitted brows you said, “what?” sunghoon raised an eyebrow at you, giving you a weird look. “i said you’re my partner,” he replied, brows furrowing when you gave him a confused look. “for the presentation…?” he added and you tried to think about what he was talking about.
vaguely, you remember your teacher talking about some powerpoint project that she wanted you to group into pairs for. you wanted to bang your head against the wall at the fact that you were gonna have to spend even more time with sunghoon. your feelings haven’t even left! if anything, they’ve intensified. you inhaled deeply, “okay.”
the two of you were now sitting in your study room, silence hanging in the air with tension that couldn’t be cut with a fucking chainsaw. your laptops were in front of you, open to your shared slides. under the table, sunghoon’s leg shook furiously. throughout your time in here, he had tried to kiss you twice. he had given you a confused look when you turned your head away both times, opting to focus on something else. the first time he thought you were being bratty, but when it happened the second time he had raised an eyebrow at you.
“can you stop changing all the slides i make?” sunghoon suddenly spat out as he looked at you angrily. you gave him a glare. “well maybe if you would stop thinking with your dick and use your brain you wouldn’t be struggling with this easy ass topic and i wouldn’t have to keep editing all your slides,” you shot back.
sunghoon scoffed, “maybe if you would stop thinking about my dick and focus we wouldn’t be having all these problems and we would be on the same page!” you couldn’t help but take his words as a double meaning. the two of you stared at each other with angry, intense glares. you sighed heavily and stood to your feet, annoyance dripping from you as sunghoon watched.
you stormed over to him and sat on his lap, grabbing his face and bringing your lips to his roughly. his hands immediately came to your hips as he kissed you back with just as much roughness. “i hate you so fucking bad,” sunghoon muttered against your lips. there was no heat in it. “you want to fuck me so fucking bad,” you immediately replied.
sunghoon started to turn the kiss sweet, holding you against him as his hands moved to your lower back and the back of your neck. his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “i want you, y/n…” he said after a moment. you pulled away and tried to get off of him, but he held you tighter. in what way did he want you? “i want you too,” you spoke, quietly.
your gaze fell and you then said, “what is this between us, sunghoon?” he went quiet and the silence between the two of you was deafening. you pushed his arms off you and got off of him, moving to return to your seat. before you could get far, sunghoon grabbed your hand. “y/n, what do you mean?” he asked seriously.
harshly turning to him, you tried so hard to keep the sadness from your voice, “the morning at the hotel… why did you leave?” sunghoon gave you an incredulous look. “what?” he breathed, and shook his head ever so slightly. “the morning after we had sex. you said you were gonna stay with me and when i woke up you were gone,” you snatched your hand from his grasp, not caring anymore if he heard the hurt in your voice.
there was concern and worry etched clear in his expression. “i didn’t think you’d want to see my face once your head was clear…” sunghoon said quietly. the anger in you only grew. “you should’ve let me decide that!” you shouted in frustration. sunghoon stood, grabbing your hands, “okay! i’m fucking sorry that i assumed… okay?” you looked away.
sunghoon took your chin softly so you would look up at him. “i’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice softer. “it won’t happen again.” you blinked a couple of times to get rid of the building tears. “so?” you asked quietly, referring to the question you asked him. sunghoon cupped your cheek, “we can be whatever you want us to be. i’ll be happy as long as you don’t avoid me again. i told you, i want you—to be with you.”
you pressed your lips to his, “i want to be with you too.” he laughed and teasingly said, “awe, you want to be my girlfriend?” you rolled your eyes, a smile on your lips, as you playfully pushed him away. his laugh grew, that same genuine laugh, as he pulled you towards him to capture your lips in a kiss. “you get what you ask for,” he spoke, making you giggle.
the next day you walked into mrs. yoo’s class together hand in hand, a big smile on your face as sunghoon teased you. your debate team president practically cheered as she yelled how she was right. “finally it’s official! now i don’t have to watch the two of you longingly stare at each other from across the room!” she exclaimed. your face heated tremendously and before you could look away in embarrassment sunghoon kissed you with a large grin.
when you had gotten and A+ on your presentation, you smiled at sunghoon. “who’s the idiot now, idiot?” you asked teasingly. he hummed in thought for a moment, “you still are!” he gave you a chaste kiss and wrapped his hands around your waist. “let me take you on a date,” sunghoon then said.
you hummed in thought for a moment, copying his actions as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “no, thank you!” sunghoon playfully rolled his eyes, kissing you again, “i’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”
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masterlist┊request rules
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moonstruckme · 4 months
Note
hi gorgeous!!
could i request poly!marauders with a reader who has been avoiding them a bit? she’ll text and call them, but not see them in person? maybe she tells them she’s really busy and they finally get her to come over or maybe catch her somewhere out n about and find her with a ~mysterious~ black eye? she finally ends up telling them abt it and she’s so embarrassed by how she’s got it and didn’t want them to fret over her? they poke fun of her a little, but it ends with hugs or cuddles on the couch?
(this is so definitely not self indulgent!! i absolutely do NOT have a black eye currently because i was wearing fluffy socks and tripped over my own foot and went flying into a doorknob!!! pfffftt, what kind of idiot would you have to be to pull that off…)
Hope the black eye you don't have is healing well babe!
cw: injury/bruise
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 984 words
“She said she was too busy to even come over for breakfast this morning,” Remus frets. “I don’t know if we should be bothering her.” 
“She’s putting too much on herself,” James says certainly, can-do attitude in place and a bag of your favorite pastries in hand. “She won’t let herself relax, and it’s our job to help with that.” Remus only chews his lip, so he looks to Sirius for backup. “Right, Pads?” 
“Sure.” Sirius shrugs. “I don’t know, I still think she’s avoiding us. Any plan that gets us to see her sounds good to me.” 
“Well, don’t talk like we’re about to bust down her door,” Remus says, rolling his eyes as they come to a stop in front of your place.
“Course not.” Sirius grins, and slams his fist extra-loud against your door to make Remus squirm. James smothers a laugh when he hears a curse from inside, the sound of something falling to the floor, and then shuffling footsteps headed in their direction. 
“Hi.” You sound surprised, half of your face visible in the crack of the door. That’s…oddly shy, for you, and the first threads of concern begin to wind their way around James’ ribcage. Has he or one of the others done something to upset you? Maybe Sirius is right, and you have been avoiding them. “What’re you guys doing here?” 
“Hi, sweetheart.” James gives you his most guileless smile, holding up the bag of pastries. “You’ve been working so hard lately, we thought we’d bring you a treat.” 
You all but melt against the doorframe, the eyebrow James can see scrunching in a cute pout. “Aw, thank you.” 
“Can we come inside for a bit?” he asks, but Sirius is already pushing at the door, nudging you out of the way as he invites himself in. 
You flinch away from the door as Sirius says, “Christ, angel, we haven’t seen you in so long I’d begun to think you were…” he trails off, and Remus and James both hurry in behind him to see why. The half of your face that had been obscured a second ago by the doorframe (intentionally obscured, James realizes now) is marred by a dark, purple-and-yellow bruise. 
Remus inhales softly, all three of your boyfriends nearly frozen in place. 
Sirius has gone tense all over, but his voice is gentle. “How’d that happen, baby?”
It doesn’t help matters that you get so clearly anxious at the question. “I—um, okay.” You look at them abashedly, shoulders gravitating towards your ears. “It’s not as bad as it looks, but you can’t get mad.” 
Sirius sucks his teeth, eyes darkening. James knows his mind is running through all the various people you could be asking them to not get mad at for doing this to you; he’s thinking along similar lines. “Why would we be mad?” Sirius asks, noncommittal.
You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, going to sit on the couch. “I, uh. I ran into the kitchen and hit myself on the cabinet door.” 
Remus hisses through his teeth. “Fuck, honey, the corner?” He sits down next to you, angling your face towards the light. “Is that where this little scrape is from?” His thumb brushes over the small cut with painful tenderness, and James watches with satisfaction as you go so soft you nearly forget to answer him. You give a nod, and Remus hums sympathetically. 
“Jesus, babe.” James leans closer to peer at it. “That’s gotta hurt.” 
Sirius pouts at you, sitting on the back of the couch. “Why would you think we’d be mad about that, darling?” 
The look you give Remus is guilty enough that he withdraws his hand, raising his eyebrows at you. 
“You know how you tell me not to run in my fuzzy socks?” you ask him. 
Remus’ lips twitch, but he narrows his eyes at you sternly. “I do.” 
You shrink away. “Well, I was sort of sliding around in those when it happened.” 
Remus rolls his eyes, but he lets his lips twist into a begrudging half-smile. “Christ. Learned your lesson now?” 
“Learned not to leave cabinet doors open when I do it,” you say, and James tugs you to his front protectively as Remus lets loose an appalled sound that’s somewhere between exhale and laugh. 
“Our poor sweetheart,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the unharmed skin beside your bruise. “I can’t believe you avoided us for days just because you didn’t want Remus to be upset with you. You’re rivaling Sirius for dramatics with that one, lovie.” 
“Oi.” Sirius jabs at your side meanly with his foot. “Don’t start taking my titles. There can only be one master of theatrics in this relationship.”
You draw your knees to your chest, entirely in James’ lap now, and he suspects you’re snuggling closer to him because you prefer his coddling to the other boys’ teasing. He’s more than happy to indulge you, brushing his lips ever so gently over the colorful skin by your eye and giving you a good squeeze with his arms around your middle. 
Sirius makes a soft pitying sound. “That really looks awful. Did you at least put ice on it?” 
You blink up at him, and James wants to chide you and smother you with love at the same time. Remus looks like he feels the same, the exasperation of his sigh diminished greatly by the fondness in his look as he gets up. “You’ve got a pack of peas in the freezer, don’t you, love?” 
You confirm, and Sirius takes Remus’ place on the couch, squinting his eyes at you playfully. “You’re not allowed to avoid us when you’ve hurt yourself ever again. Clearly, you can’t handle it on your own.” 
You seem like you could disagree, but James takes the opportunity to attack you with kisses again, and you don’t protest much after that.
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coralinnii · 3 months
Note
Can I ask for Vil, Took or Malleus (any of them, or multiple depending on how cool you are with it) when they find their s/O gives them cute handmade gifts? Baked treats, books, paintings and such. I completely understand if you can't get to this, but if you decide to take this up, It'll be really really cool! Thanks and have a great day!
‎‧₊˚✧Made with Love✧˚₊‧
↳ Reader S/O who made him handmade gifts
feat: Vil ❋ Rook ❋ Malleus genre: fluff note: no pronouns used with the reader, established relationships, nicknames were used for readers (spudling, mon tresor, dear, child of man), probably bad grammar and usage of French because of Rook,
To anyone who were wondering for my sudden MIA status…I got sick, like hella sick. I’m not the greatest at taking care of myself and apparently my body decided to teach me a lesson for that by leaving me down for the count for 2 weeks then giving me migraines if I spend even 20 minutes in front of a screen for another week. To be fair, I could have recovered quicker if I actually…rested and took care of myself but hey, lessons were learned.
I literally started this a month ago but now I need to relearn the characters because my brain can’t remember anything, so I’m sorry if it isn’t the greatest T_T
2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023
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To say he was suspicious was an understatement. Vil was a man of routine and he could tell when something was amiss as the days went by. Little differences were of no cause of concern, but when his little spudling is just acting too skittish, the blond just couldn’t let it go.
At first, Vil was content with scolding you for the little bad habits you started. He caught you too many times hunching your neck and back, and the eyebags forming under your eyes were too concerning to him to ignore.
He had to physically hold in his gasp however, when you refused to come over to his dorm for a skincare date. He tried to be understanding when you claimed you had too much homework to come over, but he could do without Rook having to point out that he was sulking.
Yes Rook, Vil is very aware he could get early wrinkles.
Frustration turned to concern as Vil was quick to pick up that you were hiding something from him. Occasionally, he could see you quickly hiding something from his sight before smiling.
Insecurity soon struck him as alarming thoughts swirled about his mind. Was he the problem? Or is there a problem but he was too undependable to you to confide in?
Not one to beat around the bush, he approached you.
You were surprised that your lover requested to see you so suddenly. But, you thought the handsome blond sounded uncharacteristically solemn so you agreed, which led to you sitting in the lounge of your dorm/home.
Maybe you misread the tone of his voice, because the man before you certainly didn’t seem solemn. Sitting next to you on the sofa, Vil watched you silently with his arms crossed and a leg over another.
“So, Vil…how was your da-”
“I know you’re hiding something from me, spudling.”
From your flinching and awkward avoidance to meet his eyes, Vil’s suspicions were correct. Upon closer inspection, Vil spotted small cuts littered about the skin of your fingers. His lilac eyes softened somewhat, but he kept his voice stern.
“I admire you for working so hard for yourself,” Vil made it clear to you as his eyes gazed towards the small cuts on your fingers, “But, I hope I’m not someone so incompetent that you can’t rely on me, especially when you’re needlessly hurting yourself so.”
In a smooth motion, Vil raised his manicured hand towards your face, gently grazing your cheek to keep your attention to him. “So spudling, no more secrets…what has gotten you so busy and reckless?”
The gig is up, you supposed. Sighing, you asked for your blond beloved to wait as you quickly rushed to your room. Upon your return, there was something in your hands to which you nervously handed over to your upperclassman.
It was a soft ribbon with a charm attached to its end. The deep purple ribbon was embroidered with what seemed to be golden leaves attached to vines twisting and curling across the length of the ribbon. The charm was of a crown, a cheap trinket that was clearly inspired by the Fairest Queen.
“I know how hard you’ve been working for classes so I made you a ribbon bookmark, something you could use while you study or something.” you explained, a little embarrassed. “But I haven’t been getting the pattern right, so I couldn’t give you until I got it perfect.”
Vil has been gifting you so much, from customized skincare products of his creation to matching outfits that enhanced your beautiful form. But it’s not just fancy clothes and luxurious products. Vil worries for you, takes care of you, and helps you to see the potential in yourself and to strive for it.
He gave you so much, so you wanted to give him something in return. Something thoughtful, something that shows how much you cherish Vil. More than for his looks, more than for his fame.
“This didn’t turn out as well as I wanted, but I’m working hard so I can make a new one and get the embroidery just right,” you assured him as you reached for the bookmark. “So, please be patient with me.”
But, Vil kept your gift out of your reach. He examined your handiwork with such focus, taking note of the effort in every stitch. It was by no means the level of professional, but he could see how you thought about him. From the color of the ribbon and thread to resemble his honorable dorm, to the consideration of his dedication to his studies rather than his looks. Your gift told him that you saw not Vil Schoenheit the actor, but Vil your hardworking boyfriend.
Seeing your nervous expression, Vil chuckled as he finally spoke, the cute bookmark firmly in his grasp. “If this is for me, I believe It’s for me to decide if it’s acceptable.”
“I-I guess?”
“Good, because I’ve decided to keep this.” Closing the gap, Vil placed a kiss upon your face, teasingly close to your lips. With a confident smile, Vil took pleasure with your burning cheeks.
“Thank you for the gift, my cute spudling.”
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If it wasn’t already clear to everyone, Rook’s primary love language are words of affirmation. You could sneeze and suddenly he has written a sonnet about how beautiful the cringling of your face was.
I’m only slightly exaggerating.
Rook is by no means afraid to show his admiration for anyone, least of all his beloved. All of his words and actions are all done without an expectation of getting something in return.
But lately, you have become a bit of an enigma to him. You would spend hours upon hours with him, smiling and capturing pictures of the two of you. Other times, you would swiftly leave back to your dorm, excusing it as needing to study but you would vehemently decline his offer to help you.
Don’t get him wrong, watching your concentrated gaze is gorgeous, the way your heartbeat steadies and letting out soft but longer exhales as though you’re making decisions secretly in your mind. Rook couldn’t help but wonder, what is it that captures your attention that has you gazing off away from him?
“Rook, can I visit you today?”
Oh my, it has been a while since you last requested such a thing. Partially because you both knew his Housewarden would have a fit if he wasn’t aware. But eventually, Vil gave you special permission, mostly because Rook would have found a way to either sneak you into his room or he might sneak in the middle of night to see you. Vil knew Rook would never have gotten caught but he’d rather let you stay than have the migraine of a vice-housewarden breaking curfew and ruining his beauty sleep.
“Oui, mon trésor. I would request approval from my Housewarden immediately.” Rook could never deny you of anything, especially if he means you could have more time to admire you in the comfort of his room.
When night fell and the two of you were alone, sitting on the hunter’s bed. You were nervously wringing the handles of the bag in your hand. Doubts filled your head as you wondered if the gift was even slightly capable of living up to your boyfriend’s expectations, regardless of how silly that sounded.
You knew that whatever you would give him, Rook would love and appreciate it with full sincerity. But, that doesn’t mean you weren’t nervous. The gift should be considerate, you thought. Something that shows the love you had for the eccentric blond and his odd… let’s say interests.
You looked to said odd man, who’s piercing green eyes caught your gaze. Rook noticed your nervousness and the mysterious bag but said nothing. Instead, he kindly waited for you as you calmed yourself, soothing you with gentle touches to your knee. The huntsman can be a lot to some, but he’s also patient and so supportive.
Finding your strength, you presented your gift to Rook. Curiously, Rook took what seemed to be a journal from your hands. It was only when he opened the book to see its content was he surprised.
Him. He saw him in a multitude of photographs that decorated the pages of the journal, lined with cute frames and drawings. Some photos were of moments he remembered, such as days where you visited him during his club, cute dates around the town, or simply just moments of serenity between the two of you.
Rook felt his cheeks flush as his eyes caught the little captions written near the photographs, dates and words written in your handwriting.
“My handsome mad scientist” “His dashing profile is so cool” “His warm arms around me ♡”
“I realized the last time I came to your room that you only had photos of other people” you had glimpses of the wall of photos that consist of people he admired the most, you included. “So, I wanted to give you a photo album of what I find beautiful…you.”
Your boyfriend scared you as the young blond suddenly stood up from the bed, eyes sparkling with excitement as he scanned through the pages filled with memories. “Mon tresor, this is absolutely exquisite! To think my beloved has been watching me with such an unwavering, loving gaze fuels a pleasurable delight within me. Oh, très bien!”
But Rook worriedly commented on something notable. “But, there are still pages left unfilled. Were our moments too few and rare to fill the album?”
“It wasn’t that.” you rubbed your hands as you felt the nerves return. “I was hoping that we could fill the last few pages together…like a couple.”
It was then the hunter kneeled before you, his hands reaching out to grasp yours as he looked into your eyes with a special loving gaze only shown to you. You couldn’t tell if you were captured in his devoted gaze or if it was Rook that felt compelled to hold you, to comply with each and every one of your wishes.
“You speak as though I would dare to deny my precious beloved. I’d be honoured to make more memories with you, now and far however long you will have me.”
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With constant surveillance from his wards *coughSebekcough*, Malleus’ moments with you were rare but still meaningful. Some nights, Malleus would wander near your dorm, especially when he noticed the lights of your room, signifying you’re there and awake. And like always, you would open your doors for him with a sweet laugh and inviting smile.
But lately, Malleus has seen that your bedroom lights would be dimmed, and that you would take notice of his presence slower than usual. Once or twice would be of no concern to him. But, as it slowly became a habit, he began to worry.
He spoke of his concerns with Lilia, perhaps in the older fae’s experience he came across a similar predicament amongst humans.
Only for the veteran fae to be of no help, instead chuckling in amusement before giving his young dragon a cryptic comment “You will understand soon enough. My, how you are in for a treat~”
Malleus chose not to question further, nor did he question the odd coincidence that you asked him to visit you that very night.
“I don’t suppose there is a hidden agenda to your invitation, dear?” As Malleus made himself comfortable in your guest room, he noticed some changes since his last visit.
Firstly, the furniture were arranged to be more spaced out, although the TV was still quite close. Then, there were almost an absurdly large amount of pillows and blankets, to the point that some have started to pooled onto the floor.
“Hmm, you sound as though I’m being suspicious” you laughed good-naturedly, “But I do have a surprise for tonight.”
Coming from the kitchen, you pulled out a stacked fairly large, cold container. With Malleus’ keen senses, he could pick up a very subtle sweet scent mixed with a chilly sensation, and a familiar delight came to mind.
“Ice-cream?”
You nodded. “Made by yours truly. I asked Lilia if there was a particular flavour you like, but he said you weren’t really picky.”
Unceremoniously, you sat down next to the tall fae before handing him an ice-cream container. “I was trying out different recipes and ideas all week, tweaking it along the way.”
The results of your work appear to be a multitude of flavours with varying degrees of sweetness. From classics such as chocolate and vanilla to more subtle sweet flavours such as coffee and pistachio. Some were swirls of combinations with fruits or nuts, and some were flavours unique to his hometown, which he imagined were hard to procure.
“I may not be able to shower you in riches, or protect you like your knights…” you gave an embarrassed smile and gaze at your silent companion. “But I could at least make you something sweet, just so you could smile even a little.”
Behind your nonchalant smile, you do feel anxiety swirling as you worry your efforts pale in comparison to the luxuries your powerful boyfriend owns. Malleus is a fae of the highest standing and thus, his actions have more impact than the average man or fae.
But…he was your amazing boyfriend nonetheless, who smiled softly back at you.
“Thank you, child of man. Knowing the effort my beloved has done for me alone, I shall cherish this feeling for centuries to come.”
Your cheeks burned slightly over the sincerity, so you quickly diverted the conversation. “W-Well, just giving someone ice-cream would be too boring, so I thought we could spend the night watching bad rom-com movies while we eat. Call it a human custom of sorts.”
“Is it imperative that the movies must be bad?”
You shrugged “Not really, but it usually is.”
Setting the movie up, you returned to the makeshift nest of comfy blankets and pillows with Malleus sitting by you. The confused fae watched as you handed him a tub of handmade ice-cream and a spoon before picking a container for yourself, a strange feeling of intimacy unfamiliar to him…but not an unpleasant one.
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Always The Voice Of Reason - LN
Summary: Lando can be a bit of a twat on his team radio and after a heated exchange mid-race they pull in a last resort to calm the driver down.
This one is a request from @escapismqueen who was the motivation for opening requests up so ofc she gets the first one. i hope this does it justice
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Y/n had heard bits of his radio and grimaced at every message he’d been sending in the past 10 laps of the race.
“Y/n, we need you to talk to him. He won’t calm down and he’s not listening.”
“Wha-What?!” Y/n chokes out in pure shock.
“Please, we don’t know what else to do. We just need him to calm down.” Zak states since he knows that Lando wouldn’t dare take his anger out on y/n. Maybe purely because he’ll be in shock hearing her.
After some hesitant agreement they pull her up to the pit wall and hand her a connected headset.
She’s never talked to Lando on the radio before and she has no idea what she’s doing.
“Just press that.” Jose instructs making her swallow before she’s given the thumbs up when she’s ready.
She sucks in a quick breath before pressing the button and speaking.
“Lando, baby, what’s going on?” Y/n asks trying to keep the nerves out her voice and be as soothing as possible.
“Y/n?” Lando exclaims through the radio, but it’s hard to read his emotions. “What are you doing?”
“Baby, this can’t be a whole conversation. I just need you to listen ok?”
“Ok.”
“Calm down and listen to Jose when he tells you something and stop letting the heat get to your head. Getting angry isn’t going to win you this race.” Y/n states hating that she’s having to lecture her own boyfriend while he’s mid-race. “They wouldn’t bring me on here if it wasn’t really bad.”
Lando knows, for anyone who isn’t on the team to be on the radio things have to be out of control. Which means he owns them all an apology when the race is done and a huge thanks for finding a solution to ground him when he clearly wasn’t cooperating.
“I love you, don’t be hard on yourself. This is all going to be fine. You are going to get that podium.” Y/n states clearing her throat. “I think I have to go. But I’ll see you after the race.”
“I love you too, I’m all better. Promise.” Lando assures her earning her another thumbs up form his race engineer.
She disappears almost to Lando’s disappointment but he knows that was a one time thing and will almost certainly never happen again.
-
“Lando, we heard something out there that I don’t remember ever hearing before. But you had a new voice on your radio.” The post-race interviewer states making Lando laugh and nod a little.
“I did. Yeah. I was getting a bit…annoyed on the radio and my team thought that I needed to calm down. They were right, but they felt like they couldn’t do it so they called my girlfriend over to the pit wall and asked her to speak with me.”
“And it worked?”
“Yeah, it worked. Very effectively.”
“You almost sound sad saying that?”
“Well it was nicer to hear her voice than I would’ve expected and I know it probably won’t happen again.” Lando admits watching the interviewer practically melt. “I will be apologising to my team too, because for them to have to bring her over and get her on the radio. I was definitely worse to them than I thought I was.”
“We’re glad to hear that you did manage to get everything back under control and we will let you move on so you can get back to the team and your girlfriend a little faster.”
Lando thanks them before going to finish some other media stuff. Eventually finding himself in the company of his girlfriend who looks at him with raised eyebrows.
“I know, it won’t happen again.” Lando promises while y/n hums being caught in a kiss that is really more needed by him to give than needed by her to receive. “Even if I wish I could have you on radio for every race.”
“I almost shat myself, Lando. That’s never happening again.” Y/n laughs earning loud laughter from her boyfriend who wasn’t expecting such brutal honesty. “Zak zooming over saying they don’t know what else to do.”
“At least you know they see you as a solid resource of comfort for me-and it worked.”
“Never again. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” Lando sighs earning a hum while he smiles at her.
“Good.”
“Now, time for celebrations!”
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Transcript -
Gabriel : *heavy breathing and grunting* Bastard. 
Useless bucket of bolts. Yeah, you better run!
Load back to your- Ah shit, that was hard. Load back to your little checkpoint.
Yeah, go ahead. Go P rank the other levels. 
Oh… I’m sorry. Can-can-can I? Excuse me, can I help you?
Columbo : Oh, uh, hi there. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.
Uh, I’m looking for somebody. 
Uh, Gabriel is it? Is that you? Is that who I’m lookin for?
Listen, I just gotta say, you did an amazing job uh… Fighting off that uh. 
What’d ya-what’d ya call it?
Uh, you called it a… 
Gabriel : A mere object?
Columbo : That’s right. A mere object. 
Phenomenal work. 
I gotta tell ya. Robots, I don’t trust em myself. 
Ya know, I had-I had this one episode where uh, there was this robot named Rob and uh-
Gabriel : Uh, yes. 
That’s very fascinating, but could you perhaps get on with your introduction? 
Columbo : Uh, certainly. So I’m, uh, I’m lieutenant Columbo. Uh, I’m with the LAPD. Uh, I'm in the homicide department. 
Gabriel : Homicide? You can’t kill a machine. 
Columbo : No no no! Of course not. But um… Well… Ya can certainly love one.
Gabriel : D-d-d-detective I- I don’t- I don’t know what you’re implying there with that statement!
As you can tell I… Despise machines and wouldn’t think about doing so- Loving them, I mean.
Columbo : Yes, of course uh. Absolutely, it’s completely unthinkable. 
Except, well. While I was- while I was over here and I opened this door and uh fourteen- fourteen V1 body pillows fell out. Along with a buncha the plushies. 
Uh, and I just can’t imagine how ya- how ya happened upon something like that by accident.
It’s a little ridiculous! Uh, frankly.
Gabriel : Uh, no no no, listen.  
Detective. I can explain, okay? 
Those belong to- uh! That guy over there! 
*Filth-like scream*
Gabriel : Yeah! A real freak! 
Some kinda pervert. I don’t know why we keep him around.
But uh, I-I have nothing to do with it. 
Columbo : Well, ya see, I would believe- I would believe that, but uh. 
It’s just that- Well we had the boys at the lab run these pillows and we found your cum- We found your DNA all over em, uh.
You’re-You’re under arrest, I’m killing you.
Gabriel : K-hah. Kill me? *laughs*
Oh detective. 
Columbo : Oh. Aw fuck.
Gabriel : I’m afraid you’ve made a grave mistake. 
Because, in fact… What is going to happen instead…
Is actually what I’m gonna- AHHHG MOTHERFUCKER
I’LL FUCKIN KILL YOU
SON OF A BITCH 
AHHG YOU BASTARD
I’LL RIP YOU APART 
PIECE OF SHIT
YOU FUCK
ASSHOLE
BITCH
*Grunting* 
Oh Shit. 
Oh. What have I done? 
V1 : Bro, tell me you didn’t just kill a fucking cop.
Gabriel : The law will be here any second now… 
Machine, flush the drugs.
V1 : No way, bro. Let’s smoke that.
Gabriel : All of it?!?
Hm… One last ride…
Well, alright.
*coughing his lungs out*
V1 : No Gabriel, holding it in doesn’t do anything!
*Gabriel continues to cough his lungs out*
End of transcription
Audio source part 1
Audio source part 2
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wakeup01 · 1 month
Text
Playing It Straight
“Roomieee. I need your help with something.” I hear the telltale high pitched cry from my twinky roommate Yuan’s bedroom. The last thing I need right now is his whiny ass distracting me.
“What it is? I have a date with this hot chick in half an hour. You better have clothes on this time dude.” My hand pushes the door to his room ajar and I see him laying down on the bed facing away from me. There was some upbeat trashy pop song playing on his sound system. Yuan begins to gyrate to the beat. “Don’t dance. No dancing.” I order bluntly, turning off his music.
There was being gay and then there was Yuan, who seemed to make it his whole identity. It was bad enough his room was colour coded in pastel purples to match his dusty lavender hair. But he had now painted the whole door too.
“It’s my big butt, I think there’s something wrong with it.” He announces with fake concern, rolling his hips on the bed sheet - revealing more of his smooth slim body than I ever dared wish to see. I make a internal note to ‘mace own eyes later’.
Yuan was not as innocent as he liked to make out and had on numerous occasions attempted to trick me into indulging in his fantasies. Gifting me a bright crop top and calling it a ‘fashionable tank top’ - it certainly turned heads at the gym the one day I wore it, or inviting me to a progressive club with the promise of scoring ‘lots of ass’. And the less said about ‘locktober’ the better, that was NOT a halloween costume. Only last week he had convinced me to listen to some gay as fuck audio tapes while I slept; obviously that crap didn’t work on a man like me. His justification always being ‘you’ll like it, I swear’. This one was a bit on the nose, even for him.
“Dude we talked about this, I’m flattered, really. I get it, I’m a gay bottoms wet dream. I can’t blame you for eying my superior meat.” I puff out my well built chest, barely contained in my tank top. “But fuck, it ain’t gonna happen.” I attempt to not make eye contact with him as he looks over his shoulder at me.
“No, like seriously. Something feels wrong, can you pleeease juth take a looksee. Pretty please.” He pulls down his shorts and moons me as I shield my eyes. It’s like the sun, you’re safe if you don’t look directly at it, right? Internal note: ‘buy more mace’.
“Serious like when you said we were in a ‘mandatory hand holding zone?” I hear muffled giggling coming from his pillow. “Bro it’s probably from all the things you shove up it.” I shudder, trying not to picture THAT in my head. “I’ll look but only if you promise me that you’ll drop that ‘I know you’re secretly gay bullshit.’ My friends at the gym heard that crap last time.”
“Hehe. Ooo thuch a manly jock. Geez, I pwromise. Meathead.” Yuan winks at me and I hated him for it. Hated the weird way it made me feel in my chest.
I sigh loudly for effect and bend down until the cleft of his…cheek is at eye level. I felt so self conscious, how on earth did he talk me into this? I look at my chiseled body just to remind myself, yes I am a man. A masculine man. God, here we go. My eyes briefly glance across his—ew—his raised butt before I quickly look away.
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“Bruh I don’t see a thing. It’s a mans butt. Congratulations.” What the hell am I even looking for? I’m sat on the floor checking out a dude’s…posterior. And for what?
“Come on, look clother.” Yuan insists with a slight lisp, curving his back and pushing his rear higher.” Again, I look at my thick biceps, yes, still a man.
His hands pull at his buttocks and slowly part them, revealing his tight hole to me. Woah. One glimpse was all it took. I should have recoiled but instead I was fascinated. I’d never seen a man’s hole before, it was different…
I hear him say something to me but whatever it was, it didn’t seem too important. I couldn’t stop staring, it was like looking into a black hole, and the more I looked the more enraptured I became. It was distorting my worldview, it made me feel like I had been missing out on something all these years.
“Helloooo! See anything?”
“Uuhhh. Maybe.” I mumble, my head getting closer to his rear.
I pull away his hands and replace them with my own, laying my fingers across his round cheeks and spreading them wider. Wow, it was…dare I say, enticing? The rest of the room faded from my mind as my eyes fall deeper into his needy, winking hole. I lean in and my nose makes contact with his crack. I can’t help myself, I inhale and suck up his scent, it acts like an immediate aphrodisiac. My cock wakes up, poking against the edge of the bed.
“You have been lithening to your programming for me then. Good Meathead. Remember when you were the stuck-up clever one, going to college? That was thuch a bore.”
“Say what bro?” College? Did I…? Nah. That smart shit wasn’t for me bro, my head was like beef central. I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about but I was happy to be a good fucking meathead. Something in my mind told me I was supposed to be. It made me even more pumped about the gym session tomorrow, I gotta bulk up my pecs.
“Make sure to take lots of selfies tomorrow ‘bro’, I need to see your gains.” I continue to breathe in the sweet aroma emanating from his behind. What was I doing again? “So, anything there dummy? How about now?” giggle “Isn’t it likth so big.”
He wiggles his hips and pushes back into my face, my lips making contact with his boy pussy. My eyes go wide. Fuck, this was soo gay. I should be revolted, why am I still down here? I could get up and walk away whenever…whenever I wanted to. Suddenly my mouth felt parched, like I had spent a week in the desert. It became clear where this was going. I’m not sure if I could even stop myself at this point, one tiny thing could tip me over the edge and disintegrate my own self image. It was as If I was having an out of body experience, seeing myself pressed against him. I wouldn’t, I was stronger than this. I was straight. Straight as an arrow… straight as a…
“Eat up jock.”
F—fuck. My lips open and my tongue presses up against his rear, dragging up and down between his cheeks and then swirling around his inviting hole. It was like a dam breaking, once I started I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. He tasted too good. Ready for the main course, my tongue dives deep into him and begins to eat him out in earnest, my mouth sucking at his entrance like I’m slurping on a ice cream filling.
While giving him a very manly rimjob I think of a solution to our problem. I finish up indulging in his sweet cake and pull my face out, slapping his jiggly butt cheeks.
“So what’s the issue?” He asks impatiently.
“It’s empty for one. Huhuhu. But I can fix that bro.” I say confidently, rushing to remove my underwear so I can finally nut inside him.
I push his skinny back down against the bed and line up my monster cock with his lubricated hole. Yuan moans into his pillow like he should. I slide into him with ease and flex my arms, feeling proud at ‘conquering’ my roommates hole.
“Good Meathead.” He praises between loud panting. “Mmm. But I thought you were straight.”
“I am. Unff. Just helping a bro out. No homo. Though I do need to see if there’s anything wrong with your throat after I plant my seed in your hole.”
______________________________
The next day.
“Man that was a fucking lit workout.” I exclaim, marvelling at my bulging muscles. I tense my arms and see my veins pop, sweat dripping to the floor. “Though you losers sure focused a lot on your glutes today. Hey—aren’t you ‘queens’ gonna shower?” I turn as my gym bros stop behind me in the locker room.
“Well… we spoke to your roommate about your progress yesterday.” Xavier states, removing his damp muscle tee - his dark shiny skin reflecting the harsh lights from overhead.
Yesterday…for some reason my memories from the day before were a blur. For the life of me I can’t remember what happened. There was some strange taste lingering in my mouth that had been making my dick hard all day. My roommate was certainly in a suspiciously good mood this morning too and made some strange comments about me ‘being hungry for more’.
“About what bro? That Yuan can kiss my ass. Huhuh. Come on, stop checking out each others dicks and let’s go!”
“Uh see, he thinks you’re now ready to be our…” I’d never seen him so unsure of himself before, I roll my eyes at him and slam my locker closed.
“Y’all acting like a bunch of girls.” I swear if Yuan is back to spewing his gay bullshit again…
“Go on. Say it.” One of the others insists, nudging Xavier’s shoulder.
Xavier hesitates and then looks away from me, his cheeks flushing red. “There’s uh, there’s something wrong with my…butt…so could you?” The others fail to stifle a laugh.
I do a double take as Xavier turns and points his toned ass at me, his jockstrap framing it like a wrapped gift. “What the fuck? Bruh what are you doing? Put that shit away.”
“Be a good Meathead.”
I see a flash of my roommates butt cross my minds eye. Uhhh. My cock throbs at the image. Before I know it my legs are kneeling behind my friend, what am I doing? My body certainly seems to be one step ahead, my hands grab at his muscled legs for support. “What the actual fuck. Guys…” I’ve never felt so embarrassed, how am I ever gonna live this down?
A hand pulls on the strap hugging Xaviers left buttock and lets go, letting it snap back into place, a slight jiggle vibrates over his firm rear. Was it my hand? I couldn’t even tell.
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“Holy shit. I can’t believe those tapes actually worked. He’s come a long way since he was that scrawny nerd, thinking he was above everyone. Now he’s dumber than all of us. We just need Yuan to join us next. Damn someone make sure to record this” It was hard to take in what they were saying, my mind was fixated…elsewhere. One of them leans down to my side and points their phone camera at my zoned out face. “Dude, we stink…I’m next after you.” Someone pats my back as another hand holds my shoulder in place. “Nothing more manly than licking the salty sweat off a bro’s butt.”
No….
Xavier bends forward, his pert dark cheeks pulling apart - sweat glistening on their surface. And then I see it. What my body craved. His hole. Everything falls into place, my mouth watering at the sight, my eyes entranced. I could no longer deny what I wanted, deny the inevitability of what I was about to do. The depravity would be immortalised on camera too, my dumb face shoved in a mans ass. Oh fuck.
The perfect black void nestled between his tight buttocks seems to suck away my shame as I lick my lips. “So manly.” I repeat to the crowd that had gathered around me. Mmm. Rimming a man’s ass was almost as good as fucking it. I wanted a taste of all the guys, their shiny sweaty bodies, their musk. It was my place in the group, I was their meathead after all. My cock was already throbbing at the thought. Maybe Yuan was onto something with this whole ‘gay’ thing. Yeah, let’s try going full homo. Huhuhuh. Anything for the bros, bro.
Looking down at me confidently, Xavier grips the back of my head.
“Clean my hole bruh.”
_____________________________
A few days later I check in on Yuan to see his progress after a few nights obliviously listening to his ‘jocking’ tapes. Dude, I’m going to enjoy watching him slowly bulk up and dumb down. He’s sat up in bed casually tugging at his cock, mouth agape. The heavy thumping bass of trap music is blaring from his speakers. His room is a complete mess.
“How’s it hanging lil bro?”
“Just…mm—wanking.”
“Can see, Meathead. Hung and dumb, nice. I think you’re about ready to join us at the gym.”
“Hmm. Roomie, I—I need your help with something. It’s my big dick…”
“Huhuhu, there’s something wrong with it, let me be a bro and give you a hand with that stick.” I climb over him and wrap my lips around his cock.
“Thuck…ahem. Fuck yeah brooo!”
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solarmorrigan · 9 months
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You know how cats seem to have an innate sense of when you’re about to get up, and they choose that exact moment to sit down on your lap? And no sooner have they made themselves comfortable than you realize that you have to go to the bathroom, or someone calls you over, or the phone starts ringing, and you have to shove the poor cat off your lap?
That’s basically Eddie’s sex life right now.
Well alright, no, not entirely, but – it’s a component that’s certainly starting to become an irritation.
It’s just that Steve has a wonderful lap.
At least, Eddie assumes it’s wonderful. It’s wonderfully inviting, at the very least; it’s wide enough to offer Eddie (who is not quite as generously endowed in the whole… thighs-ass department, he’ll admit) a good seat, and he’s had his hands on the area often enough to know it’s firm but with just the right amount of give to be very comfortable.
But Eddie’s never actually gotten to spend much time on it.
He doesn’t even mean that in a sexual way (although that much is also true). Every time he’s so much as tried to plop himself down on Steve’s lap to do something as innocent as watch a movie, Steve seems to remember something he needs to get up and do within just a few minutes.
For a little while, Eddie had been worried about what that meant. Did Steve not want to spend time with him? Did Steve not want Eddie near him? Did Steve not find him attractive? Did Steve just find him annoying?
But further time spent together has given Eddie more confidence. Clearly Steve enjoys spending time with him—submits to it willingly and often—and does find Eddie annoying but in a way he enjoys. Steve also most definitely finds Eddie attractive (and, in fact, has no trouble at all spending extended time on Eddie’s lap). So at this point, it’s more of a puzzle. A frustration.
It can’t be that Eddie’s too heavy for him; Eddie isn’t a small guy, really, but he isn’t huge, either. He’s seen Steve push and pull bigger people around – hell, he’s seen Steve carry Mike a good ways through the woods and back to the car after the kid had slipped and twisted his ankle when they’d been out walking (an incident which none of them are allowed to speak of ever, for varying reasons of blackmail and dignity), and he’s not too much smaller than Eddie.
Eddie is nothing if not a direct sort of guy, though – if he’s thinking something, he’s going to say it. This is mostly because he has very little brain-to-mouth filter, but he’s learned to make it part of his image. He’s pretty sure it works for him.
All of this to say that one afternoon, as they make out on Steve’s couch, Eddie freshly settled on Steve’s lap, Eddie decides to just… ask.
He waits until he can feel Steve’s hands sliding down around his thighs—not groping, but with the intent to move him—before he pulls back to say anything.
“Hey,” he says—gasps, really, still a little breathless with his attempt to seize the opportunity, “question.”
Steve blinks up at him, startled. “Uh. Shoot.”
“Do you not like it, when I sit on your lap? Because it kinda seems like you find other places to be when I try to make that happen.”
If Steve had been startled before, that’s nothing on how he looks now. He covers it in an instant, but Eddie’s seen it; Steve’s good, he’s very good, but Eddie is literally right in his face.
“What?” Steve pulls back, brows drawn in confusion. “No. Why would I have a problem with you being in my lap?”
Eddie shrugs. “Not a damn clue. That’s why I figured I’d ask. It’s just that whenever I get myself settled here, you suddenly remember you have to get up.”
“I don’t do that,” Steve scoffs, throwing in a good-natured eye roll.
“You kinda do, babe,” Eddie says, keeping it light; this isn’t an argument, nor an accusation – it’s literally just a question, and he doesn’t want to scare Steve off.
“So you’re saying, that every time I have my boyfriend on my lap – a guy I find insanely hot, by the way,” Steve’s hand slide back up Eddie’s thighs, edging towards his ass, and this time he’s groping, “you’re saying I don’t want him there, is that right?”
Eddie’s resolve almost breaks as Steve stares up at him with his ridiculous, pretty eyes (he’s good, he’s very good, Eddie will give him that) and tugs him closer with his ridiculous, strong hands, but he knows Steve is lying. He knows it.
He just doesn’t know why.
And isn’t that interesting? Eddie wouldn’t exactly call Steve an open book, but they know each other pretty well by now; Eddie can usually read Steve, but he has no idea what he’s thinking just at the moment.
So he decides to allow it.
He’ll see where it goes.
“Hm,” Eddie hums, as if he’s thinking. “That does sound a little silly, if you put it like that.”
“Completely silly.” Steve grins up at him, but there’s a thread of very genuine sincerity in what he says next. “Of course I want you here.”
And Eddie’s not sure what to say to that, so he leans back in to kiss Steve again.
And for a while, it’s fine. Great, even. Steve is a very good kisser, after all, and Eddie likes to think he’s no slouch himself, and a good time is being had by all, except before too long Eddie can feel Steve starting to tense up under him.
Once again, Eddie doesn’t mean this in a sexual way.
It’s not the fun, anticipatory kind of tensing, but the ready to run or punch something kind of tensing. The kind of tension that comes from a threat, not from having your boyfriend on your lap.
Eddie waits to see if Steve will do anything, say anything, but he does nothing. His kisses grow more distracted, quicker and shallower, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t push Eddie away.
It’s when Steve starts shaking that Eddie gives up.
“Okay,” Eddie pulls away, shifting himself to the side so he doesn’t have more than an ankle draped over Steve’s legs, “what’s wrong?”
“What do you mean, what’s wrong? You’re the one who pulled away,” Steve snaps.
“Yeah, because it feels like you don’t want me up there,” Eddie shoots back.
Steve rolls his eyes again, irritated this time. “What, you don’t like it if I don’t let you sit on my lap, you don’t like it if I do let you sit on my lap– What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Maybe just the goddamn truth.”
Whatever Eddie expects, it isn’t for Steve to just… stare at him.
He stares at Eddie for a good five seconds in full silence before shaking his head. “No,” he says quietly, “you don’t want that.”
His sudden reticence only sparks Eddie’s irritation. “Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want, Steve. You don’t want to tell me, that’s on you, but don’t decide for me what I don’t want to know.”
“Well what do you think you’re going to hear, Eddie, huh?” Steve barks. “What do you want to hear? You wanna hear how Billy Hargrove sat on me – pinned me down while he beat me unconscious? Or you wanna hear how it felt to be handcuffed to a fucking chair while some Russians– while they– how it felt to be held down and not be able to stop them from doing anything?”
Steve has stood up now, pacing in front of Eddie, and Eddie wishes he could do anything other than fucking stare while his boyfriend has some kind of breakdown that he started.
“Or – or how about how I ruined multiple dates, or hookups, or whatevers when someone tried to sit themselves down on top of me and I damn near shoved them off onto the floor and then had to make up some dumb fucking excuse and run out on them before I had some kind of fucking panic attack? You wanna hear all that?” Steve demands, rounding back on Eddie. “No! You don’t… you don’t want to hear that.”
“Steve… no, I don’t wanna hear all that,” Eddie says, and hurries on when he can see Steve practically crumple in on himself, “I don’t want to hear that all that horrible shit has happened to you, but I need to.”
“Wh– what?”
“You don’t… I mean, you don’t have to give me specifics if you don’t want, but I need to know what might set you off so I don’t accidentally do it, okay?” Eddie says. “It fucking terrifies me that you went through all that, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I’m at least not going to be one more thing that makes you hurt. I’m gonna make damn sure of that.”
“…Oh.”
It’s clearly not what Steve was expecting to hear, and for a moment he shifts uncertainly in front of Eddie. He wraps his arms around himself before seeming to think better of it and crossing them over his chest instead. Eddie wants nothing more than to draw him close and hold him, but Steve’s not quite ready yet.
“I’m not… I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t want it to be an issue,” Steve finally says.
I don’t want you to treat me differently, he doesn’t say.
“Then we won’t make it an issue.” Eddie shrugs. “You got some kind of trauma associated with sitting on other people, or can you come back over here to me?”
Steve blinks at Eddie, startled, before he gives in to a little huff of laughter, slowly crossing back over to the couch.
“You’re an ass,” he says, all fondness.
“Mm, so I’ve been told,” Eddie says, aiming a smug smile up at Steve as Steve settles himself right over Eddie’s lap. “And yet, here you are.”
“Yeah…” Steve leans in, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, quirking a little smile as he pulls away. “Here I am.”
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months
Text
Black Metal and Bourbon (III)
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AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART
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PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader
WORDCOUNT: 7.9k
WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you. 
This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations. 
So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?
Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.
Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets. 
Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest. 
And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled. 
Until now, of course. 
You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all. 
And Simon? 
Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh. 
He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.
But now…now you were fully conscious. 
“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.
The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”
Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.
“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”
“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”
It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…
Your heart rate increases even more. 
He wasn’t wearing a helmet.
“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”
Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now. 
“Simon,” you grunt, shaking. 
The woman stares for a moment before sighing. 
“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”
“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”
“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”
“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”
“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.” 
Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest. 
“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.
“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.
Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts. 
“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”
You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation. 
Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told. 
“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping. 
The tears come easily.
When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals. 
The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless. 
You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened. 
Simon’s bike had been tampered with. 
After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs. 
“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”
“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered. 
John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns. 
“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly. 
They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset. 
“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”
“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”
“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be. 
“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”
“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”
“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?  
“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”
A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.
“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”
Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh. 
“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.” 
“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.” 
Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.
“What if they don’t find Graham?”
“...Then we will.”
The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.
All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.
You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil. 
The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either. 
Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud. 
Your arm burned something awful.
Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from. 
Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently. 
But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for. 
Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop. 
“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet. 
Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath. 
This man saved your life. 
You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest. 
“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?” 
You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?
“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters. 
“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”
Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.
Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.
“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling. 
The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.
A rage grows in your breast.
But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.
Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.
“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.” 
“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things. 
Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff. 
“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull. 
“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”
“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”
“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”
Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite. 
As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors. 
Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again. 
Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating. 
Why would he do that?
“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”
“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all. 
Graham. 
Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound. 
He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you. 
“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”
“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins. 
If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you? 
Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse. 
Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it. 
“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress. 
He doesn’t stop.
“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle. 
The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”
“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you. 
“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!” 
“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.” 
“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat. 
“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.” 
The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press. 
It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down. 
“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”
“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”
It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck. 
The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants. 
Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”
A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.
Simon woke up to the world spinning. 
He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale. 
Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.
What was going on?
“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed. 
“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water. 
“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…
“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face. 
Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”
You. 
Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor. 
“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”
“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh. 
“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment. 
Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream. 
“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.
“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”
That didn’t give him any reassurance. 
Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room. 
“Take me to ‘er. Now.”
“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?” 
The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire. 
Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him. 
“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that. 
The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen. 
Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake. 
“Where.”
Even Johnny can’t fight that tone. 
“Graham has ‘er.”
This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts. 
You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door. 
Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh. 
“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face. 
He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!” 
You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.
You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.
It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest. 
“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat. 
Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp. 
You needed to figure something out. Quickly. 
The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds. 
It wasn’t like the termites could help. 
“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature. 
“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.
The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all. 
But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does. 
“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!” 
“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”
Your throat simmers with bile.
What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression. 
Simon.
God, thinking about him made you want to cry. 
“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling. 
“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”
“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.” 
“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.
“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking. 
“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”
The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff. 
“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness. 
Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up. 
Now it was time to act.
As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain. 
Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt. 
You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie. 
Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material. 
A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward. 
The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars. 
Run. Run. Run. 
Every rush of your blood sings the same order. 
Lose him in the storm. 
Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards. 
How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping. 
Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools. 
Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass. 
You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well. 
There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet. 
You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.
A hand slams on your shoulder. 
Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out. 
There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic. 
“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches. 
Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!” 
Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.
A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in. 
Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.
He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.
Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt. 
Simon Riley was dressed for war. 
You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth. 
Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?
“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”
“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt. 
“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked. 
You nod, but he still waits. 
“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around. 
He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”
“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling. 
Your body is shielded in an instant. 
“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.” 
It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind. 
Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind. 
Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night. 
“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest. 
Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink. 
Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint. 
He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need. 
Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off. 
No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price. 
No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.
But before all of that dark work, first came you. 
Nothing else was touching you. Ever. 
So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.
He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds. 
But Graham. 
“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!” 
Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech. 
“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”
You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.
Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.  
But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.
Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke. 
Panicked widening, an arm seizing up. 
It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.
People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.
And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.
You both lay in bed, silent. 
The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush. 
He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all. 
This moment was for the future.
“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”
“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately. 
“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.
Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room. 
“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”
“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.
“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh. 
There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase. 
Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.  
Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines. 
There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright. 
Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.
“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.
“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.
“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”
This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?
What could you nurture what you already had blooming?
You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.
A loyal sin had never tasted better. 
You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.” 
October eyes consume you whole.
This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him. 
But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses. 
They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:
MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER
Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.
Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below. 
Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.
Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.
The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up. 
You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.
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bloodlinesturniolo · 5 months
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Crawling Back To You ❀ M.Sturniolo
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« Do I wanna know, If this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, Was sorta hoping that you'd stay. Baby, we both know, That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day, crawling back to you »
pairing: Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader.
warnings: breakup/makeup trope, angst, swearing, making out, smut so minors&locals dni, dom and sub Matt, she/her pronouns, use of y/n.
summary: in which the reader is Matt’s ex girlfriend who he’s still in love with and can’t keep his hands off.
note: all of my work is completely fictional. i do not know the triplets personally and therefore all characteristics and mannerisms are not an realistic/accurate representation of them or their personalities in real life. i write for fun. there could potentially be mentions of topics that may trigger people, but they will be very vague and will not be in relation to the triplets. i also will not write anything including topics as such involving the triplets. enjoy!
a/n: i’m warning yall now, if you have a problem with what i write, please simply scroll or block me. the triplets are not gonna quit over my shitty little blog posts because they contain smut, i promise you they don’t come here on tumblr and they certainly don’t gaf. i’m an adult, they are adults, i can write what i want about them. and i fucking triple dare you all to try doxx me etc because I promise you will meet your match when it comes to me on god lmao. end of story.
also Matt and Arctic Monkeys sends me fucking feral sorry
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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
‘Five Minutes, that’s all it’ll take’, I think to myself as I stand outside the triplets house, trying my absolute hardest to muster up the courage to text Nick that i’m outside standing like an idiot, as I watch my Uber driver pull away. Our friendship had become somewhat strained ever since Matt and I broke up exactly two weeks ago. Understandably, as it is his brother and their relationship with each other came first before anything else. But it was inconsolably frustrating; after all I was inevitably losing a boyfriend and three great friends all at the same time. Nick had repeatedly told Matt to grow up and stop being so selfish because he didn’t want to lose me as a friend, considering he and I were extremely close and had a very strong bond. But Matt being ever so Matt really, really didn’t give a fuck. Instead, he was being brutally harsh; putting Nick in a very awkward and uncomfortable situation, not to mention heartbreaking for both of us. He wanted to challenge Nick’s unwavering loyalty to him, and despite Nick’s efforts to have him compromise, Matt was having none of it.
The breakup, unlike Matt and his ex before me’s breakup, was not a mutual decision, nor something that was left on amicable terms. Matt broke up me, shock horror, but not because I had done anything wrong in particular. It was merely down to the fact Matt had said he wasn’t feeling it anymore, but instead of my usual pleading for anyone to stay with me, I had grown up and accepted his decision to walk away. But this, like any man, made Matt’s blood boil. He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t putting up a fight, but I laid my cards out on the table and told him that if he wasn’t willing to fight for the relationship we had built, I wasn’t either. Trust me when I say choosing between my head and my heart was not an easy decision. It took everything in me to put my maturity and self-respect above my feelings. But I had learnt my lesson from my previous experiences, and I felt it only right for Matt to learn his. So I took the high road, and came to terms with it with the help of Nick and Madi, even Chris texting me here and there, reminding me that it was Matt that had lost out. I’ve still cried endlessly ever since, but he had made his decision, and that was it.
The sun shone in LA as I nervously bit my lip, swaying back and forth as I waited for Nick to arrive in front of me. I kept my head down, anxiously tapping on Instagram stories that appeared on my phone as a form of distraction. After a few minutes of waiting, the front door of the house swung open, however the person I was met with was not in fact Nick. It was Matt, giving me his usual cold, hard and intimidating stare. His eyes bore into my soul and I had never felt so numb in my entire life. I stayed silent, not out of choice but rather because I couldn’t even begin to form a word let alone a sentence.
“What?” he asked, his demeanour beyond unwelcoming. I gain some sort of composure and decide on replying back with any form of fake confidence I could find in this moment.
“Oh spare me the ‘mattitude’ alright? I’m here to see Nick. He has some of my shit and I came to get it back.” I give him a relentless and sarcastic smirk, which is met with an unappeased scoff. He hated the use of that word, even more so coming out of my mouth and especially given the circumstances.
“That’s insane, and I think you mean I have some of your shit, not Nick sweetheart.” he retorts, tongue in cheek as he eyes me up and down.
“Whatever, can you just fucking give them to me so I can go please? I have shit to do today.” I respond, his face as unsympathetic as ever.
“Shit to do or people to do? Actually, do I even wanna know?” He chuckles ever so slightly, amusement over his matched sarcasm etched upon his face.
“Well you must do considering you’re asking about it, but no Matt, even though it’s none of your business now, believe it or not I don’t actually have a roster already lined up. Though given the fact you broke it off with me, I doubt you can say the same, but do I wanna know about that either?.” I spit back at him.
He stands taken aback my words, and this facade of boldness i’m daring to present to him. Though Matt always knew I could hold my own, and of my ability to retaliate and reciprocate his attitude, he was still surprised in this moment, all things considered. I was sure Nick had told him how heartbroken I was, which is probably an indicating factor to his shock.
“You always were a brat, you know that?” he asks, licking his lips as he rests his head against his arm, hanging assertively as he holds the door. I’d be lying if I said that despite his stone-heartedness during this entire angsty interaction so far, I wasn’t thinking about how fucking unbelievably hot he was in this moment.
“What can I say? I knew what I was getting in for when I started dating you. I had to put up with you somehow. They say you can’t fight fire with fire but we always did disagree with that, didn’t we Matthew?” I remarked smugly, earning nothing but an embarrassed smirk and a little shake of the head from him. “Anyways, can I get my shit please?” I speak up again. He sighs, before nodding and responding.
“Kid you’re so demanding.” He rolls his eyes, standing aside so that I can enter into the house.
“Yeah yeah kid, just be thankful I’m not demanding a whole lot more.” I reply, as he shuts the door behind me.
“Oh yeah? And what would you be demanding if you had it your way?” He practically whispers seductively in my ear, causing my body to tense up and my heart rate to increase. The answer was simple. Him. I take a deep breath before answering back.
“Well, I can’t tell you now can I? Considering you’re not my boyfriend anymore.” I say, staring at the stairs in front of me, my chest rising and falling rapidly his breath warm on my skin as my breathing begins to spiral out of control.
“Damn, that’s a shame.” he mumbles, his hand resting on my lower back above my ass. He lingers for a few seconds longer before making his way up the stairs, flashing me a quick wink in the process. As soon as he gets to the top of the stairs, he motions for me to come up. Upon reaching the top step, I watch as he walks through the kitchen toward his room, leaving me confused. Nick had said my things had been left in his room, so I couldn’t understand why Matt was going in the direction he was.
“Where are you going?” I enquire, as I start to follow him.
“To get your shit dumbass.” He shouts a little, disappearing into the doorway. Once I arrive at the frame of the door, I rest my head against it and furrow my brows.
“Yeah but why’s it in your room? I thought Nick said he had left it in his room, after all he was the one who was supposed to be giving them back to me?” I interrogate, as I watch him gather the two bags containing my things inside of them off the bed.
“Yeah well you thought wrong kid. They were in Nick’s room but I took them back off him and left them here. He knew you’d be coming over today but had a last minute meeting with Laura and he’s staying with Madi tonight, so I told him I’d hold onto them and when you got here I’d give them to you.” He explains, making his way towards me. He stops in front of me and stretches out his hand, holding the bags out for me to take. I quickly retrieve them from him and clutch them to my chest.
“So why didn’t Nick call or text to tell me he was going to be out? A heads up would have been nice.” I sigh.
“Aw what, is my little y/n not happy to see me.” he teases once again.
“i’m not yours anymore bro. and no actually, come to think of it I’m not.” I vocalise.
“you’re a terrible liar.” he comments smugly, rolling his eyes again.
“and you are too.” I return the statement.
“oh yeah? and how’s that?” he quizzes, a smile growing across his face, his cheeks now flushed red with slight embrassement as he steps closer toward me, the gap between us now almost non-existent.
“because you and I know both know Nick wouldn’t put me in a position like this unless you had something to do with it. I know you only took them off him so that you had an excuse to see me.”
“you’re not wrong there princess.” he replies, brushing a few strands of my hair behind my ear. His thumb comes down to meet my bottom lip, pulling it down as he tilts his head at me. I watch as he does so, before looking back up at him.
“you hate calling me that.” I give a small half-smile back.
“wow, that’s two things you’ve got right today, look at you on a roll. And yea, I do hate calling you it, but I know you love it when I do.” He announces as he licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one. “and just so you know, I don’t have a roster either. There’s only one person and one person only on my mind. And that’s you.”
I shift my gaze down to the ground, a single tear falling from my eye. Matt notices this, and automatically his expression turns to one of confusion and concern. He lifts my chin up so that I’m looking at him again, the soft and caring Matt returning.
“Hey, hey? What’s wrong?” He asks, shaking his head with a sad look etched on his face.
“what do you think, idiot?” I snap, swatting his hand away, but he catches it and intertwines his fingers with my own. I lift my head and eyes up in the direction of the ceiling in attempt to not let anymore tears falls out, but I’m unsuccessful and they begin to stream down my face in full flow, my cheeks becoming flushed and nose stinging a little.
“hey, don’t cry. please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I really wasn’t trying to upset you. Just please don’t waste your tears on me. Please.” he croaks, a pleading look in his eyes.
“Well it’s kind of hard not to when the man I love ended things with me and I’m now standing in his room hearing him tell me he’s still only thinking about me and there’s nothing I can do about whilst he flirts with me and touches me. That shit hurts Matt. I’m still heartbroken and you know it even if I’m putting on a brave front and acting like I’m not. I don’t know what kind of fucking game you’re playing but it’s not funny. It’s fucked up.” I cry out, closing my eyes as my heart aches.
“Shh I know alright? Trust me I know. And I’m sorry okay? Look, you’re right. I did take your shit back off Nick, but only because I miss you, so fucking much and.. because I didn’t know if this was going to be the last time I was ever gonna see you again, even if we live in LA and it’s so easy to run into everybody. Nick didn’t text you or call you to tell you he wouldn’t be here because I begged him not to. We both knew if he did you wouldn’t have came. You would have avoided me and put off getting your stuff for another week. And I didn’t want that. I needed to talk to you.” He cries back. I stay silent, unsure of what to say, think or do. I wait for him to continue, wiping my tears with my hoodie sleeve and sniffling. Eventually he speaks up again.
“Kid, I fucked up okay. And I know I did. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. And I’m sorry. I truly fucking am. I thought I was making the right call, but I wasn’t. I know what I want and it’s you. It’s only ever going to be you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, nor do I expect you to take me back. But I just need you to know that, my heart still belongs to you and only you. I promise you that. I don’t know if you feel the same as I do but, I need to know if your heart is still open for me.” I scan his face and see the sincerity and vulnerability written across it. I’m hurt, but I know he is too. His eyes plead with me, praying that I say yes before the word has even left my mouth.
“do you love me Matt?” I clear my throat and question, my head pounding and my chest aching.
“yes. a million times yes. so fucking much.” he voices, tears evidently falling down his own face. He watches as I take a deep breath, silently nodding. “I know I don’t deserve it, but is there any part of you that could give me another chance?”
I look up at him before answering, debating on what to say. He should have never put himself in a position to lose me in the first place, but he loved me. And I loved him. And he really was trying to make amends.
“yea.” I whisper with a sad pout and another little nod back, as he reaches out his arms and engulfs me in a hug. His arms rest across my shoulders as I cling to his waist. I feel him bury his head into my hair, his tears dampening and staining my neck, soft and warm like summer rain. “thank you.” he mumbles quietly against my skin, half thanking me and half thanking God or some other higher power.
“don’t ever fucking let me go again, Matt promise me please.” I whimper into him. One of his hands holds the back of my head, the other pulling me in tighter. “I won’t. I promise I won’t ever let myself lose you again.” he responds, pulling away and resting his forehead against my own.
・❥・
As I sit in Matt's car on the way back to my house, the atmosphere inside the vehicle is charged with an unspoken tension. He was giving me a lift home, which I was grateful for given the fact I hadn’t drove today and it meant I didn’t have to get another Uber. The outside world was switching off as the darkness of the night closed in, the only light coming from other cars and the amber lampposts. On arrival to the first stop light of the journey, I could feel his hand which had been resting on my thigh, slowly and gently working it’s way up my leg. His touch sends a shiver down my spine, as he glances across at me with that familiar deadpan stare. As soon as the car starts moving again, I look down at his veins, before turning back to him.
"Matt, pull over." I request firmly. He continues to exchange brief glimpses between my face and the road, his hand trailing up further.
“Huh? Why?" he teases, his voice accompanying his fingers sending shocks of electricity through my core. He knew what he was doing. My eyes fill with a mix of desire and determination as I reply, "Just do it."
The car comes to a complete stop as we pull up at a secure location, hidden across from a closed Walmart’s carpark. Classy, I know. But I needed him, so fucking bad. And I couldn’t wait until we had got back to my place. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine turns off, awaiting further instruction from me. He rests his head against the headrest, his face turning to meet me. I unbuckle my seatbelt and before he has the chance to do the same, I press down and release him from the black ribbed harness. He adjusts himself in his seat and folds his arms, biting down on his lip.
“are you sure about this?” he asks, looking for my confirmation.
“de tout mon cœur, mon amour,” I whisper, affirming I’m absolutely up for this, trailing a finger along his sharp jawline.
“fuck I love it when you talk French to me.” he growls back, as I learn forward and he places a kiss on my lips. I kick my converse off and hold his shoulders as I climb into the drivers seat onto of his lap. I tug a little at his hair as I place myself down on top of him, feeling him grow underneath me. As I reach my free hand down to palm him through his grey sweatpants, he lets out a soft moan. “shit, baby.” he snarls, as I grind against him, his dick getting bigger by the second. He takes control by leaving one of his hands snaked around my back, the other grabbing my hair as he connects our mouths together, our tongues intertwining, tasting each other as if our lives depended on it.
“Fuck me Matt.” I let out breathlessly in between our make out. He pulls me back in and moans into my mouth.
“Say please and I will.” He responds, grabbing my throat gently with a little pressure applied. His hand that had been around my waist falls underneath us both and it finds itself down my own sweatpants, his fingers gently feeling my folds, quickly becoming laced with my fluids. “fuck you’re so wet gorgeous.” he smirks, his voice low and seductive. This turns him on even more.
“please daddy.” I moan again, his lips leaving trails of wet kisses along my neck and my collar bones. He inserts two fingers softly inside me, before speaking up again. “say it again.” he demands, his lips coming back up to meet my own as our tongues twirl around hungry for each other.
“ughh fuck, please Matt.” I beg, whimpering as his fingers speed up. I throw my head back as his hand continues to grip my throat with his strong tattooed arm, pleasure washing over me. This urges him to stop, and within minutes, he pulls his hand out from under me, prompting me to move off of him so that he can pull down his pants, freeing his long, hard cock springing out. He begins wanking himself off, his silver rings shining in the darkness. He watches as I remove my own pants, and before I can remove my black laced thong, he grabs my arm.
“babe, leave it on.” he requests, his eyes like a knife cutting into my soul. I do as he says, and position myself back straddling his lap. I move my right hand round to the back of his head, holding onto it as the other rests on his shoulder. We continue to make out for another few minutes before Matt moves his dick to my entrance.
“you’re definitely sure about this?” he checks again, seeking an answer exact to my previous one. As much as me speaking French turned him on, bless his soul he didn’t really understand a word of it.
“makeup sex with my boyfriend in his car? I promise i’m one hundred percent fucking sure.” I nod, as he sets himself at my entrance. He smiles seductively as he teases me, my eyes rolling back into my head. He licks the palm of his hand, his spit acting as lube as brings it down underneath himself. I give him another little nod of approval, and as our mouths connect again to move in sync, he places himself inside me. His arms wrap around my back and neck, the one on my back moving down so that it’s grabbing my ass cheek. We rock back and forth together, moaning each other’s names any chance we get. He trusts in and out of me, deep and fast. We continue, as my hips grind into him.
“fuck, awh fuck baby.” he whimpers, clearly getting stimulated more and more by the minute.
“Matt, fuck. Keep going, faster. Just like that.” I practically shout through moans. The car begins to steam up, and as I feel as though I’m about to reach my orgasm, my hand presses against the window, embroidering a sweaty print into it. “Fuck baby, je viens, je vie- oh shit, oh my fucking god.” I scream, his member continuously hitting my g-spot over and over. He pulls me in towards him, his tongue exploring every aspect of my face. I can sense he’s getting closer himself, and as my walls clutch around him, he pushes me off him and pulls out.
“what the fuck Matt?” I exclaim, confusion spread across my face.
“get in the back princess.” He instructs, and I take a deep breath before once again doing as he says. The smell of sex lingers in the air, a scent I usually hated but in the this moment it was the best fucking thing in the entire world. He climbs over the centre console and immediately pushes me down across on the back seats, spreading legs apart. He slams himself inside me again and continues to fuck me, my thighs shaking as I pull on his hair. The faster and deeper he goes, the more I moan. He places a hand just below my stomach, feeling himself thrust in and out. My free hand grasps the door handle behind me, as I throw my head back in pure ecstasy.
“yeah you like that baby? does that feel good?” he groans, his hand coming down to grip my throat again.
“mhmm.” I let out softly, almost crying in pleasure.
“good girl. I love it when you take all of daddy’s dick.” he responds.
I feel myself coming close again, and as I do I tighten myself around him. I release everywhere, spraying both Matt and the back of the car, which causes him to pound into me.
“aww, fuck I’m about to cum.” he pants, his own release imminent.
“come for me.” I breathe out, and once the words have parted ways with my lips, I feel him fill up inside me.
・❥・
A few minutes of heavy breathing and small chuckles fill the back of the car as I rest my head against Matt’s chest. He wraps his arm around me, kissing my forehead over and over.
“Holy fuck that was good.” He smiles, the rise and fall of his chest and his heart beat against my ear.
“Mhm.” I smile back, as he lifts my chin and pulls me up to kiss him. He notices the handprint on the window and the liquid covered drivers seat.
“Kid when the fuck did you do that?” He shakes his head, emphasising the ‘fuck’ as he does so.
“Bout a half hour ago maybe.” I smirk, as he rolls his eyes. I lean forward and trace a love heart with my finger on the window beside the handprint.
“you really love leaving your mark, huh?” he raises his brows.
“gotta let your brothers know I’m back somehow. Good luck explaining the back of your seat and the smell though.” I tease, earning a chuckle from him as I laugh.
“I hate you.” he mutters under his breath.
“Oh give up Matty, you love me.” I wink at him. “After all you did come crawling back to me.”
“Not that I’m ever gonna put myself in a position to lose you again like I said, but in every lifetime I’d always coming crawling back to you. Especially when the sex is that good.” He jokes, earning a slap on the shoulder from me.
“Fuck you.” I laugh, him doing the same, uncontrollably might I add.
“You just did.” He remarks, leaving another trail of kisses against my neck as I shake my head and smirk.
God I fucking missed him.
514 notes · View notes
tadpolesonalgae · 6 months
Text
Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 7
A/N: Right, this might get a little confusing, but you know how we (English speakers) kind of went from Latin, to old English, to Now English? I’m substituting those for the Old Language, ‘Middle Language’ (the transitional phase—completely made up), and whatever the common tongue is for Prythian? Yeah, sorry about that!
Warnings: none…? I don’t think…?
Word Count: 5,587
-Part 6- -🌌🌠- -Part 8-
You stare at the page, heart in your throat.
Stare at the page, and reach for a pen.
Who is this?
Ink stains the white paper, and stupidity heats your features. He probably left it as a taunt. It’s not like he’s going to respond. You groan, setting the pen down, covering your face with your hands. Mother above. Definitely not your smartest moment. Reach to flip the paper over—not wanting to be reminded of your naïveté.
More ink has appeared, just below your scribbled question.
You may hide your intelligence around your family, but that won’t work with me. Smarten up.
The words burn your features. Scowl at the paper.
Forgive me for not anticipating the paper to talk back, Eris.
It vanishes the second you’ve written the sentence, leaving you blinking at the empty space on your desk. Winnowing isn’t possible within the House of Wind—you’ve heard both Rhysand and Feyre say it before. Yet note passing seems completely acceptable, for some reason. You suppose no harm can derive from simple exchanges.
You’ve been surrounded by magic for nearly two years. It’s shameful to still be taken aback by its multi-faceted ways.
A reluctant smile gilds your mouth. That’s Eris alright. Readjust your hold on the pen.
And it’s embarrassing to rely on stupidly long words in attempt to prove your intellect. Just say it’s versatile.
The parchment disappears, then returns. Nothing’s been added.
Amusement brightens your mouth, raising the writing instrument, poising it to attack. The words dance on your tongue, weapons to provocation: You have a bad attitude to being spoken back to. But you shake your head, instead choosing compromise for your next reply.
Did you want something? I doubt you simply dropped in to say hi. Unless this is your way of making sure I got the book?
Perhaps it was my way of seeing where you fall in this alliance.
Brow draws together. He obviously means the alliance between the Night Court and him, but where do you fit into it all? How does this show your placement? What does he even mean, where you fall? Take a deep breath, release it. It will do you no good to fall for his own provocation.
I hope you were satisfying enlightened, then, you write back.
Quite.
Stare at the neatly scripted response. He’s leaving the conversation for you to direct. First thoughts go to where he acquired the book, but somehow you feel that’s not the direction he wants you to take this in. So, sighing, you stumble straight into the trap he’s laid out.
Why haven’t you told anyone?
Paper vanishes again. Takes a minute to reappear.
It’s pretty blackmailing material. Why waste it in common conversation?
Lips purse together as you read his reply. Manipulative indeed.
Whatever you think you’ll be able to extort from me, I can guarantee you’ll end up disappointed.
Not the family favourite?
Blink at the speed of the response. Like quicksilver. Vague amusement warms your chest—how clear the mockery is. Disconcertingly comforting to know he doesn’t change. The same in every form. Precious constancy. Lower the pen to parchment.
I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?
And I suppose you’ll hide beneath the guise of observation, now?
It certainly isn’t warfare. I’d think you’d be practiced at spotting pretty, bladed words.
Again, the parchment vanishes, leaving you in the silence of your own room. Feet tap anxiously upon the clear wood, leg vibrating as you wait on him. Realisation smacks you upside your jaw—you refuse to sit here wasting precious seconds for whatever nihilistic response he carves out for you. Instead, you turn to the anthology, flicking to the index, peering at titles. Searching for one that will catch your eye.
I’m flattered—you’ve sharpened your tongue since we last sparred.
Roll your eyes. Lips quirking at the inherent Eris-ness of the response.
Wooden swords will only serve me for so long. Why not experiment with steel in a controlled environment?
The parchment vanishes, and takes its time to reappear. Time you spend scanning titles, pondering their contents. Maybe you should ask why he gave it to you in the first place. Certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.
Paper reappears.
You think merely because there are entire courts between us that makes you safe?
Peer at his reply—try studying it. Does he want you to be wary of him? It seems unlikely, somehow. He wouldn’t be able to get anything from you if you’re afraid of him. He should be encouraging you to feel at ease speaking with him if he wants something.
Do you make a habit of being as unpleasant as possible to every person you encounter, or am I just lucky?
A smile warms your mouth as the paper vanishes, fantasising how irritated he might become. From your words! Exhilarating!
Eyes land on a title that piques your interest: Movement of Light. Brow narrows with interest, flipping to the registered page number eagerly. Upon the parchment, beside the tightly knitted words, lays a neat diagram. It appears to be of a rectangle with two small holes punctured through its thin mass. Interesting…
Do you make a habit of keeping secrets from your family?
Lips purse. Cutting to the core, again. Manipulative as he may be, he’s certainly skilled at finding the right bruises to target. You wonder if it’s a skill he’d been taught through books or word of mouth, or if, perhaps, it was a nastier kind of education. Shake your head free of thoughts, pulling away from the book.
Having no secrets at all is stupidly idilic. Are there any other misconceptions you would like me to clear up?
You’re surprisingly cynical for your age.
Strange how having one’s mortality ripped away will do that to a woman.
Even you can hear the bitterness bleeding through. But the words have been written, and the paper has disappeared, so there’s no use trying to take them back. Even if you’re mentally cursing yourself for allowing that kind of opening. Surprised at how easy it is to be caught up in conversation with him. Or sparring, as he so eloquently puts it.
Wonderful immortality not treating you well?
Again, with the taunting. Amusement and something else prickles beneath your fingertips. Irked.
I’ll admit, it’s not quite as spectacular as I might’ve thought once upon a time.
That seems measured enough.
I thought humans were raised to hate us.
Observe the words—how they sit on the parchment. The contrast between your short scribbles and his elegant font.
Might a deer not wish for a wolf’s strength?
Parchment again vanishes. Once you’ve counted to three, you turn your attention back to the book, scanning the passage of writing. Brows narrow at the leap in language—words you’re unfamiliar with. A photon? Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning. Where’s a damn glossary when you need one?
Paper reappears—you take a moment to pull away from the volume.
Have you always been in pursuit of grandeur?
Brow narrows at the question.
I’d say I’ve always been rather passionate about not starving. So I suppose I did once think having three hot meals a day would be utter luxury.
I would have rather rotted away than be forced to live amongst vermin.
A surprised laugh flutters from your chest, amusement sparking within you again.
You’re much too stubborn for such a miserable end, Eris; too bitter to resign yourself to such a fate, either.
Parchment vanishes. One. Two. Three. Return to the volume, start at the beginning. Where your eyes were intended to land. Sighing, you scan the title: The Foundations of our World—Stuff. Brow narrows, lips quirking upward at the vagueness of it. Stuff. Such a lack of precise articulation, yet here it is, in an anthology of noteworthy discoveries. Somehow, this piece had been selected as important; important enough to be the base for the entire book. Strange…
Eye roll across the tightly stacked letters, mind pulsing as words soak into your brain, thumping dully as blood rushes through your ears. Take everything at it’s basest nature, reduce it down to the fundamentals, and what sort of building blocks are you left with? What makes up the world as we see it?
‘Take the prefix a- from the middle language, and combine it with the Old Language verb to cut, creating the name for the indivisible: atom. The smallest bits of matter that can exist independently.’
Intrigue returns with crushing force, making it near impossible to tear your eyes from the volume when the parchment reappears. How long has he been writing? Maybe he was preoccupied.
And yet I understand it was the youngest of you who took up her weapons and headed out into the wild. For how adamantly you protested against my lack of action regarding something I could easily correct, you seem to appear quite the hypocrite. Why didn’t you go out into those woods?
Blink away the memories of frost. Of sweat-stained clothes, and matted, knotted hair.
Getting a little personal with the questions, don’t you think?
Writing to me at all is much more personal than you should ever be getting—I’m sure your friends would agree. Yet there you are, pen in hand, thinking up your next counterattack.
The reply comes with surprising swiftness, allowing you only a brief glimpse of the following passage. Just as you’re beginning to grasp the core of what the essay is talking on.
You write with the confidence sight, you reply, eager to return. Yet he seems to have put his own distractions aside, as the response follows promptly.
Magic is a wonderful thing.
Blood ices in your veins, limbs stiffening, tongue turning leaden.
You’re lying. The House is fortified with wards; practically impregnable.
Yet here we are, corresponding. Does your High Lord know what you get up to behind closed doors?
Heart spikes in your chest, fingers trembling just a little as you lower pen to paper.
You clearly want something; you’re not going to get it if you spook me away, so quit the games.
Very well, but I’ll admit I indulged in the thought of your discomfort.
Release a heavy sigh—he doesn’t somehow have a window into your room, able to watch every move you make. Surely that would be too far, even for his manipulative ways. Skin prickles at how easily he slid beneath it—fingertips brighten.
You share that delightful, sharp-written humour with your youngest brother, you know that?
The parchment vanishes, then reappears in a matter of seconds. You laugh to yourself.
Touchy subject, Eris?
The second you dot the question mark, the door swings open; you yelp, jumping in your chair, shoving the parchment away. Vanishes again a blink later, slightly crumpled from the violent rejection.
“I knocked…” Feyre supplies, features tightening with concern. “Did you not… Oh.” She blinks, peering at the door frame; the threshold. “I suppose it must have been set up to block out exterior noise, too.” Sighs. “I’ll get that fixed at some point. Seems a waste to have a sound barrier up if you’re unable to hear what’s going on outside.”
Swallow heavily, trying to look normal. Like you weren’t knowingly communicating with the heir to the Autumn Court throne. Blue-grey settles upon you, fingers fidgeting in your lap, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. Everything feels unsettled. Her brows arrow, “you’re… What were you doing?”
“Nothing.” You reply, quickly. Far too quickly to be normal.
Lips quirk. “Writing to Bas?” She teases.
Heavy sigh whooshes from your chest, deflating a little. “How do you know about him? I haven’t even mentioned him to ‘Lain,” you say lightly. Something flashes through her eyes, too quickly for you to decipher. “Az mentioned you had someone after you,” she laughs, stepping into the room, door closing behind her. “I had no idea it was so serious,” she smiles, the happiness so inappropriate with the context you have.
Shake your head in denial, “he’s just a friend. There’s nothing else going on.” She gives you a look to say she doesn’t believe you. “I’m serious,” you insist. “There’s nothing romantic going on.” That part’s true, at least.
Feyre laughs again, then shifts on her feet. A strange quest seems to overtake her. “You know things are different here,” she begins softly, “to how we lived as humans.”
Heat flushes your features, making you groan. “Oh my gods, Fey. I am not having this conversation with you.”
“I’m just saying, if you want to get out there…see the world…maybe a few males, too… That’s fine. That’s stuff we can do, now. Well, you can do.” She amends the last part. After all, she’s the youngest, and already has a mate, a husband, and a child. An entire family. The epitome of womanhood.
Shake your head adamantly, “please, stop.” You grimace. Her lips quirk, mischief in here blue-grey eyes. She’s so lively…spirited. Bubbly? But calm, too. When did she become so adult? She seems to have aged in the blink of an eye.
(Why didn’t you go out into those woods?)
She shifts again, peers around the room—it’s a superficial move. She’s buying time, building up to something. “Your floor’s clear,” she notes, nodding to the clear wooden boards. Nod in response, trying not to wring your fingers. You were doing nothing wrong. He had spoken first. Nothing to be guilty about; no one got hurt. It’s fine.
“About our last interaction…” she begins, quietly. Spine stiffens, heart spikes. “I wasn’t trying to find something wrong with you; I’m sorry it came out that way.”
Exhale softly, shoulders lose their tension. Smile easily, waving her off. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “I understand. I’m sorry for lashing out at you, it was unfair on my part to act that way.” Her eyes narrow on you. Keep up the smile. “Is this your way of saying you just don’t want to talk about it?” She asks, softly. Blue-grey shimmers with sincerity.
Lips begin to ache with the stretch. “What are you talking about? We’ve made peace, there’s no need to exacerbate this.”
“Do you not want to talk about it?” She reiterates, keeping calm and quiet.
“What is it?” You laugh, turning to face the desk, eyes flitting to the volume. Scan the page; absorb nothing. “What you said last time. About being a burden.”
Body stiffens, breath catches.
“Fey, I’m getting tired,” you excuse, voice steady.
“You’re tired a lot,” she replies, quietly. Still watching. “Maybe Madja should take a look at you.” Sigh. Lean back in your chair. Tilt your face back, peering at the ceiling. “I’ve had a long life,” you murmur up to the white wallpaper, “I’m allowed to be tired.”
“You’re barely twenty-two.”
“And a lot has happened. I’m allowed to be tired.” You repeat, not looking at her.
Silence stretches between you. Gentle, but taut.
“How about you?” You ask, shifting the conversation over. Turning to peer at her. Your younger sister. Feyre blinks, then nods her head. “Good. Wonderful.” Watch her silently. Mark the lowness of her lids. “Nyx still waking you up?”
Nods again, smiling faintly, traveling somewhere distant. Somewhere foreign to you. “Eight days a week,” she laughs quietly. “Rhys and I are taking turns looking after him during the nights. Despite his work-load.” Sighs, pushes hair from her cheek, tucks it over a pointed ear. “He’s been great. Supportive, attentive, perfect. I keep trying to get him to let me handle Nyx, but he’s insisting it’s a joint effort. Wants to be there in a way his father…” she trails off, eyes misting.
Nod your head slowly. “And I suppose you want to be there in a way our mother…?”
“Yeah,” she replies thickly. “I guess that’s part of it.” The quiet turns viscous, coagulating into something almost translucent.
“I read some things…” you begin gently, “about the turbulence of motherhood.”
Her features lift into a smile, “oh, don’t worry about me. Rhys and I are working through it. It’s difficult, but everyone’s there when the strain starts to set in.” You blink away subtle surprise. “Mor’s always up for taking him off our hands for a day or two. It’s the same with Cass and Nesta,” she laughs fondly. “Amren…well, she’s Amren. And Elain’s great at making little treats here and there. Smiley faces out of his breakfast and things like that—he loves it.”
You nod slowly. Blink. “That’s great.” Again the silence creeps in.
Then she’s shifting on her feet, and. You just know—
“What kind of person is Bas?” She inquiries, not at all subtly. Nosey.
“He’s my friend, and nothing else.” He’s much more than a friend, but there’s no way to explain that without an entire Court’s worth of misunderstandings and uncomfortable questions. Still, she nods, but remains in your room. “And he… His intentions?”
“Feyre,” you scold, incredulously.
Your younger sister doesn’t flinch. Keeps her gaze straight. “Okay. Okay,” she sighs, holding up her hands in defence. “I’m wary of him.”
“Please, you can trust me he’s harmless. To me, at least. I’m sure if someone swung at him he’d be the type to swing back, but that’s besides the point.” You leave out the part that you’re fairly certain he would be the one to also somehow provoke a fight. He can be pretty provocative when he wants to. Not always in a bad way…
(…a hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.)
“I just want you to be careful,” she says quietly, eyes misting, going somewhere far away. “Males…people can be unkind. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Amarantha, Tamlin… You nod your head, “I understand. But Bas…I can trust him. So please don’t doubt him; please don’t doubt me either, in this decision.”
Feyre nods again. Silence stretches, then she straightens. Pats the doorframe. “Well, I’ll have this fixed as soon as possible. It’ll need to be disabled, than I can remake it—so you’ll be able to hear people coming. It’d be awful if you got yourself hurt from being startled by one of us.” She gives you a sweet smile, then disappears out into the hall, door clicking shut behind her.
Unsure if it’s her silent feet or the sound barrier that prevents you from hearing her disappearing footfalls.
————
Skin is itching, fingers burning. Heart spiking.
Burning, burning, burning. Hands on fire.
Vision blurs, floor spinning. She’s on the ceiling.
Crash into a wall, bone crunching. Stumble to the kitchen.
Water. Where’s water. Burning skin. Charring fingertips.
Liquid drips down cheeks, splashing onto knuckles.
Scraped raw, searing pain. Bone splintering, nails peeling.
Cool water fills the sink, drown her hands.
Sweet strangulation, dulcet deprivation.
Lovely oblivion.
————
Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out.
Chest deflates, keeping your body straight but relaxed—imagine sinking into the mattress. Cheeks puff up with the exhale, calm and quiet. Sit silently. Allow the world to fade. Tension seeps from your shoulders, muscles relaxing the way you’ve practiced. Now to make sure you don’t drop off instead.
Empty out thoughts, settle into the silence. Float away on a breeze. Imagine hands being set aglow. No. They are aglow.
Eyes remain shut, tight. Picture the radiant green seeping onto your skin, setting it alight.
Fingers twitch, bones itch. Teeth grind. Nails heat.
Eyes open in time to catch the glow as it fades, sinking back into your skin. A flicker of Starfall, then nothing. Sigh heavily, back slumping, shoulders sloping. It’s something; most importantly, it’s progress. Day three of fourteen. Slow movements, slower response. Gently stoking the flames.
Remove the light from your world, lids closing, return to the darkness. Seeking solace. Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. In. And out. Fingertips warm, but eyes remain closed. Don’t acknowledge it. Can’t look or feel for it. Allow it to grow in the back of your mind, allow into latch into your blood; flourish. Swirling and billowing, gaining momentum until it can move on its own, until it can function without nurture.
Keep your back turned to the power, allow it to remain unseen. Pull it upward; hear as it cracks and fizzles in your head. Rapidly dividing…splitting at high-speed…multiplying until it boils and bubbles. One cleaves another in two…into three…nine…
(…Twenty-seven, eighty-one, two-hundred forty-three…)
(…two-thousand one-hundred eighty-seven, six-thousand five-hundred sixty-one, nineteen-thousand six-hundred eighty-three…)
(One-million seven-hundred-seventy-one-thousand one-hundred forty-seven.)
Heat burns your fingertips, flashing pain blaring so rapidly, sparking like lightening across your palms, splintering phalanges…down into the carpal bones, nearing your wrists.
Vision blasts into view, pupils contract to tiny dots, shrinking away from the pale green light that’s blazing from your hands, barreling up your forearms, crackling past elbows, bolting up, up, up… Muscles seize, contracting against the hot itch scrambling your flesh, twisting at sinew. The blinding light dims, eyes peeking open as it dulls to a quiet luminosity, tinting your skin. Feels like poison ivy…the nettles by your old estate.
Swallow, staring at the radiance. Almost mesmerising enough to block out the burn. Throat itches, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deep breaths. Ease in. And out. Deep and easy. Calm and quiet. Collected.
Slowly, warily, you rise from your bed, door swinging open on the house’s command. Silently pad down the hallway, arms and torso concealed well by your dress, cardigan hiding the faint incandescence of your wrists. Hands—no way to hide them. Ignore it for now, you need a drink. Deep and easy. In. And out. Calm. Quiet and collected.
A glass waits for you on the table, walk steadily forward, fingers tremble as they clutch the cup. Water vibrates inside, tiny ripples fluttering across the surface. Effervescent bubbles shimmer at the base. Grow larger, swelling into compact air, fizzing up. Simmering in your hands. Tension coils your shoulders, brow dampening. Liquid heats up, boiling into a volatile mess. Bubbles pop at the surface, scalding water splashing onto your knuckles.
Scream as glass shatters, burning your bare feet as the liquid sprays.
Heart spikes, glowing brighter, inching up your arms, over your shoulders. Crawling across your collar bones. Muscles knot, tangling over themselves as they seize in terror. Power coils closer, snaking toward your throat, slowly…slowly…
“What—”
Hazel pierces into you, flicking over your hands, marking the shards of glass. He appeared in a flurry of darkness, shadows pulling back once he’s materialised in the doorway. Eyes already scanning for the source of distress. Fix on the slow spread of toxic green as it tip-toes higher. Hits a barrier. It’s a small hesitation—but it’s enough. Magic flickers, recoiling from your clavicle, enough hesitation to be quashed. Like a weight sinking down, an avalanche of rock crushing vermin, bones crunching beneath the pressure. Incandescence shoved away, dripping down your arms, cut back to your fingertips.
Sweet relief washes over you, waves of coolness cresting from your forehead to your toes. Lovely reprieve. Exhale heavily, spine nearly collapsing beneath the strain, leaving a slight glimmer to your fingertips, nails curved and warped from heat. Stagger back as he silently moves toward you. Scarred hands reach out, wanting to touch; wanting to steady.
“Are you—”
“Don’t,” you bark, snapping your arms closer to your body. Feel their unnatural heat as it singes the fabric of your dress. His nostrils flare, scenting the charred material, shadows flicker.
Call breath into your lungs, soothing. Deep and easy. In and out. Calm and quiet. In. And out. Calm and collected. A familiar scent has hairs raising at the back of your neck, eyes flicking up to lock with hazel. Closer than before. Despite the heat.
“What was that?” He asks, the deep roughness of his voice curling across your breastbone, soothing the heated skin like a balm. Swallow heavily, keeping your hands tight to your torso. Turn away; move to the sink. The tap turns on independently, cool water sizzling as it washes over trembling hands. Cold metal mollifies your skin, a comfy weight around your neck. The tiny barrier your magic had hit. Tripped up on.
Azriel doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel him nearby, standing at your side. Watching silently as the water fizzles and hisses, the last of the glow dimming from your fingertips. How close he’d come to touching the blisteringly hot skin. Slowly, the cold begins to souse into your digits, running smoothly over your hands, no longer bubbling or evaporating on impact.
The house has already cleared away the shards of glass; dried the pool of scalding water by the time you’ve dried your hands. Flaky, and ashen. The smooth, creamy texture seemingly been ravished by the heat. Yet all you felt was a slight itch to begin with. You don’t make any attempts to conceal how quickly you want to escape the room, but you’re kept where you are. Waiting…waiting for him to change his mind about keeping your secret. After what he’s just seen…
Feet are pinned to the boards, muscles unwilling to obey your mind as you explore them to turn and leave. Arms feel leaden, stiff and immovable. Wait for the compromise to be retracted. Hands tremble, teeth faintly bite onto your tongue. Wait for the condemnation. For being so foolish; stubborn.
“Are you hurt?” Words thud dully against your ears, keeping your hands as out of sight as possible, hidden beneath the sleeves of your cardigan. Nod dutifully. “I’m okay,” you murmur. Lips are numb, mind buzzing faintly. Floorboards spin ever so slightly, blurring in and out of focus. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. Calm and collected. In. And. Out.
Boots appear at the top of your sight, just a little way from your own. Far enough not to be intimate. He holds out a scarred hand, palm facing upward. Almost expectant.
Blink away the dizziness. Flesh tingling…wriggling beneath your skin. Nails itching.
Wait silently to see what he’ll do.
Continues holding out his hand, waiting patiently to see if you’ll offer up your own. Remain rooted to the spot, numbness crawling beneath your sleeves. Mind buzzing with confusion at the outstretched palm.
Slowly, he begins reaching for your wrist, as if to inspect the results of the experiment. Analyse the consequence. Examine.
It topples you into motion.
Turn on your feet; quietly scamper off down the corridor. Behind the safety on your door.
With the wooden barrier in place, plus the sound block on your room, you can truly feel forgotten for a while. Like time’s stopped.
————
The shower had your blood moving again, temperature cooling to a regular heat. Mind working again, mentally cataloguing every thought you had, every twinge of unusualness that could have been the signposting you should have noticed to prevent that rapid surge of…burning.
Peer down at your hands, almost absently. Aside from the slight roughness to your skin; the chapped dryness to your knuckles, there’s nothing to show for the bone deep itch that had manifested within your flesh. Just the texture becoming sandpapery. Flaky.
A dark blue towel is draped over your shoulders like a shawl, preventing the damp ends of your hair from saturating the changed dress.
(What was that?)
It stopped almost out of nowhere. One moment, steadily spreading throughout your body, the next, it seemed to stumble. Like hitting a bump of some kind. Something that disturbed its momentum. Peer down at the necklace that’s sitting comfortably around your throat, resting just above your collar bones. In the dip of their joining point.
The small, glass pendant hanging from the bronze chain sits innocently on your person. Fingers brush over the map in wonder, curiously feeling. Cool metal contains the accessory, lead encapsulated within a gleaming polish. Even the underside has a pretty finish. Lead, bronze, and glass. Maybe some ink, but that’s all it is. No secrets carved to its base, no hidden compartment. Just a simple ornament, yet something about it disagreed with you. Thank the Mother.
Fingers play with the charm as you take a seat at your desk, reopening the volume. Rusty red leather creaks as you turn to your page, more than willing to submerge yourself in learning. The candles flicker as you ease out a breath, taking in the familiar scent of parchment and something pleasantly spiced. Maybe it’s an Autumn Court scent.
Crumpled paper lands on your desk, settling comfortably between the two large pages of the anthology.
It may surprise you to learn I have better things to do than spend all my hours writing to you.
Stare at the neat, elegant script. Debate the merits of responding willingly. Returning to this strange sparring match would be acknowledging your interest. There’d be no way to talk your way back to innocence. Putting pen to paper will mean…
And yet here you are, Vanserra, writing back to me.
Oh, you hope that irritates him. Hope he sends back something vicious. Something to make you spark awake again. To light up the numbness that’s turning your world monotone.
Would you like to tell me where these wrinkles came from?
Lips tug at the edges, but remain set in a dull line. Lower your pen to the roughed-up parchment. Fingers dry and somewhat cracked in the low light.
Nonsense, Eris. You don’t look a day over thirty.
Picture the way his sharp caramel eyes blaze with ire at the brazenness. Maybe his palms also heat when he’s in a mood. It’s a little comforting to remember power probably didn’t come naturally to him. Maybe. You’re making assumptions, though.
And you don’t dress a day over fifty. Considering Rhys’ wealth is at your fingertips, you have the fashion sense of someone who’s still destitute.
Mouth parts as you read the response. Brows flicking up your forehead. Harsh…
A smile quirks the corners of your lips.
I’ll have you know I dress for comfort. You’re the one who cares so much about prettification. Maybe I could visit your personal beauty parlour sometime, Eris?
Parchment vanishes, allowing you time to peer down at the diagram before you: a small rectangular table. There are various squares left blank, while others are filled in with one or two letters. The boxes that do contain letters attached are numbered, correlating with asterisks further down the page, displaying a full title.
Who would ever accompany you? It’s bad etiquette to visit a tonsorium on one’s own.
The smile fades after a few moments. Who would go with you if you wanted to visit somewhere? Elain? Feyre? …Mor? Shake your head, pushing away the dismal thoughts he’s brought to your attention. Divert elsewhere.
It’s worst to not entertain your guests. What a miserable (and sour) host you would be. I think I’m actually quite glad to not be visiting anytime soon.
Try to return to the anthology; find yourself awaiting his reply. Leg tapping against the floorboards. Minutes pass while you attempt to absorb more of the text, but nothing’s sticking. Like there’s a fog passing through your brain, stopping you from taking in the wonder of the world. More minutes tick by—the sky a solid dark blue the other side of your window. A few other candles gleam alight, and you murmur your thanks to the House. Flame flickers in response. Oddly comforting.
Eyelids start to feel heavy, weighing into your vision.
You don’t realise you nodded off until you wake from your nap. The desk is still void of a reply; you wearily peer around your room, attempting to orient yourself. Knuckles itch to be scratched, still rough to the touch. Gaze settles on your door. Perhaps it’s a little scary that you wouldn’t know if something was lurking directly the other side. Wouldn’t be able to hear any heavy breathing, or the scrape of steel. Deep breath, because there’s nothing there.
Stand to draw the curtains, but hairs stand on end. Remain still for a few seconds, centring on the feeling. Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Brow knits in concentration, absently drawing the curtains, turning back to face the entrance to your room.
(The only exit.)
Sigh in frustration. It’s not good to give into your…however you’re feeling. It will only encourage your mind to exacerbate whatever problem its fabricated. Still, you find yourself opening the door, peering down the well-lit corridor. Nothing there, no strange feeling, no lurking presences. Just your mind finding something to react to, creating a madness to subject you to. Deep breaths. The House of Wind is secure. Safe, and secure. You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen; you won’t get hurt.
Deep breaths, heart lowering its pace.
Move to bring the door to; notice something on the ground, beside the frame.
Crouch down to pick up the small tin. Bring it inside, door swinging shut as you hold it up to the light.
Peer at the neat label. Pop open the lid; look inside.
It’s a small pot of hand cream.
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thefreakandthehair · 6 months
Text
@eddiemonth prompt, oct 3rd: School | Bad Reputation - Joan Jett and The Blackhearts | Combative
cw: pre-steddie (vaguely set s2), weed, migraines, un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour read on ao3 | link to series on ao3
It’s 1985 and the boys bathroom smells like weed.
Interestingly, the boys bathroom smells like weed before Eddie ditches his last period to smoke in the little cement block room, window cracked and far less obvious than whoever’s in there ahead of him.
Probably a Freshman who doesn’t know any better, or some first-timer who hasn’t learned the ropes yet, he thinks to himself. 
What he doesn’t expect to find when he pushes the heavy wooden door open is recently dethroned King Steve, sitting on the disgusting tile floor smoking a poorly rolled joint in the corner of the bathroom. Wedged between the sink and the wall, he looks… small, sad, lost, even. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d recruit him for Hellfire. He certainly looks the part of lost sheep. 
Steve startles when the door opens and, in what may be the only time in Eddie’s many years at Hawkins High, relaxes when he sees Eddie. Steve’s eyes widen and then look away, back down at his hands. His shoulders clench and drop. His entire body seems to move to defend itself before retreating back into whatever stupor he’s smoking himself into. 
Eddie has no idea what the fuck is happening that Steve Harrington doesn’t take him as a threat after his years of proving himself to be just that. Nor can he imagine what the fuck Steve’s experienced that’s caused it. Seconds pass and Eddie just stands there, door closed behind him, unsure of what to do. Hotboxing the bathroom with Steve hadn’t been his plan, but he’s been desperate for just a few drags off the joint sitting heavy in his pocket all day. 
“You uh, you know that window opens, right?” Eddie asks, gesturing toward the window with his chin. 
Steve doesn’t look up. “Sure do.” 
“Got it. Cool. Okay, uh—” Eddie sputters. He’s had very few interactions with Steve, each one civil enough to leave no bad blood besides the company Steve keeps. Or, well, kept. But none have been long enough for Eddie to get a handle on Steve, not in the way he usually can.
Steve sighs and begins to stand. “I’ll get outta your way, man.” 
Something in the way he moves, the way he grips the sink edge tight and rocks once to gain momentum before Eddie stops him, reminds Eddie of Wayne. Veteran Wayne, who works a harsh manual job and is no less than 25 years their senior. That can’t be normal, he thinks. 
“Hey no, I’m uh, actually here for the same reason. Mind if I just,” Eddie trails off as he locks the door and wiggles his joint around, holding it between his pointer and middle finger. “I’ll crack the window so we don’t get busted.” 
“Yeah, I don’t care, but leave the window closed. It’s too fucking loud.” Steve shrugs and Eddie stops mid-stride. 
Eddie looks back down at the spot Steve has settled back into, his head carefully resting against the painted cinder block wall with closed eyes. It’s easier to watch him like this, long eyelashes spidering across his cheeks and brows furrowing. A tiny line appears between them, vertical, and Eddie holds himself back from smoothing it out. 
“Alright, just know we’re probably gonna get caught.” Eddie compromises as he sits on a toilet, the stall door open, and lights up. 
The flick of his lighter brings him a moment’s comfort, followed by the familiar warmth curling into his lungs. His throat burns and he coughs once, then twice, before exhaling. Little puffs of smoke leave his lips in one long, continuous breath. Immediately, the frustration of his meeting with the guidance counselor, the anger at his English teacher for failing him when he was fucking trying, the shame and disappointment of having to go home and tell Wayne he’s being left back– again– vanish. He knows it’s temporary, that it’ll all come rushing back to him in an hour or two, but for now, his brain is quiet. 
For now, the bathroom is silent. Long moments pass in surprisingly comforting stillness, just Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington in the strangest show of camaraderie imaginable. 
Eventually though, Eddie’s lips loosen.  
“Why are you in here anyways? Shouldn’t you be like… I don’t know,” Eddie starts, miming the act of dribbling a basketball. “Doing some sport thing?”
“I do more than play sports, Munson.” Steve’s eyes roll and he shakes his head, grimacing at the movement. Eddie can’t quite put it together, what that reaction means. 
“Huh. Coulda fooled me. And probably like, the rest of the school’s population. The rest of your Kingdom,” Eddie teases, gesturing widely with both arms. 
“There’s no Kingdon, you ass. Much as you pretend to stay outta the gossip, I know you know what happened. And I’m glad it did, so drop it, okay?”
Steve has a bite to him, an attitude that Eddie admires and can’t help push a bit further. 
“So you fall from grace and now you sit on grungy bathroom floors to smoke? Alone? That’s sorta my thing, just say–”
Eddie’s words get drowned out when Steve interrupts. “I’m down here smoking, alone, because I have a fucking migraine. If I have to see one more fluorescent light or hear one more high-pitched screech in the hallway, my brain is going to leak out of my goddamn ears.” 
Even stoned, Eddie puts it together all at once. The closed window. The cool tiles. The struggle to get up. He doesn’t know the full story, but he remembers Steve walking around with his face beaten in and the rumors that it’d been Billy’s doing during a fight, and the time before that, when Jonathan had gotten a few good shots in. Damn his bleeding heart, but Steve suddenly feels more like a lost sheep than he could’ve imagined.
Someone Eddie feels the urge to protect. 
Eddie stands carefully, all too aware of the sound of his own footsteps as he finds the hidden switch to turn the lights off. There’s still a tiny bit of light filtering in from beneath the door and through the window, but it’s darker. Safer. 
“I can be quiet.” 
Steve looks up at him, brows drawn tight in confusion, and Eddie’s chest aches. How infrequently does someone care for Steve?
“I’ve been in classes with you. I’m not so sure you can,” Steve retorts, a little less sarcastic now. Eddie makes a show of sitting back down on the toilet and mimicking zipping his lips and throwing away a key. It gets an actual laugh from Steve, and goddamn him, Eddie loves the sound of that. 
Eddie watches as Steve’s eyes close again, this time with a relaxed forehead, and stares at him while they  finish their joints. Alone, together. Maybe they could actually be friends, Eddie and Steve. Steve and Eddie. There’s a ring to it that Eddie hates because of how good it sounds. 
He’s drawn out of his thoughts by a rattling at the door and subsequent pounding. Steve’s eyes open and dart between Eddie and the door. “Fuck,” he whispers. 
Fuck is right, Eddie thinks. If he wasn’t already getting held back again, he would be now for what he’s about to do.
He crouches over next to Steve and takes what’s left of his joint from his fingers. “Do you have anything else on you?” 
Steve shakes his head No and opens his mouth, only for Eddie to press a finger against his lips. “Get in the stall and flush the toilet when I open the door.” 
“What–”
“Get in the stall,” Eddie whispers harshly, helping Steve to stand and all but shoving him in the stall he’d been in previously. 
“Dude, they’re gonna know I’m here, it’s fine,” Steve resigns. 
“Not if you have nothing on you, just say you had to take a piss and I was already in here. I’ve got a reputation, you don’t. Who are they gonna believe? Besides, I’m not graduating and you are. Consider it a graduation gift.” 
Before he can open the bathroom door, before he takes the fall as planned because of course, the principal believes the story they’d concocted, Eddie feels Steve place a gentle hand on his shoulder. 
“Thanks.“
As he’s dragged to the Principal's office and suspended, an all too familiar setting, he hopes it’s not the last time he gets to smoke with Steve Harrington.
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absolutebl · 3 months
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TOP 10 BL Trends of 2023
This is just me with my analysis hat on. 
1. 2023 = the year EVERYONE went outside their lanes
Everything went topsy-turvy this year in BL. 
For example, Korea gave us agonized yearning and outright queerness (The 8th Sense, The New Employee) while Japan served up soft office workers and tender family (Our Dining Table). 
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The BL world went askew for a while, especially in the spring of 2023. 
Not that we still didn’t still get Korea’s soft angsty bubbles or Japan’s “what are you doing and why does it hurt?” kink-fests. But there were quite a few BLs that made us chronic watchers sit up in confusion and wonder if Korea was dabbling in Taiwan’s territory or Japan in Thailand’s. Then they fudged the kisses and we were like... okay, back in familiar territory. 
In contrast, Thailand stayed course-correcting for the damage they’ve done in the past with tropes (2022) and self referential meta criticism (2021), but also almost aggressively returned to their BL roots after last year’s series of shockers. Certainly, they are reexamining those roots, transplanting some, aerating others. But they really went back to classic Thai university and high school BL and pulps in a big way in 2023. 
Taiwan is always difficult to gage because they produce so few but they seem to have stuck with what they do best with no deviation while producing more this year than they have in ages. I’m happy for that, why change a good thing? But there is a tiny part of me that really wants them to hit it out of the part with a quality piece soon. For me, We Best Love still reigns supreme, but I would really like the HIStory franchise to give us that level but longer - like a happy version of Your Name Engraved Herein. I think Taiwan has the chops to give us something as good as The 8th Sense or Old Fashion Cupcake but in their style, and I would like to see them exercise their talent for good rather than just profit. 
I know, what a very odd thing for me to say. But if any BL is going to break into the mainstream American market, I genuinely think it’s most likely come from Taiwan. 
Vietnam and the Philippines are falling behind, in general. They just didn’t bring out very many shows in 2023, and what the brought out tended to fub the endings. This is forgivable in Japan (because of their style and quality) but not what watchers want in the lower production value propositions. In other words, if you do a pulp, you can’t mess up the ending (by romance standards). that doesn’t look to be changing anytime soon. 
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2. The Office Romance Dominated
After years of Thailand serving us an endless (and slightly bland) buffet of university (and a few high school) BLs, this year Korea was basically like...
Ofiice. We like the Office. It’s cheap to film we can use grown up actors, acting (mostly) their actual age. 
And yeah... it totally worked. 
To be fair, Japan has always given us office live action yaoi from the beginning (they had the source material) but this year everyone else, including Thailand, seriously started playing in this setting. 
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3. Boys Danced with Boys
The darling @heretherebedork​ was a big fan of this one, and I rather like it myself. Prior to this boys dancing together was very very rare in BL, but this year we got way more than our fair share. It was lovely. 
Never Let me Go
My School President 
Bed Friend 
The Day I Loved You 
Step by Step
Be Mine Superstar
Tie the Not 
Dangerous Romance
I think there were a few more. These are the ones I remembered to write down. 
4. Getting (even more) Meta With Tropes 
BL has been getting more and more meta over the past few years but this year they really focused in on tropes specifically. Calling out their own biggest and most favorite tropes in a massive way, especially Thailand and especially GMMTV. 
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Like they tunneled in on damaging tropes with Bad Buddy and the like over the past 2 years, and now they are just having fun with us. 
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I mean they just started the dancing trope and already they are calling it out? That’s like rapid-fire regurgitated meta there, GMMTV. 
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5. Cameos are the norm now 
Taiwan has always loved cameos but in the past the other countries have been show and steady with only one or two a year. (Unless Japan does a parody.) 
This year Korea got in on the game.
Korea rarely starts trends but they do adopt smaller and lesser known existing ones and make them super popular. 
This year they did that with cameo couple appearances, even borrowing a few of Thailand’s pairs (TutorYim and MaxNat traveled north). They did it so much I stopped tracking. Love Class 2, Why R U?, and Jun & Jun were the heaviest hitters. 
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Taiwan, of course, came back swinging. Kiseki was the gum-ball machine of pair cameos. (In Taiwan mafia = gay.) 
6. We are entering the cross pollination age
The number of remakes picked up or started this year was startling, not just countries revisiting their own content (Thailand, Japan) but countries revisiting OTHER countries stuff.
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Lemme explain...
Korea has started remaking Thai content (Why R U?) alongside cameo'ing Thai pairs.
Thailand is doing Korean IP (My Dear Gagster Oppa) and has 2 Chinese ones slated for next year. 
GMMTV acquired a lot of Japanese IP (Cherry Magic, Ossen, and My Love Mix Up) - and then had problems distributing it. 
This is probably the most surprising trend for me. Especially the Japanese stuff. I would have thought these properties well outside of Thailand's price range (even GMMTV's) not to mention Japan’s legendary IP issues (I swear I typed this pout before the pulled TayNew’s excellent Cherry Magic). 
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Also why not option some of the older popular manga instead? Bet that's much cheeper. (I did see a NEW Thai translation of Finder into Thai, which is 90s yaoi, so I have my fingers crossed on that front.)
I shouldn't be too surprised. 
Thailand is running out of y-novel content. Their publication industry is just not robust enough (I was just talking to a friend about this at length recently). But I didn't think they had the funds to option, especially from Japan. 
Perhaps the option deals are for peanuts?
7. Korea got cheeky
I’m not sure quite how else to put this. 
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After finally figuring out boys can kiss, Korea started to do not just higher heat but playful higher heat, with more aggressive word play and linguistic innuendo, like they are entering their racy rom-com teenage years (Why R U? Love Class 2 and Jun & Jun in particular.) 
I guess: Welcome to your BL teens, Korea? 
It’s cute of them. I am very much enjoying it. 
And now that comedy is warming them up, we get to see them play with actual queer burgeoning physicality in shows like The 8th Sense. 
It’s nice. I like seeing Korea stretch its wings. They still stick to their bubble, but that bubble seems to be expanding. 
8. The Amnesia Trope is back
And I, for one, would prefer to forget about it. 
9. BL got trendy 
I’m not quite sure how to articulate this category but basically we started seeing a lot of “modern” romance trends out of the west (like a/b/o) show up in our BL. Not a ton and sometimes quite small, but there has a been a steady rise of things like: no seme/uke, femme gay, out gay, condom use, messy gay. 
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We also got an increasing range of sub genre frameworks (like mafia, office setting) that’s moved BL pretty firmly (even in Thailand) out of school and into the workplace, whether actual working is involved or not. 
It’s not to the point where it feels like we get more non-school BL than school BL (if I include all countries in this assessment).
Japan, in classic Japanese fashion, quietly started moving in the opposite direction. It’s what they do. 
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10. The Vampires are coming 
This is an announcement trend, which I don’t usually report on but it’s so CLEAR. 
So last year we had a spate of announcements of possible Omegaverse (2 from China, 1 from Japan, 1 from Thailand - the only one that’s happened). 
This year we got 5 Vampire (or vampire-esk) Thai BLs announced including one from GMMTV. 
Whether all 5 will actually get made is unlikely, but having had (basically) none prior to this (Kissable Lips), I’m pretty confident that we will get at least 2 of them. And I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one other country made one as well. (Side eyes Taiwan with interest.) 
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Final thoughts
It feels like we are also seeing a decline in BL (both by quantity and quality) from Vietnam and the Philippines. As you all know, I don’t track or really watch either of these two very closely. But it feels like, now, no one else is either. 
I think we have likely seen the BL heyday already in both places and their industries are now on the decline. 
We might be witnessing a thinning in the players in the BL field. 
FYI we had approximately 
136 BLs in 2023
Previous Years
2022: 117
2021: 95
2020: 62
2019: 40
2018: 30 
2017: 44 (China’s last gasp)
2016: 27
2015: 17 (50% micro)
2014: 17 (50% micro)
And that’s it! Let me know in the comments if you’ve spotted any additional trends you want to call out.
Last year, 2022′s trend report
2021′s Trend report
Last Year’s Stats & Predictions
(source) 
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ariicandy · 2 months
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give me little kisses from my head down to my toes
Summary : what started a small kiss to now being peppered with kisses all over your face
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More — kiss don’t tell matchup @bl4cktourmaline yue!! I dearly hope I have live up to your promise of one of your characters in this idea I thought of!! I’m excited to see more of your work & get 2 know u more!!
Note — grammar errors may appear, I will edit them as this is queue being 1am finishing this
Credits to @/cafekitsune for dividers!!
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After a successful performance by Lyney & Lynette’s show as watching and being picked as a “volunteer” tho we all know it’s cause Lyney will always choose you when you see his performances, which is almost all. Heading back stage to go and congratulate the twins for their hard work, you can see the 2 twins and freminet look tired while their younger sibling is trying to help them relax. “Congrats for an amazing performance lynette!! You were fantastic on the tricks you did from practice, they look so amazing on stage and was your moment!!” Clapping your hands to congratulate lynette seeing her say thank you with a small smile from the praise, you went to grab a small towel from the tables nearby to help poor freminet not be alone. But it seems you missed one person to applause and is shock at you, or maybe you aren’t & teasing him waiting for him to say something. Helping lynette under her hair a bit so her head doesn’t start hurting due to having to tighten it, giver her some water and help clean up & put away the props. A certain magician was feeling a little jealous from his sister getting his lover’s attention than their attention being to on him.
————————. Mini time skip —————————
After arriving home in your shared room with Lyney, Lyney immediately wrapped his arms around you, “[Naaaammmmeee] !!! Why didn’t you say anything when praise lynette and not me too!! ‘Oh lyney you did such an incredible job”. Giggling from how your dear Lyney couldn’t handle being ignored and not being complimented on how well he did the show, he was like a small puppy wanting attention. “Sorry it was a bit funny seeing you so shocked on not saying any to you!! You did amazing on the tricks you did!” You gave him a kiss on the cheek as a small sorry to little stunt you did on him. He immediately returned the kiss on your lips, holding your face to shock you from his sudden move. He then started to place kisses all over face, on your nose, next to your eye, cheeks, ear, and on your lips. It was hard trying to speak when his kisses kept making you giggle, “What’s gotten into you Lyney? You usually aren’t like this unless something you plan??” “It nothing! It just shows atleast I can keep you to myself anytime and give you kisses whenever I like whenever I desire!” A small blush formed on your face realizing he was right, you really can’t complain when you pepper him with love and attention all the time and he does the same with kisses & his attention on you all the time
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You and Dan heng were in the Archives, relaxing while he was looking at data, seeing if he has missed anything or has recalled what the data has in store. You were a little bored and feeling like messing with your lover for a bit, nothing harmful but it gets boring sometimes when you wait for him to review something. Walking up next to him you blur out, “Dan heng, can I kiss?” And you certainly got his attention, he looks at you and peeks a kiss to your lips with a small fond smile from it. “Can I have one here?” He get a little confused by your request for kissing your cheek, received a hum, but he does not complain and kisses your cheek. “The other side too!” “If you want my attention you know you could of ask, you are my girlfriend after all.” Having to ruin the fun you just giggle and respond with, “it’s more funnier to do something than ask!” Ahh, now he sees what your trying to do, you are trying to make him kiss your face. He decides to join your small game and start kissing your face to which your shock seeing him obey what you were trying to do. Small laughter comes out of you from just attacking you with kisses and finally ends it with a couple of your lips! Your lover dan heng now is his turn to laugh from seeing your flustered face of being attacked with his kisses, your laughter and smile always makes him smile even if he doesn’t realize it shows on his face, atleast you can see yourself and believe. “Isn’t this want you were trying to grab my attention for? No?” “Well yeah! But I didn’t think you would actually do it!!” He laughs again from successfully caughting you off guard, he loves these moments with you two together. All sweet, fun laughter with one another, with each other’s love. “Come on, it’s almost time to eat let’s go get something before march comes barging in for us to eat and ruin the moment.” And he gives you one last kiss and leaves, leaving you flustered again.
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Fun fact I do not know how to write about Dan heng so I hope it’s okay🙏🙏
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ohbo-ohno · 1 month
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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
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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.
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