lmao-liz

[lmao-liz]

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath. 

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he? 

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away. 

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon. 

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone. 

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect. 

You’ll always be this. 

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared. 

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away. 

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath. 

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time. 

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.  

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game. 

It won’t last. 

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you? 

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more. 

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips. 

He’s kissing them. 

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this? 

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know. 

You trust them. 

Don’t you? 

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t. 

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing. 

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone. 

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun. 

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms. 

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser. 

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand. 

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.

[lmao-liz]

Simon Riley x DogSitter!Reader pt. 4

<- Previous

Warnings: Cursing, caught half-naked (don't get ya knickers in a twist, it's not by Simon), possessive behaviour, pining

A/N: Good morning! typed this up last night, wanted to post it but Tumblr mobile hates it when I try to edit my drafts. but I cracked open my computer and got it finished! enjoy the day! xoxo

"You need to stay still." You said quietly, your hands gently laying on Riley's stomach as she lay on her back. Her eyes flickered between you and your hands curiously with a nervous look on her face. Her tail swished, brushing with a whoosh against the unkempt grass of Simon's backyard.

"Good- play dead, good..." You slowly removed your hands, placing them against your thighs as you knelt next to her. "And stay-"

As soon as your hands left her fur, she twisted back onto her feet and sat upright. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth as she panted, looking at you for the next command.

"No!" You cried, holding the sides of her face and pointing her snout towards you. "You just had it! C'mon, we've got to get this down - need to show off your skills at the dog park, yeah?"

You flopped down on your back and raised your arms in the air. Riley took a few steps back and stared at you - her toe was pointed in anticipation. She had no idea what you were doing.

"Like this-" you said, "Play dead." You rolled back onto your knees, giggling at the flabbergasted expression on her face. "Really- it's easy, let's give it one more go."

You guided her to lay down again - she huffed, seemingly annoyed with whatever it was you were trying to do. She let you roll her onto her back, her legs awkwardly sticking out straight. You tutted and bent her paws at each ankle.

"Good. Sta- stay." You said as she tried to wiggle up. You kept your hands on her belly again, and she boredly looked at the blue sky above.

"Good, Riley. Play dead." You slowly sat back on your haunches, and she managed to stay put. She looked at you upside-down as you fished a few treats from your pocket.

"Stay..." You cooed, holding the treats up to her muzzle. "Good. Play dead."

She gently lapped up the treats when you opened your palm, chewing noisily and looking back at you for direction. She remained on the ground, feet pointed in the air and her tail still.

"Ok, Riley." You said, and she scrambled back onto her feet. "Now, let's try again. Play dead."

She looked at you, tilting her head in confusion. You could see the gears turning, and your skin was nearly on fire with anticipation. "Play dead." You repeated slowly, pointing towards the ground.

Sure enough, she sank to the floor. When she saw the excitement growing in your eyes, she rolled onto her back, letting her legs relax above her.

"Good girl!!" You squealed, rubbing her belly and her face and showering her with kisses - she groaned and yapped, hurriedly getting back up onto her feet.

"Oh, you're so good, Riley!" You exclaimed and handed her a few more treats. She scarfed them down in a matter of seconds as her tail thwapped against the ground.

You felt proud of her - and of yourself. You'd never really considered yourself an actual dog-sitter before. But now, after this achievement, you felt like the dog-sitter.

"Mitchell had better watch his sorry ass..." You stated, standing up and brushing your hands on your thighs. You paused when you felt something cold - you turned to look over your shoulder, and sure enough, your entire back and rump were covered in mud. You sighed, looking back down at where you had laid in the grass. There was a decently sized mud puddle, with the perfect imprint of your torso and backside.

"Oh, for Christ's sake-" you grumbled, trudging back towards the house. Riley hopped through the doorway and made a beeline straight to her water bowl. She lapped up the water messily as you toed off your sneakers, leaving them by the backdoor. You closed the door behind you and groaned as the damp fabric clung to your skin.

"Just my bloody luck." You murmured. You began peeling your clothes off in the hall, starting with your socks, then your sweatshirt, then your top. You were just about to shimmy out of your jeans, when you heard Riley whine.

Turning around, you saw her walking- no, limping, to her dog bed. She groaned as she shuffled around, scratching at the fabric, before plopping down onto the plush cushion.

"Y' feeling alright, girl?" You asked, and she turned her snout towards you. "Time for some medicine, hmm?"

You padded into the kitchen, grabbing her medicine from the counter and popping a pill into your palm. You stole a jar of peanut butter from Simon's cupboard and scooped a spoonful, shoving the pill into the sticky glob and heading back to the living room. "Don't worry-" you said, holding the spoon down to her as she licked it greedily. "I won't count this as one of your daily cookies."

You felt a chill against your bare back - you looked up, noticing that the AC vent was positioned right above Riley's bed.

"Well, that can't be good..." You grumbled. You quickly ran and snagged a worn-out blanket (decorated with bones and tennis balls, most likely from when she was a puppy) from the hall closet, before returning and draping it over her. She let out a wary groan as you tucked in the edges, cocooning her in a layer of felt.

"Need t' make sure you're not too chilly-" you said, securing her under the blanket. "That cold doesn't help your leg, does it?"

She made a content sound and sank her head down onto the cushion, making you chuckle. "There, isn't that much be-"

You stood back up, your sentence interrupted by your own panic. The mailman was outside the front window, staring right back at you. He was frozen, eyes wide with a shocked flush on his cheeks, as he was putting the mail in Simon's box.

In a fit of horror, you glanced down at yourself, being met with the sight of your shirtless torso and jeans. You shrieked in embarrassment and ran into the hall, quickly throwing yourself into the bathroom and slamming the door behind you.

Riley tilted her head as she watched down the hall, the sound of your "Fucking hell!!" Echoing from beyond the bathroom door - she flopped hear head back onto the cushion and sighed.

------------

The cot groaned and creaked beneath Simon as he dropped himself onto it. He tossed his duffle bag on the floor next to him, letting his arm hang over the edge for a moment. His entire body ached - he had let himself relax too much on his time off with Riley, and had nearly forgotten just how rough this job was on his bones.

"Never thought we'd be back 'ere, eh?" Soap said, trudging into the small dorm. "Alejandro said we're always welcome on 'is base, but I ken he meant other circumstances."

Simon groaned in agreement. "Brings back memories, eh?"

Soap scoffed. "If ye say so, LT. Rott'n ones, that's fer sure."

"A' least it's over."

Soap grunted. "Gonna celebrate with a cup o' joe." He said, rolling out his shoulders with a pop. "Need me t' grab ye some?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. Like to try n' get some sleep 'fore we head home."

"Suit yourself, LT." Soap said, before he left Simon alone in the dorm.

He sighed heavily. Simon was lying to himself if he thought he was going to get any sleep. During the entire mission (save the parts where he was snapping a bloke's neck, or planting bullets in bodies), he couldn't stop thinking about Riley - which was also a lie. Truthfully, he couldn't stop thinking of the both of you.

Were you treating her well? Did you end up using his shower? Did you remember her medicine? Did you use the throw blanket when you slept on his sofa? What did you two do all week? What did you do all week?

It was hard to realize that he'd only seen you in person twice, with the way that he was constantly plagued by you. You and your overly-bright and bold personality. He wondered if you'd be there when he gets back home, or if you'd-

Oh, right. He'd be home tomorrow night. He'd forgotten to text you. He quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed up a message.

coming home tomorrow evening. it'll be late. don't worry about being there, but if you are, that's fine.

He hoped you would be there, he thought, as he sent the message, letting the phone drop onto his chest.

Not a minute had passed that Simon had fought with his own mind, when his phone buzzed. He pulled the screen back above his face and opened the message from you.

Glad to hear you're back safe!

Buzz

If you are actually back, I guess I don't know where you are...

Buzz

Anyways, that's fine! I'll walk Riley around 7 pm, she's good after that until bedtime

Buzz

Of course, you know that, she's YOUR dog after all, lol

Buzz

Get back safe! And I mean get HOME, not just wherever you are right now!

He stared at each message as it popped up, one after another. You must type fast - and god, were you annoying... but he didn't hate it. He should hate it, he'd hated every other person he'd run into with your attitude. But he felt the depth and the honesty in your words, even over text. It was aggravating him, but instead of stomping your sparks out, he wanted to hide them in his dark corner, where no one else could see just how bright you were.

Shut the fuck up, he thought. Man whore.

He began to reply to your message, thick fingers struggling to tap away at the tiny screen.

How are my girls?

Fuck- backspace, backspace- Christ, that was a close one.

How's my girl?

Send.

He groaned, staring at the screen, hungrily waiting for you to respond. He thought of the sound of your nails clacking away on your phone. What would you say? "Good"? "Fine"? "She's sleeping"? He wished you'd go on another tangent, stringing him along in a conversation where one message hardly had anything to do with the last.

Buzz

You sent a photo.

Simon's chest felt tight with anticipation - he hurriedly clicked on the image to make it bigger.

It was you and Riley, both lying on the couch. You were curled up against the arm of the sofa, wearing your pajamas and tucked under his throw blanket with a book in your hand. Your hair was down, and a bit damp, too. Riley was cozied up to your side, her snout resting in your lap. The both of you looked up into the camera - you, with a sweet, soft smile that nearly put Simon in cardiac arrest.

Doing good! I think she likes it when I read to her!

Simon exhaled heavily through his nose. You read to the dog- of course you fucking read to the dog. Why was that attractive? Why was he so warmed by your matching daisy pajamas? By the mug of tea on the coffee table (in his mug, which made it worse)? By the way Riley was so comfortable around you?

How were you doing this to him - infiltrating his brain so easily, consuming it like a weed? A beautiful, elegant weed?

He groaned and laid his phone on his chest, rubbing his eyes. He let his palms linger over the sockets for a moment. Something must be wrong with him. Simon was never so easily distracted by anything, let alone anyone. Had he gotten soft on his time off? Was this some sort of pre-middle-aged hormone cocktail that was controlling him? How the hell was he supposed to snuff this flame out? He could never request your services again; but as soon as the thought entered his head, he threw it out. He'd keep you, if not for his own selfishness, then for the way you were so excited to have the job in the first place. This would have to be a project of self-discipline. He would have to figure out how to-

"Steamin' Jesus- that's who ye got watchin' Riley?!"

For a moment, Ghost nearly came out and landed a punch to Soap's gut. But Simon simply jolted, catching his phone right before it slid off onto the floor.

"Bloody- fuckin' hell, Johnny." He grumbled.

"Bloody fuckin' hell indeed-" Soap agreed, trying to swipe at Simon's phone. "Pull 'er up again, lemme see-"

"Bugger off." Simon warned. He sat up on the edge of the bed and pocketed his phone.

"Awe, this why ye dinnae want te talk 'bout 'er earlier?" Soap said with a playful grin, collapsing onto his cot on the opposite side of the room. "Been hidin' tha' pretty thing all te yerself?"

"'M not hidin' anythin.'"

"Then lemme see- might snag 'er number, too-"

"No you won't, Johnny."

"Why not?"

"Because y' don't need a bloody dog-walker."

"Maybe not, but I could always use a lass, eh?"

"She is off limits-" Simon said, narrowing his gaze at Soap, "- n' there's not gonna be another word 'bout it."

Simon laid down and rolled to face the wall before Soap could utter another word. He heard Johnny scoff, followed by the sound of him removing his boots.

"Dry piece of shite, ye are..." he grumbled.

Despite his instinctual reaction to Johnny's instantaneous attraction to you, Simon was a bit shocked with himself. Again - you weren't his. The only tether he had to you was strictly monetary and contractual. He even imagined that you might be pissed, having a client treat you like they were your bodyguard. He needed to figure this out and de-root it from the source, before it got any worse.

But... if he allowed himself to entertain the idea, just this once... Would it be such a bad thing? To attempt- to convince you that he wasn't so horrible a person, really- if you could just see past his hard, outer shell, built up from years of trauma and blood. Who knows how long it would take you to see him as a decent person, but he could think about the logistics later. It wasn't against the law to date your pet-sitter, he just had to make himself believe that. Maybe you were just the perfect amount of sunshine that could melt the iciness within him.

With a glance over his shoulder, making sure Soap was minding his beeswax, Simon pulled his phone out of his pocket. He gave your picture a long, favorable glance, before he sent you a final message for the night.

keep reading to her for me, and tell her I'll be home soon. thanks again.

------------

Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae @cum-tea-and-towels @boystepper @definitelynotaclown @your-wifes-boyfriend @ghostslittlegf @bossva @poppingaround @yannvi @katzykat @mileyraes @chocolate-noodles @jupiternighties @sadlonelybagel @rorysbrainrot @identity2212 @pricescontroversiallyyoungerwife @reevesdriver @kingshitonly @ghost4love @lilyofhoon @xxkay15xx

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! It might need to be a reblog at this point lol

[lmao-liz]

Slasher Handler

Description from the discord:

My next (first fanfic) project is going to be an AU for charmed!slasher!Simon where reader knows he's dangerous, finds out he's literally a killer, and decides to provide him with ✨enrichment✨ to help him… I dunno? Control his urges? Channel them into good? Meet the need before the distressing behavior starts? They're way over their head.

Part 1 - Meeting Your New Neighbor (SFW)

Part 2 - Grocery Shopping (SFW)

Part 3 - Meeting Kyle For Coffee (Time skip) (SFW)

Part 4 - Consequences (To Meeting Kyle For Coffee) (NSFW)

Part 5 - Reward (For Being So Considerate) (NSFW)

Part 5.5 - After the Reward (From Simon's POV) (NSFW)

Part 6 - Simon's Been Restless (NSFW)

Part 7 - Date Activities (NSFW)(Not Spicy!)

Part 8 - Romance Isn't Dead (NSFW)(Not Spicy!)

Part 9 - Pneumothorax (NSFW)

Gaz Interlude - A look into the medical side of things (SFW)

Gaz Interlude Part 2 - The other side of the medical side of things (SFW)

[lmao-liz]

Simon Riley x Dog Sitter! Reader pt. 3

<- Previous

Warnings: mild cursing, boredom, thas really it

A/N: Holy shit I cannot believe how much love this is getting, and it's so much fun to write!! I've decided to makes this a fully fledged fic instead of just a drabble, and I'll be posting it on ao3 too! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Also sorry if formatting changes, I'm trying to have some sort of order among my writing.

Simon had never told you how long he'd be gone - which was fine, your flat was only a twenty-minute drive from his home, should you need to do laundry or get more soap. You had some freelancing logo-design work you could focus on in your downtime, and Simon had been gracious enough to leave a note on the coffee table with the wifi password. Truth be told, you imagined this would feel like a holiday: no more shitty bosses. You were your own boss, here. You could make your own schedule, as long as you made time for Riley.

You soon discovered, after moving into Ghost's house, that it was very much not a vacation. The interior of his home was so barren that it made you feel like you had been sent to an asylum. On your first day there, you managed to get a bit of freelance work done; after that, you tried watching the telly, but you couldn't drown the heavy restlessness in the back of your mind.

You decided to phone a friend.

"What's Riley like?" Leslie said through the phone, which was tucked under your ear.

"Military dog." You replied. You were lying on the floor next to Riley, stroking her fur as her head rested on your stomach. "So proper, I've never seen anything like it. You know- when I made breakfast today, I dropped some food on the linoleum- she didn't bat an eye. Girl just watched."

"That's amazing... you know Donald would have run to it like it was the first meal he'd been fed in years."

You laughed, making Riley's head bounce on your abdomen. "Mum has got to stop feeding them real food..."

"What about the client?" Leslie said, changing the subject. "Simon, was it? What's he like?"

"Honestly?" You began, scratching between Riley's ears. "A decent guy, don't get me wrong - but bland. Gruff. His apartment is, too."

"Just like ya mum always said." She snickered. "Can I see?"

You sighed. "Nah, I never checked if it was ok to bring people over. Not sure if he'd appreciate me giving you a tour. But I'll ask next time if you can visit."

"That's fair..." You heard her shuffling around on the other end of the line. "Well listen babes, I should get back to work. Got five left on my lunch break."

You groaned at the prospect of having to be alone in Simon's barren home again. "Alright... still on for this Thursday?"

"You know it! Nina's coming too."

You grimaced. "Whoop-tee-doo..."

"Oh, c'mon, I'll make sure she's civil. Love ya."

"She'd better be. Love you!"

The call ended with a click, and you let the phone slide from your shoulder with a sigh. You stared at the ceiling, running through what you could possibly do. You'd already had a shower at your flat before coming here, you'd done plenty of work...

Riley tilted her head up to look at you, sensing your frustration. You looked back down at her.

"What d'you and Simon do all day?" You asked.

She sighed and looked away.

Maybe it was time for a walk.

"Alright, Riley!" You said, pocketing your phone and sitting up. She scrambled up at the sudden movement; her eyes followed your every move as you stood, her stare expectant and excited.

"Fancy a walk?" You asked.

She whined and yapped, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

You chuckled. "C'mon, then - before you and I both start going insane."

On your way to the closet to fetch her leash, she had nearly knocked you down to beat you there. You huffed, leaning down to grab your shoes and tug them on. She sat (im)patiently and watched, her tail slapping against the wooden floor.

"Alright, alright..." You laughed, grabbing her leash and latching it onto her harness. She obediently trotted to the front door and sat, waiting for you. You opened the door and stepped outside, confused when the leash tugged in your hand. You looked back inside and saw that Riley hadn't moved from her seat on the floor. She looked at you, ears forward and eyes eager as she waited for... something.

You looked at her, puzzled. "What's wrong, girl?"

She whined, pointing one foot up and thumping her tail against the floor.

Oh, right. Military dog.

"Okay, Riley." You said clearly, and she happily trotted out the door. You chuckled, locking the deadbolt behind you and beginning the much needed walk. She stuck right by your side, never passing you nor falling behind.

For the kind of gruff, admittedly shady man that Simon was, you noticed that he lived in a pretty nice area. If you told your mum where he lived, she'd blow a cap out of jealousy - the houses were neatly lined down the street, each one with a driveway and a small garden bed underneath the living room windows. Simon's was noticeably bare - Christ, even his grass was thinner than the other neighbors', how does one manage that?

You eyed his empty garden bed as you passed it. You wondered if he would let you plant a few things... just to liven up the drabness. A couple of Hostas, maybe some African Violets... you knew he wouldn't want too much colour, but he definitely needed something to brighten his home. Currently, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the other houses. Not to mention, it would give you something to slice through the boredom of staying here.

Eventually, the sidewalk led to the edge of a small patch of woods. A bridge stretched over the creek, which then led to a longer, winding path through the trees. You came to a halt, reading the sign next to the trail.

"Po-wee-hee-co park..." You mumbled and Riley stared at you with her tongue hanging from the side of her mouth. "Poeheko Park? You ever been here?"

She looked between you and the trail, sniffing the air. She licked her lips and whined.

"Suppose not, Simon's only ever dragged you around the block a few times, huh?"

She eyed the trail warily, but you could see her eyes brimming with eagerness and interest. You chuckled, reigning in her leash and starting over the bridge. "Time for an adventure!"

------------

Simon sat stoicly on the heli, eyes fixed on the wall across from him. His palms rested on his thighs, fingers splayed. He appeared calm and collected, focused on the mission that Priced had debriefed not too long ago.

Except, the mission couldn't have been further from his mind. He was thinking about you and Riley. We're you giving her enough attention? That was a dumb question; clearly you knew how much attention a dog needed. You'd done this before... but had you ever worked with a dog that had certain needs and medications? You never mentioned it during the interview, and he didn't remember to ask. What if you couldn't see the signs when Riley's pain was flaring up? What if you had forgotten that she needed pain medication?

He thought about texting you - but he quickly shut the thought down. He'd reserved texting for emergencies only, and he knew you were good at your job. There wasn't a moment of your life you hadn't spent around dogs, of course you would take perfect care of Riley.

"Honin' in, LT?" Soap's voice echoed through the coms as he took the seat opposite from Simon. He was relaxed, as if this was just another Friday for him - well, Simon supposed, it was.

"Always." Simon replied gruffly, focusing back on the mission at hand. He cleared his throat and flexed his fingers, trying to keep a cool composure.

"How's Riley doin'?" Soap asked. "Know I jus' seen 'er a few days ago, but- ye finally cave n' get someone to pet sit?"

Simon grunted. "'Course. Not gonna leave 'er alone that long, it'd be torture."

"Who'd ye get?"

"What's it to you?"

"Secret service? Ye snag one of the Royal Guards fer the job?"

"Jog on, Soap." Simon warned with a serious look, and Soap raised his hands in defense.

He couldn't tell Johnny about you. A fierce, possessive feeling in his chest told him not to. He knew Johnny had a thing for young, pretty things like you, and he refused to let you fall victim to his desires. In fact, he hated the thought of it.

But- who was he? Why was he being so protective over someone he barely knew? You were an adult, perfectly capable of making your own decisions. Why should Simon cockblock you and Johnny? So what if he wanted to shag you?

Mentally, he shook his head. No. Never. He'd lock you in his house if it meant keeping Jonny away from you. Even if Simon wasn't anything more than your client, he wasn't going to allow Johnny to get close to you. It would be too weird. You're his, after all.

...

Fuck.

He sighed and adjusted his position in his seat. You and Johnny didn't even know each other, for Christ's sake. He was overthinking all of this. You'd probably never even meet his team, why would you need to? You only ever have reason to spend time in his house, not on base. You just watch Riley, make breakfast in his kitchen, sleep on his couch, maybe his bed, if you're with the dog... using his bathroom, his shower...

He scowled at himself. Maybe hiring you was a huge mistake. You were too distracting.

------------

Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae @cum-tea-and-towels @boystepper @definitelynotaclown @your-wifes-boyfriend @ghostslittlegf @bossva @poppingaround @yannvi @katzykat @mileyraes @chocolate-noodles @jupiternighties @sadlonelybagel @rorysbrainrot @identity2212 @pricescontroversiallyyoungerwife @reevesdriver @kingshitonly @ghost4love @lilyofhoon @xxkay15xx @cosmic-nuisance4 @danielle143

[lmao-liz]

long distance video calls with soap

my first time writing anything and it’s smut ish. i’m usually a reader and recommender but god do I love this concept

cw: phone sex, mutual masterbation, vibrator use, voyeurism. (let me know if I missed anything)

you and johnny are in a new relationship. it’s your first relationship where the guys got an actual career. he’s someone important, he can’t tell you the details just that it’s demanding and can be dangerous at times.

you embrace the long distance phone calls and rare video chats. it’s worth it because when he’s home it's unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. you know he’s military or something along those lines, the time differences and crazy schedules make it obvious.

after a few months together he opens up. tells you about the team, his cap, gaz, and of course simon. how the long hours and being away all the time gets to the team, he’s pissed none of them ever talk about it.

him having someone to come home to, it changed his mindset, he feels bad for them. it’s empathy, a bit of pity. he’s having such a good time with you, it’s not new for him to want to share the things he loves with his teammates.

the team just got settled into bed, working for almost two days straight in some random country, everyone was out as soon as they hit their pillows, deployment’s running too long. it feels like an eternity since he’s seen you, felt you. he knows he has to keep external contact as low as possible, but the thought of seeing you. it’s his forbidden fruit.

he’s a catholic, in hindsight not a great one, he kills, does unspeakable things for his job. so what’s another tally? one that he knows he deserves, because he’s been working so hard, it would be worth it.

the video call only rings twice before you pick up.

5:33 am.

he should be sorry for waking you up, but he needs you. you answer in the darkness of your room face illuminated by your phone screen. the lights are off in the barracks but you can see him in his bunk, shirtless, an arm tucked behind his head.

he looks like the product of a wet dream. one of which you’ve had too many of to be relaxed seeing him like this. he asks you what you’re wearing, tells you he needs you. he’s desperate, working long hours, going through all kinds of shitty situations. he says he’ll return the favour once he’s home. you know he will, he always does.

you don’t resist when he asks you to lift your shirt. you know he’s been working so hard, it’s the least you could do. he tells you to grab the vibrator he got you just before he left. knows how sometimes you need it quick and strong, not afraid of you liking it more than him, he knows how desperate you get while he’s gone for long periods of time.

he’s whispering praise to you, you can see the movement of his arm behind the screen. the laptop propped up on his drool worthy abs. it’s quick, the vibrator hitting in just the right spot, johnnys not the only desperate one. you haven’t seen him in months.

johnny knows he should turn his volume down. the sounds of your pleasure are bouncing off the walls of the small barracks. he just can’t help himself, too focused on your contorted face, your sounds, the quiet hum of your vibrator.

it should be embarrassing how fast he comes, but seeing you, even through a screen, it's more than he’s had, his imagination can’t compare to seeing the real thing. his grunts and heavy breathing are enough to push you over the edge. you both writhe in pleasure, thousands of miles between you too, but it’s not enough to keep you apart. you’re even more tired, a good orgasm and seeing johnny, you know he can’t stay on the line longer, but you want nothing more than to actually get a chance to talk.

he tells you he’ll be home soon, make up for him being gone longer than he said he would be. he wishes you a good night saying he's got another busy day tomorrow. you blow him a kiss goodbye, making him promise to come home safe.

“alweys dae lass”

the call ends, you set the vibrator and your phone back on your nightstand, rolling over and drifting back into dreamland.

johnny sets the laptop to his side, wondering how he’s going to clean himself up without waking everyone up. just when he’s about to say fuck it and sacrifice his boxers, a box of tissues hits his shoulder. he catches it before it hits the ground and looks to the bunk across the small room, he can see the outline of the infamous skull mask staring back at him.

“didn't know you had such a pretty bird waiting for you back home johnny”

he swears he sees simon adjusting himself beneath his blankets. but it’s dark, he hasn’t slept in almost 40 hours. it’s just his mind playing tricks on him right?

is this actually good? I like it but it’s a word vomit of my thoughts so i’m insanely biased. do I continue writing or stick to recommendations…

#soap x reader #ghost x soap #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish smut #john mactavish #simon riley #cod 141 #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #poly 141 #poly!141 x reader #possible gaz and price inclusion #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #soap x ghost

[lmao-liz]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[lmao-liz]

price making you and gaz kiss in front of him because he said nothing makes him cum more than seeing his pretty dolls love each other too. he watches raptly, devouring the sight you two make as he smokes.

he barks at gaz when gaz's hands stray any closer to your crotch, and he clicks his tongue when you get too whiny. you and gaz tremble in your mutual desperation, wanting to do more, to feel more, but are always stopped by price.

the building agitation that you and gaz feel finally makes price sigh, his puff thick with the cloud from his cigarette.

"so impatient," he tuts before leaning to the table to kill his stick, while his other hand begins to fiddle with the zipper of his pants, dragging it down. "come on then, maybe you'll be good f'me like this, at least."

you and gaz kiss over his cock :(

#ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh #I love price and gaz #the poly is 🤌

[lmao-liz]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.” 

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now. 

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart. 

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country. 

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty. 

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to. 

It’ll be days before you see them again. 

If you see them again. 

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility. 

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her. 

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you. 

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” 

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.” 

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.” 

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.” 

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.” 

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say. 

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.” 

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.  

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.” 

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you. 

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat. 

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.” 

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.” 

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say. 

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.” 

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts. 

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through. 

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask. 

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.” 

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?” 

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.” 

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.” 

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.” 

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone. 

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision. 

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.” 

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit. 

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you. 

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away. 

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega. 

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment. 

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you? 

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you? 

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you. 

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday. 

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants. 

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore. 

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news. 

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them. 

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling. 

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you. 

You’re not sure you’d survive that. 

Most omegas don’t. 

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least. 

You shake your head. “Nothing.” 

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.” 

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard. 

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.” 

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?” 

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you. 

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?” 

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.” 

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?” 

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.” 

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know? 

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep. 

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care. 

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you. 

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go. 

You know what will happen if you let go. 

“She’s no daughter of mine.” 

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over? 

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown. 

“Easy, easy.” 

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you. 

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.” 

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest. 

“You’re alright, you’re safe.” 

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over. 

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms. 

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently. 

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch. 

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself. 

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly. 

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you. 

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.” 

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.” 

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s. 

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do. 

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you. 

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.” 

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks. 

“The day after.” You answer. 

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.” 

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask. 

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.” 

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask. 

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.” 

“What are we gonna tell John?” 

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.” 

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently. 

“Think about it.” She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.” 

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days. 

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background. 

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.” 

“I know, we’ve missed you too.” 

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?” 

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon. 

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.” 

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion. 

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.” 

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again. 

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you. 

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell. 

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you. 

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared. 

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her. 

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know. 

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting. 

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door. 

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers. 

Maybe you need to start paying more attention. 

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here. 

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.” 

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her. 

Apparently something’s changed. 

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly. 

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now. 

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this. 

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now. 

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.” 

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again. 

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost. 

You’d take those times back over this right now. 

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person. 

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did? 

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble. 

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving. 

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they’re not there to protect you. 

You’ve made a big mistake. 

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.” 

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door. 

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line. 

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all. 

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf. 

No one will hear you scream. No one will care. 

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.” 

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life. 

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?” 

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.” 

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.” 

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe. 

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?” 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.” 

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark. 

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you. 

No one would know. No one would care.  

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?” 

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.” 

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.” 

Something about his words don’t sit right with you. 

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside. 

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs. 

She doesn't even seem bothered by it. 

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you. 

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words. 

She’s American. 

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.” 

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief. 

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it. 

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks. 

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open. 

Someone was inside your room. 

Taglist:

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@daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

[lmao-liz]

the jailbird (2)

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

part 1 | original text post

cw: (former) prisoner!simon, civilian!reader, romance & fluff, smut, size kink, sane and consensual, roleplay, rough sex, spanking, bondage & gags, tattoo kink, dom!simon, sub!reader

bunny says: love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are encouraged!

-

living with an ex-convict was interesting. he still woke up at the crack of dawn, and as a result you were up too. he didn't know where anything was in your apartment, he hated that he had to wake you up but he didn't know where the spoons were.

you were happy to help him and spend some extra time together before you went to work. the more you were around him, the more you realized how big he was compared to you.

even his hands were much larger than yours. he loved to wrap you up in his arms and hold you while you were making yourself some breakfast. those strong tattooed arms around your middle as you flipped eggs.

sometimes he'd bury his face in your neck and visibly relaxed. he was still dealing with his fair share of trauma from the previous events of his life. and while it often left him stressed, he found comfort in you.

"you're my anchor, love." he said within the first week of his return to society.

you simply smiled and tried not to blush too hard as you said, "well, si. i'll happily be your anchor, as long as your mine."

"you're anchor, your rock, your foot solider, your lover." he said as he kept his gaze on you. since he had been living with you, you found his expression had softened a little. he could relax here.

"my husband." you reached out for him. he took your hand and kissed the top of it before he held it for a moment then returned it to you.

simon had a long road ahead of him, being on the inside for so long was going to cause some problems. but, he knew even if he had nothing. he had you.

it was almost five months into living together and he managed to get an interview working in small parts manufacturing. while it was tedious, they didn't need to look at his criminal record. which greatly excited him.

when he came home from the interview, he told you that it went well. that they seemed to like his dedication and were impressed when he mentioned his time in the military. he said, "got the whole 'thank you for your service'." as he held you and kissed you deeply.

it felt like your little lives were coming together. but the one thing you hated to admit to yourself. you sort of had a dark side, it wasn't anything too aggressive or 'evil'. you thought that simon was the perfect boyfriend, he'd never hurt a hair on your head.

but the idea of being with a criminal sort of had a sexy ring to it. to be with the bad boy. you almost felt embarrassed to admit it when he'd come home with flowers for you, or when he smiled at you. or when he held your hand when you went out. with you he got to be a person with love.

deep down you wanted to know the depths of your boyfriend. you wanted to know what a man like him, with his skill set, was capable of. you wanted it to burn, ache and hurt.

it took a lot of courage, you communicated with your boyfriend about a little make believe. while hesitant at first, he slowly started to warm up to the idea. you knew he was open to it when he came home from one, actually the first day at his job, with a bundle of bondage rope.

"the blue looks good on you." he remarked as he finished tying you up on the bed. he had your arms behind your back with you on your side and one leg tied to the bed post.

you looked at him, those eyes of yours were so alluring. you tried to move your leg but was stuck to the bed. he smiled down at you and tapped the ball gag in your mouth.

"but it doesn't matter what you want. right?' he asked, "i've searched a long time for you. you're not an easy woman to catch." he got between your legs, and hiked one leg over his shoulder as he started to aggressively lick your cunt. it was already dripping from the act of him tying you up.

there was no escape for you, even if you somehow got out of the bondage. he was almost twice the size of you and could do some damage if he wanted to.

you squirmed and whimpered around the ball gag as he took long, hard licks against your clit. he wanted to make sure his girl was wet enough for his large cock.

"maybe i should breed ya. bring you back to the boys all fat with my brats.' he purred, "i don't think they can throw ya in the can if you're pregnant. but who knows, you got pregnant by a thief." he continued to lick your sweet cunt. he was in heaven.

he really was so much bigger than you. he overpowered you, he could keep you down and fuck you until he had his fill, and there was nothing you could do about it. you were bound and gagged like a good girl.

he kept at it, he even teased your hole with his thick fingers until you were squirming more with your moans getting louder. he slapped your ass and gave you a stern look over your pussy. he gripped your leg over his shoulder. "shut up." he growled, "i don't need ya causin' a scene. i'd hate to go back to prison because you can't keep your trap shut up."

you hole clenched and he chuckled. he patted where he smacked and grabbed at the flesh before he went back to his feast between your legs. it didn't take long before the slick between your thighs got all over his face.

he pulled away and sat up on his knees. he stared down at you with your thigh wrapped around his waist. he was going to fuck you at a weird angle, but it was the only way he could keep his little prize tied up. he wiped is face, "you are the best thing i've caught." he said, "stolen a lotta loose change, but they're nothin' to the sweet taste of your cunt." he got his cock out his sweatpants and started to rub it against your slick pussy. he let out a harsh sigh from the sensation, "they should be keepin' ya behind the vault door." the tip slipped in for a moment and you clenched around it.

you whimpered and tried to pushed yourself down on his cock, but it was hard to do that when you were so tied up, he pushed the hair out of your eyes, your leftover wetness got on your cheek from his movements.

"but, you need to know." he said, "you're mine to do whatever to. your mommy and daddy aren't gonna save ya. you fell in love with a bad man and now you're lettin' him fuck your cunt raw. what's gonna happen at christmas when you're all swollen with my brats. riley boys are lil hell raisers." he went back to rubbing his cock up against your slit, "you'll be mine forever. my little prize. i should've taken ya a long time ago. just snatched ya up off the train. keep ya to myself." his tongue was getting loose from the buzz of pleasure in his brain.

you whimpered around the gag and almost cried out when he slipped his large cock into you easily. you felt it in your guts and his pace was much more brutal than the other times you've made love. that was the difference, you made love before. this was dirty, primal sex between a criminal and his captive.

the sounds of sex filled the air, paired with simon's heavy breathing. his heart was thumping steadily as he pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he loomed over you as he drilled himself into you. you were a comfortably tight fit around his cock.

you dug your nails into your palms from the immense pleasure and yelped when he slapped your ass. you whimpered when he leaned further into you to get closer into your personal space. his pace was brutal and it excited you.

"i'm a bad man." he said lowly, his voice close to your ear, "my worst crime is tainting such a precious angel." he held onto your calf as he bent your hips the closer he got. his voice was hot, "fill ya right up, make sure no other man has a chance to get ya knocked up." his tattooed hand went to your stomach which he gave a small rub, "my girl carryin' my boys."

your eyes almost rolled back from the heat in your body. you were almost drooling around the rubber gag in your mouth. it was dirty, it was filth. if anyone saw the state you were in, they would be shocked!

your head felt full of lust, you felt your lover so close to him. you knew despite the roughness and the harsh words, the entire scenario was safe. you knew you could get out of this if you needed to. but it wasn't getting to be too much, it was just enough.

the wetness between your legs and the flips in your stomach only excited you. to have such a large man be so domineering. it made you feel small in a good way. it was almost like being bound made you feel protected.

that you could lay yourself over to him and he'd cherish you. even if you were his little 'prize' for the evening. the hottest part was the pace at which his cock was battering your womb.

you whimpered against your gag and felt the heat rush through you. you held onto your palms as best as you could with your arms bound. the entire situation left you spinning, there was no wonder that orgasm crept up on you so easily.

with a loud moan around your gag, you climaxed around his cock. the tightness of your cunt mid-orgasm milked his cock till he was seeing stars. he came inside of you, his seed hit against the back of your womb.

the feeling of being able to do so left him a little slack-jawed. but he kept it together, even if his cheeks were flushed. when he finished, he slowly pulled out and started to untie you. his hands were shaky from the after effects of his orgasm.

he took the gag out of your mouth and pulled you in for a kiss when he finished untying you. he fell into bed with you and laid on top of the covers with you. he held you gently and kissed your face. he gave you gentle praise as he kept you in his arms.

when he looked at you, all was right in the world. you held onto him and pressed kisses against his face. after care consisted of tea and a small snack followed by a shower together, where he washed every part of you.

even though you were capable of doing it yourself, you still appreciated how detail orientated he was in the manner of getting you clean. little did you know that biology was working its magic and simon's seed found home in your cervix.

you better hope that the line about the riley boys being hellions was untrue or you'd have your hands full. it didn't help that when simon's hand grazed your stomach as he washed you that you blushed and tucked yourself closer to him.

mama riley did have a ring to it.

[lmao-liz]

Simon Riley x Dog Sitter! Reader pt. 2

<- Previous

Warnings: light cursing, light nsfw, Simon being the tiniest bit of a creep

A/N: so originally this was just a fluffy thought I had a few weeks ago... it's slowly turning into a longer, multi-chapter series, and Simon is a bit darker than I had intended him to be... but the story is still going to stay relatively normal (there will be full NSFW further down the line, lol)!

Sure enough, Simon had emailed you by Tuesday afternoon. You noticed how... unprofessional it was. Not that he had been rude or obscene, but it was obviously written by someone who never had to write many emails for his career.

here is riley's routine. she likes walks, usually 3 or 4 a day. she eats one scoop in the morning and one at night. she doesn't finish her food all at once, but she'll come back to it. if you're gonna give her more cookies, just two per day. fill water every morning. around the house, if you could just dust and clean up any dog hair, that would be great. let me know if meeting me tomorrow at 0900 for the key works. I ship out thursday. thanks.

Simon.

You chewed your thumb nail, reclining on your couch with a confused expression. Was he irritated with you for some reason? He didn't show it at the interview if he did have any hostile feelings... you reminded yourself that he was a rather gruff man, and maybe that just bled into his written words, too. You rolled your shoulders and started working out your reply.

Hello Simon! Tomorrow works perfect for me, I'll be there by 9 am!

Does Riley have any favorite places she likes to go? Any particular spots or trails she enjoys? Also, are there any rules you have for her, like being on the couch? Is she ok going to the dog park? Lastly, does she take any medications I should be aware of?

See you soon!

You sent the message, sighing and dropping your head back against the arm of the sofa. You were honestly thankful that you'd gotten the job, even if Simon was a rather stiff client. You finally quit your shitty job, and while you did still have babysitting your niece and nephew, you never charged for that - the only time you were "paid" for it was when you took them out somewhere fun, and your sister forced you to accept money for the admission fee.

So this gig fell into your lap at the perfect time. And the fact that you had beat every other person Simon had interviewed made your ego soar. It wouldn't be a bad idea to make a career out of this, you thought.

Your phone dinged - you held it above your face, and saw that Simon had already responded. You sat upright and opened the email.

she only takes aspirin when her leg flares up. no more than twice a day. no favorite trails, we just go around the block a few times. she can sit on the couch, my bed too, but she'll need help getting up. no human food is the only other rule. never took her to a dog park, but if you really want to, that's fine. she's good with other dogs.

Simon.

You frowned. Walking the same block every day, multiple times each day, sounded awful. It wasn't even close to animal neglect, but you couldn't imagine walking the same route every single time. If it didn't drive Riley insane, it certainly would for you.

You read back over the email, your eyes lingering on "if her legs flare up." Simon had never discussed Riley having arthritis with you - and you sincerely hoped that was the reason she had leg pain, and nothing else. You made a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow as you began to write your reply.

Understood. Thanks again!

--------------

"Here's the basement." Simon said, leading you down the stairs and into a dullish room. It had a cheaply-manufactured desk, what appeared to be a dining chair (not matching the dining set upstairs), a stuffed bookshelf, and some cardboard boxes filled with paper. A fan stood in the far corner, and next to it was the washing room. Much like what he had shown you of the rest of the house, it was bland and drab.

You looked around, letting out a polite noise of approval. Truth be told, Simon's life seemed awfully boring to you. Your mother had always told you that military men were always overly practical, in more than just home decor. They never cared much for the environment around them, as long as there was no mold, or anything similar. But you had never expected it to be so brutally true.

You knew he had a life outside of his home - from the way he described it, he was usually deployed more often than he was in his own home country. But you wondered - what did he do for fun, besides watch the telly? Did he have friends, and were they all like him? Any hobbies?

"If for whatever reason y' need to clean up a stain, you can find solution in there." He said, pointing to the washer room. "Other than that, nothin' much to see down 'ere."

You followed him as he trudged back up the stairs. Riley was sat upright on the floor, watching you and Simon move about the house with an observant expression.

"The only other things I'll ask you to do is hoover n' dust when it looks like it needs it." He said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "There really isn't much else t' do; of course, if you do see anything that needs fixin' you can always text me." He rolled his head from side to side, wincing as he worked out a crick in his neck. "Might not answer immediately, but I'll see it."

You nodded, standing in the walkway of the kitchen. Even with him leaning against the counter, muscles hidden under his sweatshirt, he was huge. For a brief moment, you imagined what he looked like on the field, dressed in his uniform and holding a gun - but you quickly shooed the thought from your mind before it had the chance to latch on and fester. "Gotcha. And just so I know, do you let Riley sleep with you?"

Simon paused in confusion before he responded. "Come again?"

"Like- you know, if I crash on the couch, is she allowed up with me?" You said, shifting your weight. You couldn't quite tell if Simon was irked by your question, or if he was genuinely confused.

He paused again. "Uh, yea, that's fine. If y' don't mind waking up covered in 'er slobber."

You laughed. "Nah, I'm used to it. A little drool never bothered me. Although, if I do need to wash up, am I alright to use the shower? Or would you rather I use my own back at my flat?"

Suddenly, it clicked in Simon's head. You were planning on sleeping at his house.

He had assumed you would just stop by for walks and meals - he didn't expect you to actually live here while he was gone, and he wasn't sure how it made him feel. He'd never had anyone else spend the night. Hell, no one ever visited, besides the rare occasions of the rest of the 141 stopping by. Even then, they never stayed for longer than a conversation or two.

But, once he took a second to think about it, he realized it might be better if you did stay - at least, while he was on missions. Riley would be bored out of her mind if she was alone that long, especially after spending the past several weeks with Simon constantly there. It would be good for someone to be there when he wasn't, and you seemed like you would be the best person for that, of course.

"Sure, 's fine." He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just don't touch my shit in there."

"Don't worry about that..." You said quietly, "catch me dead and cold before I touch a 3-in-1 anything."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was refreshing that you could handle his gruffness - most people treated him like a landmine, never wanting to say the wrong thing and set him off. You seemed to have taken life by the horns, like you weren't afraid to bite back at someone. He wondered if that was all for show, or if you really would snap back if he was to test you...

He pushed himself off the counter and reached into the drawer behind him, pulling out a spare key. He walked over to you and held it out. You were just about to take it, when he suddenly yanked it back.

You faltered. "Sorry...?"

"You lose this key..." Simon began lowly, "n' I'll frame you for murder. Understood?"

You gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He didn't really mean that... did he? You waited for him to laugh and say he was just joking... but he never did. His eyes bored into yours so intensely, making you shiver, as he waited for you to answer.

"Y-yes, sir. Understood." You said, voice wavering a bit.

He grunted in satisfaction, then handed you the key. You let out the breath you had been holding, then cautiously took the key, before immediately attaching it to your lanyard. You didn't want to take any chances at losing it - not after Simon's threat. You took a deep breath and smiled at him, trying to dust the exchange off of your shoulders.

"You can come 'round tomorrow after o' nine hundred, I'll be out by then." He said, turning sideways to moce past you and heading towards the door. You followed behind and rubbed Riley's head when you passed her; she let out a contented sound.

"Feel free t' use the kitchen if you'll be stayin' overnight." He opened the door for you and leaned against it.

"Will do, thank you!" You chirped, hovering on the landing outside of his house, right were you were two days ago. "Thank you for showing me around - good luck on your- mission- deployment, thingamajig!"

He huffed. "Promise I will, luv."

Your spine tingled in response to his comment. Get it together, don't get your knickers in a twist over a client. You thought. You straightened your posture and cleared your throat.

"Well, see you around!" You said with a smile, then hopped down the steps to your car.

Simon waved, taking a moment to watch you pull out of his driveway. He shut the door and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

He was an observant man - he had to be, with his occupation. Your reaction to being called "luv" didn't fly over his head. And it's not like Simon didn't know the effect he had on women... he knew how he looked, how he presented himself, and he saw the reactions it got him.

But with you, something felt different. He saw your reaction, and a part of him wanted to chase after it. To see what you would do if he continued to apply pressure to your weak spots. Would you blush? Would you call him out? Would you drop the gig altogether?

He thought about how easily the word "sir" had rolled off of your tongue. He thought about how you would look, all tuckered out on his couch, donned in whatever pajamas you decided to wear, your face peaceful and expression soft as you slept - he imagined you in his shower, the room filled with warm steam and the scent of your shampoo, water hitting your skin as you-

Riley barked, making Simon jolt where he stood. She stared at him, ears turned to the side as she whined. She could always tell when he began to dissociate, and knew just as much as he did that it wasn't a good sign.

Simon sighed, running a hand down his face. "Get it together, fuckin' creep." He muttered to himself. "I need a bloody hobby, f' Christ's sake..."

He blamed it on the upcoming mission. He would typically stress about it beforehand, and if there was anything else that could occupy his mind, he would fixate on it. Right now, unfortunately, you were the victim. But he buried it deep down into his subconscious - it wasn't fair to you.

He pushed himself off of the door and headed towards the washroom, adjusting his crotch as he went. He figured he should at least tidy it up a bit, since you would be using it. The only other people who had been in there were Johnny and Captain Price, and of course, they never cared if there were trimmers on the counter, or if the mirror had splotches from toothpaste residue.

Hopefully, he'd forget all about you - at least, while he was on the mission.

------------

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z/zya. 20. she/her. 18+ only. mdni. ✮ current fixation on rafe cameron

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play fake | part seven

series play fake — ( masterlist )

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a gf in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

content 18+, eventual smut, angst, fake-dating, jealousy, people-pleasing and independent! female reader, ward cameron pinning rafe and sarah against each other, rafe being an asshole

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

It's easy for you to pretend everything's fine.

You've been worried about the whole Aaron situation for the past week, but you couldn't let that be known. You were handling it—best you could—but, at least, it sets your priorities a bit straighter. You realize whatever the outcome is, you need Rafe to get this job.

So, you were going to play the hell out of the girlfriend role.

To get ready, Rafe picks you up from Sailor to take you to Tannyhill. This time, when you got into the car, it was met with complete silence.

"Hey," you greet, to which Rafe says nothing as he reverses out of the lot and returns to the road. You remember that Rafe doesn't function normally whenever he has these types of events. He's probably nervous about the upcoming gala, a need to impress his father once more and prove to Ward that he's capable. You don't hold it against him. "Okay, then."

You settle back against the leather seat. You weren't going to let him ruin your performance; the curated mood you set up for tonight. You were going to hold out till the gala was over.

Rafe glances over to you once he knows you're looking away. Your chin tucked in your palm as you watch the scenery outside the window. Something pinch in his chest.

His right hand slides over your thigh, exposed from your short work attire, and the warm touch surprises you. You turn back to the blond, tilting your head with a small smile. "Ready to talk to me?"

"Don't push it."

You laugh and the tension in his shoulders loosens. The sound always feels like a constant mark of normalcy.

"Who's watching your sisters tonight?"

"Huh?" You respond, the question caught you off-guard and you wonder if you misheard him. "Oh. Oh. I got a babysitter for them. They should be fine till tomorrow."

He nods, knowing he shouldn’t have asked but having done it anyway. "You could've let them stay at Tannyhill. I have people to watch them for free."

He pauses, holding his breath as he waits for your response. Very few people get this offer and the fear of rejection hangs over him.

"Nice try, darling," you tease, falling back to a sense of comfort, "but I'm fine. I got it figured out."

He‘s not surprised by your answer, but it annoys him nonetheless.

When you reach Tannyhill, you didn't bother to wait for Rafe to give you the boyfriend experience. You knew he wouldn't. Instead, you went ahead and opened the car door yourself, heading straight for the porch.

Rafe was just about to cross over to the passenger side.

Following suit, he unlocks the front door and grants you entry. You step inside, reveling in the details of the estate. Despite only being here a few times, you can recall the key pieces of the house—the crystal chandelier with dangling pendants, the cabinets of beautiful collector items from the Bahamas, the flowery display that Rose curates in her free time. You immediately check off all their placement in your head, strolling over to the staircase to ascend.

"Know your way around my house, huh?" Rafe taunts, sticking his hands in his pockets. You glance over your shoulders with an easy grin.

"Just trying to take notes for the next Mrs. Cameron. Don't worry, it's not for me." You wink, turning back around before you notice the way his smile falls flat.

Reaching Rafe's bedroom, you step into the familiar space and eyed it with suspicion. From social media, you saw that Rafe went to a party right after hooking up with you the other day. You will never admit it to him but you wanted to catch if there's any evidence of another woman.

But instead of finding a pair of panties on the floor, you find the red tulips sitting on his desk. Your guards lower.

After he gifted them to you, you cut off the ends and put it in a glass vase in hopes of rejuvenating the flowers. It worked. You nearly forgot about it since you haven't visited since that day, but you were surprised he kept it after all this time.

You turn around to Rafe once he enters. "You like tulips now?" You tease, to which he glances over to the bouquet.

"I forgot to throw them away."

"Sure." You hum, partially unconvinced but deciding not to take any deeper meaning to it. He probably did. "Well, I'm going to go get ready."

You head into the ensuite, dropping your bags on the floor. As you change into your dress, curl your hair, and put on your makeup, you realize you forgot your lipstick.

Searching through your bag and throwing out used brushes into the sink, leaving a powdered mess, you still couldn't find it anywhere. You frown, "dammit."

Your attire feels incomplete without it, but you're not going to cry over this miscalculation. Stepping out, you find Rafe, fitted with his tailored black suit, sitting at his desk and reading a file in his hands. His concentration breaks when he hears you exit. 

His eyes scan over your figure and, while he knows he's already seen you in this before, it does nothing to minimize how captivating you truly look in the dress. The dress he bought. "You look amazing," he murmurs, causing heat to rise to your cheeks.

"Thank you." You say with a laugh, uncomfortable at the way his attention is set on you. You need to expel it. "Unfortunately, I don't have any lipstick on. I probably left it at home."

"You mean this?" He picks something off his counter and holds it out to you and, lo and behold, it was your lipstick.

"Where'd you get that?"

"You left it here," he declares, lifting to his feet and approaching you with it. "The maids were going to throw it away but I assumed that..." He trails off, his eyes finding yours.

"That I wouldn't be able to afford another one?" You supply with a forced smile, knowing it squeezes your chest at how Rafe sees you. A Pogue who can't afford many luxuries. "Don't worry, Kook, it's like seven dollars, I would've bought another one."

That wasn't what he meant.

He remembered that you didn't let him buy you another one so he figured you wouldn't allow him to replace it either. But, he didn't know how to say that without coming off pathetic.

Instead, he returned it to its rightful owner.

Grateful, you take it out of his hand and begin to apply it right there. He watches you as you do, the freshness of plump lips replaced with a coat of red. "How'd I look?"

Kissable. Rafe swallows hard, tearing his eyes away and finding the empty space around your neck.

"Where's your necklace?"

You twist the cap back on the lipstick, tipping your head to the bathroom. "In there. I was going to put it on later."

"Let me put it on for you."

You blink up at him from the sudden offer. "You want to?"

He shrugs. He feels like he's playing a silent dance with you, hoping you’ll take the next step.

A small smile curls on your scarlet-stained lips and a flutter of butterflies release in your stomach. "Okay, come on," you take his hand, pulling him in front of the sink where you left your brushes, "don't worry about that, I'll clean it later."

Rafe honestly didn't mind. He likes the idea of you making a mess in his bathroom, the counter littered with your things. It shows that you were here. "Make sure to make it spotless. I don't want to see this shit tomorrow."

You roll your eyes and pull out the small box wrapped with a golden ribbon. "Yes, darling," you say with a mock, "would never want to disappoint the Kook prince."

He's used to feeling pride in being from Figure Eight, but something about the way you use Kook makes him wish he wasn't.

You take out the necklace from the box, internally reprimanding yourself at how expensive the piece is—knowing how it could be well-spent paying back Aaron—before handing it over to Rafe.

He places it over your neckline, pushing your styled hair to the side for full exposure. You watch him through the mirror, his concentration pinned on clasping the small hole.

"What were you working on?" You ask, filling in the silence as you refer to the file.

"A case for my dad." He explains, frustration slowly building in him because the hook won't puncture through the complicated loop. "He wants to close this deal tonight with one of his partners but they're refusing to budge."

You nod just as you hear him release a swear under his breath, his brows crinkled together and his patience thinning. You know the look. "It's okay," you comfort with a gentle tone, "take your time. It's not going anywhere."

It won't slip through. "I should've gotten you another necklace."

"I guess someone should've listened to me." You tease with a chuckle. Rafe flicks his gaze to meet yours in the reflection, watching your smile, no judgment in sight. His shoulders slacken a bit. "I guess it proves that you should always listen to your girlfriend. What's that saying? Happy wife, happy life?"

"We're not fucking married." He announces bluntly without much thought, his focus too wrapped up on the stupid chain. Your smile falters. Right, you got too carried away in your role. He clasps the ends together. "Finally."

You nod your head in gratitude as you silently slip out of the bathroom once again, making your way to the dresser where you left your purse. Your eyes gloss over the opened file on the desk and you stop in your tracks.

"Wait, I know him." You point to the paperwork, glancing over your shoulders to find Rafe. "He's that guy that owns the hotel chains for the tourists. The one who just bought up all that land near the marsh."

Rafe nods, picking it up. "Yeah. Cameron Development wants it but he handed the negotiation off to his daughter. She doesn't wanna talk and plans on proceeding with the original blueprint."

"But that doesn't make sense." You frown, plucking the case out of his hand. You look through the information. He lets you. "That land isn't a good location for a hotel. It's too close to the wilderness protection area for endangered species. They're going to get hell from the FWS."

Rafe stares back at your assessment. "What?"

"Look," you point to the map where he highlighted where the land is going to be used. "This is where the marsh is. This is where the hotel is going to be built. If you use that land, you'll disrupt the ecosystem and it's going to fuck you over later by the government."

He shakes his head, disagreeing. "We planned ahead for that."

"No. You only minimize it. You're going to cut off a main water source. It'll dry out the fishes and marines. You may be able to hold off the feds for a couple of years but I'm willing to bet it won't last longer than five. Max."

He's watching you, the way your brows knit together and your lips purse as you examine the case. "How do you know all that?"

"I work on the docks," you shrug, giving back the file to Rafe. "Heyward has been talking about how some Kook hotel magnate is planning on restricting a part of the marsh where they make their living. It's worrying them."

Rafe says nothing, glancing back down to the papers. "Well, Cameron Development was planning on using it for residential housing."

You shake your head, settling on the end of his mattress. It's so soft, unlike the one you have back home. "I wouldn't suggest that either."

He knows he shouldn't be taking suggestions from a bartender, but something in the way you held your ground makes him consider otherwise. "Why not?"

"Other than disrupting people’s livelihood? You don't want an alligator to end up on someone's back porch and they can't shoot it because it's part of the endangered species list. The lawsuits would be a nightmare."

What you don't explain to him is that you learned a lot of this because of what your parents drilled in you. They discussed local politics often. They believed it's important to have an understanding about your community and to know when certain corporations or people are about to harm it. That's what Kooks often forget.

"I mean, do what you want but that's my honest opinion." You conclude with a shrug. At the end of the day, it’s not your business.

Rafe watches as you lay back against his bed with a sigh. Your dress riding up; the high slit revealing more of your skin.

He has nothing else to say to that—to you—because, in some ways, you're right. You come in here and break down a problem he spent the past three days trying to figure out. It's maddening how incredible you are.

He throws the case onto the desk. His focus now pinned on you as his knees sink to the space beside your hips and he hovers over you, strong arms pressed next to your head.

"You're pretty smart then, huh?" He goads, his eyes scanning over your face. The necklace tangled with his initials. How you look under him.

You grin. "I told you. I'm not just a Pogue with no brains."

You're referring to his insult at the bar, the insulating that you weren't smart enough because you were from The Cut. He couldn't believe you remembered that.

He should apologize.

No one taught him how.

He changes the subject. "So why is someone like you, who clearly has a knack for these types of things, running a rundown bar in the middle of the docks?"

Rafe doesn't recognize your smile slipping off, just slightly. You don't immediately answer him. Your hand raises to cup the side of his profile.

"Are we going to keep discussing business or are you going to kiss me?" You challenge, because that's the best way to avoid these types of conversations with Rafe.

He scoffs. The way you tease him sends a shot of arousal down his spine. "Who said anything about wanting to kiss you?"

You tilt your head with a raised brow. "Are you saying I'm wrong? Because I have a faint memory of someone saying I was right about a certain necklace…”

He shakes his head, the corner of his lips raising in a smile. "Never said that."

"Didn't need to," you declare with a wink, "I can read your mind."

"Yeah?" He leans forward, his mouth right beside your ear. "Do you know what I'm thinking of right now?" He lowers his hand to travel up your exposed leg, closer to your aching pussy. Your breath hitch. "That I want to rip this fucking dress off and fuck you right here?"

You wrap both your arms around his shoulders. "Yeah," you play along. "I did."

"And what are you thinking about?" He rasps, his eyes searching your face for any sense of affirmations. That you could possibly want him too.

You merely smile, gently pushing him back and onto the mattress. Changing position, you straddle him. "How about I show you?"

Planting kisses on the edge of his mouth, down to his jaw, to his neck, he tips his head back for you. You feel his erection hardening under his pants, pressed directly against your core. "Feels good, darling?"

Rafe draws his hands up your waist to hold you in place. He wants to kiss you now, desperately, but you avoid his lips as punishment. "A little underwhelmed to be honest, sweetheart."

You giggle, slowly rolling your hips. He groans at the sensation, feeling his cock tightens. "Are you sure?" You say, sucking on the curve of his neck as you hear a small moan leave his lips. The low sound igniting heat in your lower belly. “I think someone wants me.”

"That's enough." He announces, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a hungry kiss. Both your hands slide up his chest for balance and you melt into his touch.

Red lipstick marks are covering Rafe all over, but he didn't fucking care. All he wants is to taste you, feel you, that he would gladly take the mess you give.

His hand lowers to your exposed cut of your dress, pushing the red satin away to gain more access. His knuckles brush against your bare cunt. "No panties?" He asks with shock, his darkened blue eyes finding yours. Your shy smile gives him everything he needs. "Bad girl."

Your expression is innocent. "It ruined the dress."

His fingers graze your wet slit. "I have to buy you more then."

You chuckle, before he finds your clit and rubs broad circles around the swollen nub, and your laugh turns to a shudder. "Th–that was a one-time thing."

"Is it?" He muses, his fingers entering you and a whimper escapes. "I bet I can fuck a yes out of you."

He probably could, with the way he handles you. Knowing your body so intimately, what turns you on, when you're about to come. You couldn't give him that satisfaction, pulling him into another kiss and silencing your response.

Rafe gives in immediately. Your lips part and he sucks on your tongue while his fingers rub you faster, little moans leaving you between kisses. You come on his hand within time.

Weakly pulling yourself off, you start to unbuckle his belt and take off his pants—his hips lifts to assist. When you free his bulge from his boxer-briefs, it stands hard and swollen. "Such a pretty cock," you sigh in awe, stroking your thumb over the bit of precum at the tip. Rafe lets out a groan.

"Are you going to ride me, baby?" He asks thickly, his hand landing on your waist in preparation to help you mount.

"Not right now," you declare with an apologetic smile, his expression falling. "I can't ruin my makeup." You look at your kisses smeared over his fair skin. "Well, more than it is."

His hand doesn't leave your hips. "You can always reapply."

You shake your head, gripping around his base, your fingers barely connecting because of his girth. Rafe's breath grows swallows as you start to pump him. "But I can make you feel better."

He loves the way your hand wraps around him, tight enough for him to feel pleasure with each stroke, and his balls soon tightens. "Just like that, baby," he moans, propping himself back by his elbows as you work on him. "I'm about to come."

You notice, with the way his cock is twitching under your palm, and just as he's about to release his load, you dip your head and cover your mouth over the tip.

"Fuck." He grunts under his breath as you suck him clean, your hand continuing to rub him to empty every drop. When he finishes his high, you pull back, wiping your chin with the back of your hand.

"Didn't want to ruin your clothes." You inform bashfully, standing up from the bed. He wanted to grab your wrist and pull you back beside him but the opportunity was missed.

You go to the bathroom to grab a wet paper towel and return with the intent of washing away all your markings on Rafe. As you settle beside him to wipe away the lipstick, he moves away.

"What if I want to keep one?"

"What?" You shed a small laugh. He can’t be serious. "My lipstick?"

He shrugs. "It shows that we're together."

Oh, right. For a blind, hopeful moment, you thought it was because he actually wanted you. More than just a fake title. No, it was just another shield, another way to demonstrate he's committed.

You silently agree, wiping away most of your kisses until the last one is left. Just right under his collarbone, enough to be seen with a good eye but mostly inconspicuous. "Good?" You ask evenly, to which Rafe glances over to the mirror and nods. "Okay, I'm going to fix myself and then we should start heading out."

—

You put on your facade.

It's easy. You just pretend you're someone else—not a lowly bartender from The Cut making ends meet but someone dignified and deserving. You play into the role of being Rafe Cameron's girlfriend with that mentality.

The gala is hosted downtown, at a large five-starred hotel with a massive ballroom. When you enter through the double doors, opened by a pair of waitstaff, you stare in admiration at the exquisiteness at the place. Rafe catches your expression.

“Close your mouth. You’re acting like you've never been to a gala before."

"I haven't." You snap back lowly, before remembering you're in public. You shift your tone to be more friendly. "I mean, this is my first time here."

Rafe's taken aback by your compliance. He knows he should appreciate it, because you always fight back against him on everything, but the achievement feels hollow and disingenuous.

The two of you fall into steps with the room, greeting familiar faces. When Rafe ends up in a conversation with a group of Cameron Development's business partners, you were casted aside in the role of obedient housewife—where the women socialize while the men talked shop—and you didn't like that.

With a gentle hand on Rafe's shoulder, you subtly interject yourself into the discussion.

"Y'know, Rafe's pretty good at that." You praise, causing the eyes of the older men to fall on you. Your fake boyfriend stiffens under your palm, his gaze set on your profile to understand what you're trying to do. "I saw the way he works those cases. He's dedicated and efficient. Business deals are meant to be made with a keen eye and deep considerations. Rafe always does that."

They fall silent for a few moments, watching you with amusement, before a man with a scuffed beard opens his mouth. "And how would you know anything about it? Aren't you a bartender?"

Rafe's jaw tightens at the way those men address you, with such a superiority complex. It reminds him of when he first met you. But, like then, you didn't let them bother you. "Yes and I'm also the sole owner of Sailor. I've been running it by myself since I was eighteen, which has had an average increase of 1.1% profit margins every year since. I know what I'm talking about."

Rafe stares at you, slack-jawed. He didn't know that. The group of men held similar expressions, filled with embarrassment at their misperception of you. "And, if I remember correctly, you had a construction plan for a new shopping center downtown, right? Instead of contracting with Cameron Development and utilizing local labor from the Banks—which Rafe suggested—you wanted to import mainland workers. How did that work out for you?"

You heard Rafe on the phone once, talking about a shopping center being built, with an intended budget of thirteen millions, wanting to cut corners. They didn't listen to Rafe with his recommendations, pinned him as too young and inexperienced to know better, that it ended up costing them twenty-one millions. It's still yet to be finished.

Scuffed Beard shifts uncomfortably under your scrutiny, his eyes flickering amongst his peers with humiliation. You smile sweetly. "I'm not saying this as a critique on your character, sir, I'm sure you're an incredible businessman." You declare, coaxing him with compliments so he wouldn't hold bitter resentment against the Camerons. "But, your organization has an aging board committee. You might want to consider a fresh perspective on things." You glance over to Rafe, in a subtle gesture. "It might even save you millions."

A woman's hand settles on your waist and draws your attention away to say something. When you turn back to Rafe, you present a loving smile, so bright and natural. If he was anyone else, he would've believed that you adored him, but he knows it's a mere disguise.

"I'm going to go mingle, darling, have fun." You raise to your tippy-toes and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. It leaves a faint lipstick stain but you figure it would help him sell his committed act.

Turning your heels, you leave and continue your (fake) girlfriend duties. Rafe watches until you disappear into the crowd and only then does his attention return back to the quieted group of boisterous men who once didn't view him as competent. Their gaze shifts to his, waiting.

"You were saying?" One of them offers, reminding him of an idea Rafe was talking about before you came in—one they were rejecting—and a concealed smirk rises to his lips.

The rest of the night is spent talking and establishing relationships. An orchestra plays in the background while the men gather around, discussing their partnerships. You rarely saw Rafe, except in the passing, and each time his eyes lingered over to your direction, you gave him an affectionate smile, your fingers waving fondly over the separated distance.

All for show.

In the middle of a conversation with a group of Ward's partners, which were talking about golf tournaments and fickle deals, he pardons himself and strolls over to you. You were in the middle of talking to a group of women, hyping up Rafe's reputation as a successful underdog, knowing that, while the women may be casted as gossips, they are also direct access to their husbands' ears.

His hand slides under your waist. "Excuse us." Rafe nods to the housewives, before pulling you away.

"What happened?" You ask quietly, searching his face. "Is there a problem?"

"No, everything's fine." He shakes his head. Something about it warms his heart, but he can't help but wonder if this is the continued act you've been putting on the entire night. "I just... I needed a break."

You nod. "That's fine. It's good to take a breath once in a while. I know it can be overwhelming."

His jaw flexes. Something about your saccharine mood this entire evening feels off. The way you were complimenting him earlier with the business partners feels dishonest. "Stop it."

Your brows furrow together at his sharp tone. "What? What did I do wrong?"

"That." He gestures to you as a whole. "The concern. That pretend. I wanna hear my girl, not the bullshit you've been putting up for everyone else."

You blink in surprise. You can't even fully appreciate him referring to you as his before scoffing at his audacity. "Seriously? You're mad because I'm being too nice? Would you rather I give you an attitude every time you open your mouth?"

He smirks, satisfied. "There you are."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "I can't with you. When I snap at you, you get pissed off, but when I'm nice, you're pissed off. You can't be pleased, Rafe Cameron."

He doesn't understand it either, but he loves the fire behind your eyes when you talk back and he loves the way his name rolls off your tongue. Perhaps, it's something about who you reveal yourself to. How much. The idea that he gets the other side of you—one where no one gets often—that's what he likes. It doesn't matter if it's your attitude or bitter remarks. It's different. Because it feels completely his.

"Yeah." He nods, cupping your cheeks with one hand, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. "What can I say? I love this mouth. Reminds me of when I need to punish it."

You playfully shove him off but you can't ignore the knot twisting in your stomach. Your mind wanders to earlier, when you were giving him a handjob and swallowed his cum. It causes you to rub your thighs together.

Rafe recognizes that look. He wants to rile you further, maybe drag you off to a secluded area and fuck you—but he hears his name being called from behind and he looks up to see his father approaching. His spine straightens, his shoulders tense up.

"Rafe." Ward greets, glancing over to you with an acknowledged nod. "He has just arrived. I need you to convince him to settle on a deal before we lose that land. You're the only one I can trust with this."

He's a bit annoyed that his father interrupted his limited time with you but with the ounce of approval he's giving—telling Rafe he's the only person he can rely on, the one he wants to close the case—he can't help but submit.

When Ward leaves, Rafe looks back at you, his expression is vulnerable for a moment. His father is depending on him and the pressure is kicking in. He wants to ask you to come with him, for moral support, but he doesn't know how to word it without sounding inadequate—like he needs you there to succeed. So, he settles on his silence.

You return to the housewives but, this time, you remain closer to Rafe. You saw the look on his face and, while you wonder if you're overthinking, you wanted to stay nearby.

After his negotiation to the hotel Kook, the man considers his proposal. He tells Rafe that he needs a moment with his company to discuss before making a final decision. Once he left, Rafe releases a heavy sigh, searching for his father when a figure among the crowd makes him stop. Sarah.

What the fuck is she doing here? He has never once seen her attend any of Cameron Development's events, claiming them to be too meticulous and boring. Yet, here she is, wearing a formal dress and heading directly to their father.

Ward greets her with a beam of pride, his arm wraps around his eldest daughter and introduces her to his partners. Sarah reciprocates, waving and nodding along. Rafe could only hear the sound of his own blood boiling.

When his sister goes off somewhere, Rafe makes a direct beeline to his father. He pulls the patriarch aside. "What the hell is Sarah doing here?"

Ward knows the look in his son's eyes. "Calm down—"

"Calm down?" He echoes, incredulous. He hates that phrase. His darkened eyes stare down at his father. "What does that even mean? What's going on? Are you—" He couldn't utter the next words, his anger reaching its peak.

"Rafe, listen. Sarah, she's been out for a couple of months—"

"Yeah, because she fucking ran away."

"Language." Ward's command is sharp, causing his son to fall silent. "That's your sister. She's coming home and I'm trying to make her feel more comfortable."

"Comfortable?" He repeats with an indignant scoff. When Rafe was at his all-time low with his coke addiction, his father kicked him out of the house for weeks. But when Sarah abandons Tannyhill for months, doing god-knows-what with her boyfriend, Ward welcomes her back with open arms.

It isn't fucking fair.

"Does this mean..." Rafe couldn't finish the sentence. He doesn't know if he wants to know. All he feels is this intensifying frustration at the way his father could always accept his perfect daughter but criticizes him at every little mistake. Never good. Never enough.

Ward answers him anyway.

"Yes, I'm still considering her for the company."

He doesn't respond to that. He stares at his father with nothing more than pure, unbridled anger. Anger and rage. Rage and jealousy. Jealousy and hurt.

Ward tries to place a comforting hand on his shoulders, but the eldest son shoves him off. He turns, exiting from the ballroom.

You follow him.

"Rafe. Rafe. Rafe!" You chase after him, breaking into a mini-sprint as your heels click against the marble-floored lounge, before your hand catches his elbow. Your eyes search his hardened face. "Talk to me."

He pushes you away too. "I hate him."

"What?" You blink through the confusion. "What happened?"

"He always picks—" He cuts himself off, his eyes growing teary and he doesn't want you to see. "Fuck."

Someone walks by and Rafe tries to turn away, not wanting to be seen as weak by any passing stranger. You pay a glance to the oblivious man cruising by, before taking Rafe's arm and pulling him to the nearest empty space: a bathroom.

When the door locks, you face the blond. Your tone gentle, your approach cautious. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Okay?" He scoffs at your concern. He doesn't feel anywhere near okay. "What the fuck do you think?"

You frown, but you know this is always the first step. His anger always targets you first. "I want you to tell me."

Rafe locks his jaw, frustrated at the way you're being too kind while he's nothing but filled with rage. He doesn't deserve it. "My sister is back and you're asking me if I'm okay? Are you stupid?"

You cross your arms over your chest. Not out of anger, more out of protection. "I'm not part of your family, Rafe, I don't know why that matters. You're being mean and I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" He repeats, disbelief dripping from his tone. "Like you were helping me with my conversations? Talking me up? Making me sound like I was good?"

He's on the brink of a breakdown and you can't seem to understand him. Why is he making it sound like it was a bad thing? "I am. I'm trying to help you."

"You're just lying!" He accuses, his voice cracking from the intensity, stepping back. Like he couldn't trust you. Like you hurt him. "You say some shit, making me feel like you want me, and then you go off and do other shit that proves you don't."

You're not quite sure he's talking about you anymore. It's something more. It doesn't take a lot to figure out who.

You approach him calmly. "Is that what Ward is doing to you?"

Rafe doesn't answer you, staring back glassy-eyed with choked breaths. He's hurt. He feels unwanted. He can't explain it. Sarah returning home, to open arms, confirms something he’s always trying to push away. It means that his life will be more difficult; his goal of getting the family company more challenging. Because he knows, he will always be the second choice to the golden child.

And if you have that, who the fuck needs Rafe Cameron?

"You... you are good." You begin slowly, watching the way he shakes his head in doubt. "I told them the truth. You're an incredible businessman and you care about your company. I saw it at the country club's dinner, I saw it when we were getting ready and I see it now. What's the problem with me letting other people know?"

His insecurities are suffocating him. "You don't believe that."

"I do." You affirm with a nod, stepping closer to him. "I don't lie about that stuff. I admire it, that's why I remember."

His breath is cut short at your admission. Several beats take place before he speaks again. “You admired me?"

You laugh, the melodic resonance making everything feels better, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders while he leans against the sink. "Don't let it get to your head," you warn with a soft smile. "But, yeah. It reminds me of me; how much you care about your family's business."

Rafe doesn't say anything, his broken gaze finding yours. They trace over your features, trying to read any sense of insincerity in them, only to find none.

"Your family's business?" He prompts quietly, using this opportunity to gateway into learning more about you. To let him in—that’s how you earn his trust. You falter.

"Yeah." You admit weakly. Every bone in your body is screaming at you to remain silent, to keep him out, but you can't help but continue forth. "I inherited it after my parents' passed away in an accident."

His eyes widen, at you revealing this glimpse into your past. Discomfort settles in your stomach, at letting another person in, but you can't help the way your chest lightens ever-so-slightly.

You don't want to deal with it.

Leaning forward, you press a soft kiss on his lips. Tender and warm, Rafe's hands immediately draw up to capture your waist before reciprocating the touch. It turns hungry, passionate, and when you pull away, breathless, you flick your gaze up to him.

"Want to know something else?" You ask in a whisper. "I haven't stopped thinking about your cock all night."

Rafe feels himself hardening at your confession. You have that effect on him now. “Yeah?”

You nod with a timid smile, playing with the buckle of his belt. “Can I blow you?”

He couldn’t say no to that.

Unbuckling his pants, you remove them within seconds. The corner of his lips quirks into a smirk. “Eager, are we?”

“I told you.” You say as you pull down his boxer-briefs, his cock springing free as your hand immediately wraps around the length, stroking slowly. “I want you in my mouth.”

Rafe can’t begin to express how it makes him feel hearing you say those words, your attention set on getting him as hard as possible.

Instead, he removes his blazer and sets it on the floor.

Your smile grows. “Didn’t know you would throw away good money like that,” you tease, glancing at the jacket that is probably worth more than your entire closet. “Thought Kooks have to take care of their things.”

“I am.”

The knot in your stomach tightens. You know you shouldn't like the possession behind Rafe's voice but you rub your thighs together to satiate the feeling. He notices, his arrogance grows tenfold. "Does my girl like that? Does she like knowing I own her?"

Rafe is probing you but there's a sense of comfort in knowing that he has this effect on you. When you quiet down, his words being too real and your hands stopping at the base of his cock, he wonders if he went too far.

Until you whisper, "I like it when you take control."

"Yeah?" He can feel his skin pricking with excitement. "The girl who always has something to say wants me to tell her what to do?"

Your cheeks flush with heat before you nod. "Good. Now, kneel."

You sink to the floor, your satin-covered knees pressed against his jacket to soften the blow of the hard ground. When you align yourself in front of his groin, you dribble a bit of spit over the head before spreading it over his length. Rafe lets out a low moan.

"I like hearing how I make you feel." You sigh fondly. "It lets me know how to please you."

Fuck, Rafe thought to himself, the idea of you getting turn-on by pleasuring him sends all the blood straight to his pelvis. You feel him twitch under your palm.

"And I think you like that too," you observe with a small smile, "you like having me as your own personal slut, don't you?"

He doesn't get to answer before you tilt your gaze up to meet his, taking his cock in your mouth. Rafe lets out a groan, the admission of your words tonight igniting desire all over his body.

The way your eyes connect with his as you slowly take him in, inch by inch, drives him insane. Your hand syncs with your mouth as you cup him, twisting and rubbing.

"Shit," he whimpers, the way you squeeze him feels incredible while your head sinks deeper, causing a small gag to form from the back of your throat. "That feels so good, baby."

The praise goes straight to your core. Your thighs are slick with your own arousal, aching, but you refuse to move till he comes. Your tongue flicks over his length, rolling around his tip.

"You're doing so well." He grunts, his voice thick as his fingers grips at the root of your hair, his climax quickly approaching. "Just like that, I love hearing the way you gag on my cock."

You do it again, louder, this time triggering a guttural moan from him.

Your technique grows more confident as your hands fall to play with his balls, and your head bobs up and down his shaft. When your cheeks hollow to add suction, it doesn't take long before he feels his muscles tightening. He's close.

"Are you going to swallow for me, baby?" Rafe rasps, causing your heavy-lid eyes to find his once again. "I know you can."

You nod. "Yes."

His hot cum shoots to the back of your throat in fast spurts while you take it all. His moans complement his orgasm, riding out with loud praises and noises you can't help but fuel your own desire.

When you swallow all of it, you pull back, his softening cock pops out of your mouth. Your hands settle on the flat of your thighs and you look up to him with doe eyes to ask. "Better?"

Panting, he answers. "Not even close."

He reaches down and hauls you to the sink, making you giggle at the way he handles you. Your ass settles on the granite counter and Rafe wastes no time to pull you to the ledge, pushing your dress up to your hips to reveal your glistening, bare cunt.

"You're this wet from sucking dick?" He teases, massaging your slick inner thighs. You bite your bottom lip, nodding along.

"Just yours."

He loves it. Tonight, you're simply perfect. Saying everything he wants to hear. Everything he needs to feel. He gets hard again, so easy under your influence.

You notice, glancing down to his hardening erection with a teasing smile. "Already?"

He chuckles, capturing you into a kiss. He tastes himself on your lips, the acknowledgement signals a primal urge, while his knuckles brushes against your throbbing clit, causing you to jerk into his hand.

"Rafe." You whimper, breaking from the kiss, your eyes meeting his with desperation. The feeling between your legs growing unbearable by the second. "Please, make me come."

This time, in a bathroom, your plea is met with a different consideration. He smiles before nodding once, lining the crown of his cock against your wet folds. "Only 'cause you ask so nicely."

Rafe pushes in, slow and steady to let you adjust to his girth, while your hands clasps around him for stability, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. Then, his thrusts begin to speed up.

"You like that, baby?" He asks, his free hand rubbing your swollen clit simultaneously to his penetration. You nod vigorously, your eyes closing shut from the pleasure. "Your pussy feels so nice around me."

"Like it was made for you." You supply with a moan.

“That's fucking right. Like it's mine."

His hand raises to the cleavage of your dress, pushing down the satin to reveal your tits. He's never been happier to know you decided not to wear a bra and pinches a pierced nipple between his fingers, causing your head to tip back with a raspy mewl. "Just like these." He adds, knowing the way he's playing with them will make you reach your peak faster. "Fuck, these are my favorite things."

The way he's teasing you, fucking you, feels so good, but you can't help but release a small laugh at his assertion. "Of course they would be, you whore," you say with a wispy smile.

He abandons his play, causing you to let out a small whine, when his hand cups your cheeks, jutting out your pout. "Nah, this mouth is." He closes the distance, kissing you, before drawing out your bottom lip with his teeth. The act is so surprising, you clench around his cock.

It causes a shudder to pass through him.

"God, you feel perfect," he confesses, his thrusts growing less controlled as he's deep inside of you, feeling every little response between your legs. "You should've been mine a long time ago."

The fabric of your dress falls back over to your pussy while Rafe wants nothing more than to watch how he pumps in-and-out of you. The frustration of the cover makes him roughly push back the material against your hips.

"I'm going to rip your fucking dress off."

"Don't you dare." You warn with a weak glare, the pleasure building too strongly for you to feel any genuine hostility.

"Thought you didn't want it?"

"I never said that."

"What is it, then?"

A moan ripples out of you as you lean forward, your lips fall next to the shell of his ear in a whisper. "My boyfriend got it for me."

Fuck, that got him and he spills in you, this time, the motion leaving him more jerkily and unstable than before. Despite the overwhelming sense of pleasure coursing through his body, he isn't finished. Knowing you haven’t came, his fingers fall back down to your clit and begin to rub in tight, fast circles, trying to help you reach your own orgasm.

You do, following quickly after, that he feels your walls clenching around his warming cock. When you ride out your high, you're breathless as he pulls out.

There's silence, and you expect him to get dressed and leave the room, but he surprises you when he focuses on helping you clean up. From wiping away his cum around your thighs, to fixing your hair, and helping you off the counter.

You don't know how to feel from the gesture; your heart clenching from his gentle acts.

Only then does he redress himself, picking up the wrinkled blazer off the ground and throwing it over his shoulders.

"Wait," you reach out, pulling him closer to the sink as you grab a wet paper towel and wipe away all the smudges of your lipstick over his lips. Your voice is soft. "I can't let you go out there looking like that."

He watches you as you work, wiping away any residues clean.

"I don't want to go back out there." He admits quietly. "I just wanna leave. Are you good with that?"

The question came at a surprise. "You're asking for my permission?"

He rolls his eyes at the look on your face, his shoulders relaxing. "Either that or you're going to get pissed at me again for taking you out before you're ready."

You chuckle. "We can leave. I just have to say goodbye to the housewives first."

"Had to get the word out for your bar?"

"Nope." You shake your head, realization striking you that, throughout this entire night, you spent no time thinking about yourself. Your hand lands over the doorknob, and just before you twist to open, you spare a glance over your shoulders at Rafe. "We were talking about you."

You leave first and Rafe's momentarily stunned that you used your one opportunity to talk about him rather than advertise your bar as a catering option for these plentiful Kooks. His chest warms and he soon follows you back to the ballroom where you pay your farewells.

Off on the side, trying to avoid his father, Rafe waits.

When someone taps his shoulder, his jaw clenches, not wanting to face Ward, only to turn and find the hotel magnate standing before him.

"We talked it through." The man declares as you pull away from the final housewife to return to your boyfriend’s side. "You got yourself a deal."

He hands Rafe a card, scribbled with a personal number at the top. The eldest Cameron reaches out to take the small card from him, rejoining their hands in a formal shake.

"Thank you, sir." Rafe expresses, keeping his voice neutral. The man nods.

"You got a good head on your shoulders. Keep it up." He declares, before nodding to you in recognition and leaves.

It takes a few moments for it to register. How it happened. How it worked out. When Rafe turns to you, your elation is too hard to contain, and you tackle him into a hug.

"You did it!" You beam, louder than the normal convention, and catch the attention of the nearby housewives who watch the interaction between the two with awing amusement. As you pull back, your hands clasps around his shoulders. "I'm so proud of you!"

Those words mean a lot to him. Especially now knowing that they're genuine coming from you. He doesn't know how to react, especially with the look on your face, the expression of complete pride from his success. "Really?"

You nod frantically, your cheeks hurting from how big your smile is. "What did you say to him? How did you convince him?"

His fingers mess with the business card in his hands and he shrugs. "I told him what you told me."

You can't believe Rafe listened to you. "So, what are you going to do with the land? Are you still going to build alligator-infested houses?"

He knows you're teasing him but he chuckles anyway. His adrenaline comes down to a neutralized comfort. Safe. He can't help it. Your presence, your words, and your kindness drives something deep in him.

"No." He shakes his head. "We're going to use the difference to invest into the fishing industry on the docks, benefitting from their stock value."

What he's not saying is that your argument held value to him. That his decision to help the Pogues is because of you. But, you take it either way, the announcement bringing a realm of good news for the first time in a long time.

Your chest is overwhelmed with such gratitude, you almost confess something you shouldn't.

"That's good." You settle with a gentle smile, clearing your throat. "I guess this means we can both go home to a satisfying conclusion, huh?"

That was the goal. But now he's not too sure he wants to depart from you this early. Knowing who you truly are—not just putting up a mask and caring about him in public, but genuinely proud of him, supporting him, always in his corner—he doesn't want to separate just yet.

So, he does something out of his comfort zone.

"It's getting late and it'll be a long drive to your house. You should just stay over."

This is the second time he's asking you, holding his breath to see how you would respond, and when your smile softens just a bit, almost in a way to let him down, he thought he got rejected again.

You know you shouldn't. You know this is only going to complicate your personal and professional lives. You know you should go home and place some distance from Rafe, to save you and your heart.

But something in you clench about the offer. It feels too similar to hope.

You nod. "That sounds like another great idea of yours." 

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[lmao-liz]

Dead Girl Walkin' (Frank Castle x F!Reader)

AKA 'Bounty & Bliss'

Frank Castle x F!Reader (18+)

+ After a mission gone wrong, you end up on the wrong side of Fisks gun, and now you're a wanted woman. You have 30 hours of freedom before every bounty hunter in New York has his eyes on you, so of course you run straight to Frank. Oh how he loves the sight of you.

Word Count: 5.1k ( It's actually impossible for me to write a "short" fic. I'm a wordy bitch, I can't help it. I love to talk.)

Warnings: Cursing, violence, reader getting beat tf up (She's got powers it's fine), explicit content/smut, Frank being such a softie for you, fluff (is that a warning?).

A/N: LETS GO FRANK CASTLE LOVERS! I absolutely adore this man, and I think it shows in how I write him. This is an oldie from my previous blog, but it's one of my favorite fics I've ever written. It's a long one so buckle up. (This fic was absolutely based on the song Dead Girl walking from Heathers the musical. Take that as you will.)

+ + +

It was an absolute fact that you weren't gonna die a peaceful death. Yeah no, you were gonna go out one of two different ways. One, a Bruce Willis, Die Hard type thing with at least two explosions. Or two, someone else is gonna punch your card for you. Full stop. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, that's it. 

Frank threw a guess in once. Said you’d probably go out saving a bunch’a kids from a burning building or something, because you're a soft ass like that, Sunshine, that’s why. He was three stitches deep on his right arm, and shooting you looks from his side of the couch. Ain’t that right, Sunshine?

Nope. nuh-uh, not even close. You get a grand total of thirty hours, all Courtesy of Mr. Kingpin himself. Fisk. What kind of name is Fisk anyway? It sounds too much like Fist, or fish, either way it’s awkward. You’re just being pissy, because you got caught, and Fisk is rubbing it in your face. 

Third punch is to your jaw, and that’s the one that knocks you, and the chair you're strapped to, back. You’re taking this whole thing in stride, you haven't passed out or anything. Be proud of that. After the fourth punch Fisk finally waves his hand and lets— what's his name? Rick? This guy looks like a Rick —stop. You ever been hit with brass knuckles by a heavyweight? It sucks. 

You were hired by an unnamed client to sneak into Fisks club, and put mics anywhere you could. It was easy getting in without being noticed, unfortunately for you Fisk has eyes everywhere. Fortunately for you one of your powers is strength, so a couple of blows by a heavyweight won't kill you. It fucking hurts though. 

Fisk says something, but he’s standing on the other side of the room and your ears are still ringing, so he really says nothing. He turns, catches your eyes, and there's a curious sort of smile on his face. Your ears are still ringing but, over all of the noise, you catch him say ‘Again’, and brace yourself for impact. 

Rick, son of a bitch, knocks you hard, just under your eye and you can practically hear the bruise forming. You must’ve blacked out for a second because when you blink there’s Fisk, dropped to his haunches in front of you. It takes thirty seconds after you start drooling blood for him to start back up. 

“You’re a real woman, you know that?” 

“And what does that make you?” Your voice doesn't even sound like you, it’s too scratchy, and your words are hard to make out. 

Fisk sort of ignores you and says,“And Because I'm a nice guy,” Pulling a white handkerchief—Christ—out of his shirt pocket and wiping your mouth. “I'm gonna make this easy on you, how bout’ forty eight hours? Sound good?” 

You’re so stubborn. Like, way too stubborn for your own good, that’s what you’re gonna tell Frank when you explain why you spit your blood in Fisks face. And because you’re a real woman. 

“Thirty hours,” Fisk says, gripping the bottom half of your shirt, using it to wipe his face, and standing up. “Butch,—” So that’s his name, he looks like a Butch. “Show her the door.” 

Brace for impact. 

You can't be that mad though, I mean come on. After that stunt you pulled at the Quagmire tonight you’re surprised you’re even still walking-uh -running. So yeah, thirty hours and after that you’re gonna be a goddamn beacon of come get me for every baddie in New York. Okay, you gotta stop running or else you’re gonna pull something, and catching a cramp probably isn’t the best thing for you right now...just sayin’. 

You pitch from a sprint to a light jog and eventually stop, bowing over and pressing your hands to your knees. A long groan crawls out of you, and you shake your head. The middle of 10th and 42nd isn’t the place to let it hit you. Clear your throat, spit, stand back up, keep walking. 

You decide to swerve out of the road and onto the sidewalk, that way you’re not ass out for everyone to see. And it’s a helluva sight. You’ve got a bruise forming just under your right eye and your nose is busted to shit, not to mention the blood- that you’re not even sure is all yours- caked over you. All that and you probably smell like a back alley. 

You shift and adjust, turn right toward the dock, and pick up the pace. 

‘I can run,’ you think, digging your thumbnail into your palm. ‘haul ass to Seattle, become some poor fisherman's wife.’  

That doesn't sound all too bad, besides the fact that Fisk has got eyes all over this goddamn city. You so much as even look toward the bridge and his thirty hours-oh-mercy are gone. Poof! You won't even make it out of New York.

A street light flicks off for a second before coming back to life, and you dig in your back pocket, fishing for your phone. It’s a mess of cracks and smeared blood, but still manageable. You click it on and the screen gives a few half assed flashes of light before turning on. Yeah, still manageable. 

You wipe the screen against your shirt and pull it back, checking the time. Twelve oh five. Good, he's still up. 

•

Frank's van is static under the west bridge, just next to the pier. It’s a beige camper he’s had since way back when, and is still too sentimental to give up. It’s rusted, a hubcaps gone missing, and the battery is standing on it’s last leg, but don’t ever tell Frank it’s anything less than perfect.  Seriously, buddy, don't do it. 

You called it a piece of junk once, something mumbled between Frank trying to turn the engine over and almost flooding it. 

“If you don’t like it that much, Sunshine, you can walk back.” He shakes his head and turns the key over again. The engine makes an almost awkward sort of noise. Something like a cr-r-r-eek! Before gray smoke creeps its way from under the hood. “God fucking damnit.” 

You're ninety percent sure the only reason he didn't knock your head through the window is because he's got a soft spot for you....Eighty-five percent. 

Your boot knocks against an empty can, probably oil, and Max pokes his head up. He's lying right outside the van's side door, tucked halfway under it with his head on his paws. You go still and try to remember if this dog actually liked you or not. 

When he doesn’t move you chalk it up to a definite maybe, and start walking again. He lets out a few half assed growls before crawling from under the van and barking, loud and proud. You throw caution out the window and speed walk toward him, forgetting the fact that he’s a full grown pitbull, and wave your hands in front of you, shh shh shh! No, doggy. Nice, Max! You got a million different scenarios playing in your head, and none of them are good. 

Max is howling now, nose pointed to the sky and oh sonofabitch.

You hear a gun cock over your head and now you're staring down the barrel of a shotgun. This was the fourth scenario. At the end of that is Frank, standing in a pair of raggedy sweatpants, an old NYU tee, and-Christ he's not even wearing any shoes. 

You're still a little wobbly in the legs so you press your hand against the doorframe, and lean. That's it. Play it cool, nice and steady. 

“Hey, Frank.” You say, and then. “Can I come in?” You're batting against four hours of sleep and maybe a concussion, so hey, frank is the best you're gonna do. 

His shoulders slump down and he points the gun away from you, eyes moving three speeds too fast. Like I said earlier, you’re a helluva sight, girl. 

“You look like the back end of hell.” He says, side stepping to let you in, eyes catching on your knuckles. They aren’t the worst of it, but you can tell a lot about a person from their hands, and Frank’s getting the whole goddamn story. 

You step up into the kitchen—living room?—and focus on everything you’ve already seen before. The sketchy stain on the ceiling, the empty Budweiser cans, your feet. Just for good measure you pick up a roll of gauze and turn it over in your hand, because this is the most interesting thing in the world, not your bloody knuckles. And definitely not Frank who’s staring down your back, shooting imaginary laser beams your way. Pew pew pew.  I’m calling it now, he’s gonna get mad. You know it, I know it, so just fucking face the music before he- 

“So,” oh-Kay. He clicks the third deadbolt, and leans his back against the door, gun cocked on the wall, and arms crossed over his chest. “You gonna tell me what happened or am I gonna haveta’ guess?” 

He doesn't have to guess, because he already knows. But, he's gonna lean back and give you a chance to say it before he starts pulling teeth. 

“This was once in a lifetime, Frank.” You're pushing out excuses and he's barely said anything. “There was an opening-” 

“Y/n, what the hell did you do?” 

Franks more worried than actually confused. He knows you're in some deep-I'm talking chasm into hell deep- shit, he's just worried he's not gonna be able to pull you out. 

“I went to the Quagmire, and Fisk was there.” You wring your hands because of the look he gives you. Priceless. “I had a shot, I took it, I—” 

“Tell me you killed him.” He's shaking his head, tilt up, and looking at the roof. He's about to start praying, and lord knows he hasn't done that in a while. “Tell me you killed him, Y/n.” 

The throbbing behind your eye is enough to remind you that no, you didn't. You came damn close though, I'll give you that. 

Frank blinks, slow squeeze, and groans something low in the back of his throat. He drops his head and drags a hand down his jaw, you're gonna be the death of him if you keep this shit up. 

“And,” you gotta get it out now, if you don't do it now you're gonna hate doing it later. “I got a bounty on me.” 

“Course you do,” he's looking at you again, but his foot is tapping against the linoleum, so he's beyond mad now. “Is it active?” 

You shake your head. “No, I got thirty hours.” You would have forty eight, but he doesn't need to know that...or why you don't anymore. 

“Shiiit,” he almost laughs. “Bastard gave you a helluva’ lot more time than me.” His eyebrows tilt down and you catch the way his eyes track along your knuckles. You're standing in front of him, and in this light he can finally get a good look at you. And he doesn't like it. “What'd they do to you, Sunshine?” 

There it is. You let out a halfhearted dry laugh and say. “Butch, son of a bitch has a solid right hook.” 

“I bet I got better,” He says, lips upturning a bit. 

You say. “Oh, I know you do.” And that's it, you're both drawn back into a moment that definitely shouldn't happen. Christ, girl, the man's a vigilante with a truckload of baggage. Stay away. Don't do it to yourself. 

You gotta dodge this shit, so you say. “So, what do I do now?” 

He gives you a quick once over and pushes himself off the wall. “First, you gotta take a shower, get your mind right.” He stalks over to the hall closet, and starts pulling out random things; a towel, a washcloth, sweatpants, and one of his Rolling Stones T-shirts. He tosses a Then we'll talk, and figure out our next move. over his shoulder and that knocks you back a minute. 

Our. Don't dwell on that. Nope, nope, do not do it. You nod, walk over to him, and say. “Thank you, Franky.” Franky’s something only you’d get away with saying, just like he gets away with the whole sunshine thing. It’s weird, you’re weird, leave it alone.

When you reach him he pulls back, giving you this half look between you really okay? and it's okay if you're not. Oh, God, he's gonna have your eyes in the shape of hearts if he keeps this up. 

“I'm fine,” You reach a bit more, and he meets you halfway, pushing everything towards you. “You better have hot water though.” 

“Baby, you know I do.” 

“Mhm, that's what you said last time.” 

He says. “Just tell me if it's not hot enough for you, I'll fix it.” And you're positive it's borderline flirty. You gotta occupy yourself with turning on the bathroom light, or else he's gonna see fuuuck written all over your face. 

You gotta say something back or it's gonna be one sided, and awkward so you push out. “I'll call you if I need you, Franky.” Low and slow.

Did you just? 

Franks mouth pulls up into a grin and he's gotta wipe his hand over his cheek, as if he's just feeling the stubble. Look what you did, you're making him nervous. 

Before either of you have a chance to react, the door’s closed and you're pressing your back against it. If you didn't know any better you'd think the man was making a move, but you've got a migraine from hell so you're gonna chalk it up to friendly banter. 

You're gonna opt for a cold shower though, just in case. 

•

The shower does wonders for you. Your regenerative powers help too, giving your body the chance to heal a bit under the water. You walk out dressed and unstressed with your clothes balled up in your arms, just about to call out Franks name when you hear him say. “Back here.” 

You turn and walk into the small bedroom space, just big enough for the two of you. He's laying on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes, looking like absolute sin. Okay, yeah, you're cut off from reading tacky romance novels. 

“You can just put your stuff on the table, we'll get em’ washed tomorrow.” He sounds tired. 

You walk to the kitchenette table and drop your clothes on top of it, before walking back to the room and saying. “Or we could just get my clothes from my apartment, that's a pretty good idea.” 

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “We could, and, you know what, why don't we go to the police station while we're at it and tell them about the bad man named Fisk?” 

“What?” 

“Oh, sorry, I thought we were stating dumb ideas.” He says nonchalantly, before adding. “You and I both know that it's not safe for you to go to your place, or else you wouldn't be here, right?” 

He lifts his arm off of his face and looks at you. Yeah, right. You nod and he nods back, covering his face up again. “Right.”

Truth be told, you'd probably still be here even if it was safe. Truthfully. 

You crawl onto the bed next to him and the springs groan out something light and metallic. Lay down, face up, be quiet. 

“Y/n.” That's not quiet.

“Hm?” 

“You're not doin’ this alone,” Okay. You turn your head to look at him but he's still got his arm over his eyes. “Not while there's air in my lungs.”

You say, “It's not your fight.” And Frank finally looks at you. His brows tip and he props himself up on one arm so he's leaning over you a bit. 

“Hell it's not, you think Ima’ just let that bastard have at you? Nuh-uh,” He shakes his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but that's not how this works.”

“Then how does this work?” You're not mad, just curious. If this is going where you think it's going, God willing, Frank’s gonna be the one starting it. 

He's the one with the brick walls here, so you're gonna let him be the first to break them down. 

His eyes drop to your lips and roll over the curve of your jaw. It's sharp and soft at the same time, just like the rest of you. You shift, catch his eyes, and his sight slips off to the wall. 

“I, uh.” he rolls onto his back and clasp his hands on his stomach. You're making him nervous and he's the one doing all the work. Jeesus, one of you do something. This is embarrassing. 

“I don't wanna die.” What? You-pfsshhh. Yeah, okay, start there. 

Frank has to blink that in, but he's still too chicken shit right now to look at you. So he asks. “Why not?” 

For the love of God. 

“Why not?” You repeat, frowning at the ceiling. Frank squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, backtrack. 

“No, not-” He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and gives himself a second to get it. He doesn't, so he just nods and says. “Yeah, okay why not? Why don't you?” 

You sit up and turn to look at him. He's circulating between frowning at you, and the ceiling, and the door, so when his eyes hit you on their third rotation you say. “I don't wanna die, because I'm not ready yet.” Simple. 

“Says the girl who went all Annie Oakley on a mob boss tonight.” 

“It was his henchmen-”

“-henchmen?”

“-and that's not the point.” You ignore him. “The point is I'm scared. I thought I could do it tonight, but I didn't and now look at me.” 

He does. In the weak light from his bedside lamp he can see all of you. The bruise forming (and healing) under your eye, and on the bridge of your nose. The scratch along your neck that dips just below the collar of your-his shirt. It's a lot. You're a lot. 

He shifts and pushes himself up a bit before opening his arms. “Come here.” 

Then your head is pressed against his chest, with your hand resting on his abdomen. Fingers curled in. You can hear his heart beating, thu-thump. Thu-thump. 

His arm wraps around you and you can feel his fingers brush against the middle of your back, right at the dip. A train's horn blares in the distance and suddenly you feel really mortal. 

This is it, Kid. 

You've finally hit fuck it, because now you're lifting up and kissing Frank Castle. You half expect him to push you off, but nope, his hand pushes straight to your hips, your shirt hitching up around his forearm. 

There's no awkward is this okay kisses, nope, you're both just diving for it. You push your hand up to his shoulder and-oh okay, yeah you do that- slide your leg over him, so you're halfway straddling him at least. 

You push both of your hands to his neck, thumbs pressed against his jaw, and lean in. It's an awkward approach, something he wasn't exactly ready for this time because your teeth collide, and you're about to pull back and apologize when he reaches down and grips your ass. 

Oh-Kay. He tugs you back up toward him and this time you're both ready. Especially you, because your tongue dips into Frank's mouth and he's just here for it. 

After a while of just that, you lift up and press your hands against his chest. His other hand scoots up to your hip, and he starts rubbing up and down your thighs. 

“Y/n-” 

“Hold on.” You scoot so you're really on top of him and sit back a bit, feeling him rub against your clit. He lets out a sharp exhale of a groan and you lift up, before sitting back again and grinding against him. Frank tugs off his shirt and you follow suit, pulling yours up and over your head before tossing it off to the side, and Frank is on you. 

You’re not wearing a bra, so he just dips his head down to lick your nipple into his mouth. He reaches up to gather your other breast in his hand, and you bring your hands up to his shoulders just to hold onto something. You bury your face in his hair, shift, and kiss along his head. 

Frank starts peppering sloppy kisses across your chest before biting down on your other nipple. 

“Shit,” you whisper. “Frank.” 

“Mhm,” He’s got a vice grip on your hips, and then he’s bucking up into you. Slow and steady, and meticulous, and—Jeesus. His tongue swirls and bites, and you’re tilting your head back. Eye’s closed just feeling him. 

Okay, you gotta-hold on. You push against Franks shoulders and his mouth comes off of you with an almost obscene pop. He starts to ask what’s wrong when you dip your head down and catch his mouth against yours. It’s slow and nasty and good, something almost too sensual to be Frank, but it is. It’s just you and him. 

He mumbles. “Com’on.” Against your lips and rolls you over so he’s pressed on top of you. You’re rubbing your hands up his arms and over his shoulders when he —oh Christ, okay—reaches up to grab each of your wrist pinning them over your head. This is more of what you expected, you’re not gonna stop him though. 

He peppers kisses along your jaw and down to your neck, before sucking. 

“Fra-ank.” God you’re whiney right now, and Franks sucking hickies into your neck, so who the hell cares? 

“What’s wrong, Baby?” Frank is an A-1 goddamn tease. Before you can get an answer out he pushes against you. Languid downward rolls of his hips, catching against you and pushing your body up juuust a bit with each thrust. “Hm?” 

Your mouths open in an ‘O’ shape, and you’re positive you're not gonna be able to make clear sentences, so you lock your ankles behind him and drag him closer to you. He groans out a breathy ah, shit and pulls his head back up to kiss you again. When he lets your arms go he’s quick to get back on you, sucking and biting his way down your body, and you’re still too dazed to really get what’s happening until he says. 

“Y/n.” 

He’s sitting up, leaning back a bit onto his legs, with his hands resting on your hips. You prop yourself up on your forearms. “Yes?” 

His mouth tips up into a half smile and he says. “I said you gotta lift up,” His fingers tap the waistband of your sweatpants. Oh, yeah, okay. You lift up your hips and he starts tugging your pants down, fingers hooked in your panties too. You lift up your legs and then he’s got everything up and off of you. 

He settles back down, onto his stomach, with his head between your legs and looks up at you. You’re still propped up onto his shoulders, and you’ve got a pretty damn good view of him. He dips his head down and starts kissing along your thighs, and again it's strangely intimate for him. Out of your peripheral you catch a car's headlights move past the window, and you think to say something when you feel Frank slide his hands to the back of your knees and fold your legs back on either side of you towards the bed. 

You feel him blow cool air against you and you gotta take deep breaths. Scoot, shift, and his face is right between the junction of your thighs. Your hand is in his hair when he drags his tongue up your pussy and over your clit. Your head hits the pillow and you push your other hand into the other one next to you. Gripping. 

“Frank,” You breathe for no reason other than it’s just him. “Oh, God, Frank.” 

He moans into you and that’s enough to get your back arching a bit. He starts in earnest, jumping between circling your clit, and looong strokes up your vulva. You start to wonder if he’s spelling his name down there, when he pushes his tongue aaaalll the way in until his face is practically buried inside of you. His tongue is pressed flat against your labia and then he’s licking inside you. There’s a pause while you gasp out a ‘Fra-a-ank’, before he starts tongue fucking you.  You’re not sure what your sound limit is here so you’re doing your best to keep it to a minimum. Rotating between a string of Oh god, Yes, fuck, and Fraa-aank-just to be safe. 

And then he plants his mouth over your clit and sucks, pushing a finger inside of you. Your back is almost full rainbow, pushing your head into the pillow, and your moaning out a loud. “Ooooh, fuck, Frank!” 

He hums, and, without missing a beat, his tongue starts circling your clit, and he adds a second finger. Languid and intinse. Faster, tighter, you’re really pushing the sound limit here. He’s still working you to the edge, but has enough time to say. “Come on, Y/n. Come in my mouth, baby.”

You groan. “Oh shit,” But he pulls his fingers back a bit, curve, and he’s finger fucking you against your G-spot. He’s an angel. 

You’re loud. Like-you’re voice is probably gonna be strained in the morning- loud. Frank pumps into you, tongue circling tightly, and gets just a little rougher with it. “Ah, fuck, Frank. Please-God-please…” He latches his lips around your clit and sucks, and it's gotta be biblical the amount of times you’ve said God’s name tonight. He presses against your legs and tucks his fingers, moans against you. Your jaw drops and you squeeze your eyes shut, pushing your other hand down to the back of Frank's head and pulling his face into you. 

A strain of ecstasy pushes its way through you and you just can’t get out fast enough. “Frank-frank, oh GOD AAaaahhh!!” Your chest has a slow rise and fall to it, and Frank is back to being sensual. Kissing around your still sensitive clit and up your thighs. He lets go of your leg and pushes both of his hands onto your hips, you can feel your wetness on his fingers. 

He pulls himself on top of you and this kiss is rougher, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. He props himself up onto his forearm and reaches down to push off his sweatpants, throwing them off to the side with the rest of his clothes. 

“You ready?” His voice is wrecked, something you’re really not used to hearing from Frank. You think, and push up on his shoulders before wrapping your leg around his hip and rolling so you’re on top. Franks got this dazed smile on his face, and lord he is cute. Really, Frank Castle is cute. 

He grabs onto your waist and lifts you up with almost ridiculous ease, before shifting his eyes down and watching as you wrap your hand around his dick and slowly guide yourself down onto him. 

You press your hands against his chest and raise up, just to grind back down, and Franks gotta focus on his breathing or else he’s gonna cum way too fast. 

You go like that for a while, a slow and steady rock, but Frank’s been sporting a hard on since you laid next to him so he’s not as patient as he could be. He adjusts his grip on your waist, hikes his legs up so he’s digging his heels into the mattress, “You ready, baby?” and starts to buck up into you. And you thought you were leading the show. 

You’re panting out little ah’s with each thrust, and you gotta brace your hand on the headboard for some kinda leverage. Frank pulls you down onto his chest and kisses you full, mumbling a string of “You like that? Huh? Ah, fuck.” against you, before wrapping his arm around your waist. You grind down and meet each of his thrust and he’s done for. He pushes his face into your neck as he starts pistoning into you, lips mouthing at your neck. His thrust start getting sloppy, uncoordinated, and he moans out. “Com’on, Y/n.” Before reaching down and circling your clit. 

And it's building and building and you rasp out. “Frank, I—”

He bites down on your shoulder and Oh, okay, yes that. You dig your nails into his shoulder and he’s forcing every ounce of himself not to scream. “Y/n!” Low and breathy. He still does. His hips stutter as he cums, and you pick up your pace, fucking him through it. His hips eventually stutter and he bucks a couple of times before sighing into your neck, spent. 

You both just stay like that for a while. Breathing in each other, enjoying the come down. You can’t help but let your mind drift to thoughts of Frank outside of this. Domesticated, and lovely. He just came inside of you, so the idea of having his kids passes through briefly. You’ll deal with that tomorrow. He coaxes you off of him and onto the bed, sliding the sheets onto the both of you. Sliding his arm under your back he pulls you into his side and closes his eyes. You rest your head against his chest, hyper aware of how intimate this is. Neither of you are sure whether or not you should dwell on that or not. 

He, Christ, reaches down and plants a kiss on your forehead before laying back and saying. “You’re not getting your card punched, not while I’m still here.” 

Does he know what he’s doing to you? You just nod, because you’re not really sure if you believe him or not, and he sees that. 

“Hey,” He says, nudging you a bit. You sit up and look at him, and he’s got this look in his eyes. Something like worry, and hope, and so much love for you it almost breaks your heart. “I’m serious, I’m not letting him or any a’ them get to you.” 

You’re the closest thing this man has got to a friend, hell even a family, so yeah. You believe him. You nod and lean up to kiss him, before laying your head back onto his chest. 

Thirty hours.

+

A/N: I'm actually obsessed with this man. Y'all please leave comments letting me know if you liked this / what you think. I wanna hear back from you! Have a great day, beautiful.

#tbc

[lmao-liz]

the glow

lilac, chapter thirteen

a/n: a little bit more sluttiness, anyone? sdfghjklæø like I'm offering refreshments or something

summary: "I don’t wanna promise anything, but I do wanna try."

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, smut, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, crying, renovating an inn, clothed sex, outdoor sex, car sex, public sex, kissing, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, oral, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (because this is just porn. no one is getting pregnant, I’m just craving the intimacy. let them be hoes and live out the fantasy)

word count: 4157

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Rolling the stubby pencil in your grasp, you let the tip ghost down the list as you murmured each item out loud, checking that you’d indeed gotten everything you lacked from the hardware store.

Your body jostled lightly as the stocked truck sped over a small bump in the road. Flicking one last checkmark on the small block of paper, you peeled your eyes away from the list and exhaled, “alright, I think we got everything,” sliding the small notepad and pencil back into one of the many roomy pockets adorned on the beige overalls you wore. 

Casting a quick glance in your direction, the driver nodded, “except for the door handles, which I’ll drive back for when they get them back in stock.”

“Frank,” you tried to diminish the smile that began to bloom, “I can go get them myself, you know. My car is fixed now and it’s not like door handles take up this much space,” you waved a hand back to the chaos that was the attempt at fitting all of the various materials into the vehicle in one go, the fact that Frank still managed to drive just fine, even with the review mirror completely obscured and long sticks of moulding poking past his seat and minimising his range of movement, was rather impressive. In fact, you had to tilt your head in order to get a clear view of him past all of the clutter in the space between you. 

“Yeah, but I don’t mind,” he shrugged, briefly flashing you a smile that made you stop hiding your own. 

As his vision returned to the road, you let your own wander and take in the lush forest that hugged either side of the lane. It stretched on for as long as your eye could take you, no breaks, the only variation was the change from birch to pine you spotted farther down the rural path. 

Hearing the rustling of Frank changing gears, your eyes naturally found his hand, shadowing the tight grip as it returned to the steering wheel. 

You couldn’t help but unconsciously drag your lower lip through your teeth as your gaze traced the back of his hands. From the shadow of fuss on his wrist that emerged out from under the hem of his dark flannel to the veins that danced under the skin every time he tightened his grasp. 

“Hey, Frank?” you breathed, letting the dull throbbing between your thighs sway your words. 

“Hm?” he simply hummed, not taking his eyes off the road, “what?”

“What if you stopped and parked the car for a little bit?”

“Why? Are you okay?” he asked, finally tearing his gaze away to glance at you, the intent behind your words finally breaking through his tough shell, “oh,” an airy chuckle flowed out pasted his lips and you let your head blissfully fall back against the headrest, your gaze never seizing, “oh! alright, yeah, I can definitely park the car.”

With no other vehicles on the road, Frank wasn’t gentle as he swung into a spot on the side of the road.

As he tugged up the brakes and retroactively pushed up the thicket of clutter between your seats that much further, your fingers found one of the straps to your overalls and fiddled to pop it open as you leaned in closer. 

Reaching with a hand through the mess of moulding to pull his lips to yours, a giggle only gushed from you as the eruption made it near impossible for you to do anything other than bang your forehead in your desperate attempt, “I don’t–, how do we do this?” a laugh bubbled out of you, “I don’t think I thought this part through enough.”

Only echoing your amusement for a second, a solution then fluttered across his features. Wordlessly, he opened his side of the truck and got out, leaving you with your hands thrown up in the air, still giggling and your gaze tracking him through the window as he crossed to your side and yanked open your door.

Grasping each side of your face, he bent down and drew you into a silky kiss. Rotating further in his direction, a light whimper slipped out past your lips and vibrated against his tongue as his fingers slid up through your hair. 

Slipping your right leg past his frame, each of your thighs now hugged around him as you hooked your index fingers into his belt loops and tugged him closer. 

As your palm began to pet him through his pants, an intoxicating groan reverberated within him and his fingers drifted down to the dungaree strap that was still secure over your shoulder, but then when the attempt at popping it open became more of a struggle than he’d anticipated, a chuckle bubbled out of you as Frank leaned back and cursed through his grin, “goddamnit! Why won’t it just–, there!” and it finally came undone. Throwing the long strap over your shoulder, the upper part of your overalls tumbled down your frame and gathered just below your waist, revealing to Frank just how hard your nipples were through the soft long-sleeved shirt you wore beneath. 

Leaning down to graze his lips across the side of your neck, you felt him yank your top up just high enough for your tits to pop out, letting it gather and cling to your skin just over the peaks as the mild breeze that hit them caused goosebumps to erupt.

After his palms offered your soft peaks and tender squeeze, they slid down towards the buttons still fastened on the side of your hips. As his nimble fingers popped them open one by one, you pulled his lips back up to yours, his body hungrily craning closer and causing your spine to follow along, leaning back further till you were lying down across the seats. 

Except, your back never did meet the expected contact. Instead, your head collided sharply with the cluttered supplies still demanding so much of the room. 

“Ouch!” your hand shot up to the part of your skull that now throbbed dully. As your eyes found Frank’s, a genuine laugh billowed out of you both and took the pain away, “this is such a disaster!”

Pressing a light peck to your brow, Frank muttered, “maybe we should just wait till we get back.”

“Maybe,” you blinked up at him and pouted your lips lightheartedly, “but I’m so fucking wet right now, it actually feels like I’m on fire!” your laugh never dying down a second.

“Oh,” a gravelly groan tumbled out of his chest and his fists closed around the fabric around your hips, “please don’t say that…” 

“Why?” you tilted your chin up, nearly closing the short distance and sharing his hot breath. 

But before you could press your lips to his once more, you let out a surprised yelp as Frank suddenly scooped his grasp under your bottom and hoisted you into his arms.

“What are you–,” you tried to ask, but you soon received your answer as he carried you a short distance around the gaping door and sat you down onto the hood of the car. With a smirk fast on his lips, Frank began to tug your dungarees, as well as the soaked underwear beneath, down over your hips, “here? Are you serious? What if someone drives by and sees us?”

“No one ever drives here,” his head shook lightly from side to side as he ceased his efforts, letting your garments bunch up just above your knees, “we’ll be fine for a little bit.”

And the next thing you knew, Frank had plucked up your legs and raised them up so far that your back fell down against the car as he practically folded you in half. With his forearm strong against the back of your knees, he pressed the tops of your thighs down against your stomach, exposing your molten core to him like a present. 

“You really weren’t lying, sweetheart,” he landed an electric smack to your bottom, “look at this,” your whole body trembled when he finally touched your pussy, pinching the puff teasingly and rolling your pearl between your petals, “you’re fucking soaked.”

You were gonna reply, think of some witty remark, but all of that became impossible when he bent down and lapped at your folds.

Kissing at the wetness that seeped out of you, his greedy tongue couldn’t help but sneak in a bit as he nuzzled closer, his prominent nose nudging against your clit as he did so. 

“F-Frank–,” your fingers captured your nipples in a needy pinch as you hazily blinked up at the treetops and clouds above.

Drawing back, he eagerly landed a dollop of spit onto your core and with his free hand, mixed his small bubbles in with your mess, “yeah? What is it?” parting your petals with his abruptly feathery caresses, you squirmed beneath his hold as he came to circle your entrance, “does it feel good, is that it?” he teased you till your eyelids fluttered.

“Please p-put your fingers inside of me–”

“Huh?” he smirked, only lightening his touch even though he obviously comprehended every single word of your pathetic blubbering, “what was that?”

“I wanna feel your fingers–,” but the rest of your begging never saw the light of day as he suddenly slid two of his thick digits inside, brashly cutting off your words, “ah!”

“Here?” he didn’t hold back as he pumped inside of you, “is this where you wanna feel me?” swiftly adding another long finger, giving your cunt what it was pleading for, and as he did so, strumming your inner walls and stretching you out till your toes curled in your shoes, one of your hands left your tit and shot down to flutter against the one of his that was still strong at the back of your trembling legs. Tapping against the back of it, he swiftly turned his palm upwards and welcomed your hold tenderly as you feverishly grasped his hand in yours, “right here where you’re so fucking warm and wet and soft?” dipping back down, tightening his hand around yours, he then captured your clit with his lips and sucked down hard, “so fucking perfect…” the sincere addition resonated in a deep groan that melted against your puffy pearl. 

It didn’t take too much longer before you cried out beneath him and your nails dug into his palm as you tumbled over the edge, “oh, fuck!” and if he hadn’t been holding you so securely, you’d properly have fallen off the car as well. 

Withdrawing his touch, his lips then fluttered up the back of your thighs till they danced across your hand still engulfed by his.

As he straightened back up, you hazily peeked up at him with a stary gaze, still completely melted against the hood. 

“What?” he smiled, noting the fuzzy grin that adorned your blissful features. 

“Nothing,” you bit down on your bottom lip as you blinked up at him in complete and utter awe, “you just make me very happy, that’s all.”

Beaming down at you, “well, good,” the faintest of sincere chuckles escaped his lungs, “you make me very happy as well.”

As he loosened his hold and shifted your legs to hang over the crook of his left arm, you playfully poked, “how happy?”

Only fiddling with his fly for but a second, the next thing you knew a light gasp slipped out your parted lips as you felt him tap his heavy cock against your cunt, letting you feel him throb against where you did.

“That answer it for you?” he smirked, rubbing brashly against you.

“I don’t know…” you giggled, feeling his tip catch your entrance “I think I might need to feel a few more inches to really grasp what you mean.”

Not one to deprive you, Frank then brashly buried himself completely, forcing all of the oxygen to flow out of your lungs as his heavy sack pressed up against your ass.

Breathless himself, he smugly croaked, “you get it now?”

“Y-yeah, I-I–, yeah–,” you shuttered deliciously beneath him, your legs, still sort of bound and restrained by your dungarees, trembled on the side in his grasp at the staggering sensation of his girth.

Feeling his hand rake its way up to press against your cheek, you leaned into the caress a moment before turning your head and placing a few hazy pecks along the calloused palm, before he started to move and your teeth gently sank into the muscle and muffled your moan. 

It wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, but when your head eventually fell back and your lips detached, you noted the small light marks that stayed on the strong root of his thumb, not that Frank seemed to mind, even if you had managed to somehow break the tough skin, he wouldn’t have minded, probably wouldn’t even have batted an eye.

Curling his hand back around the nape of your neck, he scooped your upper body back upright. Gliding the right arm around you and hooking it with his left, he held you in his arms and cradled you close as he rocked against you with steady and breath-taking thrusts. 

It wasn’t hard to notice how his gaze suddenly dropped to your lips, starvingly staring at them as he then uttered, “kiss me,” the whisper sounding like a wish on the wind as he drove in and kissed you as if he hadn’t gotten the privilege in aeons. 

Burying your grasp in the thickness of his flannel, you heard his hips meet yours in sloppy crashes. 

Shifting his hold a bit, you felt his right hand glide up your spine, still staying steady against it as his fingers slid into your locks, his short nails scraping hypnotically against your scalp. 

As he twisted your hair up in his hand, you whimpered against his tongue, raising a few fingers up to thread through his dark beard. 

“Oh, Y/n,” his head tilted back in a gravelly moan, a glinting string of saliva still keeping your lips connected, “holy fuck,” he panted in the hot air between you, “you feel so good.”

Readjusting you in his grasp, his left arm now supported you, the wide palm pressing against your back, while the right one dragged down to your hip and dug into the softness as his gaze followed. 

Shifting his weight, he tilted back and marvelled down at how lavishly he sank into you time and time again. 

But then suddenly, without warning, the pulled out of you completely and let out a low moan, “oh my god,” his brows dreamily knitted together as his right hand slid down to pull at your left ass cheek, “fucking look at that,” briefly sliding back inside in his entirety, he then slipped back out and shared what wasn’t within your view, “your pretty little pussy’s gaping so beautifully for me,” your creamy cunt winked at him after he retracted. The addicting visage of just how relaxed and turned on you were persuaded him to lower his fingers to the base of his girth and aid his repeated efforts as he methodically sank in and pull back out, “I think she likes me,” he grinned adoringly, “likes how I feel, likes how I split her open… remember back when she struggled to take even the tip? Just look at her now…” losing it completely, the next time he plugged you up, he didn’t slip back out, “I’m so proud of your pussy,” giving in to a fevered pace that caused your eyes to roll in your skull, “being so good, being the fucking best, taking every inch of me so perfectly.”

Your quivering legs dangled over his arm at the rough and desperate efforts, holding you tight and rocking you back down against his thrusts as you felt yourself unravel once more. Trying your best to keep your eyes locked on his, you heard your name like a mantra on his lips as he too swiftly followed suit, pressing his forehead to yours as your clenching cunt milked him of all of his worth.

“Ah…” his content sigh fanned across your flaming cheeks, “fuck…”

Carefully slipping back out, he let the weight of him simply rest against you as his load slowly trickled out of your tender hole. 

“That was–,” you fussily started as you felt him tug your shirt back down over your goosebump-ridden torso, “yeah… that was amazing…”

Mirroring your lazy grin, he concurred, “yeah…”

“Thanks for not waiting till we got back. It really isn’t that easy trying to convince people that the noises they heard were just construction stuff and not something more uncouth,” you chuckled lightly, “especially now that we’re done with all the heavy lifting… oh, wait, speaking of which, before I forget, what do I actually owe you?”

Tilting his head back, he stared down at you in amused confusion, “huh?”

“I mean for the renovation of the inn, not the–, uh, this,” you giggled, “you just said in the beginning that we’d talk about your payment when it’s done, and now it nearly is, so what do I owe you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” a warm chuckle rumbled faintly within him as he tugged a stray piece of your hair behind your ear, “I think you’ve given me plenty of compensation,” indicating the link that had flourished between you two, “I’m good,” and then he leaned in and grazed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. 

With your eyes still glued to the spot on the baseboard where you’d just smashed a nail in and secured the long strip of moulding to the bottom of the wall that much further, you didn’t shift your gaze as you extended the hand, not clutching the hammer, to snatch up another nail. But when your fingers grazed across the floorboards you sat upon and failed to find the small pile of pins, you finally lifted your gaze to realise that you’d used up all of them. 

“Oh, hey, I’m out of nails,” you glanced over your shoulder at the other side of the narrow room where Frank was stationed, taking care of the job you’d split up and shared, his progress migrating him slightly closer to you, “could I–”

“Yeah,” he uttered, his hand already dipping into the small cardboard container beside him and scooping up a handful before his long arm extended enough for him to reach your open palm, “here,” he let the cool metal cascade into your grasp.

“Thanks,” you flashed him a smile before he returned to the task. 

Just as you placed the handful down beside your crisscrossed legs, a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Waow,” Harvey peeked his head in, the floorboard gently creaking beneath his gentle tread, “this looks great! I tell ya, if your grandparents knew that the bloom room could look like this? Whew… they’d be ecstatic.”

“Well, it’ll look even better once the furniture is back in here,” you watched as your father’s gaze wandered around like he was a child in a toy store, “actually, dad… like, I get that grandma thought rhyming was fun, it is, but don’t you think it’s about time that we change the room names?”

As soon as your question left your lips, Harvey’s eyes swept to you in an appalled glare, a shuttering breath escaped his lungs before he stood his ground, “I am not changing the names just because it may confuse some of the guests! That godawful floral wallpaper might not have been up in this room in over 40 years, but I’m not changing it, not this one, not any of them. My mother named them those silly names and they’re damn well gonna stay!”

“…even the doom room?”

Promptly, his stubbornness then visually melted away, “…alright, maybe just that one… it’s fun to say, but does sound awfully ominous,” folding his arms across his chest, he tilted his head in thought, “maybe we could think of some other word that rhymes with room… let’s see, we’ve already got the doom room, the bloom room, moon room and the shroom room… hm… might have to sleep on that one… never the less, this all looks phenomenal. You kids really did a great job,” he shifted his gaze between you and Frank, “shinned this place up like a brand new penny!”

“Ah, it’s not hard to mess up when the bones are so good,” Frank hummed. 

Just as Harvey began to shift back out of the room, you sat the hammer down on the floor and began to lift yourself up to your feet, “wait, uhm, dad? Do you have a second?” his warm gaze found yours as he halted, “there’s just something I wanna discuss with you.”

“Oh, sure, pumpkin,” he then scooped a hand through the air, “come with me downstairs,” and when you’d migrated to the hallway beside him, he shifted his vision to catch Frank’s and asked, “and by the way, I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee, if you wanna just help yourself while we chat.”

“Yeah, why not,” he breathed before joining you both down the stairs. 

As Frank disappeared into the kitchen, you and the moustachioed elder pulled up a few chairs to one of the tables in the vacant dining room. 

“So…” you drew out a deep breath and lowered your gaze to your hands as you weaved your fingers together. 

“…so?” your father’s soothing rumble searched the air.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, noticing how you suddenly got a bit nervous at the reality of the statement you wished to share, “both with everything–, uh…” your chest began to tighten as you almost uttered Preston’s name, “you know, everything…” catching his eye, he offered you a light nod of understanding, “and also with the renovation being essentially done…” one of your thumbs shifted, the nail pressing into your palm, “… I know that I said you shouldn’t count on me staying here, that I didn’t wanna go back to living out here, that this was just temporary… but right now, the thought of moving to a city I’ve never stepped foot in before really scares me and the thought of going back to New York and potentially bumping into–… well… uh… I think what I’m trying to say, and please don’t say I told you so, but I think I might wanna stay. At least for a while. With all of this time and labour I’ve put into repairing this place, I just couldn’t help but rethink everything I thought was so–, well, lame when I was young, and, I don’t know, I kinda just saw it in a new light. I don’t wanna promise anything, but I do wanna try.”

Drawing in a slow breath, the raw emotion shined clear in Harvey’s voice as he uttered, “really?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you nodded lightly, “at least for a while, till I feel like I’m enough back on my feet to figure things out,” as you caught sight of how glossy your father’s eyes had become, you reached out to lay your palm atop his, a soft smile tipping up the corners of your lips, “dad, please don’t cry.”

“What? I’m not crying,” he sniffled and squeezed your hand back tightly, “this is just my lifelong dream coming true, that’s all! My baby’s taking over the family business!”

“I’m not taking over, I’m just trying it out for a bit,” you corrected wearily. 

As you leaned in closer over the table to wipe a tear off the side of Harvey’s beaming face, the phone out in the lobby then suddenly began to ring, halting your fingers from taking care of the other cheek. 

Casting a glance over your shoulder to the reception beyond the archway, you turned back to see your dad fast in his seat, his grin only growing wider as he cocked his head, “well, you’re the boss now, pumpkin. You should go answer it, who knows, it could be a very important business call.” 

Biting down on your smile, you hurried out into the entryway, whiling around the front desk just before the ringing ceased. As you raised the receiver of the old, jade-green rotary phone up to your ear, your vision settled on the figures that appeared in the archway as both your father and Frank settled against the frame.

“Lilac Inn, this is Y/n speaking. Hello, how can I help you today? Oh, you’d like a room? Five weeks from now? One moment, I’ll check,” you flipped a few pages of the big open planner resting on the desk before you, “ah, yes, we do have a room available at that time…” 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#bookmark

[lmao-liz]

jake lockley- bad girl

Summary: Jake has a smoking kink, and a way for you to indulge him without consequences. (~1.6k)

Contents: 🔥 18+ nsfw, fem!reader, smut, oral (f receiving), smoking kink, p in v, talking about pain/burning as a kink, smoking (psa: don’t do it)

part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event

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Jake takes out his cigarette case as soon as he gets home, hangs his jacket over a chair in the kitchen.

The case is covered in smooth, black leather. The edges are soft, as if molded over the years to the shape of his fingers and the curve of his chest where it rests in his inside pocket. A bold ‘L’ is embossed in the front.

“Welcome home. Don’t smoke inside the apartment,” you say, looking up from where you’re reading in bed.

Jake walks from the living room over to the window close to you. He opens it, a rush of cold, night air blows inside.

You quickly set aside your book, shivering because you’re sitting on top of the blankets and not under them. “Close the window. It’s freezing out there.”

Jake grins at you, his eyes crinkling deeply at the corners. He takes out one, slim, white cigarette. “I know it’s cold, mi vida, that’s why I’m smoking in here. What am I supposed to do?”

You give him a look and a sharp tilt of your head. “Quit. It’s bad for you.”

“There have to be some advantages to this avatar gig. I’ll never die from lung cancer. Let me have my vice, hermosa. The only one I have other than you.” He holds the case and cigarette in one hand and gets his gold lighter from his pants pocket with the other.

“I could die from second hand smoke,” you say.

Jake’s eyebrows furrow. “No, you can’t.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure my body wouldn’t ask you permission before it-“

He waves your words away. “No, mi vida, I mean we worked it out with Konshu. You’re not going to get sick. Ever.”

The wheels start turning in your head. “Like, ever? Ever, ever?”

One side of his mouth curls up as he puts the cigarette between his lips and flicks his lighter open. He takes a deep drag as he lights up, the tip glowing red and yellow, sizzling quietly.

He holds the cigarette between his fingers. The smoke blows out his nose, twin white plumes.

He licks his lips. “Have you gotten sick since we got together?”

You shake your head slowly.

“Allergies?” Jake asks, taking another drag and blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “A hangover? Food poisoning? Aches and pains? You don’t even cough when you smell my cigarette smoke.”

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “What did you do?”

Jake holds the cigarette in his mouth and gets another, fresh one out. He sits on the bed and tosses the case and lighter aside. 

“It was Marc’s idea. So you’d be safe when we were away. Steven negotiated. I stopped working until the bird agreed. A team effort. You woulda been proud of your boys,” he winks at you.

He swaps the lit cigarette for the unlit one in his mouth. He inhales, holds the ends together and lights up a second one. Swaps them back, and holds out the new one toward you.

“No, thank you,” you say immediately.

“Now that you know it’s not dangerous for either of us,” Jake says, “I’ve always had this thing for women who smoke. Bad girls.”

You almost snort. “Why am I not even a little bit surprised.”

The tip of Jake’s tongue traces along his bottom lip. “Just hold it for me. Let me look at you.”

He taps the ash into an empty tea cup on the nightstand. You reach out to take the cigarette, but Jake smiles.

“Like this,” he says, positioning your fingers so you can hold the cigarette between them like you’ve seen him do a million times.

You hold it, feeling awkward. Jake puts his out, starts undoing the buttons of his shirt to get more comfortable. It draws your attention lower, to where he’s already bulging against the zipper of his black pants.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” You ask.

“Oh, hermosa, you have no fucking idea.” Jake says, taking his shirt off.

You reach your arm out and mimic Jake’s motions to tap the cigarette ash off the end and into the cup.

With a glance at Jake, you lift it back up, and set it lightly against your mouth.

Jake’s lips part, his eyes glued to your motions as you round your lips around the end of the cigarette and inhale. It doesn’t burn your throat. It doesn’t hurt. It tastes familiar, like Jake. 

You pull it away and blow the smoke back out through your pursed lips, toward his face.

You hear him swallow, his breath shallow.

“Do that again,” he says.

Jake is usually so controlled. It’s headier than your first cigarette, the sound of his voice. Like you’ve hypnotized him. Like he’s two seconds away from ripping away your clothes and losing it all over you.

You repeat the motion, Jake leaning into the cloud of smoke you create. His hands come down on either side of your hips. He pushes up the shirt you’re wearing to sleep, his fingers pulling at the elastic of your underwear and making quick work of taking them off.

You inhale another long drag, from the side of your mouth this time, so he can see everything. Jake’s face tips up and you blow the smoke in his direction. He moans quietly.

“Open your legs,” he says.

You part your thighs and Jake lays on his stomach, his eyes on you.

“No,” he says when he sees you move the cigarette toward the cup, “keep smoking it.”

You tap the ash off and bring it back to your mouth, just as Jake’s descends over you. The smoke rushes out of your mouth as you gasp at how he immediately presses his open mouth onto your hot skin, the flat of his tongue catching your clit and then diving back down to bury inside of you.

Shakily, you put the cigarette back in your mouth, your other hand threading through his curly hair. It’s hard for you to inhale steadily as he rubs his lips over you. You pull it away as Jake sucks gently on your clit until you moan around the smoke that exits your mouth.

He hums as his tongue licks inside of you, pushing and playing with you. You feel a gush of wetness and your first orgasm already building from Jake’s hot, hungry eyes still on you.

You take a quick drag and hold in the smoke as you come, air stuck in your lungs.

“That’s it,” Jake says. He pushes two fingers inside of you, making you whine, the white smoke rushing out of you as your sensitive, clenching walls grip him.

You twist your body away slightly and Jake pulls out of you, licking his fingers. You try to get your breath back.

Jake snakes his way up your body, taking the cigarette from your hands to tap it on the cup. You look up at him with a smile and he puts it back between your lips gently. Jake undoes his belt and pants.

“Can I light another one for you?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

“Jake, I can’t smoke while we have sex,” you say.

“Please,” he asks, an edge of desperation creeping in.

You nod. He uses his lighter this time, taking a brief inhale before he hands you the fresh one and dumps the old into the cup.

“Steven’s going to be pissed you used that as an ashtray,” you say.

“I want you to tap the ash straight onto my chest, but we can work up to that,” Jake says with a cocky smile as he settles between your legs.

Your eyes pop wide.

Jake grins. “Right now, you’re all mine. Bad girl.”

You put the cigarette back between your lips, inhaling just so you can create a cloud of hazy white around you and Jake. By your next inhale, Jake’s already inside of you, his mouth open so you can blow it straight at him.

It's almost impossible to balance the smoking with the pleasure, but Jake's so turned on, and you're so into how he's looking at you, that you keep going. Letting him fuck you with long, languid strokes of his hips. You grip his hair in one hand, and make sure you don't lose the cigarette in the other.

Eventually, the cigarette burns down to your fingertips, Jake finally getting rid of it before it burns you, when he’s made you come again, when his cum is sticky between your legs and you can feel him finally relaxing against you.

He kisses you, his tongue tangling lazily with yours.

“So, do you still have a cigarette after sex if you’ve been smoking the entire time?” You ask him.

“Yeah, if you want your boyfriend to fuck you again,” Jake says, one of his hands caressing up and down your still-warm skin. “Maybe we can take it further this time.”

“The ash thing?” You ask as Jake reaches for his cigarette case and lighter.

“That, and maybe more. You know I like a little pain sometimes, and the body heals,” he says, his eyes still dark.

He puts an unlit cigarette between your lips, “inhale gently.”

You do, and he flicks open his lighter and holds up the flame. The end catches and burns. You take it back out of your mouth and press it between Jake’s lips. He smokes it with practiced ease before you take it back.

"It's not so bad, actually. I think I could get used to this," you say.

Jake's eyes light up, a familiar grin as he pulls you down the bed to fit under him again. “I always knew you were a bad girl at heart.”

-----

Square- "O" smoking kink

**MK Spring '24 Bingo masterlist**

MK masterlist :: main masterlist :: Join My Fic Taglist

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[lmao-liz]

Werewolf!141 x F!Reader | Sneak Peek

You've been assigned to Task Force 141 as their designated Werewolf Handler. It will be your job to ensure that the pack work together as coherently as possible through any means necessary. You think it will be an easy enough assignment, just help out the Task Force and then move on to the next one. Unfortunately for you, the rest of 141 aren't so willing to let go of their new human.

A/N: Just a little snippet from an AU I'm playing around with. It'll mostly be a smut-based fic.

Warnings: Mentioned Child Abuse (Simon's Past)

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next

Out of every member of Task Force 141, Ghost is the only person you’ve struggled to get along with. That isn’t to say he’s rude or deliberately trying to make you feel uncomfortable with them, he’s simply not as welcoming as all the others. He has his reasons for that, you know, probably some kind of attempt at keeping you safe, but it’s beginning to get on your nerves.  

You’re a human, the rest of your team are not. A whole pack of werewolves with you right in the middle of it. While normally you would be touched that someone cares so much for your welfare, you’ve spent years learning how to handle werewolves and you’re far from a rookie. It’s gone from being sweet to being nothing but irritating.  

You’re their designated handler, so it’s vital that all of you can work well as a team. You’ve met three of the wolves – Price, Gaz and Soap’s - and for the most part they’re good fun to work with.  

Soap, by far, has the clingiest wolf. He follows you around base, tail wagging and tongue lolling as he acts like your own personal shadow. He’s playful and loves nothing more than to run circles around you while you’re trying to work. According to his file, he comes from a large family of other wolves, so he’s well socialised and both halves of his personality, human and wolf, work together in perfect harmony.  

Gaz’s wolf is a little more reserved when it comes to spending time with those outside of the pack, but he’s just as friendly toward you as Soap, if a little less excitable. He has a beautiful, sleek black coat, unlike Soap’s shaggy brown mop of fur. You’re the only human who can run your fingers through his soft fluff without potentially losing a finger for disturbing his luscious locks.  

Your Captain has the typical grey colouring, with some white sprinkled across his muzzle. He’s the very picture of a regal, perfectly poised wolf. The two sergeants might be unruly when playing together and enjoy riling up one another, but both heed Price’s commands without fail.  

Ghost, however, is an unknown.  

During the full moon your pack run out across the field on base, play wrestling and doing their best to smother you with affection. It’s an evening of fun and a perfect way for the group to destress every month. But Ghost? He’s never there with you.  

While Gaz and Soap grew up with other werewolves teaching them how to behave and coexist with their inner wolves, and Price has had decades of working in the military to develop a vice-like grip on the control over his own, Ghost never had such an opportunity. He wasn’t born as a werewolf, rather turned into one.  

Werewolves born from others of their kind have good relationships with their wolf halves, having existed together even within the womb. Those who are turned suddenly find themselves with a whole separate creature suddenly inhabiting their minds and bodies, and the results of having their psyche torn to pieces so violently can be horrific. You’ve seen firsthand what kinds of aggressive, murderous beasts can be born from a newly changed werewolf rejecting their other half.  

Ghost is one such beast. Turned as a child by his own father in an attempt to make him bigger and stronger, only for it to backfire and create a terrifying monster instead. Instead of learning to embrace his wolf on a full moon and finding others of his kind to play and grow with, a young Simon’s wolf found himself locked up in a metal cage. He would be muzzled and beaten during his father’s attempts at “training” the wolf, then left either chained to a pole or in the tiny cage without food or water for the remainder of his change.  

And that’s merely what Ghost’s medical file is willing to disclose, the majority of the rest blacked out completely. You’re fortunate enough to have access to the highly classified documents, but even they give you very little to work with.  

Price has told you just how difficult it is for the other wolves to work with Simon’s wolf. He never learned how to socialise with other wolves, and it took months before they could all cohabitate without fights breaking out. But still now, years on, Ghost still refuses to spend the full moon with the rest of the pack.  

You were requested specifically to work with the pack to try and help Ghost open up a little and learn to accept his other half. No doubt it’ll be a difficult task given Ghost’s history, but this isn’t your first rodeo. By the end of this you’ll have Ghost’s wolf rolling over for belly rubs like the good boy you know he is.  

[lmao-liz]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes

Summary: Things have returned to normal, or at least they seem to have. Nothing can ever go your way, though, can it?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7925 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, face sitting, grinding, spanking (it's like once and not even on the ass), Kyle is definitely a munch, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, reader is a little shit, angst, PTSD, nightmares, trauma, mommy issues, family issues, language, the author's bias showing just a tad.

A/N: Have you ever cried while writing smut? I have. Had two mental breakdowns during the course of this chapter, the worst of the two during the smut scene. Sobbing while writing the reader getting her back blown out? That's a new one for me. But, I did it. I finished Chapter 16 this week. I'm feeling significantly better than I was, at least physically. Giving it to you a day early because I feel bad about not posting last week. The events of this chapter pick up pretty much where the previous one left off. Timeline wise, this chapter is spread over roughly a week-ish. And special thanks to the battle rattle anon for inspiring part of this chapter 🫶

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(This is my all time favorite gif of him I swear I stare at it way too much)

You’re clawing at the door frame, desperately clinging to the last thing you can hold on to, the last shred of your life as you know it. You fight the hands pulling at your arms, threatening to pull you away from the comfort, the warmth, the safety of your home, of your pack. 

Your mothers grief-stricken sobs reach your ears, her cries of desperation as they rip you from her, your father’s hate filled gaze directed at you over her shoulder as he holds her back. She loves all her children, but you were always her favorite. The bond between you two was always the strongest. 

Now you know why. 

The arms rip you from the doorframe seconds before the door slams closed. It’s like a gavel strike declaring your fate, cutting you off from everything you knew. You’re pulled back from the door, from the house that had become your safe space, from the pack inside. 

They’re not your pack anymore. The thought is like a sharp knife, severing the lifelong bond in your mind. You’re not a part of them anymore. You’re alone in this world, cut off from what you knew, and it’s all your fault. 

If only you could have presented as an alpha, like you were supposed to. 

You’re sobbing, breaths coming in choking gasps. Your chest feels tight, your body tense and aching as you fight against the constricting hold around you. 

“Easy, easy.” A deep voice murmurs in your ear, your senses beginning to return. “Yer alright, kitten.” 

Your breaths continue to come in shaky gasps as you start to recognize your surroundings. You’re in Johnny’s room still. His arms are wrapped tight around you, your own pinned against your chest. You had fallen asleep before you even realized it, exhausted after your night with Johnny. 

“Ye were havin’ a nightmare.” He says, projecting his natural beta scent in an attempt to get you to relax. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the scent start to numb your brain. The tears continue to slide down your cheeks, but slowly your breathing begins to normalize. Johnny begins to loosen his hold around you, not letting you go, but enough that you don’t feel like you’re being constricted anymore. 

“Si gets them too.” Johnny continues, speaking quietly. His breath is warm as it fans your ear, reminding you that you’re awake now, and your nightmare is behind you. “Woken up tae elbows and fists in my face many times.” 

You keep your eyes closed, taking in deep breaths as Johnny lays with you in silence, his fingers gently stroking your arms. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You hadn’t meant to have a nightmare. Not in front of them. You knew it would happen eventually, but you had hoped you could avoid it as long as possible. 

You don’t want to reveal your weakness, your pain, your inner struggle to them. They have enough of their own, they don’t need to know how broken you are too. 

You lay there, slowly calming your breaths and the slight tremble in your limbs as you wait for Johnny to begin questioning you. He’ll want to know, he’ll want to hear what it is that’s plaguing your mind. You’ll have to tell him, you’ll have to explain everything and then he’ll want to know more. He’ll want to unearth the brokenness and the pain that you’ve buried so deeply like an archaeologist looking for the secrets of an ancient civilization. 

You don’t want to reveal it, you want to bury it again, lock it back in the recesses of your mind where it can’t hurt you. You want to compress it back down until you feel safe again without the threat of the past hanging over your head. 

Johnny continues to relax his hold around you as you begin to calm down again, the tears finally slowing to a stop. You take deep breaths, trying to match Johnny’s even breathing behind you. You wait for it, the inevitable question, the prodding, the digging. He’ll want answers, he’ll want to know what plagues your mind, how much it’s been happening, why you haven’t said anything. 

You’re not sure how much time passes as you lay there, counting breaths. It’s silent in the room, in the barracks. Even outside it’s quiet, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting patiently for the shoe to drop, for the truth to get revealed. 

You can't wait any longer. The tension is too thick, the thought of waiting for the question to break the silence is too much. You'll rip the bandaid before he can try and force it from you. “I don't-”

“Ye don't have tae tell me.” He cuts you off before you can even start, the words slicing through yours, stopping you from spilling your darkest, innermost thoughts. “We all have them sometimes. No shame in that.” He tightens his grip on you for a moment, pulling you closer against his chest. “Simon doesn't even tell me all of his. Thinks he might scare me off, or somethin'. I'm no’ gonnae force ye to tell me anythin’ if ye don’ want to.” 

You're taken aback by his words. You suppose they all have to be plagued by nightmares of their own, with the kinds of things they have to see when they're in the field. Ghost had told you a bit about the nightmares that haunt him, and that had only been one tragedy, one mission. You suddenly feel silly. The kinds of things you’re afraid of, the nightmares that terrify your mind suddenly seem inconsequential to the things they must dream about at night. 

You wiggle in Johnny’s arms until you’re facing him, his eyes half closed as he stares down at you. You shift forward, pressing your face against his bare chest. His head tucks so his chin rests against the top of your head as he holds you, his breathing slowing just slightly as he drifts back to sleep. You don’t sleep, laying there awake as you listen to the slow, rhythmic beating of Johnny’s heart. 

He’s snoring quietly, breath fanning across your hair as he sleeps peacefully. You let your fingers trail over his skin as you wait for his early alarm that will signal the end of your quiet moments of bliss, snapping you both back into your realities. You trace the scars lining his skin, all of them with their own stories, just like John’s. 

He makes a garbled, snorting noise as your fingers brush over his ribs, his entire body twitching. His hand moves, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Tickles.” He murmurs, lifting your arm so it’s draped around his neck. He's asleep almost immediately, as if he hadn't woken at all from your tickling. 

You continue to lay there as he sleeps, your mind drifting between sleep and your racing thoughts until Johnny’s alarm goes off. He groans, reaching across you to turn it off. He lays still, breath still fanning over the top of your head. For a moment you’re worried he’s fallen asleep again, but eventually he moves, rolling on top of you. 

He presses his face against your neck, letting out a quiet groan. He’s heavy, but a solid weight above you. It’s comforting, the weight of him like a blanket keeping you safe. He presses gentle kisses against your neck, his fingers trailing across your shoulder before brushing over your mark. You let out a whine, arching against him. 

“Screamin’ Jesus.” He curses, getting hard against your thigh. 

“Don’t you have to go work out?” You ask as he begins to grind against you. 

“Would rather stay here with you.” He growls against your throat. 

“Won’t you get in trouble?” You gasp, bucking up against him. 

“Worth it.” He grunts, kicking the sheets off the end of the bed. 

“Someone missed the morning workout.” Kyle says as you and Johnny sit down at the table for breakfast. You’re the last ones there, despite Johnny skipping his early morning workout. 

You take your normal spot between Kyle and John, sitting gingerly on the hard bench. There’s still a distinct ache between your thighs from Johnny’s enthusiasm and intense stamina last night and this morning.  

“Aye, don’t worry. I still got a good workout in.” Johnny says cheekily, winking across the table at you. 

You’re afraid you may combust as the other three pairs of eyes at the table look at you. It’s no secret what you were doing last night, or this morning. Johnny, as in most aspects of his life, is loud in bed. Kyle had known you were going to, and so had Simon, but you find your gaze turning to John as your face warms. 

You’re not quite sure what you’re expecting as you look at him. It’s not like he had forbidden you from pursuing relationships with the others, or even shown any distaste at the idea. You were open to love the other members of the pack, just as they did one another, just as he did. 

His face is stoic as he stares at you, before it begins to lighten, a gleam shining in his eyes. “Did he take good care of you?” He asks, the corner of his lips twitching. 

You swallow thickly, your face getting warmer as you nod. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” John grins. “ Then I suppose I can forgive him for sleeping in this morning, so long as it doesn’t become a habit.” He casts his glance across the table. 

“I’m a bad influence.” You say, spooning porridge into your mouth. 

“Certainly worth the trouble, though.” Johnny says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Especially when you do that thing with your tongue-”

Johnny’s words are cut off with a pained yelp as Ghost kicks him under the table. “Don’t go spilling all her tricks.” He grumbles, eyeing the tables around you. 

You think your face might be permanently warm at the thought of anyone nearby hearing the topic of your conversation. Of course they know, but hearing about it was something entirely different. 

Kyle walks you back to the barracks after breakfast, your hand in his, fingers laced together. His thumb rubs the back of your hand absentmindedly, shoulders brushing as you walk. Neither of you say anything, but you don’t have to. Unlike Johnny, Kyle is happy to exist in silence. They’re so very different, despite both being betas. 

Your brothers had often joked about betas being boring, and how glad they were that neither of your parents were betas. You’d disagree now, after spending some time around betas. They’re just as complex as alphas and omegas, in their own ways. 

Boring was the last thing you’d describe Johnny as last night. 

Kyle holds the door for you as you enter the barracks, following you down the hall. You stop in front of your door, your hand pausing on the knob as Kyle leans in close to you. 

His chest presses against your back, breath fanning your ear as he speaks. “Can’t wait to find out about this trick you do with your tongue.” 

Your face warms again, your heart thudding in your chest as you turn to look up at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “You could find out right now.” 

Kyle’s lips lift in a smirk as he leans in closer, trapping you against the door. “I’d love to, but I don’t think the Captain would be quite so forgiving if I skipped out on this training.” 

You stare up at him, lost in his big brown eyes. “Soon?” 

He smirks, leaning down to kiss you. “Of course. Just say the word.” 

He leaves you there with your heart thudding in your chest, your stomach churning in excitement. You’d be more than willing to go that extra step with Kyle right at this very moment, but the subtle ache between your thighs thanks to Johnny is a good reminder why you should wait. You want to enjoy your time with Kyle.

You know it will be worth the wait. 

“How have you been?” 

You shrug, sinking back into the plush chair. It’s warm in the office, a stark contrast to the cold downpour outside. “Fine.” You answer, running your hands over your jeans. “Tired.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises an eyebrow at you. “Have you not been sleeping well?” 

“I’m...having a hard time falling asleep.” You say. It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. 

“Why do you think that is?” She asks, writing something down. 

Your palms begin to sweat. You hadn’t planned on going into too much detail about this with her, but you knew she’d likely notice and remark on your tired appearance. “Been thinking too much.” 

“About what?” She probes, staring at you. 

You know you don’t have to tell her anything. What you share is up to you. Yet, you can feel the words bubbling up, threatening to spill over before you can stop them. “My family.” You say, releasing some steam from the boiling pot inside you. Tears burn your eyes, threatening to fall as you continue. “Especially my mom. I miss her a lot sometimes.” 

“You had a close bond with her.” Dr. Keller says. It’s not a question. 

You nod. “The closest out of all of my siblings.” You snuffle, wiping the tear trailing down your cheek. “Makes sense why.” 

“Sometimes we have traits or behaviors that show before we present that hint at our possible status. Having a stronger bond with one parent over another, especially in mixed status packs, can signal what one might present as.” Dr. Keller says. “Were you the first omega to present in your pack?” 

You nod. “Yeah. My older brothers were alphas, and I don’t know about my younger siblings.” 

“That could all contribute to a strong bond with your mother.” Dr. Keller leans back in her seat. “I’m assuming you haven’t had any contact with them since the institute.” 

“Not since I was taken from home. The institute didn’t support keeping those connections with previous packs and...I don’t think they would have reached out anyway.” You say, picking at the fabric of your pants. 

“What makes you say that?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You pause, not sure you want to open that bag of worms. If anyone is safe enough to do it with, you know it’s going to be Dr. Keller. She won’t judge you, she won’t think you weak or silly for having such thoughts, such fears. She doesn’t care how broken you are. You’re not part of her pack. She’s an outsider, a doctor above all. 

“Well, they did send me to the institute, didn’t they?” You finally say. 

Dr. Keller hums, staring at you for a moment before she drops her gaze to her notebook, writing something down. “I suppose you have a point there. Hypothetically, if you were given the chance to, would you want to talk to them again? It’s not uncommon for omegas to seek out their previous packs and families after they leave the institute.” 

Your stomach twists at her question. Even if it is only hypothetical, you had existed for years in the institute thinking you’d never get to see or hear from your family again. They were behind you, lost to you. They wouldn’t accept your attempts to reach out to them, even if you knew where they were. Even after leaving the institute, you knew the chances of seeing them again or even just hearing from them was almost none. You have a new pack now, your old one doesn’t matter. 

That’s just the life of an omega. 

Would you want to? In this hypothetical world where this question exists as a potential option, would they even answer if you called? Would they accept an invitation to see you again, if they were given the chance? Could your father feel regret after all of these years for what he did to you? 

“I...” You frown, tears pricking your eyes again. “I don’t know.” 

“That’s okay.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s a complex situation. If you ever wanted to, though, I’m sure they could make it happen.” 

Your gaze snaps to hers, the shock at her words clearly written on your face. Of course they probably could. It was their job to hunt down hard to find people, and with the CIA at their backs, you’re certain they could track down your family easily. Would they do it for you, if you asked? Would they allow you to have that connection with your old pack while still being part of theirs? 

“Most people keep some form of contact with their family, even after they move on to their own pack.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s not unusual, even among omegas. Just something to think about.” 

“Do you still talk to your family?” You ask her, partly out of curiosity. 

“I do.” She smiles. “I talk to my parents pretty regularly, and my older brother occasionally. He’s involved in this world too. He was in the Army originally, but now he does whatever it is he does.” 

You’re surprised by her answer. Not so much that she still talks to her family, but that she’s familiar with this world. It makes sense, how easily she existed in it, beyond just being a professional. “Do you think it had something to do with you being chosen for this position?” You ask. 

“Most likely.” She grins. “Laswell probably wanted someone who is at least a little familiar with this world, but also someone she knew would work well with you.” 

“I think she made the right choice.” You say. It’s the truth. You like Dr. Keller. You trust her. You’ve grown comfortable in her presence and you look forward to your appointments with her. It almost makes you feel bad for withholding the truth from her. 

“Good. I think so too.” She says. “So, did anything exciting happen this week?” 

You chew on your lip nervously, your hands disappearing into your sleeves as your face warms a bit. “Johnny and I...had our first time together.” 

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise. “And that’s something you wanted?” 

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like to get close to all of them, well, as close as Ghost will let me get.” You bite your lip again. “Ghost...gave me some pointers on how to handle Johnny. It worked. He...let me take control. I liked it.” 

“Nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Keller says. “I think it’s great that you’ve discovered this about yourself. I know omegas are so used to being controlled in society. I think it’s great that you’ve found a place where perhaps you can take a little control back.” 

She’s not wrong. Your entire life has been dictated for you, controlled by someone else. The baton of control was just continually passed from your father, to the institute, to the CIA, and now to John. Though John has granted you the most freedom of everyone that’s held control over you, there’s still requirements for obedience and submission to him. You’ll never be your own person. That’s just the way society works, and you’ve come to accept that. 

Yet, you’ve never felt quite so powerful as you did in bed with Johnny, when you’d gripped him by the mohawk like Ghost had instructed you to. When you saw the change in his eyes as you took over, controlling him, telling him what to do. You liked it, exerting control over someone else for a change. He just let you do it. It still sends a thrill down your spine at the thought of the possibilities, the things you can do now that you’ve discovered this part of yourself. You’d never show it in public, but behind closed doors...

The book was right. Perhaps omegas can be powerful. 

“What are we doing?” You ask, staring up at John as he straps a tactical vest onto your body. 

“We’re doing an exercise, and you’re going to help us.” He answers, double checking the vest before putting a helmet on your head. “Think of it as hide and seek mixed with tag.” He finishes strapping the helmet to your head, taking a step back. “How does it feel?” 

“Heavy.” You feel weighed down with the vest and the helmet.

“You’ll get used to it.” He says with a smile, guiding you towards the door of the warehouse. 

It’s dark inside, nearly pitch black except for the light coming in from the open door. There’s fake walls set up in front of you, with space just in the middle like a sort of hallway that disappears into the darkness. 

“Your job is to get from this side of the warehouse, to the other without getting caught.” John says. “No weapons, just you trying to evade us and get to the other side while we try and catch you,” John lowers the goggles on the top of the helmet, the world coming alive in shades of green around you. “And night vision goggles. Be smart about it. Understood?” 

You nod, looking around with the goggles, trying to adapt to using them. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good. You have a thirty second head start. Use it wisely.” 

He leaves the warehouse, closing the door behind him. You’re left in complete darkness, with no sound but a fan running somewhere, probably to dampen any sounds that might echo. You stand there for a moment, trying not to breathe too heavily, as it might echo in the warehouse. You stare at the door behind you for a second before you begin to move forward, the adrenaline starting to pump. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they catch you. Are they working together or individually? What kind of strategy will they use? What strategy will you use? 

You begin to pick up speed, running until you reach the end of the first hallway. It splits off in both directions, and you hesitate for a moment. Be smart about it. You don’t have many advantages in this situation. They’ve done this before, both in training and probably in the field as well. They’re highly skilled soldiers, trained to hunt down people in all sorts of environments, sometimes with nothing more than their scent. 

Scent. 

Of course. 

You take off down the right hallway, following it as it twists and turns like a maze. A giant maze. There’s so many hallways, so many places to run, but not many to hide. That’s not the point, though. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they do. You have to track your way through this maze without getting caught by four special operations soldiers. 

Simple enough. 

You pause at a corner, undoing your vest so you can slip your sweatshirt off. You’re just putting your vest back on when the door opens, bathing the ceiling with light for a moment. It’s started. They’re inside. You can’t hear anything over the hum of the fan, and that’s almost more terrifying to you than if you had been able to hear them. The adrenaline is pumping now as you toss your sweatshirt in the corner before quickly backtracking and heading a different direction.

You try to keep your breathing quiet as you weave through the maze, doubling back and touching the walls every so often to try and leave your scent behind and confuse them. You take deep breaths through your nose as you go, trying to catch any whiff of them, any sign that you might have crossed their path or be getting close to them. They’ll reach the same area of the maze as you’re in eventually, sooner rather than later. You need to start pressing forward. You’re not just evading them, you have to reach the other side before they catch you. 

You slip around a corner, pressing up against the wall as something moves behind you. You hold your breath, quiet footsteps passing by your position. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, the instinctual fear of being hunted rising in you. You take a couple of quiet deep breaths, slipping your shoes off to grab your socks before slipping them back on. You peek around the corner, finding nothing. 

You toss one of your socks in the corner before doubling back, pausing as you cross one of their scents. Johnny. You recognize the citrusy tang in the air. Christ, you’ve never heard him be that quiet before. You continue on, your heart racing in your chest as you carefully weave around corners, slipping through hallways. They’re close to you now. They could be around any corner. 

You pause as you cross the scent of leather and musk, something prickling in the back of your mind. It’s a fresh scent. You pause for a moment, looking in the direction he went before slipping around the corner. You still have your other sock clutched in your hand, knuckles white as you grip it tightly. 

You should be nearing the end. The warehouse isn’t that big, even with all the doubling back and dodging you’ve been doing. You toss your other sock in a corner haphazardly as you decide to stop doubling back and go for the exit. You have to try and get ahead of them, as well as find your way through the maze to the exit door. 

Simple enough. 

Except, you have no idea which direction the exit is, or which direction you’re heading. You could be going backwards for all you know. You weave through the halls, around the corners, focusing on finding the end of the maze. 

In your concentration you fail to notice the scent, weaving through the halls mindlessly as you attempt to reach the end of the maze. You pay for it as the sound of boots on the concrete floor rushes up behind you. You let out a startled shriek of surprise as your feet leave the floor, your body ragdolling over someone’s shoulder. 

“Got her!” He yells out, weaving around a couple corners before light floods the warehouse, making you wince. 

Your squint as your feet hit the ground again, the night vision goggles lifted from your face. Your nose crinkles as you stare up at Kyle’s smug face, his lips pulled up in a smirk. 

“No fair.” You pout. “I was so close!” 

“You were, but you got sloppy at the end there.” He says, undoing the strap of your helmet to help you take it off. You’re sweaty underneath it, hair sticking to your forehead. You’re glad you ditched your sweatshirt now. 

“Not bad.” John says, exiting the warehouse, Ghost and Johnny following. “Nice strategy.” He says, tossing your sweatshirt to you. 

You shrug, hugging it to your chest. “Had to think fast with what I had on hand.” 

“Running around with no socks on too.” Ghost says, holding up your socks. 

“Left you a little present. You can keep them if you want.” You smirk. 

“Don’t want your nasty socks.” He grumbles, tossing them to you. 

“That was fun.” You say, grinning up at them. “Like being hunted.” You don’t miss the quiet rumble in John’s chest at your words, his eyes darkening just a bit. “Can someone help me out of this now though,” You say, reaching for the velcro straps on the vest. “It’s squishing my boobs.” 

The TV is playing some show, but you're not really paying attention. You haven't been, not for a while now. Your adrenaline had still been pumping a bit after your participation in the exercise earlier, putting you on edge the rest of the day. It had been a bit thrilling, the idea of being hunted like that. You can understand now how omegas enjoy being hunted, beyond just the inevitable end. 

The thought of that being how the exercise ended, all four of them at once, out where anyone could see you...your skin begins to prickle as heat blossoms in your veins. Kyle would get to take you first because he won, he caught you so easily. Would John go second, or would he allow the other members of his pack to go first? Ghost would be rough, taking you from behind, hands bruising on your hips. Your teeth sink into your lip as you imagine him over you, a position you often found yourself in during your training with him. He's just so big, so strong. They all are. 

You won't be able to control yourself during training if you keep going down that thought path. 

John would be gentle, piecing you back together after the others have had their way with you. He'd take care of you, like a good alpha, dragging one more orgasm out of you after you think you can't anymore. 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your scent. You're stinking up the rec room with your fantasies. You turn your head to look at the TV, trying to focus on what's happening on the screen in an effort to distract yourself. 

It doesn't work, the subtle dampness between your thighs ever present on your mind. You have half a mind to get up and seek out Kyle, but like a miracle he appears in the doorway of the rec room. You see his nostrils flare, the lift of his shoulders as he inhales. He can smell your arousal, the spike in the sweetness of your scent. You have no doubt about that. He doesn't say anything, though, instead he approaches the couch silently, kneeling at the end. 

He settles himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest. He lets out a breath as he settles, keeping some of his weight off of you, but he's still pressed against you like a weighted blanket. You fight the urge to shift beneath him, to press your hips up against him, to seek any ounce of relief for the warmth between your thighs. 

You're not sure he's watching the TV either as he lays there, relaxed over you. Your fingers trail patterns across his back, gliding over his soft shirt. He's in blue today, one of your favorite colors on him. He looks good in anything, the perks of being pretty, but blue is one of your favorite colors on him. 

It's silent between you for a while, Kyle relaxed above you while you fight to relax beneath him. If he’s affected at all by your scent, he hides it well. You have half a mind to ask him to take pity on you, to slip his hand beneath your sweatpants and ease the ache between your thighs. He had said whenever you wanted it. All you have to do is ask. 

You shift slightly beneath him, lifting your hand to his head. “Kyle?” You ask, gently trailing your fingers over his scalp. He'd gotten his hair buzzed recently, the curly strands shorter than normal. 

He hums in response, the sound rumbling through your body from where his head rests on your chest. When you don't reply right away he lifts his head, blinking up at you with those big brown eyes. 

“Kiss me?” You ask. 

Your heart starts to race as he pulls himself closer to you, his body dragging against yours. His eyes dart to your lips before they look back into yours for a moment. He leans down, slipping his arms underneath your back as he closes the gap between you. His lips are soft against yours, his kisses gentle and controlled as he holds you like you might break in his grasp. 

“Kyle?” You murmur against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

He hums again in response, pulling away just slightly to stare down at you. 

“‘M not gonna break.” You say, dragging your nails over his scalp again. “Kiss me like you mean it.” 

His lips twitch in a smirk before he leans down, pressing his lips hard against yours. It’s a searing kiss that nearly steals your breath away. His tongue prods at your lips, and you part them to allow him in. He tastes like the tea he had been drinking after dinner, rich and earthy with a hint of sweetness from the sugar he added. You moan softly into his mouth as his tongue flicks against your own, your thighs squeezing around his waist at the thought of that tongue between your legs. 

He smirks against your lips as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, his body shifting over yours so he can press one of his thighs between your legs. You move instinctively, your hips grinding against his thigh. Finally you're getting some friction, some relief from the ache. 

“Fuck.” He breathes, pulling you tighter against his chest. “That’s it.” He groans, pressing his thigh harder against your grinding hips. “Gonna cum on my thigh, just like that?” He nips at your jaw, trailing kisses down the line towards your neck. “Haven’t even touched you yet.” 

You try to muffle your moans as you continue to grind against his thigh, the friction on your clit pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Kyle?” You gasp out, gripping the back of his shirt. “Gonna fuck me on the rec room couch?” 

He lifts his head from your neck, staring down at you for a moment. “Fuck, you’re right. Your room or mine?” 

“Yours.” You say, hanging on for dear life as he scoops you up off the couch, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

He walks you to his room, carrying you the entire way. He kicks the door shut, beelining for his bed. He drops you down on the mattress, your body bouncing as he hastily peels his shirt off, revealing an expanse of smooth skin marked here and there by scars. You immediately reach out, trailing your fingers over his skin. It’s just as soft as it looks, your fingers trailing the lines of his muscles. 

His hand flattens over yours as it reaches his chest, pressing it into his warm skin as he leans down, kissing you again. His hands slip under your thighs, lifting you and switching your positions so he’s seated on the bed, and you’re in his lap. 

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He says, looking up at you. 

“I think it’s been mentioned before.” You say with a shrug, smiling down at him. 

“It’s the truth.” He says, slipping his hands under your shirt. “Deserve to hear it all the time.” 

“Bunch of handsome men complimenting me constantly?” You say, lifting your arms over your head so he can remove your shirt. “Can’t complain about that.” 

“Luckiest men in the world.” He says, smoothing his hands across your back as he presses his face into your throat. “Pretty little omega.” 

You shiver as his teeth nip at your skin, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arch against his chest, pressing yourself closer. There’s a bulge in his pants, a shiver of pride running through you at the thought that you did that to him. You elicited such a reaction from him. 

“I never properly thanked you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“For what?” He asks, staring up at you curiously. 

“For taking such good care of me during my heat. Couldn’t have been easy, seeing me like that, knowing you couldn’t even touch me.” You grind your hips against his, his teeth sinking into his lip as you grind against his bulge. “Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself while thinking about me?” 

“Too many to count, love.” He groans, leaning his forehead against yours. “Sounded so sweet, getting ruined by our alpha.” 

“Been so patient, waiting for this.” You gasp, still rocking in his lap, the wetness between your thighs intensifying from the friction. “Tell me how you want me.” 

“Sit on my face.” He growls, pushing you off his lap so he can lay down on the bed. 

You shove your pants and underwear down your legs, fighting the urge to be bashful. Kyle has already seen you at your most vulnerable, been up close and personal with your most private parts. Yet, it feels different like this. More intimate, and less of a necessity. 

You take his hand as he offers it, letting him guide you to kneel over his face. You grip the headboard as you hover over him, his hands settling on your hips. 

“Wait-” You say, before he can pull you down onto his face. “What if I suffocate you?” 

“Then I’ll die a happy man.” He says, tugging you down onto his mouth. 

You let out a gasp as his tongue drags through your folds, already soaked from his teasing. His tongue flicks across your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. Your hips jerk when his mouth closes around your clit, suckling at it with a lewd smack of his lips. 

“Fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips against his face as he continues to tease your clit, drawing patterns on it with his tongue. 

You’re close already, your legs trembling around his head. He holds you steady, keeping you still above him as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it harshly. Your knees attempt to squeeze around his head as you cum, soaking his face with a cry. He continues to lap at your folds, licking up every last bit of your release before he finally lets you move off his face.

You drop to the side, staring down at him as you try to catch your breath. He licks his lips, his face shiny with your juices. He reaches a hand over, tangling his fingers in your hair as he pulls your face down to his, kissing you. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue and lips, already starting to get wet again. 

Kyle wraps his arms around you, flipping you onto your back under him. He hovers over you, the bulge in his pants very visible, even from this position. 

“Sweet little omega.” He says, nipping at your lips. “So fucking perfect.” 

“Kyle,” You gasp, pulling him down into a kiss. “Need you.” 

“I got you.” He soothes you, pressing another kiss to your lips before he sits back on his knees between your legs, staring down at you. He drags his fingers through your folds, still just as slick as they had been before your orgasm. “So fucking wet.” He groans, hastily undoing his belt and pants, kicking them off the end of the bed. 

You stare at him in awe, his cock just as beautiful as he is. Long and thick, curved just slightly. You can’t help but ogle him as he wraps a hand around the base, squeezing it. He’s hard, raging hard, the tip leaking precum already. He really has been so patient, waiting for this. You almost feel bad making him wait so long, but he had agreed to be patient, if only to keep Johnny from making everyone’s lives miserable with his pouting if he didn’t get to go first. 

It’s only fair that you let Johnny go first too, considering Kyle will likely be the one you spend the most time with. It’s only natural, thanks to your bond with John. Kyle’s your beta, just as much as John is your alpha. You’d like Johnny to be your beta too, but you know without that bond with Ghost, it’ll never feel quite the same as it does with Kyle. Regardless, you’ll continue to treat Johnny as if he was your beta. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Kyle asks, watching you as you get lost in thought.

You truly do it at the worst possible times.

You lift your gaze to his, staring into those big brown eyes. “Just waiting on you to hurry up and fuck me.” 

You let out a yelp as Kyle’s hand smacks your inner thigh, the sound cracking through the room. 

“Don’t get cheeky now.” He warns, rubbing the spot on your skin that’s quickly turning warm from his smack. “Just making sure you’re alright.” 

“Fine.” You say, spreading your legs further for him. “Be better if you finally fucked me.” 

Your laugh is broken by a moan as he drags his head through your folds, his hand falling to grip your waist. 

“That needy for me, huh?” He asks, teasingly pressing the tip of his cock into you before pulling back. 

“Just worried you might not make it since you’ve waited so long.” You gasp, trying to move your hips to take him deeper into you, but he pins you with the hand on your hip. 

“Careful what you wish for.” He says, the warning clear in his tone. You handled Johnny just fine, you can certainly handle Kyle. 

You hope. 

He finally takes pity on you, sinking his cock deeper into you. You moan at the stretch, flopping back on the bed as you try to relax around him. He rolls his hips in short thrusts, sinking deeper and deeper as you open up to him. You reach for him as he sinks even further into you, his body folding over yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring up at him as he seats himself completely inside you, hips pressed flush against yours. 

“Hi.” You breathe, getting lost in his soft gaze. 

“Hi, love.” He grins down at you, fingers brushing your cheeks as he leans on his elbows above you. “Doing alright?” 

You nod, squeezing around him. “Yeah. Feels good.” 

“Good.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. “Been waiting so long for this. Feels better than I imagined.” 

You let out a quiet whine, clenching around him again. The thought of him imagining this, trying to picture what you’d look like, what you’d feel like while he waited patiently for his turn has your body burning hot. You shift your hips below him, causing him to move inside you. 

“Kyle?” You breathe, shifting again. “Please move.” 

“I got you, love.” He smiles down at you, pulling his hips back before slowly pressing forward again. 

Your head falls back as he moves, keeping his pace slow and languid. Heat burns through your veins, your very nerve endings alive as he slowly rolls his hips into you. Something thrums in the back of your mind, the mark on your shoulder almost tingling as you stare up at him, your fingers trailing over the mark on his shoulder, a mirror of the one on your own. A shudder runs through him as your fingers brush the scar, his lips parting in a low groan. You clench around him at the sight of such unbridled pleasure on his face, pulling him closer against your body.

He drags your pleasure out as he makes love to you, slow and passionate and deliberate with every movement. You know you won’t last much longer, the sensations beginning to overwhelm you. 

“I’m close.” You breathe into Kyle’s ear, pressing kisses across his neck. “Don’t stop.” 

“Gonna cum for me?” He groans, keeping his thrusts steady. “Gonna let me see that beautiful face as you come undone for me?” 

Your back arches as you cum, pushed over the edge by his words. Your nails bite into his shoulders, but he offers no complaint as he continues to roll his hips into yours, working you through your orgasm as he chases his own. His pace picks up slightly as he gets closer and closer to the edge, your eyes on his face, wanting to watch him now. 

“Your turn.” You breathe, still trying to catch your breath from your orgasm as you clench around him. 

His head tilts back, lips parted in a deep moan as his hips jerk. His cock twitches inside you, his thrusts getting sloppy as he cums. You trail your hands over his back, sinking your teeth into your lip as you watch his face morph into complete bliss. You’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful. 

He collapses on top of you, just managing to keep his weight off of you thanks to his elbows planted on the bed beside your head. You continue to rub his back, fingers tracing the smooth, sweat slicked skin, only pausing to trace the scars that you find. Kyle presses soft kisses to your face, slowly trailing lower across your jaw and neck. He presses a kiss to your mark, a shudder running through you. He lets out a groan as you clench around him, shifting so he’s face to face with you again. 

“Give me a minute.” He says, slipping out of you as he presses a kiss to your lips. 

“Tired already?” You ask cheekily. 

“No,” He says, kissing you again before slowly sliding down your body. “Just need a minute to catch my breath. Besides,” He settles between your thighs, pressing them open so he’s face to face with your pussy. “I’ve got a mess to clean up.” 

You stand outside the door of John’s office, brows pulled into a frown. You have a feeling you already know what he’s going to say, yet your mind keeps reeling, coming up with the most fantastical ideas as to why you were summoned to his office in the middle of the day. It’s weird that he’s in his office in the middle of the day. Usually they’d be off training, but he’d pulled them all into a meeting this morning after breakfast, one that had gone into your usual lunch time, and then they hadn’t gone to train after you finally got to eat. 

“Come in.” 

Your hand pauses on the handle as you hesitate, almost as if you could prevent what’s going to happen by just not going in. It’s a ridiculous thought. Avoiding this will only likely get you into trouble. 

You step into the office, the air inside different from any of the other times you’ve been in his office. John’s face looks grim and focused behind his desk, and it’s not hard to tell you’re not facing John right now, you’re facing Captain Price. 

You take the seat across from him at his desk when he motions to it, trying to fight the tears threatening to brim in your eyes as you stare at him. You won’t cry. You knew this was going to happen eventually. You knew going in what was going to inevitably happen. You had been well prepared for this part of your new reality, yet you don’t want to acknowledge it now that you’re staring it in the face. 

“I know you’ve likely already figured out what’s going on.” He says, his voice gruff and deeper than normal. 

You can see it in his face. He’s fighting his own battle with having to tell you. You hadn’t expected it, to see him struggle with it. He knew it as well as you did. He knew it better than you did, and yet, you can see the turmoil behind that focused gaze. 

He lets out a sigh as he continues, hands closing into fists on his desk, his tone almost apologetic. The words sting despite the fact you had known they were coming, despite the fact you had expected them when you walked into the office. “This morning we had a debrief for a new assignment. We’ll be leaving tonight. All four of us.”  

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