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writing-mlm · 4 months

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Blue-pilled man [D.W]

Summary: Sophomore year of college and life is good-- until Bruce invites your family to Thanksgiving. Thankfully your boyfriend is there to distract you-- wait, boyfriend??? Pairing: Damian Wayne x male!reader WC: 9.3k

A glitch in the system is what you’d considered yourself. There wasn’t supposed to be anything special about you, the middle child born from the rare chance the birth control didn’t work. The failed plan B. The unimportant middle child in a large family living along the West Coast. You hadn’t been anyone special, you hadn’t done anything remarkable with your life.

You’d graduated high school and flew across the country to Gotham of all places. Low housing costs, honestly, was the only reason. You’d been going to Gotham University for what? Five or so months before you’d gotten an internship at Wayne Enterprise for your major in business. It was going fine, you met some other interns and made fast friends and went out with them as often as you could.

Which is probably where you fucked up. You’d gone out to someone’s birthday party in a club, fake IDs locked in. It was fun, from what you could remember. And you were all going to head out since it was a Sunday— poor choice, you know but you went to use the bathroom when someone shoved some blue pill into your mouth. But at the time you were too drunk to care about what it was. It tasted like a mint though, so you assumed that’s what it was and thanked them for the breath mint before heading to meet your friends in the Uber.

The next morning you woke up with a raging headache and the need to vomit. Unfortunately for you, you had a meeting with the Bruce Fucking Wayne. Apparently, he interviewed each intern a couple of months into their internship and it was your turn. Surprise!

But thankfully, it led to where you are now.

As a Junior in college, you like to think you’ve been doing this long enough to get the hang of it. You’ve also been granted off-campus housing. Which was fucking amazing. You lived with one person and get this… he’s Bruce Wayne’s son! Honestly, for a nepotism baby, he was cool.

Plus, he was Robin. So it made going out to fight crime at night so much easier, and his dad— your boss in more ways than one, always understood why you were late to work. But it also meant he called you whenever Robin was called in.

“Player!” Robin shouts as you leap from roof to roof, leaving an animated dust cloud after you. “Player!” He repeats this time his voice cutting through your comms. “You’re going the wrong way!” He groans and you land on the roof, confused. He watches as you tap in the air and a holographic map pops up, taking over your field of view.

“Oh, shit!” You say, tapping a button on the bottom of the map and it shoots back to the corner it came from. “My bad, Rob!” Tapping on your waist bag, you see a selection of food and swipe to find a glowing lollipop. “Heading your way now!” Popping the lollipop into your mouth, you feel a surge over you and look down at your boots. There’s a green glow on them and you nod to yourself before jumping to the roof that was closest to him.

He nods when he sees you following him, taking off towards the robbery happening at a local, beloved restaurant.

“You think they’ll be open tomorrow?” You ask, catching up to Robin just as the two of you jump down from the roof and land across the block from the restaurant. “I was thinking we get some of their food for dinner tomorrow.” He glances at you then sighs, heading towards the restaurant.

“Considering no one’s dead, yes.” He says once he's halfway across the block. You grin and catch up to him, already scanning through your inventory for where you kept handcuffs.

—

“Do you reckon I could be a mad scientist?” You ask Damian as you walk into his bedroom, not even looking up from your laptop. “Or could I get roped into a cult? Am I cult material?” Sitting on his bed, you tuck one leg under you and let the other dangle off of the bed. “I don’t think I’m cult material, I’m not easy to peer pressure,” You mutter.

“No,” He sighs, setting his own laptop down next to him but he doesn’t close it. “You couldn't be a mad scientist but you would get sucked into a cult.” Gasping, you look up at him and blink.

“Nuh-uh! How?” Crossing your arms, you sit properly on his bed and shut your laptop.

“You almost signed up for the Church of Scientology last week because they asked if you wanted to take a personality test. Every time you pass by a club that asks you to join, you sit on it for a week before declining because I remind you that you’re a full-time college student with a job and a vigilante!” He lists and you huff, throwing yourself onto his bed. “It’s not your fault, though. Growing up in an environment where you didn’t feel loved would lead to a person being more susceptible to a cult. They make you feel needed, wanted.” God, you hated that he had taken that psychology course.

“Ouch,” You mutter, resting your hands on your stomach. Looking over at him, you see he’s gone back to doing his work. “Do you want me?” You ask and he glances up at you before looking back to your laptop.

“In my room? Depends on my mood.” He shrugs.

“In your life, I mean.” He looks at you this time, his hands ready to close his laptop.

“I do,” He gives one strong nod. “Considering I agreed to live with you until we graduate, I would hope I’d… enjoy your company.” Smiling, you look back to the ceiling. His ceiling is bare, although you can see the marks from the times you’ve thrown sticky balls to the ceiling and pieces got left behind. You wonder why he hadn’t taken those off yet.

Damian’s room isn’t what you had expected it to be. He has various art materials set up around his room, an entire section of his room is dedicated to his pets like their beds and toys, and his walls are covered in various items. You see drawings, news clippings, posters of various famous people he enjoys, and a full-length mirror was nailed to the back of his door. He doesn’t have a rug, he says Alfred the cat likes to tear those up. But he does have a curtain that looks like a rug.

Not to mention his swords.

His bed is nice, too. Bruce had spared no expense furnishing the place, he’d gotten the best beds possible for the two of you. Damian preferred a firmer bed, he never liked the feeling of sinking into a bed and not being in control of that. He also needed space for his pets, since there was no rule about how many could sleep in his bed now that he no longer lived in the manor. Prior to moving in, you’d pegged him as a one-pillow type of guy. But he had an absolute mountain of pillows, most of which he didn’t even use.

Tapping on the transparent food icon that was always in the corner of your eye, you watch as your inventory materializes above your body. You widen the bar into a grid and scroll until you reach a water bottle.

“Want one?” You ask. “They’re cold.” He hums and you pluck two water bottles out from the bar and toss one to him. Of course, being Damian, he catches it without looking up from his work and you roll your eyes.

“Thank you,” He says as you close out your food inventory.

Honestly, major fucking thank you to that blue pill guy. Whatever was in it had made you into your very own video game character. You could even change your appearance! It was so fucking cool, you could find random items lying around and literally create a bomb in two seconds!

Not that you’ve ever done that.

Sitting up, you take a slow sip of the water as Ace trots over to you and lifts his paw. Grinning, you pat the bed and he jumps up, bumping his nose to your arm as a greeting before curling up at Damian’s side. He glances down at his dog and mindlessly pets him along his spine.

“Have you studied yet?” He asks, lifting his eyes from his screen to meet yours for a brief moment. Capping the bottle, you toss it back into your inventory and lean back on his bed.

“A little,” You admit. “Between jobs and class, I haven’t had time. Was gonna during break, though.” He raises an eyebrow and you shove his foot. “Sorry some of us won’t be visiting family and will have an entire week to do nothing!”

“Oh, and where do you think you’re staying?” He asks, finally fully closing his laptop and setting it on his nightstand.

“Here,” You shrug as if the answer was obvious.

“Father wants you at the manor, he’s invited you to Thanksgiving,” This is news to you. Looking at him, you see Damian is looking at you before he turns his attention back to Ace. He’s old, you note. He’s gotten the powered face and you’re pretty sure he’s been sleeping on the sofa while watching late-night game shows. He even snores now.

“Oh, thanks so much for the heads up!” Scratching his backside, Ace’s leg kicks and you chuckle. His eyes crack open when you stop and he moves to nudge your hand, letting out a small howl.

“Don’t be cruel, he’s old.” Damian gestures to the dog who’s doing his best to look like he’s about to cry. Where he learned that, you’ll never know. But you lay down properly on the bed and continue to pet him. Damian pets his head, and you just barely register that he probably doesn’t want you to smash his pillows underneath you. Adjusting yourself, you look around for Alfred.

He’s awake in his cat tree, but his tail is slowly swishing in the air. A little harshly, you might add.

“Someone’s jealous,” You joke, and Damian follows where you’re looking. “Come and get pet, Alfred!” The cat lets out a chipper merwl and leaps from his place on the tree and onto the floor. There are two small thumps, one from the front paws hitting the floor and the second from the back paws. Alfred flicks his tail as he lands before jumping onto the bed in one big jump.

He nudges your free hand and when you lift it, crawls underneath forcing you to pet along his back before he settles on your chest. One thing about cats is that despite their small size, when they’re sitting directly over your ribcage they all but quadruple in weight.

“Ow,” You bite back a groan, closing one eye and slowly easing onto Damian’s pillows. “Lay down, please,” Whispering to Alfred, he blinks and then plops down as if his bones had just gone away. Chuckling, you pet wherever he asks and close your eyes.

“Fathers texted,” Damian mutters, shifting down on the bed so he could comfortably lie down. “We’re patrolling tomorrow,”

“Thank god, not tonight,” You huff, looking down at Alfred whose content on your chest. He’s purring loudly, and his front paws are neatly tucked under his body while his lower half is splayed out to the side. His eyes don’t leave your face, though. They’re half-lidded like he’s fighting sleep and you see his head rocking a bit. Scratching his forehead, he pushes his head further into your fingers and gives one lick before laying his head flat on your chest.

“He likes you too much,” Damian chides. “He’s a traitor!” Alfred doesn’t miss a beat as he rolls to turn his back to Damian, letting out the loudest sigh he can muster in his very tiny body.

“He’s a baby!” You protest. “Ain’t that right, Alfie?” In response, Alfred flicks his tail once, slowly lowering it back down to your stomach. “See,” Looking over at Damian, you see him watching his cat with an almost envious glare before he looks at you.

“You know it took me five hours to train him?” He asks as Ace gets up and jumps off of the bed. You watch for a second as he paws the door open before slipping into the hallway. Damian scoots a bit closer and raises his hand to pet Alfred. “He was totally feral before me.”

“Ah, so he was you before Bruce?” The tease is clear in your voice, your eyebrows wiggling and your chest shakes a little bit when you see his reaction.

“I wasn’t feral,” He bites, looking over at you.

“You stabbed your brothers,” You softly remind him and he scoffs, laying his head down on the same pillow you were using. But neither of you seems to notice or care.

“If they could get stabbed by a ten-year-old, they deserved it.”

Alfred stands up, his back rising to comical heights before he spawns and stretches over to Damian.

“Traitor,” You frown, rolling to your side and watching as he lays down on Damian, his tail curling under his body.

“He knows where home is,” Damian jokes, making you scoff.

“I’m gonna go take a shit,” You mutter and press a kiss to Damian’s forehead. Somewhere in your mind, it was intended for Alfred, but you missed it and didn’t realize it until you were at the door.

“I don’t mind,” Damian said when he noticed you had paused at the door.

“…Okay…” You hum and leave his room. It’s not like you’ll make a habit out of it.

—

A week later you’re both in the apartment's living room, Damian is busy working on this art project he’s been working on and you’re cramming for your last final of the semester. You’re sure if you read another word in that stupid textbook you’re going to explode and huff, slamming it shut before tossing it onto the pile that had amassed on the floor.

You need to do something else. Looking towards the kitchen you squint, food? No. Sighing, you look towards Damian. He’s focused on his drawing, you’d hate to disturb him. Your attention drifts down to your phone that’s vibrating on the coffee table.

Perfect timing.

You grab your phone and stand up before leaning down to kiss Damian’s cheek and say a quick “Call,” before heading into the kitchen to fix yourself a snack.

Okay, so habits quickly form, according to your track record.

Apparently, anytime either one of you leaves a room, you announce it with a kiss on the cheek or forehead— whichever is closer, and then the location. You’d actually grown to be fond of it. And it didn’t really affect your previous relationship with him. If anything, you spent more time with Damian now. Which seemed impossible considering you go to the same college, live in the same place, work at the same place, and fight crime together.

But, still. It’s just bros being bros.

“Hello?” You answer the call just before it stops ringing. Slipping the phone between your shoulder and ear, you open the fridge and lean inside for a better look. God, you need to go grocery shopping soon.

“God! I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes!” A woman shouts from the other end and you pull the phone from your ear and check the caller ID. It’s not saved and you don’t recognize it. Probably the wrong number.

“Who is this?” You ask, grabbing the butter tub and opening it. Yogurt-covered fruits. Jackpot. You set the tub on the counter and reach for a nearby bowl.

“Your mother! Hello, this is (Y/n), right?” Standing up straight, you disregard the fruit and rush into the living room and wave to get Damian’s attention. He doesn’t notice and you almost shout at him; he’s Robin and he can’t tell when his best friend is literally silently calling out for help five feet away?

“Hey, mom!” He looks up at that, slowly setting his pencil and sketchbook down. He mouths something but you don’t catch it between your blinking and pacing. “How’d you— how are you?” You cringe, biting your fist to stop yourself from speaking.

“Horrible! Where are you? We’re in Gotham,” She huffs and you whip around to Damian, eyes wide and you’re so close to lowering yourself into a squat and banging your head on the table.

“You’re here! In Gotham!” Damian sits up properly, motioning for you to put it on speaker and you do, setting the phone on the table. “How long are you here?” You ask, tugging your hands down your face.

“Two months,” Your mother answers and you swear you almost passed out right then and there. “Ujjwal, no! That place looks like it has bedbugs,” She huffs and your step-father starts to complain in Hindi. “Where are you?” She asks over the complaining. “We’re coming over!”

“I dorm, actually!” You quickly spit out, covering your mouth immediately afterward.

“Ah, why don’t you have an apartment yet?” Your step-father asks. “You know, your sister, Nadia has a house.” He says, forgetting the fact that Nadia was 27 and had won the lottery before moving to the countryside and buying her own house with her roommate since elementary school.

“I know, abbā.” You strain.

“I still don’t know why he went to Gotham for college,” He mutters and you wouldn’t have heard it had it not been for them being on speaker.

“Come meet us!” Your mom demands. “We’re in front of Gotham Bright Hotel! Diana is tired.”

“I’m busy, mom.”

“Nonsense, come and pick us up!” She huffs.

You at Damian, silently telling him see, crazy! He nods and thinks for a second before grabbing the TV remote and hurriedly opening YouTube.

“I’m studying and I’m pretty busy,” You repeat, watching as he looks up Fire Alarm noises. “Just stay there. I heard it’s a go—“ The video plays and you thank god there wasn’t an ad and it’s loud enough to seem real. “Sorry, abbā, mom, I gotta go! Fire drill,” Hanging up, you sigh and press your forehead to the cold table.

“Why are they in Gotham?” He asks, stopping the video.

“Fuck if I know,” You grumble into the wood. “I should get a new number…” Sitting down, you stare at your phone and groan. It’s not worth it. “I’m gonna take a nap, don’t wake me up until the sun comes up, please.” Getting up, you kiss his cheek and head to your room.

—

It doesn’t take long for you to bump into your family. The very next day, in fact. Dick had all but begged you and Damian to come along with him and the rest of the Waynes to go and check out the tree they put in front of Gotham City Hall every year. Like the New York tree. Just way smaller and probably will be stolen before Christmas.

You’re next to Damian, your hands stuffed into your big coat and your chin trying to retreat into your scarf watching as the crane lowers the tree. It’s already decorated in yellow and red ornaments, There’s some Gotham Vigilante ornaments, too, you note and grin when you see your insignia.

“It looks nice,” You chitter to Damian who looks over at you. He laughs at your state and moves in front of you to fix your scarf. You watch him as he carefully unwraps it and measures it to an equal length. He does it incredibly fast and you hope one day you’re as good as him with— everything really.

He looks back up at you and carefully draws the middle in front of your neck. He has to lean a bit forward to wrap the material around your neck but he doesn’t mind the fact that you can see your breaths mixing with the small gap he created. You don’t either, though. His fingers graze your neck as he tucks the scarf into itself before he admires his work and nods.

“Thanks,” With a noticeably less chatter of your teeth Damian is satisfied with his work and stands next to you again. You peer over at Dick who’s grinning ear to ear, watching the tree and putting his phone back into his pocket.

“He’s like a kid or something,” You laugh and Damian follows your eyes.

“He’s up to something,” He shakes his head and glares at his brother. Feeling the glare, Dick looks over at the two of you and waves his hand wildly. “Suspicious,” Damian confirms to himself. You roll your eyes and look back to the tree. There are some people helping set it in place as it’s lowered. Hopefully, there are no bombs in it this year.

“(Y/n)?” Several heads turn to the voice and you see your younger sister grinning and rushing over to you. She’s dressed in a fancy blue winter coat, the one with a small cape on the shoulders and white fur along the edges.

“Diana…!” Behind her, you see some other family members. Your parents, both your step-parents, your siblings, and two cousins with their mom. “Oh my god.” You whisper. In truth, you probably should’ve expected they’d be there. That’s your fault.

“We should run.” You tell Damian and he considers it. But your mother must be the flash with how fast she’s in front of you.

“Where’s your hat? And you don’t have gloves!” She immediately says while removing her gloves and holding your face for a second. She removes her hands as you try not to move away from her grip, then places the back of her head to your forehead then your ears. “You’re going to get sick!”

“Is this your mother?” Bruce smiles as he stands behind you.

“Yes,” You nod, putting your hands in your pocket.

“I’m Bruce,” He introduces himself and holds his hand out. It doesn’t click fast for the others, but for Diana it does.

“Like Bruce Wayne? So, you’re Damian Wayne, right?”

Diana’s eyes gleam as she asks and for some reason, it leaves a bad feeling in your mouth. You don’t like the way she looks at him and the idea of her touching him makes you angry. He notices, you don’t know how, and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Yes.” He nods. “And you are?” Her smile falters for a second and her eyes dart to you for a second. She composed herself and removed her hands from her pocket.

“Diana, his sister!” She holds her hand out for him as the rest of your family catches up. “He must’ve talked about me a bunch!” She flashes a grin to you.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head and turns to the rest of your family. You hide a grin and he shakes their hands, he already knows their names and he’s seen their faces before so it’s just a formality on his end.

“I had already invited (Y/n) to Thanksgiving,” Bruce starts, getting everyone’s attention back to him. “Would you like to join?”

Oh god no. Please.

Damian looks over at his father with barely hidden distaste as you stare at nothing. You know they’ll jump at the chance. They’ll ruin everything.

“We’d love to!” Your father says as your stepmother nods in agreement. The rest of your family agrees and maybe it’s the cold air that makes it hard to breathe but for some reason, you can’t. You blink, trying to take in as much as possible but it’s hard and you’re sure you don’t have asthma. Not anymore at least. Subconsciously, you tug at your earlobe to try and calm down.

“We need to leave now, though.” Damian cuts off your step-father as he’s about to speak. “We have finals to study for. It was nice meeting you.” He grabs your wrist from your ear and tugs you after him; you follow him without hassle until you’re back at the car Bruce had driven in.

“I truly do not understand father's thinking. Inviting them without consulting with you was a brash and out-of-character thing for him to do.” He frowns, unlocking the car with the keys he snagged from Bruce’s pocket. You used to wonder how he did it, but you’ve learned to not truly question him and his methods. Just hope he teaches you then one day.

“Yeah,” Is the only thing you manage to say. Only Damian really knew about your family, the others just knew you weren’t very close with them.

It was one night, you figured. You’ll be fine.

—

Bruce had requested everyone be at the manor before noon, which to Damian reads as being at the manor by nine. It’s less than a two-hour drive from your apartment to the manor, so you had to be up since four in the fucking morning. Which, honestly, you didn’t mind all that much.

It was a little homey just sitting with Damian in the living room and the sun wasn’t up yet, and then taking turns getting ready. It was nice. Different too. It almost distracted you from the fact that you were about to see your family.

“Is this okay?” You ask Damian as you enter his room, tugging at the hem of your sweater. He was already dressed, in a simple black shirt and brown pants but he made it look expensive. You felt stupid and like someone pretending to be important. God, your pants didn’t even fit right! You should probably go and change, find something from one of the gala’s you’ve attended.

“You look perfect,” He says as he removes your hands from the hem and locks your hands together to stop you from leaving. “Cuff the ends of your pants, perhaps.” He adds offhandedly. You frown and look behind him. He has a small bag packed and you look back at him.

“I don’t wanna go,” You whisper, searching his face for a sign that he’ll agree and you’ll both stay in your apartment for the night. You won’t have to see your family and probably finally block them. He won’t have to deal with his brothers. It’s a win-win situation.

“Take this opportunity,” He says and lets go of one of your hands to grab his bag from his bed. “Show them how good you’re doing. You’re basically a Wayne, you’re above them in every way possible.” Shouldering his bag, he guides you to your room and hands you your bag.

“But…” You bite your cheek and take the bag. “What if… I dunno— I do something stupid! I slip up and reveal everything… I’m probably better off just sitting there. Diana will do most of the talking anyway.” You huff the last part. “Did you see the way she acted? I mean, she definitely toned down the spoiled and entitled energy but still. She’ll probably try and get with you, too.” His face scrunches at the thought and it makes you laugh.

“You should know she’s far from my type.” He says as he checks his phone and you don’t really understand but you pretend you do.

“Can you grab Alfred? Pennyworth is here.” Humming, you enter the living room and grab the carrier that Alfred is less than happy to be in from the table. You try and keep him as stable as possible while Damian gets Titus and the two of you head out. He locks the door and you add an extra measure from your toolbar before going to the elevator.

“You’ll be fine,” He swears as the two of you step inside. There’s no one else in the elevator seeing how early in the day it is and all the students have already gone home. “Besides, I’m sure one of my moronic brothers will do something embarrassing and do all the talking for us. And Pennyworth has promised knafeh.”

“I love knafeh,” He grins and steps out of the elevator.

“That’s why I asked him to make it.” And they call him a demon.

Following Damian, you spot Alfred waiting in front of the car with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth,” You greet him while giving him a one-armed hug.

“Good morning, Mr. (L/n),” He pats your back then moves to open the car door. “Young Master Damian,” He nods and Damian nods back. The two of you scoot into the car and you set the cage in front of your legs. Alfred meows when he realizes he’s going back to the manor and begins to scratch at the bottom of the cage.

“I’m sure he misses the open space,” You comment, trying to peer down inside of the cage but you can only lean down so far without fearing you’d break your back.

“Alfred is truly a pampered cat,” Pennyworth says as he enters the car. “Buckle up.”

The ride is spent with you and Damian discussing random topics from your next patrol to your finals. He had even gotten Alfred to join in on the topic and the two of them all but yelled at you to study for your finals. Eventually, you did cave and promised them you would and you just know Damian is going to hold you to that.

“Now,” Alfred sighs as he parks the car in front of the door to the manor. “I have to retrieve your family along with Master Dick. Do not tell the others this, but I trust you two the most in the kitchen. Could you please continue my preparations?”

“Of course, Alfie!” You grin while Damian just nods. Alfred smiles and looks at the two of you through the rearview mirror.

“Thank you, I have a list on the fridge. Simply follow it until I get back.” With the promise not to fuck anything up, the two of you head into the manor and quickly put your things into his room and let Alfred out.

“You’re better with a knife,” You mutter as you read over the list on the fridge. A list probably isn't even the right word for it. It’s four pages long and double-sided, explains what’s being made and the steps to make it and you’re not sure that’s even all of the papers he’s created. Alfred tends to go big for Thanksgiving, you think it’s because the Wayne’s hadn’t been a big family until Bruce got addicted to taking in kids. Not to mention now your family was joining. “I’ll season the food.”

Damian peers over at the list as you move to wash your hands and sees that everything has a time next to it, they’re already a little behind schedule so he’ll need to work quickly. He’s sure that the two of you can catch everything back up to speed and hopefully allow Alfred some breathing room.

It’s vegetables after vegetables for Damian. He’s sure he’s cut up an entire acre of carrots and onions by the time he sees the two cars pull up to the manor. You, on the other hand, are having fun mixing and mashing various foods. You just hoped it was to Alfred’s standards.

You see both of the cars pull up and take that as your sign to wrap up whatever you’re doing and you wash your hands.

“I’m a pro fucking chef,” You grin at Damian as he sets the last of the stuff he chopped into a bowl next to the sink.

“It smells good.” He agrees, watching as the cars pull to a stop just long enough for everyone to get out. Your family piles out of the cars and you cringe as Diana is quick to insist on a family photo. You, of course, are not included in it but that’s nothing new. That fact doesn’t do anything to satiate your mood, though.

“Bathroom,” You say as you kiss his cheek and head down the hallway. He watches with a frown before he wipes his hands on the kitchen towel and decides he’s not going to greet your family at the door.

He stops at the first-floor bathroom and hears the faucet running. He knocks on the door once with his index knuckle and hears the water stop running.

“I’m going to be in the family library,” Looking up from your spot on the top of the toilet, you wipe your face and clear your throat.

“Okay, be there in a second.”

—

Entering the family library, you’re glad your family wasn’t inside just yet. They were probably still taking pictures in front since god knows how many individual and group pictures they like to take. Damian is sitting on the middle couch, Titus and Ace are sandwiching him together but Ace moves when he sees you. Like he knows you’re going to sit there.

It makes you smile and you greet Tim who’s on a chair, he gives a small wave without pulling his head out of his laptop. You wonder what case he’s working on, has to be important if Bruce couldn’t force him to keep it in his room. The others aren’t downstairs yet, so it’s just the three of you in the room.

Damian moves his left arm to the top of the sofa as you sit down and only when you’re comfortable does he move it to lay across your shoulders. He doesn’t do that often, but whenever he does it’s a welcomed interaction. You lean into his touch, just a little.

You hear them enter the manor, but you’re more focused on the fact that he started to play with the hair on the base of your scalp. He’s probably doing it on purpose, but you don’t care; you’re glad he does because you didn’t even realize they had entered the library until you felt him greet them. His shoulder bounces a bit as he nods to them.

“Oh,” Nadia says and you look over at her. She says it in the same way you’d say oh when you catch onto something. But you’re not sure what she’s caught onto. Her roommate, Kendall, waves with her fingers and you wave back. “Hey, squirt.” Your eyes turn back to your sister and her hand that twitches to grab Kendall’s.

“There you are!” Her hand snaps back to her side as your mother speaks. You sit up straight as you see your mother, you don’t know why. But it felt wrong leaning on Damian with your family there, you’ve never felt that way before. “Why didn’t you greet us at the door?” Your mother asks.

“I was busy.” You say, looking over your family. “How was the ride?”

“No one shot at us,” Your cousin laughs, throwing himself onto one of the sofas. You cringe, watching the wood bend at the sheer force he’d thrown himself down with. “But there was this one lady with the only gyatt!” He says and oh my god, you’d forgotten he was a middle school boy.

“How’s school going?” Your step-mother asks, sitting in your father's lap. Your mother eyes them and you try not to as well, but you’ve never liked them together. She’s twenty-five, hardly old enough to be with a man in his fifties.

“Good,” You hum.

“So,” Diana grins as she crosses her leg over her right. “Damian, what’s it like— living in Gotham? I bet it’s scary.” She’s sitting on the sofa next to the one you’re on, but closer to Damian. You bet if your folks weren’t in the rooms she’d try and reach for his hand. You try and not to focus on that.

“It’s not,” He shrugs.

“Really?” She grins. “Because I was thinking of transferring to Gotham University!” She says and Damian’s fingers twitch along your back.

“It’s not scary for me, someone who isn’t used to life here will never make it.” He quickly adds and she frowns.

“It can’t be that hard,” She waves her hand to you. “I mean, (Y/n) is doing fine and he’s… him!” She laughs as she says that and you look at your parents, they’re clearly listening to the conversation but as per usual, no one will ever stop Diana.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Damian asks while leaning forward in his seat.

“There you two are!” Dick shouts as he runs into the library. His eyes look between the two of you and he makes the same face he does when he sees a cute dog.

“Richard.” Damian greets.

“Kori!” You gasp and rush over to the woman as she walks into the room. Damian grumbles something but stands up and follows after you. “Oh my god, Dick didn’t mention you were coming.” You glare at him but he holds his hands up.

“We wanted to keep it a surprise,” She laughs and holds onto his shoulder. “His father has the baby.” Two months ago, Kori had given birth to their daughter, Mari. You had yet to meet her, but Dick made sure to spam-send you photos whenever he could.

“Aw!” You frown. “Why does that old man get to see the baby first?” Damian hides his laughter and you nudge his side with your hip.

“Because she’s my grandchild,” Bruce says as he walks in behind them. He walks next to Kori and you see her swaddled in a purple blanket, sound asleep.

“And I’m the godfather!” You remind him, looking down at Mari.

“As am I,” Damian reminds you and you roll your eyes, waving your hand at him.

“Can I hold her?” You whisper, afraid you’d wake her up. Bruce nods and you grin, helping him slide Mari into your arms. “She’s so small,” Turning to Damian, he holds your shoulder with one hand, and the other scoops under the hand that holds Mari’s head. He’s trying not to smile in front of Dick but you can see it.

“She has your hair, Richard.” He notes, turning to his brother as he puts his phone back into his pocket as quickly as possible. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t broach the topic.

“And her mother's eyes,” Dick smiles at his wife.

“Let’s sit,” Bruce says and you nod, unable to look away from Mari in fear of dropping her. Damian guides you back to your seats and you slowly lower yourself onto the couch.

“She’s less fragile than you think,” He softly reminds you and you finally look away from her. Damian looks away from Mari and looks at you, his eyes flickering across your face before they settle on your eyes.

“She’s so small, though.” You frown and he nods, moving some of your hair from your face. “Wanna hold her?”

“Wish Jay took that much of an interest in her.” Dick frowns, watching the two of you. “First grandchild of the family!”

“Hopefully only grandchild for a while,” Bruce says as he unbuttons his jacket to sit comfortably.

“I doubt you’ll have a baby problem anytime soon.” Tim laughs, finally putting his laptop away. “Dickie is the only one of us to date a woman.” Dick laughs and Bruce genuinely has to think about it. Had he raised a home filled with gay people? Did he make kids gay? He’s one for four at the moment but he sort of wishes Duke and Cas would even the scores out a bit. No— he’s zero for five. He corrects himself, remembering Dick’s boyfriend from a few years back.

“Not true,” You cross your arms, oblivious to Bruce’s spiral. “Steph—“

“You know what I meant!” He rolls his eyes. “He’s the only guy in this family who’s dated a woman.”

“No,” You shake your head while looking at Damian. “Didn’t you date uh… what’s her name? Nika?” He looks almost offended that you said that.

“(Y/n), she’s gay.” He corrects.

“Alexis?”

“She was delusional.”

“Emiko?”

“Friends.”

“Maxinne?”

“Friends. Why do you think I’ve dated these women?” The man himself walks into the library with Alfred.

“…Jason…” You admit and he gives you a Are you fucking serious look. Jason looks confused for a second but he can get a hint of what’s happening based on Damian and Dick’s face.

“You believed Todd to tell you the truth of my love life?” He stresses and now you feel stupid.

“When you say it like that!” You huff, turning your head away from him. “I mean he also said you dated Jon.”

“And that didn’t give you a sign he was lying?” He chuckles.

“So, are you single?” Your mother asks and you catch Diana pretending not to listen but she leans in closer.

“No.” Damian answers in a tight tone and you frown.

“No?” You echo and he looks at you, bewildered.

“No shot,” Jason laughs, his head tilted. “You two with me.” He points between the two of you and you look between his family, a similar look spreading across their faces. What the fuck is going on? But you follow Jason after Damian handed Mari back to Dick. He doesn’t look happy, you note as he walks two paces ahead of you; something he hardly ever does.

Jason guided the two of you into a smaller library that Bruce uses when he’s having meetings. You stand on the carpet while Damian stands close to the fireplace.

“Damian,” Jason says as he closes the doors. “Are you single?”

“No.” He snaps.

“(Y/n),” He turns to you. “Are you single?”

“Yes…?” You trail. “Why?”

“Figure it out!” Jason laughs and then leaves the room. Staring at the door, you sigh and sit on the couch, leaning your arms on your legs.

“(Y/n),” Damian calls. “Why didn’t you tell your family we’re together?” His voice is smaller than before and he doesn’t look at your face, like he’s ashamed.

“We’re what?” You shout, your head snapping over to him. “Dude, since when?” He realizes it then and now it makes sense.

“You kissed me.” He stresses and sits down across from you.

“Yeah, on the cheek!” You roll your hand. “That’s normal and totally not romantic!” He crosses his arms and you shrink into your seat under his gaze.

“Do you kiss all of your friends?” He asks, an eyebrow raised in the air. You humor it for a second, thinking about kissing one of your college friends on the cheek like you did with him. It seemed gross, wrong. As if it was some sort of violation. That those kisses between you and Damian were sacred and to even think about it with someone else was somehow an act against god.

“Well, no,” You blink down to the floor.

“Then why me?” He asks. You don’t understand at that moment, but when you look back on the conversation you realize he was guiding you to an answer you already knew.

“I mean, it just feels right with you.” Looking back at him, he’s smiling and his eyes are bright. “But I’ve never liked a guy before.” You admit, taking in a deep breath. “I dunno how to be in a gay relationship.”

“It’s the same as any other relationship.” He reassures you. “If that’s what you want.” He adds, holding your hand. You look at your hands together and smile. Do you want that?

You imagine yourself, going on dates with him and announcing each other as your boyfriend. Kissing him. Like actually kissing him. And it makes your face hurt with how much you’re smiling. You’re giddy, like some kid with a crush and you feel stupid for not putting two and two together sooner.

“I think I do.” You look at him and hold his hand back. “I do.” You nod. “I want that— this.”

“Good,” He sighs, his shoulders relaxing. “Because my family already knows.” He admits and you look at the door. Jason is probably still there, listening and reporting back to the others.

“Do you want other people to know?” You ask. “I know you consider your private life… private.”

“I would love nothing more than to introduce you as my partner.” He says, his thumb rubbing against your flesh.

“If I knew you liked me this much before I would’ve made a move sooner,” You laugh, looking between his eyes. He rolls his eyes and stands up, pulling you with him.

Once you’re on your feet, he holds you by your hips and you don’t exactly know what to do with your hands. You settle on holding his waist, you’ve never realized just how toned he was.

“Can I?” He asks, bringing his left hand up to brush against your bottom lip. Understanding what he’s asking, your heart hammers in your chest as you nod. “Use your words, Habibi.”

“Yes.” You nod feverishly and he dips in without a second thought. His left hand cups your face, trying to pull you closer and you’re doing the same with his waist. Digging into his skin, you’re sure your lips are going to bruise with how needy you’re kissing him. It’s almost shameful how easily you’re crumbling under his touch. Your stomach is doing tricks that only Dick could perform and for some reason, you don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner.

Never has a kiss felt this good, this right. His right hand moves from your hip and travels up, surely messing up your shirt but that’s a worry for another time. You can only focus on how it’s now holding the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp and you can’t help the noise that comes out.

“Oh?” He utters against your lips. You laugh and take the time to catch your breath, looking between his eyes, listening to your shared panting.

“Again?” You’re almost pleading, your eyes stuck on his lips.

“Of course.” This kiss is different, it’s less of a release and more of a we have all the time in the world now type of kiss. It’s slow and it’s tender, you feel all the details in his lips and how yours moves against his. This one feels like a hum you’ve known all your life and it’s wonderful.

This time, your hands find his hair and you don’t realize it, but you’re dragging your nails across his scalp and playing with his hair. He does, though. It makes his heart hammer and he moans into the kiss, unable to do anything but focus on you.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Jason says as he opens the door. Without breaking the kiss, you open your hot bar and with pure muscle memory, grab the water gun and spray him until he leaves. Damian laughs, pulling away from the kiss, and looks at Jason who’s trying to avoid getting sprayed but it seems like Damian’s rubbed off on you more than you realize it because damn, even when he moves you’re still hitting him!

He looks back to you and you’re still looking at him, your pupils blown wide and he can feel the light panting coming from you. Your lips are glossy, coating in both of your spit and he’s sure his are too. He can get used to that.

“We should head back,” He reasons, lowering your water gun. “Before father sends Grayson and he starts crying like before.” Throwing the gun back into your hot bar, you give him a questioning look. “When I announced we were dating… he cried.”

“You’re joking?”

“Unfortunately not.” He rolls his eyes and stands up straight, fixing his clothes and his hair. You do the same while Jason is going on about cleaning up the water and having to change. There’s no water on the floor, you note as you walk out of the library. None on the walls either. Every single one of them hit Jason.

Back in the family library, you return to your seats and Tim is the first to notice both of your elated moods. It’s more visible on you, but it’s harder to spot with Damian. It’s more of a feeling he gets, his face is as neutral as he can be when he’s around you but he’s so clearly happy. His steps are different, he imagines if he had less dignity he’d skip around the manor. The two of you settle in your seats and he’s pleasantly surprised to see you lean into Damian without a care of who else is in the room.

He’d gotten the text, along with every other sibling from the NO BRUCE!!! group chat. Jason, only seconds after closing the door had told everyone that you didn’t know of your own relationship. Safe to say you knew now.

Tim looks at your family and the only happy one seems to be Nadia. She’s a somber type of happy, though. She’s happy for you, but she can’t bring herself to be half as bold as you are and it hurts. Diana is trying to wrap her head to a different conclusion, she’s holding onto hope that you’ll be pushed away. It almost makes him laugh. Your older brother is in his own world, as he’s always been. He’s quiet, hardly noticeable but it seems to be on his own devices as he had picked the furthest seat from everyone.

But it seems to be from more of an air of misplaced pride than anything. His nose is turned up and he’s wearing an expensive suit. But it’s clearly not his, Tim would know. If there’s the money to splurge on that type of suit there’s always a tailor to get the proportions right.

Then there’s your half-sibling, from your father's side. She’s around ten and he wonders just when did your parents separated. Then he remembers there’s a seventeen-year age gap between the oldest and the youngest of your siblings. She’s sleeping, her head on her father's shoulder and the forgotten iPad discarded on her lap, about to fall off and hit the carpet.

Your father sees the two of you and looks at your mother who’s trying to keep her calm around the company— rich company at that. Tim doesn’t know why, but if he were them, he would at least try and pretend as if he’s happy for the relationship. Their son was dating the richest bachelor in the world and could very possibly give them a comfortable life. But he doesn’t think they see the bigger picture.

And yet, despite the clear disgust throughout your family, no one says a single word. The entire library is silent save for Mari and the two of you, talking as if no one else is in the room.

He wants to gag.

“Kids,” Bruce says as he sits straight in his seat. “Could you leave us for a moment? I’d like a word with the adults.”

“Half of us are adults,” You chide and he gives you a look.

“A word with the parents.” He corrects.

“I’m still in, baby!” Dick silently cheers to not wake Mari. But it only makes Bruce sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“A word with (Y/n)’s parents and aunt. Alone.” He stresses. Curious as to what he’s up to, and mostly afraid of what’s going to happen while you’re gone, you open your hot bar without causing too much attention to yourself. The Hotbar is only visible to yourself, so no one sees the vast list of gadgets you pull up and quickly find the listening device Tim created.

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” You grumble and stand up, pulling Damian up after you.

Jason and Tim are already out of the room, there any fewer interactions and they’ll jump at the opportunity. Dick and Kori, despite wanting to enjoy the snow in the yard with the others, retreat to Dick’s room to nap while Mari is sleeping.

You hold the door open for your siblings and cousin, but Damian sees you place the device on the door and raises an eyebrow

“(Y/n),” Bruce says in a low tone. Of course, he’d seen it, too.

“Gotta go!” You urge and slip out of the room.

—

Diana, alone in the yard as her family had drifted away, finds herself bored and honestly, she’s at Wayne Manor and she just has to show off. She hasn’t posted the pictures yet, she still needs to edit them so no one knows she’s there. And she’s sure her followers would love to see a snowy Wayne manor.

Thankfully, the wifi was stable enough in the backyard that the connection for her Instagram Live was crystal clear.

She waits until she sees five digits on the view counter before he even starts speaking.

“Hey, guys!” She waves at her phone. “Bruce Wayne invited my family to his manor for Thanksgiving! Super grateful for that,” She nods towards the large manor and then at the comments, begging to see the man in question. “He’s inside, talking to my parents. But his kids are here too! I think Damian went into the maze…” She looks off to the green hedges coated in a thick layer of snow. “I’ll go and find him.”

She flips the camera around, and her viewers watch as she walks inside. She doesn’t notice right away, but nearly gasps when she sees she has just over two million people watching. Maybe you are good for something, she almost laughs.

It takes about twenty minutes of aimlessly walking before she finds the center of the maze. The two million viewers had gone down to just a million but she’ll take it.

“I think that’s it,” She mutters, seeing a clearing of bushes. It’s incredibly cold, so she’s shivering and her teeth are chattering but she can’t blame herself! She’s not used to snow. “There’s Damian!” She whispers, seeing his head of hair sitting on a bench. Pointing her phone in that direction, she decides it’s better to hide herself and look through her phone.

From what people can see, Damian is sitting next to someone. They can’t tell until she turns the phone a bit more and it’s you. Gotham citizens know you, of course. Over the past couple of years, everyone in Gotham knows the two of you are friends but no one really cares to post about it.

She rolls her eyes, of course, you’re still stuck to his side. The two of you are talking, but you’re too far away for Diana to hear the conversation. You’re laughing, though and Damian is explaining something. Your laughter slows down and the two of you just sorta of look at each other.

Damian asks something and you scoff, looking away before he grabs your chin and leans in. The viewer count is going up and before Diana can fully process what’s happening, the two of you are kissing. Honestly, she’s furious! You knew she liked him, she’s sure of that. This— whatever game you’re playing is just to get at her. She’s sure of it. But she can’t act on it, the views are around eight million and she doesn't want Damian to think she’s crazy.

He’s holding you dearly, it’s the gentlest he’s ever touched a person before and you’re proud to say you’ll be his first and only.

His lips detach for yours and trail down to your chin.

“Habibi,” He mutters and you shudder, feeling the vibrations against your neck. Honestly, at that moment you genuinely could not give a single fuck about your family. About their feelings towards you, about the ways they treated you growing up, and about them. As people. Each and every one of them, none of them could ever compare to this.

Thank that blue-pilled man, seriously.

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x male reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian al ghul x male reader #damian wayne x reader

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gurugirl · 2 months

Text

The Ranch Hand | cowboy!harry

2.5k word preview below the cut

Your boyfriend, Jessie, sat down a bucket of beer on the table you were sitting at and pulled his stool up as you grabbed a cold one for yourself and twisted the cap off.

You didn’t know the band that was playing but they sounded pretty good, especially for a Friday night with a cold beer in your favorite little rowdy country bar.

Jessie hated the bar. He was more into cocktail joints with white tablecloths and live classical piano. The kind of place you had to dress up to go into. You didn’t blame him. He didn’t come from where you came from. You two had only a couple of things in common.

The first was that you were both from wealthy families. Your dad was a rancher and he owned half the county. You’d never hurt for anything. Jessie’s family ran the county and were all involved in politics. He went to some fancy school in a different state and only came back because his father wanted him to step into the role of prosecuting attorney.

The second thing you had in common was that you lived in the same town.

That was probably where your similarities ended. You liked Jessie. Mostly. He was usually pretty nice, if not boring, and your parents liked him so that was a plus. In fact, they set up your first date with him and it was easier to just keep things going to make your mom and dad happy.

“You look uncomfortable,” you spoke as you kept your eyes on the band and Jessie struggled to pull the metal cap from his bottle.

“I’m just… there’s peanut shells all over the floor and everyone’s staring at us.”

You laughed and shook your head. You were gonna have to break up with the guy. He couldn’t handle you and you knew that was the truth. He hated getting his hands dirty and even though he looked like he should be able to remove a bottle cap, it wasn’t the first time you had to do it for him.

Taking his beer you looked directly at him and twisted the cap off, dropping it to the floor before handing it back to him.

“I never drink beer. Not used to taking caps off…” he spoke as he took a sip. Shitty excuse.

You noticed that some of the workers from your dad’s ranch were in the bar. Probably causing trouble. The guys who worked for your dad could be rough around the edges but they were always nice to you. Just a bunch of cowboys looking to make ends meet. They all had a place to stay on the ranch at the bunkhouse provided and they were also paid pretty well. So on almost any given Friday and Saturday night, you could find some of them at the bar picking up local women, dancing, fighting, drinking…

This was your scene. This was what you enjoyed most. The rough and gritty. Salt of the earth. Phonies were quickly sniffed out in a place like this. It was why people were staring at Jessie.

You took another gulp of your beer and then you caught sight of one of the ranch hands already looking at you from across the room. Harry. He was very easy on the eyes. He’d been working at your dad’s ranch since he was 19. He’d earned a spot of trust with your father after all his years of hard work and now he had quite a lot of responsibility given to him. He had his own small cabin out of the way of the bunkhouse. He made a lot of financial decisions for your father as well. Negotiated prices for cattle sales, went to auctions to buy large equipment, handled the daily goings on of the newbie ranch hands, and did all the hiring and firing. But he also still worked his ass off. He’d pick up slack when the other workers needed help or couldn’t do the job. You imagined he was at the bar to keep the guys in line and make sure they didn’t land themselves in jail.

You and Harry were close from the beginning. You always went out of your way to meet every new worker that came on but Harry was a little different because he’d been around for almost ten years. You certainly favored him over all the others.

“Why’s he coming over here?” Jessie whined as Harry walked through the crowd with his eyes on you and a mischievous grin on his face. You just knew he was bout to do something to piss Jessie off, which was easy to do.

“Cause he’s comin’ to say hello.” You smiled at Harry as he tipped his cowboy hat to you, stepping between you and Jessie, and reaching in to grab a bottle of beer from the bucket your boyfriend bought.

“Uh, that’s ours,” Jessie sat up straight in his stool as he watched Harry uncap the bottle and take a swig, ignoring him completely, jade eyes still on yours.

Harry placed his elbow on the table and leaned in close to you, those handsome green eyes running over the features on your face, “Hi.”

You felt yourself heat up and kept your eyes on his, “Hi.”

You would have forgotten all about Jessie but then…

“Excuse me. Is this for real? That’s our beer,” Jessie reminded the cowboy.

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up with his hand on your shoulder, softly squeezing before he looked at your boyfriend, “Sorry about that bud,” and then he looked back down at you, “Okay if I have this, sweetheart?” He lifted the bottle of beer upward.

You nodded, “Of course you can have it, Harry.”

Harry’s grin widened as he took another drink and Jessie stood up to move in front of Harry. Maybe in an attempt to intimidate him? You weren’t sure exactly. But one thing you knew was that Harry would put Jessie down in the blink of an eye. Jessie wasn’t a small man but Harry was scrappy and liked to get dirty. Didn’t mind a scuffle when the moment called for it either. You’d seen him put a lot of men in their place.

“Next time you ask before you take.” Jessie pointed. You snickered to yourself. It was a good attempt at least.

Harry laughed and dragged his eyes down your body before he tipped his hat again and walked right into Jessie’s shoulder, making him stumble into the table. Harry looked back in faux surprise at Jessie and then at you with a wink before he went back to where he’d been before with the other guys.

Okay, so maybe Harry was a bit of a dick. But he’d never been rude to you. And you liked him, unfortunately for Jessie. Harry was not a fan of your boyfriends. He’d made that clear since Jessie started coming around four months ago.

“You just let him take a beer like that?” Jessie gestured toward where Harry had gone.

“I did. What’s the problem? I know this bucket wasn’t expensive so you’re not hurtin’ for the money.”

He took a deep breath and looked off toward where the cowboys were drinking, “Do you like him, Y/n?”

You pursed your lips to the side in thought as you watched people line dancing and stomping on the peanut-covered wood floors in their cowboy boots. Now you didn’t really need to think much about that question. Because you did like Harry, and he liked you the same. All the stolen kisses and sneaky moments you two had… it’s just that that could never happen out in the open. Your dad would never go for it and Harry might lose his job if your parents ever caught wind of anything happening between you two. So you’d always kept your distance because that was the most practical option.

But you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t like the man. Anyone with two eyes could see how handsome he was.

“Sure,” you shrugged and looked at Jessie.

“Like him, like him?” Jessie looked back toward you across the table.

“Why are you worried about it, Jes? Even if I did, it’s not a good match. My dad would kill him.”

He shook his head and watched the people on the floor dancing with their big, shiny belt buckles glistening under the shoddy lights, the strum of guitars, and a twangy voice singing an old Garth Brooks song.

You got up and waved when you saw your friend Chelle. She was among those dancing and you weren’t going to miss it, “You coming with me or not?” You looked back at the dud sitting on his stool with a scowl.

“Go on ahead. I’ll be right here.”

You rolled your eyes. There was only so much more you could take of Jessie. If he had even shown an ounce of something that looked like fun you might want to stick around longer. Hell, if he even would have just stood up to Harry about the way he had been very clearly flirting with you in front of him (rather than get so worked up over the beer Harry took) that could even be something for you to think about. But the man wouldn’t dance with you, he wouldn’t ride horses on the ranch, he wouldn’t go to rodeos, and he most certainly didn’t want to do anything that could sully up his nice clothes once in a while. Stepping over peanut shells was his limit. If it weren’t for your parents you’d never have considered him in the first place.

“Y/n!” Chelle pulled you in next to her and you began moving yourself in line in a weave; right, back, front… You always felt like an idiot when you joined in on line dancing but that was part of the fun. Everyone looked like hillbillies and idiots out there and it was a blast.

The music, the atmosphere, the raucous noise from everyone laughing, singing, shouting, stomping… your country girl roots were in full bloom that night. And beer after beer then a couple shots of whisky probably did you no good but you were going to enjoy your night with or without your boyfriend who did not move from the spot where you left him. Part of you, at one point, hoped he’d just go. He was uncomfortable and not having fun. You knew the only reason he was there was to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t do anything dumb.

And the later it got the more wild the bar became. More people filled in the small space, the music was louder, some of the lights at the edge of the room were dimmed, and the line for the bathroom grew longer.

“He gonna sit over there watching me all night?” You heard Harry from behind you as he moved in step, a bottle of beer in his big hand you noted as you turned to look up at him.

You laughed, “Probably. He’s jealous.”

Harry licked his pink lips and tampered what you knew was a big grin, “Oh yeah? Why’s he jealous?”

You both did a clumsy pivot turn together and you just smiled up at the handsome cowboy and shook your head.

There was no need to answer Harry. He knew what was going on. He knew you liked him just the same as he liked you. It had always been something secret between you two but it was obvious to almost everyone around. Except for your father. That was one time when you were both on your best behavior.

“Surprised you’re still here. Don’t you have an early morning tomorrow?” You asked.

He nodded, “Sure do. Just keeping an eye on everything going on here is all. I’ve got a responsibility for most of the people in this bar right now.”

“Oh yeah? All the guys seem to be doing okay. No one’s getting too crazy tonight it seems,” you looked around at the other workers, and most of them were two sheets to the wind but they were tame and having fun.

“Still my responsibility. Plus you’re still here.”

You grinned, “That I am. Figured I’d close the place down tonight.”

Harry laughed, “You usually do anyway. Always have been like one of the boys. Just as rowdy as the rest of us.”

You loved it when you got to talk to Harry. Loved how he looked at you and how he’d say your name. Loved how so many times you’d done just this and it felt exactly like what you wanted.

Another shot of whisky at the bar with Harry and you started to feel woozy. Your world was spinning but you were still having too much fun to call it a night.

“I should take you home,” Jessie appeared, taking you by your shoulders and pulling you away from Harry. For a short time, you’d forgotten he was still there.

“No, I think Harry’s gonna take me home.” You looked up at Harry.

“That’s right. Was just about to take her home.” Harry spoke as he stepped in closer to Jessie.

Jessie laughed and you felt his firm grip moving you away but you were too drunk to really put up any kind of fight.

“Nah, just stay here with the rest of the drunk cowboys. I got her.”

Harry followed you and Jessie out the front of the bar as Jessie opened up the passenger door of his nice car.

“You gonna be all right sweetheart?” Harry ducked down to ask you before Jessie could close the door – Harry blocking the space so he could look at you as he reached up for your face and softly turned your head to look at him.

You nodded, “It’s fine. I just need to go to bed.”

“That’s enough. She’s fine,” Jessie closed the door.

Your memory was only clear in bits and pieces as Jessie drove you home. You remembered him berating you for acting like a clown and then when he brought you to your room the memory of him kissing you and taking your hand to cup over his crotch was vivid. You remember telling him you had to go to sleep but he was angry at you. You could feel that too. You remembered his anger and how he shoved you down into your bed before he was hovered over you.

But then you remembered being on your knees in front of your toilet and expelling the contents of your stomach furiously. Jessie’s words rang in your ears about how you were gross and just as nasty as all the cowboys on the ranch. How he didn’t want to fuck you anyway when you were drunk.

You woke up on your bathroom floor and Jessie was long gone.

NOTE: This is a 15k+ Patreon-only one shot. If you'd like to read more consider signing up!

xoxo

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #firstpost #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #cowboyrry #harry styles fan fic #cowboy!harry #harry styles fanfiction #ranch hand harry #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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shewrites444 · 1 year

Text

over [xavier thorpe x reader smut]

[written by me and only me. i have been super busy so it's a little shorter than usual, but i hope you still enjoy lovies ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)]

PART 2 LINKED HERE

word count - 1.4k

[summary: the reader, a normie, works with xavier during his shift at their local coffeeshop, where she learns about his crush on his classmate, wednesday, and intends to help him forget about it.]

[warnings: risky, public, dirty talk, oral, fingering]

"yeah, he never shuts up about her. it's kind of cute, honestly. tyler likes her a lot."

"what, no way! i don't know how she can like such an asshole!" xavier shouts in frustration, rubbing his forehead and leaning his elbows against the counter while i watch with a giggle, setting down one of the mobile orders on the endpiece.

i shake my head and walk past him to grab the next ticket, playfully nudging at his side. the lovesick boy was fairly attractive, i'd admit, but he was head over heels for this girl, considering he was already drooling over her to me, his coworker during his pilgrim world volunteer hours.

"don't get so fed up about it, dude. if she wanted you, she'd make it clear. tyler said she can be confusing, so i'm sure she is probably messing with the both of you." i explain, grabbing the cold brew from the fridge. "you may have to play the long game and wait. i'd suggest not doing that though, to save your mental health, you know."

xavier sighed, handing me a lid for the plastic cup after i poured the ice in. "i don't understand how you're so casual, and brutally honest, about all of this. haven't you had a crush before, just one you can't forget about?"

"obviously, we all do." i say, placing the new drink next to the other. i turn to face him, crossing my arms and shrugging. "but i just forget about guys. they're either too emotional, or have no emotions at all. it's better to just be single, and alone. you should try it - you look miserable."

"gee, thanks, [y/n]. best coworker ever. can't wait to spend two more hours with such a nice, lovely girl." xavier rolls his eyes, pressing the back of his body against the counter and looking down.

i smirk, walking over to the boy and lean against the counter aside him. i glance down, laughing softly. "you'd be a pretty cool dude to talk to for the next two hours if you weren't so down bad for a girl who just uses you for that sherlock homes shit she's trying to do."

"she doesn't use me."

i quirk my brow, tilting my head and crosses my arms at his statement.

"okay, at times. but that doesn't make her a bad girl!"

i sigh, throwing my arms into the air playfully. "here we go again! xavier picking the worst girl to like."

"shut up." xavier grins, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned back up. "let me live in my fantasy to help me feel better. like you said, long game."

"mhm. have fun with that." i tease, as i watch another paper print for a mobile order and walk past xavier, grazing my side against him as i lean up to reach for the sheet. i can feel a heat in my body from what i just did, biting my bottom lip as i grab the sheet and press it against the cup, feeling a presence behind me and seeing a shadow formulating aside me.

i turn around to see him standing infront of me, his hands both pinned against the counter on each side of me. i scoff, rolling my eyes with a grin. "so you'll try to use me, like wednesday does to you, as a distraction for your overall goal, because you're bored. funny."

"and you'll try to use me, like every other guy, so that you're a little less lonely every now and then. funny." xavier tilts his head, looking down at me with a smirk. "and i bet you find it kinky or some shit that i'm an outcast, too."

i set the cup down, moving one hand down to press against his pants. "if that's what you think my definition of kinky is, then i'm honestly a bit offended."

"then what's your definition?" he says as he leans himself down, pressing his lips against the top of my ear. "why don't you show me."

"why don't you get on your knees then." i snap back, moving one of my hands to hold the back of his head and nudge him down, watching as he followed what i asked.

i watch his khaki pants hit the tile floor as he tucks his hair behind his ears before reaching over to my shorts, unzipping them and sliding them down to my ankles, before he sticks one of his fingers into his mouth and into my entrance. i gasp, moving one hand to his head to guide him more towards me.

his tongue attaches to my clit as he begins to suck on it, one finger pumping itself in and out of me while he looks up to me, our eyes locking before i look up to the ceiling, closing my own while he stimulates me. one of my hands holds his hair as the other rests on the counter, which reminds me of where i actually am.

my eyes widen and i look around, noting that no one is in the coffee shop but in a way, it turned me on to know xavier was willing to do this regardless of where we were. i feel him slide another finger inside, snapping me out of thoughts and back to the knot that was forming in my stomach.

"you like that, [y/n]?" xavier pulls away from my clit, leaning himself back up to face me, now towering over me, while he pushes my body against the counter, helping me get on top of it, my ass pressed against the cold counter while he pumps his fingers into my warmth.

i lean my head against the cabinet and nod, a grin on my lips. "maybe, but that doesn't matter. it's not enough for me."

he smirks, looking down to push a third finger inside without hesitation, taking his free hand to hold the side of my face while he begins to rapidly pick up his pace, glancing down at me with the same stupid smile printed across his face from cheek to cheek.

i grip the counter with both of my hands, leaning up to press my lips against his for the first time during this entire encounter. i open my mouth to allow his tongue in, feeling my own juices touch my tongue while we continue to make out.

he persists, obviously trying to get me to reach my climax, as he aggressively finger fucks me against the counter. i bite his bottom lip, letting a small moan slip between our lips, which causes xavier to grin immediately upon my slip up. i earn one back from xavier as i reach over to his pants, unbuckling the buckle with one hand and sliding my hand into to rub against his hard length through his black boxers. i feel the boy sink against me, weak from any form of my touch.

"you don't know what i'd do for you to fuck me, [y/n].. you're so fucking hot.. fucking hell..." he moans against my lips as he slows down his pace, pulling his fingers out of my slowly, and attaching his thumb to my clit as he begins to rub, pulling his lips away from mine and looking down to lock out eyes. "do you want me to fuck you? hm? i'd fuck you right here, i don't care who sees. you're so fucking hot."

i tilt my head, slowly closing my legs enough to where his thumb was still able to remain attached to my clit. if there was anything that turned me on, it was playing games. if he really wanted me, he wouldn't give up.

"i think we both have work to get to, xavier. don't you think?"

he pulls his hand away a few seconds after my words, his eyes wide as he watches me shut my legs and slide off the counter, leaning down to pull my pants back up.

"no way." he buckles his belt back, leaning against the opposite side of the counter as he crosses one leg over to hide the erection straining from his pants.

i grin, walking back over to grab a cup for the order that i was supposed to make who knows how long ago. as i scoop the ice, i glance to xavier. "you like teases, clearly. but if it makes you feel any better, your girl is definitely missing out. so act the way you acted with me, with her."

xavier stands up, walking towards me and handing me the milk for the drink, watching me pour it as he wraps one arm around my waist, leaning down to peck the side of my forehead.

"i think my interests lie somewhere else at the moment." he grins, his other hand snaking behind me to grab me by the jaw, moving my head towards him to meet our eyes. "so this isn't over."

#xavier thorpe smut #x yn #xavier thorpe #x reader #wednesday #wednesday series #netflix wednesday #smut writing #fanfic #wednesday fanfic #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

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AITA for going off on a tattoo artist for giving me the wrong mandarin letters?

Context matters a lot here. I (23ftm) recently lost my partner to cancer. They were the love of my life and I dropped everything for them- I moved states away from my family so that they could be more comfortable in a dryer climate, I made sure to be there for them through thick and thin- the works. My family, though sad, were okay with it since I had never been so passionate about anything before I met them. Losing them has been nothing short of miserable.

They were Chinese and had a very strong connection to their language and culture, so I wanted to get a tattoo that translated to "My angel, my love" with "my angel" being on the top and "my love" being on the bottom onto my arm. I wasn't able to learn any dialects from them while they were alive since things had been so busy, but I thought maybe at least I could start with this.

So, I went to a local tattoo parlor that had a Chinese tattoo artist (I hope it isn't racist to assume, I've heard him speaking in Mandarin on the phone) and asked to get the translation tattooed. He seemed genuine and we got to work with choosing a font, the right location, and scheduling an appointment. It was very professional and I was really glad that it had gone smoothly since if it hadn't, I'd probably just give up entirely.

A week passes and I get my tattoo. A bit after as we're talking about it, I mention that I got it to commemorate my late partner, whom like I said I consider to be the light of my life. When I mentioned that, he sort of paused and had this look on his face, like when you realize you forgot something really important. He shook it off though and we got back to talking, but things seemed obviously more awkward now.

When I went home I sent a picture of it to my partner's family, and immediately they picked up that something was wrong. They didn't tell me what it had actually translated to, but it was apparently very inappropriate and disrespectful.

Needless to say I was breaking down. My partner had died, I was struggling with depression and fatigue from handling a lot of the funeral procedures, and overall that had been the straw that broke the camel's back. This is where I may be the asshole. I drove back to the parlor shop and found my tattoo artist, and I didn't get physical, but I had definitely wanted to. I was yelling at him, screaming about how he was a horrible shitty person, the works. He argued back that I should have at least given him a reason for the tattoo, since he gets white people coming in all the time asking for dumb stuff, but I shot back that he could have at least told me what he had done when I did reveal why I got the tattoo.

Again, I didn't get physical, but they did threaten to call the cops on me if I didn't leave since I wss making a scene, so I left and later emailed that I had at the very least wanted a refund, since they didn't even give me the tattoo I wanted. I still haven't gotten a response yet.

My family (both biological and in-laws) are very conflicted over this. Some of them think that I could have dealt with it a lot better, while others think I should have threatened them with a lawsuit (obviously there's inbetween opinions but those are the main two extremes). I can't afford a lawsuit considering I'm already dealing with the funeral funds like I said, but I don't know. I don't even know if yelling at the guy made me feel better or worse- it was an in-the-moment response to be sure.

So, with more context, AITA for yelling at the tattoo artist who gave me an inappropriate tattoo instead of the one I really wanted?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ninjaturtlemaniac · 3 months

Text

Part 1 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part9 Part10

Trolls - in general Trolls are pretty rare outside their usual kingdoms and it's considered good luck to meet one.

Brozone - drastically changed their looks coz they hate that they used to dress the same.

Bruce - one of those dads who would get a new barbeque and show off all the cool features to the other local dads.

Bruce - "No kids, we're not keeping that stray animal, end of story, no way..." - 1 week later and he's giving it kisses and building it an over the top kennel with a heated blanket and a water fountain.

Bruce - (canon?) carried all their eggs, indirect reason why his hair is so big. (Side note - I read somewhere someone called all their kids 'The Bakers Dozen' and I frigging love that)

Floyd - solo career after he left Brozone - all his songs were PINK FLOYD SONGS! (Maybe that could've been his stage name?)

Floyd - his hair is naturally pink but JD made him make it redder because 'we're a boyband and pink is a girls colour'

John Dory - has embarrassing baby pictures of his brothers as leverage

John Dory - over-exaggerates his retellings of stories "I fought off 30 no no no 40 snakes with one hand behind my back."

John Dory - always casually asking Poppy, Brandy and Viva to marry him, over small things too "Brandy, these pancakes are delicious, marry me."

Clay - writes long and very detailed critical reviews of restaurants

Clay - has reading glasses. Probably the ones that attach magnetically at the nose ridge.

Clay - labels everything (labelmaker is to Clay as Gary is to Branch)

Clay - very into color coded itineraries and always know everyone's business "Poppy is currently at Smidge's pod doing her hair" "How could you possibly know that?" "I have my sources."

Clay - also a notary and registered marriage celebrant

Clay - hair was always naturally green but JDs hair was already green. JD said he had to be yellow for the band, they needed that color coordinated group vibe.

Clay - has drafts for his own book series

Clay - actually plays golf

Clay - gets clumsy when trying to impress someone he admires (imagine him meeting King Peppy and he just knocks things over)

Clay - competitive af - brothers know better than to verse him at anything - has an over the top victory dance

Viva - that concept art of tiny Viva is the age she was when they escaped the Troll Tree. So like 15 maybe?

Viva - wants to make up for all the missed holidays/birthdays/parties with Poppy so she is constantly popping out from places with gifts yelling SURPRISE!

Branch - for Pop Trolls - being in a famous singing group is the equivalent of being a recognized expert in your field. So the fact that Branch is in TWO famous boy bands is like he has several PhDs.

Branch - Kismet formed inside a group home for Trollings

Poppy and Vivas mother - my theory is that they managed to keep princess Viva a secret from the Bergens. They chose the Queen for Trollstice when they discovered what they thought was her first egg. The Troll Tree escape plan came about when Chef promised the new royal trolling for the young Bergen prince.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls floyd #trolls john dory #trolls branch #trolls brozone #trolls viva #trolls clay #trolls bruce #trolls queen poppy #queen poppy

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alwaysshallow · 2 months

Text

single mom x price; PART 3

where john, for the first time, enters your house. and, pushes the boundaries.

AO3 VERSION

part 1 || part 2

It’s impossible to avoid him.

Not like you try to do it, not after the amazing fiasco with your car, not after having to face him about parking somewhere different. It would be not only stupid, but also weird considering that he seems like a… really good man. You don’t have anything against him.

On the road, you decide that since you’re a big girl, you shouldn’t be that opposed to the idea of meeting from time to time with him. It’s just a neighbor-neighbor relationship, nothing more, nothing less. Not like you automatically offer yourself to him by just being nice.

And, friendship with him can be beneficial, as he’s known as a local handyman.

Like he’d actually read your thoughts, he’s right there when you come back from your son’s school. This time, not half-naked—you think about it with a weird dose of disappointment, like you’d prefer him more without clothes—but in sweatpants and a matching hoodie, coffee in hand. Two, to be more precise, fairly cute with heart imprints on them.

“Coffee for the trouble,” he says, handing you a warm cup. Smile on his lips, the brightest it can be, so you don’t even think before taking a sip. “I hope I’m not a complete jackass in your eyes?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Jackass?”

He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. Almost shy; you don’t know him, so you assume he is somehow. What you do not know; he’s more like a dog that pretends to be shy after he did something bad. Making you draw attention towards him. “Acted like that, maybe.”

The sincere concern in his voice is cute. “No, it’s… you had no idea after all, right? You didn’t know it was my car that you’re blocking, could be anyone’s.”

He just hums at that, acknowledging your response. You stay with him outside for a few more minutes, then leave with a vague explanation of what you need to do inside. And, you promise to see him tomorrow, if you’re lucky.

A mistake. It just encourages him more and more.

He starts bringing you coffee after this morning. Makes a ritual out of it, bringing you always the same coffee that made the best impression on you with the taste and freshness. He asks, too—if you need something different, if you need something a bit more fancy. Brags about his coffee machine and finally making the use of it, if you want.

You don’t see how his eyes glimmer when you say, “the simplest is the best”.

Price’s a good company. Cracking jokes, chatting, telling you just a little about himself, making you more curious with every meeting.

Always so close to you. You think you know every little wrinkle by now, how his eyes crinkle in the corners when he laughs, when he smiles. Small mannerisms that make you soften, wonder what a guy like him was doing in the military.

Naive thought. Everyone has a mask.

The two of you always drink coffee outside. He’s respectful enough to not enter your house or ask about it, probably thinking that he’s gonna pry. You’re always somewhere around the mailbox, your car or you invite him on a bench near your house, closer every day to the inside.

He’s always outside, but seems like he wants to go inside. You catch his glances over your shoulder as he towers over you, leaning over your fence or when he looks back at the house. Longing stare, like he wants something from here, a part of your life that he could have, a part of the life that he might understand better when he’s gonna enter the house. But, he doesn’t ask.

Yet. You feel like he’s gonna do it in the near future, as he gets tired of just being in front of your house where nothing happens for outsiders.

You learn over days that he’s there and he’s not going anywhere. When you are back from your son’s school, he’s already there. Saying something about mowing your lawn and as you actually need it, you bite back the “I can handle that alone” argument. Maybe he’s just nice. Maybe it’s a chance for once to not do everything yourself, at least you think.

He’s like a scent that sticks to you and no matter how you want to wash it off, to smell different, to smell like you again, you simply can’t. He makes everyone know that he’s around you and no one else is allowed to be whatsoever. Marks the territory: a dog that finally had his bone and doesn’t want to give it away, even if no one seems like they want to snatch it.

People aren’t blind; they see how he lingers, a stain of coffee on your perfectly white tablecloth. Something that you can take care of, but it will be there, if you have a mug a bit cracked. If it will be coming back, just like he does. You don’t see anything wrong with that. Neither does he; you’re a couple of friends—

He has no desire to stay away these days. Denise from the store asks you about that; softly, afraid to scare you, like you are some kind of untamed animal or someone like that. Fragile.

She brings it up over a dinner invitation, asking if she has to bring one more plate than usual; it’s innocent question and you don’t catch the double meaning in her words when you say, “Only me and my boy.”

She nods. A few seconds of silence pass between you two and you know for a fact there’s something in this silence. Something that you don’t quite enjoy because it’s gonna hit your personal life, so carefully hidden beneath all of the layers. “No John?” she peeks at you.

You stop in your tracks to look at her. Confused what your neighbor has to do with a friend's dinner that he didn’t belong to earlier on. Maybe you missed a chapter? He doesn’t even talk with Denise. “Why John would…”

“...you are spending a lot of time together. Figured it’s only right to ask, y’know. But no worries!” She says it, almost in a hurry, like you would scold her for even thinking about it. Before you have a chance to ask further, she says goodbye and you’re left with your own thoughts.

Is it that visible to the others? Are you gonna be invited to the things together now, like you’re some kind of pack? Do you act like there’s something more to it? Maybe it is, maybe you just don’t see it yet. Maybe you don’t want to see it because you’re scared of what you’re gonna see.

A mess that he comes with. A mess that he wants to hide too. He can’t let himself scare you, not yet—

Who actually knows. You don’t even know it.

Your kid also likes Price. Seeing him before school, after school when he’s outside. Eager to go and talk to him, but limiting himself to only wave towards him, at which John gives him the biggest smile ever and waves too. Small talk there and there, little steps towards inevitable—an ask from your kid if he’s ever gonna come and play with him.

He says one day something about other boys and them getting to play with their dads, so he could play as well with Price, your friend. You pretend that it doesn’t hurt you deep, so you just smile awkwardly, saying something about asking John about it someday. Sooner than later because you just can’t erase the sound of your son, sounding disappointed when he said what he said.

The routine continues and extends to some point. Price tiptoes around you, slowly breaking the barriers you set for yourself. Helps you plant flowers “because it’s only right”, takes care of your garden with you when it gets too tiring or when your son yells for you and John says that, “you can’t let the little one down, can you?”. Reminds you of a garden competition that you forgot about, when you ask why he is still here.

He’s around a lot more, but still outside.

A small significance about this detail doesn’t occur to you yet.

The perfect picture has to crack at some point; and unfortunately it does in the worst time that it could—on a completely random day. The moment you start your car to pick up your son from his school, the car makes weird noises. Nothing ignites the way it should, no matter how many times you turn your key, no matter if you even try to push harder. You even look up a random youtube video tutorial, but it doesn’t make a difference. It won’t start anyway.

And, just like that, you attract the audience—John Price himself—who shouts something to you. You try to ignore him, as you don’t have time for him right now, but he’s persistent, watching you as you hit the gas pedal; and it’s completely useless considering your car doesn't even start.

“Tryin’ to hit me with the car this time?” he taunts, giving you that perfect smile he always has when he tries to make you smile too. This time it doesn’t work, maybe makes you even more miserable in the whole situation.

You manage to give him a weak smile though. Forced one, while you try to get your car to start, even more encouraged right now to get it started; you don’t want help, you don’t want him to notice how much you struggle right now. And it would happen again, like he’s a magnet for bad things happening to you, so he could swoop in and play the hero.

Which, of course, sounds absurd.

Much to your dismay, he opens the door quickly, a considerate smile on his lips. “C’mon, sweetheart. What’s happening there?”

“My car isn’t starting. As you see,” you add, a little bit aggressive; maybe too aggressive, as you see how his eyebrows furrow. You can’t do anything about your tone, even if you somehow want to, as you feel too helpless and pent up. Like you’re losing control. “Listen, John. I swear to God, I don’t have time—”

“No need for attitude, love.”

The sudden comment makes you gulp. Maybe you might have added too much attitude, maybe reacted too aggressive and he’s way too sweet to deserve it, but it’s not the worst thing to worry about right this second. "I— God, I’m sorry, but my kid ends the class in ten minutes, I just can’t—" you sigh, massaging your temples. It’s like nothing you’re going to say will be right and not considered straight up rude.

He takes a second before answering. "We'll take care of everything," he tells you. That word—we—makes you giddy. The way he says it, so firmly, not leaving even a pole of a discussion for you. “Gonna drive you here, then look at your car.”

You bite your lip, conflicted. “You probably have better things to do. I can just borrow your car, it’s only a ten minute drive.”

“You thought I’d let you drive like this? Nervous? ‘m not the man.”

The sentence itself makes you embarrassed. Weird, bad on the stomach that you actually thought like this. “I’m not—”

“—Get in the car.”

You don’t even try to argue anymore, so you just nod. Without any further question, you follow him to his pick up truck, sitting on the passenger's seat, while your knight in the shiny armor picks the country song to play along the way.

You don’t miss how happy your kid looks when you pick him up with John. It’s not a very different reaction from the times you pick him up alone, but right now? Right now you see the sparkle in his eyes. The actual excitement, how he’s not usually tired as he is, telling you what he learned today with a half-lidded eyes, when you automatically feel bad for engaging in a discussion with him. No.

He’s practically getting out of his seat to be closer to Price, you have to remind him that he needs to be still so he’s gonna be safe. He tells him all about his school, what teachers teach him, what his favorite activity is, getting even more excited when John acknowledges what he said. Your son is practically in heaven when he asks him questions, he answers them all with a big smile on his lips, showing his front teeth. He’s not used to a man figure being around, not used to someone else than you, his grandma or your best friend.

John stops for ice cream, first in the season. You’re opposed to that idea, trying to explain to him that’s probably way too cold for that, but all it takes is his one hand on your cheek. Big, covering practically the half of your face, like he’s telling you, without opening his mouth, that he knows what he’s doing. He asks, his voice low, if you can make an exception for him. Because it’s the first time you’re here with him and your boy. Because he wants to make him feel special. Weirdly overwhelmed, but also feather-like, you agree.

You never let your kid eat ice cream before it gets warmer.

He doesn’t let you pay; he’s faster with his credit card, flashing you a smile, when you squirm about being so kind to you two. Price waves his hand at that, like the idea of being too kind isn’t an option.

You decide to eat outside, near the fountain in the park; better than doing it in the car, more bonding as Price said. Your son continues the blabber about his school with John, who gets quiet after the little man tells him that he told his friends about him, how he built a treehouse just for him the other day. Like it wasn’t enough, he mentions them being jealous of a “such a cool dad”. You know that the word is accidental, innocent as the kid doesn’t really have a dad, a father figure like John and when he’s here, it seems… inevitable to call him like that.

You’re a bit afraid that the information might overwhelm him, even if you personally don’t see it as a deep comment, especially from the child. John is funny, likes to spend his time around you two, but it might feel like a commitment or some sort.

But then you notice a weird look in his eyes. Primal, beaming with pride, almost like it’s the moment that he can officially claim him as his. It’s ridiculous to be proud of something like that, so you take that thought away, listening to John say something about “making another treehouse together” and spending time with his friends, taking them to ice cream, if he would want to.

Almost like a son with his father, really. It’s maybe ridiculous, but…

But. But. But.

Sometimes you think that they are similar. It’s not about the looks—maybe a bit, considering that your son has just as blue eyes as Price, and a smile that could steal a million stars—but about mannerisms. Without even thinking, he picks up certain behavior, a hand on a hip when he’s not really pleased with something or scratching his jaw and slightly tapping his chin if he’s thinking.

Simple, didn’t catch your eye at first, but it hit you when you have a certain comparison.

John is back the same day. Standing right in front of you at your porch with his famous toolbox that you have seen around many times; before you even get to ask him why is he here, he explains, “can’t leave you like this. Would be wrong,” and you automatically feel your knees weaken.

Seems like you can’t get rid of him this easily right now.

First steps into your house are slow. You don’t really pay attention to this, but John takes a good look around, observing like a hawk what you have. The pictures of you and your son are practically everywhere, there’s a little mess in the living room, showing that you indeed have a kid—he notes everything in his mind.

And he notes how much of attention to detail you have, yet, still hasn't said anything about him being so curious.

Like an omen, the cupboard you repaired a while ago, falls down to the floor. Thank God there was nothing inside.

“Seems like it will need my hand too,” he says, looking at you. There’s concern in his eyes, but also a weird gleam, like the prospect of spending more time here is actually exciting for him. “Gonna be here for a while, eh? Coulda told me sooner, love, ‘bout this shit.”

“Yeah. It… needs to be fixed, but I thought I’d… take care of it,” you murmur, bashful. The feeling that you know a little too well around John Price; that monstrous man who probably would’ve killed you barehanded. At the same time, he’s the nicest man. Seems like the nicest man at least; that’s what your local research told you. Behind it all, he is…perfect.

Maybe that’s why you don’t want to believe that he wants to be around you without any hidden meanings behind it.

He stops in your garage. “S’not trouble at all, sweetheart.” He leans down a little, his eyes locked on yours. You don’t even notice how his hand is dangerously close to your face, fingers playing with a loose strand from your bun, made a little hastily before he even came here. “Let me do everything. Take care of you. And you do your thing, I’ll be here.”

You frown. Maybe it’s not the worst idea to leave him be, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel right—leaving him in your garage. “You’re completely sure you don’t need help? I mean, I can take care of—”

“—I’ve got you, mama. Do your thing,” he whispers out. Sweet and affectionate. Giving you the sense of comfort, reassurance that he’s perfectly capable of whatever he’s gonna do with your car right now. “You wanted to make something for a little man, then do it.”

“Okay,” you say, your tone low too. His smile reaches his eyes now, as he kisses your temple, then, like it’s nothing, moves under the machine. You look at him dumbstruck, like someone hit you a moment before with a baseball bat.

Normally, you’d say something about it. How inappropriate it is, how you’re not even close, not to mention that you’re not his to be treated like that, but it’s John that you think about. A man that’s kind enough to repair your car, so you just back out to your house, throat tight, fingers clutching at the end of your hoodie.

Even if it seems inappropriate, you can’t say that it’s not nice—because it is. The thought of someone taking care of you, giving it all in bigger and smaller gestures. Making everything seem so easy with him, easier than doing it alone.

And you’re used to doing things alone, so maybe that’s why it’s kind of hard to get used to his presence.

Thoughts flow by, when you make chocolate muffins. Your kid’s favorite—and what you learn after, John’s favorite too. He eats them as eagerly as your six year old, who is dirty with chocolate all over his face. You make a mental note to make them less moist later, so you’re not gonna be occupied with cleaning in the future.

Price licks the surfeit of chocolate off his fingers when he’s done. Slowly, taking his time to do it right. You think you might go insane when he holds your gaze the entire process, the corner of his lips twitching. Something in your head tells you that he gets off on it, to the thought of how shy you are if it’s coming down to him, to his actions, but you try to not to think about it. Desperately.

Significant word, try.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing—or, too much, as there’s multiple John Price’s on the internet. Narrowing your searches, you add simple “military” to it, hoping for a miracle, something that will tell you anything about him. No matter if it’s gonna be bad or good, but the ache in your heart tells you that you’d want it to be good.

It feels like a crime, when you sit to your laptop right after your kid is asleep. Curiosity kills the cat, but you forget about this when you type in “John Price” in your browser, a glass of wine on your coffee table, next to the lamp that your grandma gave you. She would encourage your behavior, you can’t help but think.

Something in you whispers that it’s a right idea, he’s not telling enough about himself to let you be around him so much. Not to let him act like you’re so close that neighbors already are talking about being a “thing”. Besides, it’s not only you here. Your kid likes him too, a tad too much for your liking to ignore the case and not check basic info.

There is some information about him, but they’re mostly… a state of fact. Articles about successful missions, hostages alive. A bunch of articles praising him by the mayor of the town that the whole action happened at, interviews how he brings good everywhere he is. Multiple operations, even more praises for whatever he’s doing. Golden boy, made to shine.

Aside from the military, man doesn’t exist. No relatives, no social media that could tell you a scrap of his personality. If he likes cats or dogs better, if he’s divorced, if he has a family that he abandoned, or maybe close friends that he lost along the way. Walking mystery he is, or maybe a perfection. He can be everything he wants to be, and you won’t tell the difference between his past and the person he is now. You have no reference point.

Incredulous, you fidget with the hem of your t-shirt, thinking. No one is perfect, everyone has their demons, small or big, but everyone has them, the past that they’d like to forget in order to live without heaviness in their hearts. You have things you’d like to forget, a thing that haunts you every time you think about it; one of them is your son’s biological father, but you decide not to think about it further. There’s better things to think of that son of a bitch.

He saw things, you don’t need to be an alpha and omega to know that. Bad things; things that you probably won’t ever see, if you’re lucky, but this shit sits in his head, of course. Only him and God knows how many people he lost, how many he buried along the way, how many he killed.

It makes the difference who he was before.

You can’t have someone that you don’t know very well around the kid, you repeat to yourself, as you close the laptop. You can’t have someone who could be a potential danger. You want peace and quiet in your own home, men already disappointed you enough, including the biological father of your kid, you don’t need to have another one on your list.

Yet, you want him around somehow. He keeps the bad things away, he makes things better, he takes the worries away, just like he did with the car.

You just need to… find more information on John Price. Take some distance, maybe, and think about all of it twice.

#john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x you #captain price fluff #captain price x reader #cod x reader #x reader #single mom fic #john price #john price/reader #john price fic

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ohbo-ohno · 2 months

Text

lamb to the slaughter

summary: Recently injured, discharged, and desperate for money, Johnny manages to find a job at a local prison by calling in a favor. What seems like just the blessing he needs to get himself back on his feet quickly becomes his worst nightmare when one of the prisoners fixates on him in the worst way possible. (or: dark ghoap prison au. mind the tags!)

word count: 26.3k

cw: GRAPHIC NONCON SEX, trans soap, victim blaming, transphobia, watersports, forced feminization, drugged sex, use of the word "faggot" during sex, prisoner ghost/prison guard soap

author's note: many many endless thanks to ceilidh, who served this plot on a silver platter to me when i was complaining pathetcially about being incapable of thinking. also lumi for listening to me scream ily <3 two quick disclaimers: (1) i do not know how prisons work, and i did not google anything about them for this fic bc i knew i’d get bogged down in research lmaoo. this fic goes by my rules, which means everything that happens works for plot convenience and not by any real world logic. (2) this plot is held together by duct tape and sex scenes, pls do not come here looking for a rich story

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

The man in front of Johnny is familiar. Not because they’ve met before, but because he’d spent nearly a decade surrounded by men just like Herschel Shepherd - tall, broad, commanding assholes like him had been his least favorite part of being enlisted.

Johnny spent his entire military career being doubted and underestimated by mirror images of the man in front of him. He sees the doubt now in the way Shepherd looks at him, the way his eyes linger on Johnny’s middle and the quick expression of shock when he’d walked in the door and stood eye-level with the ex-General.

It makes him want to let his lip curl, to bite out something insulting, but this is his only worthwhile job prospect so he holds his tongue and shifts in the uncomfortable chair set in front of the dark wood desk.

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, folding his hands over his stomach and leaning back in his seat. His shirt is tugged tight over his abdomen, almost pulled out from where it’s tucked in his pants. Johnny wonders if he’ll try and get in shape again when he realizes, or if he’ll fully let himself go and embrace the beer-belly he’s halfway to. “I’ll be honest with you, MacTavish - if you didn’t come highly recommended, I wouldn’t consider you for a second.”

Johnny barely keeps from snorting. That’s certainly an interesting way to say if I didn’t owe John Price a near unrepayable favor I’d laugh you out of the building .

“I know, sir.”

“We’ve never hired someone with your…” Shepherd pauses, bites his tongue like he’s tasting something nasty. “ Condition .”

Johnny resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I know, sir.”

Shepherd looks like he wants to say something about Johnny’s tone, and he probably would have were they still in the military. But in the concrete walls of his office, he only sighs and sits forward, forehead creasing. “I suppose you’re lucky you’re so tall. The inmates might not even notice.”

Johnny wants to say obviously, you wanker, I’ve been injecting hormones into myself for over a decade and I’m taller than you are .But he can’t say that, or anything like it. The fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter how tall he is, or how long he’s been on testosterone, or how muscular he is - because Shepherd already knows what he was born as, and nothing else will matter to a man stuck so firmly in the past.

That had been one of the only things Johnny was looking forward to outside of the military - the chance to meet people who didn’t know he was transgender before he could even introduce himself. In the service, every superior he’d ever served under knew he had transitioned before they knew anything else about him. It had never mattered that he could hardly look less like a woman, they were going to treat him differently because of something he never could have controlled. The thought of his first boss as a civilian only seeing the M on his ID, of not dealing with the shock and confusion and inevitable prejudice that come with being trans, was one of the sole bright spots he’d thought of after being discharged.

He grits his teeth now, sitting in a shitty chair with cracking vinyl in a superior officer’s barren office. Somehow, thousands of miles away from any military base he was ever stationed at, Johnny feels like he never fucking left the service. His knee twinges in pain and he barely manages to keep from shifting to try and ease it.

“Folks usually cannae tell,” he finally replies. “Not unless someone tells them.”

Shepherd catches the implication in his tone and nods to himself, letting his head roll to the side. “You’re a surprise hire, so the other guards won’t know of course. It’s probably for the best if you keep it that way.”

“Probably,” Johnny agrees, just barely keeping the sarcasm from his voice. He tacks on a, “Sir,” for good measure.

Shepherd eyes him again, scanning him head to toe like he can see all of Johnny’s weak spots. It takes effort not to shift in place and stretch his stiffening knee. The damn thing hasn’t stopped aching since he was let out of the hospital, even with the painkillers he takes daily. He worries about how much worse it’ll be when he runs out.

Finally, Shepherd grunts and stands, leaning his weight against palms laid flat on the desk. “You’re dismissed, MacTavish. Officer Garrick will be waiting for you just down the hall. He’ll give you a tour and help you get settled”

Johnny nods and stands, finding himself grateful when Shepherd doesn’t offer a hand to shake. Neither of them are under any illusions that the other wants them there, and Johnny’s glad he’s not expected to pretend this is anything but his final resort. There’s no coming up with a lie about how he wants this job, no pretending his strengths and weaknesses fit into this career - just a silent acknowledgment of an owed favor and a contract with his name signed on the dotted line.

He lets Shepherd’s office door close behind him and takes a deep, stabilizing breath, a modicum of tension melting from his shoulders.

The air in the prison is warm and stale, and Johnny feels like he can’t quite get a full breath in because of it. The halls are suspiciously silent, and if he were still a betting man he’d say the air conditioning has gone out and left the whole building just past the point of comfortably warm.

His steps are near silent as he walks back the way he came, his old training keeping the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It’s a conscious effort to keep from limping at all, and his right knee screams at him for it.

Johnny’s determined not to show any weakness, though. He can sit on his ass as much as wants to give his bum knee a break - after work. But here in this building, he knows he can’t can’t show such an obvious weak point.

The man waiting for him at the end of the hall strikes the same chord in Johnny’s mind as Shepherd had - they both look like men straight out of the military. Garrick is a few inches taller than Johnny, with buzzed black hair and a dark complexion.

“Hey,” the man smiles, standing from his relaxed position against the wall once Johnny gets within a few feet of him. “Officer MacTavish, right?”

“That’s me,” Johnny confirms, holding a hand out for a quick but firm shake. “You’re Garrick, then?”

“Call me Gaz.” Garrick smiles, wide and easy, showing off teeth just slightly crooked in his mouth. Johnny smiles back, almost surprising himself with how easy it comes. “It’s my callsign, from when I was enlisted. Nothing else ever quite feels as natural, least not when I’m armed like this.” He laughs, open and light, and Johnny finds more of his tension easing away.

“You can call me Soap, then,” he says, falling into step beside Gaz as the man leads him down the hall.

“Alright, Soap, I’ll be showing you around and giving you a quick rundown of everything you’ll be expected to do. You ready?”

“Course. Lead the way, Officer.”

———————————————————————

The job ends up being easier than Johnny expected. He almost wants to turn to Gaz and say that’s it? You just want me to babysit these killers all day? Is that really all you do? But even Johnny’s rusty - and that’s being kind - social skills tell him that would be a step too far on his first day.

Gaz tells him that the first few weeks will be easy, that Johnny will mostly just be expected to travel with a pack of other guards and act as an extra set of eyes. He’s to go where his CO tells him to go, watch who his CO tells him to watch, and do what his CO tells him to do. Really, it’s nothing too different than he’s been doing for the last decade - except here there are no targets , only prisoners, and his objective is to keep them alive instead of killing them.

Quite frankly, it all sounds boring to him. The thought of standing around for hours on end and watching prisoners just go about their day-to-day lives sounds like hell on both his bad knee and his attention span, and Johnny’s far from eager to start his new job.

But it’s the only place he’s found that’ll pay him nearly enough. Anywhere else, and he’d have to stop sending money to Nan, and it’s not like any of his cousins would be decent enough to pick up the slack - they’ve long since proved that they’ll smoke or gamble any spare change away before taking care of anyone else. So if he wants to keep the lights on for his family, he’s not getting out of here before any of the prisoners.

“We really don’t have much of a behavior issue here,” Gaz says on their way out, the sun just beginning to set as they stop just outside the door. “The prisoners have their own hierarchy, and they tend to keep themselves in line. But when they don’t-” Here he smirks, sending a conspiratorial look Johnny’s way. “Well, that’s what the baton and taser are for. Don’t be afraid to use them if you need to, alright?”

“I’m not worried,” Johnny says, waving the other man off. “Plenty of the men I was deployed with probably shoulda been locked up, same as these blokes. If I can’t handle them, I’m worse off than I could’ve thought.”

They share a laugh, and Johnny can physically feel some of the weight lifting off his shoulders when he realizes he doesn’t have to force it. Maybe the new job won’t be so bad if he can make some real friends.

The thought tugs him to a stop, stalling his laughter. Friends. It’s been nearly a decade since he’d had a friend. His fellow soldiers were brothers in arms at best, despised acquaintances at worst. The prospect of having a coworker he’s truly amicable with, someone he’d maybe go out for drinks with, gives him more hope for life as a civilian than any mandated therapy session ever had.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gaz says, once they’ve both stopped laughing. “Where you parked?”

“Oh, uh- I’m takin’ the bus for a bit. Car’s in the shop,” Johnny explains, wincing internally at the lie. He’ll have to come up with something a little more permanent before long, but the explanation is satisfactory enough for now.

“You sure?” Gaz’s brows furrow a bit, in what reads to Johnny as genuine concern. “I don’t mind giving you a ride, the bus is quite a walk.”

“I’ll be fine, mate,” he reassures, clapping Gaz on the shoulder and turning away, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, yeah? See you then.”

He doesn’t wait for the other man’s response, just wraps his jacket tight around himself and tucks his hands beneath his arms. It’s just cool enough for him to shiver, and to wish he’d worn boots instead of runners.

The prison yard is full of inmates as Johnny walks by it - a good distance away from the fence, but still easily visible. He knows they’ll be out for another ten minutes or so after he’s officially off the clock, which means they’ll be locked back in their cells before long.

As soon as one of them catches sight of Johnny - and his ugly khaki uniform - they start howling and shouting through the fence.

“‘Ey, where you goin’ Officer? Headin’ home to your nice mansion?”

“Goin’ back to fuckin’ suburbia, pig?”

“Don’t you come back, damn polis! I see you tomorrow, I’ll make you my bitch!”

Johnny’s lip curls at the insults, and he has to force himself not to shout something back. His pride chafes against his silence, but he knows instigating will only make things worse. Still, he’s tense as he walks, jaw clenched tight enough to give himself a headache when he hears a wolf-whistle as he turns the corner.

Jackasses, all of ‘em, he thinks, only relaxing when he knows he’s no longer within their sight. He can see the bus stop now, even though it’s a few blocks away.

His knee twinges just as the first drop of rain hits his nose and Johnny sighs, hustling as much as his aching leg will allow.

He’s soaked to the bone by the time he finally makes it to the bench.

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny finds himself in surprisingly high spirits. The bus had been right on time that morning, instead of ten minutes late like it had been the day before, and it’s started to sink in that he’s finally got consistent work - and more importantly, a consistent paycheck. His walk to the bus, and then the prison, is clear and pleasant, not a cloud in the sky.

By the time he finally clocks in, he’s almost walking with a pep in his step. The only thing that clouds his mood is the pain in his right knee - he hadn’t walked as much as he had yesterday since finishing off his physical therapy, and he hasn’t been doing the best at keeping up with his exercises. The joint is stiff and tense today, and it’s harder to mask his limp. Not impossible, but something he has to focus on.

Still, the dull pain isn’t enough to fully cloud his spirits. He picks up his baton and taser from the staff room, clipping them to his belt and smiling at Officer Garrick when the other man steps in.

“Mornin’,” he calls, glad to see the other man step to a cubby right near his to start getting ready for their shift. He counts the keys on his keychain, making sure that they haven’t impossibly disappeared, and hooks it through a belt loop, tugging to check that it’s secure.

“Morning, Soap. I’m glad to see you’re in high spirits.”

“Aye. Got a good night’s sleep, got me ready to take on the day.” It’s a lie - Johnny hasn’t truly gotten a good night’s sleep since he came home. He’d heard similar things from other soldiers, something about a real bed being too comfortable, but he had managed to sleep decently the night before.

“I’m glad. You’re working under Officer Graves today, and… well, he’s not particularly popular with most of the guards.”

Johnny cocks an eyebrow at Gaz, leaning his hip against the counter as the other man readies himself. “Really? I figured I’d still be with you a few more days.”

“Neither of us are that lucky, I’m afraid.” Gaz smiles at him sardonically, then steps back and holds a hand toward the door. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The walk to the lobby of the prison - a large room right before the entrance into the actual prison, but with thick windows to see in - together, both lingering at the back of the small crowd of guards.

Johnny’s boss - Graves, a man he hadn’t met yet but already had a sour opinion of, thanks to Gaz‘s description of him during their tour - stands at the front of the room, reading off job assignments from memory and sending guards into the prison to get ready for the day.

“Garrick, I want you in the yard today. Keep an eye on Vargas - he’s been gettin’ too cocky recently. And then… ah, our new guy.” Graves smiles at Johnny as he stands from his place against the wall. Gaz pats his back heavily as he heads off, and Johnny moves towards his new CO when the shorter man gestures him forward.

“I want you to take food to our guy in solitary,” Graves says, clapping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. He’s got to reach up, since he’s several inches shorter than Johnny, and something about that difference makes his spine straighten. “He’s a mean bastard, but he shouldn’t cause you too much trouble. You won’t get the easy assignments everyday though, rook, so don’t get used to it.”

Johnny just barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “Aye, I’ll manage. Where’s solitary?”

Graves claps him twice more, then steps away. “Read the maps on the wall, MacTavish, it’s not my job to hold your hand,” he says, turning away. “Parra! What’d I say about gettin’ close to the cells like that?”

Johnny grumbles under his breath as he turns to the faded map pinned to the wall. It’s not the easiest thing to read - one corner is unstuck from the wall, and the creases across the whole paper are so deep that certain words are unreadable. But Johnny’s read more confusing under worse circumstances, and it doesn’t take him long to find himself and the cafeteria on the map.

There are a few guards already in the large room when he arrives, most of them paired off among each other and lingering around the edges of the room. He doesn’t bother talking to any of them, and instead heads straight for the assembly-lines of cooks, eager to get his first task done and hopefully get assigned to something he can stand still for.

“Excuse me,” he calls, waving down the first woman to look towards him. “I’m supposed to be taking breakfast to a prisoner in solitary. Have you got that for me?”

The woman he’s speaking to - Rhonda, her name tag says - looks entirely unamused by Johnny’s presence, but she slides a tray of food across to him.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling at her. He’d always enjoyed getting the tougher soldiers to crack when he’d been assigned to their teams. Seeing a burly sniper’s lips finally twitch after days of joking around felt nearly as good as praise from a CO, and something about Rhonda makes Johnny think she’ll be ten times harder to amuse than even the most hardened soldier. “Should I just bring the tray back to you, then?”

She gives him a long look, scanning him head to toe. “You new, then? He’ll give the tray back to you when he’s finished, then you drop it off with the busboy.” She points over to an older man leaned against the counter, cigarette hanging loose from his lips despite the strict ‘no smoking’ policy Johnny had been warned of. He only notices a moment later that the fag is unlit, and the man seems more interested in rolling it between his teeth than smoking it.

“You’re a doll,” he says, winking at Rhonda as he picks up the tray and only grinning more fully when she rolls her eyes and turns away. “Back in a jiffy!”

He’s almost positive he can hear her curse at him under her breath, and that only makes his smile feel more real.

The walk from the cafeteria to solitary isn’t a long one, but it is lonely. Johnny occasionally passes or spots another employee making the rounds, but none of them bother to even acknowledge his presence. After such an open greeting from Gaz, he’d expected most of the guards to be somewhat like him, but he’s quickly finding that it seems to be the opposite. He can’t bring himself to be too disappointed, though - he’s content enough with just one friend for now. He tells himself that he never would have been able to keep up with more than that - he barely keeps contact with family, these days - and pretends he doesn’t feel just the slightest bit disappointed.

The solitary confinement hall has ten cells, five on each side, though only one of them is closed and locked. There’s a guard waiting at one end of the corridor, half-asleep and leaning most of his weight against the wall, but he jerks straight when Johnny clears his throat.

The man has to blink for a minute to clear the sleep from his eyes, and Johnny cocks a brow as he waits.

“Oh, are you here to take over? Good, good, my shift’s already run long and Shepherd’s been a bitch recently about overtime.” The man’s already straightened and several steps away by the time what he’s said clicks in Johnny’s brain.

“I’m not here to take over your shift, mate, I’m just here to give the inmate his…” he trails off as the man doesn’t turn around, fully disappearing around the corner before Johnny can finish his sentence. “...food.”

With a sigh, Johnny turns toward the cells. The doors are all nearly identical, the only thing differentiating them being their signs of wear and the light above their frame - one green, nine red.

Not fully sure what he’s meant to do, Johnny bends to slide the long and thin slot near the ground open, nudging the tray through and wincing when it clatters to the floor. After a moment of silence he stands back up, lingering unsurely.

When the silence stretches a full two minutes, he pulls open the small window at his eye-level, squinting to see into the dark room.

It’s empty.

For a moment, Johnny can do nothing but stare. But no matter how many times he runs his eyes over the same details of the room, they don’t change. Nothing moves, not even a shadow against the wall, and the room appears entirely empty.

“Anybody in there?” He calls, wincing internally at the choice in wording. He sounds like he’s asking if a bathrooms empty, not making sure a likely violent criminal hasn’t fucking escaped.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no response from the empty room.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Had something like this happened in the military, had someone else fucked up so massively that every person even tangentially involved was at risk for punishment, he’d have helped the idiot cover it up and then told everything to Price and let him worry about whether or not it needed to be taken any further.

But here, Johnny can’t put himself at risk. He doesn’t have Price’s reputation to fall back on, doesn’t have tenure or medals or broken records to cushion his fall. If he’s caught in any sort of crossfire here, he’ll lose everything.

He worries his tongue between his teeth, shifting to ease weight off his bad knee. He can’t make any decisions without knowing all the information, so he cautiously unhooks his keyring from his pants and finds the right key, unlocking the cell door.

The hinges are loud as the door eases open, and Johnny only just barely manages to keep from jumping at the broken silence. His palms are beginning to sweat just a bit, but his hands are steady as he just barely cracks the door and steps inside.

He’s hardly a full step into the cell when a hand grabs him by the collar, tugging him into a fist to his eye. Before he can do more than grunt at the burst of pain, he’s shoved face first into the rough cinder block wall, his arms yanked behind him and twisted painfully.

“Fuck!” Johnny hisses, tension lining his every muscle.

The man behind him is silent, but Johnny can feel the long line of him pressed against his spine. He’s a big fucker, not a bit of Johnny’s back isn’t being touched, and he can feel breath ghosting over his mohawk.

“You’re new,” the prisoner says after a long few beats of silence. Johnny bares his teeth against the wall, jerking in the man’s hold. “Ah, ah,” he scolds, tugging Johnny’s wrists back and pushing his shoulders forward with his free hand, tugging his arms uncomfortably in their sockets. “Stay still.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Johnny sneers, dropping his head a bit and allowing his face to twist in discomfort since he knows the prisoner can’t see him. “You’re gonna stay in this hellhole twice as long once Shepherd hears about this, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again, ye bastard.”

“You a snitch?” There’s an amused tinge to the man’s voice, one that has Johnny growling and jerking in his hold again, damp forehead pressed to the wall. “You gonna go tattle on me, Officer? Tell them the big bad prisoner roughed you up a bit?”

“Get the fuck off of me,” Johnny hisses, kicking his good leg back to the prisoner’s knee. He doesn’t manage to hit him, but the man has to spread his legs a little further to dodge the blow. Before he can force Johnny into an even harsher hold, he kicks his leg back again with even more force. The prisoner makes a rough sound low in his throat when the heel of Johnny’s combat boot digs into his balls, his hold on Johnny’s wrists slackening immediately.

Had Johnny had any less experience in hand-to-hand combat, he wouldn’t have been able to jerk free before the prisoner got his bearings back. He can feel the man’s hold tightening just before her jerks away, turning quickly and landing a solid blow to the center of his chest.

The prisoner stumbles back just half a step, more out of surprise than anything he’d guess, but it creates more than enough space for Johnny to slide away from him and quickly throw himself out of the cell. Just before the door can slam closed, pale fingers lock around the corner.

It’s only Johnny’s momentum and his adrenaline that gives him enough strength to force the door closed anyway - were he not throwing his entire body weight backwards, he knows the prisoner would’ve been able to keep it open.

There’s a barely muffled curse as the man’s fingers are crushed in the door frame, and only Johnny pounding them with a closed fist gets him to fully let go. It only occurs to him a moment later that he has a baton on his hip for this exact moment, but he’s too busy trying to breathe through the adrenaline rush to care about his idiotic mistake.

He swallows thickly, working saliva back into his mouth, and takes another step further away from the door. He takes a long breath to make sure his voice is steady, then speaks loud enough for the prisoner to hear him.

“You know the routine. Eat your fuckin’ food, then slide the tray back out.” He tacks on a “Bastard,” his head already starting to pound. He’s not actually sure if that’s what the routine is, but he can’t imagine it’s anything else.

When the prisoner doesn’t respond, he takes another few steps away and leans where the other guard had been. He presses his fingers around his throbbing eye socket, hissing at the dull but growing pain. He’ll have a nice shiner, for sure, but as best he can tell there’s no further damage.

It only takes a few minutes for the prisoner to toss the tray back out, the plastic clattering loudly in the silent hall. It’s completely clean, just crumbs and a residual grease left smeared on the plate.

He crouches down to grab the tray and nearly jumps out of his skin when he glances up and sees the top half of a face glaring at him from the small opening.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he hisses, jerking back and away before he can really manage a good look at the man. He sees pale skin and shadowed, deep-set eye sockets, but not much else.

Johnny curses as he slides the little door shut, scolding himself for having such a visceral reaction to a man. A man who can’t possibly be the worst thing he’s ever faced, a man who’s literally locked in a cage. It’s a blow to the ego to have gotten so worked up over an unarmed prisoner when Johnny has multiple weapons on him, easily within reach.

It’s pathetic, is what it is. Pathetic, and a sharp reminder that he’s not the same man as he was even a year ago. Sergeant Soap MacTavish and Officer John MacTavish aren’t the same, no matter how much he tries to tell himself nothing’s changed since he was before being discharged. Everything’s changed, and this is just salt rubbed in the wound of it all.

He’s just turning around to head back to the cafeteria when he hears a new voice call out. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Smith is supposed to be on duty right now.”

The man heading towards Johnny is around his height, with brown skin and dark hair. He wears a uniform identical to Johnny’s, except the nametag over his heart says PARRA instead of MACTAVISH.

“Brought breakfast for ‘im,” Johnny explains, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and unable to keep a scowl from twisting his lips. “The other officer - Smith, I guess - left before I could tell that to him.”

Parra rolls his eyes, stepping fully forward and glancing over at the locked cell door, checking for something Johnny can’t think to look for. “Sounds like him. He’s always trying to get off early, doesn’t care who he dumps his shift onto.” He gives Johnny a considering look and a small smile. “Thanks for waiting for someone else to show up. A lot of new guys would just leave the job to someone else.”

Johnny doesn’t bother to correct him, figuring it can’t hurt for Parra not to know he’d been about to leave.

“I’m Officer Parra,” the other man says, offering a hand. “But you can call me Rudy.”

“Officer MacTavish,” Johnny returns, shaking the man’s hand. “Johnny.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Rudy smiles. “You can head off now. Graves’ll want you assigned to something else soon, best not to keep him waiting on your first day.”

There’s something odd in Rudy’s tone that makes Johnny unsure of the man, something almost judgmental. He gives the other guard a stiff smile, and turns to leave with a, “Thanks, mate. I’ll be seeing you,” sent over his shoulder.

He only gets turned around once on his way back to the cafeteria, and it’s only because he can’t quite shake the feeling that someone’s watching him. There’s something keeping his arms covered in goosebumps despite the warm air, some instinct making him fight the urge to glance over his shoulder no less than five times.

It’s through sheer force of will that he doesn’t. He knows with absolute certainty that no one’s following him, because the hallway is dead silent besides his quick footsteps. But that feeling still doesn’t dissipate, and that puts Johnny on edge.

The cafeteria is packed full of prisoners when he finally arrives, but none of them pay him any attention as he skirts around the edges of the room to drop the empty tray on top of a pile of other dishes. The busboy doesn’t give him any attention, so Johnny turns to scan the room for Graves.

He’s standing near the main entrance to the cafeteria, not the side door Johnny had come through, and leans against the wall just a foot or two away from a group of guards. They’re laughing just loudly enough to be obnoxious and Graves taps his baton against his palm, somehow making a show of the simple motion.

Johnny tries not to feel too irritated before even speaking to the man again, but it’s difficult.

“Graves,” he calls as he steps to the man’s side. “Got the prisoner in solitary fed, what’d you-”

“It’s Officer Graves, MacTavish,” Graves corrects, his tone snappish but lips quirked in a grin. “I’m your boss, not your equal.”

Johnny expects him to barrel on and say something else, but Graves only raises a brow and waits for a response.

“Right,” he forces out, trying not to grind his teeth. “Officer Graves. I fed the bloke in solitary, where do you want me now?”

Graves gives him a long look, something sharpening in his gaze. “You can shadow Garrick for the rest of the day, learn the ropes a bit more.”

Johnny’s nodding and already turning away when Graves says, “Hey, what happened there?”

“What?”

Graves uses his baton to point to his own right eye, head tilting. “Got some swelling going on there, MacTavish. Anything we should know about?”

Johnny turns back, considering for a moment before deciding he’s got nothing to lose since the prisoner didn’t actually manage to escape.

“The cell looked empty when I shoved the tray through. Thought the prisoner must’ve escaped somehow, but I double checked before reporting anything. The bastard must’ve been hiding somewhere, he got a good blow in before I got him off me and locked him in.”

Graves laughs at that, a sharp and loud sound that makes Johnny’s shoulders inch towards his ears.

“Yeah, that’s Ghost for you. Seems like he hazed you for us, rook.”

Johnny cocks his head. “Ghost?”

Graves hums, nodding. “Sure. His real name is Simon Riley, but everyone here just calls him Ghost. Big bastard, mean too. He’s in solitary more often than not these days, but that’s perfectly fine with me. The men get real testy when he’s in genpop with the rest of ‘em, always trying to take his place.”

“Why’d they call him Ghost?”

Graves scoffs, and one of the men next to him snickers. “You joking? You met the man this morning - they call him Ghost because of the way he disappears. Then fools like you go looking, and he takes you out before you even realize he’s there.”

A part of Johnny wants to bite out something about how he wasn’t taken out, and he actually got the best of this Ghost, but he locks the words behind his teeth and lets Graves’ dig roll off his shoulders. He nods, and takes another step away. “Well, he won’t be gettin’ the drop on me like that again, I know that.”

Graves laughs again, like Johnny’s a fool, and it takes everything in him to turn and walk away instead of knocking him out.

———————————————————————

The rest of the day goes as he had expected. He and Gaz follow the prisoners from room to room like shepherds, watching them try to find anything to fill the time.

Gaz talks while they watch. He tells Johnny about certain inmates’ personalities, tells him who’s someone else’s bitch, tells him how to spot a conflict they actually need to step in and de-escelate. Johnny listens intently, even if his mind wanders during some of the more boring explanations.

Eventually, when Gaz’s voice has gone flat and Johnny has stopped asking clarifying questions, the conversation moves into stories about their military days.

Johnny learns that he and Gaz had just barely missed each other several times. He learns that the other man knows Price too - and that they’re closer than Soap had been to his captain - and that Gaz had left instead of being discharged, that he has a sick mother at home to take care of.

When Garrick asks why Johnny left, he hesitates. It would be nothing to explain that his knee has been blown to smithereens, that he’d been discharged because he could hardly walk for weeks, let alone be of any use in combat. Gaz has surely seen worse injuries, just like Johnny has, but there’s still something that makes him pause before explaining.

When he fumbles around an explanation involving his elderly Nan and deadbeat cousins, Gaz only tuts and gives him a sympathetic look, and the conversation moves on. But Johnny’s lie lingers at the back of his mind, like an itch he can’t quite reach between his shoulders.

The day passes… well, not quickly, but not necessarily slowly either, with Gaz by his side. Six-thirty rolls around, and Johnny feels satisfied with his first day.

He’s walking towards the staff room with Garrick and another officer, Keller, when Graves stops him.

“MacTavish, c’mere for a second.”

Johnny glances at Gaz to see if the man has any idea what their CO could want from him and receives an entirely useless shrug in return. With only a small amount of trepidation, Johnny turns towards Graves and steps into the adjoining hall the other man gestures him towards.

“I need you to stay a bit late,” Graves starts, his expression far from mocking like it had been this morning. “I’ve got an assignment for you. You’ll be paid overtime.”

“Alright,” Johnny says slowly, shifting his weight onto his good foot. He’s more than willing to stay for a little bit of extra money, but there’s something in Graves’ expression that makes him feel like he’s missing something. “What’s the assignment then?”

Graves runs his tongue over his top teeth, then sighs. “Ghost showers on his own - some deal he made with the warden, don’t ask. He can’t be in there with other prisoners, but someone has to watch him to make sure he’s not sharpening another knife from his toothbrush. He’s requested it be you.”

Johnny’s still stuck on toothbrush knife when Graves’ look goes from reluctant to expectant. Then, what he’s said clicks.

“He… requested me?”

“That’s what I said.”

Johnny can’t help but let the skepticism bleed into his expression. “So he gets to request whatever he wants? And he gets it?”

Graves sighs impatiently, like Johnny’s asked him the stupidest question possible. “Ghost makes requests like this for the same reason he showers alone. He’s got some sort of deal with Shepherd that gets whatever he wants, and today what he wants is you. God only knows why, but quite frankly, I have no interest in questioning the man. If you’re so curious, ask him yourself.”

Johnny scowls, not bothering to disguise his expression at all. Graves only manages to get more irritating everytime they speak, and Johnny’s got no patience for dealing with him. “Fine. Where are the showers, then?”

Graves gives him quick directions. “Oh, and you’ll have to stand in the showers with him. You stand just outside, he’ll get the best of you. We’ve lost enough guards that way, and I don’t want to deal with training another newbie.”

“Wait,” Johnny says, stopping Graves before he can walk away. “Did you say in the shower with him?”

Graves scowls at Johnny like he’s something rotten. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of the man already, rook?”

“You just said he’s taken out multiple guards!” Johnny defends.

Graves rolls his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Keep your baton and your taser on you, and don’t drop the soap. Simple.” He smirks, giving Johnny a patronizing look. “Don’t work yourself up about it.”

Graves walks away before Johnny can say something insulting back, which - as annoying as it is to not have the last word - is probably for the best. Johnny’s hands are already clenched into fists at his side, and even with his very limited job experience he knows punching your boss on your first day would be a mistake.

Still, the sight of Graves swaggering away before Johnny can say something equally rude to him is bitter, the implication that Johnny is a coward is even more so. He can’t wipe the scowl from his face as he heads to solitary confinement, the tension in his spine only growing.

Rudy is still on duty when he arrives, not looking any different than he had that morning, and not moved an inch from where Johnny had last seen him.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ back in this wing?” Parra asks, his lips lifting in a smile as he stands from the wall to greet Johnny.

“Graves sent me to take Riley to the shower,” Johnny explains, rolling his eyes in what he hopes comes off as more I-hate-extra-work than I-hate-our-boss.

“He’s got you on that now?” Rudy lifts his brows, glancing over at the cell door like he’s looking at Ghost. “Well, better you than me - truth be told, he always creeped me out a bit. You got your cuffs?”

Johnny dangles them from his pointer finger and Rudy nods, moving forward to unlock the cell door.

“Alright, you know the deal, Ghost. Back of the cell, facing the wall,” Rudy calls out, his tone not changed at all from the way he had spoken to Johnny. He watches through the eye-level window for a few long moments, then grunts, satisfied, and swings open the door.

Part of Johnny is still expecting to see an empty cell, even knowing that Parra had just watched Riley. But sure enough, there Simon Riley stands at the back, facing the wall.

The cell is smaller with him in it. Ghost is all filthy jumpsuit and broad back, nothing but a pale neck and buzzed blond hair from what Johnny can see. There’s hardly a foot between the top of his head and the ceiling, and if he were to lift both his arms he’d be able to touch each wall with the palms of his hands.

He holds perfectly still, hands tucked behind his back, and he’s still one of the most threatening people Johnny’s ever seen. The air around him feels rotted, like the very atoms of oxygen are saying stay away, this one’s dangerous.

Unfortunately, Johnny doesn’t have the luxury of listening to his instincts. He steps forward with feigned confidence and snaps the suddenly pathetic looking cuffs around wide wrists with as little hesitation as he can manage. When Johnny steps back, Ghost turns with him and takes a step forward.

If he was intimidating from the back, he’s terrifying from the front.

He’s got a wide jaw and a heavy brow, with a crooked nose and thin lips. He’s got stripes of nearly white skin across his cheeks and neck, little scars that are at all different stages of fading. His eyes are brown, and the dark lighting in the room combined with his deep-set eye sockets make him almost look like he doesn’t have any at all.

His face is flat, still, and unexpresive. Something about the complete lack of expression is more intimidating than the half a foot and hundred extra pounds of muscle he’s got compared to Johnny.

But Johnny’s far from inexperienced in putting on a brave front when facing something dangerous, and he doesn’t let Ghost see how shaken he is. He fixes a scowl on his face and steps out of the cell, unclipping his baton and using it to point down the hall. “You know the way.”

Riley’s head tilts, like he’s considering whether or not he should listen, and he gives Johnny’s body a long, invasive look. It takes every ounce of training he’s had not to flinch or try to adjust his stance.

A long, silent moment later, Ghost steps out of the cell and begins the walk to the showers. Johnny is close behind him, baton in his palm and muscles locked, ready for anything the prisoner might try.

Once he’s sure they’re far enough away that Parra won’t hear, Johnny says, “You pull some shit like you did this morning ever again and I’ll break your fuckin’ knees.”

Ghost is silent, his steps unfaltering. Johnny scowls behind his back, frustration quickly building. “Ye hear me? It won’t be your buddy Shepherd you deal with next time, it’ll be me. Whatever deal you’ve cut with him won’t matter then.”

Again, silence. Johnny scoffs when he realizes he’s not getting a response, poking the butt of his baton into the small of Ghost’s back to urge him on a little faster.

Johnny’s lip curls as he swings the door open, turning his body enough to allow Riley plenty of room through. The man still brushes his arm along Johnny’s chest, and it’s a conscious effort to keep his breath from hitching.

When Johnny follows Ghost into the showers, letting the door slam shut behind him, Ghost looks back at him and raises a brow. The look is distinctly unamused, and Johnny glares as he leans against the wall, trying to make himself seem confident and assured.

“I’m here to make sure you don’t kill yourself or plan to kill someone else. That means I’m not leavin’ this room while you’re in it,” he gripes, undoing Ghost’s cuffs with just a bit more roughness than strictly necessary. When Ghost’s look doesn’t change from that who the fuck do you think you are expression, Johnny smiles rudely up at him. “Get over it. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Ghost blows a sharp breath through his nose, maintaining his silence as he takes a step further into the room and begins to undress.

Somehow, Riley almost seems bigger without clothes. Every pale bit of skin exposed only serves to reassure the voice in the back of Johnny’s head screaming danger!. He’s muscular, but his entire body is covered in a layer of fat that only serves to make him seem bigger, stronger.

When he turns towards Johnny, every single part of the officer’s mind is screaming at him to run .

Ghost sets off Johnny’s flight reaction like nothing in life ever has before. He’d never once thought to run from a terrorist, or a bomb, or any sort of combat situation. Now, standing with a baton in hand in front of an unarmed man, he feels the distinct urge to fucking flee .

It only makes him more determined to plant his feet and stand strong. If he can face down crazed terrorists, he can sure as hell face one convict.

Johnny’s careful to avoid looking between his legs when he kicks his pants off. He very intentionally keeps his eyes locked on Ghost’s chest, unwilling to look away but equally unwilling to examine the larger man any more intently than he already has.

Ghost stands completely still, naked as the day he was born, for a few long seconds. Then he smirks, blows another sharp breath through his nose, and turns away.

Johnny doesn’t move from his spot by the entrance. He’s still firmly in the showers like Graves told him to be, but across the room from Ghost as he chooses the shower head furthest away from him. He faces the wall and because he’s so far away, Johnny gets a full view of his body. His back is as scarred as his face had been, but instead of clean and thin scars there are burns and gnarled marks he recognizes as gunshot wounds.

To Johnny’s relief, Ghost doesn’t take his time. He’s quick to cover his body in soap and rinse it off, hardly taking any time to scrub himself clean at all. Somehow it doesn’t surprise Johnny that this man doesn’t care much about his own hygiene.

He’s turning the old faucet off hardly five minutes after turning it on. When he turns around, Johnny quite can’t look away before he sees that his cock is half-hard, thick between his legs and almost curving upwards, but it’s almost like he’s too heavy for it to fully lift.

Ghost’s face is still set in that flat, deadpan expression as he begins to stride towards Johnny, completely ignoring his pile of clothes. Johnny scowls, standing up from the wall and straightening. “What do you think you’re-?”

Ghost’s hand is around his throat before he can finish, slamming him back into the tile wall. Johnny’s head cracks against it and his scalp presses into the grout..

“Why do you talk so fucking much?” Riley hisses, nose to nose. His body presses against Johnny’s, soaking the front of his uniform. “Didn’t anybody ever shut you up?”

Johnny can’t help but be offended as he raises the baton and slams it into Riley’s side - he hasn’t rambled nearly as much as he had on missions, here he’s downright quiet - but the bigger man just eats the blow. Johnny feels like he’s hit a punching bag, like Ghost won't be hurt no matter how hard he hits.

When Johnny slams the baton into his side again, Ghost’s free hand rips the taser from his belt. He can’t help but make an aborted growl, but one flex of Riley’s hand silences him completely.

Ghost holds the taser between them, letting it hover just a few inches from Johnny’s neck, and presses the trigger to let the electricity dance. Johnny doesn’t flinch, only struggles and glares. When Riley smiles, Johnny swings for his head.

It’s nothing short of humiliating, how quickly Riley has him fully trapped. It seems to take the same amount of effort for the prisoner to throw Johnny’s taser to the side and rip his baton from his hand as it had for him to shower - almost none.

“You gonna be good, or am I gonna have to get mean?” The larger man growls, tapping the baton against Johnny’s hip and bearing down on him. Like this, with the way Ghost towers over him, Johnny feels completely covered by the man. The overhead lights are blocked out by his body, and Johnny is completely in his shadow.

He strains back towards the wall, manages to get just enough pressure off of his throat to gasp, “Fuhck- yew-”.

Riley’s answering smile is sharp, cruel. “Beg me properly and you might just get what you want.”

Johnny’s face twists in rage, but before he can do anything in retaliation, Ghost slams the baton into his right knee and releases his throat.

Johnny’s vision whites out as he falls to the floor, the tile unforgiving against his knees. His ears are ringing when he can see again, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s from the echo of his own shout in the room.

He only manages to get one foot beneath him when Riley locks a hand in his mohawk, tightening his fingers and twisting until Johnny’s pulling away with a wince. He forces the smaller man’s head to the wall then steps closer, so his feet bracket either one of his knees. His neck is wrenched at an uncomfortable angle, Ghost pushing him down so he’s bent backwards with a sharp arch in his spine.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Johnny hisses, face still screwed up in pain as Ghost presses his hips forward, his damp and quickly hardening cock sliding against Johnny’s cheek.

There’s a low chuckle from above him, and Johnny twists his head to the side, baring his teeth to bite-

The baton presses against his throat, just below his Adam's apple.

“Keep your teeth covered or I’ll knock ‘em out,” Ghost growls, pressing hard enough for Johnny to choke on his next breath of air. He closes his mouth tight, grimacing as he feels a few strands of hair pulled out of his scalp. “Good.”

The praise chafes against his skin and Johnny opens his eyes just enough to glare up at Ghost, hands pressed against his thighs.

Ghost grins down at him, all sharp teeth and malice. “You gonna put up a little fight? I got no problem knocking you out and using you when you’re all limp and quiet. That how you want your friends to find you? Want them to see you fuckin’ ruined?”

Johnny’s fingers flex around the muscle of Ghost’s thigh, but he doesn’t push him away. There’s no doubt which one of them is stronger, especially with Johnny’s knee screaming in pain beneath him.

If the military taught him anything, it taught him to endure. As much as it frustrates him to lean into the wall behind him, to not rip Riley’s balls right off his body and bite his dick off, Johnny knows that isn’t the right choice here.

“Good,” Ghost rumbles, the hand in Johnny’s hair loosening fractionally. Not enough to really relieve any pain, but enough to be noticeable. “Might keep you around. Fuck this pretty mouth whenever I want.”

“Just get it over with,” Johnny hisses, swallowing and wincing when the baton presses against his throat more harshly for a moment.

“Eager,” Ghost hums.

Luckily he doesn’t say anything else, just tugs Johnny’s head back a little more and presses the tip of his cock against his lips. Johnny can’t help the way he winces when Ghost pushes into his face. He can’t bring himself to let his lips part, can’t give even another inch when it already feels like Ghost has taken a mile.

There’s an annoyed huff from above him, and Ghost’s hand leaves his hair to pinch Johnny’s nose shut harshly. His eyes fly wide open, staring up at the man in shock, and his shoulders curve in an effort to let him pull away from the unexpected pain.

“Open up, c’mon.” Ghost’s hips move leisurely back and forth, sliding the ruddy head of his cock along Johnny’s lips and over his cheeks, covering him in sticky pre-cum. No matter how much he thrashes and tries to pull away, Ghost’s fingers only squeeze tighter and follow him.

Johnny holds out for as long as he can, but eventually the burning in his lungs gets to be too much and his lips part - hardly an inch - to let him breathe deeply. As soon as he hears the inhale, Ghost’s hand flies from Johnny’s nose back to his head, shoving his face forward until his mouth is stuffed.

He chokes immediately, eyes flying wide open. It’s not that Johnny’s unfamiliar with something in his mouth, it’s that Riley’s cock is so large he can barely open his jaw wide enough to let him in. He feels like a snake, except instead of swallowing his prey, his jaw is forced to unhinge for another man’s pleasure.

“That’s it,” Riley hisses, ignoring the sick gluck-gluck sounds as he pulls back and pushes his way in farther. “Fuckin’ take it.”

Johnny nearly chokes on bile, lungs heaving as he tries to breathe around the intrusion inside his throat. Ghost has no sympathy for his struggle, doesn’t give him any time to adjust as he lodges himself firmly inside the channel of Johnny’s throat.

Tears stream from Johnny’s eyes, from both humiliation and the strain of being face-fucked. Every time he tries to close his eyes, to let himself drift away even a bit, the hand in his hair tightens far past the point of pain. Ghost doesn’t speak to him again, but the heat in his eyes and the angry snarl of his lips tells Johnny exactly what he wants - eye contact and Johnny’s pain.

The only mercy is that Ghost doesn’t last long. Johnny isn’t fully cognizant enough to try and keep track of how long the violation lasts, but it can’t be more than a few minutes. Johnny can see the way Riley’s chest heaves as he gets closer, the way his shoulders hunch and the way his hips work in faster, shorter thrusts to get himself off.

He comes in long, thick spurts straight down Johnny’s throat. Another mercy - he doesn’t have to taste it, doesn’t have to do anything more than let his throat work in instinctive swallows to keep the foreign liquid from choking him.

Ghost isn’t quite panting when he finishes, but it’s a close thing. He’s leaning over Johnnt enough that every time he breathes in, the curve of his stomach covers the bottom part of his face from Johnny’s view.

Once he’s drained himself dry, he pulls his cock back enough that just the head of it rests behind Johnny’s teeth, the whole length of him softening.

Just as Johnny begins to wonder what the fuck he’s doing, why this nightmare hasn’t ended, Ghost sighs and rolls his head back on his neck, looking up at the ceiling. Another breath later, a sour taste begins to flood Johnny’s mouth.

He’s tearing away and sputtering as soon as he realizes what’s happening, throwing his head back against the tile so the warm stream of piss hits his neck instead, pouring down his chest instead of his mouth. He can’t throw himself to the side, only succeeding in hurting his neck when he tries because of the iron grip Ghost has on his mohawk.

“What-” he gasps, teary eyes wide as he stares up at Ghost. “What the fu- what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Riley scowls down at him like he’s done something completely unreasonable, jerking his soft cock slowly as he continues to piss. The hand on Johnny’s head tries to force him down again, but he fights back this time and manages to only catch a few drops on his chin instead of having his mouth forced back onto the man’s dick.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Ghost scowls, pointing himself straight at the bit of chest exposed by Johnny’s shirt as he finishes. The rancid stench is heavy in the warm air, choking Johnny. “Figured you’d need a reminder of your place. Clearly I was right.”

Johnny’s seething, every muscle made tense from his anger as he flushes dark. “You evil fuckin’ bastard,” he hisses.

There’s a single, sharp laugh above him as Ghost finally - finally - steps away, beginning to pull his jumpsuit back on as if absolutely nothing is amiss. Johnny doesn’t shift from his spot on the floor but to move as much weight as possible off his right knee, wincing at the horrible pain of it.

Before he can work himself up to standing, Ghost is stepping closer to him and turning the faucet above his head. Immediately, a shower of cold water pours onto Johnny’s form.

His gasp is loud as he rockets up, stumbling back into the wall when his bad leg won’t take his weight. The water is freezing cold as it drenches him, and his fingertips go numb in seconds. His mohawk goes limp from the water, the gel he usually uses to keep it neat melting away and leaving his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

He’s panting when he finally lifts his head, body adjusting to the cold. He pushes his hair back and away from his face, cringing at the wet thud of it against the shaved sides of his head as he slams his other hand into the wall, desperately looking for the faucet.

When he finally finds it, he jerks it to off, nearly heaving as he shivers against the tile.

“What the hell,” he whispers, staring wide-eyed across the room. He can’t tell what’s real and not anymore, can’t tell if this is just one of his bad nightmares, or if an inmate really skull-fucked him, pissed in his mouth, then dumped water on his head.

He blinks slowly, dumbly, before he drags his eyes over to where Ghost stands a few steps away, arms crossed and handcuffs held loosely in one hand. When Johnny only stares at him silently, Ghost lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”

Johnny’s jaw drops, leaving him gaping like a fish. “What?”

“You want to see Parra still stinkin’ of piss? You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Johnny can’t do anything but stare.

———————————————————————

The walk to the bus stop is long and miserable. Even though it’s not raining, Johnny is soaked to the bone just like the day before, and he limps down the cracked sidewalk at nearly a snail’s pace.

His leg hasn’t hurt this badly since he first got out of the hospital, and although his eyes won’t focus and he still feels off-kilter, he can’t help but be glad he’s late enough for all the prisoners to have left the rec yard. There’s no one to see his walk of shame.

His mind wanders from thought to thought, willing to land on anything that doesn’t make him think of what happened less than an hour ago. He flinches physically every time his thoughts shift in that direction, the reality of it too raw to examine.

His knee burns and feels like it must have tripled in size, his pant leg tight from the swelling. The sound of his shoe scraping on the concrete is like nails against a chalkboard.

He can still taste the piss in his mouth.

On the bus, the driver seems to go out of his way to hit every pothole and speed bump as roughly as he can. Every jerk of Johnny’s knee against the wall brings him a little closer to tears.

He hasn’t felt so out of control in a long time. He can’t control his pain, can’t control his body (his hands shake, his breath shakes, it feels like his goddamn heart shakes), and he can’t stop remembering how Ghost had blocked out all the light in the room, how he’d forced Johnny down and taken the reins, how he’d-

He’s not sure he’ll make it home without losing his lunch.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He stumbles near his trailer, nearly loses his balance and only keeps it because the idea of falling to his knees sounds worse than death, and retches into the overgrown grass.

He brushes his teeth more times than he can count. The last time he vomits, there’s nothing left to come up but stomach acid and spit.

———————————————————————

Gaz does a double take when he sees Johnny the next morning, eyes widening in what would be comical shock if Johnny felt any less like a dead man walking.

“Shit, what happened to you, mate?” Gaz attempts a smile as he stands at his cubby, but can’t quite keep the concern off his face. “Rough night out?”

Johnny’s cheek is almost bloody from how hard he’s biting it. “Something like that,” he manages to mutter, his voice gravelly and hoarse.

Gaz gives him a look, like he wants to push for more, but luckily he drops it. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re with me today. We’ll keep you in some quieter areas until that hangover goes, yeah?”

Johnny just grunts and follows Gaz out of the staff room, not bothering to correct his assumption.

———————————————————————

“MacTavish!” Graves calls, stepping between Gaz and Johnny while they’re both locking up their weapons for the night. “You’re on overtime again tonight,” he says, slapping Johnny’s shoulder with a forced familiarity before turning away, already moving on.

“No,” Johnny spits, the word flying from his mouth before he can even fully register what Graves has just told him. His lip curls at just the thought, and he feels the saliva in his mouth thickening.

Graves stops in his tracks, throwing a look of confusion and annoyance over his shoulder. “No? C’mon, Officer, I know you want to go home, but just suck up the extra hour-”

“No,” Johnny repeats, his voice a little too loud and a little too harsh in the otherwise silent room. “I’m clocking out. Find someone else.”

Graves turns fully towards them now, eyes narrowing when he sees Johnny’s resolve. He picks up on Gaz’s confusion beside him, but the other man shifts closer and Johnny knows he’s on his side.

“You don’t get to say no to something like this, MacTavish.” Graves’ voice has taken on a harsher edge, and it’s the most authoritative Johnny’s heard the man since he got the job. Still, it’s not anywhere near intimidating enough to convince him.

Johnny hikes his chin in the air a bit, glaring down his nose at his CO. “Overtime is optional, right? I’m not taking it. My shift ended ten minutes ago. I’m going home.”

Graves shakes his head before turning and stepping away. “I’ll have to tell the warden. Not a good impression to make in your first week, rook. You hated looking at Ghost’s ugly ass that much, huh?” He scoffs like Johnny’s a fool, and lets the door slam shut behind him.

Johnny ducks away from Gaz before they can walk out to the parking lot together and hugs the grimey toilet bowl in the staff bathroom, losing what little lunch he’d been able to stomach. The sky is dark with rain clouds when he steps outside.

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny is stopped by the warden himself before he can even clock in.

“MacTavish,” Shepherd grunts, barely leaning out of his office. “Come see me.”

“I need to clock in, sir,” Johnny says, gesturing to the nearly broken machine set on an old folding table.

“See me first,” Shepherd says, ducking into his office without any other explanation.

Johnny’s knee is miles better than it had been the day before, but it’s still more difficult than it should be to cover his limp as he heads to Shepherd’s office. The brace he’s worn the last few days helps somewhat, but really only helps keep him from getting stiff or overextending.

“Close the door behind you, son,” Shepherd says when Johnny joins him, already settled behind his desk. He mimics the same position he had when Johnny had first sat in front of him - leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, chin tilted towards his chest.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” Johnny asks after shutting the door, lowering himself slowly into the uncomfortable chair. He can’t help but wonder if it would’ve been smarter to stay standing, if this is a we won’t need you here again sort of meeting that he’ll want to get out quickly.

“Not yet,” Shepherd says after a heavy silence, tilting his head to the side. “Graves tells me you refused overtime last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And why is that?”

He manages not to flinch, but just barely. “I was tired, sir. Just wanted to get home and get some rest.”

Shepherd’s expression stays flat, but there’s an unimpressed spark in his eye. “And it’s got absolutely nothing to do with what your overtime task was, then?”

Johnny wants to bristle, wants to bite back, but he keeps himself under control. “I find inmate Riley… unpleasant to be around. To put it lightly. Sir.”

Shepherd scoffs, rolling his eyes and leaning forward. “Every damn person in this prison is unpleasant to be around, boy. That doesn’t mean you blow off orders and come and go whenever you please.”

Now Johnny does sit a little straighter in his chair, insulted. “I’ve stayed for my entire shift every day I’ve worked for you.”

“That’s not much to brag about, MacTavish, you haven’t even been here half a week.”

Johnny takes a deep breath, reminding himself just how badly he needs this job. “I’m not required to take overtime, sir, and I believe my job performance has been satisfactory otherwise. Is that all?”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow, and Johnny knows they’re both thinking the same thing - were they still in the military, that kind of talk from a subordinate wouldn’t fly. But despite their shared past, they’re not in that environment any more - Johnny’s behavior isn’t insuboridnate here, and they both know it.

Shepherd takes a long moment to respond, setting his still-linked hands on his desk and leaning his weight onto them. “No. You’re right in saying that overtime isn’t required. But I’m looking for employees who show dedication to their job and an ambition to grow in this career. So far, I’m not getting either of those things from you. I need guards who are willing to go the extra mile, not guards who can’t stay an hour after their shift to watch one goddamn man shower.”

Johnny takes a deep, stabilizing breath. Shepherd's tone is harsh, mean, and damn near identical to every CO Johnny had in the service. Before he can argue his case, the warden speaks again.

“Listen, I understand that you’re still adjusting to civilian life. I’m not cruel.” He spreads his hads in front of him, open and inviting. “I’ll give you grace. But I need men who are willing to listen when I give them an order. If that’s not you, then I think it’s best you start looking for another job.”

Johnny’s eyes shut for a moment against his will, and the breath that’s punched out of him has a distinctly defeated air to it. “Alright. Alright, I understand what you’re saying, sir.” He swallows thickly, working the words past his throat. “It won’t happen again.”

Shepherd nods, something vaguely understanding in his expression. “Good. Overtime is time and a half pay, so you’ll be well-compensated.”

Well-compensated. The words sound vile in Johnny’s mind, and he wants to kick and scream and say nothing could compensate for what that man did to me .

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes. Dismissed, Officer.”

Johnny nods, standing and taking quick steps to the door.

“MacTavish?” Shepherd calls out, just before his hand lands on the doorknob.

Johnny doesn’t turn before responding. “Yes, sir?”

“It’ll get easier, son.”

Now Johnny turns, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Shepherd is leaning back in his chair again, but now there’s something almost pitying in his expression. Something vaguely sympathetic.

Johnny leaves the office without responding. He worries if he opens his mouth, he’ll just start screaming.

———————————————————————

Overtime doesn’t get any easier. In fact, every day Johnny’s forced to watch Ghost shower it gets more and more difficult to ignore the voice inside his head screaming to run, regardless of all the arguments he’s made that tell him he has to stay.

The first day back, he’d tried to tase Ghost when the other man came toward him. He’d had his baton in one hand, the taser in the other, but he’d quickly learned that Ghost’s sheer size made him an almost impossible opponent to fight - the taser was knocked out of his hand before he could’ve even reached Ghost with it, and the baton went just as quickly.

Johnny had thrown a sloppy punch towards Ghost’s face and had only gotten a mean laugh in return.

“Got a little more fight in you today, huh?” Riley had hissed, their faces pressed so close together that Johnny could feel his breath. “You can kick and scream all you want, boy, but this still ends the same way.”

The second day, he’d thought about not going into the shower and instead standing in the hallway and getting the drop on Ghost. But he’d glanced up and seen a little blinking red light, a camera, in the corner between the wall and the ceiling and knew that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself were he to lose, and Ghost assaulted him on camera. So he followed the priosner into the showers, feeling like a man sent to the gallows.

He’d tried to bite Riley’s dick before he could choke on it that day. At the first scrape of teeth, Ghost had shoved his thumbs into Johnny’s mouth and hooked them between his molars, holding his head still like that instead of by the hair. Johnny had nearly choked on his own vomit, and his lips were numb for what felt like hours after.

The third day, Johnny kneels before Riley can knock him down. He’s already worried something is seriously wrong with his bad knee, and Ghost hadn’t spared it at all. Gaz had asked if he was alright that morning after seeing him limp, and had offered to bring a knee brace he kept at home - Johnny hadn’t bothered to tell him he was already weaing one. He can’t afford to take a day off because he can’t walk, so he kneels and pretends the small submission doesn’t choke him.

Defeat is bitter on his tongue as Johnny watches surprise mingle with satisfaction when Ghost watches him lower himself. He only stays on one knee, unwilling to put any weight whatsoever on his right knee, and Ghost - miraculously - allows it.

When he stands in front of Johnny and strokes himself to full hardness, he mutters quietly, “Knew you were a fuckin’ faggot.”

Johnny’s flinch is hidden by his reaction to Ghost’s cock being unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth. This time once he’s finished himself off and made sure to let every drop of his come drip down Johnny’s throat, he steps to the side to relieve himself instead of using him as a urinal. Johnny’s almost ashamed of how grateful he finds himself feeling.

On Sunday, his first day off, Johnny leaves his bed exactly once. He gets up, pisses, and lays right back down with a pillow elevating his leg. He sleeps fitfully for nearly 12 hours and wakes up nauseous, only just choking back bile before ruining his floors. His Nan calls twice and leaves two voicemails when he doesn’t answer.

On Monday, Ghost is let out of solitary confinement.

———————————————————————

A full day of rest has done Johnny’s knee a world full of good.

While still not fully recovered, he doesn’t feel sick when he tries to walk without a limp anymore. The brace helps him with that, and with Riley coming out of solitary Johnny can’t help but hope that he’ll have a chance to truly recover a bit.

He tells himself that he can put his hellish first week in the past now. Ghost is out of solitary, which means Johnny will have a better shot at avoiding him and sticking with the other guards.

Monday morning, Graves reassigns him from genpop to protective custody. It’s the first time he’ll be separated from Gaz for any length of time, but Johnny’s too high on his sudden distance from Ghost to care too much. If anything, this gives him a better chance to bond with other guards.

His hopes don’t quite come true - all the guards working in protective custody are quiet, with no interest in talking to each other, let alone a new guy. The silence isn’t unbearable for the first few hours, but Johnny already knows that multiple days spent with people so unwilling to respond to anything he says would drive him crazy.

It’s after lunch, when he leads ten prisoners from the cafeteria back to their cells with another guard tailing them, that everything goes wrong.

While Johnny almost has the layout for the prison memorized, there are still moments he gets turned around or confused. And having only been to the section of the prison with PC cells once - that same morning - Johnny’s not the most confident on how to get them back. He takes a left turn instead of a right, and for some godforsaken reason, the other guard doesn’t correct him.

Instead of turning into the large protective custody dayroom where prisoners spend their time when they’re not locked in their cells, Johnny turns into the general population dayroom.

He hardly has time to realize what a monumental mistake he’s made before he and every person following behind him is swarmed by prisoners.

Johnny’s knocked to the ground by one of the largest men as he dives for someone behind him, and his wrist is nearly crushed beneath a filthy white shoe when he reaches for his taser. The prisoners all but stampede him in an effort to swarm the men from protective custody, and Johnny can hardly see through the sea of legs.

Someone trips over his good knee and falls to the ground beside him. On instinct, Johnny lunges for him, trying to push himself up off the floor in the space the other man has created. But before he can get more than one foot under him, that same prisoner tackles him back to the ground and wraps a hand around his throat.

This time, when Johnny swings his baton at the man’s side full force, he falls to the ground and curls into a ball. The commotion around him is nearly deafening, and only growing louder and louder as guards get involved to try and pull the prisoners off of one another. He can see several men fall to the ground, shouting from the pain of being tased.

Johnny’s just barely managed to get to his feet when the prisoner in front of him throws himself to the side, and he only has a split second to register that the black blur swinging towards his head is a baton before everything goes black.

———————————————————————

Johnny wakes, hours later, to a dull pain in his head and a parched throat.

He groans as he rolls his head, tongue darting out to try and wet his lips as he squeezes his eyes tight against the pain. His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his tongue feels swollen. While his head feels like there’s a person trying to crack him open down the middle, there’s something soft around the edges of his consciousness, something that makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud instead of laying on a thin mattress.

As more of his senses start coming back, he realizes where he recognizes the soft feeling from - his last stay in the hospital. The fuzzy feeling in his head, the total lack of any emotion that isn’t contentedness, the steady beeping to his side, and the way his bad knee feels completely normal all tell Johnny that he’s higher than a kite on pain meds.

His nose scrunches when he tries to open his eyes for the first time, some uncomfortable crust making them itchy and heavy. He lifts one hand to clumsily paw at his face, only making him itch more as he rubs the crust into his own skin.

Somewhere in the room, he hears a door open and close quietly. He blinks quickly to try and clear his vision, but can only recognize the man when he steps right to Johnny’s bedside.

“Ghost…?” He murmurs, his voice cracking.

The man above him hums quietly. He sets one hand on the railing of Johnny’s bed and leans in close, bringing his face into full focus as he hovers less than a foot above Johnny’s face. One of his big hands comes up to Johnny’s face, swiping roughly over his eyes and clearing the gunk from them.

“Well, look’it you,” he says, voice low and quiet. “High as a kite. Got yourself in some trouble, huh Officer?”

Johnny scowls - or well, he means too, but he can’t quite feel his face move into the expression - and clumsily bats Ghost away. The older man stands back up with a quiet laugh, reaching to the side and above Johnny for something.

“Not m’fault,” he slurs, trying to twist and follow Ghost’s arm. “Should’a… shouldn’ta… mmph.” His voice trails off, whatever defense he’d been about to use floating away from him. “‘S not m’fault.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Ghost says. Johnny can see now that he’s holding a clipboard, scanning over the information and flipping between the top page and the one beneath it. “John MacTavish, hm? Johnny. Fits you.”

“Tha’s me,” Johnny says, and now he can really feel the way his lips tug up. “Only Nan calls me tha’ though.”

“What, Johnny?”

“Hmm.”

Ghost is silent for a long moment, and Johnny’s eyes begin to droop again. He feels obscenely comfortable, more comfortable than he even does in his own home these days. Even with Riley looming over him, he can’t bring himself to feel much more than tired .

He can hear Ghost rummaging around beside him, but doesn’t bother to look and see what’s going on. His eyelids flutter when a moment later the bed sinks with Ghost’s weight, but even that is hardly enough for Johnny to bother moving.

“Hey,” Ghost says, his voice a tad louder than it had been before. Johnny moans low in his throat, tossing his head on the pillow in a distinctly whiney way.

“Hey,” Ghost repeats again, and a moment later there’s a sharp tapping at the side of his face, a calloused palm clearly trying to get his attention.

“Whaaat?” Johnny groans, tilting his head away from the hand and only opening his eyes enough to glare at Ghost. He bats at the hand and manages to grip it loosely, tugging it away from his face. He hardly notices when it shifts to rest over his pec, fingertips resting high on his side.

“Don't pass out on me, now,” Ghost commands. “I think this’ll be more fun if you’re awake.”

“What’re ya…” Johnny slurs, trailing off when Ghost turns closer towards him and sets both hands on his hips. “What’re you… doin’?”

“Quiet.”

Johnny makes a pouty sound, but he doesn’t move to stop Riley as he hooks his hands in Johnny’s pants, tugging harshly a few times until they rest around his knees. He leaves his boxers on, takes a second to snap the elastic band against Johnny’s sensitive stomach and huff a laugh when Johnny squirms.

Ghost makes a small sound that Johnny doesn’t put any effort into identifying, and then suddenly cups his cunt with a large hand. The way Johnny squeaks would be embarrassing, if he still had the capacity to be embarrassed. Instead he only squirms in place, trying to wriggle up and getting nowhere.

“Don’t tell me…” Ghost trails off, his fingers burrowing between Johnny’s lips and feeling him up thoroughly. “No kiddin’. You’re not even a real faggot, Johnny?”

The sound that slips from Johnny’s lips is pathetic, and he shoots Ghost the best glare he can manage while the machine beside them slowly beeps more and more quickly. “D’nt call me tha’...”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, shifting up and to the side so he’s between Johnny’s legs. “You’re not a fag then? Got a nice fat cunt here, MacTavish, you tellin’ me you’re a woman?”

“Nooooo,” he moans, trying to shut his knees but only squeezing Ghost closer. “‘M not… ‘m not either….”

The sound that comes from Ghost is distinctly mocking, and Johnny’s chest tightens. “Really? I can feel you gettin’ all wet even through the boxers, you’re one of them.”

Johnny hums a negative, digging his head back into the pillow. Ghost ignores him completely, and tugs his hand away for only a second before stuffing it fully down the front of his boxers. “C’mon then, Johnny, you answer me - you a faggot, or a woman?”

Johnny’s breath grows heavier as Ghost grinds his palm against his t-cock, hips working in small motions as his body takes over. He moans a little, one hand lifting to grip Ghost’s forearm.

There’s another, sharper sensation in his face, the other cheek this time. It hardly registers as painful - more as rude - but it’s enough for Johnny to blink up at Ghost.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he growls, flipping his hand to pinch Johnny’s cock between two of his knuckles, squeezing until Johnny wheezes.

“F-fag! A fag,” He gasps, just barely remembering what Ghost had asked. “Not-not a woman, y’can’t… can’t call me tha’...”

Ghost coos, lessening the pressure between his two fingers. “Cute, Johnny, but I’ll call you whatever I please.”

Before Johnny can gather enough focus to reply, Ghost twists his hand again and stuffs two of his thick fingers inside of Johnny’s leaking hole with no warning.

Johnny keens, just barely louder than the suddenly racing beep-beep-beep echoing in the room. When he tries to close his legs again, tries to hide from Ghost’s assault, the older man tugs one of his knees higher on his side, leaning forward and forcing Johnny to stay spread.

There’s no real discomfort or pain - either because he’s slick with his body’s betrayal or because of the painkillers, Johnny’s not sure - and when Ghost angles his palm the right way, fingers stroking just so inside of him, Johnny melts into the pillows with a whorish moan.

“Oh, is that it? That the spot?”

Johnny feels like there’s something he should be upset about, something in Ghost’s tone that scrapes at his mind, but he can’t think past the warmth slowly spreading through his abdomen. The best he manages is a quiet sound of agreement, hips working in lazy thrusts to try and get more more more. He hardly notices when Ghost slips a third finger inside him.

“Open your eyes, Johnny, c’mon.”

It’s only the sudden fourth finger, the slight hint of a burn at his center, that has Johnny blearily blinking up at Ghost. His fingers tighten only painfully in the sheets as he tries desperately to grind himself to orgasm. Riley hooks Johnny’s leg a little higher on his hip, pressing his hips to the back of his thighs.

“There y’are,” he grunts, leaning close so his face is all Johnny can see. “Fuck, you’re gone, aren’t ya? Bet you can’t even tell I’m stretchin’ you. Waste of my fuckin’ time then, huh?”

“N-” Johnny hiccups, his back arching as Ghost’s fingers slip from his hole, moving instead to undo his own belt. “No, please, y’can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Ghost asks sharply, snapping his belt off and pulling his fat cock out. “Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for, little cock dumb slut. Not good for much else than bein’ my hole, huh?”

“Stop,” Johnny gasps, trying to coordinate his limbs enough to at least try and shove Ghost off, only really succeeding in resting his hands on the larger man’s biceps. “Tha’s… tha’s fuckin’ mean, y’can’t say that…”

Ghost laughs as he shoves himself inside of Johnny, no mercy and no sympathy. Johnny’s back arches high off the bed, his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut as Ghost’s hips press flush with Johnny’s thighs in just seconds.

He can’t feel anything but warmth and pressure. He’s reduced into nothing more than a writhing body and his fucked full cunt. His breaths shudder out of him in sharp bursts as his body reckons with something he can’t fully feel.

“Fuck,” Ghost hisses from above him. “Tight little bitch.”

Johnny keens high in his throat, tears springing to his eyes at the terrible mix of degradation pleasure. He feels like he’s drowning in sensation, like he’s desperately trying to keep his head above the water during a hurricane.

He fully stops breathing when Ghost pulls out the first time, struggles to get any air into his lungs when he’s slowly filled again. The tears drip down his temples, mixing with the sweat already dampening his skin.

“Bet you hate this, huh?” Riley pants, hips beginning to truly work against him now, the slap of it loud in the dark room. “You love your little fights, love hissin’ and spittin’ and tellin’ me how much you don’t want it.”

Johnny tries to lick his own lips and wet them, but doesn't manage to tuck his tongue back into his mouth. He’s left panting like a dog, drool dripping down his chin. Ghost nearly growl when he sees, his thumb landing solidly on Johnny’s tongue and holding it down.

“Almost had me convinced,” he says quietly, like a secret shared between just them. “Never saw you get hard. Thought you really might not be a fag, thought a little fuckin’ brat like you havin’ lips like this was just another cruel joke.”

He huffs, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “But that wasn’t it, huh? Nah, whatever bastard made you just knew a whore like you would need three holes. Two wouldn’t have been enough, huh? No, whiney little sluts can’t have any less than three.”

Ghost’s words float in and out of Johnny’s head, dripping into his ears and his mouth and immediately melting away. He’s consumed with the burning pleasure in his center, able to think of nothing but reaching the crest of sensation he can practically see.

“Pleathe-!”

“Please what?” Ghost growls, shifting forward. His elbows rest on either side of Johnny’s neck, the smaller man’s knees hiked high on his side, and he starts to really drill into Johnny. “Need it harder, huh Johnny? Want me to get you off, when you’re all pretty and drugged and can’t do shit to stop me?

Johnny whines, trying to draw his tongue out from under Ghost’s thumb. The bigger man only grunts, leaning forward and spitting a wad of saliva onto his tongue. Then he lets Johnny close his mouth, letting him swallow.

“Yeah, there you go,” he breathes, staring between Johnny’s lips and the column of his throat with an intentness Johnny can’t even begin to understand, not with the way his pace doesn’t stutter at all. “Gonna fill you up from both ends, make sure you fuckin’ feel this tomorrow. Might fuck your mouth when you pass out, make sure you’ll fuckin’ breathe me.”

Johnny’s got no idea what’s being said to him, too lost in the way Ghost’s stomach rubs against his cock, the way his body is covered completely, the way his thighs clench around Ghost as tightly as possible and yet the man doesn’t slow at all. Even with his mouth closed, he still drools, can’t stop moaning and panting as Riley forces a space for himself.

“Yeah, just like that, tighten up for me. C’mon, c’mon-”

Johnny’s wail nearly drowns out the way Ghost eggs him on, his body bursting into flames as he’s finally shoved off that edge. He feels everything and nothing, raw and numb, comfortable and wound so tight he’s sure he’s about to snap in half. His throat aches from his volume, but he can do nothing but grab on tight to Ghost’s shoulders and try to ride out his orgasm.

He can’t even tell when Ghost finally comes, only really registers a loud grunt in his ear and the way his hips slow to a stop inside of him.

Johnny’s already fading when Riley pulls out, would hardly have noticed if he hadn’t seen Ghost standing fully from the bed. He can’t move from where Ghost has left him, his knees splayed wide and leaving his cunt bared to the room.

He’s too tired to open his eyes, too high on painkillers and ecstasy to care that he can’t. Before long, he’s falling asleep to the obnoxious sound of his heart rate monitor slowing.

———————————————————————

When Johnny wakes up the next morning, he’s sore and confused.

“Wha’...” he breathes, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing a hand over his face. His head throbs, but that’s far from his biggest concern as he takes stock of his body.

“Oh good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says, and once he clears the sleep dust from his eyes Johnny can see Gaz lounging casually in a chair next to his bed. “Good timing, too, Graves just left.

“Graves?” Johnny asks, clearing his throat when he hears how raspy he sounds. “What the hell happened?”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to grab a watter bottle from the small table beside the hospital bed and offer it to Johnny. There’s a terrible taste in his mouth, and Johnny gratefully takes the bottle and sips from it. “You really don’t remember?”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow, and he thinks back to the day before.

It all comes back to him quickly once he can work past the pain in his head - his new assignment, the unfriendly other guards, his stupid mistake, and the ensuing brawl. What’s harder to remember is what happened after, what happened when he woke up to a dark room and a guest who’s face he can’t quite see.

There are vague impressions of a man - a large man, a heavy man, he can remember what he felt like on top of Johnny - and the dull ache between Johnny’s legs gives him a good idea of what the man did to him.

It’s hard to keep his breathing even.

Gaz doesn’t seem to notice, rambling on. “Graves is sayin’ you did it intentionally, said some real dumb shit about you, mate. You’re damn lucky you’ve somehow got the warden’s favor - I’ve been here a few years now, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone make a mistake like this and keep their job.”

Johnny groans, throwing himself back onto the mattress. “Thanks, Gaz. Very comforting, you are.”

Gaz laughs, patting Johnny heavily on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, they don’t pay me for my bedside manner. C’mon, they’re kicking you out.”

Johnny lifts his head enough to look at the other man. “Kickin’ me out? Really?”

Gaz gives him a don’t start look, standing and gathering a bag Johnny hadn’t noticed before. “They already let you stay overnight, mate. You’re lucky they gave you a bed at all. Plus, warden gave you the rest of the week off for recovery. You’ve got no room to complain, my friend”

It takes a bit for Johnny to feel steady enough to leave, longer for he and Gaz to make it outside of the prison. He gets nasty looks from several of their coworkers, but he lets their clear irritation slide off his back. As long as he’s got a job, he couldn’t care less what the others think of him.

It’s difficult to get Gaz to let Johnny go home on his own, but once he promises to take it easy for the next few days - and overplays his own exhaustion just a bit - the other officer lets him go after exchanging numbers and making him promise to text if anything changed.

Johnny can’t quite work up the nerve to check between his thighs until he’s in the privacy of his tiny shower.

He probes at his sore hole with tentative fingers, wincing at the slight sting of pain and resting his forehead against the tile. He only opens his eyes for long enough to recognize the liquid coating his fingers before he lurches out of the shower and kneels above his toilet.

He’s not sure what it says about him that he doesn’t actually vomit - is he just getting used to the constant violation, or is there too much else wrong with him to feel overwhelmed by this?

He doesn’t think about it for long, just lets his stomach settle, quickly cleans himself in the shower, and then buries himself beneath his thin blanket and throws himself into the oblivion of sleep.

———————————————————————

The first day Johnny goes back to work, he decides he has nothing left to do but resign.

It’s a choice he agonizes over every single day he spends cooper up in his small mobile home. This job had come as a blessing, and had only come in the first place because he’d been owed a favor by John Price who’d called in a favor of his own. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve never been lucky enough to get here.

And he’s about to throw it all away.

It’s hard not to feel disappointed in himself, to not say suck it up and get over it . But Johnny’s nightmares have shifted from explosions and gunfire to a weight over his chest and a cock down his throat. He wakes up soaked in sweat and panting, slick between the thighs but shaking with fear. He gets flashes of that night in the med wing sometimes, images of Ghost hovering above him, the feeling of something on his tongue and something else in his cunt.

He can’t handle another violation.

So walking to the bus stop, the whole ride over, and the walk in, Johnny is thinking about how he’ll manage to quit without offering to serve his two weeks. If worse comes to worst, he figures there’s nothing anybody can do if he just stops showing up.

When he stops by Shepherd’s office and asks for a meeting, he’s confident he won’t even spend an hour in the building. That confidence is crushed the moment Shepherd looks at him with pity instead of frustration.

“MacTavish…” he sighs. “I know what you’re trying to get out of.”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow. “Sir?”

Shepherd sighs, and leans forward to bring something up on his computer. “The only places without cameras are the shower and the cells. Everything else in this building, I see.”

There’s a pit forming in Johnny’s chest, but he can’t do anything but say, “I’m not sure what you’re implying, sir.”

The look Shepherd sends him says yes you are, and the man turns the screen of his computer around to face Johnny.

It’s… it’s him, in a hospital bed, with Ghost over him. Johnny’s jaw drops open as he watches his legs get hiked up higher on the other man’s chest, the bulk of him covering Johnny’s cunt, but the spread of his legs doing nothing to hide the slick dripping from him.

The video is silent but horrifying. Here’s what Johnny has forgotten, what’s slowly been coming back to him in his dreams, and it’s being played for him by his boss.

“Sir…” he says, unsure of what he’ll say but knowing it has to be something. “I don’t…”

“You can’t quit,” Shepherd says, straightforward and with no bend.

Johnny can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “I have to.”

Shepherd lays his hand flat on the desk, making just enough noise to startle Johnny. “No, son. You’ll be staying here. If you don’t, I’ll take that video right to the police myself and have them charge you with assault.

Johnny’s eyes fly to Shepherd’s, his brows arched high on his head. “Assault? Me? But- look at the video! I was injured and high off my ass!”

“You’re also an officer, with power over the prisoners.”

“Power? Look at what the bastard did to me!” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, wants to break the computer screen so no one ever sees that clip again instead of bringing more attention back to it.

Shepherd winces, very intentionally not looking at the screen. “An argument could be made that you… encouraged him. You’re in the position of power, and that makes you at fault.”

Johnny grits his teeth, glaring. “I was drugged and-and… well, if anyone was assaulted it certainly wasn’t him.”

Shepherd leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “You can’t have it both ways, MacTavish.”

“I- What?”

“Either you’re a man or not. Look at the size of you, son. You think anyone will believe that you couldn’t have fought him off?”

Johnny’s speechless, unable to do anything but stare at Shepherd, mouth gaping.

“Or you’re a woman, and no one would be shocked to hear a tragic story about a female officer being overtaken and assaulted by her male prisoner. Is that you? That the story you want to tell?”

“I’m not a fuckin’ woman.”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow. “Watch your language with me. Those are the only two stories you could sell in court.”

“They’re not -”

“Yes, they are,” Shepherd hisses, suddenly more incensed as he leans forward and lowers his voice. “You don’t have a goddamn choice here, MacTavish. You keep this job, nobody else needs to know you fucked Riley. You leave, I’ll make sure every person you’ve ever looked at sees the goddamn video of it.”

Johnny reels back in his seat, hands shaking and mouth bone dry. He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe that this is the point his life has brought him to. “Why? ”

Shepherd sinks back in his seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose and suddenly looking ten years older. “Because he doesn’t want you to quit. Riley and I have a deal, and it’s a damn fragile one. He’s fixated on you for whatever reason - I let you walk, all my hardwork with him goes down the drain.”

Johnny’s teeth grind in the back of his mouth. “Sounds more like your problem than mine.”

Shepherd glares. “It became your problem when you let him fuck you.”

“I didn’t let -”

“Video, MacTavish. I can see exactly what happened.”

Johnny’s face flames, and he squirms in his seat. “It wasn’t… I didn’t want to…”

Shepherd’s voice is almost mean when he says, “Didn’t seem to fight that hard.”

Johnny nearly flinches, and doesn’t say another word.

“Listen,” Shepherd sighs, turning the computer around and finally running off that horrible video while seemingly doing his best to look at as little of it as possible. “The job pays well. You’re good at it - well… you could be good at it, if you tried a little harder.”

There’s a part of Johnny that’s offended, but the rest of him is too baffled by this entire meeting to do anything but listen.

“If Riley wants to…” Shepherd winces, the tiniest flush coloring his cheeks. “If he wants to be in a relationship with you, let him.”

“Relationship,” Johnny hisses, lip curled in disgust at the word. “Is that what you think-?”

“I don’t give a damn what he wants from you, MacTavish,” Shepherd cuts him off, glaring. “You’ll put up with it, and if necessary, you’ll do it with a smile. Either that, or I make your life much, much more difficult going forward. Do we have an understanding?”

Shepherd’s tone makes Johnny want to leap forward and claw the skin from his face. Not quite mocking, not quite pitying, not quite frustrated, but all authoritative and pissy. Again, Johnny is reminded of how much he hated men like this in the military.

After a long moment of silence, Shepherd sighs and holds out a hand. “C’mon, son. We both know you’re staying. This can be as easy or as hard as you make it.” He pushes his hand a little further out, like he’s expecting a handshake.

Johnny ignores him completely, storms from the office, and slams the door on his way out.

———————————————————————

The next weeks pass in a blur.

Whatever hope Johnny had of having a normal life post-military, of getting closer to Gaz and maybe even other officers, is well and truly crushed after Graves informs him he’ll be permanently assigned to Ghost from then on.

Johnny refuses to look at Gaz long enough to see the man’s expression of sympathy, but he hears it in the quick gasp and the little rumble of sound.

Ghost doesn’t quite smirk or smile when Johnny walks up to him on that first day back, but there’s a smugness radiating off him that makes Johnny scowl.

It’s lunch when Riley calls him over for the first time. He doesn’t make a show of it, only flicks his gaze over to Johnny long enough to make eye contact and raises a hand to beckon him.

Johnny pretends he doesn’t see at first, shifts and stares at a wall. Ghost doesn’t let it go, and shouts, “MacTavish!” across the room after a moment of silence.

Graves glares at him and jerks his head over with a sort of what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look.

He can’t help but feel a little like a kid when he storms toward Ghost, unable to keep the frustration hidden when he feels like he’s drowning in it. “What?”

Ghost gives him an unimpressed look. “Watch it. You’ll come when I call you.”

Johnny grits his teeth. “Course, sir,” he bites sarcastically.

Riley’s lip twitch, at that only pisses him off more. Ghost shifts back in his seat, the tray in front of him already wiped clean - the food looks disgusting to Johnny, but Ghost had eaten so quickly you’d think it was the best thing he’d ever had.

“You think that’s as embarrassing as I can make things for you?” He asks quietly, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “I could do anything I wanted to you right now, and not a man in this room would stop me.”

Johnny’s lip curls. “What do you want?”

“I want you to mind your manners when you speak to me,” Ghost snaps, his voice rising just a bit. Johnny’s sure he’s not loud enough for anyone else to have heard, but he shifts uneasily anyway.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Now what do you want?”

Riley doesn’t quite look satisfied, but he drops it. “I’m doin’ you a favor here, Johnny. You rather I not tell you the rules, let you stumble all blind into a punishment in front of anyone lucky enough to be nearby?”

Johnny’s head jerks down a bit in instinctual frustration. “Okay. Alright, fine. Just get it over with.”

Ghost hums low in his throat. “You’ll look at me when I’m speaking to you. Start now.”

Johnny bites his tongue as he raises his eyes, glaring into Ghost’s with all the anger he can muster. The man only smirks, murmuring a “Good boy,” in that tone that Johnny still hears in his dreams sometimes.

“I want you by my side unless I’m in my cell - then, you’ll stand outside when you’re still on duty. If you need to be somewhere else for some reason, you’ll come immediately when I call.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog,” Johnny can’t help but argue.

“You’re whatever I tell you to be. I ask you to crawl behind me on fours, and you’ll do it - happily . Or are you so eager for that little video to make it’s way to good ol’ Graves’ pocket?”

Johnny’s face flushes, and he inches closer, ducking down as if they haven’t already been speaking quietly enough for no one else to hear. “You can’t- you can’t show that to anyone. I don’t know what you have on the warden, but-”

“Exactly,” Ghost cuts him off, glaring. “You don’t know. And you won’t, because it’s not information for you. All you need to do is fuckin’ listen, and you aren’t doing a good job of it so far.”

Johnny grits his teeth, straightening. “What’s your next rule, then?”

Riley considers him for a second, then leans back on the metal bench. “Next rule is you’ll speak to me with respect. I outranked you in the military, and I outrank you here. You’ll watch your-”

“Wait,” Johnny interrupts, brow furrowed. “You were in the military?”

“Don’t interrupt,” Ghost scolds, glaring. “But yes. Not with you, but I was. Made it up to Lieutenant before I got out.”

It shouldn’t change anything for Johnny, the revelation that he and Ghost have a common background. And it doesn’t - not really - but there’s something in his mind that just… shifts, a bit, after learning that he and Ghost have similar roots, that they were maybe even in the same place at different times. Somehow the idea doesn’t quite fit with everything else he knows about Ghost.

“But regardless, I won’t tolerate a brat. You’ll behave and watch your mouth when you’re with me. Understood?”

“Fine.”

“Fine…?”

Johnny’s lip curls and his hands tighten into fists at his side. “Fine, sir.”

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles with a smirk. “You won’t touch yourself without permission. That’s your third rule.”

Johnny can feel his face flaming, and he ducks his chin close to his chest, shoulders hunching in an attempt to hide himself. “What? ”

Ghost’s smile is ugly on his face, wide and showing off crooked teeth behind thin lips. “That pretty pussy belongs to me now, and I don’t want your grubby hands on my property.”

“I’m not- my hands aren’t-” Johnny huffs, shaking his head a bit until a strand of loose hair falls into his eyeline, then pushing it away with a small sound of frustration. “I’m not your property.”

“Oh, yes you are. But there’s no point in arguin’ with you, you’ll understand soon enough. That’s it for now - we’ll start you off with the simple stuff so you don’t fuck up too soon.”

“Oh, thank you,” Johnny rolls his eyes sarcastically, back to glaring at the table.

Ghost grunts, smacking a hand beside his tray with just enough force for Johnny to jump. “What the hell did I just say about the attitude?”

Johnny stares at him wide-eyed for a second, but quickly relaxes into his frustration. He swallows his pride and says, “Sorry.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, glaring up at Johnny. “You’ll make it up to me later,” he decides. He stands from his seat with little warning, nudging the tray closer to Johnny. “Drop the tray off, then follow me to the rec room.”

He can feel every single pair of eyes on him as he walks to the busboy, and Johnny can’t help but think that he’s never once in his life felt this much scrutiny before. But he ignores every one of them, his eyes carefully forward and just slightly unfocused so he doesn’t have to see the way their heads turn.

He follows Ghost to the rec room, his pride in tatters.

And that’s where it begins. The indignities only get worse.

Ghost informs him slowly of more rules. Johnny’s never to sit near Ghost, only to stand (sitting is a reward, and one he finds quickly is very rare). He’s only to look Ghost in the eye when responding to him, and never to look anyone else in the eye when he’s shadowing Ghost (“You’re on my time, you won’t give a spec of your attention to anyone that’s not me.”).

And the sexual favors… Johnny is just glad they’re kept private. Ghost only ever touches him when they’re alone, and they’re only truly alone during Ghost’s solo showers and when he tugs Johnny into his cell for the last hour of his shift.

The taste of Ghost’s cum becomes unfortunately very familiar, and the bruises on Johnny’s knees never quite get enough time to fade before new ones appear. The only small blessing he can see is that Ghost never pisses on him anymore.

He still fucks Johnny’s mouth in the shower, but he’ll take any amount of skull-fucking over the humiliation of being treated as nothing more than a urinal. Even after weeks of nothing but blowjobs being forced on him, he still tenses for that sour stench after every once.

Johnny also learns that Ghost is - predictably - as mean in bed as he is out of it. Half the time, the bastard isn’t even decent enough to give Johnny a pity orgasm when he assaults him.

He’s also incredibly creative with his dirty talk, and infuriatingly that’s usually what gets Johnny off - when he’s allowed to get off, that is.

Pretty fuckin’ cunt, made to take my cock, huh?

Should keep you tied to the bed, use you as my own goddamn mattress so I can fuck you whenever I want

You’re awful loud today, baby, you want the others to hear you? Hm? Want them to come knockin’ and ask for a turn riding this tight ass?

Nothin’ else in the world compares to a hot hole like this, shit, I’d kill a man to have fucked you when you were a virgin.”

Sometimes Johnny thinks about rubbing himself to completion at home, on the nights when Ghost edged and denied him time and time again and his boxers were sticky with his slick when he took them off. He never quite works up the nerve, though, sure that Ghost would somehow know what he had done and unwilling to face any more severe of a punishment from the prisoner.

His service to Ghost extends outside of the purely sexual, though. That comes as more of a surprise than it probably should, and there’s something about it that’s more difficult for Johnny to bear.

When Ghost fucks him, it’s a fight. Ghost likes it like that, and Johnny gets to tell himself he tried the best he could to keep the other man’s hands off of him. It’s as close to a win as he can get in this situation, and he forces himself to be okay with that.

But all the little things Ghost expects him to do - serve his food, clean his cell, bring him any book he asks for, give him a damn massage once - they feel more… willing. Like Johnny is choosing to do these things for Ghost. And he knows that he is, technically, but only because he’s terrified of what would happen were he to disobey.

And still, that’s not enough of an excuse to calm his psyche. He goes home to his trailer and feels filthy, showers for so long every night that his water bill has become egregiously high. He picks at his nails constantly now, never quite feels like he gets them fully clean. The thought that his service to Ghost is willing, is consensual, haunts him.

He thinks that’s what Riley enjoys the most - the inner turmoil. Sometimes when he asks Johnny to do something particularly embarrassing, he’ll watch the way his face twists with an expression that can’t be described as anything but gleeful greed. He comes fastest when he threatens to fuck Johnny in front of his coworkers, or when they can hear other voices. Nothing seems to get him off quite like Johnny’s anger and humiliation.

So it should come as no shock that one of his favorite things to make Johnny do is work out with him.

Ghost works out while all the prisoners are in the rec yard, usually monopolizing one machine and scaring off anyone else who comes too close. But because of his deal with the warden (and Johnny curses that man more and more every day), he gets an extra hour outside that no one else does.

Outside of the context of their dynamic, Riley is one of the best trainers Johnny’s ever had. He certainly pushes him harder than anyone else has, and he makes sure they’re both working out all parts of their body.

Unfortunately, he’s more than a little unfair to Johnny.

He always uses whatever maching he’s picked for that day first, and he never lets Johnny adjust the weight down to his own level. Johnny’s big, stronger undoubtedly than most of his coworkers, and damn proud of it. But he’s not Ghost big, not able to do many reps with the shitton of weight Riley uses.

But that doesn’t matter - Riley tells him to do it, so he does. He’s usually little more than a noodle when he’s done, but he can usually force himself to do at least half of the workout that Riley did.

He always spots Ghost - and does it correctly, no matter how much he wants to strangle the man. It’s probably his favorite act of service Ghost forces onto him, because he sees prisoners helping out other prisoners across the yard every day. Granted no guard is stepping in to spot them, but it’s better than being the only person waiting at the beck and call of another.

So he spots Ghost without complaint, even though the older man never once needs his help. It’s unfortunate, too, because Johnny’s pretty sure he could just pretend to not be strong enough to help the other man if he were to get stuck, but unfortunately he’s not that lucky.

While he spots Ghost, he finds that the favor is almost never returned - not unless Johnny is so weak from the previous day's workout that he can barely do a full rep.

When they’re doing bench presses, Ghost stands above Johnny’s head, damn near blocking out the sun, and smirks when all he can do is try his absolute hardest to keep the bar from choking him.

On most days he can manage a pathetic few reps, but there was one day where he really, truly couldn’t do it. He’d been lucky and nobody else had been in the rec yard, but he still remembers it in his dreams sometimes.

Ghost had known before Johnny even sat down that he wouldn’t manage, he could see it in the prisoner’s face. The last few days - their first days working out together - had been hell on his body, and he could barely raise his hand enough to wave, let alone bench press several hundred pounds.

“Ghost…” he had muttered, laying on his back and looking uneasily at the bar above him. “I really don’t think I can-”

“Quiet,” Ghost said, stepping so close that Johnny could see his bulge right above his head. “You’ll be fine. I’m spotting you.”

Johnny can’t help but scowl. “That is not spotting.”

“Well, it’s all your gettin’. Hurry up, the more time you waste here, the longer I’ll keep you after your shift.”

“Shit, okay, okay, I get it,” he said, wrapping his hands around the bar and taking a deep breath. “You swear you’ll-?”

“Johnny.”

“Fine, fine.”

He’d managed a single rep - which was impressive enough for him, quite honestly. But it wasn’t enough for Riley, who grunted a negative and a “Keep going.” when Johnny tried to put the bar back in its place.

“Ghost,” he had panted, on the verge of whining.

“Johnny,” he’d mimicked, voice pitched insultingly high.

He doesn’t get a full second rep in, only just barely manages to hold the bar above his throat with shaking limbs. His whole body is shaking, and he’s drenched in sweat.

“Riley…” he gasps, teeth clenched so tight he’d be worried about cracking one if he wasn’t so focused on not dying.

“Need some help, Johnny?”

He can’t do much more than grunt an affirmative sound, but for once Ghost doesn’t make him beg. Instead he wraps both hands around the metal bar, and sort of pushes it forward a bit.

“Wha-?” Johnny manages, before he realizes what Ghost has done. He’s trapped him securely beneath the weight - Johnny’s not strong enough to push it away from his chest, and if he moves too much he risks rolling it forward and onto his neck. It’s an incredibly dangerous position to be in, and the fear only makes Johnny shake more.

“There we go,” Ghost says quietly, patting Johnny on the head once before stepping away.

“Ghost?” He gasps, rolling his head to the side as he desperately tracks the other man. “C-c’mon, ye can’t-”

“Don’t waste your breath, Johnny, you’re already panting like a dog,” Ghost scolds, tapping him lightly on the stomach as he passes. He tugs the weight a little further down, and to Johnny’s relief it allows the slightest bit of strain to fade.

Ghost grips him roughly by the knees, forcing them to spread wide on either side of the bench.

“We’re gonna play a little game, Johnny,” he rumbles, yanking down Johnny’s pants and boxers in two quick tugs. “You finish that rep before Graves calls us in, I’ll let you come. You don’t, I fuck you in front of him.”

“N-no!” Johnny gasps, one leg jerking up as he squirms. His pants are tugged off one ankle, left loose around the other, and he feels sweat dripping from his navel down to his center already. “Y-you can’t.”

Ghost hums, and a thumb parts Johnny’s folds. “Then you better get that bar up, boy.”

Johnny’s sobbing before he even registers Ghost’s mouth on him.

The experience is the very definition of overwhelming. He can hardly breathe with hundreds of pounds resting on his chest, and Ghost’s tongue feels like magic on his cunt. He licks Johnny’s engorged clit, knows just when to wrap his lips around the bundle of nerves and suck. When Johnny gets too close to the edge, when his whimpers turn to whines and his moans pitch up, Ghost ducks to Johnny’s hole and spends time drinking all of his slick.

He has absolutely no idea how long it will be until Graves shows up, and the thought drives Johnny insane. At any moment the other man could walk out and see them, see Johnny pinned and Ghost eating his cunt like he’s starving.

With a gasp at a particularly rough edge, Johnny gets the bar a few inches off his chest. He feels like he’s suffocating when it drops back down.

“Good,” Ghost purrs, one hand lifting from where he’d been holding Johnny’s lips open to stroke his stomach beneath his shirt. “Almost there. Go on, try again f’r me." He sounds drunk on Johnny, his words slurred and muffled. Johnny doesn’t sound any better, sobbing and moaning in equal turns as he’s driven to the edge again and again.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He’s just able to time his breathing, erratic as it is, with his effort in pushing the bar away. His muscles scream at him as he gets it higher and higher in the air, and every single part of him goes completely limp the moment he stops gripping the bar.

“There ya go,” Ghost growls, and Johnny groans as the vibrations sink into him. “Tha’s my fuckin’ boy.”

Johnny whines, manages to muster up just enough energy to lift one hand and drop it onto Ghost’s buzzed head. He can’t do anything but keep it there, but it helps him feel less lost in the pleasure. He doesn’t even have enough strength to grind against Ghost’s hand, but the other man doesn’t need the help in getting him off.

By the time he’d gotten re-dressed (by the time Ghost had re-dressed him), Graves had been walking in the door. He’d only given the two of them a nasty look, and Johnny’s face had burned bright at the realization that they’d been caught.

“Inside, you two. Now.” Was all Graves had said, but Johnny had trouble even glancing at the man for days.

Ghost had never been that hard on him during a workout again, but the threat of it was always there, and it was more than enough to keep Johnny from complaining again.

That’s how most of their dynamic worked - the second Johnny pushed back against Ghost’s control even minutely, he was met with swift and firm punishment. Unwilling to experience whatever degradation Ghost chose again, he’d be sure not to repeat the same mistakes.

And Johnny finds that when he listens, when he doesn’t question Ghost and doesn’t let the humiliation get to him, the man verges on kind. In his own sick and twisted way.

(At night, alone under his sheets, Johnny wonders if Riley is really soft, or if he’s too used to the man’s cruelty and simply thinks anything less than that is kind.)

———————————————————————

Two months into their “deal”, Johnny’s world is brought to a sudden stop again.

He’s in the staffroom - an hour early, because Ghost expects him to be there when he takes his showers, which happen to be first thing in the morning - when Gaz walks in, a small paper bag in his hand.

“Hey, mate,” he beams, quickly walking towards Johnny. “Glad I got here early enough to catch you, feel like we’ve hardly talked in ages.”

Johnny gives his best sympathetic smile, checking the bullets in his gun. “Sorry, mate. Job’s been wearin’ on me more than I thought it would.”

Gaz quickly looks away, nodding rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” There’s an almost-awkward moment of silence before Gaz holds out the bag he’d brought. “Oh, I brought donuts. Y’know, to celebrate the good news.” He shakes the bag enticingly. “Want one?”

Johnny grins, quickly snagging the bag and tugging out a maple log. “Thanks, I love these. What’s the good news?”

He’s taking his first bite of the treat, savoring the taste of it on his tongue, when Gaz makes a shocked noise “You don’t know?”

He’s still chewing, so the only response Johnny can give is a shake of the head and a raised brow.

“Huh, I’d figured he’d have…” Gaz trails off a bit, his own brows furrowing as he takes the bag back. “Well, I guess I get the pleasure then - Ghost was up for bail, and he got approved.”

Johnny chokes on his next bite of donut instantly, bending in half and coughing desperately.

“Shit, mate!” Gaz exclaims, whacking him hard enough on the back to dislodge the little bite of food and allow him to suck in gasps of air.

“He’s-” Johnny gasps again, then straightens. “He’s what?”

Gaz looks completely surprised, leaving his hand on Johnny’s back just long enough to make sure he’s stable before letting it drop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. I figured with your… relationship, he would’ve been the one to tell you.”

Johnny nearly chokes again, spluttering in shock and leaning his entire weight against the counter. “Relationship? We’re not in a-a relationship!”

The look Gaz gives him is a mix between pitying and disbelieving. “Come on, mate, you don’t have to lie to me. Everyone knows already.”

Johnny gapes and can feel the blood draining from his face. “Everyone?”

“Well you weren’t exactly subtle,” Gaz counters, his own brows furrowing now. “You really didn’t know? About either thing?”

“No!” Johnny exclaims, turning so he can lean his back on the counter and bury his face in his hands. “I don’t even-” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’ve given me too much to deal with here, mate.”

“Well to be fair, I didn’t think I’d be revealing anything to you this morning.”

Johnny spreads his fingers just enough that he can see through them, shaking his head at the linoleum floor. He can’t bring himself to look over at Gaz, not knowing… not knowing that the other man has known, and known this whole time.

“Nobody judges you for it, by the way,” Gaz says quietly, a few moments later.

Johnny raises his head, glances at the other officer once before looking away again. “What?”

“For your relationship,” he explains. “Love is love, and all that. Most of these men are in here for life, you’re not the first one to start a relationship with one of them, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

Johnny only groans again, throwing his head back and staring blankly at the ceiling.

As humiliating as it is to know that all of the guards have known about his thing with Ghost, he can’t help but think back to the first thing Gaz had mentioned.

His brows furrow as he turns to fully look at Gaz again, trying to ignore his blush. “Did you say he’s out on parole?”

Now Gaz smiles again. “Yeah, I can’t believe you hadn’t heard! I mean granted, I only saw it in the paper this morning, but still. Can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”

Johnny can only stare at the other man with his mouth agape. “Do you still have the paper?”

Gaz frowns a minute, then swings his bag off his shoulders and digs through it for a moment before pulling out a rolled up newspaper. He flips it open, turning past the first few pages and then pointing to a smaller box in the bottom left hand corner.

“Here it is,” he says, then begins to read it out loud. “Infamous illegal weapons seller Simon “Ghost” Riley released on parole today - mistake or mercy? Not their best work, admittedly, but I suppose no one usually reads this far- hey!”

“Gimme that,” Johnny mutters, snatching the paper and ducking close to read it more closely.

There isn’t much more information - the small article only lists the day Ghost was arrested, all his charges, and the accomplices arrested with him but sent to a smaller prison.

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathes, dropping the paper and leaning back. “Holy shit.”

Gaz snatches the paper back, looking at Johnny like he’s lost his mind. “Is that a good holy shit, or a bad one? Because I figured you’d be happy about this, honestly-”

“I have to go,” Johnny interrupts, quickly tearing all of the gear he’d already put on off and striding out of the room.

“You’re welcome!” Gaz calls, just as the door closes behind him.

The warden’s office is only a few doors down, and Johnny’s just barely restraining a smile as he throws the door open without knocking.

“I quit.”

Shepherd looks up from his computer, blinking dumbly at Johnny. “Excuse me?”

“I quit,” he repeats, stepping into the officer and glaring at the warden, still unable to fully control his smile. “Your buddy Ghost is out of here, so you’ve got no reason to keep me either. I’m quitting.”

It seems to take a moment for Shepherd to process the words, but once he has he sits back with a sigh, tugging open one of the drawers.

“I supposed I should’ve expected this,” he says, pulling something out and then shutting the drawer. “You know, you’re welcome to stay on if you’d-”

“No,” Johnny says quickly, fully glaring at the man now. “You and I both know there’s no reason for me to be here anymore with him gone.”

Shepherd thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Fair enough. You’ll want these, then.”

He holds his hand out palm up, with two small flashdrives resting there

Johnny grabs them before the ex-general can take them away, then frowns in confusion. “What’s on them?”

“Every time you and Ghost were… intimate where a camera could see you. I figured you’d want to have them.”

Johnny’s face flames again, but he nods jerkily and stuffs the drives into his pocket. He’ll burn them the second he’s home.

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, heaving himself out of his chair and holding out a hand. ”You did me a favor keeping that brute in line. I have to thank you for that.”

Johnny can only stare incredulously at the man. A thousand angry tirades run through his mind, righteous words he could spit at the man, accusations to lay at his feet and hopefully dig at whatever conscious he’s got left.

But Johnny doesn’t have room for any of them right now. All he can think about is how he’ll never have to see Simon “Ghost” Riley again.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he says with a slowly growing smile. “And I have no respect for you. Goodbye.”

And with that, Johnny turns and leaves the office. He’s all but whistling his whole walk home, hardly even noticing the twinge in his knee.

——————————————��————————

Johnny’s place isn’t anything close to nice, but Ghost doesn’t mind.

He stands on the gross outside the trailer, smoking a cigarette and appreciating the cool air. Even though he’d had any privilege he could’ve asked for while locked up, he can still feel the difference in the air knowing that he’s free now.

It hadn’t been difficult to find Johnny’s address. He’d demanded the man’s full file from Shepherd before leaving, and the old bastard had been more than willing to hand it over.

Simon will go back and kill him someday. No one who allowed Johnny to be hurt like that should live.

He hadn’t thought much about where the officer lived, but he’d thought plenty about how he behaved in that home. He’s far less interested in the fact that Johnny lives in a trailer with peeling paint and old tires, and far more interested in what’s inside the tin can that can tell him all about who Johnny is when he’s alone.

And he’s… messy. Very, very messy.

A part of Ghost likes to think it’s because of him, that Johnny is too exhausted after a long day meeting his standards and taking his cock that he comes home and doesn’t do anything but collapse into bed. Another part of him is disgusted by all the fast food containers and already plans how he’ll whip the boy into shape so he can actually see his countertops. No wonder he's struggled so much with their workouts.

The trailer is small, certainly meant for a bachelor or someone travelling with just a partner. The bed in the back is messy and unmaid, and it’s only two or three feet away from the small kitchen area. Between those, the couch, where a laptop is charging on one of the cushions.

Simon digs around while he waits for Johnny to come home. He figures it won’t be long - the second he learns that Ghost is out, he’ll realize that Shepherd has no reason to blackmail him anymore and run as fast as he can.

Ghost smirks at the thought of how surprised he’ll be when he gets home. He’s damn near giddy to see his boy, to see his face drop when he recognizes the man in his home. He wonders if the anger or despair will take over first - he desperately hopes it’s anger, though he wouldn’t mind seeing Johnny cry at the sight of him.

For now, he snoops.

Johnny doesn’t have much of anything. He’s got a full sleeve of condoms next to his bed that Ghost snorts at before tossing in the trash, along with a few bottles of lube and a couple simple dildos. His clothes are all similair, and he’s only got a few pairs of jeans.

The most interesting thing is the small gun kept in a cabinet over the sink - it’s an almost pathetcially small thing, but Ghost grabs it and tucks it into the back of his pants regardless. He’s well aware of Johnny’s skill with a gun - he’d been a sniper for a bit, according to his file - and has no intentions of dying before he can properly tame the little brat.

It takes about an hour for his boy to come home. Longer than Simon had expected, but he won’t hold it against him.

He can’t help the spark of sadistic excitement in his chest when he sits himself on the edge of Johnny’s bed, forcing himself into a more casual position so Johnny doesn’t think he’s too eager.

His boy’s reaction is everything he’d hoped for.

Johnny’s face is lit up in excitement when he first opens the door, lips spread in a wide grin and shoulders rolled back. When he lays eyes on Ghost, it takes a second for that expression to drop.

(The sight of Johnny staring at him, beaming, makes something old and dead shift in Ghost’s chest. He’s not sure he or Johnny will like the things that feeling drives him to do.)

Ghost can see the exact moment Johnny realizes he’s not dreaming, realizes that Ghost has followed him home. It’s the way his smile drops slowly, the way his eyebrows pinch together and he blinks rapidly. His shoulders fall forward, like he’s trying to curl in on himself.

He doesn’t even close the door behind himself.

Simon cocks his head to the side, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs wide - he’s nearly the width of the damn trailer.

“Welcome home, Johnny.”

Just like he’d suspected, it’s his voice that shifts the ex-officer from shock to anger. In a heartbeat Johnny goes from gaping and blinking to snarling and tightening his hands into fists.

He takes a single step forward, then seems to realize how close just that small movement brings him. He points an angry finger at Ghost, nearly spitting angry. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“Language,” he corrects automatically, barely resisting the urge to smirk at the angry sound that bursts from Johnny’s chest. “You didn’t think we were finished, did you?”

Johnny’s face is going red from anger. Briefly, Ghost wonders if he’s going to pop a blood vessel.

“Get out!” He shouts, hands shaking in anger. “You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here! I’ll call the police, get you arrested for breaking and entering!”

Now Ghost really can’t help the way his lips curl. “No, you won’t.”

Johnny’s lip curls into a nasty snarl at the challenge. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

Ghost lets his head tilt leisurely to the side. “Because you want to be a good boy for me too badly.” He lets on hand shift to his pocket, lips twitching further up when Johnny flinches at the movement, and pulls out two small hardrives. “And because I have these, and I’ll spread them as far as I need to to keep you well-behaved.”

He knows Johnny’s got a pair of his own, knows that Shepherd just wanted to get rid of them, but that doesn’t dampen his reaction to the small drives. Johnny’s staring at his hand like he’s holding a nuclear weapon, like his world ends with those harddrives.

When Ghost closes his fist over them again, Johnny lurches forward before stopping himself. Ghost tuts, then sits forward. “Now, I think we’ll go over the new rules. Since we’ll live together now.”

That’s what finally makes Johnny snap. A sound of pure rage tears from his throat as he dives for the cabinet above the sink. In the second that he’s not facing Ghost head on, Simon quickly follows and presses himself along Johnny’s back.

He cocks the gun, holding the barrel of it to Johnny’s temple. It’s not loaded, of course, but the boy in front of him has no way of knowing that.

“Looking for this?” Ghost says in his unblocked ear, nose running along the shell of it. “Tsk, very naughty, Johnny,” he teases.

Johnny’s shivery in front of him, his system no doubt overloaded with all sorts of feelings. Ghost pushes his nose just behind Johnny’s ear, inhaling deeply and sighing at the pure scent of him. He can’t wait until he knows each and every thought passing through that brain, can’t wait until he can predict Johnny better than Johnny can predict himself. He’s already halfway there.

“Are you gonna be good, or am I gonna have to shoot you?” He asks quietly.

“Don’t-” Johnny gasps when Ghost presses the gun a little harder, trying his best to move away from the pressure but pinned too tightly. “Don’t. Please.”

It’s the crack in his voice that makes Ghost soften, just the tiniest bit.

“On your stomach, on the bed.”

He moves back just enough for Johnny to pull away, watching intently as he starts to pull away from the cabinet.

Johnny’s moving slowly, one step only half the length it was before, but Ghost doesn’t rush him. He relishes in the sight of Johnny curled in on himself, afraid and obediant.

Then, without warning, Johnny whirls around and punches him square in the chest.

It’s the same damn move that got him the first time they met, and he’s just as unprepared for it this time. He only stumbles back a step or two, but for a man as highly trained as Johnny that’s more than enough room to do damage.

Before he can regain his balance, Johnny’s burying his shoulder into his chest and shoving him to the side. Ghost falls flat on his ass, stumbling out of the open door and the few rickety old steps into the dirt below.

Johnny flies down after him, landing with his knees on either side of Ghost’s ribs and wrapping his hands around the larger man’s throat.

Ghost chokes when he squeezes, reaching up to try and yank Johnny’s hands off of him. But the younger man has adrenaline and fear on his side, and he hangs on like his life depends on it.

A moment later he leans back, still firmly choking Ghost but letting his eyes run over the man and the ground beside him. It takes a moment for Simon to realize what he’s looking for.

“Dropped… it…” he chokes out, his lips tilting up into the slightest of smirks despite his delicate situation. The gun had flown from his hand as soon as Johnny knocked him off his feet, but he can’t see around the other man to know if it had landed outside.

Johnny’s hands flex against his throat, strangling him with just enough strength that black spots begin to dance across his vision. Still, he’s hardly weakened, and he throws a rough punch at Johnny’s face with his quickly fading strength.

The boy dodges it, but just barely since Simon’s reach is longer than his. He can see that the other man is considering something, and his hands squeeze harder again as he leans closer to Ghost’s face.

Oh, he thinks a moment later. I see. Smart boy.

Ghost lets his hands smack at Johnny’s face and arms a few more times, then slowly pretends they’ve gone limp in the dirt next to him. A few seconds later, his eyes flutter shut.

For a long moment Johnny doesn’t remove his hands, and Ghost worries he’s miscalculated. But then there’s a relieved sigh above him, and the hands disappear. Had he any background other than his own, Ghost would have sucked in heaving breaths and given himself away.

As it is, he doesn’t move until he feels Johnny’s knees leave his ribs.

He’s up and behind the smaller man almost immediately. It takes a second to catch his balance, his brain still deprived of oxygen and only half-awake, but he’s got enough coordination to grab Johnny by the ankle before he can get fully inside the trailer.

Ghost laughs at the way Johnny shrieks in rage, free hand clawing at the dirt as he pulls himself forward and Johnny back. When he raises his eyes, he finds himself staring down the barrel of the gun.

His breathing is still harsh and uneven, and his grip on Johnny’s ankle is secure. He glares at the boy, not the gun, and growls, “Go ahead. Do it.”

Johnny’s hands are both on the gun, both shaking, and his eyes are wide with adrenlinea and fear. With only a moment’s hesitation, he pulls the trigger.

It clicks, empty.

Ghost gives himself just enough time to appreciate the shock in Johnny’s eyes before launching himself forward, forcing them both up a step and grabbing Johnny roughly by the jaw. With one hand on his ankle and the other on his face, Johnny’s tucked into a small ball beneath him.

“You want me dead, Johnny, is that it?” He growls, heaving hot breaths across the boy’s face. “Gonna shoot me then bury my body in this dump?”

Johnny’s expression of shock quickly twists to one of anger, and he spits into Ghost’s face. “Go to hell, ye bastard.”

Ghost bares his teeth, forcing himself even closer into the smaller man’s space. “You’ll pay for that.”

It’s all too easy to force Johnny up, to shift his hold from jaw to neck and to throw him inside the trailer. This time he makes sure the door is closed and locked, then turns back to his unruly pet.

He easily swipes the laptop away when Johnny tries to bash it over his head, storming towards the smaller man and grinning when the other man stumbles backward.

“Wait- don’t-” Johnny tries as he falls back on the bed, Ghost quickly following him. He drops the empty gun beside them, locking his hand back around the front of Johnny’s throat and holding him down on the bed.

“Wait, don’t,” he mocks, spitting on Johnny’s face. He laughs loudly at the way the younger man winces, eyes scrunching up at the action. “You know your beggin’ only makes me harder, baby, it’s like you want this.”

Johnny’s sneer is ugly, but his anger is beautiful as he glares up at Ghost. “I don’t want anything from you except your pain, bastard. I’ll fuckin’ kill you, first chance I get.”

“Which is why you’ll never get a chance,” Ghost taunts, leaning close enough that he can press their noses together. “You’re too fun for me to let go of you any time soon, Johnny, so fight all you want - it only makes your submission sweeter.”

He forces his lips to Johnny’s in a rough, but passionate kiss. The smaller man doesn’t reciprocate, but Ghost is perfectly content to nip and lick at his lips anyway. He’ll have the boy slobbering for it soon enough.

“On your stomach,” he says against Johnny’s mouth, moving his hand to the man’s shoulder to urge him over.

“Riley,” Johnny gasps, trying to stay on his back. “Don’t.”

Ghost shoves him over anyway, pressing his face to the side of Johnny’s once he’s flipped and wrapping his arms around the man, relishing in their size difference. Even with Ghost’s workout regiment, he’s still so much smaller.

“Simon,” he says lowly. “You call me Simon. Or Ghost.”

It takes almost no effort to tug Johnny’s pants and boxers down. He kicks them both to the side, then pushes Johnny’s chest up and shirt off while he considers what the first color of panties he’ll put the man in will be.

He forces Johnny’s feet wide with his own, smirking when he whines at the stretch. Then he grabs both of Johnny’s hands where they’re clawing at his sheets and folds his arms behind his back, locking one hand around both forearms so he can hold the boy down.

“Let’s see you now,” he mutters, leaning back and using his free hand to spread Johnny’s ass cheeks. “Oh baby, you’re so soaked for me.” He makes his voice intentionally mocking, feels himself twitch in his pants when Johnny shivers at the sound of it.

He quickly yanks down his own pants and boxers, letting them fall to his ankles carelessly. He indulges in a few strokes to get himself to full hardness, then passes his thumb over Johnny’s cocklet a few times.

The younger man jolts at the sensation, head thrashing against the sheets as his back arches further into the touch. Ghost can’t quite make out what he’s trying to say, but he gives him a rewarding rub anyway.

“Did well gettin’ yourself read for me,” he praises, dragging his hand up to prod at the tight hole dripping slick. He carelessly tucks two fingers inside Johnny, only using them to pull out more slick and watch the way it coats his clit. “Too bad none of it’s gonna matter. Tsk, such a waste.”

Johnny raises his head enough to turn to the side and look at Ghost, confusion marring his pretty face. His eyes are glassy with tears, but none have fallen yet. Ghost knows that’ll change soon.

“What?” Johnny asks quietly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Ghost smiles, moving his two soaked fingers up a little further and tapping a few times at the tight hole he’s yet to use. “You were very bad, Johnny. Only good boys get their cunts used. Bad boys need to learn a lesson.”

Johnny whimpers, burying his face in the pillows again. When Ghost sticks the tip of one finger into the tight furl of his ass, he rockets up like he’s been shocked.

“L-lube!” He gasps, already writhing in place with just the smallest amount of penetration. “In-in the table.”

Ghost sighs, wiggling the tip of his finger inside of Johnny and smiling at the wince he gets in return. “No lube for you today, Johnny. Since you liked spit so much earlier, I figured we’d use that.”

He watches Johnny’s eyes go wide as he spits a large glob directly where his finger is, laughs when Johnny’s “Wait-” is choked off as he shoves his finger the rest of the way in.

He quickly begins thrusting the digit in and out, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to keep him pinned. He stretches the boy as much as he can with one finger, but quickly adds a second with just a bit more spit.

Johnny whines high and loud, like he’s in all sorts of pain, and Ghost moans, grinding himself against the boy’s thigh.

“That hurt, Johnny?” He asks, his cock throbbing. “Your little asshole sting?”

Johnny hisses through his teeth when Ghost folds his finger and tugs. “You know it does!”

Ghost laughs, pulling out just long enough to slap his cunt playfully. “Course. That’s the whole point.”

He drags his fingers through the slick, doing his boy the kindness of bringing some of it back up to his ass to give him a little more lubricant.

Three fingers, it turns out, makes Johnny squeal like he’s being shot. His feet stamp against the ground angrily, and he throws his head back and forth like he’s looking for something to bite. Ghost can’t help but chuckle at how stupid he looks, only encouraging him by spreading his fingers.

“You feeling a little dry, Johnny?” He asks, pulling out to stroke over the hole and see how it’s stretching so far. He’s moving faster than he should, so it only just barely winks at him, but there’s little resistance when he slips all three fingers back in.

“Yes,” Johnny hisses through visibly gritted teeth, cheek laid flat on the bed so he can glare balefully at Ghost.

“Hmm. Want some more of my spit?”

Johnny splutters, trying to rear up again before Ghost muscles him back down. “You fuckin’- I need lube, Riley!”

Ghost frowns down at Johnny’s sex, fucking him roughly a few times in retalliation. “That’s not what you call me, stupid boy.”

Johnny hisses angrily, stomping once. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid!”

Ghost rumbles a disagreeing noise, tugging Johnny’s arms a little tighter. “Then how come you’re so bad with simple instructions? Can’t mind your manners, can’t call me the right name… can’t even ask for what you need from me properly.”

“I don’t need you to spit on me!”

Ghost sighs, like he’s dealing with a misbehaving puppy instead of an enraged man. “I won’t give you what you don’t ask for,” he warns, pulling his fingers out. “But if you’ve got all the lube you think you need…”

He lines the tip of his uncut cock up with the small, understretched hole. Johnny’s complaints rocket in volume when he realizes what Ghost’s doing, and the larger man slips his cock a little lower and rocks his hips back and forth to soak himself in Johnny’s slick while he listens to the younger man beg.

“Wait, wait-! No, no, no, nonono, please, please, don’t! Ghost!” He cries, head thrown back and thrashing as wildly as he can. Ghost’s cock only drips more precum as he’s forced to wrestle Johnny down, leaning most of his body weight onto the man beneath him. “Ghost, Ghost, Simon, please, please don’t fuck me there! Not- not without-!”

He breaks off into only pants, so Ghost grinds a little harder and leans close to spit, “Without what?”

“Spit! Without spit, please, please spit on me again Ghost!” Johnny cries, face streaked with tears and eyes screwed shut.

Ghost hums as he shifts a bit, making sure that his cockhead drags from asshole to clit to fully soak himself and Johnny. “That what you want? Want me to spit on you, sweet boy?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Johnny sobs, blinking slowly up at him.

Ghost smiles, leans close, and spits directly onto the apple of Johnny’s cheek. The flabbergasted expression on his boy’s face is more than worth any fighting he needed to get here.

“There you go,” he purrs, grinding himself a little more slowly and making sure the head of his cock rubs against Johnny’s clit. “What do we say?”

“You- you said you’d… on-on my…”

Ghost tilts his head, his smile sharp. “I said I’d give you my spit, baby, nobody said anything about where. Why don’t you stick your pretty tongue out and taste it for me.”

Johnny doesn’t listen, but Ghost lets it slide because his little confused expression is making him ache.

“But I’m too dry,” he says quietly, staring up at Ghost. “I’m gonna- I’ll tear.”

Ghost coos, pulling back just enough to line his cockhead up properly with Johnny’s ass. “Not if you relax for me.”

Then, he pushes himself in.

He knows he’s risking Johnny injury, so he dips his free hand down to rub his clit so he stays as relaxed as possible. As much as Ghost loves seeing Johnny cry, he knows he’ll be able to fuck him more if the boy isn’t torn.

He cries big, fat tears as Ghost pushes himself into the hilt. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give Johnny time to panic and tighten up, only forces himself in and keeps his fingers moving quickly on the clit beneath him.

“There we go,” he breathes once his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. His eyes flutter shut, rolling his head back on his neck and luxuriating the tight heat of his boy beneath him. “Feel so good for me, Johnny.”

The man beneath him is only animal noises and sniffles. Ghost can tell that he wants to tense, that he wants to fight, but the mix of Simon’s hand on his cock and his instincts keep him loose enough that he doesn’t tear.

“Look’it that,” Ghost whispers, dragging his finger from clit to hole and tracing around the stretched rim of it. “And you thought you couldn’t take it. Like I said - stupid thing.”

Johnny’s keen is high-pitched and wounded as Ghost slowly pulls out, watching the place where they meet intently.

When he slams back inside, Johnny screams.

His pace doesn’t let up from there. Once he’s assured Johnny won’t tear, he fucks him with all the strength and roughness he always does. He pays almost no mind to Johnny’s pleasure, using him only as a fleshlight for him to get off in.

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to balance himself and really start to fuck him. “Made for my goddamn cock, shaped to my will exactly, I’m never fucking letting you go.”

He’s panting over Johnny, back hunched as he works himself up. “Never felt anything like this. No man, no woman, just you, Johnny. My perfect, tight boy, huh? Cunt or ass, you squeeze me like you never want me to fuckin’ go. Proper fuckin’ cocksleeve.”

Johnny’s sounds are caught between pleasure and pain as Ghost slowly wears him down, tears streaming down his face but hips twisting back for more.

“Too bad you were bad, huh?” Ghost pants, putting his mouth right beside Johnny’s ear. “Coulda been fucking you in that pretty cunt. Could’ve stuffed you full of my cum, given you a nice little creampie. You want that? You want me stuffed deep in your guts?”

Johnny’s nowhere near coherent enough to speak, but Ghost is more than capable of talking for the both of them. “Coulda bred you, baby. Coulda given you a pretty little thing in your tummy, coulda filled you up and made you mine. Might still, if you can learn to be good.”

Ghost’s hips begin to work erratically as he reaches the edge, uncaring for any sort of rhythm or consistent pace as he focuses purely on getting himself off.

When he finally does reach his climax, he swears he sees stars.

It takes a long time for his cock to soften fully, for Johnny’s ass to stop milking more and more come out of him. He doesn’t mind, of course, only half-heartedly humps Johnny to finish himself off.

As he begins to relax on top of Johnny, the younger man only tenses.

“Ghost,” he whines, wriggly desperately. “Ghost, c’mon, it’s my turn.”

Simon huffs a laugh against Johnny’s nape, free hand coming up to run through his mohawk. “Your turn? For what?”

Johnny whines liked a kicked dog. “To come. C’mon, I’m so close, just need a little-”

Ghost quickly pulls out and angles his hips away, so Johnny’s cunt is left with only the cold air. The little brat cries like he’s been shot, hips working fruitlessly against the bed.

“Told you you’ve been bad,” Ghost mutters, quickly crashing from his high but keeping Johnny firmly stuck beneath him. “You don’t get to come tonight.”

Johnny wails, and Ghost can’t help but laugh as he finally stands.

Johnny’s all squirming and begging beneath him as he digs through his pants pockets.

“No, no, Ghost, please, I need to come! I can’t- I can’t do this, c’mon, I’m so close, you got me so close, you have to-! Please, Simon, come on!”

“Settle,” Ghost rumbles, giving his forearms a tight squeeze as he pulls the handcuffs out of his pocket. It had been all too easy to take them from the staff room before leaving, and he sets them on the bed as he finally lets go of Johnny’s wrists.

Like he suspected, he’s too desperate to do much but beg. The most he manages is flipping onto his back, but Ghost is lifting him by the hips and forcing him further up the bed before he can try anything.

“I can’t settle, Ghost, you’re fuckin’ blue ballin’ me!”

Ghost gives him a sardonic look as he knee-walks further up the bed, grabbing Johnny’s left wrist in one hand and using the other to quickly handcuff him to the small curtain rod above his bed. “What balls? All you’ve got is a cunt.”

Johnny’s too distracted by his new predicament to care about Ghost’s comment, staring at his hand with wide eyes. Simon steps back just long enough to fully strip, throw the gun to the ground, and toss a blanket onto the bed.

“What-? Where the hell did you get these?!” Johnny spits, yanking his wrist on instinct and curling away from Simon.

“Where the hell do you think?” Simon grouses, throwing himself to the bed next to Johnny and tugging the other man down. “Get down here. We’re sleeping now.”

“We’re-?” Johnny jerks in Simon’s hold, but he can’t do more than squirm. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Uncuff me! Now!”

“No,” Ghost grunts, pulling Johnny even tighter to him and squeezing to quiet him down. “You’re not runnin’ away from me. Sleep.”

“How the hell can you expect me to sleep with one goddamn hand in the air?!”

Ghost groans, quickly covering Johnny’s mouth with one hand. “Quiet. Sleep.”

He doesn’t even flinch when he feels Johnny bite his hand. He does consider investing in some smaller ball gags for Johnny to wear to bed, if he’s going to kick up such a fuss every night.

After a few minutes of stillness and silence, Johnny relaxes in Ghost’s arms. He knows it’s purely instinctual, knows that he’ll probably wake up to Johnny’s best murder attempt in the morning, but for now he feels content.

He’s confident he’ll be able to break Johnny down into the perfect little pet. He’ll never get rid of all the boy’s fire - that’s half his fun - but he’ll make sure Johnny understands the proper power hierarchy, understands when to fight and when to listen.

For now, he falls asleep with his boy safe and secure in his arms.

#i always feel weird properly tagging my dark fics because i dont want people to accidentally stumble on them lol #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #bo writes #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #john mactavish x simon riley #soap mactavish x ghost riley #ghoap smut #ghostsoap smut #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #ghoap #ghostsoap #dark fic

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itsbeeble · 4 months

Text

LET LOOSE

SUMMARY: Younghoon has hated you since the day he met you. He thought you were stuck up with that better-than-you princess attitude of yours. What better than to just…fuck it right out of you?

GENRE: smut, fluff, angst, crack

PAIRING: Kim Younghoon x afab!reader (ft. eric)

WC: 5.3K

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @juyeonszn @winterchimez

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: Swearing, public sex, floor sex, academic rivals that everyone knows secretly want to fuck, enemies to lovers, missionary (that's a first wow), sexual references, mentions of alcohol, insults (not sexual), arguments, pining, mentions of killing someone as a joke, dry humping for like two seconds, making out, mentions of marking, mentions of oral, guys i think this is the least slutty fic I've written for this series, y/n is stuck in a perpetual state of denial, let me know if I missed anything but i think that's it

A/N: Everyone allow me to introduce Doll's less-slutty cousin!! I can't believe we're over halfway through this collab omg. I'm really glad people are loving this and I hope you guys have been catching the easter eggs me and Fawn have been throwing into our fics 😏

If anyone asked you what you thought of when you thought of local star student, heartthrob, and frat boy Kim Younghoon, you would scoff and cross your arms over your chest.

“I hate him,” you would say, your lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed until they were practically touching. “I hope his house burns to the fucking ground.”

One would think this was a gross overreaction, that you probably held a grudge over something stupid, or that he killed your dog or maybe he copied off your essay but made it seem like you were the one who plagiarized. And oh, how that would’ve been much simpler.

The true story, however, goes all the way back—

“Thinking about me again?” A hand cracks down on the desk in front of you, your mind and body jerking back to reality.

There he is, you think to yourself, the bane of my fucking existence. Your teeth are already grinding together, your grip tightening around the pencil you’d been using to write your notes and all he’s doing is standing there with a stupid fucking smirk.

“Why would I be thinking of you?” You bite out and Younghoon places a hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“Ouch, sweetheart.” Your body stiffens and your face contorts with disgust at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that, douchebag.” Younghoon sighs dramatically, dropping down to be at eye level with you.

“So cruel to me,” a pout, and then he’s smirking again. “What if I was into that, sweetheart?”

You might throw up.

“What do you want?” you groan, noting how other students have begun to flood out of the lecture hall while you’re putting your things away. Younghoon shrugs, rising to his feet at the same time as you. Had you been a weaker woman, his height would’ve had your knees wobbling and your panties hitting the ground but, fortunately, you were a strong woman. Some of your friends couldn’t relate to that despite your very clear and very much valid hatred for him.

“I just wanted to see what you were up to,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back onto his heels. “Considering that we’re now partners for this assignment.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, your eyes widen, and your cheeks are fighting between going pale and burning bright as a tomato.

“What are you— what do you mean we’re partners?” You echo, and his smirk only widens. Your shoulder bashes into his arm while you make your way to the front of the lecture hall where the list of partners is posted. He trails behind you, long legs making it easy to keep pace despite how impossibly fast you seem to walk.

“Aren’t you so excited?” He sounds too excited about this, and you have to physically stop yourself from grabbing him by the neck and choking him where he stands. “We get to work together for the whole semester!”

“I still don’t see how this is a problem,” Dawon tells you her tongue running over her lip as she watches you pace the length of your dorm suite’s lounge area. “Isn’t he, like, super hot? And smart?”

Your lip curls into a sneer and you whip your body around to look at her.

“He is not hot,” your voice has raised in pitch, your arms waving frantically. “He’s— he’s stupid and— and annoying, and he doesn’t know how to shut up, and his face— oh his face is just so— so—”

“Kissable?” Suyeon offers when she makes her way over with a steaming mug of tea.

“I think rideable is a better word,” Dawon grins at the way your jaw drops at the two of them.

“He does have a very rideable—”

“Okay, enough!” You snap, your face beginning to burn bright red in anger.

“Ooh she’s blushing!” Suyeon giggles and your face only burns brighter.

“You both are insufferable,” you throw yourself back onto the couch, your head turned toward the ceiling. “Kim Younghoon is annoying, stuck up, and his face is not kissable or rideable.”

“So you’re saying you’ve thought about it before?” Suyeon presses and you roll your eyes.

“Hell no. Why would I think about that?”

“Because he’s your mortal enemy and everyone ends up fucking their mortal enemy at some point.”

“Plus he’s a yummy, scrumptious, daddy cupcake.”

“Ugh, so true Dawon.” Suyeon squeezes your roommate’s hand, the two of them grinning deviously at each other.

“That’s— did you just call him— No, that’s not the point. The point is, that’s not true!” You lift your head, eyes wide with horror. “That only happens in books!”

“Not just books,” Suyeon raises her mug to her lips with a hint of a smirk on her face. “Didn’t you hear about the KAT and TBZ presidents?”

“Oh my god, Eric told me about that!” Dawon gasps. “Apparently they—”

“I don’t need to know the details of their sex lives.” You interrupt again. “God, you two are just…”

“Don’t you just love us?” Dawon winks at you, and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“Let’s not go that far.” Her lips twist, and the three of you go quiet for a moment.

“Why do you even hate him?”

Ah, there it is. The same question everyone had been asking since the day you started at this school.

Why do you hate Kim Younghoon?

“It’s complicated,” you tell them what you always say. You tell them that it’s nothing they should be concerned about. He knows what he did.

“Then uncomplicate it.” Suyeon is much softer than Dawon, her eyes furrowed but not with the mild irritation Dawon has. It’s more…concern than anything else, and for a moment you think about telling them. Think about dropping your petty act, let them know exactly what about Younghoon bothers you so much.

You open your mouth, and the two girls in front of you lean forward expectantly, practically on the edge of the tiny couch that had been squeezed into the suite.

“I can’t.”

“That isn’t going to work, sweetheart.” Younghoon says, waltzing up to you after your failed attempt to talk your professor into letting you change partners or work alone. Your shoulders are slumped in defeat, something that Younghoon seems to laugh at. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I really hate you, Kim Younghoon.” You lift your head, wanting so desperately to glare at him but you can only find the strength to stare blankly. He kisses his teeth, eyebrows furrowing.

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

“Who cares? It’s true.”

You want to scream. You want to throw your body onto the ground and throw a tantrum, to cry and whine, to kick and punch the air—anything to get out of this situation.

“All this because I got a better grade than you in one class in high school.” Younghoon shakes his head, his hair falling into his face and obscuring his eyes partially. Your heart thuds against your ribcage (because of the memory, obviously).

“You really think that’s the only reason I hate you?” Hint: he’s right for once. Would you ever tell him that? No. As far as he knows, you have endless reasons to hate him. As long as he lives, that list will grow. In fact, it would be better if he knew that you’d be pissed if he died before you because that means he tried to escape one last competition, but you’d hate it even more if he died after you because that means he would win one last time.

“That’s all I can think of,” he shrugs and you kiss your teeth.

“Disappointing me again, douchebag.” He scoffs at that.

“Of course I am. When am I not upsetting you about some bullshit?”

Oddly, this time you don’t answer him. At least you don’t give him an answer to that question.

“Listen, Kim Younghoon,” you place a hand on your hip, shifting your weight to lean mostly on one leg. He leans toward you a bit, slightly angling his head as if trying to hear you better. “You’re the most annoying, egotistical, snobbish boy I’ve ever met. You always have this, like, need to be better than me— than everyone.”

Younghoon inhales, his eyebrows knitting together and his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. You can see the irritation in his gaze, can see him fighting the urge to snap at you and it has your stomach churning. When he finally responds, it’s not exactly what you expected. You thought he would snap back at you, tell you to go fuck yourself, to call you the same insults you just called him.

He doesn’t.

“Meet me in the library at 4 o’clock.” Your head jerks back, your nose wrinkling with confusion.

“Excuse me?” Younghoon just smiles coyly, already turning away from you.

“Don’t you wanna get this project done so you don’t have to deal with me?” He can practically see the wheels turning in your brain, contemplating all your options.

“I mean yeah, but how do you know if I’m even free—”

“You’re always at the cafe at the same time as me,” Younghoon glances down at you, stepping to the side as he pushes open the door of the lecture hall. You say nothing as you push by him. “I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

“That’s not— I would never— how—” You sputter, stumbling over your words and waving your hands in the air while you try to come up with something to say. Something to deny. Younghoon begins to smile again, coy and near-mocking.

“I don’t hear you actively denying anything.” His eyes widen and he bends forward, lowering his face to be near yours. Your cheeks are heating up, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Words. You need words. Why is nothing coming out?

“Shut the hell up, douchebag.” He laughs and your stomach churns again. Is he laughing at you?

“I’ll see you at 4, sweetheart.” Younghoon starts to reach his hand toward you as he leans up, but thinks better of it and drops it back to his side.

“Yeah, sure,” you scoff and turn your back to him.

Fucking prick.

“You have got to be kidding me,” You toss a stack of papers onto the table you’re sitting at, glaring at the notes Younghoon wrote on the whiteboard. He’d rented a study room for a few hours, giving you time to start working.

Or, at least, try to start working. You had made no promises about not trying to kill him and making it so neither of you could get any work done. Although, you had thought about running him over with your car so that you would have an excuse to work on this alone.

The blinds over the door had been shut, blocking anyone from looking in and potentially seeing you try to kill a man. Lucky for you.

“What’s so wrong with what I wrote?” He squints at the board and you push yourself out of the old, creaky chair you’d been sitting in.

“It’s contradictory!” You complain, reaching around him for the eraser. He grabs your hand before you can do anything, turning on you with a scathing glare.

“It’s not, though!”

His grip tightens on your wrist when you pull it away. You narrow your eyes, but he doesn’t waver at all. There’s heat behind his gaze, heat that makes you nervous. You know he won’t hurt you, that’s not who he is. The heat though…that makes you nervous. It’s the same heat you’d felt several times in the past few weeks.

“Let me go, Kim Younghoon.” He leans his head toward yours and your throat begins to close, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Not until you tell me why it’s contradictory!” He snaps. You swear your ears start to ring, your vision closing in until all you can see is Younghoon.

“It’s— why does it matter so much to you?” His grip finally loosens and you rip away from him with a huff.

“Because you’re putting down my work! Again!” He flings his hands into the air and you bite your tongue. “Why do you hate me so much?”

A lump in your throat, tears in your eyes, and Younghoon drops your hand. He looks defeated, his shoulders slumping and his lips set into a deep frown.

“I just,” Younghoon sits in his chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. You stand in the middle of the study room, hands by your sides and your eyes flicking around nervously. Your posture is so tense compared to his, your eyes flitting around anxiously. “I’m tired of this shit. Not knowing what the fuck I did wrong. You never give me a reason and, at first, I was fine with it. I liked the casual rivalry. But now I’m just…it’s been four years, and I still don’t know what I did.”

“Choi Yuna.” It comes out fast, the name of your ex-best friend. So fast that Younghoon doesn’t catch it, he just stares at you with a look of pure confusion.

“What?”

You say her name slower this time, tugging at the edge of your shirt. “Choi Yuna, you dated her from freshman year until late sophomore year.”

“Okay, yeah,” he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “What does she have to do with this?”

Your cheeks are burning, and you know he can see it. See how flustered you are.

“She was my best friend.” You bite on your tongue, trying to find the right words.

“I know,” he said, and you purse your lips. “She talked about you all the time.”

“That’s funny,” you scoff, a spark of anger returning to your tone and to your facial features. “Considering she’s the reason I hated you for so long.”

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” Younghoon huffs, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. You can tell he’s frustrated, so you speak quicker.

“She— she knew that I liked you.” His eyes snap up, wide and bulging. “She knew that I wanted to ask you out in freshman year, so she made sure to get there first. I— at first I thought that you knew that’s why she did it.”

“You thought that I knew your best friend wanted—” Younghoon huffs and rises to his feet.

“Just—” You hold up your hands as he begins to step toward you, slowly backing you into the wall. “Just let me talk. I thought you knew, yes. She told me that you asked her out first and that she just— she just agreed. So yeah, I started to hate you. I started arguing with you and every answer you gave in class because I was just so…angry at— at everything, at myself.”

Your back is against the wall now, and you’re slowly curling in on yourself as Younghoon gets closer.

“And…?” he cocks an eyebrow and your swallow thickly.

“By the time I realized that it was all her….at that point it was just easier to keep hating you. To keep everything at bay.”

“Everything?” He echoes and had you been looking at his face instead of his chest, you would’ve seen the smirk you’d always claimed to hate plastered onto his face.

“Yes,” you groan and lift your head. Your breathing hitches in your throat, your body pushing even closer to the wall when you finally see just how close Younghoon is to you.

Just a few inches from your face is his own, his eyes dancing from your eyes to your lips. His breathing is, compared to yours, slow and even. Inhale, hold, exhale. You can see his chest rising and falling with the rhythm.

“Why—” you clear your throat. “Why are you so close to me, Younghoon?”

“No legal name this time?” He murmurs, one of his hands coming up to rest on the wall beside your head. His head dips down and now his lips are brushing against yours, every breath you take mixing with his. “What happened?”

“I just— you’re a little close to me.” Your hand presses on his chest, but it's as if you aren’t even trying to push him away. “We— we probably shouldn’t.”

Younghoon kisses his teeth, shaking his head at your suggestion. Arguably, it’s a wise choice, but right now he has you exactly where he wants you. If he lets you leave now, who’s to say you won’t pack your bags and take a one-way flight to Brazil?

“I’ve been waiting,” he says and you squeeze the hand on his chest into a fist. “For three years for you to get your head out of your ass. I’m not letting you go now that I have you.”

“Have me?” Your tone shifts into one of challenge rather than the nervous air you’d surrounded yourself with. “If anything, I have you, Kim Younghoon.”

You yank him to you by his shirt, reaching up on your tip toes to place a firm kiss on his plush lips. You hear a groan rumbling in his throat, the hand not on the wall wrapping around your waist and squeezing tightly. Your lips mesh together, but it isn’t messy. It’s slow, calculated just like every move either of you had made against each other. Every argument, every challenge. The build-up. It all led to this, and you’re not letting him go this time. He’s yours and Choi Yuna can’t take him this time.

With a new fervor, both of your hands come to lace into his thick strands of black hair, effectively trapping his lips against yours. He drops the hand that was on the wall, both hands now on your waist and sipping under the loose fabric of your shirt. You gasp at the cold feeling of his hands on your skin, and he takes that opportunity to sneak his tongue into your mouth. It’s experimental, the way his tongue caresses yours, pushing gently and letting you suck at the warm muscle. He listens to the pretty little whimper you let out when he does the same thing in return and a shiver runs down his spine. His hand slides up the back of your shirt, emerging from the collar and lacing into the strands of your hair.

Air. You had to come up for air. You needed to breathe. Your lungs are aching, but fuck his lips are addicting. They’re soft, and warm, and they feel so good against yours.

Your knees cave slightly, your mind going fuzzy and Younghoon rips away from you to steady your body, his knee shoved between your legs to help keep you upright.

“Sweetheart,” his tone is lighthearted, but you know he’s scolding you. “You need to learn to breathe. I’m not leaving just because you need some air.”

A pretty little whine escapes you, but Younghoon is quick to realize that it’s not because you can’t find the words to respond to him. Well, if you think about it, that kind of was the reason.

Your hips are rolling down on his knee, your hands gripping his shoulder for dear life as you ride his thigh. Your head is rolled to the side, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to find the right pace and the right amount of pleasure to ease your arousal. Younghoon’s jaw drops, and he feels his dick twitch in his pants at the sight of you trying so desperately to relieve yourself on him. Unfortunately for you, he notes, your jeans seem to be in the way of you achieving your pleasure.

“Sweetheart,” he coos but his voice is shaky and he thanks god that you’re too far gone to notice. “Look at you, trying so hard to get yourself off.”

You whine, and his breathing hitches when you try to ride him even harder.

“Is it not enough?” He presses and your eyes fly open with the quick nod of your head. But then you shake it, and his heart clenches at the confused furrow of your brow.

“‘S not!” You whine. “Need more, Hoonie.”

He smiles when you reach one of your hands down, undoing the button of your jeans and trying desperately to shove them down as far as they can physically go without interrupting your ministrations. To your dismay, they barely get anywhere before Younghoon has to set you down and starts to tug them down your legs gently.

You never thought you would enjoy watching a man get down on his knees for you, never thought you could have this much of a reaction to it. Younghoon though…the sight of him looking up at you through his lashes, the nearly pathetic look in his eyes when he sees just how soaked your panties are— it’s enough to have you practically crumbling to the ground, your lips crashing against his again and forcing him back to lay on the ground.

His hands are everywhere— your hair, your hips, your ass, anywhere he can reach. He squeezes the soft flesh of your ass when your lips trail down his neck, sucking little marks into the skin and pulling groans and quiet whimpers from his throat.

Your hands run under his shirt, and he weakly tries to help you push it over his head to be tossed somewhere else. You shush him, a playful look in your eye as you place a finger on his lips.

“Gotta be quiet now,” you unbutton his jeans, slowly dragging them and his boxers down and he lifts his hips to help you slide them down to his knees. He doesn’t bother with your shirt but makes quick work of your bra and shoves it up. You’re sliding your panties down your legs when he shoves his hands under your shirt, squeezing and tugging at the soft mounds of flesh on your chest. A quiet moan at the feeling of him tugging at your nipples, and his hands falter momentarily when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teases and you scoff while lining him up with your sopping wet pussy. You know he’s big, both of you do, but you’d never admit that to his face. Never admit that you’re nervous about taking it all in, nervous that you won’t be able to take him at all.

“As if your little dick could possibly hurt me—” your voice catches and he watches with strained amusement as you begin to sink down on him. Your walls are tight around him, practically squeezing the life out of his poor cock while you try so desperately to keep sliding down on him. Younghoon pulls his hands out of your shirt, sliding them down to your hips and gently rubbing them as a means to ease your discomfort.

“What were you saying about my little dick?” Younghoon sneers and you have to fight back the whine that threatens to slip out of you. He’s just over halfway in when you force yourself to give up, the stretch beginning to be too much for you to handle. “I could’ve prepped you, y’know? Made this easier for us both.”

You can only lower your head onto his shoulder, biting harshly into the skin while he flips you around and pushes your legs up toward your chest.

“Hold these here, sweetheart.” You do as he says, gasping sharply when he begins to sink into you.

“Fuck, Younghoon!”

“Shhh,” he kisses you gently while continuing to press into you, using the width of his shoulders to gently spread your legs a bit further apart. ��‘M almost there, I promise.”

“‘S too much,” you whimper, a tear slipping out of your eye and dripping onto the carpeted floor below you. “‘S too much, Hoonie.”

“I know sweetheart,” he coos and looks down at where the two of you are connected. He fights the sudden urge to cum when he sees the fluttering of your walls, sees them clenching around him, and trying to force him out. “I’m almost there.”

Another whine from you and he quickly slides the last three inches into you, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the scream you release. He stays still for a moment, listening to the sound of you sniffling, and turns his head briefly to look at the door. A shadow passes by and he exhales quietly.

“And you were worried about me being too loud. Who’s the one with a hand over her mouth, hm?” You can’t don’t respond and Younghoon pulls out entirely, leaving just the tip inside of you, and when you whine and let go of one of your legs to reach out for him, he sinks into you in one harsh thrust.

The moan you let out behind Younghoon’s hand is guttural, and your back arches off the floor. His thrusts are rapid, yet he doesn’t falter in pattern. He sinks deep inside of you, punching into you so deep that you swear he’s going to hit your cervix. He lets his hand drop from your mouth listening to the way you try to hold back your noises. Every whine, every whimper and moan and cry, you try so hard for him.

“Such a good girl,” he coos. “Keeping quiet and letting me fuck her real good.” His voice is so quiet, the words practically hissed into your ear and it’s so hot that your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your grip on your legs loosens and then your hands drop them entirely, letting them fall onto his sturdy shoulders. He watches as both of your hands disappear under your shirt and he feels a pang of irritation as you begin to play with your nipples. They draw sharper noises out of you, higher in pitch and slightly louder. Although, Younghoon can’t complain when the combined pleasure has your cunt fluttering around him and fresh waves of arousal washing through you to make it easier for him to fuck in and out of you.

“Hoon,” your whine is loud. Too loud. “So close, please!”

Younghoon hushes you again, his hand running up the side of your leg and squeezing at the flesh of your thigh.

“I know, sweetheart,” he tells you. “You gotta be quiet f’ me. Gotta be quiet so nobody walks in, okay?”

“I can’t.” You sob out and Younghoon pushes himself closer to you, practically folding you in half so he can kiss you. You open up immediately, whining and letting him slide his tongue in for you to suck on.

Younghoon’s hips begin to stutter, his body shaking against yours, but you’re closer. Your body spasms, and you nip at his tongue to keep him close to you while you cum. Younghoon grunts at the combined feeling of your bites and the clenching of your walls around his length. It’s all a bit too much and it only takes a few more thrusts before he’s shuddering and collapsing against you, spilling ropes of white hot cum inside of you.

He can feel the combination of his and your cum beginning to squeeze out of you around the tight fit of his dick inside of you, but he doesn’t have the strength to pull out of you just yet. You’ve stopped biting at him, your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth slowly sucking at the warm muscle he continues to provide you.

Your body is sore, your thighs aching and likely bruised when you walk into your dorm a few hours later. You hadn’t gotten any work done after that, spending the rest of the time making out in a chair and grinding on each other like some damn horny teenagers. You know you’re a disaster, but you’re more than content with that knowing that Younghoon looks the same (if not worse).

When the door clicks shut, it’s dark in the suite and you silently thank god that Dawon and Suyeon are asle—

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The lights flick on to reveal your two friends at the counter in the suite’s living area. Dawon looks furious, but Suyeon looks like she just wants to go to be. You grimace, dropping your bag off your shoulder and onto the ground next to you.

“Out.” Your voice is hoarse and you grimace. You imagine your throat is a little bit bruised from…things.

“Doing what.” Dawon snaps.

“Or who, judging by the looks of you.” Suyeon clicks her tongue and rises from the couch. “Look at you! It looks like someone tried to eat you!”

Dawon squints at you, and you turn your gaze to the floor.

“You fucked him, didn’t you?” She inquires, but you both already know the answer.

“Who?” Suyeon frowns. “Who did she fuck?”

Your nose wrinkles, and you turn to her with a look that says I think you know. Suyeon tilts her head, her eyebrows knitting together in thought.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. OH— OH MY GOD—”

The Tau Beta Zeta frat house isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. At least not party-wise. The moment you and your friends walk in, you’re engulfed in noise, drunk partygoers, and scattered members of the frat. In one corner you can see what looks like two members of the frat making out with their girlfriends. Haknyeon and Changmin, Dawon said, Too bad they couldn’t find a private space. Damn exhibitionists. A smile quirks on your lips just slightly. Oh, if only she knew the truth.

You barely acknowledge her, however, scanning the room for Younghoon.

“Eric!” You grab the passing boy by the arm and he jerks to a stop, nearly spilling the contents of two cups.

“Yo!” He grins at you, and you can just faintly see the crinkle of his eyes under the red baseball cap of his. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen Younghoon?” Eric purses his lips in thought.

“You aren’t gonna kill him, right?” You laugh and so does he.

“No, not anymore. Or…I might if he doesn’t show up soon—”

“BOO!” Someone’s hands wrap around your waist lifting you off the ground and spinning you as you scream for him to put you down. Eric slips away, casting his eyes behind him to watch you and Younghoon as he approaches a girl in the corner.

“Kim Younghoon!” You snap, swatting him upside the head. Your boyfriend smirks at you, bending down to try and give you a kiss that you block. “Don’t kiss me, you douche! That wasn’t funny!”

“It was kinda funny,” he laughs, swooping in to give a kiss that you choose not to block this time. It’s deep and slow, and he tilts his head to get a better taste of you when you bring your hand to the back of his neck.

“Mmm, I think I like it when you don’t hate me.” He murmurs when he pulls back, grinning wickedly when you place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Do you now?”

“Mhm.”

“Shouldn’t have scared me then.” You scowl, turning away from him and beginning to stalk away. He scrambles after you, frantically trying to keep up despite the crowd.

“Where are you going?” He whines, grasping at your fingertips. You turn your head, a coy smile playing on your lips.

“We gotta let loose, don’t we? We’re a little tense right now.”

A puddle of drool is practically forming in Younghoon’s mouth and he’s suddenly in front of you, moving with a renewed fervor.

When the door of the third bedroom on the right of the third floor shuts and clicks locked, nobody questions it. Not the thumping, nor the loud grunts and moans.

When someone needs to let loose, people know better than to interrupt. Especially when it’s Younghoon and his former-crush-turned-enemy-turned-girlfriend.

282 notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 8 months

Text

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON) - CHAPTER ONE: CLOSURE

“IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME, AND SEEING THE SHAPE OF YOUR NAME STILL SPELLS OUT PAIN.”

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: strong language, angst, alcohol consumption, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.1K+

☆ A/N: this will make a whole lot more sense if you've already read the one shot that this entire series is based upon! and thank you to @fracturedarkness and @munson-blurbs for beta-reading <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

It had taken nearly two hours, and even as the aerial platform is finally lowered from scaling the side of the building, there are still remnants of the graffiti paint scattered across the crumbling brick.

You’d watched the workers scrub at the rusted shades for ages, ignoring the new emails beginning to pile up in your inbox on the screen, only to be left completely dissatisfied. You hadn’t really thought the graffiti was ugly so to speak – it was just there. It was blatant and something that demanded to be seen, a stain on that stretch of wall that made up your desk’s entire viewpoint each and every day. And it wasn’t ugly, but it wasn’t pretty.

You’d even been a little excited when you saw the cleaning crew. A little hopeful.

But the hope had been wasted, as it always was, as you watch the crew give up the battle and the paint win the war. Go figure. Another day and another stain that can’t be erased.

“You know, I’ve heard of dreadfully boring people watching paint dry, but never seen someone look so enticed by paint being removed.”

You look up quickly from where your dead stare had zeroed in, a chipping splash of vibrant scarlet that hardly stood out against tired and faded red-turned-pink bricks, to face your coworker.

“Ha-ha,” you deadpan, spinning your office chair so your entire body now faced her, “Have you ever considered a career change, Romina? Maybe you’re better off a comedian rather than an event planner.”

Romina, your coworker, only smiles brightly at the monotone joke. She holds a mug of coffee in her hand as she rests her hip against the edge of your desk, lips pursed as she takes a slow sip from her steaming cup. The sharp, bitter scent of the coffee wafts across the space before she lowers the mug right onto your desk – completely disregarding the coaster available.

Sure to leave behind a stain; a ring of light brown on your pristine desk. You can’t help but cringe.

“Apparently they sent out an email about that new secretive project,” Romina continues on without addressing your sarcasm, “Said whoever’s got the account has been notified.”

“Awesome.”

“I didn’t get an email.”

“I’m sorry?”

Romina sighs, realizing you weren’t going to take the bait. “Have you received an email?”

You shrug in a silent succession of, probably not.

Your pessimism keeps your hand from reaching out and wiggling your mouse as an attempt to wake your desktop computer back up. You highly doubt you were the one to be elected for this new project that had the entire office buzzing. You’d only been working here for a little over a year, hardly earning any attention with the small weddings and local business grand openings you had taken on during that time.

And that was fine.

You were fine flying under the radar for the time being. It’s not that you weren’t good at your job — you were excellent at it, even — but whatever this top secret project was was the farthest thing from your expertise.

You didn’t do secretive projects. You did simple. You did small. The exact opposite of what you’d heard about this elusive opportunity.

“Have you even checked?” Romina presses, leaning down and tapping your space bar herself, making the screen come to life before you could protest, “C’mon, babe! Aren’t you at least a little bit curious?”

Another honest shrug. “Truthfully? Not at all.”

She makes no move to grab her coffee cup as she pushes herself off your desk, standing over the screen now with intent and focus. All you can really think about is that damn faded ring that’s going to be left behind.

You really wish she would have used the coaster.

The login screen stops her in her mission, making her take a step back and wave you forward, pointing excitedly at your keyboard, “You know, I heard it might have something to do with a very popular band. One rumored to be dropping an album soon. Possibly the album release party. Doesn’t that sound dreamy?”

Your stomach drops.

Romina is all wistful sighs and dreamy eyes as she says it, still pushing that keyboard closer to you as she looks out the window you had been before her arrival. It’s clear she’s looking right past that stained wall. She probably doesn’t even notice the evidence of graffiti that was left behind. The marks are lost on her eyes; but she hadn’t spent hours waiting for it to all be cleaned away, to be fair. No, it’s clear the only thing on her mind is this popular band.

And you know which band it is. It’s not just the prospect of a larger project that has kept you out of this rumor mill — it’s the prospect of the client.

Everyone knew you didn’t care for the band. Or at least, you said you didn’t care for the band.

Nearly a year ago, several coworkers had invited you to a sold out show. They had an extra ticket, and had so kindly extended it to you. A flag of friendship billowing in the wind, outstretched to you in such a welcoming manner. And you’d shot them down — you’d lied, and you’d said you had plans before you’d spent the entire night throwing your own personal pity party.

“I don’t think I’d be the first choice for an album release party, Ro,” you murmur as you finally tug your chair in closer to your desk. You ignore the knots forming in your stomach, that heavy weight that presses into your chest. There was no way you’d be assigned the project. You’d simply log in, show Romina, and then maybe she’d leave you alone, “I usually just take on weddings. That’s my forte. Not arranging open bars and booking rooftops for some shitty band.”

Romina scoffs, “Some shitty band? I know you don’t like them, but Corroded Coffin is not just some shitty band.”

Corroded Coffin. The weight makes your ribs creak, makes your lungs ache.

You swear she’ll notice the way you freeze in your typing. The mere mention of them, of him, curls around your body and easily triggers your fight or flight response.

Well, fight or flight or freeze. A new option, a new and drifting cold, has made itself clear as ice keeps your knuckles from continuing to type in your password.

It’s funny. You used to fight for them, then you’d flown as far away from him as your pathetic diner wages could get you. Clearly, only moving across a city you once thought to be so vast wasn’t far enough. You could move across oceans, and something in your gut tells you his ghost would only be a few steps behind.

“You know, I still don’t get your issue with them, by the way. Are you just not big on rock music?” she asks, and you can imagine his offense and correction that it was metal, not just rock, “I get it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I don’t know. Just seems a little personal, the way you avoid them like the plague.”

It is personal.

Your vendetta is so, so very personal when it comes to Corroded Coffin.

When it comes to Eddie Munson.

His name echoing in your mind finally has your fingertips slamming keys again, suddenly eager to bring up your email and prove Romina wrong. To get her as far from your desk as possible and end this conversation before you can spiral.

“I’ve never been a fan of that type of music,” you lie through your teeth. You had been. You had been their goddamn number one fan once upon a time.

Your work email can’t load fast enough when she continues on, “I’d argue they have at least one song for everyone. You just gotta give them a chance.”

No, the voice in your head screams. I do not need to give them a chance. I gave him a chance, and he blew it.

“I’m sure there is,” you grit out, those knots in your stomach wound so tightly they might just snap, “But not for me.”

Never for me.

They don’t know. No one in your life now knew about your past, about your ex, about the truth between you and Corroded Coffin.

They didn’t know that you’d been their first fan, standing in that stuffy garage at the Emerson’s residency through the scalding Hawkins’ summers. They didn’t know how you’d spent every Tuesday and Thursday night occupying a stool at the Hideout that had all but your name engraved into it. They didn’t know the way you’d packed up your entire life, the way you’d only moved to this cursed concrete jungle to see all of their wildest dreams come true. They were unaware that Corroded Coffin had nearly turned down the tour that triggered their breakout for you. All because their leading rockstar hadn’t wanted to leave you behind.

Funny how life works out.

Romina is unaware of your discomfort as she leans down over your shoulder to peer at the list of new emails you’d received this morning, “Oh, oh! That one! Click that one!”

Her long, blood-red stiletto nail taps at the screen excitedly, pointing out an email from your boss with an eye catching subject line.

Meeting at Noon — New Project Assignment.

“Holy shit!” Ro exclaims, getting ahead of herself before you’ve even clicked on the email. You can’t click on it. You’re petrified. “Oh, holy shit! You definitely got the project! Are you fucking kidding me?”

For a moment, you’re silent, staring at the screen in buzzing shock. It rings in your ears and it blurs the edges of your vision, the weight of the possibility finally causing the first snap within your chest.

No. No, no, no.

You don’t want this project. Not the rumored client, and certainly not the attention that it has attracted from all your peers. No.

“We don’t even know if it’s going to be what everyone says it will be,” you choke out, white knuckling your mouse. Romina can’t see your face — she can’t see the year of practiced indifference crumbling so easily, “It- It probably won’t be Corroded Coffin, Ro. It can’t be. They wouldn’t assign me something so huge. Th-They probably just have another wedding for me. Maybe another bakery opening up in town — I think I heard about one on Third Street-“

Ro’s hands come down on your shoulders, giving what should be a reassuring squeeze, but it only smothers you during your breathless rant.

“Babe,” she emphasizes, “This is a good thing.”

It’s not. It’s really, really not.

But you don’t know if the project is what everyone has been murmuring about. You don’t know for sure that the email has anything to do with it. The contents of what your boss had written to you have little to no specifics; nothing more than a request to come to her office at noon to properly discuss the details of this assignment. So you convince yourself it’ll be fine, that it really is just about that bakery opening up on third street. You convince yourself to shake away any thoughts of chestnut curls and honey brown eyes. You convince yourself to untense your shoulders and smile up at your coworker, faking enough enthusiasm to satiate her until she’s walking away from your desk giddily, taking her coffee cup with her.

Your eyes avert to the expected coffee mark that had formed a perfect ring on your stark white desk.

Stained. What a pesky thing to become.

—

“I’m not going out tonight,” you repeat yourself for the millionth time over the line, pinching the phone between your shoulder and ear as you opened your fridge to dig around for whatever leftovers you might be able to salvage into a dinner for the night, “I don’t feel well.”

“But we need to hear about the new project!” Ro’s chirp comes over the line. You can hear the buzzing of a bar in the background. Glasses clinking, strangers chatting. Hell, you could probably pinpoint the song playing lowly if you focused hard enough.

You weren’t focusing on the call, though. It was the last thing you wanted to offer up your dwindling attention to, desperate to get off the line and resume your very exciting night of cold pasta with a side of whatever sitcom was running old episodes on the television.

The phone nearly slips from your half assed attempt to keep it against your cheek as you sigh, “It went fine. I already told you guys it did. Nothing exciting, okay? It was the bakery on Third that’s opening up, just like I thought it would be.”

A lie.

The meeting went anything but fine. Your boss, Lydia, has just been plain secretive. And normally, that wouldn’t bother you, but it meant your worst fears were coming true.

The bakery on third wouldn’t have needed such secrecy, and they sure as Hell wouldn’t have insisted on you signing an NDA prior to even meeting and discussing the event you’d be planning.

“It’s all just precautions,” Lydia had insisted as she slid that damn paperwork over to you, “Just to protect the client. They’re a bigger name than we’re used to dealing with. If you sign, we’ll have a proper meeting with them tomorrow and dig into all the nitty gritty.”

“You phrase it like I have a choice,” you had muttered before picking up the pen.

You knew you didn’t. And Lydia’s smile had confirmed it.

Romina continues on with more convincing, but you’ve stopped listening. There’s not a single thing she could really say now that your mind was made up — you were staying in tonight.

“Ro,” you finally snatch the phone back up into your hand, straightening out as you pick out a random tupperware that you think holds chicken parm from that fancy lunch date you’d gone on over the weekend, “I’m not coming out. I’m sorry.”

Complete silence on her end. You worry for a moment that you had been too harsh.

“Okay,” she finally gives up.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” the word continues to echo back and forth between you two, “That’s fine. I’ll just have to bother you about it tomorrow. At work. Where you can’t use bullshit excuses to escape me.”

You consider snapping back about how you absolutely still could, until you consider the fact that you have a real excuse, “Good luck with that. I have a very real meeting with… with a client.”

You don’t even know the name of the client, technically. You can only guess.

You still hope you’re wrong.

“Right,” she laughs over the line, “See you tomorrow, babe.”

“See you tomorrow,” you repeat back, staring at your now closed fridge before you’re relieved by the sound of a dial tone, signaling that she’s finally hung up.

What you should do now is plate the leftovers, arrange yourself on your sofa, and numb your mind with The Office reruns. What you should do is leave well enough alone and continue in your delusion.

You don’t.

It starts innocently; you do transfer the cold chicken parm onto a plate and you do curl up on your sofa before flicking on the television. You do set the channel to the reruns. You do – and you swear you do it all with the best intentions.

But then your mind wanders.

As you stare straight ahead at the television, you’re not processing a single image that flashes across the screen. Your thoughts are a bit preoccupied with different images, movies and snippets from a point in your life that now feels like a lifetime ago. Conspicuous dimples making an appearance from across the room at a joke you had made, unkempt curls flying recklessly in the driver’s seat beside you on late night drives with the windows down, wild eyes shining like sunlight through a whiskey bottle as he catches your gaze from a stage much smaller than what he must be used to now.

Everything from before. Before the not-fight, before the fame, before the move. Images of when Eddie had been yours and only yours, not yet a precious gem to have to share with the world.

“Are you busy tonight?”

Your locker had been slammed shut by a hand that didn’t belong to you, knuckles adorned with familiar rings and distinct callouses along the fingertips.

“Hello to you, too, Eddie,” you smiled as you clutched one of the unnecessarily heavy textbooks to your chest, turning to face the boy who stood impatiently at your side. He was all jitters, rocking on his heels and nearly incapable of standing still as his body buzzed with excitement.

It rolled off him in waves, contagious as he leaned into you, “Yes, yes. Hello, sweetheart. How was your day?” you opened your mouth to answer him, but Eddie comically steamrolled right on, hands waving erratically, “Good? Good! Excellent! Now, are you busy tonight?”

“I was planning to study for O’Donnel’s test-“

“So you don’t have plans!” he exclaimed, throwing an arm around your shoulders as one of the annoying warning bells chimed. He may have been in an interruptive mood, but he knew you hated being late to class — less about being anal about punctuality, and more about the stares you’d practically burn under from the attention of other students when you’d barge in on the teacher mid-sentence, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. In that case, I have fantastic news!”

You allowed him to guide you amongst the bustling student bodies, only gaining a few stares from fellow peers, “You do, do you?”

He nodded before he reached out and snatched that heavy textbook out of your arms, “Here, let me carry that for you, darling.”

“Darling?” your nose scrunched, “Oh, no. You’re trying to sweeten me up. What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

Liar. The crack in his voice would have given him away if his hyperactive energy hadn’t already done so.

“Oh, really? Then what’s your fantastic news, rockstar?”

His grin that broke at your nickname for him could have destroyed the Earth you walked on just as easily as it could have mended it. Something groundbreaking, something to churn the dirt and raise the dead. Something made of pure sunshine and static happiness. But the only thing that cracked was your chest as it tried to contain the residual joy it felt for him in that moment.

“Well…” he trailed off, leaving just enough room for a suspenseful pause that could have suffocated the room without that damn grin on his face, “Let’s just say you’re looking at the frontman of the Hideout’s newest Thursday night entertainment.”

You took a moment to catch on, Eddie keeping you pressed closely to his side as the two of you stopped outside of your next class.

“Thursday nights?” you questioned, brain working overtime to piece together what he’d just said, “Wait, I thought you guys only played Tuesda-“

When you had processed what he had meant, all that animated elation that had been consuming him became shared. Every jitter in his bones became your own, your own lips speedily spreading into a proud smile to challenge his own.

“Oh, holy shit,” you gasped, “You guys got the gig.”

One more bounce of his heels, curls quivering with the movement as his arms fell from you and the two of you faced one another.

“We got the gig.”

“You got the gig!”

People had been staring more obviously at the sudden rise in volume from you, but you hadn’t cared. Because in that moment, all you focused on was the eager boy in front of you, and the way your broken chest mended from the same grin that had burst it wide open, only for it to swell with inexplicable pride.

“We got the fuckin’ gig!” he shouted right back, laughter slipping from between his lips that started to echo your own.

You were the one bouncing then, hands instinctively reaching out to press on his shoulders in gentle slapping motions, unable to contain or conventionally express this pounding excitement.

“You got the fuckin’ gig!” you were just parroting each other now, but you were just as delirious as he was as that final bell signaling you were late rang out. That certain embarrassment you were sure to have to face had become a distant memory.

Eddie had wanted this for a while. He’d been bugging the owner of the bar on the edge of town about Corroded Coffin earning a second night of residency for months, only taking the repeated rejections as encouragement to ramp up his convincing charm. You’d seriously doubted it would work, but had never voiced the concern aloud to Eddie. You’d always figured that the worst that could have happened would be another no, fuck off, kid. But the best that could have happened had been this — he would be told yes and secure his band two weekly performances at the Hideout rather than just the single one they played before.

You didn’t know it then, but it was the first step down the path that would lead to inevitable heartbreak.

“I haven’t even told the guys yet,” Eddie admitted once the two of you calmed down to the best of your abilities, “I… Uh, I wanted to tell them after school today. Was wondering if you might, I don’t know, maybe- do you wanna be there when I do?”

And that made sense. Eddie inviting you made sense when you attended every single band practice in Gareth’s garage as religiously as he did. When you knew every word to their whole three original songs even better than him at times.

He wanted you there. You were important to him, to the band, and he wanted you there.

“I- Is that even a question?” you stared at him in disbelief, “Of course I wanna be there, you fuckin’ idiot. I can’t believe you told me before you told them, honestly.”

His demeanor softened, the ghost of his exuberance still stubbornly lingering. But your eyes were on him, glowing with such high regard that it was impossible to not let it creep beneath his skin and trigger a blush across the bridge of his nose. All that love, all that pride. So genuine it could have made him cry.

“Of course I told you first,” he whispered in a finally empty hallway, “You’re always the first person I tell any good news to, sweetheart.”

When had you stopped being the first person he shared his forthcomings with?

Probably the day you had decided to leave him, leave the entire life you two had built together, under the guise of best intentions.

The TV continues to play as you stare at the wall, mind and heart alike locked up with nostalgia. The plate of leftovers has long since been sat down on the coffee table.

You hadn’t let yourself reminisce like this since the very first night you had spent in your apartment. That first night, you’d allowed yourself to wallow. You had sat on this very same sofa, the entire apartment pitch black as you weren’t brave enough to turn on a single light and face yourself, and told yourself that any and all tears or regrets had to be purged that night. A funeral for all that you had lost, a single night to mourn all that you had left behind.

Clearly, one night was never enough to let go of years of memories – of love.

You don’t shut off the TV as you impulsively grab your phone, not thinking the action through before you do the one thing you had forbidden yourself from over the last few years; you’re going to Google search Eddie Munson. You’d created the rule as a make-believe step in the right direction. You told yourself if you didn’t google him, if you didn’t track down his every move after you’d left behind the damage done, then you could move on easier.

From the first headline, you realize that it might have never been about moving on.

FINAL NAIL IN THE COFFIN? HAS EDDIE MUNSON, LEAD SINGER OF CORRODED COFFIN, FINALLY GONE TOO FAR?

EDDIE MUNSON — ARRESTED AGAIN?

HOTEL COMES FORWARD ABOUT DAMAGES DONE BY ROWDY ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON

HOW TO BURY A CAREER: A DETAILED TIMELINE OF CORRODED COFFIN’S EDDIE MUNSON’S DOWNFALL

“EDDIE MUNSON GAVE ME A CONCUSSION” - VICTIMS OF THE ROCKSTAR’S CLUB TANTRUM COME FORWARD.

Each headline sends your head reeling, eyes widening impossibly without even clicking on the stories.

The boy you had known wouldn’t have done half of the things these accusations stated. Violence, trashing hotel rooms, public temper tantrums taken too far — it doesn’t feel as though you’re reading about someone you once knew, someone you once loved. The man in these paparazzi photos is a stranger, completely unrecognizable with his red eyes and middle fingers held high.

A particular photo catches your attention. He’s standing outside what you assume is a club, in handcuffs. His hands are locked behind his back, an officer not far behind and his face bathed in glows of blue and red lights flashing from a car half blocking the camera’s view of him, and he’s grinning with dead eyes squinted to the sky. It almost looks as if he’s midlaugh — as if the entire scene was funny to him.

The one time he’d nearly been caught while pedaling drugs for Reefer Rick back home in Hawkins when you’d still known him, he had nearly burst into tears. Had panicked as he scrambled to shove everything, even just the weed, into every possible hiding place within his van. He hadn’t laughed in the officer’s face; he had been petrified, face transforming to that of a terrified little boy as you had told him to calm down and play it cool.

You should stop scrolling. But you can’t.

Another photo, one that makes your chest echo with another hollow pang. It was clearly taken without him realizing it, the quality atrocious as the camera had attempted to focus in on him through a balcony sliding door of what must be a hotel. But despite the terrible blur, you can clearly pick out the details that were meant to be exposed.

A speckle of white coating the ring of his nostril. Made even more obvious by that midday sun shining in on him.

It was clearly the middle of the afternoon, and Eddie had clearly been caught snorting cocaine.

It’s a bit much. You haven’t even scrolled far enough to catch sight of all the pap photos of him with different women, or the photos of him clearly inebriated at major events that had been meant to celebrate him and the band’s success. You lock your phone, you set it down on the table with the screen facing down. You hardly recognize him.

The reality is you had never googled Eddie for the same reason most won’t look at the corpse of loved one’s at open casket funerals – you wanted to remember him when things had been good. You had wanted to convince yourself that you still knew him, some version of him, and that he hadn’t become a total stranger.

But, really, you’d known the moment you had walked out of that once shared apartment that you had lost the privilege of knowing him. Of loving him. The moment he had stopped telling you that he loved you, you had known something between the two of you had died. Losing Eddie hadn’t been a sudden thing — it had been a long, painful, torturous process. When all that love and all that promise had died, it hadn’t gone down without a fight. He had smothered it, but you had provided the extinguisher. You had pushed him to chase after his dreams, and you should have never been surprised when he did exactly that.

You should have never been surprised that one day, the space you’d claimed residency in in Eddie’s heart would become nothing more than an annoying prick to him. A thorn in his side, sharp and threatening all that he had worked so hard to achieve.

So you’d left. You’d left, told yourself it was for the best, and exited with more love for the memory of a man than the tangible person on the other end of that terribly lonely dial tone – on the rare occasions he did call.

You didn’t know him. It’s a truth you should have long since swallowed, but hadn’t. Not yet. Not in the last two years.

Your appetite is gone as you stand from the couch and grab the leftovers, only pausing on your way to the kitchen to scrape the waste off into the trash can. What a waste. As you put away the plate into the sink, not bothering to wash or even rinse away the crumbs, you immediately grab one of your few wine glasses and set it on the counter. Drinking wasn’t the wisest idea, but your body has begun to move on autopilot. And it seems convinced that feeling the buzz from alcohol would be better than the feeling of nothing at all.

You didn’t know him anymore. And the space you’d still let him occupy in your memories, whether you’d wanted to admit it or not, was now hollow.

You turn your back on the glass, still numb and still reeling as you open the fridge and pull out a half empty bottle of merlot, cork half peeking out the top of the bottle. You can see that stained bottom half, almost half hidden in a weak attempt to preserve the wine inside. Maroon. Deep, deep maroon bleeds up and feathers at the edges of that cork as you pull it out fairly aggressively, carelessly tossing it onto the white countertop and not watching it bounce as you pour yourself a drink.

In your hollow staring off into the distance, you don’t realize you’ve missed the glass in your pouring until the chilled liquid splashes at your knuckles – until it’s too late. You panic, grabbing at paper towels and rinsing off your hand in the same breath, but it’s clear that it’s a useless battle in cleaning up the mess you’ve made.

The damage is already done. As you soak up the wine and swipe away, a pink-tinged blotch is still left behind.

Stained. What a pesky thing to become.

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#maroon #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #lowkey terrified to post this oh god #oh well

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ghostofskywalker · 4 months

Note

hi!! i love your writing so much!!

could i request a fake dating/undercover as a couple trope with hunter and a gender neutral reader? or just the prompt “Your flirting skills need work”

no pressure tho!! and thanks!!

hello! i'm so happy to hear you like my stories - thank you for the prompt and i hope you enjoy this one!!

words: 1,128

summary: in the middle of a crowded market on Ord Mantell, you have to get pretty up close and personal with Hunter. But it's only to make sure your covers aren't blown, what other reason would there be?

Play It Cool

clone troopers masterlist || request a winter ficlet!

Hunter was a genetically modified soldier who possessed a strength you could only ever dream of, and who had been trained for most of his life to be a terrifyingly effective combat operative. His face tattoo and the vibroblade that never left his possession also contributed to his menacing demeanor, especially to those who had made the mistake of opposing the Bad Batch.

He was also a terrible actor.

Usually that wouldn’t be a problem, but this time was different, because you were currently clutching his (way too sweaty) palm as you walked through one of Ord Mantell’s crowded night markets. You just had barely been able to convince one of the local shopkeepers (a sweet old Togruta who sold hand-woven clothes) that you two were a couple, simply based on the fact that his body language and expression made it seem like he didn’t want to be there.

“Your flirting skills need some serious work,” you hissed as you let go of his hand for a moment to wipe it on your pants. You could have said something about his sweaty hands too, but you chose to hold your tongue this time. “Did they not cover this in all your special training?”

“No, they didn’t,” Hunter hissed back. “I don’t think the Kaminoans ever considered that we’d be working with any other person, because we didn’t even have a Jedi.”

“Well, you’re compromising this assignment, so you need to act like you’re in love with me,” you said lowly, wishing things were different right now. This mission may only be a simple information retrieval, but you still had to make sure that the two of you didn’t stick out (more than you already did) among the usual shoppers and passerby of this particular market. Hunter didn’t respond, but you caught a glimpse of an expression you couldn’t quite read cross his face. As much as you would have loved these roles to be real, you didn’t think that was ever going to happen.

You didn’t blame him for not noticing the fact that you had an obvious crush on him. The crushing grip of the Empire’s fist was only growing stronger by the day, and the Bad Batch had a target on their back for simply being who they were. And so when Cid had asked you to do this for her (and suggested that you pretend to play lovers), you couldn’t help the way you agreed, simply because you didn’t know if you would ever be able to live the real thing. However, you could have never expected just how awkward Hunter was when it came to this stuff.

A few minutes after you spoke to the Togrutan shopkeeper, you noticed a burly looking Rodian hovering around the outskirts of the market, which certainly struck you as odd for this particular setting. Rodians weren’t uncommon on Ord Mantell, but you usually saw them in groups, and the expression on this one’s face (and the fact that he seemed dressed for combat) certainly seemed concerning.

After a subtle nod in his direction, you and Hunter began to tail him from a safe distance. Soon however, a clear issue arose: the Rodian had gone down an alley, and it would be considerably more difficult to follow him without raising any kind of suspicion.

Unless of course, he believed you were in the alley for a completely different reason.

With a silent sigh, you resigned yourself to your fate and tried to think of the best way to explain to Hunter what you were about to do. Eventually, you decided that it was probably best not to say anything, and instead just hope to the Maker that he trusted you enough to make the best decisions, and that things wouldn’t be too awkward between you two once this whole evening had concluded.

He looked a little confused as you began to drag him into the alley, because he had clearly weighed the options (and the risk) here. “Trust me,” you whispered, silently hoping that this was the right thing to do. Positioning yourself against the outside wall of a nearby building, you squeezed Hunter’s hand a little tighter and pulled him towards you, all while listening for any snippets of conversation deeper down the alley.

“We can get that to you,” a gruff voice said, and you knew that this was likely the information you were sent here to get. “For 300.”

“Fine. How long is it going to take?”

“A couple rotations maybe, but I’m sure we can work something out if you need it quicker than that.”

In order to keep up the ruse, you couldn’t exactly be taking notes as you listened, but you tried to commit all of that to memory for later. You also hoped that neither party would re-trace their steps towards where you were currently standing, but you weren’t that lucky, and soon you were faced the impending reality of being found out.

“I’m going to do something, and I need you to trust me,” you whispered. Hunter had barely began to nod when the footsteps started to grow closed, and all you could do was grab his face and kiss him.

You weren’t a trained actor, if you wanted a kiss to look real it had to be real (to a certain extent). The shadows offered some form of cover for all this, but it wasn’t enough. You had originally planned to keep an ear out for any kind of trouble, but the fact that Hunter’s lips were so soft, and that you had been dreaming of this moment for quite some time, really made it hard to concentrate. That, and the fact that he had moved both his hands down to rest on your waist as he kissed you.

When you finally did pull away from him (and made sure the coast was clear), you immediately apologized. “I’m sorry for springing that on you, but we didn’t have that much time.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make things weird between us and-”

“Y/N,” he said, cutting you off. “Everything is fine.”

You nodded, not sure what else to say. You wanted to kiss him again, but now did not seem like the right time for that. All you could do was hope that one day you would be able to admit how you felt about him to his face, and that he felt the same way about you.

And as the two of you walked back through the market with the intention of heading back to Cid’s, you did realize one pretty important thing.

Hunter was still holding your hand, and it felt a lot more natural this time around.

- the end -

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#winterficlets23 #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter #hunter x reader #hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x gender neutral reader #sergeant hunter x you #the bad batch x reader #clone trooper x reader #star wars x reader

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 1 month

Text

Never Say Never

Chapter 15

Pairing: SingleDad!StevexReader

Summary: You are a 32 year old single mother, raising your seven year old son on your own. After being widowed at 30 and going out on awful dates with disgusting men for the past month, you have decided that you're giving up. You already had your great love. One person can't possibly get lucky enough to have two in their lifetime. But then your son starts playing baseball and the coach might just change your mind about that.

No posting schedule.

18+ only for eventual smut

Word Count: 8.5K

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Far later than she’d expected, you pulled into the driveway of your home. Dinner and coffee had turned into a stroll down the street to the local bar, The Stumble Inn, where the owner, Dan, loved a good play on words. A couple drinks, a lot of conversation, and quite a bit of laughter later, you'd all finally said your good nights, all of you heading off to your own vehicles for home.

The boys were probably already asleep considering it was pushing eleven. That was alright. The four of you were planning on a bike ride tomorrow afternoon so if Steve wanted, he could always just leave Jeremiah there. No point in waking the kid to drag him home simply to bring him back again.

Opening the front door, you stepped inside to find Steve on the couch, a rerun of Who’s the Boss playing on the tv. He turned to look over at you, his arms propped behind his head, giving you one of those glaringly bright smiles that made you feel like you needed to shield yourself, to bring a hand to your eyes to protect them.

“Hey.”

Dropping your purse on the table by the door, you made your way into the living room, smiling down at him. “Hey. Sorry I’m so late. We completely lost track of time.”

“That’s alright. I was expecting it. I told you that you were going to be later than you thought. Robin and Nancy love to talk. And with you being all shiny and new, they had endless things to ask you, I’m sure.”

Steve pushed himself up to sitting with his legs still out in front of him, opening his arms to you. You happily accepted his invite, your body liquefying into him when his arms came around you, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. Sighing contentedly, you wound your arms around his waist curling your legs underneath you, relieved that the awkwardness of earlier appeared to be forgotten.

“They should get jobs as interrogators. They definitely threw the book at me. I don’t know if there’s anything they don’t know about me at this point,” you joked, “including the unfortunately mortifying third grade talent show story.”

“Ohh, do tell. I’m intrigued now.”

“No. That one is better left unshared. Trust me. I don’t know why I even told them. I think your friends have some kind of superpower. I was running off at the mouth, story after story. I couldn’t seem to make myself stop. To be fair, they were shooting questions at me so fast I barely had time to stop and think. I’m stuck being friends with them forever now, you know. They have far too much dirt on me. Way too much they could blackmail me for. I fear I’ve made a grave mistake.”

Steve’s laugh rumbled beneath you, his fingers slipping into your hair, thumb pressing into your skin as it slid over the back of your neck. Your eyes slipped closed, your body practically humming under his touch. His other hand moved under your chin, lifting your face to his and a soft moan escaped you when his lips found yours, gently, tenderly.

You would never tire of his mouth, his touch, the way it set you aflame every single time. You wanted him in a way that was borderline dangerous. The way you wanted him was all consuming, like a fire raging through a forest, turning everything to ash in its wake. If it weren’t for the boys, you were certain you would lose your job because you would do nothing but spend hours in bed with this man.

But there were the boys to consider. It was hard to concentrate on that fact when Steve’s tongue was exploring your throat, his hand slipping under your shirt. Fingertips made rough from working with his hands teased your skin, his palms covering your breasts completely, kneading and squeezing until you were grinding helplessly against his thigh, gasping. But that little voice in the back of your head reminded you, brought you back to reality, the reality where you did not want either of your sons to walk in on this very blatant display in the middle of the living room.

“Steve…” you rasped, struggling through the haze of desire when his lips latched onto your throat, open mouthed kisses creating a path of destruction, obliterating everything that wasn’t him.

“Hmm?” he mumbled against your skin, rolling your nipples with his thumb and forefinger, the jolt of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

“We can’t.” It was a whimper, a whine because you didn’t want this to stop. You didn’t want to be the responsible mom right now. You wanted to take this man straight up to your bed, caution be damned. But you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t have him staying over, couldn’t have Eli knowing the two of you had shared a bed, not until you were certain this was something that was going to last. You couldn’t put your son through that kind of heartbreak, not after everything he’d already lost.

“Why not?” Now his hands were creeping up your skirt, each one gripping an ample amount of your ass, pressing your center right against the delicious friction of his firm thigh.

“The boys…we can’t…the boys…”

Fuck. It was so hard to form a thought, to fight through the pleasure coursing through your very veins. His mouth teasing your earlobe, the delicious pulsing in your pussy with every press of his leg against you. You felt like a teenager. What the hell was happening to you? Were you seriously about to come just from dry humping a guy’s leg?

“But we can,” he growled, hands gripping your hips, flipping you over so your back was pressed against his chest. “Did I forget to mention they’re not here?”

“Wha…huh?” His hands slid along the insides of your thighs, pressing them open as they went. “Where are they?”

“Well, Jonathan showed up a few hours ago,” he explained, fingers slipping along the edge of your panties. “He said that Nancy had instructed him to come and get them. Repayment for me being so kind to watch them so you could go out with the girls.” One finger slid under the material, slipping through your already damp folds to toy with your clit. “They’re keeping them for the whole night so we can have some time alone. Isn’t that nice?”

“I…oh…uh-huh…”

Your head rolled back against his shoulder, that rubber band that was already stretched so thin within you stretching even more, threatening to snap at any moment as he circled, pinched, and slid over the very center of your pleasure. A rumble fell from Steve’s lips, his nose slipping over your jaw and down your neck. You were not going to last long. Not like this, not when you were already on the brink of destruction.

“Come on beautiful,” he urged, his thumb taking over the work on your clit as he slipped one large finger inside of you. “Say my name for me. You know how much I love it when you say my name for me.”

“Steve…” The word came out choked, one simple syllable that threatened to strangle you as your muscles tensed under his touch, your body ready to shatter completely.

“That’s my girl…wanna hear you screaming it, baby. No need to be quiet tonight.”

Oh shit. Those words…his girl, words you didn’t even know you wanted but you did. You wanted to make him say it again. You wanted to be his girl more than you'd ever wanted anything else at this moment. Everything in your world completely disappeared, shadowed by this man and the way he made you feel.

He got what he wanted. Because as he slid a second finger inside of you, his thumb playing you like the most beautiful song ever written, his name fell from your lips over and over. A crescendo of sound that began as a gasp and rose to a scream when that band finally snapped, your body taut, shaking, before collapsing back into him in a puddle of satisfaction.

“Jesus Christ, Steve…” you mumbled. “How are you so goddamn good…no, scratch that. I don’t want to know.”

He chuckled, arms wrapping around you, face nuzzling your hair, “Don’t worry, gorgeous, because nobody that came before you matters. They were all just practice leading up to the main attraction.” He nipped at your earlobe. “I’ve never wanted to make a girl come over and over again like I do you. The sounds you make, how beautiful you look, the way you say my name, it’s like a goddamn drug, honey. I’m completely hooked on you.”

Turning your body, you straddled him, feeling just how much he was hooked on you pressing into you. The thin fabric of his sweats and the lace of your panties was not creating much of a barrier and you fought back the urge to yank them off him and ride him right here on the couch. But not yet. There was something else you'd been wanting to do first, something that had been on your mind ever since your first encounter in her kitchen.

“Well, if I’m a drug then so are you, Steve Harrington, because I am completely addicted to you.”

“Oh yeah?” His hands settled on your hips, a smirk on his lips. “Is this the part where you fulfill my fantasy? You’re already in the perfect position.” He bucked his hips up and you gasped, hands dropping to his chest.

“Oh, I have every intention of fulfilling that fantasy but not just yet." Leaning forward, you caught his mouth with your own, your tongue gliding over his bottom lip teasingly. Your hands slid under the cotton fabric of his shirt, nails scratching gently down his chest, over his stomach. That little knot wound up within you again at the feel of that coarse hair against your fingers, tapering to a line leading you right where she wanted. Gripping the hem of his shirt, you tugged it over his head, tossing it across the room where it landed on a chair.

Steve’s lower lip jutted out playfully, “This doesn’t seem fair. You still have a top on.” Acquiescing to his request, you pulled your top off, sending it the same way as his. His hands slid up your back, fingers popping open your bra expertly, slingshotting it. “Much better.” One hand gripping you between the shoulder blades, he sat up, his mouth descending on your breasts.

“Yes…” you sighed, cradling his head against you, your hips rocking against his length once again.

“You’re so damn beautiful…”

You smiled, pushing him back down on the couch, wiggling your body down. It was your turn to drive him crazy. Your lips moved over his jaw, down his neck, your tongue tracing a trail over the artery there before your teeth nipped at his shoulder. He grunted, hips bucking when you kept going on your journey south, mouth exploring his chest, teeth raking over his nipples. Hot, wet kisses over his stomach while your hands gathered the material of his sweats and boxers, dragging them over his thighs until his cock was free, bouncing back against his stomach.

Your tongue ran over your lips as you settled onto your stomach between his legs. Steve’s eyes went wide, watching when you took his cock in your hand, dragging the tip of it across your lips. As your tongue darted across the already weeping slit, he hissed, head dropping back to the arm of the sofa.

“Jesus Christ, honey.”

Bolstered by his reaction, you used your hand to raise him up, your tongue running along the vein underneath, from the base to the tip before taking him into your mouth, swirling your tongue teasingly. With a heavy grunt, his hips rose from the couch in an attempt to get more of himself in your mouth.

Grinning around him, you continued your slow torture, only keeping the tip of him in the warmth of your mouth as one hand moved down to cradle his heavy sack, rolling his balls in your palm.

“Fuck…oh my god…honey, please…need more…”

His hands fisted at his sides and deciding you'd tormented him enough, you took the rest of him, as much as you could, working the base of him with your hand as you slowly worked the rest of him with your mouth. The sounds he was making, the animalist grunts and groans, the curses falling from his lips, were goddamn intoxicating. You'd never felt so powerful in your life as you did knowing you could reduce this beautiful man to a mewling mess with just your mouth and hands.

Steve’s fingers slid in your hair, his palms cupping the back of your head as he lifted his hips to match the rhythm of your mouth. You relaxed your throat, gagging slightly as he thrust even further into your throat. He paused, as if uncertain if what he’d done was okay, but when you dug your nails into the flesh of his thigh, lowering your mouth over him again, he took the hint, thrusting once again until your nose was nuzzling the coarse hair at the base of him.

“Shit…honey, I’m…fuck, I’m so close…fuck, stop…I…don’t wanna…not in your mouth…”

Releasing him with an audible pop, you rose to your feet, offering him your hand. He tilted his head in confusion, the look so adorable your heart tugged. How could one man be both the sexiest thing you'd ever seen and the most adorable thing you'd ever laid eyes on at the same time?

“If I’m going to ride you, let’s do it properly…in my bed.”

“Oh…yeah, okay…”

He scrambled, pulling his pants back up as he took your hand, following your lead up the stairs. You'd barely made it into the room when you slammed your hands into his chest firmly, sending him onto his back on the bed. Wasting no time, you slipped your underwear and skirt off before dragging his sweats and boxers down off his legs and onto your floor.

The smile he gave you was so soft, so heart melting, his hands gently cupping your face when you crawled up his body, straddling his hips. He opened his mouth and your heart stuttered in your chest, terrified but also thrilled at what might come out. But just that fast he closed it again, pressing his eyes shut tight.

Brushing away that hope that had flared and dwindled so quickly, you gripped him in your hand, slowly lowering herself down over him. Your warmth wrapped around him like a glove, welcoming him as if he belonged there. You sucked in air, your fingers slipping through the hair on his chest, your teeth biting down on your lower lip.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Steve growled as you rocked against him, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips as he met each movement.

“Steve…Steve…Jesus Christ, Steve…”

“You look just as beautiful as I knew you would. Come on, honey. Take what you need. You can have whatever you want. Give you whatever you want, honey.”

“Touch me,” you gasped, whimpering when his thumb found your clit, teasing as you pressed your hands into the mattress, arching your back, your muscles clenching as you came down on his cock again and again. “Yes. Right there. Oh god…so good…”

Your hips rolled into a circle and he grunted, “Yes, baby. Keep doing that. Shit.” His other hand came to your breast, squeezing, pinching, teasing, touching you just like you wanted and you moaned his name again. “Gonna come for me, beautiful?”

“Yes…so close…don’t stop…”

“Oh, I won’t, honey. Don’t worry. Look at me, beautiful. Wanna see you.”

You struggled, working to keep pace as you pulled yourself straight, your hands gripping his shoulders for purchase. Opening your eyes, you looked down, that band in you stretching farther than should be possible as the heat in his gaze consumed you. His name ripped from your throat, so loudly you were sure the people in the next town could hear.

Your body turned to goo, wax from a hot candle sliding down the edges of you to pool on the mattress around you. You had nothing left, your legs shaking and Steve knew, taking over for you. His hands grabbed onto your hips as he plunged himself up and into you before holding her down against him, a roar emitted through gritted teeth, painting your insides with his own release before bringing you with him as you both collapsed.

Your cheek pressed against his sweat-slicked chest, the hair there tickling your skin softly. His fingers trailed over your back, your bodies heaving as you both struggled to catch your breath.

“Holy shit…” he muttered. “So much better than I imagined.”

“Yeah…I…Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

His rumbling laugh shook your bodies as his arms held you, rolling you so you were side by side, your body still cradled against his. His lips pressed against your forehead.

“Good thing you don’t have to. Honey, you’re so damn amazing. I…this…” He paused, his throat moving with a hard swallow, as if he were forcing down words he didn’t want to say to leave his mouth, banishing them to the darkness where they couldn’t see the light of day.

“Yeah?” you pressed hopefully, tilting your head back to look at him, wishing for him to say it. To say the words that had been torturing you for the last few hours, the words you were terrified to say until he did.

“I’m just so damn happy. I have never been this happy with anyone. I…” He stopped, eyes squeezing shut. “I like you a lot.”

Your heart squeezed tightly. No, of course he wasn’t going to say those words. Hadn’t you just thought how crazy it would be to say them so soon? Of course he wasn’t feeling any of that already.

“I like you a lot too.” You forced a smile, not wanting him to see the disappointment on your face as you nuzzled down into him, the top of your head tucked under his chin.

___________________________________________________________

Steve blinked against the harsh sunlight coming in through the window, one hand covering his eyes to ward off the glare. Last night came back to him in a burst of images that raced over the backs of his eyelids. The warmth of your mouth, the sight of you above him, your hair falling down your back, the gentle smile that curved your lips up on each side as you fell asleep nestled against his chest, your fingers toying with the coarse hair there as you hummed contentedly.

Rolling his head, he looked down to find you still there but at some point in the night you'd both moved. Now your back was nestled against him, your ass pressed deliciously against him, explaining why he’d woken up with an erection. Winding his arms around you tightly, his lips explored the curve of your shoulder, the hollow of your throat, delighted when you moaned softly, wiggling in his grasp.

“Good morning.” Your voice was husky, deep and raspy, choked with sleep first thing in the morning, just one more thing that Steve couldn’t help but enjoy about you. He would never tire of discovering new things about you. Each new thing only made him…

Love…that word was beginning to be a thorn in his side. The amount of times he’d had to bite his lip last night to keep from saying it was going to leave a bruise. The more time he spent with you, the more time he spent inside you, was making it harder and harder not to scream it out, consequences be damned.

“Good morning.” His nose nuzzled into your neck, lips tracing a line, following it over your shoulder. “I swear, this is the best damn thing to wake up to. You are the best damn thing to wake up to. So much better than a slobbery dog demanding breakfast.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” His fingers skimmed over your soft belly to the curve of your hip, squeezing the ample flesh there. “I could really get used to this, honey. You in my bed…”

“Well, technically this is my bed,” you teased, sighing when his hand dipped into the apex between your thighs.

“My bed, your bed…I really don’t care as long as I get to have you in a bed,” he growled, his lips wrapping around the skin at the hollow of your throat, sucking hard until you moaned deeply. “Jesus, I love the sounds you make. Wanna make you make them all the time.”

“Steve,” you protested, no real challenge in your voice. “Don’t we have to go get the boys?”

“We could push it just a bit.” Using his arm to push himself up, he pressed you onto your back into the mattress. Wiggling his eyebrows, he grinned. “I think Nance and Jonathan would understand if we waited just a couple more hours.”

“A couple hours, huh? You have big plans?”

“Oh honey, a couple hours is not nearly enough time for the plans I have for you.”

How about forever? It was on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn’t say it. He couldn’t risk it, not now, not when he was in so deep that he was drowning in you.

___________________________________________________________

An hour later, clad in only his boxer shorts, Steve was in the kitchen cooking eggs and toast while you took a shower. Unfortunately, human weakness reared its head and other biological needs needed to be met. They had made it known when your stomach had started loudly rumbling while he was buried deep inside you while he pinned your wrists down with his hands.

As much as he hadn’t wanted to pull himself away, he’d begrudgingly done so. The girl needed to eat. While he wanted nothing more than to lock the two of you in that room for the rest of the day, you were going to need your energy for the bike ride he had planned for everybody this afternoon. He couldn’t have you passing out on your bike from low blood sugar.

He slid the spatula under the perfectly cooked over-easy eggs, sliding them onto a plate. Grabbing the two pieces of toast that had just popped up, he added them and set the plate on the table. He added the butter, salt, and pepper and was just going to pour your coffee when there was a knock at the front door.

“Well shit,” muttered Steve, glancing down at his very bare chest. Grabbing his shirt from the chair in the living room where it had been tossed last night, he hastily pulled it over his head, figuring it would have to do if he wasn’t going to leave whoever was on the other side wondering if anyone was home.

Opening the door, he found a woman on the other side. Her blue eyes went wide as she took in the sight of him in the doorway, her hand running over her sleek gray bob. The flowy black pants and floral buttoned top she was wearing seemed like a strange choice for a Saturday, leaving him with the impression that she was a professional of some kind. But you hadn’t mentioned anyone dropping by.

“Hello,” he smiled pleasantly. “Can I help you?”

“I highly doubt it.” Her words were sharper than seemed necessary considering Steve had never seen this woman before in his life. “Is my daughter-in-law around?”

Shit. So that’s who this was. Justin’s mom and Steve had just answered the door wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt on a Saturday morning. That didn’t leave much doubt to what kind of situation this was and he wasn’t sure if this woman even knew about him. Had you told her about him? Or was she being blindsided, having the new guy that had replaced her dead son shoved in her face?

“You must be Mrs. Randall. I…uh…I’m Steve Harrington. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He stammered the words. He would have offered her his hand but his palms were suddenly very sweaty. How did one handle a situation like this?

“Oh, I know exactly who you are. Although why you’re standing in my son’s house in your underwear is quite a mystery to me.”

A nervous laugh rose up in him at her words, her eyes narrowing, head tilted as she studied him. He felt like a specimen under a microscope and judging from the way she was looking at him, he was not measuring up.

“Well, you see…I…well, Y/N and I…I’m guessing she hasn’t told you about me.”

“No. She didn’t but my grandson did. Imagine my surprise when I had to hear from a child that his mother has a new boyfriend.” She gave him a tight smile, the kind people usually displayed when they were trying to hide how they really felt, but this woman did not seem to be trying to hide anything. Disdain was rolling off her in waves so strongly it threatened to knock him off his feet. “You really think it’s appropriate for you to be spending the night this soon? Have you even bothered to consider Eli’s feelings in the matter? How it might make him feel that some man is sleeping in the bed that his mother and father used to share? That doesn’t seem a bit tacky to you?”

Steve opened his mouth, having no idea how he was going to respond but feeling like he needed to. The pressure of a thousand stares, like being on stage waiting to see if you’d nail it or fall flat on your face, was heavy on his chest. But he was saved when you came bouncing down the stairs.

“Something smells good. Did you cook break…” You came to an abrupt stop, hands gripping the towel you'd been drying your hair with when you saw the scene in front of you. Steve in his boxers, looking like a mouse staring down a cat. Judith, the cat, glaring at you both, with her hands on her hips, claws and teeth ready to slash and shred. “Judith…what are you doing here?”

“Well, after Eli dropped that particular very unpleasant and shocking bomb on me yesterday and you refused to talk to me, I decided we needed to have a conversation about this current situation.”

“You could have just called…” you began but Judith quickly cut you off.

“And what? Have you ignore my calls like you so often do? I don’t think so.” Judith stepped around Steve with a wave as if he were nothing but an annoying gnat she was wishing to swat. “No. I think not. I demand an explanation. I believe I am owed that. Precisely why did my grandson tell me that this man, who I don’t even know, who he barely even knows, is going to be his father soon?”

“Shit…” muttered Steve, earning a harsh glare from the woman that reminded him way too much of Mrs. Click from high school. He melted back against the wall, trying to make himself small and invisible to her unapproving gaze.

So this was why she came. She felt her son’s very memory was threatened by the presence of Steve. She thought that you and him were moving too fast. Of course she did if Eli was already talking about Steve being his dad. But it was just that, talk. The kid had been hoping for it before they’d even started dating.

“Mrs. Randall, I think this has just been a really big misunderstanding.”

“Well, I was rather hoping so until I showed up to find you here in your underwear, clearly having spent the night. I mean, really.” She sighed, tossing her arms in the air. “You find this kind of behavior appropriate with a child in the house?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Eli isn’t in the house,” you snapped.

“And where exactly is he?”

“He’s with my ex-wife and her husband,” Steve answered, folding his arms, his confidence returning now that he saw you weren't going to quaver under the glare of this lady.

“Strangers!” shrieked Judith. “You left my grandson with complete strangers?”

“They’re not strangers. I told you, Eli is best friends with Steve’s son, Jeremiah. I know Jeremiah’s mom and her husband. In fact, I was just out with her and some other women last night.”

“Oh! And where was my grandson while you were out living it up and having fun like some teenager with no responsibilities?”

“He was with me. I took care of the boys so she could actually enjoy a night off.” Steve’s sympathy for this woman was quickly waning each time she opened her mouth. “I made them dinner and we played some games and watched a movie. Then Jonathan showed up and offered to take the boys overnight so she and I could have some time alone. I have never slept over when he’s been here.”

“Really? Because according to Eli, you and his mother had a sleepover just last week.”

Your teeth clenched together. “The boys were having a sleepover. We were watching a movie and fell asleep on the couch. Nothing happened.” Your eyes caught Steve’s, the two of you clearly remembering what did happen, what almost happened before you were interrupted, but it was none of this woman’s business. “And whatever happened or didn’t happen isn’t really any of your concern. Eli is my son.”

“He’s my grandson! None of my concern? It’s none of my concern that you’re acting like some rampant whore around him? That you’re just choosing to leave him with strange people so you can run around with your friends and have a good time like you don’t even have a child?”

“Whoa! Hey!” Steve stepped into her, finger pointing at her face. “You have no right to come in here calling her names like that. She is a damn good mom. She’s done all of this herself for a long time and if occasionally she needs a night to herself, she’s more than earned it.”

If someone could actually explode, he was pretty certain this woman would be doing just that right now. Her nostrils flared, eyes blazing, mouth contorted into an ugly sneer as she stared him down.

“Just who in the hell do you think you are?”

“I think I’m her boyfriend. I think I’m her person. The person she’s chosen to have in her life right now. And I think I’m the person who’s not going to stand here and let you talk to her like this. I understand that it has to be hard for you to see her with someone else, to think about another guy being in your grandson’s life. But that’s not a choice you get to make. It’s hers. So unless you’re willing to have a civil conversation and listen then there’s the goddamn door.”

“I tried to help you. I offered to let you and Eli move in with me and you refused and now look at this mess you’ve created.”

“This isn’t a mess. This is my life.”

“And some life it is. I knew when Justin brought you home that he was making a mistake. You whispered all those lies about how much you loved him. I knew you never did.”

Your mouth dropped, a small gasp of pain escaping your lips, making Steve want to smack a woman for the first time in his life. Tears filled your eyes but you straightened your spine, refusing to allow Judith to make you fall apart.

“That was never a lie, Judith. I did love Justin. I still do.”

“You loved him so much that you’re so ready to just replace him and move on. To allow some other man in his house, in his bed, in his role as Eli’s father.”

“There has not been any talk of Steve being Eli’s father,” you argued. “We are dating. There’s not even been talk of moving in together. All of that is coming from Eli. He adores Steve and he’s a kid and he just wants what other kids have. Can’t you see that?”

“He already has a father,” Judith whimpered, quickly losing steam as her grief began to take the wheel from her anger.

“He does and I will never let him forget Justin. We talk about him every night before he goes to bed. I show him pictures and videos. I tell him stories. We order pizza every Friday because it’s what we used to do when Justin was home.” Those tears that had been lingering on your lash line now broke free, spilling down your cheeks as you held your hands out in front of you, begging Judith to understand. “We go to the apple orchard and the pumpkin farm every fall because it was a tradition we started with him. I show him his favorite movies and we listen to his favorite music. Eli knows all the words to The Most Beautiful Girl in the World by Prince and he knows how Justin used to sing it to me every time he’d return from deployment and we’d dance around the living room. Judith, Eli will never forget Justin because I can’t ever forget Justin. You think I don’t grieve for him still? Sometimes it hits me and the pain is so bad that I double over with it. But am I really sentenced to spend the rest of my life alone at thirty-two because the universe was cruel enough to take my happy ending away from me?”

Judith actually looked stunned. In the ten minutes Steve had known her, even he was shocked to find her speechless. This did not seem like a woman who ran out of words.

Then the two women were hugging and crying. He stood to the side, unsure of what to do. He had the equivalent of emotional whiplash. He’d been so angry, ready to storm the castle and defend you to the death if need be, and now it didn’t seem necessary. You clung to each other, sobs shaking your bodies.

“I’m sorry,” Judith sniffed, shaking her head, hands wrapped around your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I just…it’s so unfair that he got taken from us and then to know you’re with…” She jerked her head toward Steve. Well, alright. She might be apologizing but apparently she still wasn’t fond of him. “To know Eli may see someone else as his…I just couldn’t bear it. I fear I will be the only one to remember my son.”

“You won’t.” Your hands found Judith’s forearms, hanging on. “I could never forget him and I will never let Eli forget him. I promise you that. We…we don’t even know what this is yet.” Steve would be lying if he said that didn’t sting just a bit. “It’s so new. Who knows where it’s going but if it moves in that direction, Eli will still know who his dad is. And no matter what happens, you will always be his grandmother and you will always have a place in his life.”

Judith nodded slowly, her fist coming to her mouth. The woman appeared to at least be trying to accept it. Steve wasn’t sure what the history was here. He didn’t know what kind of relationship she and you had in the past but he hoped, if for nothing else than the sake of Eli, that she could.

“Can I…would it be okay if I came into town for his first game?”

“Of course. Eli would love it if you were there.”

Steve wasn’t sure he would. He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend any more time with this woman ever. But this wasn’t his decision. He knew when he started this thing that you came with some baggage. And if the heaviest load was some uptight ex mother-in-law, well, he’d just have to learn to heft it if he planned on sticking around.

“Okay. Well, then…I guess I’ll just go. It’s a long drive back. But maybe I could go pick him up and…”

You cut her off, “Steve and I are picking up the boys and taking them on a bike ride. They’ve been looking forward to it all week. So today isn’t a good day. If you would have called first I could have told you that. I could have told you all of this and saved you the drive.”

“Right. Next time I’ll call as long as you plan on answering.”

“I will answer as long as I’m not busy.”

Judith’s mouth pinched up again, the crying camaraderie apparently forgotten now. Wiping away any sign of weakness or vulnerability with her fingers under her eyes, she straightened her spine and turned for the door. It was disorienting how quickly she looked like she hadn’t just been falling apart, completely reserved once again.

“I will see you in a couple weeks then.”

“See you in a couple weeks.”

And then she was gone. You exhaled, your shoulders and head dropping forward, as if all the strength you'd held in to handle Judith had rushed from you in one breath. Your arms wrapped around your middle, reminding him of Eli after school just yesterday.

Steve stood still, unsure of what to do. Did you want him to comfort you? Did you want him to leave you alone? Should he offer to just head and get the boys and come back for you later so you could have some time to process everything that had just happened?

“I’m sorry.” The words were spoken so softly he almost didn’t catch them. “She loves to sneak up on me at the worst times. I should have seen this coming. She’s been itching to have it out with me ever since Eli told her you were my boyfriend.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, shrugging. It wasn’t, not really. He wasn’t sure how he felt after that whole exchange. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” you stated firmly. “I really don’t. Not right now anyway. Can we just eat?” Lifting your head, you pasted on a smile. “That coffee smells amazing and I could really use some right now.”

“Oh…uh…yeah…”

You breezed past him into the kitchen, leaving him standing there wondering what in the hell had just happened and what it meant that you didn’t know what this was between you.

____________________________________________________________

The boys were down on the sand, building a fortress from rocks and driftwood that they collected for their superheroes. It was still far too cold to even consider stepping foot in the water. The day was warm, the sun beating pleasantly down on their skin, but it would take months for the lake to absorb that heat, usually not pleasant enough for a swim until late June or even early July.

You sat on the blanket you'd brought with you to sit on while you enjoyed the picnic lunch that Steve had packed. Sandwich crusts, chip crumbs, and stray blueberries laid forgotten on plates as the boys declared themselves full in favor of running off to play. You took a sip of her iced tea, glancing over at Steve.

After Judith’s impromptu interruption, ruining what otherwise had been an absolutely perfect night and morning, he’d been rather quiet and awkward. He didn’t appear mad but disoriented, like a child who’d fallen off their bike after removing the training wheels and feared getting back on because they didn’t trust themselves. It was like he’d lost his footing and couldn’t find it again. And you knew it was your fault.

Judith just had such a negative impact on you and you were so exhausted from constantly trying to convince the woman that you w were doing a good job of raising Eli. Was it easy? No. Did you screw up a lot? Yes. But at the end of the day your son was happy, healthy, and loved. Wasn’t that what mattered? Why could that never be enough? Why did every decision you ever made have to come into question by a woman whose son joined the military just to get away from her?

“Steve…”

“Hmm?” His head turned toward you and you could see how hard he was working to keep an impassive look on his face, to not show how he was truly feeling. What was he feeling? Was he angry? He had every right to be after the way Judith had treated him, after you yourself had dismissed him, telling him you didn’t want to talk.

“About earlier…”

He cut you off, lifting his hand in front of him, “It’s fine. Really. You said you didn’t want to talk about it so you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not fine.”

“It is. It’s obviously a tough situation for you that I don’t know anything about so…”

“But you should,” you stated firmly. Rising to your knees, you shifted until you were in front of him, taking both of his hands in your own. “You should. If we’re doing this…being an us, then you should know. Judith is difficult but she is a part of my life and she isn’t going anywhere. She’s Eli’s grandmother and that means that you’re going to have to deal with her sometimes so you should know our history. You should know exactly what you’re walking into.”

“But we don’t even know what this is, right? Isn’t that what you said? We’re not that serious so why do I need to know anything important about you?”

Ouch. His words hit their mark, exactly as he’d meant them to based on the tone he’d used. A missile he’d launched, his own hurt weaponized and aimed directly for you, successfully obliterating its target. You dropped down onto your heels as he pulled his hands back from you. His hand came to the back of his neck, rubbing, as if he could wipe away the tension that had appeared between them.

“Shit. Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Yes you did.”

“No. I didn’t.” His cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk with a frustrated exhale. “I want to know everything about you. I do. I want to know it all, the good, the bad, and everything in between. I just…when you said that…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Is that how you feel? That you don’t know what we are? I mean, I guess I just need to know what this is. I thought we were on the same page but maybe we’re not. What do you want here, honey? Is this all just fun for you? Is this a casual thing? Are you serious about us or should I be preparing to have my heart stomped all over?”

Those beautiful eyes were begging you for an answer, for the answer he wanted. And he had it. He had all of you. He had every piece of you that you had to offer. But you didn’t know how much to say. He had no idea how completely gone for him you already were, how you dreamed of the future with him, what it would look like, the four of you together.

Your eyes drifted over to the boys, yelling and giggling as Lex Luthor and his henchmen tried to attack the Fortress of Solitude they’d built from whatever they could find on the beach. You could picture this, days, months, years of this…the two of you sitting back and enjoying your boys together. Watching them grow up, birthday parties and Christmases, Steve helping them with their ties for school dances, teaching them how to drive. Nights together watching movies and playing games. You could see it so clearly in your mind but you were terrified that if you shared all that with him he would leave a blazing path through this forest as he ran as far and as fast as he could.

“Honey?” he prompted when you'd been silent for so long.

“What do you want?” you asked, turning the tables on him, placing the ball in his court.

“What?”

“What do you want from this? Do you see this as something that has a future? Do you see us together six months from now? A year from now? Ten years from now? Or in three months will I be just another in a long line of heartbroken exes?”

Steve reared back as if you'd just slapped him across the face. And maybe it had been an insensitive question but you felt it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Steve had been in numerous relationships throughout his life. Robin had shared that he latched on and fell fast because he was so desperate to be loved. Was that what this was?

You felt like he really liked you, like he truly cared about you. But was it just his past traumas causing him to act like that? Causing him to feel things that weren’t really there yet?

“Do you seriously not know?” he demanded. When you just looked at him, he groaned. “How do you not know how I feel about you? This isn’t even in the ballpark of casual for me. I told you I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you.”

“But how can you be sure? Robin said…”

“Robin said what? That I love too quickly because of my messed up childhood bullshit? Because my parents didn’t love me enough, I’m always looking for it elsewhere?”

“I mean, she may have said something like that.”

“And she’s not wrong. I have in the past. I stayed with Nancy because I was desperate for a family, a real family. I was desperate to make it work, to be successful where my parents weren’t. But I’m not twenty anymore. I’m thirty-two and I am well aware of my faults. I didn’t even see what I was doing then but I do now. I know every relationship I’ve ever had wasn’t really love. It was…I don’t know. Me just settling, searching for something, anything that would make me feel whole. But I’ve never found it. I’ve never felt it until you. I think you’re what I’ve been searching for. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for someone like you.”

This was the second time he’d said that to you and it didn’t fail to rock you to your very core once again. It shook your very foundation to know that this beautiful, perfect man seemed to think that you were the thing he’d been missing in his life, that you were the missing piece to the puzzle that he’d been hopelessly searching for.

Your eyes roamed over his face, the flecks of gold in his eyes brought out by the sun, the freckles like angel kisses lovingly placed on his skin, those plump lips that girls would pay thousands of dollars to have. That word, that damn word, so simple, four letters, one syllable, was driving its way up your throat, desperate to be spoken.

Your hands slid over his jaw, softly, gently, as if you were holding delicate treasure that must be protected, because you were. His Adam’s apple bobbed, the muscles in his neck tensing, as he waited for you to reply to the truths he’d just laid before you.

“This isn’t casual for me either. I…I know my situation is different. I wasn’t searching all my life. I found…but he’s gone and when I lost Justin, I resigned myself to the fact that he was it. He had been my one shot at happiness and love and all that comes with it. But then here you came and you barreled through all of that doubt like a wrecking ball.” Your eyes slipped closed as you willed yourself to have the courage to jump off the edge, to soar through the air with nothing but hope that he would catch you instead of leaving you to hit the ground. “You snuck up on me and there is nothing just fun or casual about this because I…I love you.”

His eyebrows crept toward his forehead, every color in the spectrum dancing through his eyes that were now as wide as the moon and just as spectacular. You held your breath, your teeth worrying over your bottom lip. But then, as if in slow motion, his lips parted, curving into a slow smile that consumed his entire face, those little crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. His fingers slid into your hair, pulling you to him, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered, “You do?”

“I do. I know it’s really soon. I wasn’t even sure I should say it. I realized it yesterday and it terrified me but it also…I don’t know. It just felt right, like something just shifting into the place it belonged all along. I told myself I wasn’t going to say it, that I was going to wait.” Your eyes squeezed shut nervously. “I was going to wait until you said it and I hope it doesn’t scare you. You don’t have to say it back. I don’t want you to say it because you think you have to. I just…I need you to know that I am all in. I am not going anywhere. I have already dove in way too deep. There’s no going back now.”

“I love you, too.”

“Don’t…please don’t say it just because I…”

“I’m not.” His fingers trailed down over your arms, linking his fingers with yours and bringing your interlocked hands to his chest. “I’m not. I’ve been trying not to say it too. I didn’t want to push you. I know this is hard for you. I know this is the first time you’ve been with anybody since your husband passed. I wanted to take things at your pace, follow your lead. I was waiting for you to say it first. But I do. I love you. I think I’ve loved you ever since that night I brought pizza over. And yeah, that’s crazy and it makes no sense because we barely knew each other but it’s true. I love everything I already know about you and I want to spend my life getting to know everything I don’t.”

“You…your life…?”

“Shit. Was that too much? I’m not about to pull out a ring or anything. I’m not asking you to promise the rest of your life to me. I just…I just meant…”

“Steve,” you laughed, pressing your lips against his to silence him. “No. It wasn’t too much. I know what you meant. I mean, we can’t really say we’re all in if we’re not expecting this to last forever, right?”

“Right.” He grinned, releasing your hands to wrap his arms around you and pull you in close. You sat between his legs, your back nestled into his chest, settling into place right where you belonged as the two of you watched your boys run down the sand.

Chapter 16

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imarvelatthestars · 10 months

Text

Fireworks

Pairings: Sergeant Hound x f!Reader

Warnings: none! just 4.9k words of tension & cuteness

Notes: Hound's appearance was inspired by some very cool art by heidiss on twitter. I also dropped a quick reference to @samspenandsword Fox series, The Coffee House, which truly sold me on being a Fox girlie.

You feel borderline sick. Thirty solid minutes of chasing down your sweet, stupid, panicked massiff from the local park to, well, wherever in the Sith hells you are now and not only do you feel close to collapsing, but your chest is tight and aching from adrenaline and anxiety. He’s a good boy, really, he’s such a sweetheart and he can be so fun and friendly once he gets to know someone, but Jaxjo’s also easily startled. The two of you have been working long and hard on soothing strategies for when he’s overwhelmed, for warming up to and trusting well-meaning strangers, but this day has gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours.

Some blocks down the (mercifully) mostly deserted walkway, you can see Jaxjo’s rump as he darts under a bench after a speeder zooms too close for his comfort. It hurts your heart to see him so worked up, but it’s also sending you into a spiral. What if he gets really scared and gets lost? What if he lashes out at someone and you have to put him down? What if another speeder comes by and he jumps out and everything goes horribly wrong and he gets hit? What if what if what if what if? Maker, you don’t want to lose your little boy. He makes your life so much brighter and happier. What if-

Another firework goes off, another problem to add to the already substantial list, and you feel your eyes start to pinprick along the waterline. Why not add a grounded explosion? A Separatist attack, maybe? A mugging? Just make a night of it! And then, as if you weren’t already at your wit’s end, you catch a flash of plastoid armor, white and red and gray, and your stomach plummets to your feet.

Jaxjo doesn’t see the Corrie at first, he’s too distracted by the remnants of fireworks sparking out overhead, but the Corrie sees you. Of course he does. Him and the other trooper doing rounds with him. You notice their helmets tilt and twist a bit, probably to allow for a conversation as they consider why you’re out in a back alley all by yourself at dusk.

You ignore the troopers. You whistle as loud as you can in that specific way that only Jax could recognize and start jingling his leash, and thank the Maker, it works! His head jerks to the side, tongue lolling out, and his body language softens for a moment. Sweet boy, he’s still so scared, but he knows his mom, he knows you mean safety.

“C’mere, boy!” you call as encouragingly as you can despite your throat threatening to close up on you. “Jax, c’mere!”

The Corries have stopped their patrolling and are now fully watching you. One of them, the one on the right with the strange looking helmet, has his arms crossed over his chest. This probably means they’ve decided you’re their evening entertainment or they’re lingering to see if you need help. Maybe? You haven’t interacted with enough troopers to accurately gauge what’s going on under those helmets.

“Sorry!” you shout across the street, a hand pointed in his direction. “He’s just scared of the fireworks!”

As if on cue, another one lights up the steadily darkening sky and the resulting boom is loud enough to rattle you down to your bones. Jaxjo whines loud and low. Then another firework goes off and your massiff goes bolting out from under the bench. He scrambles into the middle of the street, throws his head back and forth with the whites of his eyes on full display, and for a moment you think that he’ll come running right to you and you can finally take your boy home, but he barks, shivers like a leaf in a storm, and takes off at full speed, fangs bared. He’s zeroed in on the Corries. Oh Maker, no.

“Jaxjo! Jaxjo, no!” All logic goes flying out the window. Every special cue and direction you’ve learned to keep both him and yourself calm, it’s gone in an instant because it’s like your worst nightmare come to life. He’s going to attack one of the troopers and then you’ll have to put him down, probably even get fined on top of it and put on some ‘incompetent massiff owner’ list that’ll ban you for life, and and-

The trooper in the strange helmet steps forward. He’s not afraid of Jax’s growling, even though he really should be. You’re sprinting forward as fast you can, heart in your throat, whistling and shouting, and the trooper just holds out his hand and speaks. You don’t know what he says, but it’s like a switch flips in Jax’s brain. He stops mid-stride and just stares. Another firework goes off and Jax starts rather violently, but he doesn’t run.

It’s like you’re watching some kind of nature holo and this Corrie trooper is the reincarnation of Stirwin Eve. Within a matter of minutes, Jaxjo has crawled his way to the trooper’s feet and is cowering into his shin guards while the trooper gently pats his back. It’s magic, plain and simple.

You’re so stunned that you don’t even know what to say. You know something comes out of your mouth, some vague approximation of awestruck thanks, but you’re hardly aware of it. All you can think about is the fact that your boy didn’t go wild and bite a member of the Coruscant Guard and that he’s not going to get transported to the pound and put down because of your own stupidity.

The other trooper, the one whose armor looks more like what you’d expect, clears his throat. “You really should keep him on a leash, ma’am, especially during a fireworks display. It’s not safe to have massiffs off-leash in the city.”

A streak of irritation flares up behind your eyes, but you manage to swallow it with a smile, albeit a forced one. “Unfortunately, he broke out of the park earlier and I’ve been trying to catch him for the last half hour.” I’m not usually inclined to letting my anxious wreck of a massiff free when the mood strikes, is what you want to say. You opt for biting your tongue instead. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

The first trooper finally looks up at you. It’s quite the sight – a big anxious massiff, a Corrie squatting down next to him and offering treats and pets, and that strange helmet that keeps throwing you for a loop. He doesn’t say anything. He’s definitely looking at you; you can feel the weight of his gaze even through the visor. It’s compelling enough that when he extends his hand and wordlessly asks for your leash, you hand it over without a fight.

Jaxjo is quickly clipped on by his harness and the leash is returned to you loop first. The trooper pats him once more, then stands, and it hits you then just how intimidating a figure he cuts in the lowlight. The kama, the broad shoulders that bear his dark gray armor, the blaster rifle hanging from his free hand, the jagged triangles carved into his helmet flaps that look oddly reminiscent of massiff fangs, and the streaks of red over the crown of his head, it’s all a reminder that before you stands a soldier and officer of the Chancellor’s forces.

For kriff’s sake, he answers to the fucking Chancellor. You’re so damn lucky right now, you ought to get down on your hands and knees and thank every star in the sky that Jax didn’t completely lose his mind!

“Thank you.” The words sound strangled and foreign. “Sir. Uh, s-sorry, sir. It was an accident, it won’t happen again.” You vaguely recall already saying this, but it doesn’t hurt to reiterate. “Thank you.”

Five minutes later, you’re left standing under a streetlamp with a citation and leash in one hand and a serving of treats in the other. Jaxjo tilts his head back to look at you properly and whines.

“I know, buddy, I know.” Your head is starting to spin and the fireworks are only going to get worse. “Let’s go home.”

The knock that shatters the comfortable silence of your mid-levels apartment the next day sends Jaxjo into a barking frenzy. “Just a second!” you shout, although if you’re even audible is doubtful. You manage to get him into your bedroom after a bit of finagling and the barking only continues, but this way it’s at least manageable.

“Maker, I’m sorry,” you start as you press the door controls by the entry, “he gets all worked up with strangers and-”

You’re met with an eyeful of gray chest armor and massiff fangs painted on to a helmet, a hint of a vision screen under the red and white visor. Oh.

The two of you size each other up for a long moment until the trooper finally speaks and you feel some kind of dread curl up in the pit of your stomach. “I’m here for a follow up on your citation last night, ma’am.”

“I... wasn’t aware I needed one.”

The helmet tilts ever so slightly to one side. “It’s standard procedure for massiff incidents.”

At the risk of sounding repetitive - “I wasn’t aware there was an incident, sir.”

It’s one thing to be given a citation for having a massiff off-leash. You can understand that, even if it sucks. But to basically be insulted in your own home? That’s an entirely different story.

There’s a huff in between Jaxjo’s barking that accompanies the Corrie’s shifting body language. One of his hands settles on his right hip and he dips his chin a bit, perhaps to look at you more directly? “If I could come inside, ma’am, I’d be able to explain better.”

“I’m not under arrest or something, am I?”

And you could almost swear you hear him laugh, but that would be ridiculous. And rude. Impertinent, even. “No, ma’am. Now may I come inside?”

He’s tall. You noticed it last night, but you notice it again when he’s able to stand in comparison to your furniture and appliances. And he’s fucking built, too. I mean, it’s ridiculous. His thighs alone are enough to make you do a double take. Not that you’re intentionally looking, of course, but you do have eyes. They almost bug out of your head when the helmet comes off.

It strikes you then that you’ve never seen a clone without their helmet on, not up close. You’ve always been aware of a flash of brown skin and usually dark hair from what you’ve caught on the news or when you happen to pass by the barracks, but Maker, you never thought they looked this good. Angular brows above kaf-colored eyes, a long, broad nose, pursed lips, and a beautifully rounded jaw and chin decorated with greyish black tattoos that echo the massiff design on his helmet. Between that, his dark hair that’s grown just long enough along the top to start coiling, and the thick trunk of his neck, and it’s a wonder you’re still standing. He’s gorgeous.

You’re spared the embarrassment of getting caught oggling him, though (for which you send a prayer of thanks to anyone listening), because he’s busy studying your front room. “Where’s Jaxjo?” he asks. Right. Back to business.

Your head turns in the direction of the alarmed barking that’s slowly morphing into a restless whine. “Uh, he’s in my room. I didn’t want him getting too riled up and slipping out. Why-”

“I’m a specially trained massiff handler. I run the CG’s K-9 unit.” He pauses for a moment to peel off his gloves and toss them onto the back of your sofa where he’s balanced his helmet. You make an effort not to look. “Which means I’m also in charge of handling massiff incidents with the public.”

“But there wasn’t an incident,” you sigh. “He didn’t bite anyone, or hurt anyone, he was just scared. You even managed to calm him down.”

The trooper raises an eyebrow. “As his handler, you should be able to control him yourself.”

And there’s that spark of irritation again, quickly blossoming into a full flame as heat spreads across your face and chest. “I can. I didn’t realize there was going to be an unplanned fireworks display or I would’ve kept him home yesterday. But there was. He got out, I chased him down, and I would’ve been able to calm him down eventually, but you just happened to beat me to it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth either. You’d been worried sick last night about Jax’s behavior. You just don’t want this guy to know that and it’s making you angry.

The trooper’s hands move to settle on his hips as his ribcage steadily expands and deflates. His head is tilted toward the floor as he listens to Jaxjo whine. He thinks for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally glancing in your direction once more.

“I’m sure your boy's a good one, ma’am, and I can tell he means something t’ you. But you’re also concerned about his behavior and that means I’m concerned, too.” Can he see right through you? Surely you’re not that transparent. “Why don’t you let him out and I’ll see what we’re working with?”

Woah. There’s no we. There’s you and Jaxjo, and that’s it! However this man is able to see through your frustration and pinpoint exactly what’s bothering you, you’ll probably never know, but just because he’s wearing Corrie red doesn’t mean that he can just waltz in here and claim concern over your massiff’s behavior! You have half a mind to give this trooper a piece of it when his hand reaches into your line of vision and settles on the back of the sofa, just inches away from where your elbow brushes the fabric, and you still. You swallow. You look up.

His voice is gentle when he speaks, thoughtful. “I’ve been working with K-9s for years now. I can tell when something’s off and respectfully, ma’am, I picked up on it from you.”

It’s like the entire planet comes to a screeching halt. You almost can’t find it in you to be mad when he’s speaking so softly. Instead, you feel dazed and more than a little helpless.

“He’s a shelter rescue, isn’t he?”

Kriff, is this guy psychic or something? Maybe he has Jedi mind powers.

“Yeah, uh, I got him from the shelter about a year ago.” Your voice is all congested from the effort of holding back your tears, but the Corrie is polite enough not to mention it. “He’s just scared, that’s all. He was a stray before I got him.”

He smiles a bit, it’s little more than a quirk in the corners of his mouth, but the way his cheeks dimple causes the light to catch on a scar you hadn’t noticed at first. It’s a grouping of three faint, jagged lines that run from just below his eye to his jaw. Massiff claws.

“I’ve worked with ones like him before and they’re not lost causes. I might be able to help,” he prompts. His brows have angled upward and it gives his entire face a softer look. “May I?”

Jaxjo whines again and starts scratching at the door. He’s a good boy, really. He tries his best. He just has some issues you haven’t been able to figure out yet. It hurts that all the work you’ve put in over the past year hasn’t fixed it all like you thought it would, but now there’s an opportunity to make things better. Someone who knows more about massiffs than you do and is willing to help.

In the end, though, is there really any question? You’d do anything for your little guy.

You nod and offer the trooper a half-hearted smile. “Sure. Thank you.”

He’s amazing. They’re both amazing. Hound works hard and Jaxjo works even harder, and you’re truly proud of them both. It’s been nearly three weeks now of retraining and reinforcement. Jax has learned that some people are safe, people like Hound and his fellow troopers in the Guard, he’s remembered that even when he’s afraid, you’re there to protect him, and most important of all, you’ve learned that the Coruscant Guard isn’t as bad as you always thought it was. Even if they technically work for the Chancellor.

It’s also been three weeks of seeing Hound in a new light. He charmed the pants off Jaxjo and without even meaning to, he’s nearly charmed yours off into another dimension. Maker, he’s funny and smart and incredibly patient. He has this specific way of smiling that’s reserved and comforting, and it never fails to make your heart race, even if he’s just smiling at another massiff. And despite all his strength and the intimidating aura his armor, tattoos, and scars give off, he’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met.

So of course, you had to go and fall for him. Of all the inconvenient, idiotic, irritating things you could’ve done, you just had to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the persona and decide that he was the one you wanted. Stupid. In what world would he ever fall for you, the woman who was a nervous wreck upon your first meeting, the woman who couldn’t properly train her own massiff, the woman that he only met because his buddy had to give you a citation? Not to mention, the man is so handsome that he’s painfully out of your league. He ought to be arm candy for some rich holo star or a beautiful senator, not, well, you. It’s a lost cause. Totally doomed.

You want to ask him out for kaf. There’s a place about five minutes from your apartment that makes the best kaf on the planet and the owner’s known for being friendly with the clones. (You’re pretty sure her name is Beanie, but that could be just a rumor.) Hound’s bound to be the most comfortable there, it’s in a public area so he doesn’t feel trapped in your place and you don’t have to track him down by the senate or the barracks. It’s a great idea and you know if he says yes that it’ll be a nice time. You hope, at least. You really, truly hope it will be. You’re just not sure that he’ll say yes.

It takes the entire training session for you to work up the courage to ask, which only serves to distract you when you should be paying attention. Your mind keeps wandering to every possible ‘what-if’. What if he says no? It’ll be embarrassing and he might not help with Jax’s training for much longer, but you’d be okay in the end. It wouldn’t kill you. What if he says yes? Well, you’ll probably forget how to speak and make a fool out of yourself, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen already. What if he ditches you at the café? What if he shows up? What if he enjoys himself? What if you enjoy yourself? What if your hands touch when you reach for the napkins and he looks into your eyes and then he leans in and-

“...ink your buir’s stopped paying attention, eh boy?”

Jaxjo wiggles his rump and snuffs in Hound’s direction, which is enough to properly pull you back to the present. You blink the romantic haze from your eyes and give your best apologetic smile; Hound simply laughs.

“Sorry, just thinking. I’m paying attention, I promise.”

You receive a disbelieving eyebrow arch in response. “Must be serious. You’re not usually this distracted.”

You take a moment to compose yourself before you blurt out a goofy response. The last thing you need is to spill the beans before you’re even sure if he notices you’re a woman. So you watch the way Jaxjo forces his snout under Hound’s palm, how his tongue lolls out over his fangs and his eyes perk up when Hound gives him a good scratch by his ear hole. He’s so good with him. You’d even go so far as to say -

“You’re good for each other.”

That sends both of his eyebrows rocketing up. “Yeah?”

Your heart goes all warm and fuzzy. Dumb. Stupid. Embarrassing. Crush. Dammit. “Yeah. He responds really well to you and I can tell you’re really good with him. He trusts you.” I trust you, is what you leave unspoken.

“Well, he’s got a good role model,” he says after a moment. “I hope you’re not trying t’ give him to me because-”

“No! Kriff, no, of course not. I just... I dunno, I noticed.”

Hound smiles and his dimples go straight to your heart. “He’s a good boy.”

“He is.”

The room goes quiet apart from Jaxjo’s panting and the wild thumping of your heartbeat. He probably can’t hear it. Probably. Sure would be embarrassing if he could. Or if he could see it jumping out at your throat. You lay your palm flat against it just in case.

“Is that what you were thinking so hard about?”

“Yes” is what you mean to say. “No” is what comes out.

“Then what?”

You gesture vaguely. “Oh, just...” Anything, literally pick anything! The flexing of the muscles in the back of his hand catches your eye. For kriff’s sake, anything but that! “You’re probably gonna be leaving soon, once he’s properly trained.” Okay, okay, that’s good. Viable excuse. Good job. And then your mouth runs away with you again. “And I’ll miss having you around.”

Death would be a less painful option than whatever fresh hell your current reality is. You make a frantic attempt at backpedaling by clarifying that you and Jax would both miss him and all the very professional advice and help he’s given you, but the more you speak the more your ears start to burn and you start to fold in on yourself. This is quickly turning into a transport wreck and there’s seemingly nothing you can do to stop it.

Normally Hound’s laugh would be enough to make your cheeks burn and your stomach go all fluttery, but right now it only makes you feel like an idiot. You squeeze your eyes shut, focus on being a totally normal person who knows how to have a totally normal conversation.

“Heh. Sorry about that.” Like you just bumped into him in the lift or you accidentally cut him in line. You can’t look him in the eyes. Totally normal. “My tongue got all twisted up. That was silly.”

Jaxjo whines when Hound steps around him. You’re close to whining yourself, you’re so embarrassed. You want to go hide in the bathroom for ten minutes and simply never speak to another soul ever again. Surely that will solve everything.

“What d’you think, Jax? D’you think your buir’s being silly?”

Hound’s smiling that terribly fond smile of his and you know he’s looking at you, trying to catch your eye, but you refuse to glance any higher than his nose. That beautiful nose. You’re not sure why it does something for you, but it certainly does. You can’t help wondering what it would feel like pressed into your cheek if he kissed you.

He takes another step and now he’s standing right in front of you, towering over you, the breadth of his shoulders taking up your entire field of vision. He’s so close that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. Except you’re not looking at him. There’s a spot on his cheek where one of his scars meets his tattoo that has your attention.

“What does that mean?” you ask. “Buir?” It’s a poor replication of the way he says it.

“Parent. Mom for you, cyar’ika.”

Maker, why is his voice so soft all of a sudden? And he’s so close! You can smell his cologne, musky and masculine, and it’s so intoxicating that you have to fight to keep your eyes from rolling back. What is this man doing to you?

“Do you think about that often?”

When did your throat get so dry? “About what?”

The lump in his throat bobs when he swallows. “Me leaving.”

Danger! Danger! There’s a siren going off in the back of your head. All that bravado you’d been saving up since the start of the session is oozing out of your ears. He’s getting way too close to the truth of the matter and now that he’s there, you’re not sure you want him to know. You’re sure he’s just playing with you now and it should make you mad, it does, but then... he smells so good and his skin looks so soft and you really, really like him, and won’t he just give you a chance? Would that be so bad?

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Hound’s exhale hits your cheeks. “Because I’ve thought about it.”

He doesn’t mean it the way you do. He can’t. You want him to. Does he?

A surge of adrenaline gives you enough courage to look up through your lashes and properly gauge his expression, and you swear your knees go weak at the sight of his pupils blown out and his brows knit together in the softest expression he’s ever made. You might even venture out to say he looks nervous.

“I’ve been dreading the day he doesn’t need me anymore.” His voice is trembling a bit, but its timbre is low and rough and that stunning accent of his seems thicker now. “Then I won’t have an excuse t’ come see you anymore.”

Oh. The realization hits you so hard that you have to take a step back, lean into your sofa to keep from toppling over. He wants to be here, he comes to see you on purpose. He... likes you? The way you like him?

Your hand settles at the hollow of your throat as you attempt to find the words to express yourself. “Hound, I... I hope I’m reading you correctly. I mean, I hope-”

“Do you need me t' spell it out for you?” he breathes.

Fuck, maybe you do. You nod. “Maybe?”

He smiles, his cheeks dimple, your stomach devolves into flutter-bys as he rests a hand on the sofa backing right by your waist. He’s caging you in, slowly but surely. You’ll let him. His scent and his chest fill your senses as he crowds around you until you’re completely pinned to the furniture and the only other place to go is into him. Your mind starts racing because he’s so impossibly close and he’s even more beautiful, and what if he can feel your stomach against his, what if he can see your every pore and stray hair, and what if he likes you and what if he doesn’t?

“I’d like t' kiss you.”

Finally, blessedly, you smile. “I’d like that, too.”

His touch is feather-light on your cheek, but you can still make out the callouses lining the palm of his hand, the scent of leather and sweat and blaster residue. Jaxjo huffs. And then Hound kisses you. He’s warm and soft, just like you imagined he would be, and the taste of him is pleasant. There’s a hint of kaf lingering on his lips that you absently chase after with your tongue, but he takes it as a cue to open up for you. Your tongue stutters for a moment and he starts to pull back once he senses it, but you can’t let him pull away, not when this is everything you want, when he’s here and willing and so, so sweet.

Your hand cups the back of his neck as you surge forward and sweep your tongue into his mouth, up and over his teeth until it rubs against his and he sighs against you. It’s all a blur after that. His fingers wind up fisted in your clothes and your hands are pressing into his chest, smoothing over his shoulders, rubbing over the shaved section of his hair, and you can’t stop a single one of the happy, contented little sounds that he manages to pull from you.

Until Hound suddenly lurches into you and you both go toppling over the back of the sofa. Hound winds up going literal head over heels and lands in a very undignified pile at the base of the sofa while you end up half on, half off the cushions with your feet dangling over the top. Jaxjo’s happy little face pops up between your ankles. He’s all eyes and tongue and drool, and the very picture of feigned innocence.

You finally find your courage between bouts of laughter when you tilt your head so it’s hanging off the sofa and dare to nuzzle Hound’s shoulder with your nose. His eyes are twinkling when he looks at you.

“Hey,” you chuckle.

“Hey.”

“You wanna know what I was really thinking about?” He nods and you think you feel one of those fireworks go off in your chest. “I was thinking maybe we could go get kaf sometime, just the two of us.”

There’s a spark of mischief in the look he gives you. “What, no Jaxjo?”

You roll your eyes. “Jaxjo, Shmaxjo. I’m not interested in him.”

His hand settles along your jawline, gentle and sensual and blush inducing. “But you’re interested in me, huh?”

“Shut up, maybe I am.”

Hound smirks, probably the first true smirk you’ve ever seen on him. “Good,” he says before granting you another kiss. “I’m interested in you too, cyar’ika.”

“And what does that mean?”

He noses at your forehead and huffs a laugh just substantial enough to stir your eyelashes. “I’ll tell you over kaf sometime.”

prompt: fireworks 🎆✔️

@clonexreaderbingo

taglist: @dystopicjumpsuit

#arf trooper hound #sergeant hound #sergeant hound x reader #sergeant hound x you #hound x reader #hound x you #star wars #tcw #cfb2023 #my first venture into the corries!! i haven't read much hound stuff but i think i did p good!#tried to give him my own twist since i'm not sure what all the corrie guard headcanons are #his appearance is also inspired by barb wire era tem and the fact that i'm a goner for stupidly handsome men with nice hair

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anglingforlevels · 8 months

Text

Salvation (Fem!Yandere Vampire x Reader)

CW: Yandere, yandere monster, captivity, death, non-con touching not proofread, dead dove

Minors DNI

There were too many vampires. Every story had to establish the kind of vampire, lest they’d drown in the sea of possible choices. Not a severe consequence in fiction, but standing before a real-life vampire, you found it frustratingly difficult to navigate between so many contradictory options.

Subtleties had never been your specialty. That’s why, standing before the pale woman, you asked her directly.

”What kinda vampire are you anyway?” You crossed your arms. She seemed almost taken aback by the question, quirking an eyebrow, which earned a huff from you. “You know, what type? Like a Dracula, or old-school horror flick type, or hell, the sparkling kind?”

At this, her face lit up. “Oh. Fancy your chances with any of the options?” You really didn’t, but there were some that were worse than others. She took a few light steps closer to you. “How about a guessing game?”

You sneered. “No thanks.”

“Aw, not even pretending to think it over?” she smiled a cat-like smile, her fangs peeking out. You pretended not to notice but she could probably hear your heartbeat increase.

You had met Albarina while touring the countryside, with hair so golden it seemed spurn out of gold itself, the golden threads framing an elegant face, with fine, pale skin and rosy lips. You had been struck by her intense yet playful gaze.

You, entirely too flustered at her attention, and when she had offered a personal tour of the area from a local, despite only having had a brief conversation, you had agreed much too fast. She had laughed at that, that pearly laughter that rang out with no abandon. Back then it had made you blush, now it made you gnash your teeth in frustration.

She hadn’t brought you to any obvious sightseeing spots, rather, she had brought you to a secluded house. Even while enamored, you had known better than to enter a stranger’s house, but by that point, it was too late, and she had revealed a snippet of her true self, which still lingered in the stinging holes in your neck.

You had fallen unconscious at some point during it and was shocked to find yourself alive still, when you awoke with your head in her lap. Now, you were starting to think it would have been better to simply have died.

Each attempt to escape had been swiftly dealt with by a predator who seemed all too happy to play around with and crush your hopes. By now, you knew any escape attempt would need more planning or better timing, and reluctantly, you had calmed down.

“Oh well,” Albarina said, “With you all settled in, let me show you your room.”

“My room?” You were taken aback by that, you really hadn’t considered any practical elements to this, having spent majority of the day on freaking out and majority of your thinking on how to get away.

“Unless you’re planning on being kept outside on a leash, I think a room would do you good. And a sweet thing like you are best kept indoors. Now, come along.” She hooked her arm around yours, giving you little choice as she led you down winding hallways.

“Why would you even want me around here long enough to warrant a room?”

She hummed contemplatively. “Suppose it’s ‘cause how cute you are? I wasn’t intending for much more than a meal, but you sounded so sweet, just like a songbird. And little songbirdies are best kept rather than cooked.”

She lit up, her eyes glinting with anticipation. “I’ve even gone through the troubles of preparing a nest for my darling little birdie. I’m almost too kind.”

“Too kind?” You mumbled dubiously, as she led you to a door.

“Why thank you. Well, here we are.” She smiled, opening the door. There she revealed a grand room, with gorgeously carved wooden furniture, and a huge bed featuring its own canopy. There was two big issues however:

1. This room clearly already had someone already using it, based on the clothes sprawled out on one of the chairs and the various knickknacks around. Given she had mentioned living alone, who was not hard to figure out.

2. Next to the big bed was a big, golden cage, the floor adorned with soft-looking pillows and blankets.

You gave her a sharp look. “No way. Are you expecting me to sleep in a cage?”

She threw her hands up in the air in mock-defense. “Goodness, no. Most nights will be spent in the bed, the cage is simply a substitute bed for special occasions, or when you’re feeling especially rowdy.”

You were appalled at both suggestions. She raised her eyebrow and smiled cruelly. "Given the situation, you should be happy you're getting to sleep in a bed at all. But it's your room, you can cry if you want to."

And thus, whether you liked it or not, a new chapter of your life had begun.

For most parts, Albarina seemed content simply teasing and playing around with you. Not demanding much more of you than your attention, and at times, your blood. She let you pick the cage over the bed without much more than a small comment, something about you really being like a caged bird, and mean remarks on whether it was even necessary to unlock it at all.

You hoped it never became more than comments, even if you knew by the way the comments grew more pointed, that it annoyed her ever so slightly.

“Little birdie?” Albarina was currently lounging on one of the sofas in the house, a bored expression on her face. You, through no choice of yours, was sitting next to her. “Gotten any closer to figuring out the kind of vampire I am?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, before letting out a small “ah”. Right, the question you had asked the first day. You hadn’t quite figured it out yet, there was small things you had noticed here and there, but with the way she liked to throw out bait, you weren’t sure how much of it you could trust.

The only thing you knew for certain was her taste for blood, along with her abnormal strength, speed and senses. You had yet to fully assert any of the weaknesses, not for a lack of trying, you had attempted to fish out details in conversations, or even lay out small traps that might reveal it to you – but subtleties weren’t your strong suit, and she promptly realized what you were doing each time.

“An annoying one.” Was all you could say, it felt less bitter than to answer no.

“Perhaps,” she changed her position, now leaning over you, her breath fanning your face. “I’m the type that can hypnotize with a glance?”

You shifted uncomfortably, the close proximity of your faces and bodies making you self-conscious of each breath and movement of yours.

“Your heart is beating so fast, darling.” You eyes unconsciously were drawn to her lips.

“Scared I might be able? Or perhaps…” She gently held your chin, lifting your face, and forcing your eyes to meet her mirthful ones. She drew closer until you turned your head away with a frown, hoping she wouldn’t comment on the way your face was starting to match the rosy color of her lips.

All she did was laugh, and for once, you were grateful to hear it.

It had been weeks by the time you finally saw an opening to escape. One that wasn’t in the form of another hapless traveler that she had just happened to give a personal tour leading directly to her own home, or a dinner invitation, that left Albarina full and satisfied, and the travelers… Less so.

In those time, Albarina would just laugh and coo at your “sour reactions”, as if a distaste for death was another silly trait of yours.

But this time was different. You had woken up to a bang, and after a few seconds to regain composure, you realized it couldn’t be Albarina. She didn’t own or use guns. From the looks of it and the way the cage still was locked, you were guessing that Albarina wasn’t home yet from one of her feeding trips, for when she preferred to be the traveler, or as she put it “wanted something exotic”.

This meant she hadn’t returned home, at the very least, despite an increasing lack of patience, she hadn’t actually made true on her mean-spirited jokes of locking the cage for good. Then, who was in the house now?

The sound of thundering steps seemed to compete with your heartbeat. You weren’t sure whether to prepare you to warn someone of a terrible fate, perhaps a burglar who had picked a terrible target, or to fear a threat in another shape. In any case, you felt restless as the sound came closer.

You jumped a little when the doorhandle rattled. Evidently, the door was locked, and the rattling stopped. There was silence for a moment, before another loud bang sounded, and whoever it was, had shot through the lock.

The door opened revealing a large figure, their features obscured by a mask and scarves carelessly wrapped around. On their back, one large sword and one large gun crossed, though the gun they had used seemed to be the small one in their hand. You pressed yourself further into your cage, scared senseless. The figure looked around a bit before their focus inevitably landed on the golden cage, that stuck out like a sore thumb.

They crouched before it, and while you couldn’t see their eyes, you still felt their stare on you. “Did she do this to you?” They spoke with a deep, gravelly voice, resentment lathering their words. It took a moment for you to connect their words, to make any sense of them, when you finally did, you nodded frantically.

“The key?”

“Oh, right. I think there’s a spare in the drawer.” At least you hoped so. You had once seen Albarina misplace the key somewhere, and after pretending to leave you locked in the cage for a bit – and sighed at your lack of response to her inspired comedic work – before fishing out a spare key from a drawer. You figured she didn’t care that it was in reach, given she had good enough hearing to hear you open the drawer, whenever you were free to roam.

The figure put the gun on the table as they looked through the drawer, finally finding a small golden key. As the lock clicked open, you carefully made your way out of the cage. Relieved at having been rescued but still intimidated by the figure that dwarfed you in size.

“Where’s the monster?” You looked up at them, and they must have sensed the uncertainty because they decided to elaborate. “The vampire. Where’s the vampire?”

“You mean Albarina? I… I’m not sure. Somewhere, feeding.” You had talked about Albarina’s feeding habits before, but never had you said it out loud to a figure who treated them with the serious disdain they deserved, the full weight of them hitting you now that Albarina’s dismissive lilt wasn’t there to distract. You shuddered.

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Why are you being kept here?” They stepped closer, and it felt as if the room grew colder. Your head spun trying to keep up with all the possibilities, as you with a sinking heart began to fear if this figure was a threat to you as well.

“I- I don’t know.” You hadn’t realized that you had begun to cry until the figure finally turned away, awkwardly offering you something to dry your eyes with.

“Another cruel whim from a heartless monster then. Or emergency rations perhaps.” They mumbled and turned back to you. “I’m here to deal with monsters like her, you’ll be free soon enough. She won’t lay a hand on you.”

Hope fluttered in your chest, but you didn’t dare trust it yet. “And you? Who are you?”

“A vampire hunter. It’s my mission to eradicate the filth that leeches off humanity. I’ll bring judgement to these vile monsters that seek to stain humanity.”

…

Well, you saw about a million red flags right away from that talk but hoped it wouldn’t manifest in anyway there affected you. Hopefully, this encounter would end with you being rescued and never having to think about these things again.

“…Awesome. Thanks.”

There was silence for a beat, and you were about 70% sure you hadn’t picked the right response.

“What’s that?” They finally broke the silence, pointing at your neck. Reflexively your hand shot up to touch, feeling the puncture marks.

“Biting marks?” You said with a creeping nervosity, it seemed fairly obvious to you that these were bite marks, so you couldn’t comprehend the foreboding air that had followed the question.

“A vampire has drunk your blood?”

“Well, yeah. I have been stuck here with a vampire, so… Seems par for the course, no?” You laughed nervously, though your attempt to answer lightheartedly did nothing to break the tension. Instinctively you backed away, until you hit the drawer.

“It’s unfortunate that I was too late.” The figure sighed. An uncomfortable knot formed in your stomach as you swallowed hard. You hadn’t asked a question, but you didn’t need to ask any to know you were in danger. Your hands blindly fumbled behind you.

“You’ve been infected by its blight. I will bring you salvation.”

Bang!

Blood splattered over your face, and the gun clattered to the ground along with his silhouette. Staring out in the air, unable to move your stare down to the hunter or the smoking gun, you continued to stare out.

With just a single movement, you had taken a life. With such ease, your hands had snuffed out the decades he had left.

“Oh, seems my cute birdie might actually be a bird of prey?” Albarina, who as suddenly as always, stood next to you, cocked her head at your lack of response. Then she rolled her eyes, before smiling sharply. “Oh, don’t pout, with a lifestyle like that, he didn’t have much life left. Really, given who his next opponent would have been, you’re the one who brought salvation.”

She leaned down to you, a mischievous smile on her rosy lips and a mean glint in her eyes. “Say, you reckon me the type of vampire to count obsessively? Let’s see.”

“Huh?” You finally moved your head towards her.

“One droplet,” she said and licked off a blood droplet off your cheek. “Two droplets.” Another lick. “Three droplets.” You shuddered and pushed her head away, she was only being playful, so she allowed it, and only laughed that terrible, pearly laughter. “Don’t fancy that kind, dear?”

“Stop.”

“How inflexible of you, darling. You’re the one asking me. I suppose you could ask someone else, vampire hunters for one, are quite knowledgeable – oh.” Her mouth formed a little “o” as she feigned realization, before giving a pointed look at the corpse. “I guess not.” She shrugged with an airy sigh.

“You’re such an asshole.” Your voice felt hollow, but Albarina paid it no mind, nuzzling into your neck, you could feel her smile against your skin.

“Seems your cage’s gotten dirty too, no matter. It was about time you began using the bed anyway.”

#yandere monster #yandere #yandere x reader #female yandere #yandere vampire #bad writing #not proofread #minors dni #tw death

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bvidzsoo · 2 months

Text

Love Me Like A Rockstar (6)

Chapter 6: Spirit

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

Warning: cussing really

Word count: 8, 273

Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hello, lovelies! This is a chill and soft chapter compared to the mess the past few ones had been lol. I tried out something new with the passing of the week in the story, while illustrating it, I hope it's enjoyable and nice. I thought it was a nice little idea. I think we can say that they are finally headed in the right direction lol. Let me know your thoughts! I'll try to update next week, but with classes back again...I cannot promise anything, I was dreading this moment lol. Please listen before or while reading this chapter to Spirit, this chapter's song. I hope you enjoy, happy reading!

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

『But it's nice to hear a voice or two

Something's stirring, my conscience is split into two

And it might be a phase

But I swear this shit is clear-view』

The noise was too much—well, it wasn’t any different to how noisy the cafeteria usually was—but my head was thumping violently and my eyes were burning. I hated to admit it, but a cold was catching up on me and that brought bigger despair into my bones than it was necessary. I hated being sick, and it really wouldn’t come in handy right now as I had to study for the upcoming test Seulgi wouldn’t stop yapping about. She had been talking about it since we had stepped inside the cafeteria, and it was only adding onto my growing headache, making me sniff loudly as the hot steam of the—somewhat tasty—soup was blowing into my face, making my eyes sting. I had to consume something hot—and healthy—if I wished to recover faster. I couldn’t help but shudder as I wrapped the warm beige and black patterned jacket tighter around my frame. Considering the state I was in—I should’ve probably worn something warmer—but I had assumed it would be warm outside today—it wasn’t.

“I think the professor said something about checking whether we handed in all the assignment, and how that will count for our final grade too.” Seulgi was still going on about that dreaded test, and I groaned as the spoon slipped from my fingers and rattled loudly against the metal cup my soup was in. Seulgi’s eyes snapped up as she looked at me, her own spoon hanging midair in her hand as she looked at me concerned, “Y/N, are you okay?”

“No.” I snapped, holding my head in my hands as I sighed loudly, “You keep talking about that bloody test and I already have a ragging headache—please, Seulgi, for the love of God, shut up!”

“Jesus,” Seulgi muttered at my outburst, very visibly trying to hold back her amused grinned, “when did you become such a drama queen—oh, wait. You’ve always been one!”

I rolled my eyes and flipped her off before grabbing my spoon and scooping up some soup, bringing it to my lips to blow it before eating it. Seulgi just giggled and continued eating her soup. My phone, which was placed on the table, suddenly buzzed, and my eyes traveled to it quickly, reaching out for it with my left hand.

“So, uhm, last night at the concert…” Seulgi trailed off and my eyes lifted to look at her for a second, watching as her cheeks suddenly flushed.

“What about it?” I asked as I unlocked my phone and very aggressively tried to ignore the sudden violent thumping of my heart. Fuck, why was my body acting up so much lately? My fingers were eager as I pressed on the notification from Mingi, opening up our chatroom.

I hate him: how u holding up Me: terribly…my head is on the verge of exploding and seulgi just keeps on going and going

There was a cough and I remembered the soup in my spoon, that I hadn’t eaten yet, and, so, I quickly did as my eyes traveled back to Seulgi. One eyebrow was cocked as she looked at me, but she didn’t say anything just swirled her spoon around in her soup.

“Well, Wooyoung was very nice, he’s—lovely.” Seulgi licked her lips as she averted her eyes when a small knowing smirk grew on my lips, “Yeah, very lovely, anyways, he dedicated a song to me and kept on looking at me while he was singing and—yeah, he stayed by my side all evening.”

Another buzz of my phone, and I had to fight every nerve in my body to not open the message immediately. Besides, I was having a conversation with Seulgi, she was more important right now.

“Sounds lovely, indeed.” I hummed before gulping down another spoonful of my soup. Seulgi’s eyes narrowed slightly, as she leaned forward in her seat.

“Since when did you start agreeing that a man was lovely—let alone Wooyoung?!” She made an expression as if what we were talking about was scandalous, and I scoffed, the phone buzzing in my hand again. My grip tightened around it and I quickly unlocked my phone before looking back at Seulgi.

“If I hate a man, that’s the problem, if I am supportive of the guy you’re hanging out with, that’s the problem. Make up your mind, Seulgi.” I deadpanned, and my best friend just scoffed, leaning back in her seat as she was finished with her soup. I raised my eyebrows at her and she pursed her lips. I couldn’t help it, but my eyes traveled down back to my phone as I quickly read the text from Mingi.

I hate him: seulgi seems like a cool person, wooyoung talks about her all the time is ur head okay? still got a headache?

I have no idea when texting each other become normal, because I still found it weird, and slightly irritating. After last night, I thought things would just…remain the same way. Just because Mingi and I shared some personal things did not mean that we now had to be—like this. Like we were friends or something, because we certainly weren’t. I still couldn’t stand his guts, and my thoughts on him did not change one bit. He was still a self-centered, arrogant, and an egotistical asshole, and yet this morning I woke up to a good morning text from him, eyebrows furrowing, and fingers quickly typing out a text which said that I was blocking him if he sent one more message. And he proceeded to send several more…to the point where I couldn’t ignore him anymore…and just…texted back. And it was weird, because my heart would not settle for one second each time I got a text from him, and I hated this feeling. What was happening to me? Why didn’t I just block him already?

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” I felt caught red-handed as I looked up at Seulgi, who’s eyes were narrowed once again, as she kept looking between me and my phone, suspicion growing on her face. I cleared my throat awkwardly, and despite wanting to ignore it, I quickly typed back to Mingi before placing down my phone and paying full attention to my best friend.

Me: yeah, it’s gotten worse

“I’m sorry, my mom texted me and it was urgent.” I lied through my teeth, hoping that Seulgi would buy it. My mother rarely texted me; she would usually call even for the smallest things, however, there were rare instances and Seulgi knew that, but the look on her face told me that she didn’t fully believe me.

“Okay,” She drew out the word and I went back to eating my, now, warm soup, “I was just saying that…I think I’m falling for Wooyoung.”

I paused as my eyes slowly raised, falling on Seulgi. Her voice had gotten quiet and she was fiddling with her fingers in her lap, cheeks slightly coated pink. I didn’t say anything as I continued looking at her, but she was still avoiding eye contact. In fact, she looked on the verge of passing out and that was very unnecessarily funny—but Seulgi didn’t seem to think the same.

“Stop that!” She snapped, leaning over the table, “I’m serious, I—stop looking at me like that!”

I pressed my lips tightly together to stop another snort from breaking through and looked back down at my half-eaten soup, not feeling like having more of it, but the soreness in my throat was slightly gone, and my body wasn’t shivering as much as before. I had to eat a little bit more.

“He’s too sweet and caring, I can’t help it.” Seulgi went on, voice still quiet in the loud cafeteria, “And he treats me well. Like…he pays a lot of attention to me and remembers everything I say. You should’ve seen him last night, up on the stage, I try not to think about it, but I think the song he sang was…a confession or something.”

“Why don’t you ask him out then?” I found myself asking as I finished my soup too, not having an appetite to eat anything else.

“Well—” Seulgi sighed and leaned back in her seat, “I’m scared I’m just reading too much into things, you know. I might be overthinking everything, and it turns out he sees me just as a friend.”

“I highly doubt that,” I said with a chuckle as I placed my left elbow on the table and my chin in my palm, “Would someone who isn’t into you dedicate a love song to you?”

“I wouldn’t.” Seulgi muttered, cheeks turning pink again. I grinned at her as my head continued throbbing, I tried to ignore it. Now that I had eaten, I could finally take my medicine. This morning when I woke up there was a note on the counter in the kitchen and three pills placed on top of it, instructions on the note from my mother as to when and how to take them. She knows me too well.

“Exactly, you wouldn’t, and neither would Wooyoung.” I told Seulgi and I watched as a small flustered smile made it on her face. It made me chuckle, I felt happy for her. Seulgi deserves someone who treats her right and loves her a lot, her previous relationships have been all close to terrible, her partners not understanding her fully. Seulgi was an artistic soul trapped in a fragile, but warrior body.

“You think I should ask him out?” Her voice was small, I knew she was scared of ruining something which brought her so much happiness. I didn’t want to see her suffering either, so I didn’t want to give her the wrong advice, but sometimes we had to take a leap of faith and see how things work out.

“I mean, at this point I’m convinced he’s into you, so…” As I trailed off, a sudden, and weird, thought popped into my head. I could always ask Mingi about Wooyoung’s feelings towards Seulgi, but that implied two things. One, I was giving away Seulgi’s feelings towards Wooyoung, and perhaps that wasn’t a smart move as Mingi would surely tell Wooyoung about it. Two, it implied that Mingi and I were now on a level of friendship where talking about our friends feelings was alright. And it certainly wasn’t, because—Mingi and I weren’t friends. I don’t like Mingi, and he—just enjoys making my life hell.

“I’ll think about it.” Seulgi said with a hum, and then her eyebrows suddenly furrowed, “But—enough about me and Wooyoung. Are you okay?”

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked at her and shrugged, “Well, my head is on the verge of exploding, but other than that, I think I’m fine.”

“You didn’t sound fine yesterday, Y/N.” Seulgi had a knowing look in her eyes and I realized she figured it out that I had lied on the phone when I told her I had a family emergency, hence why I wouldn’t go to Outlaw with her. I just sighed, feeling smaller as I pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

“I was just—” How was I supposed to tell her that I pretty much had a breakdown and felt like dying because I found out that Yunho was Mingi’s best friend, and that I damn nearly lost my mind when I saw Yunho happy with another woman on Instagram? It sounded crazy even to me and I didn’t want to embarrass myself even more. I knew Seulgi would understand and never make fun of me, but I felt pathetic, and I refused to make a fool out of myself again, “Tired, and stressed. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure?” Seulgi asked softly, her hand reaching over the table and grabbing my arm, her warmth seeping through the fabric of my jacket. It was comforting, “You know you can tell me anything.”

And suddenly I felt like telling her that Mingi and I had been texting since last night, since—since he witnessed the aftermath of my breakdown, and drove me home because it was raining too hard. But it didn’t feel real, I knew it wouldn’t last. Whatever this was—whatever Mingi was trying to do, it wasn’t real. It wouldn’t become anything real. And so, I forced a smile on my lips and nodded at Seulgi, patting her hand with my right one.

“Of course, and I do tell you a lot of things, you know?” Seulgi just rolled her eyes and retracted her arm, making me chuckle. As she leaned back in her seat I heard some commotion happening behind me, but I didn’t turn around to check. Today was not the day where I fed my curiosity, all I wanted to do was go home, get underneath the thick blanket, and sleep for a whole week so that the sickness would be gone.

“I always feel like you know more about me than I know about you—and we’ve been friends for years now, Y/N.” Seulgi shook her head and I chuckled.

“That’s because you talk a lot more than I do.” I teased her with a chuckle and she rolled her eyes, until they suddenly widened and she was sitting up straighter in her seat, making me furrow my eyebrows. I noted the way she subtly tried to fix her hair as they were in two low ponytails, and before I could ask her about what she was doing, I heard two male voices behind me, one of them shrill, while the other one was raspy. I should’ve hated myself for how quickly my body reacted, my heart in my throat as my ears suddenly started ringing due to the rapid thumping of my heart.

“Hi, girls!” Wooyoung’s cheery voice was loud as he suddenly appeared to my left, going around the table. The chair to my right was drawn back and my body stiffened as a backpack was dropped at the foot of the table. Wooyoung pulled a chair out for himself and plopped down in it messily, leaning towards Seulgi, making her eyes slightly widen. Wooyoung pressed a loud kiss against her cheek, and I couldn’t help but stare back at her just as surprised as Seulgi was looking at me. And she’s afraid that Wooyoung doesn’t feel the same for her?! Before I could say something inappropriate and something Seulgi would kill me for, the deep chuckle to my right distracted me, reminding me of my own rapid heartbeat all of a sudden. I turned my head and came face to face with Mingi, who had a soft smile on his lips. My left hand turned into a fist as I didn’t know how to react—how to act. What was he doing here? Why was he here? And why was he looking at me like…he was actually happy to see me?

“Hi.” He greeted quietly as his smile widened and I gulped, trying to ignore the glasses sitting on his long nose. They were close to slipping off, but it didn’t seem to bother Mingi as he didn’t do anything about it, his dark and fluffy hair falling in his eyes, giving him a boyish look. He was wearing casual clothes, light blue jeans paired with a dark purple hoodie, and a few silver necklaces peeked through from underneath the fabric as it fell close to Mingi’s collarbones. I cleared my throat and averted my eyes, noticing that neither men carried trays with themselves. Were they not going to eat?

“Hi.” I greeted back quietly and pushed my shoulders back as I turned my head away, suddenly becoming extremely aware of the two pair of eyes watching Mingi and I with intrigue, but also surprise. My eyebrows furrowed as I looked at Seulgi, but she didn’t react. Mingi seemed nonchalant as he noticed the two sitting across from us being weird, and suddenly, a yellow thermostat was pushed in my direction.

“I got you some wild berry tea,” He said as my eyes snapped back to him, growing wide, “since you’re not feeling too well. I hope it helps with the headache and sore throat. Imagine how much worse you’d be feeling if you didn’t listen to me…wanting to walk home in the rain—”

“Yeah, thank you, okay!” I didn’t mean to exclaim, nor blush as hard as I have, but Seulgi’s eyes were boring into the side of my head, and I was scared Mingi would say something which I would have to explain to her later—and I did not want to do that, like at all. Mingi’s smile was amused as he nodded once, resting his hands on the table as he watched me fumble with the yellow thermostat as I tried to put it away in my bag. God, this was mortifying—why would he embarrass me so badly?!

“Now it makes sense why you kept carrying that around with you,” Wooyoung chuckled, and his next words made everything worse, “You hate tea.”

Of course Mingi hated tea, why would he like it? Like any normal person does?! And the knowing smirk on Seulgi’s face was certainly not helping as I cleared my throat, and pushed my hair behind my shoulders before crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Who hates tea?” I found myself muttering with a scoff, trying to diffuse the weird tension, but I really should have just shut up.

“I do.” Mingi muttered back, jutting his lips out into a pout, and my eyebrows furrowed as I looked at him, hating the way my eyes lingered on his red, plush, lips.

“Whatever.” I found myself saying as Mingi chuckled, angling his body towards me. My eyes darted to Seulgi alarmed, but thankfully it seemed like Wooyoung and her weren’t interested in us anymore as they fell into conversation, their voices loud and eager as Wooyoung explained something to her and Seulgi nodded enthusiastically.

“Did you sleep well? I never got to ask you this morning…” Mingi spoke up again, and my eyes were back on him. I sighed and shook my head no, trying to ignore the weird feeling in my heart. Why was Mingi sitting with me when he could be entertaining his baboons—fangirls—right this second? Somehow that thought was a little more infuriating than it should have been, so I quickly pushed it away and answered Mingi instead.

“Not really, but it’s fine. I had a rough day yesterday.” I found myself explaining, and Mingi hummed, “And you…did you sleep well?”

My voice sounded hesitant, and I found myself feeling unsure suddenly, wondering where this conversation would lead to. What even was the meaning of it.

“Yeah, but it was short lived.” Mingi said with a chuckle, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“I got inspired,” Mingi’s cheeks suddenly flushed a light shade of red, and my eyes narrowed as he suddenly avoided eye contact, running a hand through his hair, “So I stayed up to write lyrics.”

“Oh, I see.” I pursed my lips and found myself wanting to say more, “I know the feeling. I get inspired at the worst of times. I’ve stayed up countless nights just to draw or paint. It’s really a pain in the ass when you have class in the morning.”

Mingi laughed and nodded, “I know, I can’t tell you how often I skip those classes.”

“I wish my professors were that lenient.” I chuckled as I rolled my eyes, making Mingi smile as he leaned slightly closer, making me stiffen as his glasses hung on for dear life on the bridge of his nose. I was itching to push them up his nose—and since when did I get such urges?! I’d rather die than touch Mingi.

“Mine aren’t lenient either, but—” He leaned even closer, and my jaw tightened as I fought every nerve in my body wanting to lean away, “If you’re smart about it, they’ll let you off.”

“Are you calling me dumb?” I narrowed my eyes at Mingi and he chuckled, finally leaning away, back in his seat. It felt like I could finally breathe, but my heart still felt like it would fall out of my ass any minute.

“There it is—I’ve missed her.” Mingi’s words were sarcastic, but the teasing smile on his lips told me he wasn’t necessarily bothered.

“What.” I huffed, crossing my arms in front of my chest again, “You admit that you act like an ass just to piss me off?”

“I don’t act like an ass, doll,” There it was, that stupid nickname he’d called me by once today already through text, “It’s you who gets bothered by me being simply myself.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you got a shit personality.” I found myself huffing, finding this exchange a lot more familiar, less unnerving compared to the weird amicable conversations we’ve been having since last night.

“Well, that I did not miss.” Mingi’s eyebrows were in a frown, and I suddenly felt—bad. Since when did I care if I hurt his feelings or not? I bit back a groan and sighed loudly instead, licking my lips.

“Whatever, I—thanks for driving me home last night.” I found myself blurting it out despite having thanked him once already, “I would feel a lot worse now if you had let me walk home in the rain…”

Suddenly the yellow thermostat placed on the table next to my hand felt like it was burning my skin, and my cheeks grew hot. No way in hell I was blushing because of a bloody thermostat right now.

“Yeah, I told you so, didn’t I?” Mingi wriggled his eyebrows playfully, and before I could stop and think, my right hand was balled into a fist and I was hitting Mingi’s bicep, scowling at him. It made him laugh loudly as he pushed my hand away, his palm warm against my fisted hand, and I realized my cheeks were even hotter now. Fuck, where can I bury myself right now?! And if seeing the satisfied smirk on Mingi’s face wasn’t bad, the sudden silence coming from Seulgi and Wooyoung certainly was worse as they gaped at both Mingi and I. I knew why, of course, but Mingi seemed not to catch on as he looked at Wooyoung with a confused frown, raising his eyebrows at him. They were very probably shocked by the sight in front of them—Mingi and I being cordial for once? Never heard before, never to be imagined up until this point. And when Seulgi opened her mouth to say something, I just knew nothing good would come out of it, and I quickly kicked my left foot out underneath the table, my boot coming in contact with her shin, making Seulgi yelp loudly as her eyes grew into saucers. Wooyoung looked at her confused and she grit her teeth, brushing off the concerned questions rolling off Wooyoung’s lips, Mingi looking between Seulgi and I confused. I forced a tight smile on my lips and gave Seulgi a warning with my eyes, thankfully successfully shutting her up as she started speaking about the test we’d have tomorrow, coercing both Mingi and Wooyoung into a conversation as I sneakily unclasped the yellow thermostat and took a small gulp of the tea made by Mingi. It was sweet.

『And I'm standing at the edge

I'm just trying to pretend that I want you so deeply

'Cause your spirit sings sweetly to me

Think I'd rather be alone』

Monday

Me: mingiii i passed my test!!! I hate him: omg really?! that’s great, congrats!! Me: told ya, i’m too smart bby lol I hate him: who’s the cocky one now? Me: u

Tuesday

I hate him: can’t remember the last time i ate mashed potatoes Me: lol that’s random? I hate him: lol ik…i’m over at woo’s and his mom made us some fancy dinner everything is mouth watering i think i reached heaven finally Me: aren’t u a bit dramatic rn? u acting like u hadn’t had food in a year I hate him: food t h i s good i certainly hadn’t have also, i’m not dramatic side eye Me: shouldn’t u be paying attention to whatever’s going on there? i mean…woo’s mom did prepare all the food for u don’t be ungrateful, put ur phone away I hate him: yah, why are u trying to get rid of me? i’m in the bathroom, btw so i’m not being ungrateful to anyone dumbass Me: firstly, ew. secondly, asshole I hate him: i’m only washing my hands chillax oh—woo’s calling for me ttyl Me: no, actually don’t text me ever again.

Wednesday

I hate him: have u seen the moon? it’s so pretty Me: mingi?? it’s literally 1am I hate him: i know, but have u? Me: yeah, i’m looking at it rn I hate him: isn’t it so pretty? Me: it is but what’s gotten into u? I hate him: nothing…i just can’t sleep Me: me neither I hate him: so what are u doing then… Me: was trying to draw but it’s not coming to me rn hasn’t happened in long so i was on tik tok scrolling what are u doing? I hate him: idk i’m just… idk i was jotting down some lyrics but it’s not coming to me either i’ve been just restless all day long Me: ik, u’ve said so during lunch did u get to eat that hot dog, btw? or did wooyoung steal it again I hate him: nah, i let him have it then made some for myself when i got home it’s too quiet, i hate it Me: play some music the one you showed me yesterday that one was good I hate him: u liked it? i thought u didn’t Me: i was just fucking with you i’ve been listening to it on repeat I hate him: oh, that’s cool it’s one of my faves i’m glad u like it too now Me: mingi i’m becoming sleepy now… I hate him: it’s okay go to sleep we’ll talk tomorrow Me: sweet dreams, mingi I hate him: u too, y/n … i miss Yuyu so badly

Thursday

Me: i think i’m stuck I hate him: u need help? Me: with my assignment, mingi… I hate him: yeah, still need some help? Me: what does a music major possibly know about impressionism?? I hate him: i thought that’s ur favorite style? how come u’re struggling?? Me: even the most talented prodigy’s struggle sometimes mingi I hate him: my apologies ur highness, for i have committed such a treacherous act by assuming u are not enlightened enough for this assignment may i propose a recreational method that might help such torturous process to come to an end faster? Me: pls stop talking like that I hate him: i’m actually typing but ok wanna know??? Me: yes, idiot just say it already I hate him: say it out loud Me: i can’t belive u just made a twilight reference i’m blocking u like rn I hate him: so anyways wanna hang out? Me: i thought u had something smart to help me out with… I hate him: t h i s is that smart thing Me: i gotta help mom with dinner in half an hour so i can’t I hate him: and tomorrow? Me: mingi… I hate him: okay, fine…at least i tried… again and again and again Me: told u to stop but u never listen I hate him: ofc i don’t wooyoung told me not to give up u’ll say yes eventually Me: wooyoung is literally the worst person u could accept advice from stop I hate him: he just read this and now he’s crying thanks Me: not my problem ur friends look at ur phone when we’re talking wait— what?! I hate him: lol u’re fucked did u not tell Seulgi? that we’re talking… Me: why would i? we’re not friends I hate him: ouch that one hurt but ok Me: tell wooyoung he’s dead if he says anything to seulgi i mean it, bro I hate him: ok, bro.

Friday:

Me: min are u mad at me? I hate him: why u asking Me: cuz u’ve been ignoring me today and u haven’t answered my texts and u’re still dry is this… because i said we ain’t friends yesterday? I hate him: took u long enough to figure it out dumbass Me: well u are the dumb one, idiot if u don’t talk to me how am i supposed to know?! I hate him: how would u feel if i said we ain’t friends? Me: idk but i certainly wouldn’t overreact because we really aren’t friends min I hate him: pff ok bye Me: are u serious rn?? mingi??? ???????? MINGI?! SONG MINGI?!?!?!? I hate him: stop blowing up my phone Me: mute me then I hate him: ok Me: wait don’t omg fuck okay mingi i’m sorry I hate him: wasn’t that hard to say it was it Me: are we actually friends then? i said that because idk I hate him: yeah we’re friends Me: ok but just for the record I still hate your guts u’re insufferable self-centered egoistical selfish annoying an asshole arrogant and you always piss me off idiot I hate him: weird way to confess but ok ig love u too bestie Me: song mingi.

Saturday

I hate him: y/n the world is spinning Me: lol are u drunk? I hate him: not drunk tipsy definitely fuck i can’t see the letters Me: for someone who claims they can’t see the letters u’re typing extraordinarily well I hate him: autocorrect exists thank fuck damn i need water Me: go drink some then idiot I hate him: ok will u pick me up? Me: lol no get ur ass home i don’t have a car I hate him: u could drive mine Me: did u drive there when u knew u were going to drink??! I hate him: nope lol this is funny i almost slipped off my seat lol woo is so loud and hwa thinks we can’t see but he’s had his hand on hong’s thigh all night long it’s disgusting—not like that! i love them— yn maybe i’m drunk hey, i should probably stop typing doll? Me: mingi u’re shitfaced and funny stop texting me ttyl when u’re hopefully sober take care and… text me when u get home

Sunday:

I hate him: god…i’m never drinking again Me: lol welcome back to the land of living I hate him: haha aren’t u just s o funny rn? Me: i’m always funny my sense of humor is immaculate I hate him: u wish i’m the funny one hongjoong drove me home last night sorry for not texting, but the second my head hit the pillow i fell asleep Me: it’s fine glad u made it back safe and that u’re alive ig I hate him: aww did you worry about me? missed me? omg u’re so cute!!!! Me: blocked I hate him: ik u can’t do it cute Me: fuck off

『Shut the lights

Lock my phone

Close the blinds

Here we go

I'm in motion

So long 'til the dawn』

Today’s theme in Professor Yoon’s class was a painting of your imagination following a style you really love. Impressionism has been a painting style I’ve been obsessed with since a young age, always begging my mother to take me to art galleries which displayed said style. There is something about the fusion of colors, the tracing of lines soft yet accentuated. Perhaps it was the bloom of colors which attracted me to it when I was younger, but as I started practicing it, I realized it was actually the freedom I loved about Impressionism. You could start out with something small, which would lead to something big and beautiful. It looked like it followed no system, yet everything came together once you looked at the whole picture, once you took in the beauty of it all. I had chosen the painting Waterlilies and Japanese Bridge by Claude Monet as inspiration for today’s class, the blues and greens dominating the painting, the lilies having a light purple yet pink hue, never outshining the greens and blues though. It was a color play, giving depth to the painting by using a darker shade, or just drawing over it with the same color until the shadows were created. The painting was a masterpiece, and I was the happiest when my mother gifted me the painting—of course it had been a fake one, but an eight-year-old didn’t care about such things. And I would still not care about it. Of course, owning an original like that is any painters dream, especially mine, but unless I had the money and connections to actually own a Claude Monet painting, I would have to suffice with the fakes that could trick non-art lovers into believing it was real.

The class had been a pleasant one, with classical music playing in the background and with Professor Yoon walking around and helping his students by giving advice or by taking their paintbrushes and sweeping over their canvas, patting their backs with a small smile as he encouraged everyone to keep on going. Mr. Yoon is probably one of my favorite professor’s, always dedicated and soft. Never too rough or demanding. He had always helped out those who needed it and it was very clear he loved what he was doing. Each class he’d bring something new, an idea or a project, and he’d let us explore our creativity and evolve in areas we didn’t think were our forte. If only more professors like him existed, perhaps my years at university would’ve been a little bit more pleasant. But the class came to an end earlier than I wished for, bringing me back to reality as Mr. Yoon clapped his hands twice, a bright smile on his face. He had long light blonde hair swept behind his ears and soft features, he almost looked angelic in the right lightning.

“Very well, class. Today’s lesson is over.” There was a rumble of thunder in the distance as I sighed loudly, “You can bring your paintings to the backroom to dry and we’ll see each other on Friday. We’ll be continuing with today’s project, so have no worries if you couldn’t finish it today.”

There was a murmur of thanks in the classroom and my serene bubble was popped when something to my left crashed loudly against the floor. Seulgi had knocked over the little metal can full of her paintbrushes, and she cursed silently as she bent down to pick them up. A few of the girls around us helped her as I got off my stool, handing her a stray paintbrush as it had rolled over.

“Are you in a rush?” I asked confused as she snatched the brush from my hands and hastily thanked whoever helped her.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, eyes wide, as she took a peek at her wristwatch, “Fuck. I have a date with Wooyoung in an hour and I need to get ready!”

My eyebrows raised. A date with Wooyoung? She never told me they were going out now. Strange. I could’ve sworn she would’ve called me screaming her head off if Wooyoung had asked her to be his girlfriend.

“When did you ask him out?” I managed to ask as I started packing away my own stuff. The chatter in the class was slowly dying down as people were leaving. There was another rumble of thunder in the distance.

“I didn’t ask him out.” Seulgi huffed, pushing her wavy hair out of her eyes. My eyebrows furrowed as I paused to look at her. She glanced at me and rolled her eyes.

“We’re hanging out, it’s not a date date.” Seulgi explained quickly, putting her bag around her left shoulder, “But I think I will ask him out today. I’ve had enough of beating around the bush. If he likes me, good, if he doesn’t—we’ll see what happens.”

“He likes you, trust me.” I gave her a reassuring smile and Seulgi’s expression softened for a second before she became panicked again. I chuckled and grabbed her arm, steering her towards the exit, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your painting too. Get going if you don’t want to be late.”

“Oh my God,” Seulgi exclaimed, pouting, “I love you!”

I cringed away when she pressed a sloppy kiss against my cheek, making her chuckle before she waved and basically bolted out of the classroom. Mr. Yoon chuckled at her antics and I got to work, grabbing both canvas to bring to the backroom before I would leave. This was our last class for today and I couldn’t wait to get home. With the thunder loud in the distance, I would love making it home before it starts raining. I didn’t want a repeat of the night when I got soaked in the rain. It’s been a week and some days since, and I was back to being healthy. Besides, Mingi certainly wouldn’t be here this time too to drive me home. We haven’t spoken yet today and I haven’t seen him in two days. It wasn’t unusual, but lately him and Wooyoung have been hanging out with Seulgi and I during our lunchbreaks. Mingi had said he was busy producing two new songs for his final exam, so I understood he was busy, but it still felt a little weird. I didn’t know where exactly to put this whole ordeal, but if he thought we were friends now, then…I guess I could give in and entertain that thought as well. It didn’t help that we’d been constantly messaging each other, and I tried to ignore the giddy feeling it left in the pit of my stomach with everything I had in myself. I didn’t want to accept the implications of what this could mean. It felt weird. There was no reason for me to overthink something so simple as Mingi and I talking and getting to know each other. If he viewed me as his friend, then I perhaps could put a little more effort into getting to know him and opening myself up as well. My mom—and Seulgi—would certainly be happy to know that I was making friends. Not that I would tell either one about Mingi—because—because. Because it wasn’t anything serious, and even if we were friends, I didn’t expect this friendship to last. Mingi was still a guy, an egoistical and self-centered guy, who could ditch you at any random moment. And he was also Yunho’s friend. That was also saying something about him—but I pushed away the menacing whisper in my head which reminded me that Mingi could be just like Yunho, that he would hurt me just like his best friend did. It was like a never-ending vicious cycle and it felt like it wouldn’t come to a stop. As if the ghost of Yunho would never truly leave me alone. Somehow he was still part of my life unwillingly, and I was letting it happen. It had been going on for too long.

I greeted Mr. Yoon with a bright smile as I got my bag and slung it over my shoulder, bowing my head slightly once I was in the doorway. He returned my smile and waved cutely; his eyes bright but tired. He was always a hard worker and sometimes when I had classes until late in the evening I would meet him at the bus stop, waiting for a man to pick him up. Mr. Yoon was a simple yet elegant man. I have always admired him and respected him, most grateful to him when he had encouraged me after I told him about wanting to start an art club at the university for the art students, but also for those who were simply interested in drawing and painting. Him and Mr. Lee, another professor I completely adored, were quick to proceed in helping me out by finding a classroom suitable enough for our shenanigans. I will forever remain grateful to them.

It was late in the afternoon and the tall stone walls of the building weren’t too helpful in providing light in the corridors as I walked down the art wing, taking a left turn before reaching a smaller circular, but wide, staircase. I quickly ascended the stairs, and was met with a wide hallway where you could head straight, left, and right. In order to reach my exit, I had to turn onto the right narrow corridor littered with doors on both sides. It was the music majors’ wing, their studios lined up on both sides of me with dark wooden doors, each having a small rotund glass where you could peek inside. These rooms were soundproof in order to not disturb anyone, and I let my hands rest in my pockets as I slowly walked down the hallway, feeling my phone with my left hand and picking it up. I took it out of my pocket and unlocked it, checking for any new messages, but there were none. Mingi still didn’t show any sings of life today and I sighed as I locked it and put away, chewing on my bottom lip. I knew he wasn’t mad at me and that I haven’t done anything lately which could’ve upset him, but the sudden weird feeling settling in my stomach felt unnerving. I felt almost restless. Head littered with questions. Was Mingi fine? What was he up to? Why was he not texting me today? I had sent him a meme I found earlier, but he hadn’t even seen it, let alone answered with a silly meme of his own. It was a never-ending whirlwind of questions in my head, distracting me from pressing matters at hand. Like what my essay about the history of arts would be about, because the deadline was right around the corner and I slacked off—once again.

I sighed as I was past the middle of the corridor by now, but the sudden faint music coming from my left catching my attention. I raised my head up and looked towards the dark wooden doors, noticing that the light was on in a studio a little behind me. I pursed my lips and as curiosity overtook my senses, I slowly shuffled backwards, towards the studio, and carefully peeked inside. I tried to remain ominous as one of my eyes looked through the glass, however, soon my whole face was almost pressed up against the small window as I was presented with Mingi’s familiar form. He was hunched forward as he stood, hands pressing against a long table, hands gripping the edge as his mouth moved fast, eyebrows furrowed, and a vein on his neck close to popping. There was a microphone in front of him as he leaned close to it, his lips almost touching it as a headphone was placed over his right ear, leaving the left free. Mingi seemed to be dressed in casual clothing, wearing beige pants, which were a tad bit too big for his form, and a black t-shirt which hung loosely around his form. A longer and shorter necklace adorned his neck, and I gulped as he raised his left hand and starting mimicking something, seemingly hitting the beat as I could feel the muffled vibrations against the door. The sound was very faint, but I could still hear his raspy voice as he rapped, licking his lips once he seemed to be done. I gulped as he was bobbing his head up and down, an attractive smirk appearing on his lips as he started slowly bouncing his body, stepping away from the desk slightly, gripping his left pantleg and then suddenly—our eyes met each other and I gasped loudly as I ducked and swiftly turned around, hurrying off the way I was initially headed towards. The stairs were in my line of sight when I suddenly heard a door opening and then— “Hey, stranger! Freeze!”

My body froze without my own accord and I cursed loudly, face flushing as I heard Mingi’s deep chuckle behind me. I knew I didn’t have much choice now that I had been caught, and so, I quickly composed myself and turned with an unphased expression on my face. Mingi had a smirk on his face as he was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Yeah, stranger, haven’t seen you in days.” I found myself quirking an eyebrow, and Mingi chuckled.

“I’ve been cooped up in my studio, working on this track for my finals.” He explained, reminding me that I already knew this, and now I felt awkward, “Don’t tell me you’ve missed me, doll.”

“I told you to stop calling me that!” I couldn’t help it but feel furious as Mingi watched me with a smug expression, pressing a finger against his plump lips in mock consideration.

“Hmm,” He blinked innocently, “No, doll.”

I rolled my eyes and went to turn around, but Mingi’s question stopped me, “What are you up to right now?”

“Classes are over,” I answered as I gripped the strap of my bag, “so I’m headed home.”

“By feet?” Mingi’s eyebrows slightly furrowed, and my eyes narrowed as I slightly shuffled awkwardly. We haven’t been alone like this despite talking through text, I felt a little awkward, almost as if I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was weird. It was just Mingi. Why would he make me feel like this? I still hated him.

“Of course, idiot.” I rolled my eyes as my answer was a lot snappier than intended, but Mingi just chuckled and looked past me.

“Do you have an umbrella?”

“No, why?” I asked confused and followed his line of sight as I turned around, eyes falling on the big window. It was pouring outside. Again. And I didn’t have an umbrella with me. I groaned quietly and squeezed my eyes shut for a second as I cursed every deity out there for making it rain right now out of all times. I couldn’t catch a cold again; my immune system had barely built itself back up.

“I’ll drive you home.” I heard Mingi say behind me, and when I turned around to face him, he was closer than before, the door to his studio still open. My heartbeat suddenly picked up as I watched his tall frame come closer.

“No need to do that, I’ll just wait for a bus.” I cleared my throat when his strong cologne evaded my senses, “Thanks, though.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mingi scoffed, and slightly leaned down to be eye level with me. The height difference between the two of us wasn’t that great, I’m a tall girl myself, “You’ll catch a cold again, and I don’t have enough tea bags at home to supply you for another week, again.”

“I never asked you to bring me tea.” I found myself all defensive as I looked away, feeling the heat on my cheeks. I refused to acknowledge the fact that I was blushing, but Mingi chuckled, and when I looked back at him he looked amused.

“Yet you never refused me—not even once.” His voice dropped as he teasingly leaned closer and I scoffed, slapping his chest, and pushing him back. He stumbled for a split second, but he quickly regained his balance and gave me a displeased glare.

“Whatever, I’m going—” The warm hand holding me back by my forearm took me off guard as I looked down at Mingi’s ring clad fingers wrapped around my clothed arm.

“I mean it, Y/N.” Mingi’s voice was soft and deep as I looked back up into his brown eyes, “I’m almost finished and then we can go. I promise you won’t have to wait too long.”

I took a deep breath and softly pulled my arm out of his frail hold, biting my lower lip in thought. As if on cue, there was a loud rumble of thunder which shook the building and I jumped, making Mingi raise his eyebrows at me expectantly.

“Fine, I’ll stay. You can drive me home once you’re finished.” I muttered defeated and watched as a bright smile crossed Mingi’s lips, his eyes turning crescent and almost disappearing, his front teeth protruding as he suddenly leaned forward and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, hurriedly yanking me after himself, forcing me to keep up with his long strides as he lead us towards his studio.

The feeling of his arm wrapped around my shoulders should’ve made me feel disgusted and I should have slapped it off, but I couldn’t help but soak in his warmth and the musky cologne, which was even stronger now that I was pressed into his side, the loud thumping of my heart the only sound in my ears that I could hear.

『Yeah, there's thunder in my head

And it rumbles through the dust on my shelf

Yeah, there's thunder in my head

Unfamiliar like I'm somebody else』

❱❱ Next chapter

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