#'active' being the operative word

[neverendingford]

.

[tpwrtrmnky]

As a trans woman you can generally expect not to be believed about most things: The legal processes you've navigated, effects you've had from transition care, what you had for breakfast, and so on.

But there's one major exception, which is when you're clearly joking.

If you say something like "I'm going to forcefem Richard Nixon for his crimes", you will be subjected to a person who fully and entirely believes that:

You possess the infrastructure and resources necessary to operate a real life forcefemming dungeon sophisticated enough to forcefem not just any captive, but a US President

You intend to wield the power of this forcefem dungeon over political disagreements, and are taking active steps to do so

Your intended target is Richard Nixon, famously a corpse who has been dead for 30 glorious, Nixonless years, and you are apparently going to be able to put him in a state that would be receptive to forcefemming, which is generally understood to require a subject who is alive

Despite the evidence that you are a necromancer with substantial kidnapping abilities, you are receptive to being informed, in a strongly worded post of concern, that necromantic forcefem is immoral.

And once they've caught you in your dastardly scheme, they will not relent at attempts to clarify

[steviescrystals]

my tags on the post i just reblogged got me thinking so here’s my current stream of consciousness

[greenjudy]

weird cultural shift detected

Fam, be careful with your time online. I highly recommend sinking some time and energy into offline pursuits.

Try: knitting or crochet; gentle movement, stretching, walking if you can; playing a musical instrument, whether it's piano or penny whistle; and especially reading.

I do not mean performative BookTok reading that we do for likes because our neurotransmitters have been nerfed by modern life.

I mean actual reading that we do for ourselves alone.

If reading is hard, if attention or energy or memory are operating at a deficit, I get it. Nevertheless, please try. If you notice you're skipping across big chunks of text like a river stone, if you can't finish a paragraph, slow down, pronounce the words out loud. Stop sometimes and ask yourself what you just read. Explain the story or article or poem to your blorbo or your cat or a stuffed animal.

If your head feels scrambled up, no judgment. We may have incredibly intractable neurochemical reasons that this is hard. Just tell the blorbo, "That's hilarious, I don't remember any of what I just read. Let's read it again, together."

(Please don't ask A.I. to do this for you. Please. It's your right to read and think about it your own way. A.I. doesn't actually understand anything. Please don't assume it will guide you safely through this next weird phase of our human culture.)

If reading longform, offline, makes you feel bored or anxious, be gentle and patient with yourself. Start with stories you remember well, reliable sources of well-being. But please know you will need to put some backbone into it in the long run.

I think we are going to need to rebuild our ability to think, to process experience. This will be an unsupported activity. In fact, most of the really powerful cultural forces are making it very hard for us to notice, feel, perceive, or think clearly.

Not sure what, but something's happened quite recently that is making this situation much worse, some kind of tipping point.

Please read something every day.

Your friend, greenjudy

[moon-fics]

Run Hot

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: The heating in the tower has broken in the middle of winter. This leaves everyone trying to find warmth any way possible.

A/n: I can't write angst anymore. I love comfort fics with Bob. He doesn't deserve pain.

This had to be a punishment or some sort of payback from Valentina. There's no way a fully operational and multimillion-dollar tower suddenly lost heating in the middle of winter. It's freezing, and the number of windows that cover half the building isn't helping.

You walk into the main room, where a fireplace is displayed on one of the screens. Almost no one is there due to how cold it is. The only people around are Alexei and Bob, who are sitting on opposite sides of the room.

Alexei is using alcohol to fight the cold. He's sitting on one of the couches with a bottle of vodka next to him. You don't try to disturb him as he watches his phone screen and laughs to himself.

That leaves you with Bob, who is reading a book near one of the windows. He's created some sort of nook in the corner to relax. There's a large bean bag that he hoards along with blankets and a pile of books. Ever since he settled into the tower, he's been reading wellness books.

"Anything interesting?" You ask while crouching next to him. You don't encroach on his space. "I haven't read a wellness book in years." You admit.

He looks up from his book with a subtle smile. He doesn't close it, but he leaves his thumb in the middle of the crease. You don't understand how he can sit this close to the window and not be shivering. He actually looks rather warm.

"It's mostly on how to create positively," He explains with a shrug. You won't ask further because that sounds like someone only he'd be interested in. "Hey, where did everyone go?" He asks while glancing around. You're astounded by how oblivious and unaware he is.

"It's like 5 degrees in here. Everyone is in their rooms under the covers," You say with amusement. "Did you not notice?"

"No, not really. I mean, I'm pretty comfortable with the temperature. It's actually nice." He scratches his neck. You can't stop yourself from glaring at him and feeling a bit jealous. Of course, the guy with god-like powers doesn't get cold either. "I usually run hot, so not having to prevent myself from sweating is pleasant."

"I hate you." You grumble while moving to sit on the floor. Your legs are aching from crouching, and you don't want to end the conversation here. "I hope the heat turns back on and you sweat through all your clothes." You tease.

"You can just sit closer to me," He suggests while patting the bean bag. There's enough room for both of you, so you don't hesitate to climb on. The moment you do, you can feel his warmth. He's practically radiating it.

It's not enough to keep you from shivering, but it's better than nothing. You glance down at his book and read a short passage. He's too far into it for you to understand what is being told, but you continue to read anyway.

"I could read it to you," He places the book on his knee for you to get a better look. You honestly doubt you'd be able to absorb the words he'd be saying. "If not, you could pick a book from my pile and read with me." His offer is sweet. He wants to include you in his activity and space. The only other person he's offered that to is Yelena, and she usually doesn't take up on reading.

"I don't mind just looking out the window," You say. You glance out the window to see the snow falling over the city. From this high up, you can see the rooftops that are blanketed in snow. The people below are leaving trails on the sidewalk.

After a few minutes, you can sense yourself growing tired. Even as you force yourself to follow snowflakes as they fall, you can sense it. You can't stop your head from lulling a few times, nearly hitting Bob's shoulder.

After the fifth time, he shuts his book and places it down on the floor. "You can use me as a pillow. I'm not going to... You know." He gestures to his head, and it makes you smile. Out of everyone on the team, you fear Bob the least. "I've got it under control for the most part." He says in a quieter voice.

"Yeah, but you're busy reading. I don't want to disturb that." You say. You rub your face to stay awake. The feeling of your cold hand against your cheeks gives you a tiny boost of energy.

"Just use me as a pillow!" He says a bit louder. Bob is never one to shy away from physical touch. If it's gentle, he'll happily accept it. So, you let out a groan and do something you'll probably regret later. You swing your legs over his and position yourself against his chest.

There's a moment of silence where you debate standing up and rushing to your room. Before you can suck up your dignity his arms wrap around you. His body is like a furnace that prevents you from running.

You go to look up at him, but he quickly places his head on yours. You force your eyes to roll up as high as they can. You can barely see his face, but there's no mistaking the redness of his cheeks. You also notice his hand reaching for his book again. He opens it but fidgets with the page instead of reading it.

"All good?" You ask. He clears his throat and nods his head as best he can without hitting yours.

"A- all good," He confirms. He can't hide the rasp in his voice or how his words escape him. It's like seeing him in the vault all over again, meek and nervous. "Just, uhm, just trying to read." He lifts his book slightly to show proof.

With his confirmation, you shut your eyes. Except you don't sleep. You're listening to his heartbeat and how fast it is when his hand begins playing with a strand of your hair. It's light, and he avoids pulling on it.

"Bob?" You whisper. He lets out a hum in response as his eyes scan the page. "Do you want a better strand?" You ask in a joking tone. His fingers let go of your hair, and you're disappointed. You enjoyed the feeling of his hand twirling the small strand.

"N-no, sorry. I didn't realize..." He mumbles. "I'll leave it alone."

"You don't have to. I wasn't complaining." You assure him. You take his free hand and lift it back to your hair. You're about to let go when his grip tightens around yours. His rough palms slide against yours, and when you don't pull away, he lowers them.

"Then is, uhm, this ok?" He asks with hope in his voice. Although you're feeding off his warmth, you can now feel your body producing its own. Your face burns, and you're so glad he can't see it right now.

"Perfectly fine." You say while trying to hide any signs of being flustered.

You stay like that for a while, and eventually you do fall asleep. Unbeknownst to you, so does he. This gives Ava and Walker a great opportunity to snap a photo for later. Just to save in their 'We Knew It' album.

[nosyp]

Ride or Die

Warnings = mentions of non-con🔞 , captivity, false hope, infantilization, use of guns, killing/murder

Pairings = Bonten x fem! reader

Summary = Meeting them was a mistake. A fatal mistake on your end. Now you're trapped in their operation.

Word count = 5.7k words

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You’re running, but you’re not fast enough. They’re probably just right behind you. You had no idea what you were going to do even if you were to escape; there was no safe house waiting for you whatsoever.

Who are they? And why are they chasing you?

Ah right— Mikey and his lackeys. 

He probably had hundreds, but none come close to Kokonoi, Sanzu, Mochi, Kakucho, Takeomi and those freak siblings, Ran & Rindou. They were practically a package, if you messed with one of them, you messed with the others.

You couldn’t remember, but it was Kakucho? Maybe he was the one that offered you a job at his company. It was a simple task really, just be there for a few days of the week, not even everyday. 

Seemed easy enough, but that was your mistake for thinking that it was just an innocent job. The job being having their cocks shoved deep inside your throat or deep inside you 24/7. Believe it or not, it felt kind of weird when you didn’t have something inside you. It was just the effect of it overtime.

Ever since the day you crossed paths with them, your life just seems to keep getting worse. From how controlling they get to how possessive they are over you, it was annoying.

You swore you could count how many times they let you out of the office with just one hand, and it was only three times. One was for clothes shopping and even then they bought a huge amount of clothes for you at once to avoid any unnecessary shopping trips. 

You still felt that lingering feeling of their touches, even if it happened long ago. The way their hands just seemed to invade any non-existent boundaries just seemed to make you even more uncomfortable than you already were. 

You remembered how you begged to let them let you put your clothes on by yourself. It was like they were convinced you couldn’t be trusted to do simple tasks, it was like they were convinced you were a child of some sort. 

“Stop it, I can do it myself. Just let me go in the changing room, it’s not like I have any chance to escape,” you complain to Ran, even though you knew the argument was only going to come in from one ear and exit the other ear.

“Hmm? I’m just tryna help, just let me help you,” he says with an iron grip on the door of the changing room, not allowing you to close it.

And after that, the memory just blurs… but you just can’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

That time was also the time they implemented an “unwritten” rule of giving you 0 privacy. Whether it’d be showering, changing clothes, or even sleeping… one of them always had to be beside you, breathing down your neck as you did simple activities.

It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened most of the time. They did it mostly to annoy you if anything, they knew how you hated having no time for yourself, but technically, everyone hates it.

The second time was to have you trick their client into believing that they aren’t being threatened. The same way they had tricked you into believing that they were trust-worthy.

“S-sir please, they aren’t dangerous at all!” the lies spill from your mouth.

You had felt bad for the man; actually you felt bad for anyone who had the bad fortune of getting anywhere near Bonten. 

“You’re clearly just as messed up as all the others! How could a sweet woman like you fall for their type of behaviour!” he spat out, each word hitting you like a sharp blade to the chest.

You could see the disappointment in his eyes. You felt like a daughter who just got scolded for failing the recent math test. Speaking of tests, the third and last time was… a test as well.

In some sick way, they all had collectively agreed to give you that false hope. The false hope of believing that you were able to be free. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday. The door was wide-open, well not really. But that day, there weren’t any guards stationed near the entrance, and none of them were seen. You should’ve known. After all those weeks and months of carefully watching you, why would you be left alone all of a sudden?

You remembered the series of events. It started when you stood in the common room, looking through the shelves on the walls, the furniture, and the decor. They barely bothered to give you any sort of entertainment. They hadn’t let you have a phone, tablet, nor a laptop. Actually, they didn’t let you have anything.

The boredom drove you crazy; it was pure torture. That was when you started fidgeting with the door… and you realised. 

The door wasn’t locked… it was unlocked. 

You looked around at the surroundings, a lump starting to form in your throat. The usual watchful eyes, the always-present guards were all gone, as if they’ve dissipated into thin air. The hallway stretched before you, eerily silent, untouched by the suffocating presence that had come with your every move for months.

For the first time, there was no one. No lingering figures in the corners, no distant murmurs of conversation, no sharp clicks of your dress shoes against the polished floors. Just stillness.

And that was when the thought crept in, fragile and dangerous.

‘I could be free.’

The possibility lodged itself in your chest, a spark of hope so reckless it almost hurt. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body was torn between instinct and disbelief. It had to be a trick. It had to be.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if— by some impossible twist of fate— they had finally let their guard down?

But, no, of course they didn’t. They had given you that chance just to mess with you. 

You remembered the aftermath of the ‘escape’. You remembered how they held you down and raped you. They claimed that it was a necessary lesson for you.

You remembered how you whimpered, begged, and screamed for them. The memory still rung in your head like a death knell. 

And, even after that, you dared to try and escape again. That’s what you’re doing now. You’ve been trapped long enough to know that they’ve probably added drastic measures just in case you got too far but you highly doubted it was that bad.

The premises was a mix of an apartment and a work building. Half of it was dedicated to tending to business and the other half was for living in. And you had the oh so unfortunate experience of living in it.

Well, whatever, you’re here now. 

People say “run like a girl” means to run for your life. And you agree with that. The way you’re running right now was like a crazed lunatic on drugs. Your lungs were on fire. Your legs were on fire. Everything was on fire. You disagreed with alcohol, but the way it burned your tongue helped burn away the pain.

You weren’t planning to escape right now, but you were planning to escape. The reason you despised school and having a nine-to-five job is because of how suffocating it felt. This is how you feel now and forever with them.

As mentioned before, you’ve tried to run so, so many times— yet they keep capturing you and bringing you back.

They were like annoying mosquitos who chased you around for blood, never able to leave you alone and similarly, hunting you down for blood. The only difference being their motive.

You lost track of time ever since you started running. Last time you checked it was 7.50 AM in the morning and you just finished breakfast with the same group of people who kept you captive.

It was like hell.

“Darling, why haven’t you eaten anything…? We are soooo worried about you,” Sanzu joked, earning a chuckle from all the other members. 

“You should eat. We spent good money on the food.” firmly stated by Mikey. He was never like the others. He always had that intense, serious, terrifying aura surrounding him at all times— but don’t get it twisted, he was just as messed up.

“Fuck you.” you thought to yourself, but, oh, how badly you wanted to say it to them. 

All you had— no, can— do right now was just to focus on running. You had managed to run all the way onto the main road. You threw your arms up high in the air around in hopes of gaining any driver’s attention, and luckily you did.

As soon as the door to the red pickup truck opened, you quickly blurted out: “Please, take me far, far away from here.”

“Do what the lady says fool, DRIVE.” a lady from the back suddenly appeared out of nowhere and said. She had beautiful, shiny, blonde hair travelling down her back and her lips were the perfect shade of pink… okay get yourself straight now.

“Alright! Calm it down a notch would’cha?” he says, each word being spit out. 

Breathlessly and shockingly, you managed to mutter a small “Thank you so much…”.

“No worries! What’s it all about anyway? Runnin’ from yer parents?” she asks.

“No… no… nothing of that sort. I’m… just running from an…ooh…! Wait a second… let me catch my breath…” you gasp.

“It’s alright, just take your time,” the man in the driver seat replies.

Your gaze drops down, scanning your legs. The place was isolated, it was practically in the middle of nowhere, but not really… rather, it was in the middle of the woods. A few seconds of silence passed by to let yourself collect your thoughts and scene of events.

Wait… what even happened?

What date is today anyway?

All you remembered was seeing a job offer at… Bonten… building? There was a job interview for you on July 28th, 2017. You accepted it… and… wait what happened? 

—

Around 6 months ago~

Your heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floor, each step measured exactly the same distance from one another and deliberate as you approached the receptionist’s desk. Yes, it might’ve been a bit too extra but you might as well since you’ve already gone through and through with all the other preparations.

Today, you had actually left behind your usual overstuffed purse to minimize the risk of dropping your bag and letting all the contents fall out and also for a lesser chance of drawing unwanted attention since having an extremely full bag did somewhat draw attention to you in an expected yet unexpected way.

You were dressed in a fitted black blazer to what people would say “over-ironed” white, buttoned shirt. Every piece of your outfit was meticulously chosen to show that you were there for business. A tight pencil skirt hugged your form, perfectly cinched at the waist by a thin belt and even your hair and makeup were flawless, every detail put together for the sake of looking professional. 

Click. Click. Click.

“Good evening ma’am, do you know where to meet uhmm… Kakucho Hitto?” you ask her.

Her eyes darken before she looks up at you. Her eyes seemed dull, as if there were no emotions behind her. Well, now you understand why. 

You should’ve noticed how her demeanor was back then. You could’ve chalked it up to just a “bad day”, but they way she acted was abnormal. 

“Yes, he— I mean Boss Kakucho is on floor 10, third room to the right.” she firmly states.

“Thank you…” you gratefully say to her. 

Ding!

The elevator doors slide open smoothly with a quiet chime following it, and you walk in. Oh, there’s also another person. He had… red and white eyes? It was rare enough to see someone with heterochromia let alone see someone with red eyes and/or white eyes only.

"She said the third room to the right… right?" you mutter to yourself, forgetting about the man beside you in the elevator.

A low chuckle comes from him, but barely hear-able from the low hum of the elevator. But you still shift your head towards him, locking gazes.

"Talking to yourself, huh?" His voice is smooth, but there’s something in his tone that makes your skin get goosebumps.

You stiffen slightly before forcing a small laugh. "Oh, yeah… Just making sure I don’t get lost."

His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes sharp and unreadable. "Third room to the right. Floor 10." A pause. "That means you're going to Kakucho's office."

You blink your eyes at him. "Uh… yeah. Do you know him?"

There’s a sudden, well not really sudden, shift in the air— a suffocating one at that, it’s subtle but inescapable. He exhales, tilting his head just enough for the overhead lights to cast a small ray of light along his sharp features. 

"Oh…" he says. "That’s me."

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. But for some reason, you don’t move.

It reveals a long and narrow hallway lined with the same identical doors everywhere. The dim lights above cast small, faint shadows along the walls. It somehow made the area feel both like an endless void and yet… claustrophobic at the same time.

“Come with me,” he states firmly, ordering you. You do follow him and to your luck, the interview went smoothly. 

That’s why you came back, no?

Now that you’re thinking about it, you weren’t lucky at all.

—

Once you’ve gathered everything in chronological order, the story comes out like a word vomit. 

“U-ugh… So it StartsWithMeGettingAJobInterviewAndIGotTheJobButTurnsOutTheWholeCompanyWasJustAHugeMafiaThingOrSomethingAndAfterThat…”

And it continues…

With every word spilling out of your mouth, the two other people in the car just look even more shocked. You swore their jaws only dropped further on the ground as the story-telling went on. 

“W-wait… so you’re running away from… them right now?” she clarifies with you. She doesn’t seem too confused about the story since, it’s just basically torture on your end. 

“YES!” you say to her, glad that she understands for the most part.

“S-should we… call the cops…?” the guy asks, looking concerned as hell.

You stare at him for a while, completely unresponsive. Then, you swallowed the lump growing in your throat. “N-no… you can’t do that. If I get caught again, it’s going to be even worse if the cops get involved.”. 

“Dude! This is crazy. I feel like it’ll get worse if the cops DON’T get involved?” the guy asks, slightly laughing at your logic. He takes his arms off the steering wheel for a while to show his shock and turns his body to you.

Your body jolts at the unexpected rise of volume. “I get it but look, I-I’m sorry… but I don’t want this to get worse!”

“Girl, you’re absolutely delusional if you don’t think we are gonna call the cops.” she says before whipping out her phone from her purse.

“Wait— no— stop!” you yell. Instinctively, you try to jump to the backseat to rip her phone from her hands.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the guy screams as your sudden shove jerks the wheel, causing the car to go into a wild, sudden swerve.

SCREEECH— SKRRRTT—

The tires shriek against the pavement, the entire vehicle violently turning left, then right, then left again— nearly spinning out of control. The force slams you against the door roughly, your heart starting to hammer against your chest as the car skids dangerously close to the separator thing in the middle.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he shouts as he tries to regain control of the car. His grip starts to tighten around the wheel, causing his knuckles to turn white from gripping the wheel.

“Ugh—! Just let us help you!” she shrieks, trying to loosen your grip on her wrist. 

“No! Y-you can’t!” you yell back at her.

“GIRLS STOP IT!” the driver screams loudly. The outsiders probably heard it too.

“Alright fine, we won’t call the cops. Well, not until we find you somewhere safe.” the girl subsides.

“Thank you…” you say, going back to your seating position and crossing your arms angrily.

The car goes quiet for a few moments, all of you sharing the awkward moment. The only sound you could hear at this point was the hum of the car engines and the honking and yelling from the outside. 

The silence was unnerving, but it was probably best that no one talked at the moment. 

That was until you let out a sigh and finally muttered a response. “Fine… you guys promise to call the cops when I get to a safe—”

Then an impact came out of nowhere. One second, the streets were quiet with just the quiet sounds of the road along with the car and suddenly, the next being a pair of headlights cut through the dark, and then—

A huge crash.

The vehicle fell sideways. Metal screeched against the cemented ground. Glass exploded, sending shards everywhere. The seatbelt went deeper into your chest, locking you in place as the car spun out of control before slamming to a stop.

For a moment, there was only the ringing in their ears. The scent of burnt rubber. The weight of shock pressing down on their ribs.

Then— footsteps. They were heavy, terrifying.

A silhouette approached through the haze of broken headlights, the soft click of a lighter from the silence. The fiery glow of a cigarette revealed a familiar emblem embroidered in black.

Bonten. It was them.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t just an accident, no, this was your kidnapping version two.

—

You woke up with a bag over your head. You could tell the room was empty with how any small sound was echoing since there was nothing to absorb the sound, only the walls reflecting it.

Your wrists were tied behind your back and so were your ankles. They were starting to hurt with just how tight they were around your joints. The ropes seemed to be those huge, heavy ropes that you would use on a farm animal rather than a human. There were sharp strands standing astray from the pack, sharply rubbing against your skin. It’s going to hurt, just like their usual trademark. 

You tried to jump up, but the only result was an echo of the metal chair moving. 

Then— the door locks clicked.

“Get in quicker, you dumb whore.” Rindou orders. You’re sure it was Rindou, the voice matched his and so do the words.

“Alright, alright! Just be nicer— I’m a fragile girl okay?!” a female voice yells back.

The bag is ripped off your head, and now you can see. You can see the girl from before kneeled in front of you, her hands tied behind her back as well. Shit.

“Hey!” you jump. “P-p-p-please don’t hurt her!”

Ran moves over to you, hands moving above your head… and it goes down… and again… and again… in a stroking pattern. It might’ve been lovely… if only not for the situation. Then, he leans down to your ear to whisper, “Y’know… you should’ve just obeyed our rules.”

Right. Their three “simple” rules. Don’t escape, don’t disobey orders, and don’t do anything without one of them being present.

Click.

The sound of a gun.

And it was pressed onto her temple.

“Any last words to her?” Sanzu asks, his finger on the trigger.

“W-wait! I’ll do anything!” you suddenly yell out.

“Ohohoh… you really think you can do that now…? It’s far far too late for that now, darling.” Sanzu says, sadistic eyes drilling holes into you.

Shoot. What are you supposed to do? Someone who wasn’t supposed to get involved got involved and now they’re held at gunpoint while you were bound onto a chair, unable to help them.

Your breath hitched as you struggled against the restraints, the rope starting to drill into your wrists. Panic clawed at your chest, drowning out every rational thought. She was innocent, shaking… and she squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body trembling under the cold press of Sanzu’s gun.

“Please—” you choked out, voice raw with desperation. “Please, she’s not involved! This has nothing to do with her!”

Sanzu’s lips curled into a grin, his finger teasing the trigger. “Oh, but she is now,” he sings, tilting his head. “And whose fault is that?”

You.

It’s your fault.

Your mistake.

Your punishment.

“Please,” you whisper, throat tight. “I’ll take whatever you want. Just let her go.”

Ran lets out an amused hum, his hand still lazily stroking your head like you were some pet begging for mercy. “That’s cute,” he murmurs. “But you know the rules. No disobedience. No escaping. No acting without one of us.”

He clicks his tongue, and his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back painfully. “And you broke every single one.”

Sanzu’s laugh is light, almost playful. “It’s a shame, really. She seems so… sweet.” He leans down, his voice dripping mock sympathy. “Go on. Say your goodbyes.”

Tears burn in your eyes. “Please…”

Your voice cracks.

Sanzu sighs. Then—

Click.

Bang.

The sound rips through the air like a whip, and for a second, time stops.

A scream lodges in your throat. Blood splatters all over. It’s warm, sticky and all over your skin, and when you force your eyes open, your stomach turns to ice.

The girl slumps forward, motionless.

Sanzu hums, spinning his gun on his finger as if he didn’t just pull the trigger. “Oops,” he chuckles. “Guess you were too late.”

Ran releases your hair, letting your head drop. The weight of the moment crushes you, suffocating, unbearable.

Then, a hand cups your cheek— gentle, almost tender. You flinch.

“Shhh,” Ran coos, tilting your face up to meet his violet eyes. “You brought this on yourself, sweetheart.”

Sanzu crouches in front of you, resting his gun under your chin, forcing you to look at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

“Now,” he purrs, “let’s talk about…” Sanzu moves towards the door, pressing the door handle and opening the door.

It was to reveal the other guy. The guy who was supposed to drive you to safety. But only because you demanded him to. How’d you get 2 people killed in less than a day?

Sanzu grins, stepping aside to let the man stumble in. He was barely standing. Blood dripped from several spots on his head, staining the collar of his shirt. His breaths were ragged, uneven, as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life before being dragged here like a trophy.

"Look who we found at the scene lurking around," Rindou drawls from behind him, arms crossed. "He was trying to escape but… he was not very subtle, was he?"

Your stomach churns. He wasn’t supposed to get caught. He was supposed to be long gone out of this hellhole, far away from them. And yet, here he was.

The man lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. Defeated.

Broken.

Sanzu leans against the chair you’re tied to, sighing dramatically. “Now, I am gonna let this slide. Maybe teach you a little lesson and send you back to your pretty little room.” His fingers trail along the side of your face before he grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at the man. “But then you had to go and involve him too. How greedy.”

“Sanzu,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “Please.”

He pouts mockingly. “Aw, you sound so sad.” He spins the gun between his fingers before pointing it at your driver. "You already lost one. Think you can handle losing another?"

Ran chuckles, draping an arm over your shoulders. "Or maybe," he muses, "we make this interesting. How about a little… choice?"

Sanzu grins, eyes glinting with something wicked. "Yeah. That sounds fun." He crouches down next to you, tilting his head. "So, what'll it be, sweetheart? Him?" He gestures to the beaten man. "Or you?"

The room feels colder. Your pulse pounds in your ears.

There’s no right answer.

There never was.

Because you knew either way, you’d both die. It’s just they’d probably let you live longer, just to live with the guilt.

“So… how is it Y/N?” Takeomi asks, his deep raggedy voice echoing through the room.

“Shoot me.” you answer, with almost no hesitation.

“WRONG!” Sanzu yells before quickly moving the gun over to him, and pressing the trigger.

Bang.

The shot rings out, sharp and final.

Your body jerks against the restraints, a strangled noise catching in your throat as the man crumples to the floor. Blood pools beneath him, spreading like ink across the cold concrete. His chest shudders once— twice— before falling still.

Gone.

A choked sob forces its way past your lips. You did this. You led him here. You got him killed.

Sanzu exhales, almost bored, before twirling the gun and slipping it back into his holster. "Tsk, tsk. You really thought we’d let you choose?" He crouches, tilting his head with a smirk. "That’s cute."

Ran clicks his tongue, brushing a hand through his hair before crouching next to you. His fingers brush your cheek, almost affectionate. Almost. "See, sweetheart, it was never about the choice. It was about watching you break."

And you were.

Piece by piece.

Sanzu claps his hands together, standing back up. "Now that the fun’s over, let’s move on, yeah?" He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

His grin stretches wider, wicked and sharp. "You’re ours. You always were. And after this? You always will be."

Ran hums in agreement, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "Now, be a good girl and behave, alright?"

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because you can’t escape.

Then, the door opens once again. It’s Kakucho.

“Hmm, are you guys done?” his hand still on the handle, he glances shortly at the scene inside the room. “Clean it up. Once you’re done, bring her down. Mikey called.”

Then, the door shut behind him. 

Your breath hitches. Mikey.

The name alone sends a shiver down your spine.

Sanzu clicks his tongue, rocking back on his heels before standing up. “Well, you heard him,” he sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ran hums, giving your face one last slow, mocking pat before standing as well. “We should make her presentable first,” he muses, glancing at the blood smeared across your face. “Mikey won’t like her looking like a mess.”

You barely register their words. Your ears are still ringing, your body trembling as you stare at the lifeless body in front of you.

It’s over. He’s gone.

Because of you.

A hand grips your arm, yanking you forward. You stumble, legs barely holding you up as Ran steadies you with an almost gentle touch.

“Come on now, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deceptively soft. “Let’s not keep Mikey waiting.”

Sanzu only grins, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what he has planned for you.”

And as they drag you out of the room, past the blood, past the bodies.

—

Somehow, their definition of making you presentable was putting you in a super see-through, lacy lingerie. It was a shade of pastel pink, and had a beautiful motive… it’s just the situation wasn’t as pretty.

The humiliation burns hot inside you, it’s hotter than the fear.

Sanzu lets out a low whistle, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. “Damn, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “You clean up nice.”

Ran smirks, tugging at the delicate lace strap on your shoulder before letting it snap back against your skin. “Mikey’s gonna love this.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, glaring at them despite the helplessness weighing you down. Your arms are bound, your body exposed, and yet, they look at you like you’re nothing but entertainment.

“You bastards,” you seethe, voice trembling.

Sanzu only grins wider, stepping closer until the cold barrel of his gun rests under your chin again. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his manic gaze.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he purrs, voice sickly sweet. “You stopped being in control the second you thought you could defy us.”

Ran sighs, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “Enough playing around. Let’s go.”

Then, without warning, they grab you, forcing you forward. You stumble, the cold air prickling against your exposed skin.

You go down the halls, then down the stairs. And when the doors swing open…

Mikey is waiting.

You expect to be slapped, beaten, punched, but no. He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he brings you out into the cold, dark night. Seeing the dark forest in front of you reminded you of the escape attempts.

His touch is rough, unforgiving. He releases you from his grip and pushes you out past the threshold. You stare out at the forest.

The forest is dark— suffocatingly so. The thick cluster of leaves letting small traces of moonlight through the dense branches. The air is humid and thick with the scent of earth, soil and death. The smell was the kind of smell that holds onto you and makes itself at home in your lungs. 

The ground beneath is uneven. Roots coming out from underground and damp leaves creating uneven bumps on the ground. Twisted branches reaching out reminded you of your own fingers reaching out for help. They create shadows that move along with the faint flickers of movement, never failing to frighten you everytime.

It’s silent. But the silence isn’t empty. It’s laced with something, something just out of reach. It’s the kind of silence that makes the hairs stand up, one that messes your head up. It’s the kind of darkness that doesn’t just hide things. It’s like swallowing anything and anyone to enter whole.

You could barely see anything through the darkness, but those are the things you remembered from the many times you ran through the forest. It was kind of like your second home at that point. 

Nonetheless, you were still far too shocked from before.

“W-what the hell d-d-do you want me to do…?” you ask, shivering since the sheer clothing didn’t do much in shielding you from the cold.

“Go. If you wanted to create such a huge scene, then do it. Run. We’re letting you have one last attempt.” Mikey responds coldly, completely inconsiderate of the situation you were put in before.

“W-what…?” you ask again. What the hell?

He lets out a loud, disappointing sigh before coming closer to your fallen form. “Go have one last run around the forest before we chain you up.” he pauses before crouching down to meet your eyes. “I have Sanzu, Takeomi, Kokonoi, Ran, Rindou, Mochi and Kakucho waiting out there for you. Once you’re done with your shenanigans, they’re going to bring you back.”

“H-huh…?” you stare at him in disbelief. “I-I-I-”

“You-you-you what?”

“I don’t want to…”

“Didn’t you hear me? Have one last run, go. I’m not repeating myself anymore.” he says with a finger softly stroking your cheek.

“I-I don’t want to… I want to stay with you… Mikey…” you say defeatedly.

Mikey’s eyes darken. Something shifts. The moment of forced gentleness vanishes like a wisp of smoke, replaced by something colder, sharper.

His fingers, once ghosting along your cheek, suddenly tangle in your hair—and then he yanks. Hard. Your head snaps back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as pain blooms along your scalp.

“You want to stay with me?” he echoes, voice eerily calm, but there’s a quiet rage simmering beneath it, barely restrained. His grip tightens, pulling your face inches from his. “After all that fucking running? After making us chase you down like some pathetic little stray?”

His lips curl, disgust flashing in his darkened gaze. “You really think saying that now is gonna change anything?” He tugs again. “Don’t act helpless now, sweetheart. You weren’t so eager to stay when you were trying to claw your way out of here.”

He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper, but it’s anything but gentle. It’s venomous. “Go run. Make it fun for us. Or do you want me to drag you out there myself?”

“N-no… please. I just want to stay with you… I’m sorry.” you pant, shooting pleading eyes up at him in hopes he’ll give in.

“Fine. Let’s just go back in.” he says, almost too easily. Mikey wasn’t one to be persuaded easily. 

Mikey doesn’t say anything as he yanks you forward, his grip bruising against your skin. The night air still lingers on your body, cold and sharp, but it does nothing to stop the suffocating heat crawling up your spine as you step inside. The door slams shut behind you, cutting off the outside world, the last sliver of freedom you had, and replacing it with the suffocating presence of them.

They weren’t outside. They weren’t waiting. They were here all along.

Sanzu is just sitting lazily in a chair, spinning the gun used to traumatize you between his fingers. Takeomi leans against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Ran and Rindou are smirking, eyes filled with condescension, like they already knew how this would play out. Mochi says nothing, his presence alone enough to make the room feel smaller. Kakucho stands at the back, watching, always watching.

You feel sick.

The weight of their stares presses down on you, suffocating, humiliating. Because Mikey never intended for you to run. No, he actually let you go. Gave you the chance to run… because he knew you wouldn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

And now, standing in front of them, exposed and weak, it finally hits you.

You never had a chance.

Not against them.

Not against him.

And now, you were right where they wanted you. They had predicted you didn’t want to do it. 

[muntitled]

Housewife Blues

Pairings: Terry Richmond x Housewife!Reader

Summary: Operation making a baby

Warnings: Language, Traditional Gender Roles, Controlling!Terry, Daddy Issues, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Controlled Orgasm, Unprotected Sex

A/n: Reader literally calls him Daddy. Please don't read this if that's not your vibe.

When your days weren't spent caring for your home as an active military wife, you engaged in reading, crocheting, baking and positively, actively avoiding the southern housewives that haunted your sunny cul-de-sac. Terry knew you'd much rather be doing things alone when he was at work.

This woman was intruding on your alone time.

"We've got to stick together!" the woman had said, her voice dripped like her honeycomb hair haloing her head. You wouldn't have willingly opened the front door had you known she would be lurking on the other side. The amicable smile that was on your face was cracking.

You initially thought it might be your husband, come to surprise you, knocking off from work earlier than usual. All throughout the day, you had been eager to see him.

He had left you in quite the state this morning.

"Faster," he had commanded in that mahogany veneered voice as he watched you try and fail to give yourself even a sliver of the kind of pleasure you were used to. He liked watching you struggle to take your fingers that were far too small, nothing like his large, skillful hands that would drill into your cunt when you needed it to.

"Why are you slowing down?" He enquired calmly, his head leaning against the headboard as he watched you try to please yourself in order please him to the best of your abilities.

You were seated between his legs with your legs spread open. The only contact established between you two was your ass pressed against that bulge straining his boxers. If Terry was a lesser man, he'd forget that he was trying to teach you a lesson about coming without permission. If he wasn't so deeply wired with self control he mightve said fuck the lesson and pulled his cock out to slide inside your weeping cunt.

But he wasn't a lesser man.

And no matter how hard he got, he loved watching you struggle to make yourself cum.

"M'sorry okay?" Gone was the trace of bratiness in your tone. All that was left was a little girl's pathetic whine and even that made him harder.

"M'sorry, I wont cum without your permission again-" you craned your head back. Your cloudy hair moved across his chest as you met his eyes, "Please help me," you hoped eyes displayed your desperation. Even if that weren't enough you knew your next words would be. "Please, Daddy-" he made a sharp intake of breath and you knew you had him.

"I need y-"

"I need to go to work-"

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull as the man behind you moved to rid himself of you.

"What!? You're just going to leave like that?!"

"Who're you talking to?" He had asked so calmly, with his head tilted, corralling you into absolute silence.

"I-"

"Give it' till this afternoon," he wasn't a complete monster. He kissed you on your forehead, making you feel whole even for a split second before ridding himself of you once again.

"Can you be good for me until this afternoon?" You loved when he did that. You loved when he spoke down at you, as if you weren't sporting numerous degrees. As if you weren't a fully autonomous woman.

You liked the break he gave you from thinking.

"I can." You had said. Completely determined not to touch yourself until he arrived home.

All day, your brain had been fuzzy with thoughts of him. 'The dangers of being a housewife', your best friend had called it. He was consuming your every thought. Your mind was plagued by images of him inside you. Your mouth. Your cunt. Your mind.

You had no time for this. Not time for her.

"We?" You reiterate with your head slightly tilted as you lean against the door you were itching to slam shut in her face. "We should stick together?" You asked it as if hoping to make sense of how in what world a woman like her and a woman like you might ever be classified as 'we'. In front of you stood the seemingly perfect example of a nuclear housewife. Poodle puff golden hair, bright eerie smile and a body that could reproduce, seemingly at will.

"Yes!" The blonde woman said, "Us wives of veterans, we need to stick together-"

"Oh-" you were in the process of shaking your head, "I- don't really see myself as a product of Terry's-"

"I think we should have a little meet up tonight! We'll wrangle up the husbands and the kids-"

"I've got no kids," You said so curtly it could've given anyone a harsh chill.

"You and Terry have no children?" Judging by the look on her face you could swear you've just admitted to some form of bio terrorism.

"No kids?" She nodded gravely. Far too gravely. "H-How interesting, well. That's okay! I'll just call our babysitter- She's a lovely girl. Hopefully you find someone like her when you and Terry finally get to it-"

"When her and Terry get to what?" You hadn't even heard that roar of the truck easing up the driveway, your mind had been far too plagued with images of your childless marriage to really pay it any mind. But you're very much of him now as he appears behind that stupid little housewife.

Like Pavlov's dog, your body and all its machinations react to the sound of Terry's voice alone.

The gravel that seemed to roll in his esophagus. The way he dwarves the woman taking up your precious time. He had finally come home, but here you were, being occupied by your neighbors, dressed in nothing except a tight fitting night dress.

"Oh Terry!" The woman said, hoping to steal his attention, despite his eyes remaining fastened on you, "How lovely to finally meet! I was just telling your lovely wife we should all have a family meet up- she informed me that you two don't want kids?"

"Have-" You said so quickly, "I said we don't have kids. Not that we don't want any."

Without sparing the woman another glance, Terry strolls past her. His large bicep squeezes you into the frame of the door as he walks up behind you but you don't mind. In fact you suddenly feel calmer in his shadow. Your nerves are both calm and set alight as he moves his heavy arms around your waist.

"You explained yourself?" He bends down, his lips pressed against your ear, "You didn't need to do that." Your mouth stammered open as the woman by your doorstep pales.

"Well- I was just enquiring-" the woman attempts to salvage the situation but Terry’s already pulling you into the house.

"We'll come back to you about the dinner-”

“We could set a date right now and-”

“Excuse me,” Terry says, “We gotta go make that baby we apparently don't want-” you catch a final glimpse of that woman. Her mouth stammered open.

Terry's leading you towards the couch and you follow him, your fingers wrapped around his pinky. You swallow heavily watching his back muscles contract.

He's so big.

So in control.

It has your mind swimming in the pools of subspace as he lowers his frame to the couch. He pulls you into his lap and you yelp as the skirts of your dress fan around his lap.

For a moment all is quiet.

You evade eye contact and he tries to hide his smile as he forces you to interlock your hands behind his neck while his titan hands meet around your waist. You were quite literally trapped.

“That woman probably isn't going to talk to me again after that little display of yours,” you mumble lowly and he chuckles softly as he brings his nose to the crook of your neck and he breathes in.

“Try not to sound so pleased about that.”

“I have to make friends, Terry-” your breath stammers when you feel his pillow lips open up until he's pressing his tongue to the sensitive skin by your neck.

“Did you touch yourself?” He asks and despite his words holding that usual sliver of control, you can feel the slight eagerness to his actions. His steadily hardening cock straining through the front of his jeans and his restless hands moving underneath the skirt of your dress.

“No, you told me not to.”

“I've told you not to do many things,” he presses another kiss to your temple and you breathe in rather sharply when his fingers reach your inner thigh. “Sometimes you don't give a shit about what I say.”

“I promise I didn't touch myself,” it was becoming difficult to breathe. Your mind descended into lechery as his fingers inched up your thigh and you opened your legs slightly. “Honest.”

“Should I check the cameras?” Your body tensed ever so slightly and for someone as observant as Terry was trained to be, you knew he spotted it.

“We have cameras?”

“You think I'd just leave you in this hick ass town alone throughout the day and not have cameras in the house?”

“Oh- well-”

“Doesn't matter if you touched yourself, does it?” Your breathing swells as his fingers finally connect with the seat of your panties. He adjusts himself underneath you. You're absolutely soaked.

“No one can make you cum like I do,” He whispers, sliding your panties to the side, “Not even you.”

Your eyes grow hazy as his fingers begin to play with your aching cunt. It's everything you've needed and more.

“Say it-” You're teetering on the edge of a complete mental check-out as his fingers rub your clit. You squirm on top of him, searching for the seating position that would let you grind down on his hand but he keeps you still.

“Fuck-” he groans and for a split moment, you're nearly close.

Until he pulls his fingers away and you're once again whining and squirming with no sense of relief.

“You can't just-”

In a series of fluid and swift movements, Terry moves you off of his lap. Your back hits the couch as he hovers over you.

“what're you doing-”

“You thought I was kidding about making that baby?” He asks, so incredibly serious as he undoes his belt buckle and all you're able to do is lay supine and take whatever he gives

According to your family, everything about Terry Richmond had been a seemingly blood red flag: from his overtly frightening countenance, to his slightly unnerving marine status.

He is nothing but menacing as he hovers above you, parting your legs before reaching inside his jeans.

“You're squirming too much,” he says, “You want the cuffs?” Your throat dried with the recollection of the previous tike Terry had slapped his cuffs over your wrist. He had quite literally used your cunt to milk his cock and there was nothing you could do about it.

Despite loving the memory, and the sharp thrill it shoots straight to your clit, you wanna touch him, and you tell him as much.

He groans before lowering himself towards you.

“Shouldn't I take off-”

“Keep the dress on,” he lifts your hips before spreading your legs, for a moment he gets lost at what he sees There underneath all the pink frills and tulle.

“I'm going to get you pregnant,” he promises before lifting his eyes to meet yours, “Any objections?”

He's not smiling. His eyes are deep and hypnotic and you move your hips as if so incredibly needy to take anything he gives.

“No objections,” You shake your head and your words die in your throat when you feel your panties be swiped to the side once again. Terry's restraining himself. You can see it in the veins popping out of his neck.

You're not sure why.

“Green or Red?” His Eyes lift to meet you and you can feel the head of his cock press against your tight opening.

“Red,” you respond. “You can be rough- i just need y- FUCK-” he thrusts inside you, bottoming out almost immediately.

You didn't need any prep because you were already soaking through your underwear but your cunt still fought To bully his cock back out.

“Th-That hurts-” you grit your teeth as he begins to thrust shallowly inside you, despite having already bottom out. It's like he's searching for somewhere deeper to go and you both groan out loud at the thought.

“You’re so fucking wet, fuck-” He watched his cock slides back out completely before slamming it back in and you yelp at his brutal intrusion. It fulfills something ravenous in you, the way he lowers his hand to the side of your head before fucking into you with wreckless abandon.

“So fucking tight-”

“Fuckyoursobig-” your eyes are hollow and Terry knows from your slurred speech that you were fully in subspace.

“Shit- you tryna make me cum already, huh?”

Your bottom lips portudes and you look up at him, nodding dumbly, “You wanna be a good slut for your Daddy, don't you?”

The second he locks his thick palm around your throat, and you wear his hand like a collar, you're absolutely done for. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts and your tongue lolls out of your mouth.

“Such a fucking slut- shit-”

“Yo-Yours,” you moan, “Your slut-”

He immediately stills his hips before cursing aloud. Terry's lips crash down onto yours. A hungry kiss you weren't expecting but eagerly reciprocate.

“My pretty slut,” he nods his head in affirmation. patting down your head as if you always knew what to say. “That's right, baby.” You're bathed in the praise. You fucking absorbed it. “That's right, Clever Girl-”

“Oh my God, Daddy- please,” you lift your hips, urging him to continue drilling into you.

“You're such a good girl for me-” he continues to affirm as his hips move once more, “You gonna take my cun, aren't you, Pretty Girl? You gonna make Daddy proud and give him a baby-”

“Terry, ohmygod-” you can feel your cunt spasming around his cock.

“Ask.” He can see you teetering on the edge but his voice is dark and commanding. “You know better.” He warns. “Ask.”

“Please-” you search to hold onto something, anything that would stop you for cumming outright on your husband's cock, “Please let me cum, oh my god-”

He speeds up his own thrusts. Unbeknownst to you, your eagerness to take him, your whining and begging had him twitching inside you. It's like you became a vessel of his pleasure alone. You were good at that. You were good at making him the center of your universe.

“Cum for me, Pretty Girl.” It's all it takes for you to let yourself go completely. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as Terry squeezes your throat, sending you flying amongst the clouds. You curse and scream and your cunt is suffocating his cock until he can't handle it anymore.

“Gonna cum,” he affirms, his voice tense and his muscles tight, “Gonna cum so fucking hard inside my Pretty Girl-” even he had his limits. Soon he wasn't able to say anything. His words bled into uncontrollable groans as he trusted a steady stream of cum inside you.

You're patting down on his tense muscles, urging him to part with every single drop.

You're full.

So utterly full it has you seeing stars.

“That ought'a do it.” He says.

He’s nice Terry again.

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

-

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon. 

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is. 

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort. 

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board. 

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land. 

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead. 

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day. 

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though. 

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess. 

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility. 

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs. 

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener. 

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another. 

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself. 

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch. 

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words. 

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn. 

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own. 

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more. 

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest. 

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops. 

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there. 

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan. 

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality. 

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him. 

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat. 

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week. 

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs. 

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do. 

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose. 

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat. 

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well. 

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

[artemisia-black]

Trans women are women, and Trans men are men. 

We have to start by being honest. Being in Harry Potter fandom sustains the visibility of the IP. That’s just the truth. Even if you’re not spending money. Even if you’re just reading fic, or making playlists. You are still part of the reason WB thinks this franchise has cultural power.  We think we’re just vibing in fandom, but they’re watching (and there’s this odd sense that this is somehow an underground movement). The WB marketing execs measure every post, and what they see is market potential. That’s why the official WB TikTok teases Wolfstar (and teasing is the operative word because in places where openly queer relationships are illegal they need to have plausible deniability so they can still flog merch there),  they know there’s a market here, and they want to tap into it.

I say all this as someone who came back to fandom during the pandemic while I was looking in the abyss of my soul via EMDR, and who escaped to the HP universe during some of the worst years of my life. I’ve made friends here, and this space has been so nourishing for me. 

But none of that changes the truth: this is a morally grey space, and pretending it’s not is intellectually dishonest.

Just to add nuance, being here doesn’t make you evil (it doesn’t mean you support JKR’s views), but it does mean you need to hold that discomfort. And that work goes way beyond having “fuck JKR” in your bio or writing x character a wearing  eyeliner (your shipping opinions are not activism and your reimagined canon isn’t a shield). 

Because if you’re still here (and I include myself in this) you need to ask yourself: what am I doing in real life? Not to "offset" the guilt, not as performative atonement, but as a reflection of the values you claim to hold . Are you standing up for trans people in your personal life? Are you donating, sharing resources, pushing back in your workplace or your family? In the UK are you lobbying your MP to challenge the high court decision? There’s a myriad of real-life things you can be doing. 

You don’t have to leave fandom. But you don’t get to pretend it’s harmless, either.

[leyavo]

| Alary | 1

John Price had been watching you from afar for five years now. He’d seen the way you’d bit your tongue whilst a male superior chewed you out for making a life or death decision. One that saved their asses.

Your captain’s knuckles hitting your shoulder three times to punctuate his the last three words, “what are you?”

“A stain on your reputation, Captain,” you ground out, hands fisted behind your back as if you’d been made to say it regularly whenever you did something to displease him.

“We’re a team sergeant, everything you do reflects on all of us.”

John too busy trying to stay awake whilst the gash on his forehead was stitched up to say anything. He doesn’t forget that day, like a weird fever dream he wonders what you could be if you were given the opportunity to grow. If someone gave you a chance.

What he couldn’t wrap his head around though, was a sergeant on a third performance plan that was still in the same task force. John had seen many dumped on other, smaller units after the first. But you, you were taking whatever they threw at you, simply for being a woman.

It’s no surprise, John knows how most women are treated by their male counterparts in the military. Seen the reports swept away under not enough evidence or much worse, death.

John read through your profile, a long list of reprimanded jargon to keep you in the role of a sergeant whilst others were promoted to lieutenant.

He started to observe you more on the base, gaze wandering to you as your captain yelled in your face. Additional laps for your elbow clipping another sergeant. You ran those ten laps in record timing, he timed it he should know.

Noticed how your team remained silent or sniggered as your superiors made sexist jokes or called you uptight. “Relax sergeant it’s only a joke.” A playful shove to the back of your head.

How you stared at your scuffed boots when your lieutenant got a bit too personal during an active operation, but you ignored him.

It’s not till a merged mission with your task force does John realise the extent of your team’s mistreatment of you. The way you shred your weapons and tactical vest to squeeze through a small opening so you can let them in.

And that’s how you got your call-sign, Bug because you could crawl through small spaces.

Unarmed, alone in hostile territory, but you were more than capable at hand to hand combat and stealth. Soap finding you in the surveillance tower, blood trailing your nose and a stolen machine gun in your grasp.

Nothing, but your tactical vest and gun shoved back into your arms when you meet back up with your team at the end of the successful mission.

“Great work, sergeant,” John says as you walk past him, gloved hand reaching to shake yours.

You stare at it like it’s a loaded gun, but you nod your head and firmly shake his hand. “You too, Captain.”

The murmurs of your task force behind you, “Hurry up, Bug! Or ya walking back.” Chorus of laughter making you retreat from John as if he’d burnt you.

So when John finally gets the funding to add another contractor to the 141, you’re the first one on his mind. Your skillset would be a great asset to his team and he can’t ignore the grit and determination to stick it out with your current lot. Even when you’re mistreated.

And now here you were, standing in front of John’s desk on your first day with the 141. Your hands tucked behind your back, gaze levelled with his as if waiting for a reason to hate him. He doesn’t blame you.

The first women on their task force, that’s what they’re all gossiping about. How you must have slept your way up to the top, there’s no way you’ll be able to keep up with them. Even some betting on your downfall, which Soap and Gaz threatened them to take down.

You warm up to Gaz and Soap quickly, but there’s something holding you back from your interactions with John and Ghost. No teasing or initiating talk outside of your work. Never calling them by their names, just captain and lieutenant.

“Why don’t you tell him to fuck off Bug?” Ghost says, between a mouthful of his food. You hated coming to the canteen at lunch, the busiest period but the guys had dragged you along. “What’s the point,” you shrugged, “they’ll say I’m too sensitive and shouldn’t be in the army if I say shit.”

And that’s when Ghost makes it his mission to get you to fight back. Doesn’t want his team mate to take any shit, from himself or others. Doesn’t matter how thick your skin is.

It takes more than year for you to bite back. Ghost constantly pushing and pushing with his words in hope you’ll finally stick up for yourself. “Pathetic, sergeant try again.” “What is this flirting? Take him down Sergeant!” You’re circling the training mat, Soap and Gaz against you. Ghost’s words getting to you more than you liked to admit. The twitch of your neck, the roll of your shoulders revealing your annoyance. Making it so much easier for Ghost. “Stop dancing around him, Bug!”

Gaz is cringing off the mat, eyes darting between Ghost and you, if looks could kill….your mid sip when the lieutenant speaks again. “Maybe if you loosened up…” Your water bottle hurtling at him, but he catches it easily. “Much better, Bug. Now tell me to fuck off.” Brown eyes glistening beneath his mask. “Oh fuck off you wanker.” His call-sign might as well be wanker now, when you’re not on an active op.

It takes Gaz hours to calm you down, explaining how he’s trying to push you to stick up for yourself.

There’s still some days that catch you off guard though. A little splinter of a reminder that’s deeply ingrained into your being. Where three simple words knock you down a peg or two, promise you a punishment for showing off.

“What are you?” Soap asks, wondering how you figured out a loophole in a software that allowed them to obtain crucial intel.

It’s an innocent question.

John’s quick to notice the frozen response, your head dipping as not to catch Soap’s gaze. “An asset, good work Bug.”

Part two kinda

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

[smuttysabina]

The Office Problem

(Male Reader x Kiss of Life's Natty, 3.6k words) Tags: Office sex, Office gangbangs, Office relationships, More HR violations than your office handbook has room for, Vaginal sex, Creampies, Oral sex, Natty earns herself a fat juicy promotion, Also wow does she look really hot, Protected sex, Office politics, And a distinct lack of morals

Being a manager could be such a pain. When you were not busy fending off absurd requests from Corporate about the latest techo-babble, you were dealing with enough banal office drama to put a high school to shame. It was frankly surprising the amount of hijinks an office of a hundred workers could get up to, and if the company wasn't paying you so goddamn much you would have resigned years ago rather than deal with it every day. But alas, you always managed to stop yourself from hitting send on your two-week notice by glancing at your check, before sighing and carrying on. This past month had been especially grueling, with the arrival of a new hire named Natty, who had taken over as a clerk from Brenda in HR (who had retired and was now living it up in the Bahamas, and getting gangbanged by her "amigos" every night); and had turned out to be quite the slut...

The morning so far had been relatively tame, with only a handful of tongue lashings and praise to distribute. Frank from Operations had once more been reminded to stop pissing all over the floor, and Betsy from Sales had been firmly rejoined for harassing old mister Shultz about his supposedly monster dong (you had it on good authority that the man was in fact packing, provided you shove several viagra down his throat first). The accountants had been congratulated for somehow conspiring to pay everyone on time, presumably on accident, and the lead janitor consulted regarding the onset of stains appearing all over the office. You therefore had time in your schedule to ask your secretary to call in the newest problem child to grace your loveless little nest, and you idly mute the Teams meeting with the C-suite you were in and jot down some notes while you wait. Five minutes later and the Office Problem flounces in, all silken curves and bubbly youthful energy crammed into an outfit that would have gotten her sent to HR had she not been HR. She was also wearing knee-high heeled boots for some bizarre reason.

One Ms. Natty (nobody bothered to use her last name) languidly slides into the proffered chair in front of your desk, preening at your attention and wiggling her body to better present her assets for your inspection. No doubt her young mind was stuffed full of erotic delusions about what was going to happen in your cozy corner office, but you were quite simply going to fire her skanky ass. It had barely been a month and already it was an open secret that Natty was the office bicycle, which you ordinarily wouldn't have minded, free-use sluts kept morale up, except for the fact that she was unable to control her passions in the workplace. You had walked in on her engaging in sexual activity no less than nine separate times, with different partners during each occurrence no less! And the janitors were, in a word, growing more than a touch annoyed about having to clean up spilled sexual fluids as if they were working at a whorehouse or the like.

The first time, you had found Natty squatting down in the break room, stroking an employee with either hand while sucking them off with an enthusiasm that was dearly lacking in her workflow. Then you had spotted one of the Sales ladies munching on her cunt like she was starving, and the third time you had caught her next to the supply closet getting her shelves rearranged. Natty had also been responsible for the traffic jam around the bathroom last Tuesday, where apparently most of the male office staff had lined up to plow her nubile holes, and next you had eyed her grinding rather proactively on Mr. Shultz's lap (who coincidentally had no pants on for some odd reason). Things had only gone downhill from there, as you had observed her getting spit-roasted no less than twice in a row, before watching her getting made airtight near the printers by the interns, whose youthful gusto had resulted in a truly appalling mess on the floor. Finally, just yesterday you had found Natty elbow-deep in the head of Accounting, who was busy hosing the carpet down with streams of truly noxious squirt. Naturally, she was the most popular employee in the office, and had single-handedly caused a 28% drop in work efficiency.

So, leaning forward in your chair across the wide expanse of your desk, you stare Ms. Natty straight in the eyes, and calmly inform her that you were letting her go. Her reaction was, predictable. The girl starts babbling and bawling, her perfect makeup (god knew how she kept it up while getting fucked all day) smearing as tears run down her face, and she blubbers out a question, "But. But WHY, sir? It's only been a month!" to which you sigh and explain that her distracting the entire office was the issue, and also that her work was also noticeably subpar. Further tears follow, "Is-Is it because you've, um, caught me at work?" Natty sobs in realization, and you are forced to inform her that her promiscuity was not the problem, rather the sheer scale of it; nobody was getting any work done because they were too busy trying to fuck her! You recline back in your chair as your words bounce around her skull, Natty visibly pondering what you said before insight flashes behind her eyes and she gives you a sultry smirk, "Or is it because... I haven't given you any yet?" she beams as a slight flush rises on your face, "Oh, I'm so sorry, of course the boss should have priority! Let me..." Natty smoothly rises out of the chair and starts to saunter around your desk, her wide hips swaying from side to side. Sigh.

Natty perches herself on the edge of your desk, plumping out her bare thighs as she dangles one foot dangerously near your crotch, "So tell me, sir, is there anything I can do to keep my job?" She coos, seductively fluttering her eyelashes over her rose-tinted glasses, "I mean," she runs a hand down her chest to the clench of fabric obscuring her crotch, "You've seen what I can do, so," Natty licks her pouty lips, "What will it be, sir?" Nine times out of ten you would have simply laughed her out the door and told the little slut to collect her things on the way out, but you were feeling particularly... bored. It had been a year or so since you had gotten drained at the office, and you were curious to see if this common cumdump could match the costly escort you had brought in last time. So you roll your chair back a bit, and tersely tell her to try her best, and you will consider keeping her around. Natty's face lights up and she lets out a squeal before composing herself and hopping off the desk and sultrily kneeling before you, "Please, relax sir, I'll do all the work for you. You are the boss after all!" she giggles somewhat nervously before running her hands up your legs and slowly unzipping your pants, slipping a delicate hand inside to pull out your manhood.

With tender grace, Natty leans forward and kisses your cock, gently smooching every inch of it until she unlimbers your balls and gives them the same treatment as well. She looks eagerly up at your stony face for your approval, and when she doesn't find it she hurries along to the messy work of getting you erect. With your member barely stiffening under her demure endearments, she promptly pops your meat into her mouth and starts sucking on it like her life depended on it; which in a sense, it did. Natty's cheeks hollow as she strains to engorge your penis, her tongue lapping desperately at it as it slowly fills her mouth. Just as her head starts to bob though, your secretary knocks on the door and you hurriedly push your chair forward, forcing the young clerk to scamper backwards under your desk, where she retains enough of her wits to continue doing her job. Your secretary pops her head in, glancing around as she looks for Natty before raising her eyebrows in confusion. You maintain your calm as you ease your hips upwards, pining Natty's head against the underside of the desk as you force your length into her throat, causing her to gag as quietly as possible. You roll your eyes at your secretary, waving irritably at the closed door to your private bathroom and informing her that Natty was busy cleaning herself up inside after a substantial bawling. Your secretary snorts in amusement, as the girl in question snorts spittle onto your crotch as she struggles to breathe, tapping plaintively at your leg for you to relent, before telling you to call her when Natty needed to be escorted out and closing the door once more.

Natty was starting to use her teeth to communicate her distress, and so you relax, allowing her to pull up enough to gasp for air as she drools all over your genitals. After several moments mercy, you press upwards again, thoroughly testing her gag reflex as you lazily pump away at her face until her frantic coughing had subsided somewhat. When you finally roll your chair back, Natty stumbles out from under your desk, hacking up reams of spittle before looking blearily up at you, "I-I-Was that good enough, sir? I-I'm better at using my mouth than deepthroating, so can I...?" You flick her concerns away by telling her that it had been satisfactory, but that she needed to make you finish if she wanted to remain employed at this (laughably) prestigious company. Nodding frantically, Natty returns to sucking your cock, and was indeed better at using her tongue than tripping her gag reflex, until she abruptly stops and surges to her feet. She sways unsteadily before unbuttoning her short shorts and pulling them down to her knees revealing tantalizing hints of her dark vulva, "Um," she blushes, "You can use this hole as well, sir. But," she glances around, "Do you have protection? I'm not on birth control so..." You direct her to the proper drawer, and soon cool latex sheaths your erection before she kicks her shorts off and awkwardly attempts to join you in your armchair.

You refuse her however, telling her to clean herself out first, no matter what she claimed, you would rather not be fucking your inferiors semen out of her slutty hole, and she blushes as she leans back against the desk and complies. Shyly, she starts to rub at her clit, absentmindedly groping herself before remembering she still had her shirt on and pulling that off as well to reveal a lacy pushup bra that soon joins the rest of her clothes on your desk. Natty's body was classically curved, with much of her flesh going to her shapely thighs and ample ass, though her perky breasts were not unimpressive as well; even if she did constantly push them up to exaggerate their size. The girl pleasures herself in front of you, and once she has moistened herself up she puts her fingers to good use sloshing expertly into her slit. Judging by the sticky mess coating her fingers, Natty had indeed been truthful when she said that she always used a rubber, and soon she was gazing lustfully at your cock, "Mmmmph," she moans, "Can I sir? Please let me sit on it, I promise I won't disappoint you this time..." And when you nod in permission she hurries forward to straddle you, unbuckling and pulling down your pants as she reaches down and strokes some blood back into your diminished dick until it was erect once more. Then with a sultry groan, Natty sits on it.

Sordid heat douses your cock as it slips into the warmth of Natty's belly, her pussy devouring every inch of you until her vulva kisses your root. Her soft breasts press against your face as she wraps her arms around your neck, she looks breathlessly down at you, "Oh sir! You are so... big! You're filling me up!" Her body shudders as she slowly rises before sliding back down it again, her wet folds dragging along your rubbered shaft as she squeezes you tightly, "Please," she gasps, "Cum in me whenever you want, I'll ride you-Oh! Until you finish!" Natty bounces enthusiastically on your manhood, your crotch soon becoming soaked as her pussy drools down onto it, her hips plying the air as she does her best to work your load out. While her head might have been mediocre, Natty's pussy was snug and wet, and before you can stop yourself your hands move to grasp her cheeks, clenching her ass tightly as she rides you. She gasps at this sign of approval, "Oh, sir! Yes! Use me! You can fuck me every day I promise!" Then she cums on your cock, her whole body quivering as yet more cream splatters onto your skin, and with her face bright red, she leans down and kisses you hungrily. You were not entirely too enthused about it, but Natty certainly was, her tongue shoving its way into your mouth as she grinds needily on your dick.

Seemingly surprised that your cock remained unconquered, the young slut leans dangerously backwards, grasping your chair's arms tightly as she searches for the right angle to finish you off. Sweat shimmers on her tanned skin as Natty pushes herself in desperation, her stomach clenching as it grips your shaft for all that it was worth, "Just. Fucking. Cum already!" she hisses in frustration, before remembering her place and begging, "Please cum in me sir! I'm trying my best here!" And to be fair, her best was starting to work on you, your hands squeezing her butt tightly as your balls laboriously start to rise; until with a grunt you haul her back onto you and fully down upon your cock. Natty gasps in relief and pleasure as you finally give in and empty yourself into her, slamming her nubile body against you as you fill the condom with your load. You stifle a groan as her cunt tries to crush your manhood, squeezing it like a vice as it works out every drop of cum in your shaft. When you are finished, she collapses against your chest, breathing heavily as she recovers, her face nestled against your neck. Once she has recuperated enough, you slap her ass to signal for her to unmount you.

Natty scrambles off you, looking worried, but before you could rise she returns to her knees and starts pulling the condom off for you. She waves the swaying sack in front of her face before giving you a sleazy smile and emptying it into her mouth, swallowing every last drop. Natty grimaces slightly, before leaning forward and cleaning your crotch up with her mouth, her tongue lapping up her own juices, "Did-Did I satisfy you, sir? Please?" Her demureness returns as she looks meekly up at you, pausing in her washing as she awaits your answer. You muse upon it, while she had hardly been the best partner you had been with, it had been reasonably entertaining so... You nod, and grandly inform her that her position was secure, and Natty beams with relief, "Oh! Thank you, sir! Thank you!" and to show proper appreciation, she starts sucking you off again. Your dick was still sensitive from orgasm, so it was not long before the stimulation from her eager slurping has you rigid once more. You sigh in enjoyment, and make the sort of decision that you were paid six figures for. You idly inquire that having saved her job, what would Natty say about a promotion? At which the whore stops, and stares up at you in wonder before a grin breaks through her chaste expression.

Natty smoothly stands and bends over your desk, reaching both hands backwards to spread her cheeks to reveal her flushed slit along with her dusky asshole, "I would say," she purrs, "Pick a hole, sir. I'll be your fuck-slut any day of the week!" Fired by a lust that had been often diminished of late, you rise as well, shuffling closer and slapping your member against her sodden labia, causing her to moan eagerly. You grasp her waist to hold her steady, and shove your cock into her pussy until your balls kiss her clit. Natty groans, "Oh fuck, sir! I can feel you... wait!" She glances back in horror, "You forgot to put the condom on!" Whereupon you smack her rear, and cheerfully inform her that as your personal assistant, she would be yours to use exclusively, and so you would not need to worry about contamination from other employees. Natty's eyes widen as she processes this, before giving in and smirking, "Oh, so I'll be getting promoted from the office cumdump to the boss's personal cumdump?" she shudders, her folds moistening noticeably, "Cum in me raw then, sir. Use me however you want!"

And so you do. The clapping of her cheeks was thunderous, and it was a damn good thing your door was soundproofed for security reasons, otherwise the whole floor would have heard it. Natty moans loudly as you plow her from behind, her walls gripping you all the tighter now that you were fucking her unprotected. If anything, the risk of impregnation excites the slut, and you hear her muttering excitedly under her breath about getting knocked up on her boss's desk. Natty's pussy had been wet before, but now it was downright soaking, her juices running down your thighs as her lips slobber all over your shaft. With the added stimulation of her bare skin upon yours, it was not long before your balls are twitching upwards once more. Natty notices your thrusts deepening, and she eagerly urges you on, "Oh fuck, are you going to cum in me, sir? Please, do it! Make me your slut! Oh fuck I'm going to get pregnant!" she screams as you pound away at her curvaceous rear until with a groan, you empty yourself into her. This time your seed spurts directly into Natty's fertile pussy, slowly filling it with your semen as she shakes in the throes of an orgasm.

When you finally leave the warmth of her body, you stagger backward and collapse into your chair, thoroughly exhausted by your exertions. Natty looks winded as well, but she still dutifully plops between your legs and starts sucking her creamy leavings off of your cock, while your own gift to her drips out onto the carpet. Once she had done a reasonable job cleaning off the worst of the mess, she gingerly rises to her feet, grabbing her clothes from your desk and slowly pulling them on, "So...um," she coughs awkwardly, "I am getting that promotion, right?" You wave in acknowledgement, and Natty smiles smugly, "Also, were you serious about the exclusive thing? Because uh, I am kinda popular..." You consider this, the impact on morale would be significant if the office were to suddenly lose access to Natty's free-use holes, so... You compromise, she could sleep with as many women as she liked, but she could only use her mouth to pleasure men. Natty thinks about it, before shrugging, "Sure why not? Okay so, will you be needing me again today or...?" You dismiss her with some warmth, and once she has finished struggling into her tight outfit (her panties were no doubt soon inundated), she waves in goodbye and saunters out of the door as if she had not just been bent over and plowed like a cheap whore by her manager. Your secretary peeks inside thoughtfully, and when your eyes meet, you can tell she has inferred exactly what happened, and she winks knowingly, wiggling her tongue between two fingers to indicate your shared bond. Was there anyone Natty hadn't fucked?

With a tired sigh you roll your chair forward once more, and start mentally thinking about what excuse you could use to fit another HR manager into the budget, when you realize that while the executive meeting had been muted, you certainly had not been, and your camera had been on the entire time. Utterly mortified, you frantically unmute the call's audio as a dozen somber faces stare back at you from the virtual meeting room. But before you could muster any excuses they break into laughter and raucous cheers, congratulating you on your excellent performance! The C-Suite howl and pound at their desks in approbation, causing more than a few heads to quizzically pop up in front of them before being pushed back down again. You are shocked and more than a little relieved to hear that the executive team had extremely impressed, and were adding you to the fast track for promotions, they needed a man like you who could fuck on the team! After all, nothing was more tedious than having some prissy loser who wouldn't join in the weekly executive orgies! With that stunning information bouncing between your ears, the meeting ends, and you consider just what a morning it had been.

It seems like it would become even easier to resist hitting send on your resignation, mostly due to it being difficult to reach for your mouse while you were busy pumping Natty's nubile pussy full of cum.

[abbotjack]

i don’t think people understand what just happened. shawn hatosy went grey—not like “silver fox” magazine spread grey. not “aging gracefully” grey. i mean slutty, exhausted, backseat-of-the-car, who-let-him-look-like-this grey. chaos grey. bad decision grey. has a past he won’t talk about and hands that know what they’re doing grey. and now i’m not functioning. this isn’t about character depth or performance range. this is about the grey hair and what it’s doing to me.

he shows up in the pitt as jack abbot and it’s over for me immediately. black scrubs. prosthetic leg. says things like “you good?” while leaning against a blood-smeared doorframe and you feel it in your spine. grey hair curling at the sides like he’s already been ruined but will absolutely still ruin you back. this is a man who fucks like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to want it. like he can’t admit he needs it but takes it anyway. it’s in the hair. it’s in the way he doesn’t ask questions unless he already knows the answer.

and then—THEN—he shows up in chicago p.d. as charlie reid. and i don’t recover. because now it’s not just trauma hot it’s corruption hot. he’s in a suit. he’s running dirty operations. he’s lying to everyone in the room and still getting what he wants. full villain energy. zero remorse. and the hair? still grey. sluttier than ever. looks like he’d finger you in the back of an unmarked cop car and tell you not to say a word. like he knows he’s evil and still thinks he deserves head. and he’s right.

and now? charlie reid is DEAD. in a body bag. they shot him in the finale like i wasn’t still actively fantasizing about the way he says “you know who i am” with that low voice and dead stare. gone. erased. the sluttiest man alive eliminated in a network drama bloodbath.

jack abbot? gone too. until january. production limbo. they put that man in black scrubs and greying temples and let him emotionally unravel on my screen for three months and then snatched him away like i’m supposed to survive off reruns. it’s may. do you know what eight months of grey hair withdrawal does to a person?? i am hallucinating.

i don’t want him kind. i don’t want him soft. i want slutty grey-haired hatosy who lies, cheats, growls “get in the car,” and fucks like he’s trying to forget something. i want him pressed up against a wall with one hand braced beside your head and the other sliding under your shirt like he doesn’t care if you’re mad at him because you’re not going anywhere.

i want motel room heat. gritty lighting. a scene where he unbuckles his belt with his teeth clenched and says “this isn’t a good idea” and keeps going anyway. i want someone he shouldn’t be touching. a conflict of interest. a fuck-you kiss in a hospital supply closet. someone crying. it’s me. i’m crying.

he has slut shoulders. slut posture. slut cadence. and the sluttiest grey hair on television. i am not okay. i am on the floor. i need more roles. more morally wrong situations with his hand on the back of someone’s neck.

bring him back. give him a steamy role with bad lighting and secrets. let him wreck someone emotionally and physically. put him in another series where he’s unshaven and emotionally unstable and asks someone “you sure?” before ruining their week.

i’m down bad. clinically. catastrophically. the grey hair did this. and I WANT MORE!!!!!!!!!!!! hollywood needs to get serious and cast this man in something immediately. i am not being dramatic. i am not doing a bit. i am sitting in the wreckage of my life because shawn hatosy grew out his hair, let it go grey, and no one has figured out how to use it properly.

[houseofaegon]

I feel like Bob would be so panicked to be a dad but also so excited. What do you think he’d be like when you’re giving birth? I feel like he’d feel like he was gonna pass out, but then yelena would snap him out of it and tell him he has to be there for you. 

Yours pt. 2 ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Warnings: labor scene, pregnancy (birth), found family, soft!bob, girl dad!bob, thunderbolts chaos, tribute to nat cause i miss my baby

Summary: You were exhausted, nine months pregnant, and completely over it. Bob was hovering, Bucky was baby-proofing the compound like it was a warzone, and the Thunderbolts were preparing for the arrival of “the heir” with all the grace of a SWAT team on caffeine. One labor joke sends the whole team into full-blown labor panic—until your water actually breaks.

Word Count: 3057

Author’s Note: this is part 2 of Yours. i got so so so so many requests from you guys screaming for more dad!bob content and to turn yours into a series. can’t say no to yall, also bc i am so obsessed with bob being a dad and the thunderbolts being the chaotic found family. i laughed so hard while writing this, i love girl dad!bob so much. me next me next put a baby on meeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! hope you all like this <3 love, bri.

You were thirty-nine weeks pregnant.

Your hips ached. Your ribs were being actively assaulted from the inside—tiny feet pressing like it was trying to escape out the side. You were hot all the fucking time, sweaty in places you didn’t know could sweat, swollen, hormonal, and deeply, profoundly miserable.

And Bob?

Your sweet, golden retriever of a boyfriend—who once whimpered just sucking on your tits—was now operating on a rotating diet of baby books, blind panic, and seventeen cups of coffee a day. He’d taken “nervous father-to-be” to Olympic levels of intensity. There were laminated checklists. Color-coded spreadsheets. He had a three-ring binder labeled “LITTLE PEANUT’S PREP PLAN.”

“Do you need anything, love? Snacks? A foot rub? A bubble bath? Prenatal yoga—maybe an orgasm?”

You blinked at him, dead-eyed. “I need to not be pregnant, Bob. I want this baby out.”

He flinched like you’d stabbed him, then immediately dropped into nursing mode, offering you a pillow, his water bottle, a heating pad, and his hand like it was a bouquet of peace offerings.

“Right, yes, okay—sorry, baby. Just—any day now, right?”

He smiled wide. Hopeful. Desperate.

“Yes,” you hissed, holding your lower back with both hands. “Which means today. Maybe. Hopefully. Dear god, please come out.”

It had been like this since the beginning—ever since you told him, standing in your bedroom, voice trembling, eyes wide as you whispered “I’m pregnant”—he had melted completely. Dropped to his knees. Sobbing and laughing, kissing your stomach like it was already carrying the entire universe. His entire universe.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he’d promised, crying against your skin. “Both of you. I promise, baby.”

And he had.

Oh god, he had.

To a completely unhinged degree.

He’d downloaded seven parenting apps within an hour. Subscribed to every newsletter. Turned on daily notifications that buzzed at 7 a.m. sharp with affirmations like “Today, little peanut is the size of a cantaloupe!”

You had no idea why he chose the nickname “little peanut”—but it stuck. So did the updates.

“She’s the size of a melon today,” he’d say with awe, hand splayed over your bump. “And apparently her fingernails are already fully developed. Isn’t that wild?”

You didn’t want to know the sex—not until the baby was born. It was the one decision you both agreed on instantly. Bob said he wanted “the moment.” The shock and awe. The magic of it. Even though he insisted on calling the baby her half the time anyway.

“What if it’s a boy?” you asked once, teasing.

“Then he’s my little peanut,” Bob had said. “But I still think she’s gonna be a girl.”

He said it with so much quiet certainty, like he already knew.

Bob wasn’t the only one who spiraled.

Bucky had been roped into “fortress duty” around month four. What started as helping you put together a rocking chair had turned into a compound-wide baby-proofing project that quickly escalated into paranoia-level security.

There were now corner guards on every sharp edge. Lock systems installed on all drawers. Bob and Bucky actually installed a childproof toilet lock. No one could open it without a manual.

Yelena nearly pissed herself trying to get it off.

“This baby isn’t even out yet and I’m already being terrorized,” she’d groaned.

Walker tripped over a stair-gate Bob installed in a hallway with no stairs. He took out three potted plants in one crash.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! I don’t even think babies walk until a year in!” he groaned from the floor, rubbing his back.

“Little peanut could be gifted,” Bob muttered, sipping his thirteenth coffee. “You don’t know.”

Alexei was absolutely thrilled. The moment you hit six months, he declared himself “Thunderbolt Grandfather” and started wearing a homemade apron that read “World’s Greatest Dedushka” in glittery red Sharpie. He brought you beet soup every night, no matter how many times you politely asked him to stop.

He insisted on “grandfather bonding rituals,” most of which involved sitting next to your belly and singing softly in Russian while cradling your bump like it was a sacred egg. He often told the baby stories about “strength, pride, and the Russian winter.”

Walker had no idea what was going on 90% of the time. He once offered you a cappuccino at seven months and asked how your “tumor” was doing.

Bob tackled him to the ground. Ava took the coffee out of your hand without saying a word.

Speaking of Ava—she was your shadow. Quiet, ever-present, always there with a hand at your back, a cold cloth when you overheated, or tea before you even asked. She didn’t speak much, but her presence was steady. Like a heartbeat just outside your own.

And Yelena?

Yelena was your rock. Your unofficial bodyguard. Your midwife-in-training. Your best friend and your biggest pain in the ass.

She glared at doctors, snapped at anyone who stood too close to you, and once elbowed one of Valentina’s intern in the face just for looking at you wrong. She referred to herself as “the godmother,” and called your bump “the heir.”

She’d cried—punched the wall actually—when the first ultrasound showed a heartbeat.

“Oh my god. It’s the heir!,” Yelena whispered, eyes locked on the monitor. “That’s our little baby.”

The Thunderbolts didn’t just support your pregnancy.

They wrapped themselves around it like a shield.

You had never been more exhausted. More uncomfortable. Or more profoundly, heart-achingly loved.

You waddled into the common room like a pissed-off general in the final trimester of war. Blanket dragging behind you like a cape. Water bottle in one hand, belly leading the way like it had its own gravitational field. Like a planet. Your ankles hurt. Your tits hurt. Your soul hurt.

“Move,” you groaned.

Yelena didn’t even flinch. She just kicked her feet off the couch and waved you over like royalty. A teasing tone in her voice. “Your throne, my queen.”

You dropped onto the cushions with a dramatic grunt. “I swear to God if this baby doesn’t come out in the next twelve hours, I’m gonna leave Bob and fake my death. Start a new life. Maybe become a lighthouse keeper and grow potatoes.”

Across the room, Bob gasped audibly.

“No!” He dropped the book in his hands and rushed to your side like you’d just been shot. “No leaving me, no faking your death, and—you don’t even like dirt, baby. I can run a bath! Want me to play Mamma Mia? Your body responds really well to ABBA.”

You glared at him, unblinking.

“My body responds really well to satanic music, sweetheart.”

Bob’s eye twitched.

Yelena wheezed from the other side. “She’s entering her final form. It's her villain era, and I'm all here for it.”

Walker was hunched over in the corner with a baby bouncer in his lap, trying to decipher the instructions while holding them upside down. “This thing has like thirty screws. Babies don’t even sit yet. Why does it need hydraulics?”

“Because it’s an all-terrain bouncer,” Bob replied seriously.

“Where are we bouncing the baby to? Fucking space?”

Bucky sat on the arm of the couch next to you, watching the exchange like someone who had aged fifty years over the course of the last nine months. He was drinking his fourth cup of coffee and had installed five baby gates this week.

Alexei was in the corner holding up a onesie with “Future Thunderbolt” written across the chest in glitter paint. “Is small now, but malysh will grow into it. Like destiny!”

“The baby not even born yet,” Ava muttered, handing you your fifth bottle of water for the day. “Maybe let the baby take a breath before assigning them to the team roster.”

Bob was hovering over a checklist.

“Has anyone seen the birthing playlist?” he asked. “I made a few. One’s classical, one’s rock, and one’s just the Mamma Mia soundtrack on loop.”

Walker blinked. “Didn’t you also make one called ‘Panic But With Vibes’?”

Bob nodded gravely. “Yes. For emergencies.”

You sighed, rubbing your belly.

Yelena glanced at you. “You look like you’re about to pop.”

“That’s because I am,” you snapped. “She’s training for the World Cup in there.”

“You okay?” Bob asked. “Contraction? Back pain? Foot cramp? Do you need another magnesium chew?”

“I need all of you,” you said sweetly, eyes fluttering shut, “to shut the fuck up.”

They froze.

Yelena snorted. “Now that’s the nesting aggression. Beautiful.”

You cracked an eye open and saw Bob staring at your belly like it might speak.

And that’s when you had the brilliant, evil idea.

You gasped. Loud. Clutched your belly.

“Oh—oh my god,” you said, eyes wide. “Guys. I think my water just broke.”

Instant detonation.

Bob shot to his feet like a nuke had gone off. The binder fell. Papers flew. He was on his feet in an instant, eyes wild, hair standing on end like static had just punched him in the soul.

“Oh my god—okay, okay, it’s happening, everyone stay calm—baby, where’s your go-bag? WHERE IS THE GO-BAG?!”

Walker launched himself upright, chair crashing backward. “SHE’S IN LABOR? I THOUGHT WE HAD A PLAN! I’M NOT READY FOR THIS!”

He tripped over the diaper pail Bob had installed yesterday and hit the floor like a falling oak tree. “I’M DOWN. MEDIC!”

Yelena leapt onto the coffee table in full combat mode. “I’LL GET THE WHEELCHAIR!”

“WE DON’T HAVE A WHEELCHAIR,” Bucky deadpanned, already on his feet and adjusting his sleeves like he was about to deliver the baby himself.

Alexei raised a towel in the air like it was a sacred artifact. “THIS IS IT! TO THE MEDBAY!”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE A TOWEL?!” Bob screamed.

“THE MOVIES ALWAYS SAY TO BRING TOWELS!”

Bob was circling you now, voice high and strained. “Are you having contractions? How far apart? Do you need to sit down? Stand up? Squat?! Do I boil water? I can boil water! I HAVE A KETTLE!”

“NO TOWELS! NO WATER!” Bucky roared. “Jesus fucking Christ it’s not the 13th century. Get your shit together!”

You blinked.

And then burst into laughter. Like ugly wheezing laughter. Full-on, tears streaming, belly-shaking hysteria.

Everyone stopped mid-chaos. Even Alexei froze mid-kneel.

You gasped for breath. “Oh my god, you should’ve seen your faces—“

Yelena’s mouth dropped open. “You little bitch.”

“You’re joking?!” Bob gasped, grabbing his heart like you’d physically stabbed him.

Ava turned on her heel and walked away. “I need a sedative.”

“I hope your child is a menace,” Walker groaned standing up from the floor, his hand on his hip. “You deserve it.”

“I think I just had a stroke,” Bucky dropped to the couch.

Alexei put down his towel like he was attending a funeral.

“I was kidding!” you said between gasps, wiping your eyes. “Oh my god. That was so worth it.”

Bob looked like he aged five years in five seconds. “You can’t do that to me,” he whispered. “I felt my soul leave my body.”

You stood, still giggling. “Relax. I’m not going into labor today—”

Pop.

Warmth pooled between your legs.

You went still.

So did everyone else.

You looked down and then up again, locking eyes with Yelena, who already looked halfway to a warzone. Bob’s mouth dropped open like he just watched his favorite vinyl record shatter.

“Holy fuck.”

“OH MY GOD IT’S REAL THIS TIME!” Bob screamed.

“EVERYONE MOVE!” Yelena barked.

“TO THE MEDBAY!” Alexei shouted with pure glee, raising his arms like he was about to be beamed up into the mothership.

“No—wait—oh my god—” You doubled over, contractions hitting you like a freight train out of nowhere.

Ava was already at your side, sliding under your arm without a word. “Breathe in. Slowly. Lean on me. I’m right here, I’ve got you. We're moving slow, okay?"

Yelena was on your other side instantly, bracing your elbow. “You’re fine. You’re breathing. We've trained for this, remember? You’re the heir’s vessel.”

“Why are you like this?” you gasped.

Walker ran toward the door, tripped over the labor bag Bob had pre-packed for the fifteenth time, and slammed his whole body into the wall.

“I’M OKAY,” he shouted from the floor.

Bucky stepped over him without pause, steadying Bob, who was currently spinning in circles with his hands on his head.

“She’s in labor. She’s really in labor. I’m not ready. I don’t remember the affirmations—where’s my playlist?! I didn’t charge the speaker!”

“You have one job!” Yelena shouted. “Get to the medbay!”

Alexei was following you down the hallway like a personal cheerleader, waving a rattle in the air like it was a battle flag. “THE LITTLE THUNDERBOLT IS COMING!”

Bucky shoved the medbay doors open so hard they dented.

And Bob?

Bob paced the hallway outside like he was about to give birth himself.

“Okay okay okay—breathing—she’s breathing—I should be breathing—is this what a panic attack feels like? Where’s the playlist?! Yelena, where’s the fucking playlist?!”

Ava placed you softly on the medbay's bed. You were already covered in sweat and absolutely screaming as another contraction hit you like a truck.

“DON’T YOU DARE PASS OUT, BOB!” you snarled as Bob peeked in the doorway, white as a sheet. “IF YOU FAINT I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL RIP YOUR SOUL OUT THROUGH YOUR NOSE.”

Bob whimpered. “Yes ma’am.”

Yelena smacked him. Just once. Sharp and fast.

“Snap out of it, Robert Reynolds. She needs you. The baby needs you. Pull it together.”

He blinked, then nodded like he’d been activated.

He rushed to your side, and grabbed your hand. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide, breath shaking.

Ava’s voice was steady. She was the calmest of the three inside the room.

“Okay, sweetheart. This is gonna hurt. A lot. But I need you to breathe. It’s time.”

You were soaked in sweat, clutching Bob’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your legs trembled. Your body screamed. Your vision blurred.

He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips—soft and desperate. One hand caressed your forehead. The other braced your back when you screamed again.

“Okay,” Ava said from between your knees. “Push.”

And you pushed.

You pushed like your life depended on it.

Bob squeezed your hand, whispering affirmations, crying with you.

“You’re almost there. Just a little more, baby. I see her—I see our baby—”

Another contraction hit. You screamed. Ava’s voice rose gently over yours.

“One more. That’s it. I've got it.”

And then—

A cry.

Sharp. Loud. Beautiful.

Your world stopped.

Bob froze. His breath caught. His hand flew to his mouth, and he sank to his knees beside the bed, weeping so hard it shook his chest.

“She’s here, she's so beautiful.” Ava said gently, smiling as she swaddled the tiny pink bundle. “It’s a girl.”

Bob let out a sound you’d never heard before—pure joy, broken and sobbing.

“I’m a dad,” he whispered, laughing through his tears. “Oh my god, I’m a dad. She’s a girl—I’m a girl dad! I knew it!”

Ava placed her gently on your chest, smiling proudly at you.

She was tiny. Red. Wailing. Beautiful. You stared at her, heart pounding, breath gone.

Bob’s hands hovered like he was afraid to touch something so sacred.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “She’s so perfect.”

Yelena leaned in from your right, eyes wide, damp with tears she was pretending weren’t there.

“Well?” she whispered. “What’s her name?”

You smiled. Bob looked at you. Then at her. Then back to your daughter.

"Lena Natasha Reynolds"

Yelena froze. Her lips parted. Her hands trembled.

“You—what?” Yelena whispered, voice cracking in disbelief.

You looked at her, still smiling through the blur of tears. Bob’s hand found yours, squeezing tight. You nodded.

“Lena Natasha,” you said softly. “For you. And Nat.”

She dropped slowly to her knees beside the bed, gaze locked on your daughter as if she couldn’t believe she was real. Her hands trembled as she reached forward, and you gently helped place Lena in her arms.

“Hi, little one,” Yelena whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You don’t even know… You have no idea how much I love you already.”

She stroked Lena’s soft cheek, holding her so gently it made you cry harder. Her hands were trembling. And then she let out the softest, most ragged sob you’d ever heard.

"You're so loved, little peanut. You have no idea," she whispered.

Bob kissed your face over and over, breathless. “You did it. You fucking did it, baby. You’re everything. You’re—God, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

He stood suddenly, kissed Lena’s tiny forehead, and bolted out of the medbay like a man on fire.

Bucky, Walker, and Alexei were seated outside like expectant sitcom dads. Legs bouncing. Eyes bloodshot. The moment they saw Bob burst through the doors, disheveled and red-eyed, they all stood.

Bob’s lips trembled.

"It's a girl."

Bucky’s eyes filled immediately. His shoulders dropped like he’d been holding tension for months. He stepped forward, grabbed Bob by the shoulders—and pulled him into a hug so tight it stole the air from the room.

“You did good,” Bucky whispered, voice rough. “She okay?”

Bob nodded into his shoulder. “She’s perfect. She’s so perfect.”

Walker burst into tears. Loud, hiccupping, ugly ones. “I knew it! I knew it was gonna be a girl! I felt it in my bones!”

Alexei screamed. Like, screamed.

“OUR LITTLE THUNDERBOLT HAS ARRIVED! I AM A GRANDFATHER!”

He immediately grabbed Bob and Bucky in a bone-crushing hug, shouting something in Russian. Walker joined, sobbing into Bob’s shoulder. Bucky just closed his eyes, hugging tighter.

And Bob—sandwiched between his brothers, laughed through it.

“She’s here,” he said, voice cracking. “She’s finally here.”

Back in the medbay, you cradled Lena to your chest, smiling through your tears as Yelena stroked her tiny head and whispered, “Your family’s insane. You’re gonna love them.”

"You were amazing," Ava whispered, brushing your hair back softly.

Bob returned minutes later, quiet now. He sat beside you, kissed your temple, and laid his head next to yours.

"Thank you," he whispered. “You gave me everything. She’s everything I ever wanted.”

And with Lena curled against your heart, Yelena beside you, Ava watching over, and Bob’s hand pressed to your cheek.

You believed him.

You were home.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 04

Masky x Gender Neutral Reader - In the Car/Road Head

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Blowjob, road head, praise, car sex, pleasing, codependency, obsessive traits, clinginess, trauma responses, brief mentions of abuse, soft sex, kinda fluffy

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Made Masky kind of soft in this… I like it.

The two of you had been riding out this empty interstate for miles, another thirty or so left to go. Thick night air rushed through the cracked windows, the heavy thud of music sounding through the old speakers of the beat up truck.

Masky had been driving the whole time, left hand gripped tightly onto the wheel as you nudged uncomfortably close to his side, his arm wrapped around your back. It was an older model truck without the console, perfect for you to get close to him.

You couldn’t help that you had grown codependent. Every proxy had their bad traits, yours was just slightly more annoying than others.

When The Operator first introduced you to the others, you were stiff, fresh out of whatever hell-hole mental destruction the others had also experienced. It was only normal you resisted the rest of the group at first, they knew you’d come around.

What no one really expected was just how closely you did come around.

It was near obsessive now. You always needed to be touching or holding onto Toby’s clothing, the boy quickly becoming flustered and uncomfortable and moving you onto someone else. Hoodie and Kate didn’t take it well either, grumbling when you asked to hold their sleeves or shoving you off when you crawled too close.

The only one who could really tolerate it was Masky, taking the brunt of your clinginess out of understanding from his own messed-up tendencies. Trauma was no stranger to the man, so if he could offer you some relief from yours when no one did him, he wouldn’t mind it too much.

He was always willing to scoot over in bed to let you crawl in, or wrap yourself in his heavy jacket to ride out a panic attack. The others teased him for being soft, but you knew it was because he understood better than they ever could.

Knees pressed to your chest, you clung to his warmth, the chilly night air blowing your hair due to a lack of available A/C. Masky kept his gaze straight, tired eyes scanning the empty asphalt.

The mission the two of you were coming back from was less than enjoyable, a murder job for a group of college kids writing a report about paranormal activities linked to murders in the area. Just their luck, The Operator didn’t quite appreciate being called ‘paranormal’. They were just unlucky, a bunch of kids too brave and vulnerable deep in the woods. It wasn’t a reach to say both you and Masky didn’t enjoy being tasked with this.

You especially, still coming down from a mild panic attack that the man beside you had to ease you through. You sniffled, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

“Doin’ alright?” He glanced down at you, tired gaze meeting your puffy eyes before resuming back on the headlights out front. The engine rumbled, tires rattling against the potholes littered on the road. You were getting closer to the backroad leading to the mansion, the treeline becoming familiar.

Your chest still hurt, and panic still rattled in your mind, but you nodded anyway. Masky still rubbed your arm, your head resting on his shoulder as you took long, labored breaths.

“Sorry…”

“Never had a problem before, why would I start now, mouse?”

That nickname always did it for you too, bringing you back down from whatever hysterics you found yourself in. Masky was just accustomed to taking care of you along with himself now, the extension a second nature to him.

Despite how often you fed into it, you really did feel bad for being so pitiful.

You reached your hand across his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him closer. He adjusted, letting his hand rest on the small of your hip and holding you closer. Your nose nudged into the crook of his neck, his smell flooding your senses with that familiar comfort you’d grown to love.

Your interactions had never been sexual, always a comfort for the two of you. But now in the solitude and emotional stir of the night, you couldn’t help the flutters that grew in your gut when Masky’s hand reached further to rub the side of your thigh. His scent was just so nice too, with dried sweat from his overextension earlier thick on his skin. You couldn’t help but push a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw.

You just wanted to thank him for always being so kind.

“Hey, now-” You felt him tense for a moment, glancing down at you as your hands clung to his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“Sorry…” You kissed his neck again, taking deep breaths each time to fill your senses with him. Maybe it was toxic, maybe it was codependent, or even obsessive- but you couldn’t help how safe he made you feel. Was it so bad to want him to feel that way too?

He didn’t resist when you let your hand slide down his chest, fisting against the fabric of his shirt as your lips cling to the side of his neck, leaving sickly sweet kisses. He shuddered when your hand dipped to the waistline of his jeans, shifting as his foot settled a little heavier on the accelerator. His hand gripped your waist tight, the knuckles on his other fist turning white while wrapped on the steering wheel.

“Mouse.” He huffed when you let off of his neck, laying your head back on his shoulder. Despite his warning, he watched eagerly when you began to undo his belt, shifting his hips up to give you easier access.

“Let me thank you…”

“For what?”

“Being so nice to me…”

His grasp hugged your hips closer, your fingers fiddling with his zipper and tugging it down. You pushed a hand past the band of his boxers, a quiet gasp leaving his lips when you wrap it around his limp cock.

Your cheeks are flushed, the warmth of your bodies pressed close as you slowly stroke him to life, his length slowly growing in your grasp. You could feel Masky loosen up, his body relaxing into your touch as his gaze constantly flickered from the road to your hand.

“You don’t need to do this, mouse.” He groaned when you rubbed your thumb across his tip, his thigh jerking and stuttering the speed of the truck. The cool air had goosebumps rising across his skin, his now-hard cock pulsing under your fingers.

“I want to.” You whispered, a quiet excitement rushing through you at his willingness. Masky huffed, rubbing against your hip as he tried his best to focus on the road.

Pushing your legs out, you scooted over, his eyes following you as you leaned down to rest against his leg. Pushing his boxers down, you tugged his cock out, the sight making you gasp quietly. You were nervous, but Masky’s hand reaching to push your hair from your face eased you.

You leaned in, hand fisted tight onto the base of his length as you pressed your lips to the divot of his cockhead, letting spit dribble from your lips onto the tip. He groaned above you, right hand collecting your hair and fisting it out of the way.

Giving a gentle kiss against his slick tip, you let your lips part, his head pushing into the warmth of your mouth. You try to take all of him too quickly, pushing your jaw wider to nudge his twitching cock against your tongue.

“Shit.” His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle nudge pushing you down further and making you choke quietly. He’s immediately tugging you back up, your fingers clinging against the fabric of his jeans as you come up for air.

“Easy, would ‘ya? You ever even done this before?” It didn’t matter, all you knew was you wanted to make him feel good, and that little curse he let out earlier was exactly what you were looking for. You pushed your head back down, taking a deep breath as you wrapped your lips back around his tip.

Masky groaned, letting his hand off the wheel to push his hair back, glancing down at you with heavy eyes. You bob your head lightly, swiping your tongue across the divot of his tip to tug little huffs from the man above you. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to take more each time, relaxing your jaw to push more of his thick cock into the warm wetness of your throat.

You choked a little each time, straining when you felt his tip shove against the roof of your mouth in a way that made Masky twitch inside you. Good, he was enjoying it, it felt good. Slobber builds around your lips, sucking your cheeks in to make his hips stutter and twinge up into your mouth. Tears well on your waterline, little droplets slipping down your cheeks each time.

“Easy. You’re doin’ good. Doin’ real good…”

Your gut fluttered with excitement, pressing your head down all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, his pubes tickling the side of your face. You held your eyes closed, trying your best to stay relaxed as you gagged around him, his tip pressed against the tightness of your throat. Even still, he smelled so good.

Masky was moaning, taking shaky breaths as his hips jerked lightly up into you, cock bobbing against the back of your throat. You wanted to be good for him, to make him feel as good as possible, so you stayed, grunting and choking as quietly as you could while bobbing in rhythm with him.

“Fuck, ah- Good, mouse, just like that-”

His cock gleams with your slobber as you slide back up to his tip, running your tongue across his slit to collect the stout taste of his pre. You push back down, taking all of him quickly to pull right back up again, sucking his entire length.

Masky groans loudly, hand fisted tight into your hair and tugging you up and down, taking deep breaths every chance you can get. His praises ring in your ear, keeping you eager to please him as you rub your tongue across the bulging veins running up his length.

It’s so hard for Masky not to look at you, pre and spit collecting sloppily at the corners of your mouth just out of his view, eyes flickering between the beautiful view and the boring road ahead. He huffs, jerking the steering wheel to the side and running the truck onto the edge of the road, pressing the breaks quickly to bring the truck to a stop. You’re jostled, keeping a tight grip on his leg as you keep on with your pace.

Throwing the gear in park, he can finally wrap both of his hands into your hair, leaning back to get a good view of your flushed and teary face swallowing his cock down willingly. He moans through parted lips, shifting his hips to fuck up into your mouth and groaning every time your throat tightened around his tip.

“Oh fuck. Gonna cum, hah- Gonna-”

You let your jaw completely relax, taking restraint away from your neck to let him have control, to let him fuck you how he wants. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager, so willing and pliable for him.

Masky’s moaning out, your eyes rolling back as he pushes your head all the way down, gagging you down onto the entirety of his length.

“Yeah-”

When he cums, you’re trying your best to swallow every drop, puffy lips wrapping tight to drink him up. He hunches over your head, stuttering his hips to milk every drop into your throat as your tears and spit dribble onto the fabric of his jeans.

He’s finally pulling you up when you reach a hand to grip his shirt, hitting your fist against his thigh when you begin to choke for air. Masky tugs you up, wrapping his hands around your cheeks to take a look at you.

You’re flushed, his fingers wiping away your tear soaked cheeks and brushing his thumb over your lips. You lean into his touch, tired eyes fluttering closed as he’s pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours.

You gasp, cupping your hands over his as you just breathe in the moment. It feels like forever when he’s finally pulling away, your tired body taking its comfortable place back against his side as he zips his jeans back up, buckling his belt.

When you start back on the road, Masky’s arm wraps around your back, tugging you closer than before. You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder and breathing him in again. The thud of the music and the familiar bumpy ride ease you both back in.

Maybe you were obsessive, and annoying, and clingy, and even just a little codependent. But Masky had gladly taken you and all of those traits along with him. It was only right that you thank him.

And he’d gladly take that, too.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[wonysugar]

ex-bestfriend ewb aeri uchinaga

a/n : no actual moodboard(tm)… no title…. what the fuck is wonysugar even about at this point. also! too many words to consider this a drabble but also not elaborate enough to consider a full fledged fic… take this as a mini-fic and whatnot

cw : heavyyy somnophilia but consent is like kind of established beforehand but not really since they technically don’t fw each other so it’s kinda cnc… whatever any of that means, cheating, masturbation, scissoring, fingering, clit play, aeri’s high as FAWKK. and she breaks into reader’s room, lawl

you guys had fought that day.

like you do any other day, at this point.

apparently! you were talking shit about her stupid, artificial and joke of a relationship to other people. of course you would do that, you had nothing else better to do after all. it’s not like you had exams and other priorities to worry about on a day to day basis!

while it is true you said her and her boyfriend weren’t a good match, it’s not like you spent day and night speaking on her. you simply once stated a fact. nothing more, nothing less.

of course, she didn’t believe that whatsoever.

in fact, she was absolutely convinced you did more than that. she was convinced you actively prayed on her relationship’s downfall, how could she not? it was so painfully obvious; to the way you eyed her down in the bus whenever she talked to him, the way you glared at him whenever he looked in your direction, the way you’d smirk and whisper things to your friend whenever you saw her walking down the halls, stealing glances from her—hell, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like you were jealous of her.

yeah, that’s gotta be it, you were jealous of her!

…is what she believed, anyway.

the truth was, yeah, you were envious… but it was definitely not of her. you couldn't give less of a fuck about him, frankly.

you were envious of him, though. he got all the attention.

aeri was your best friend before becoming his girlfriend. you’re the one who watched her grow up into what she is today, and she was the one to witness your development into young adulthood. you guys went from pushing each other on swing sets and doing your basic addition homework together to getting high together and… what, making out in her room when her parents weren’t home?

hell, he probably didn’t even know you were her first kiss. she probably swore up and down he was her first, anyway.

nonetheless, due to multiple accumulated misunderstandings, that all stopped.

your numerous years of pure friendship and love were killed with nothing but a few crossed wires.

now you just tell each other empty threats and roll your eyes at one another. cute, right?

whatever, you thought to yourself, you’d done enough reminiscing for the day. soon enough, you slipped under the covers of your comfy bed wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and pyjama pants. it was a rather chilly night, you physically couldn’t allow yourself to sleep with no pants on, as saddening as that might’ve been for you.

that being said, you still kept the window open. you enjoyed the feeling of the cold yet light breeze kissing your face whenever you dreamed.

feeling yourself slowly dozing off, your eyes fluttered shut as the minutes pass. eventually, after a few hours, you’re deep in sleep, practically snoring as you’re tightly hugging your teddy bear, laying on your back.

exhausted would be an understatement; you were beat.

so beat that you couldn’t possibly shake awake at the sound of somebody audibly breaking into your room.

that somebody being none other than aeri.

what the fuck was she even doing there? even she herself wasn’t sure. one thing she did know, though, was that she was gonna make you regret ever saying anything about her relationship. of course, she wasn’t thinking rationally whatsoever; the weed in her system had killed every ounce of reason left in her, and she found it more practical to operate with her feelings.

and the feelings in question? they told her to break into your house through that same window you so conveniently left open!

she stepped foot closer to you, watching you sleep. you were absolutely clueless on what was going on near you.

aeri had always found you pretty, but you looked especially breathtaking in that moment. you looked so… peaceful, serene. seeing you like this made her nostalgic; she yearned for the moments where you would look at her with an expression just as warm as that. the moments where she’d talk about something as trivial as a corny song her favorite artist at the time released and you would just... sit there and listen.

you would always listen attentively to whatever she had to say.

her man rarely ever did that. he was always too busy to even look at her when she talked. yet, he's the only one she gives her whole attention to.

funny how that works, huh.

then, she noticed how your graphic tee had seemed to drag itself upwards, unintentionally yet entirely revealing your stomach, as well as the fact itself that you weren’t even wearing a bra underneath.

was that the reason she got on top of you? no, of course it wasn’t; she had a prove to point, that’s what! the point being that you ran your mouth about something that doesn't concern you, and that she was gonna rightfully ridicule and humiliate you for it. she had no problem with touching you in such a suggestive manner.

yeah, she hated your fucking guts now and would rather die a horrible death than sit in the same room as you for more than 5 minutes… but you’ve always had a great body, and even greater tits, that was undeniable.

so, she gently pulled your t-shirt upwards, leaving space for her head and eventually got to licking on your chest while you slept. entranced by the feeling of your nipples grazing her numb tongue, she kept her eyes hooded as she watched out for your reaction. you did squirm around a bit once she started fondling the other breast with her hand, but that was about it. that went on for at least 10 minutes, right? she didn't keep count.

all she knew was that you would’ve felt nothing but pure shame if you knew what was being done to you at that moment. that was the point of this. not because she was dying to touch you, obviously, but because she wanted you to be aware of the power she truly has over you. instead of fucking her boyfriend, like you oh so clearly wanted, she was practically fucking you instead.

you were still in a deep slumber despite all that; you should have already woken up by then, but you didn’t. fortunate for her, although she couldn't help but ask herself, have you been getting enough sleep recently?

nevermind that, she was too into the act of leaving hickeys all over your chest to think about it. aeri didn’t want to think, she was high out of her mind. in fact, she stank up the whole room with the smell of marijuana, she was practically hot boxing you in the comfort of your own bed, whilst you slept. not a single thought of hers was rational, and chances are that's why she had gotten so hot and bothered over ‘ridiculing’ you.

perhaps that's also why she eventually slipped off your pyjama pants and gently hovered your clothed slit with her fingers, getting lost in the feeling of your lips on her fingertips. fuck, your panties were pretty damp, what had you been dreaming of before she got in here?

"you fucking bitch..." she mumbled to herself. she felt herself throb at the sight alone, and that pissed her off. the sensation of her digits dragging along your visibly desperate pussy didn't help, either. her blood ran embarrassingly hot and soon enough, she finished off by completely stripping you of your underwear, unable to contain her desire for any longer. your bare cunt now to the air, exposed and vulnerable only for aeri to see. it glistened under the moonlight that subtly broke into your otherwise dark room through the window, kind of the same way she did.

it was hypnotizing, so much so that aeri could've sworn she was practically drooling from the corner of her mouth. she was so close to just leaning and making out with it, but... she couldn’t. she had other, more important things to attend to; her own warm pool growing in between her legs.

she couldn’t help it, she had to swiftly glide her dominant hand across her lower stomach into her shorts. with a huge sigh of relief, her breath hitched as her middle finger quickly landed on her throbbing clit, rubbing circular motions immediately upon contact. her hooded eyes stayed fixated on you, entranced by the mere sight of you; asleep, your core exposed and vulnerable, just for her.

it didn’t take long for her to slowly slide in two digits inside of herself, biting her lip whilst she fought back a whine, still staring at you. she wanted to touch you so badly, she wanted to use every inch of you to get off, to humiliate you, but that would’ve been too risky. so, she was perfectly content with just pumping her fingers in and out of her entrance for now, quiet squelching sounds filling the silence of the room.

fuck, the weed in her system just made it so, so much better. she was dripping wet just thinking about how confused you would be if you were to wake up. nobody would exactly expect to be immediately greeted by the sight of aeri fucking herself on them right upon exiting dreamland, so that would be a totally valid reaction for you to have.

an adorable one, at that.

she didn’t have to worry about that though, she kept two of her other hand’s fingers inside her mouth whilst simultaneously fingering herself, way to muffle the occasional sounds that slipped out.

that’s, once again, what she believed, anyway.

what she had seemed to forget about you was that you weren’t that heavy of a sleeper, no matter how exhausted. truth was, the nipple sucking was enough to kinda rouse you up a bit, but she was lucky enough to not have fully woken you up, since you quickly drifted back to sleep afterwards.

that wasn’t the case for what came afterwards, however.

aeri, despite her initial plans of playing it safe, had moved on to feeling your wetness on hers; she bit back a gasp as soon as her clit came in contact with yours, soon enough rubbing against it as she held one of your legs in a careful way, leaving space for hers. her mouth agape whilst she looked down at herself grinding, rolling her hips back and forth onto you, the sensation out of this world. fuck, you were so wet for her, and you didn’t even know it.

how embarrassing was that for you.

anyway, she was so caught up in making herself feel good that she hadn’t even noticed you wake up!

“w-what the…” you mumbled, incoherent. then, your groggy eyes widening once you figured out what was actually happening, you raised your voice, “what the fuck?!—“

she shushed you immediately, covering your mouth with her palm, “sh-shut the fuck up… you’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

and she won’t? first thing you heard waking up was a loud ass whimper coming out of her!

onto more important questions… what the fuck was aeri doing in your room? why did she look so fucked up? was she high? what was she grinding onto? why did your body feel so good? why was it so cold in your room? what did she do to you before this? you didn’t have a single clue on anything happening, you felt… used, taken advantage of, objectified by your own ex childhood best friend.

and fuck did you love every second of it once you actually processed everything. was that weird? the thought of her eventually cumming her brains out to you and not to her stupid ass boyfriend was enough to turn you into even more of a mush, despite barely being conscious.

“f—fuck, aeri—“ you'd moan out,

“i know baby, it feels—mmh—good, d-doesn’t it?”

it did, it really did. so much so that you had to cover your mouth with each roll of the hips she did on you, as to not let any potential noises slip out.

aeri had decided to leave the confrontation for much, much later; when she isn't actively chasing the climax of her pleasure. plus, you looked way too good for her to even want to tell you off, it'd make her feel bad. at that moment, all she wanted was to see you lose control under her. your muffled moans like music to her ears, she got more and more lost in the feeling, dizzy and overwhelmed with euphoria. she felt the knot in her stomach get tighter and tighter, until... it snapped.

biting onto the phalanx of her index finger to surpress the moans fighting to escape, her orgasm hit her like a truck, hard.

you, on the other hand, didn't get to cum from just that, however, and that's exactly why she took it upon herself to make you finish on her tongue, eager to taste your juices and hers combined on your cunt.

before the night was over, you both talked it out. granted, it was difficult considering she was still high as shit and you had almost just gotten knocked out from having the best orgasm in fucking years, you still talked. you worked it out on the remix, if you will!

you weren't surprised when news spread on campus that uchinaga aeri had recently broken up with her boyfriend, a few days later.

[girlfromflor]

part 4 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

two months into your shared life and you can’t possibly imagine a routine without them. simon is a subtle presence, you know he’s there and you feel him, but half of the time you don’t have many interactions – he feels you, you feel him, you understand each other. you don’t have to talk to share things, it’s like you can mentally and emotionally hold hands with him even though he’s not physically by your side. kyle is more than present, always making sure you have everything you need to comfortably carry on with your day. he has grown to lingering touches and sweet words, you often allow him to stay over the night when shows up at your door – he never asked to sleep in your room, but to know he was in the house was soothing enough.

as for john, he was more than attentive to you. he quickly realized that, in order to make you feel at ease with new things, he had to act confidently about it. you never asked for the things you wanted, so he stopped asking if you needed things soon enough, opting to take it into his own hands and do it – whatever it was. and like it was practiced, when something felt out of place, you’d speak up. like it was normal, like you’ve never even doubted it before, simply because he wasn’t doubting either.

that opened so many doors for you – as a group, yes, but specially between the two of you. you were being quietly and decisively guided by him like he was physically holding you through every step. and it didn’t take too long for you to wordlessly work around each other, his silent domination working like a heavy, warm blanket around you. you felt safe, good and protected. it was as clear as it was indescribable – what you shared –, the proof of it coming when your first actual operation happened.

it was already chaos for you, but you managed it well because you had to. there was no hesitation on the enemies’ part. no doubt, no humanity, so that’s exactly how you worked – fast, assertive and fucking precise. there was a bubbling, unknown feeling deep inside you that was egging you on, pushing you to do more, think less. 

you were already on the way to leave the village that you were assigned to defend across the border. a group of machines had gone autopilot again and were causing problems, your task was to take the people out of there and into the city. the explosion was unexpected. someone must have fired too close to the machines and then they activated self-detonation, but you didn’t have time to think about it, there was a child crying somewhere far in your back. you let go of the car’s door, turning around like a lightening – glancing at price for a split second before you started running towards the sound. no second thoughts – someone was going to do it, you just acted faster. john didn’t have to say it but it was implicit, all of them saw it as clear as day, “you can go, i’ve got your back”. you didn’t raise your gun nor did you pull out a knife. you just ran, knowing that whatever came to your way was going to be put down by john – you captain, your protector.

when you found the kid – a scared little boy, secured in the arms of an older one – he started talking faster than you could comprehend. you made out the words “fell” and “hurt” and quickly realized the older one was injured. you moved to pick the older one up, doing it effortlessly with the way he weighed nothing to you – the perks of being a supersoldier. you looked to the younger one asking “think you can run?” to which he responded with a vigorous nod. you motion for him to go, “i’m right behind you.”

john watched as you appeared from the corner of an empty house with a child in your arms, a smaller one running in their direction. johnny ran instantly when he saw you, picking the younger boy in his arms before running back to the cars as well. you reached it without trouble, stepping inside in the back seat with johnny and kyle – the kids safely seated in your lap and in johnny’s. when you got to the base’s medical center it was easy to make out a woman desperate trying to find her kids. it was extremely fulfilling to see them finding each other, knowing you were part of the reason why they could.

later that day, john was in your kitchen with you as you washed the dishes you used during dinner. the others had just left to sleep, everyone was tired, just needing some good, long night of sleep. john was leaning on the counter when he spoke, “cannot believe you sprinted to get them,” his tone soft, letting you know he wasn't reprimanding you – if anything, it was a compliment.

“didn't think about it,” your voice is a quiet, distant sound. you haven't given it much thought, but now that he’s bringing it up, it gets clearer how you had relied on them without question.

“that's what i mean,” he says, trying to make explicit how amazing it felt for him, to know that you had blindly trusted that they would’ve backed you up. how easy it was for you to trust them, trust him.

you laugh, a bit taken aback by his words. “i don’t doubt you, y’know?” you say, and is so sincere he can’t help but pull you in for a hug.

because he knew. god, he did – he felt it, the complete utter faith you had in them. because you felt how they would do anything to keep the five of you safe and together – it was simply a mutual understanding. he laughed then, matching your wave of emotions, the warmth spreading in his chest making him feel so good he didn’t care if it was coming from you or him – he knew you were feeling it too anyways. “i know, sweetheart.”

it was easy being around john, just as much as it was with kyle and ghost, and that brought a sense of ease to you all that made you feel giddy and cozy. and johnny? well, he was… trying. he still held himself back around you, even though you started giving him more openings to be himself around you. it seemed like he grew used to the habit, and it was infuriating. he tormented everyone with his relentless thinking and strong emotions, but he never acted on it. 

it must be really hard for him to do it, that’s what you’re thinking at the moment. it’s been 30 minutes since he dropped by your place to “watch a movie”, but you know he’s not even close to paying attention to it. as a matter of fact, you know exactly what is going through his mind – you can feel it low in your belly and deep in your core.

“oh, for god's sake, johnny. can you stop?” you snap, exasperated tone making it clear that you mean it – even though there was a hint of a smile in your lips.

“stop what? i’m nae doing anything,” he answers, not even looking at you as he does. there’s a smirk on his lips and a teasing edge on his voice.

“you don't need to, i can hear your thoughts like they're being fucking hammered in my head,” and he laughs at your words, because even though you shared a very crazy emotional bond, there’s no way you can hear his thoughts. you don’t mind him, finishing with “it's fucking maddening.”

“nae my fault yer mental, lass,” he manages to let out, breathless and still smiling from his fit of laughter. not even a full pause after it, he says “seriously, what’re ye even talkin’ about?”

“i'm serious. cut it out, or i'll make you,” you deadpan, tone not half as stern as you wanted it to be, and with the look in his eyes it’s clear it didn't have the desired effect.

“huh, will ye, now? i'd like to see ye try, bonny,” he turns on the couch to look at you, teasing tone and teasing tone rolling off in every syllable.

“so you know what you're doing,” you turn to him too, mimicking his movements without thinking much about it.

“oops, ye caught me,” he says, and you don’t try to hold the laugh that slips your lips. you playfully punch his stomach, and he laughs too – he doesn’t miss the way you don’t move your hand, simply laying it on his chest. “cannae help it, y'know? nae around ye,” he moves closer, his voice is lower in your ears, and it’s like his accent is even stronger now.

“that’s a lie, johnny,” you whisper, making a joke to ease the mood, “you can’t control it with anyone.”

he chuckles and moves to touch your hand that is on his chest, hand closing around your wrist and giving your arm a light tug. you laugh and move to sit between his legs – back touching his chest, head resting on his shoulder. at his lack of response you add, “you don’t have to keep yourself from doing the things you want, johnny.” tilting your head back, you hold his gaze, “it’s not healthy.”

“aye,” he says as he pushes your face back to watch the tv, his chin resting on your head. “just wasn’t sure if you’d be alright with it.”

johnny didn’t shut up about it afterwards and the boys very much liked the new pace that had been settled. still, the men had to often remind johnny to do the things he wanted. he was too afraid you’d pull away, and he knew the others thought that too because he’d often reply with “ye say that, but ye dinnae act on it yerself.”

it’s how they end up in another one of these discussions. you're in the backyard of their house, picking up some flowers to decorate your place while they are gathered on the porch watching you as they speak.

“you have to act on it, otherwise she won’t either,” kyle points out, leaning on the porch’s fence.

“aye, ya know it,” john shrugs, his eyes still on you – remembering all the times he got you to do things simply by acting confidently around you –, “casual dominance or some shit.”

“i’m nae sure that’s a thing,” johnny chuckles, finding it funny that they’re trying so hard to make him believe their words.

“watch and learn, johnny,” kyle says at last, before walking to you. he calls your name and you look up, a smile already making its way to your lips as you settle the basket filled with flowers on the floor.

the others stay unmoving, watching to see how the scene will unfold. johnny says from where they stand, “that’s nae fair, she’s whipped.”

“i’m sure she’d react the same way if it was any of us,” john is quick to jump into your defense, watching as simon bends down a bit to lock eyes with johnny and nod – he thought the same.

they fall into silence to pay attention to you and kyle. he has his hands on your waist now, pulling you closer to him. he’s talking about something silly, you’re not really paying attention because your eyes keep flickering to his lips. a nervous laugh slips to your lips when kyle calls you out on it, arms further closing around you – hugging your middle. your hands find his biceps and then slide up slowly to find their place on his shoulders. 

“what is going through that pretty head of yours, love?” kyle asks you, and he clocks your flustered state immediately. “don’t even think about lying, i already know.”

you pout then, it was unfair. you weren’t used to it like they were, so you tease him a bit, “if you know, then why’d i have to say anything?”

he smirks, a chuckle escaping his lips because it was like you were reminding him of the very reason why he was there in the first place. “you’re right, baby,” is all he says before he slowly moves down to touch his lips on yours.

it was breathtaking, the shared feeling of your joy and satisfaction. his lips are soft on yours and you have to fight the urge to rush things. one of your hands is on his shoulder while the other is settled on his cheek. his hands squeeze your waist slightly, grounding himself in the moment. you kiss slowly, tongues brushing in one another passionately, in a way that rips the air out of your lungs. you giggle when he pulls away, pulling him into a hug and hiding your face in his neck. he laughs, squeezing you in his arms, cooing “don’t get shy now.”

you leave a peck on his neck as an answer, and pull away from the hug. the others watched amazed at how easy it was for kyle to get a kiss – a bit aroused by how bad you were holding yourself back. and johnny is about to wail his complaints out when they are caught by your gaze. johnny’s words die in his tongue because – as if sensing the disturbance in the harmony you’ve set between you – you grab the basket with one hand, the other interlacing with kyle’s, and start walking towards the porch. once you’ve made your way up the small set of stairs, ghost is wordlessly taking the basket from you and stepping inside the house. john gives kyle and johnny a look that says “behave” before petting your head and stepping inside as well.

you turn to johnny, all doe eyes and flustered wishes, “say it, johnny.”

he blinks, then looks at kyle – who just shrugs with a smirk. he pats the back of his head before stepping closer to you, “uh… lass,” he starts, a bit nervous but most importantly: fucking excited that this is happening. he has to talk slowly in order to not trip over his words, simply because he wants to make it happen so bad. “can i kiss ye, bonny?”

and fuck, yes he can. he knows it, hell— price and simon know it. they can feel it deep in their chest, in addition to the overbearing need to palm their semi – they wonder how wet you are with the exchange. “yes, please,” you whisper, and just like that johnny is on you.

the kiss is a bit faster than the one you shared with kyle, but fuck if it wasn’t just as good. johnny had both his hands on your face, cupping your cheek. your hands fell in his waist, stroking softly through the fabric of his shirt. you don’t even realize when he pulls away, opening your eyes only to see his almost fucked out expression – steamin’ jesus, he’ll never neglect himself again. kyle has half a mind to pull the both of you into something more, already knowing that simon and john are trying to balance it out – otherwise, you and johnny would pull you all into a spiral that no one would want to leave. 

turns out all you needed was a greenlight. they’re sure that now you are going to be just like johnny – maybe a bit worse, it’ll depend on the time of the month.

series masterlist a/n: please let me know what you think, and what you want to see in the next part!💘 | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda @imthatone-annoyingfriend @night-shadowblood-writes2 @z-wantstowrite @kentuckyhobbit @supernova2205 @thatghostlykid @reggiesslut @reap3erslov3