#noncon haircut

[painsandconfusion]

Making Whumpee Unrecognizable

For all those whumpers on the run from caretakers and the law...

Tanning bed.

Eye color change (tattoo or oxygen exposure).

Remove one unimportant toe on each foot so they walk a little different

Hair cut and dyed. Or even destroyed follicles so it never grows again.

Burn off their fingertips so they touch things differently and leave no prints.

Break their nose.

Starvation.

Piercings and tattoos.

Break their leg. Badly. Enough that they walk a little different for the rest of their life.

Break their jaw - both sides. Let it heal outward, squaring the face.

In extreme cases, just burn their face. A lot. Let it melt into something completely different.

Tattoo lip liner or eye liner on in a subtle color to react the illusion of a different shape - permanently.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @michaeltalks @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @astralrunic @cursedscribbles @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[council-of-beetroot]

I think it would be funny to have it so both Tolys and Feliks somehow are in a scenario where both get their hair cut short. Not only would they both be distressed about how they look but also imagine one seeing the other with short hair after keeping the same haircut for centuries.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Marci's drabbles pt. 3

"It's just hair"

this takes place the day after Harmful Healing (to those who I've complained about not being able to finish stuff, this was it, i did it!!!)

masterlist

TW: captivity, addiction, drug abuse, choking, triggered dysphoria, noncon touch (non-sexual), forced haircut, manipulation, carewhumper, trans whumpee

"Can you take a shower by yourself?" Wesley asked carefully in the morning. He'd made the bed for her in the guest bedroom, which technically now hers. As much as something could be hers, now that Marci was stuck as his asset as well.

"I'll manage" she replied, and the man handed her a towel.

"Take your time" His smile dropped as the door to the was closed shut behind her. He tried calling Tricia, again. The phone rang and rang endlessly, but she didn't pick up.

Wesley threw his phone across the room. Not strong enough to break it, or smash into the wall across, just tossed it and let it land wherever. Who gives a shit?

At the same time he heard the shower turn on finally, there was a knock at the door. Or sone noise that was meant as a knock, but came out as dull thumps, like someone was kicking it.

"Why the fuck didn't you pick up your goddamn phone?" he greeted, the young woman standing on his porch.

Tricia just looked down on the pile of stuff she was carrying in both her hands and then back at Wesley with one brow raised, as if to say "my hands are full, isn't it obvious?"

"Okay, get inside" Tricia walked past him, kocking into his shoulder, because he didn't give her enough room to enter, and she unceremoniously dropped her things on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, much to the man's dismay.

"I brought clothes, mostly stuff I don't need anymore," she started sorting through it, making an even bigger mess if that was possible "they might fit weird though, she's thin as a rail, and much taller than me at that"

Wesley stepped closer, getting over his disgust over the mess and looked through the clothes. There were short sleeved T-shirts, washed out pastel colours for the most part, and sone darker shorts.

"Okay and what else?" he gestured towards the other things lying around. Tricia rolled her eyes.

"Underwear, some makeup and hair stuff" she listed, annoyed "Have you seen what her hair looks like?"

"It's messy, what about it? I'm sure she'll brush it out and it's fine" he waved his hand dismissively. Tricia shook her head, the little braids flew around with the momentum, the beads and rings adorning them clinked together softly.

They heard the shower turn off in the bathroom and they both looked in the direction of the hallway expectantly.

Marci emerged, she'd put the same clothes on, she had on the day before, a blouse with bright and colourful patterns and a pair of jeans.

Wesley took a better look at her hair, now that Tricia mentioned it, and she was right it looked a mess even more so now that it was dripping wet, though he'd never admit to it.

"Hi" the younger woman greeted softly, and walked over to Marci, taking her by the hand and leading her to the couch to sit. "I brought you a bunch of clothes you can wear, until we figure out what's gonna happen now, okay?" she pushed the pile towards her on the table.

"... thanks, uhm, but why?" she looked up at them, no matter how much clearer she looked, even her eyes were focused on the other two, they weren't sure she comprehended the situation in the slightest.

"You can't wear that forever" Wesley rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms. Tricia shook her head, and put a gentle hand on Marci's shoulder.

"Just try them on, okay?" she sighed and chose a couple of things in the pile for her to put on "Here"

Marci stood up and walked back into the bathroom, almost robotically, just following the instructions.

She was quick to put the new outfit on in front of the mirror. The shirt was way too short for her, it rode up above her waistline, showing off her stomach. It would have even been considered fashionable around twenty years earlier, when she was just a kid. Marci remembered watching the TV with Dallon, wishing she could grow up to wear these things. It was really nice of the young woman to give her these. She should have remembered her name, but it slipped her mind. It was fine. The shorts were a little loose, but soft and comfortable. The underwear was plain and white, and thankfully comfortable everywhere. None of the items were things she would have actually chosen for herself, though.

She walked out again, this time with a careful smile on her face.

"It fits!" Tricia exclaimed with a relieved smile. Wesley looked her up and down, and gave a nod of approval.

"She looks like a doll" he noted. Marci blushed at that, she wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or something else. Her head was still fuzzy, and she had to remind herself over and over again what was happening to her so she didn't forget.

"Okay sit down, let us take a look at-" Tricia was interrupted by the alarm on her phone going off. "Shit" she took a glance at the notification "I have to run. You'll find everything you might need there" she pointed to the table and grabbed her own bag in a hurry "Call me if you need anything" and she was gone.

Marci watched as she left, puzzled by the sudden turn of events. Tricia was there in one moment and then wasn't in the next one.

"Come here" Wesley asked with a strange tone, one might use to call a dog. Marci obeyed and sat back on the couch.

The man reached into the pile of things and handed her a brush.

"Can you do something with that on your head?" Marci took it shakily to her head and the bristles immediately got stuck in the messy tangles at the back.

"I can't" she admitted after a while of trying and failing to comb through at least one strand.

"Give me that, I'll try" he took the brush with a load of baseless confidence and tried to run it through. She hissed and whimpered to stop, stop, stop the forceful moves.

"It hurts" she teared up and buried her face in her hands.

"How did it even get this bad?" he retreated the brush, but didn't stop hovering over her, pulling on and trying to detangle some strands.

"I don't know"

"I mean, you clearly can't fucking take care of yourself... What the fuck are you crying?" The answer came in the form of a sob.

"Stop that" Wesley ordered, clearly distraught by her reaction "You did this to yourself, what are you crying about?" Her shoulders shook with each heaving breath she tried to take to calm herself. It seemed to be an impossible task, too much for her to handle and Wesley's words stung on top of that.

She's said those sentences to herself a million times before, but it was somehow different coming from the man.

"I'm probably gonna have to cut this" he muttered and that did put a stop to her outburst. The tears dried up instantly and she turned around the best she could to face the man standing behind the couch she was sitting on.

"No" Her eyes grew wide with fear and she put her hands over the tangled mess on the back of her head as if that would offer some sort of protection.

"You started crying when I tried to brush it, I can't leave it like that if I'm keeping you around" he explained with a condescending scoff.

"No, but you can't- please don't cut it" She stood up, noticeably unsteady, he had half a mind to reach out to help her stay standing. She hit the table with the back of her legs and stumbled a bit, as she started backing away muttering "Please, don't" over and over again.

"That's fucking ridiculous you know" Wesley strode closer, walking around the couch. He had no sense to approach her slowly or carefully like one would a scared horse, though it might have been the best course of action.

Marci's eyes darted around wildly, as she still backed away, but as soon as she settled in the direction of the hallway, he caught up to her.

They were the same height, and still she felt suffocatingly small. She felt her legs stuck in place and her entire body freeze up, she could barely breathe.

Wesley was so close, she felt the heat of his body next to her, it was all the wrong kinds of warmth, not one she needed so she pressed her back into the wall behind her to avoid it.

He didn't notice or didn't care about it, and lifted his hand. She watched in paralyzed horror as it got nearer her face.

There was a moment of relief she felt when it wasn't raised high enough to hit her face, but it evaporated in the blink of an eye as he wrapped his hand around her throat and pushed.

His touch burnt worse than him being close. A fresh wave of tears found their way back in Marci's eyes.

"I told you to stop" he hissed.

"-m sorry" she whimpered fearfully. She couldn't help but put her own hands over his in an attempt to pull him away, but the harder she tried the harder Wesley pushed.

Marci gave up quickly and went limp in his hold.

"I don't know why the fuck you're so worked up, but I guess we can figure somethingout, right?" She nodded. Anything but this. He finally let go, and Marci doubled over covering her neck with both hands.

"Sit back down" he pointed to the couch without waiting for her to gather herself. She did so quickly.

The softness of the pillows reminded her of the day before. When Tricia gave her that little pill. And her thoughts were steered back to being high, a reprieve of the world she desperately needed.

He walked back behind her and resumed pulling on her strands.

"There's no fucking way this can be combed through" he stated. Marci nodded in agreement, utterly defeated.

"Why can't I just cut it then?" he asked with a sigh of clear annoyance.

"because, uhm, 'cause I- I don't, I don't wanna look like a boy" she mumbled.

"Oh" was all Wesley could reply. At least that made some semblance of sense.

"Tell you what" he cleared his throat "I'll try to save as much of it as possible" Marci didn't reply, so he continued, smoothing over the strands he'd previously pulled on, much more carefully this time "Like maybe down to your shoulder?" It was a stretch, but not impossible.

Marci shrugged.

"Can I get something while you do it?" Wesley could barely make out the ashamed mumble of a question. It gave him an idea.

"If you don't freak out and bother me while I'm trying to fix it, I'll let you fly among the clouds if you want to"

"But I can't- please, I need something" she started squirming in her seat as if she was about to attempt a runner again. He had a plan this time.

"If you don't stay put and shut the fuck up, I won't give you anything" She stilled and he smiled. Finally.

"Can I do it?... cut it?"

"No, I don't trust you with scissors" He started doubting the success he felt just a moment prior.

"Then, uhm, can I watch what it, uhm, looks like?" She tried again.

"Fine, let's go to the bathroom"

The scissors looked simply wrong in Wesley's hand. Marci followed his every move, vigilantly. He held it wrong and it made her wince with every strand he snipped away.

She lost count of how many times she cried by the time he finished.

The cut was blunt and sort of uneven. It barely reached her shoulders, but with the help of a comb it was manageable again.

"No thank you?" he asked, after he dropped the scissors in the sink unceremoniously and cleaned the hair off the floor.

"Please, give me something now"

"Whoa, it's only polite, you know, I could've buzzed it all off and been done with it" he held his hands up in a mockery of defense.

She held eye contact for as long as she could, with a face void of emotion, but the spark of defiance got put out quickly and she muttered "Thank you" looking down. He nodded.

"Wait here then, I'll get you something to calm down"

Marci crossed her arms on front of herself and stared ahead.

Just a couple of minutes and all of it would go away. She won't mind the short hair when she's high.

He returned, holding his hands behind his back.

"Left or right?" A strangely cold smile grew on his face.

"What?"

"Choose"

"Left" he opened his hand for her, there was a single white pill on it. She took it without hesitation, not questioning what it was. Anything helped. She closed her eyes and knew it would take time to kick in, but still felt calmer already. "What was in your right?"

"You might find out tomorrow" he chuckled and led her to the guest bedroom and sat her on the bed "Have some rest and get yourself together"

Wesley shut the door behind himself and dialled Tricia.

"What did you run out on me for?" he asked when she picked up.

"Sorry" she offered no further explanation. It was a wise choice, considering how easily authorities can tap into calls.

"I need your help to deal with this next time"

"What happened?" she sighed.

"She freaked the fuck out"

"Why, what did you do?" Tricia saw right through it. It offended Wesley deeply that her initial reaction is to blame him for Marci's behaviour.

"Cut her hair, because it looked horrible"

"And?"

"I don't fucking know, it's just hair" he raised his voice.

"It's not just hair, oh my god, what are you doing to that poor woman?" Now it was Tricia, who was freaking out. Great.

"Oh, come on something needed to be done, now she looks like a doll"

"I'm going there as soon as I can" Tricia ended the call.

[crashandlivewrites]

Venom on My Tongue

This has been my baby for a long time. I've put a lot of love into this and thought it was finally time to share it with everyone. Much love to @soapsgf for being with me through all of it.

Pairing: Captain MacTavish x fem!reader

Summary: It started tame. A bartender and a patron with too many burdens bottled up that he'd rather empty another than tip himself over and let it all out. But ethanol fires burn invisible, and you couldn't see the cracks forming until it was too late.

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, (very) toxic relationship, sex, DUBCON/NONCON with one scene but it's very prominent, angst

Word Count: 28.7k

You weren’t supposed to be working tonight. In fact, this was your seventh night shift of the week, and you were running on fumes, as apparently, were all the army personnel at the bar right now. Grabbing the dustpan and brush, you swept up the eighth glass that had been smashed tonight within the span of two hours. 

Once the mess had been cleaned, you disposed of the shattered glass and returned to the front, feeling thankful the night was almost over. Service wise, at least. You’d already started closing, making sure the bar itself was clean, and the glasses were in the wash when your ears caught an indignant sounding tap on the bar. Raising your head, you noticed a young guy, probably a fresh recruit to the army base nearby, given the cocky spring to his step and glowing face. He hadn’t been through enough to have his emotions beaten down like the other veterans had. 

“Just another pint of lager, if you please.” He winked, elbows leaning on the bar. Gritting your teeth, you sighed in annoyance. 

“Last call was half an hour ago, mate. The bar’s closed.” 

“Aw, come on. I’ll make it worth your time.” He pulled a twenty-pound note from his wallet, wiggling it in front of his face. Your eyes narrowed. 

“An extra twenty means nothing when my job is on the line. The answer is no.” 

“I didn’t hear the call, musta been in the loo. I’ll keep it a secret, swear!” Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you shook your head, turning your body around and calling over your shoulder. 

“The answer’s no. Now get moving. or I’ll have you escorted out.” 

The recruit’s eyes hardened, and his tone turned sharp. 

“You’re a right fucking bitch, you know that? It ain’t that fucking hard to pour a pint. Should learn some proper respect for us soldiers—” He was interrupted by a loud slam, and he let out a sharp cry. Whipping around, you saw the young recruit cupping his face, blood pouring profusely from his clearly broken nose. Standing behind him was the broad man who’d been quietly sitting on the corner of the bar, drinking scotch all night. 

“Think ye need tae have a lesson in respect, crow.” The newcomer’s accented voice was gruff and short, his hand gripping the collar of the recruit’s jacket. 

“Just wanted another fuckin’ drink!” 

“And the lassie said the bar’s closed, ye doaty bawbag.” The tall Scot leered down at the recruit, who had finally shut his mouth. “Why don’t you and yer pals take yer leave for the night? Yer nae wanted.”

Mumbling incoherently under his breath, the young man backed off, scowling at the Scot, but didn’t press the matter, heading back to his friends and leaving your bar. Sighing in relief, you turn to the man, a smile on your face. 

“A sheòid.” You thanked him, in what you were sure was a terrible pronunciation of Scottish Gaelic that you’d picked up from the last group of Scotsmen that had passed through the bar. To prove your point, the man snorted, shaking his head as he smirked. “I’d offer you a drink in thanks but, bar’s closed.” 

“It’s nae bother.” He shrugged, reaching over to drain the last of his glass, placing it on the bar in front of you before nodding and running a hand through his ridiculous haircut. “Take care o’ yerself, lassie.” And then he was gone. 

•••

The next time you saw the mysterious man was on a busy Friday night. Army personnel were mixing with the regular townsfolk, making the bar rowdier than normal. You had been serving a group of men their drinks when he slipped in, the mohawk shaved into his head making him stand out, as he made his way over to the same spot at the end of the bar that he’d occupied last time. You hadn’t realised you’d been watching him so intensely until you felt cold liquid spilling onto your hand. Cursing at yourself, you shut off the tap and wiped the glass before handing it over. 

Wiping down the mess you’d created and washing your hands, you reached up on the shelf for the same scotch he’d ordered last time. It was perfectly normal to remember his drink of choice, you reasoned with yourself. He’d helped you after all. Pouring a glass, you took it over to him, his brows furrowing slightly. 

“I didnae order anythin’.” He said, lifting his head up to stare at you. The gaze was steely, but you held it firmly. 

“It’s the drink I owe you. For last time.” 

“Didnae do it fer charity.” Now it was your turn to frown. 

“Do you want the drink or not?” Instead of receiving another gruff reply, the man chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I’m havin’ ye on, lassie. Keep the heid.” Bristling as he laughed, you pushed the glass towards him before turning around and heading back to serve. 

It wasn’t until the end of the night when you got the chance to speak to him again. You hadn’t served him, having purposely put yourself on station at the other end of the bar. But you were closing, and the other servers had eventually clocked out, leaving you alone with a couple of drunkards and the grumpy Scot, with most folk having moved on to more livelier venues. 

You’d begun to clean when you noticed him out of the corner of your eye tap his empty glass on the counter. 

“Dinnae ignore me, lassie. It’s nae my fault ye cannae take a joke.” 

“I’ve been busy. And you’ve clearly been served.” You pointed to the glasses he’d collected to his left. 

“Aye, nae by you though.” 

“And whose fault is that?” 

“Och, c’mon lassie. Ye ken I didnae mean it.” He was smirking, clearly enjoying the fact he was riling you up. Taking a deep breath in and out, you placed your towel on the bar and turned towards him. 

“Do you want another?” You asked, motioning to the empty glass. His smirk morphed into a grin, and he slid the glass over to you. 

“Ta, lassie.”

•••

The next time, he hadn’t even been in the bar. In fact, you hadn’t even noticed him at all. You were rummaging through your bag under the dim light of the streetlamp which, maybe, wasn’t the smartest idea in hindsight, but your car keys had simply vanished. Swearing under your breath, you began shuffling things to the side and pulling stuff out, placing it on top of your car. You were so entirely focused on the interior of your bag, that you didn’t hear anyone approaching until it was too late. 

Something sharp and hard pressed against your back and your breath hitched, body freezing instantly as your eyes widened, glancing in the window of your car to see a hooded figure behind you. 

“Gimme the bag.” The man spat viciously, nudging you forward slightly so your chest was pressed against the cool metal. 

“Okay! Just take it.” Your voice pitched higher than normal, quickly working the straps of your bag off your shoulder to hold it out to the man. But he never took it. 

Instead, his weight was gone and the sick sound of a fist hitting flesh made you jump. Whipping around, you see a large man with a familiar mohawk shaved into his head, crouching over your would-be mugger. 

“Ye think yer brave?” You heard him sneer as he pressed the man’s face into the gravel of the car park. “Sneakin’ up on a lassie. Yer a right cunt.” You flinched again as his fist collided with the man’s face, causing him to let out a low moan of pain. Reaching down, the Scot hauled the mugger to his feet before shoving him away. Disoriented, he stumbled back, a hand up defensively. 

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying to—”

“A load of fucking pish yer talkin’. Fuck off or I’ll cut ye baws from ye nethers.” The mugger— just a kid you’d come to realise now that his hood had fallen back— scrambled away from John, bolting into the night with his tail between his legs. 

Shrinking back against your car, you hugged your half-emptied bag to your chest as the man turned around. His face was harsh, still drawn in a scowl as he looked over his shoulder at you. 

“Are ye askin’ tae get hurt? Dinnae walk wit yer head in the clouds.” His tone was harsh and his eyes sharp. 

“I was just trying to find my keys.” You choked out, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in your throat. “I didn’t realise— I’m sorry!” You hiccuped and the man’s angry expression fell, replaced by concern. 

“Shite, I didnae mean tae scare ye. C’mere lassie.” He stepped forward with open arms and, against your better judgement, you found yourself moving forward to be held. Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight into his chest. He smelled strongly of tobacco, enough that it normally would make your nose curl in disgust, but in this instance, you buried your face in his chest, seeking his protection and comfort. 

 The man held you until he felt your breathing slowly level out. Gently, he squeezed your shoulders until you lifted your head to look at him. 

“Awryt?” He tilted his head to the side, raising the scarred brow as he looked down at you, his blue eyes much softer than they had been before. 

“I think so.” Your eyes traced over the features of his face, lingering on the scar across his chin. “Who are you?”

“John.” He said simply. You frowned.

“I need more to go on than a name, John.”

“S’all I can tell ye. Any more will bring ye more trouble than I’m worth.” 

“Thank you, John.” You let your head fall back into his chest, breathing in his tobacco-laced scent once more, as you slide your hands underneath his jacket, holding him close. His chest rumbled as he chuckled lightly, a hand running through your hair. 

“I’ll take care of ye, darlin. Dinnae fash yer wee head.” 

•••

The next time he popped his head into the bar, it was a quiet night mid-week, and you couldn’t stop the delighted grin from spreading over your cheeks. 

“John!” You greeted as he sat down, already reaching for his usual and pouring a glass. The twinge of amusement in his expression was easily read, his eyes twinkling as they bored into yours. 

“Ye been waitin’ on me or something, darlin?” He asked, reaching for the glass. 

“Or something.” You teased, throwing the towel over your shoulder as your expression turned slightly more serious. “I don’t think I ever—”

“Dinnae thank me, lassie. Please. Wasnae doin’ it fer praise.” Your face fell, brows knitting together as you let out a soft ‘oh’ before making a move to turn around. A hand gripped your wrist, making you look back. “I meant ye dinnae need to thank me. I was just lookin out fer ye. Makin’ sure yer safe ‘n all. Bonnie lass such as yerself shouldnae be working alone late at night.” 

You couldn’t stop the heat that was climbing up your cheeks at his compliment, so you ducked your head. 

“Still. You could have gotten hurt.”

John barked out a laugh, making you jump back in surprise at the intensity of it. The wrinkles around his eyes creased, keeping the wide grin on his face as he looked back at you. 

“It’s sweet ye think they could hurt me.” 

“They could have! The mugger had a knife—”

“He had a screwdriver, lassie. ‘Sides, I’ve dealt wit much more out on the job.” It was the first time he’d ever mentioned work in front of you. Yes, you’d assumed he was a soldier, a highly skilled one at that. They carried a certain look about them, one they all shared. And John had that look about him, while also bearing an air of something slightly more sinister. You refilled his glass as you spoke, glancing over your shoulder to check there was no one waiting at the bar. 

“I now know four things about you.” You announced. His brow raised with interest as he took a sip. “Your name’s John, you’re a trained soldier, you drink scotch, and you have a penchant for protecting poor girls like me.” 

He gave a breathy chuckle, shaking his head at your conclusions. 

“Almost right, lassie. I like protecting you.” The last word was said with a heated intensity, causing you to swallow thickly. Burning questions bubbled up your throat, threatening to spill, but you managed to keep your mouth shut, asking none of them. 

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for your service.” 

“No need. Keep refilling the glass and I’ll be fine.” He said, draining the glass. 

“Watch yourself, John. I might need to cut you off if you’ve had too much.” You refilled his cup yet again. His brow pinched in mock offence. 

“I’d sooner keel over before ye see me pished enough tae cut me off.” 

“We’ll see then.” You mused, raising your brow and, regretfully, turning back to your duties. 

He proved you right, still being able to stand and talk coherently even hours later. Well, coherent for him at least. He was the last customer of the night, sitting silently as he watched you clean up. 

“You know you can head out, right? You don’t need to stay on my account.” 

“Need I remind ye what happened last time?” His tone was a little sterner, warning you not to argue the point. You ignored it. 

“That was the first time it happened. And I’ve been much more careful since then.” You argued, hand on your hip. 

“Yer cute when yer mad.” He smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief as he pushed himself up. He walked towards you as you wiped the last table, sucking your teeth in annoyance at how easily this man had wormed his way under your skin. “But I’m glad tae hear ye’ve been keepin’ watch. Hate tae have something happen tae ye wee self when I’m not around.” 

He leaned on the bar, watching you closely as you finished closing up. You wracked your brains for something remotely witty to throw back at him. 

“You know, for a big man you walk awfully quietly.” 

“Necessary fer the job, darlin’.” 

“It’s almost creepy.” 

He shrugged, clearly amused by you. 

“Dae I make ye nervous, wee hen?” He cocked his head arrogantly, a cheshire-like smile spreading wider on his face. 

“You’ve beat up two men for me. I’d be stupid not to be wary.” It was the truth. He huffed a laugh, voice deepening as he spoke. 

“Good. Ye’d be foolish tae not be afraid of me.”

Your lips parted as he stepped closer, reaching out to brush strands of your hair out of your eyes. He stayed there, face mere inches away from yours as he stared into your eyes, searching. His presence felt overwhelming; his smell, his size, his demeanour, his appearance… 

“John.” Whispering softly, pleadingly, you tilted your head up ever so slightly as your hand gripped the hard wood of the bar. 

“Get yer coat, darling.” He breathed, stepping back. “It’s late. Ye need tae get home.” 

Frowning, you felt your heart thump in disappointment as you watched his retreating form. Making sure everything was locked one final time, you shrugged on your coat and grabbed your bag, walking to the back door and locking it behind you. 

John was waiting there, the familiar scent of his cigar smoke lingering in the air before you could even see him. 

“Why are you doing this?” You called into the dark. The soft glow of his cigar gave his position away as he inhaled. 

“Am I not allowed tae care about yer safety?” Sighing in frustration, your shoulders dropped as you looked at him, lingering in the shadows. 

“Why do you care, John? I don’t know you; you don’t know me.” Breathing heavily, John stubbed out his cigar and stepped forward into the light of the streetlamp. 

“Ye ken, I’m not a good man, lassie. Ye should keep away from me.” 

Snorting indignantly, you shake your head in exasperation. “You’re making that extremely difficult when you’re the one showing up at my workplace and wanting to claim all of my attention.”

“I’m not a good man.” He repeats, eyes unwavering and face set as he takes another step towards you. “Tell me tae leave, tae stay away from ye.” 

Breath hitching, you looked up at him, trying to read his expression and seeing the internal conflict. You shake your head, refusing to back down, as he uses his body to crowd you against the wall. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against yours, breath fanning over your cheeks, making your nose crinkle. 

“You smell like tobacco.” 

“I’ve got mints in my car.” He responds just as quickly. The fight in you that was already waning in the bar earlier was practically gone at this point. 

“I’m not going to tell you to stay away. I don’t want you to go.” A lump formed in your throat as his nose brushed against yours. 

“I willnae let anything happen tae ye, darlin. I promise ye that.” He whispered softly, a calloused hand sliding up the back of your neck before he pulled your lips up to meet his. 

Moaning softly, your eyes fluttered closed as you slid your hands up his chest, gripping the front of his shirt and holding him to you. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, the remnants of the cigar making the kiss bitter, but it was something so intensely John that it made you crave more. 

His fingers ran through your hair, clutching tighter as the kiss grew more intense. His breath was ragged, fanning over your cheek as he groaned into the kiss, pressing his body against yours and pressing you harder against the wall. His tongue pressed against the seam of your lips, deepening the kiss as it felt like he was pouring all his emotion into this one moment.

And then he pulled back, slowly breaking the kiss as he breathed heavily. Swallowing, your eyes fluttered open as you panted, looking up at him in confusion. 

“What’s wrong?” Concern filled your voice as you reached up to cup his cheek. 

“Ye need tae get some rest. I’m keepin’ ye. Let’s get ye home, awryt?” 

“You’re strangely sweet, for a mysterious soldier who’s broken the noses of two men all in the name of my honour.” The corners of your mouth twitched into a teasing smile that was reflected on his face. 

“Call me chivalrous, darlin’.” 

“My knight in shining armour.”

“Wouldnae go that far.” He mused, his large hand sliding down to the small of your back as he steers you towards your car.

•••

He disappeared for a while after that, leaving a hole in your heart as empty as the spot at the end of the bar. It was stupid, you thought, pining and worrying about a man you knew virtually nothing about. But you couldn’t help yourself. 

Since you didn’t even have his bloody number, you couldn’t even message him to ask if he was alright, or when he was coming back. However, given the supposed nature of his job, he was liable to not answer depending on where he was stationed and how secretive his mission was.

To occupy the space he’d carved out for himself in your mind, you found yourself rethinking the kiss over and over again, running it through your head. The memory of his smell and taste occupied your thoughts to the point you’d even gone out specifically to find the cologne he wears, only to never find one that smelt right. 

It was late, way past when you usually left, but some idiot had decided to throw his shoe over the bar, sending alcohol bottles flying, clearing most of the bottom shelf and smashing the mirror behind. You’d closed the bar early in a fit of rage, sending everyone packing unceremoniously. Wiping your face in frustration, you finally cleared all the broken glass and spilled alcohol from the bench and the floor when you heard the door open. 

“We’re closed!” You snapped, not even bothering to turn around. “Read the sign.”

“Aye, but I cannae read, lassie.” The familiar drawl of his accented voice caused you to perk up and whip around. Sure enough, John was standing in the doorway looking particularly rugged, as if he’d gotten back recently, and this was one of his first stops. “Ye gonna blame a man fer wantin tae see yer bonnie wee face after a long couple o’ months?”

“John!” You cried, sprinting out from behind the bar and leaping into his arms in sheer excitement. He let out an amused noise of surprise, but wrapped his arms around you eagerly, holding you close and lifting you off the ground with ease.  

“Miss me that much, aye?” He teased as you buried your face into his neck, inhaling the scent your heart had been yearning for. 

“You were gone. I had no idea if you were safe or even alive. No means to contact you, either.” You dropped the last sentence, in hopes he’d pick up your meaning. 

“Ye of wee faith, lassie.” The tone was light as he squeezed you one final time before setting you down. “I’m out of range fer a lot of it, but I s’pose I wouldnae mind havin a way tae contact ye if yer not workin.”

Beaming happily, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. His lips twitched into a half smile as his thumbs typed on the screen before handing the device back to you. 

John M. 

“I now also know your last name started with an M.”

“That ye dae. What’s got ye caught up this late? Been waiting outside fer a wee bit.” Your heart gave a happy thump at the thought of him waiting for you to finish, of him wanting to spend time with you. Sighing, you gestured to the bar. 

“Just finished cleaning up this mess, and now I’ve got to take stock of the inventory that was smashed and remove all the other bottles from the shelf in case the mirror behind cracks more overnight. Then I’ve got to file an incident report, send an email to the boss so he can arrange for someone to come out and replace the mirror. On top of my usual closing duties.” 

John’s brows drew together in a frown as he looked down at you with concern, hearing the weariness in your voice. Pulling you in for another hug, he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

“Tell me what I can dae tae help.” 

“No, I can’t ask that of you. You’ve been away for ages. You're probably tired and—”

“Darlin…” His voice was soft as he tilted your head up, cupping your cheek gently. “I’m nae asking fer yer permission. I’m helping.”

As much as you hated to admit it, having John help out did make everything move a lot quicker. You felt guilty, making him work when he was back, but he refused to acknowledge you whenever you brought up paying him for his time. Instead, he requested payment in information, and spent most of the time asking you questions about your life:

Where were you born? What was your childhood like? Do you have any siblings? Where are they now? What drove you to work here? Do you have any dreams or aspirations? 

But whenever you retaliated with a question of your own, you were met with a chuckle and two annoyingly frustrating words. 

“That’s classified.” 

“Who are you? Some kind of secret service spy?” 

“I told ye before, lassie. Getting tae ken me will just bring ye more harm than good.”

“Then shouldn’t you stay away from me?” There was a spark of challenge in your voice and John snorted, looking up from where he was on the other side of the bar to stare at you with a dark smirk on his face. 

“I’m not a good man.” He repeated his words from the time just before he’d first kissed you, and it sent shivers down your spine. 

“On the contrary, you’ve done little to prove that point to me. Here you are on your own time helping me out to get home quicker. I don’t see how that qualifies as you being a bad man, John.” 

“Maybe I selfishly only want ye tae see the good side of me.” He winks before turning back to what he was doing, effectively shutting down the conversation. 

The long hours and lack of sleep finally caught up to you, and you felt yourself drifting off as you were typing away on the computer in the back office. Every time John poked his head in, your eyes were drooping, and you could only manage a weak hum in reply. 

“Awryt, that's it. I’m takin ye home.” He loomed over you, shutting down the computer despite your protests. “No, yer barely keeping yerself upright. Yer going home.” 

You couldn’t even struggle against him as he bundled you into your car and soon enough, you found yourself being carried into your bedroom. It was only when he placed you gently down on your bed that you shook your head to clear it. 

“How did you know where I lived?” You mumbled, looking up at him with furrowed brows. John gives you a look that leaves you feeling slightly unsettled, though you put that down to being delirious. 

“It’s on yer drivers' licence.” Oh. Now that made you feel stupid for assuming. 

“Thought you were a creepy stalker for a moment. Getting up all up in my business, knowing all my personal information when I don’t know anything about you.” 

“Yer the one lettin’ strange men into yer flat, lassie.” 

“I didn’t let you in. You let yourself in.” You said smugly, wrapping yourself in your blankets as you rested your head on the pillows. “And you’re not a stranger.” 

“Ye dinnae even ken my last name.” He chuckled, brushing hair out of your face again, his eyes tender.

“Because you won’t tell me. Is it MacGregor?” 

“No.”

“Macmillan?”

“No.”

“Mac—”

“How dae ye ken it starts with ‘Mac’, lassie?”

“Because you’re Scottish.” You replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. He snorted out a laugh at your reasoning before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Get some rest. I’ll see ye later.” 

•••

On a rare weekend night that you weren’t working, you found yourself out with a couple of friends. You wouldn’t say that you were drunk, but you were definitely not sober, floating in a happy medium as you moved your hips in time with the music, feeling yourself as you dance with your friends. It felt nice to be on the other side of the bar for once, letting your hair down and getting loose with people you hadn’t seen in far too long.

It was your turn to buy a round and so when a song you weren’t familiar with began to blast from the speakers; you motioned towards the bar to your friends before clutching your phone and heading over, leaning onto the bar and waiting your turn. 

The man standing next to you turned, staring at you with a smile. He was tall, you noticed, but wouldn’t be someone you’d look twice at. Not while you have your mind currently occupied with a handsome, mysterious man in your… situationship? If you could even call it that. 

“Having a good night?” He asked loudly over the music. Not wanting to be impolite, you gave him a small smile. 

“Yeah, just out with my friends.” You say neutrally, nodding your head yet casting your eyes back to the bar, waiting for your turn to be served, but the man wasn’t done just yet. 

“What’re you guys drinking? I’ll shout. Maybe we can link up with my mates after, whaddya say?” He nudges your shoulder, prompting you to glance up again. 

“Thanks for the offer, but we’re really just wanting a girl’s night.” You tried to keep your tone flat and disinterested, hoping it’ll deter him, but knowing your luck, it wouldn’t. Even when you were working, it took a lot for some men to get the hint, especially when inebriated. 

“My treat then? Come on, sweetheart. It’ll be fun. You can save your money and buy another round somewhere else?” He threw an arm around you, pulling you into him despite your resistance. 

“Please, it’s really nice of you, but I don’t want to take advantage of that.” Placing your hands in the centre of his chest, you tried to push him back. Thankfully, his grip loosened, and you managed to lift your head up. “I have someone, and so do my friends.” 

It wasn’t a straight up lie. You did have John, whatever you had between the two of you. Yes, you may have only kissed him once and yes, you hadn’t known him for that long in the whole scheme of things, but he stayed late to help you tidy the bar after the accident and then drove you home, tucking you into bed. That had to mean something, right? 

“I don’t see him here.” The guy gestured around, pulling you in closer and making your heart sink. “He won’t know. Besides, if you were my girl, I wouldn’t let you out alone, anyway. Pretty things like you should be kept in eyesight at all times.” 

It was at this point the bartender finally made his way over to you, and you leaned forward, telling him your order, thankful to have your attention away from the creep next to you. Nodding, the bartender placed three glasses out and began to make the drinks. 

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that.” You grit your teeth as the sleaze’s voice made its way into your ears again, and you felt a hand slide across your back. 

“Stop, please. I’ve told you; I’ve got a boyfriend.” With someone pressed against your other side at the bar, you couldn’t exactly step away from him, and he knew that. The bartender placed the drinks in front of you, and before you could even move, the guy paid for them. Cursing, you looked around, trying to see if there was anyone you could catch the attention of for help. 

“Not dressed like that, you don’t.” He said snidely, tugging at your shirt. Whipping back to face him, your eyes were blazing with fury. 

“How I’m dressed is none of your business. And frankly, none of my boyfriend’s either.” You went to grab the drinks from the bar, but a large hand reached over you, trapping your smaller one between it and the glasses as your back hit a firm chest. 

“Ye quite done chatting up my missus?” The voice was recognisable anywhere, and you let out a soft breath of his name as you turned your head to look up at him. John’s eyes were blazing as they stared directly at the creep before him. 

“You’re her boyfriend?” His voice wavered slightly as he took in John’s appearance. Quickly realising that he was outmatched, he turned to you, sneering. “Of course, you’re a fucking gold-digging whore, fucking a man twice your age.” 

Before you could even respond, John surged forward, grabbing the front of the guy’s shirt and tugging him close. 

“Ye wanna call my missus a slag ye say it tae my fuckin face, ye cunt.” He spat. The commotion caught the attention of everyone around you, including the bartender.

“John.” You tapped his chest, trying to push him back. “Just leave it. He’s not worth it.” 

“Aye he fucking is.” John growled, eyes flashing with rage, lip curling as his fist clenched tighter at the man’s shirt. “D’ye wanna tell her what ye did tae her drink, or shall I?”

You froze, glancing at the three glasses that had been left on the bar before looking at the guy, whose eyes widened marginally. 

“Don’t know what you fucking mean.” He growled back. 

“Och, I think ye do, laddie. I watched ye dae it.”

“Fuck off.” 

“John, that’s enough! Please!” You cried out, sliding out from between the men and pulling him away as you saw a bouncer heading over. “You’re causing a scene. Just leave it.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes as he flicked between your desperately worried face and the guy’s angry one, before shoving him back and straightening up. 

“What’s going on?” The bouncer stood between John and the other man, looking back and forth between the pair of them. 

“He spiked her drink like a fuckin coward.” John seethed, finger pointing straight at the man’s face, taking a step forward. Grabbing quickly onto his jacket, you pulled him back as the bouncer grabbed the other man before telling John to get out as well. 

Without waiting, John gripped your arm and hauled you out of the club, not letting go until you were out on the street and clear of any loiterers.

“What the fuck, John?” You shoved him, pulling your arm out of his grip. He shot you a glare, baring his teeth. 

“Ye oughta be thankin’ me lassie.” His tone held an edge as he herded you down an alley. “Dae ye have any idea what that wanker woulda done tae ye?” 

“Where did you even come from? I thought you weren’t supposed to be back for another week.”

“Well, it’s a bloody good thing I got back early, huh? I dinnae wanna fucking think about what coulda happened tae ye!” John’s hands were on your shoulders as he looked deep into your eyes. “Fuck’s sake, lassie, I cannae be here watching yer back all the time.” 

His eyes were wide and pleading as he cupped your cheek, stepping forward to press his forehead to yours. “Ye told me that ye were gonna be more careful.”

“I tried to get rid of him. Why are you blaming me for almost getting drugged?” You looked at him in exasperation, pushing at his chest. “Are you just planning on standing there and yelling at me?”

“Fuck, fuck, umnae blamin’ ye, darlin. I just, I couldnae… I thought…” The words died in his mouth as he lifted his head to look at you, fear evident in his eyes as he sighed heavily, jaw clenching. 

“I’m sorry, John.” You whispered, lip trembling as the reality of the situation hit you, of what could have happened if John hadn’t had your back. 

“Dinnae apologise, darling, please. It’s nae yer fault. Just thinking about that… fucker puttin’ his hands on ye.” He pulled back, clasping his hands behind his head as he paced in the alley, breathing deeply to rein in his temper.

Pulling out your phone, you messaged your friends to let them know where you were before you stepped towards John, taking his hands in yours. His jaw ticked, but his eyes softened as he turned his attention to you. As you gave him a tender smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as he slid his arms around you. 

“Thank you for looking out for me, John.” You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as you lightly scratched his scalp with your nails. He hummed happily, large hands sliding underneath the hem of your top, steering you until your back hit the wall.

“I cannae imagine losing ye, hen. Yer the only thing that keeps me going, that is worth coming back tae.” His breath was hot and ragged against your neck as he pressed wet, desperate kisses along the line of your neck. “Shoulda ripped his fucking throat out fer touchin ye. Fer hurtin’ ye. I’d’ve never forgiven myself if anything happened tae ye.” 

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, and for the first time, you wondered exactly how many men had been killed or maimed under John’s direction. He’d told you he wasn’t a good man, and you knew he was dangerous, but you couldn’t deny the rush that went through your body as he held you like this, soft and tender, whilst speaking about harming another person to keep you safe. 

“You need to be careful. You might end up on the wrong side of someone.” Like he always managed to do, John’s touch lit a fire in you, and you felt your body responding eagerly. His mouth spread into a wide grin, the stubble tickling the skin of your neck. 

“How many times dae I have tae say it, lass? Ye think eejits like that can hurt me? ‘Sides, yer worth the trouble of it. Worth. Every. Fucking. Moment.” He sucked on your neck with each word, nipping as he moved down, causing you to whine and tip your head back to give him more room. 

He groaned at the movement, hands sliding further up your torso as he pushed a thigh between your legs, pressing up against your core. Breath hitching, you gripped his shoulder for stability as he continued his exploration of your neck. Heat flooded through your body as he nipped and sucked his way up to the junction of your jaw, and you rolled your hips against his firm thigh. 

“Wait… John wait.” You managed to get out, letting out a strangled moan as he sucked on your neck and ground himself into you, allowing you to feel exactly how badly he wanted this. He growled in frustration, but pulled himself away from you. 

“I shouldnae dae it anyway. Ye’ve been drinkin—”

“I’m not drunk, I promise. I want you. God, I want you. I need you, John.” His eyes rolled back in his head at your words, hands squeezing your waist in a clear attempt to restrain himself. That only made your arousal spike, seeing his jaw flex with tension. 

“Ah dinnae wanna take ye here, hen. Not like this.” 

“Then just let me.” You whispered into his ear, pushing him back slightly so you could sink to your knees in front of him, hands already toying with his belt as he growled deep in his throat. 

“Fucking Christ darlin. Ye gonna kill me. Ye dinnae have tae—”

“I want to, John. Been thinking about this for months. Can’t believe you were this patient.” He let out a strained chuckle. 

“‘S not fer lack o’ trying, lass. Just hasnae been the right time.” He rested his forearm on the wall, glancing down at you with a strained expression. “Ye dinnae have tae.” 

“I want to.” You repeated in a low tone, tugging open his zipper and pulling down his underwear to expose his dick. Your eyes widened fractionally as you took him in. He was uncut, only half-hard but already mouthwateringly thick, with dark hair surrounding the base. 

“Too much fer ye?” Frowning, you looked up at John, who was staring down at you, a smirk plastered on his face. He reached down to cup your face tenderly before taking a firm grip in your hair. “But since ye down there, ye’ll be good fer me, aye?” 

“Yes, sir.” You grinned before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue, dragging it up the slowly stiffening length of his cock before taking him into your mouth and tonguing the underside. 

Groaning at his taste, you could feel his cock swelling in your mouth, and you pulled back, spitting on his cock and working your hand over the heavy length, helping him grow to his full size. Letting out a soft hiss, John’s fingers pressed into your scalp, but didn’t push you down.

“That's a good girl.” He praised breathlessly. Allowing saliva to pool on your tongue, you ran it along his shaft, getting him nice and wet as your hand continued to pump him. The gravel of the pavement was digging into your knees, but you didn’t care. Blocking out the pain, your lips curled around the head of his cock, pushing his foreskin back gently and sucking lightly. The feeling of him on your tongue made you moan, and John let out a reciprocal groan as he stared down at you, fingers tightening in your hair. 

Cocking your brow in amusement, you kept your eyes fixed on him as one hand wrapped around the base of his cock to hold him steady. You allowed him to watch as you opened your mouth, swirling your tongue eagerly around the head and bobbing slowly. 

“Fucking Christ hen, ye wanna stop teasing?” He panted, pulling you off and tipping your head up to look at him. “‘Cause I’m in a real mind tae fuck ye throat right now.”

Squeezing your thighs together, your breath hitched with his words, and you couldn’t stop the pathetic whine that broke out. John’s eyes lit up in the darkened alley, shining with delight as he stared down at you. 

“Ye like the sound o’ that lassie? Well now, put on a good show and I’ll gladly oblige.” Taking hold of his cock, he slapped it against your cheek, smearing his pre-cum on your skin, and then he fed his cock between your lips. Letting out a soft noise of surprise, you relaxed your mouth, allowing him to press himself in. Sealing your lips around him, you began a steady rhythm, bobbing down his shaft as your tongue laved along the underside, sliding over a vein that caused him to jerk. 

You chuckled, sending vibrations down his length, making him hiss in pleasure. Pulling most of the way off his cock, you locked eyes with him before swallowing his cock down to the base. Your nose was pressed against the dark hair at the base of his dick, and you could smell his distinct musk that made your own arousal spike. He tugged at your hair and let out a carnal groan, hips canting forwards to sink deeper. 

Relaxing your throat, you held him there for a bit, swallowing around him as you felt saliva pooling in your mouth, threatening to spill out. Pulling back, you took in a deep breath before sliding back down his length again, bobbing your head slightly so that the head of his cock repeatedly pushed down your throat, sending John into a spiral. 

“Fuck— oh fuck darling. Feels so fucking good around me. Takin me s’fucking well. Look at ye… swallowin’ mah cock down like a greedy fucking slag.”

Both of his hands now rested on the sides of your head, fingers tangled into your hair as he tipped his head back and moaned at the feeling of your mouth around him. Wetness pooled in your underwear at the sight of him losing his composure, and you couldn’t help but run your hands up the broad expanse of his thighs, taking in every inch of him. One hand settled to squeeze his ass as the other cupped his balls. They were large and heavy, swollen and full of spend that he was aching to shoot down your throat. 

“Aye that’s it. Hold my fucking balls fer me. Feel how badly I wanna fill ye up. God ye so fuckin good fer me. My slut. My good wee whore, aren’t ye?” 

He thrust his hips forward suddenly, causing you to gag and pull back, sucking in a breath as you looked up at him reproachfully. John just grinned wider at your disapproval, his voice coming out heady and rough. 

“Sorry darlin, got a wee bit excited. Ye feel so good wrapped around my cock. I’m almost there, lassie, c’mon. Keep suckin’ me.” There was no preamble this time as John immediately pressed his hard, thick cock back into your mouth, looking down at you as your lips spread wide around the base. Your mouth and throat were going to ache tomorrow, you knew it, but you also didn’t care and wanted to take everything he’d give you. 

He rocked his hips forward, the head of his cock pressing deep down your throat as you relaxed, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as a tear slid down your cheek; a mix of shortness of breath due to his eager thrusts and the biting, protesting pain from your aching knees. 

“Oh, fuck that’s it—that’s it, my wee fucking slag. Cry fer me, cry on my dick.” One of his hands cupped the back of your neck as the other roughly gripped your hair on the crown of your head, holding you in place as he ruts his hips forward into your mouth. You couldn’t do anything except let out a slightly garbled whine, which did nothing but make him moan throatily and toss his head back as your hands slid up to press against the front of his thighs.

“Shite, I'm gonna come. Fuck me, I’m gonna come.” John’s voice was strained as he spoke, hips moving forward in an inconsistent rhythm before he pulled out. Using the hand on top of your head, he tilted your head up to look at him, forcing your mouth open as his other hand worked over his cock. His eyes were glued on your face, messy and debauched, and the mere sight of it sent him over the edge.  

His body drew rigid, and he let out a strained gasp before shoving the throbbing head of his cock into your mouth, flooding it with his hot release. 

“Take it.” He urged, eyes dark and fixed onto your face. “Take it, take it all for me, my good wee whore. That's it.” You let out a soft moan, working him through the release by sucking on the tip of his cock. Finally, John pulled back, and you released his cock, watching it flop; flaccid and spent between his legs.

Panting heavily, John reached down with a hand, swiping his thumb tenderly through the mess of saliva and cum on your chin before he pressed the digit into your mouth. Without even being asked, you sucked it clean, and then pressed a kiss to the junction of his groin and thigh as you rose to your feet grinning. 

“Fuck, darling. Yer somethin else.” He returned the wide smile, hand coming up to close lightly over your throat as his mouth descended on yours roughly. His tongue pressed into your mouth, intently sweeping along yours to taste himself mixed with you. He groaned, pulling away as he tucked himself back into his pants, zipping himself up and motioning to the end of the alley. 

“C’mon, hen. I’ll take ye home. That way, I can fuck ye somewhere nice.” You were not one to disagree.

•••

Later that night, you were lying on your bed, curled into John’s side with your head on his soft, fuzzy chest as his arm was thrown around your shoulders. The pair of you were hot, panting and sweaty, but you wanted to be close to him, and John was happy to indulge you. 

With a leg thrown over him and your head resting on his chest, you allowed your fingers the freedom of roaming over his chest, tracing the lines of his scars. 

“Do you remember what they’re all from?” You asked, running over a fairly new scar that was raised on the upper part of his abdomen. 

“Most of them.” He mumbled sleepily, eyes closed as he rested his head against your pillow. “That one yer touching was caused by a knife.” 

“You were stabbed?” Lifting your head, your brows furrowed in concern as you looked up at his face. The corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

“Dinnae fash, darling. I’m fine now.” Squinting his eyes open, he placed a hand on the back of your head, gently pushing you back down to rest on his chest. You obliged, letting yourself be settled by the rhythmic beating of his heart. 

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” His hand squeezed your shoulder before moving to trace down the length of your bare back. 

“Aye.” Was his simple reply as he looked down at you. “And I cannae say anything about it.”

“Can you just let me worry about you?” You grit out, pushing yourself up to look down at him, frowning as you met his gaze. “When you’re gone for long stints, I can’t help but think about what you’re going through.”

John let out a long sigh, as he kept his eyes fixed on yours, unwavering and steady. “I’m not doing it tae hurt ye, lassie. ‘Sides, I’d rather ye not hear what I’ve been through. It’s ugly stuff.”

“That makes me worry more.” His lips spread in a toothy grin at your remark, and he runs a hand lightly up your side. 

“Yer sweet, hen. I like that about ye.” His tone was casual, but his eyes and jaw were both set firmly enough for you to realise that he was once again trying to put an end to the conversation. But you weren’t giving up. 

“Will you tell me why you were back early?” 

“Ain’t much tae say. We got the job done. I’m back.” He said tersely, pushing your hand aside so he could sit up on the edge of the bed. You felt an ache in your heart at the gesture, realising you may have pushed him too far. 

“I’m sorry. John, I’m sorry.” Quickly moving, you sat next to him, hands on his shoulder and chest. “I just— it hurts when you’re gone, and I have no clue what’s happening to you, and then you just show up like you did tonight… I’m still getting used to this. To you.” 

Your breathing was rapid as you stared at his face, eyes glancing over his tense features. He intentionally wasn’t looking at you, lips pursed and eyes slightly narrowed as he was lost in thought. The pair of you stayed like that for a good few minutes, and every second more only made your heart beat faster as your skin prickled unsettlingly. 

Finally, he blinked, turning his head towards you and placing one of his large hands over your thigh. “I ken it’s not easy being with a soldier. We go through a lot, some more so than others. We often have a temper, dinnae like when things are out of our control.” 

Nodding along, you sat there patiently, letting him talk his mind. His hand squeezed your thigh in appreciation, head nodding as he continued. 

“I dinnae like tae think about what could happen. Cannae afford tae. My life is on the line every time I leave, and I cannae change that fact.” He cupped your face tenderly, tracing a thumb over your cheek as a sense of longing lingered in his eyes. “I want tae tell ye things, but I willnae put ye in that position.” 

“So what do we do?” Lifting up your hand, you wrapped it around his forearm as he leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. 

“Ye have tae accept there are things about me I cannae tell ye. It’s just fer the best, lassie. I’ll try and tell ye what I can. Ye can still ask questions, but ye cannae get mad at me fer not being able to tell ye things.”

“Okay, John.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your cheek. He pressed a tender kiss to your cheek before pulling back. 

“I’m sorry it has tae be this way. And I ken it’s selfish fer me tae want so much from ye and fer ye tae get sweet fuck all in return.” A grin tugged onto his face at his words and you felt yourself smiling in response. “But I’m a selfish man, lassie. And I cannae let ye go, not when ye’ve dug yer way into my life.” 

Still smiling, he pushed you back until you were lying down, staring up at him as he stroked the hair from your eyes. Fondness and desire were both evident in his eyes as he lifted himself up onto his knees, rearranging your body so he was nestled between your legs once more. 

“Am I yours, John?” You asked, needing some kind of clarification on where you stood in the relationship, if it was right to say you were spoken for. 

“My god, sweetheart, I’d kill a man tae keep ye safe and unharmed. Of course yer mine.” He growled, an edge to his tone as he leaned back down. Tilting your head back, he attached his mouth to your neck, sucking red, claiming marks over the column of your throat. “I fucking wish I could shout it from the rooftops. Wish I could tell the whole world yer mine.”

As his teeth dragged along the sensitive skin, you gasped, arching your back and locking your legs around his waist. You wrapped your arms around him, fingers threading through the strands of his mohawk. 

“I’m yours, John.” You whined, tugging at his hair and making him grunt in satisfaction. 

“Say it again.” He demanded in your ear. 

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’ll only ever be yours.” 

Groaning, he pushed himself up to reach for his wallet, grabbing out another condom and rolling it on. Settling back down between your legs, he dragged his hardened cock down the length of your slit before pressing inside; using your previous release and the lube on the condom to help ease the slide as he sunk down to the hilt. 

“Say it. Say that yer mine as I fuck ye.” He pleaded, burying his face into your neck as he set a sloppy pace. His hands grabbed at your body, pulling you into him as though being pressed against each other and being inside you wasn’t close enough. 

“I’m yours, John.” You mewled. His cock was so thick that despite already being taken earlier, you still felt the burn of being stretched out by him. Clenching yourself around him, you dragged your nails down his back, desperate to mark him as he marked your neck. 

John let out a desperate grunt, thrusts already becoming sloppy as the heat of the moment got to him. 

“Aye, yer mine— all fucking mine. Mine tae have, mine tae fuck.” His voice broke slightly as he moaned, teeth closing on your shoulder as he tried to silence himself. He dragged his wet tongue over your skin, tasting you as you bucked your hips up to meet his. 

“John— oh fuck, John. Please, come inside me. Mark me as yours. Need it. I need to be yours.” The bite of his fingernails on your skin was vicious as he held your hips in place, allowing him to punch his hips forwards until he slammed into you one final time, cock pulsing as you squeezed around him. His arms held you close as he ruts into you, emptying the last of his thick seed deep inside the condom with a muffled moan against your shoulder. 

The weight of him was almost suffocating, and you pressed your hands into his shoulders, whining as you still hadn’t found your release. John chuckled, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder and admiring his handiwork briefly before lifting himself off and sliding down your body. His thick fingers were already toying with your slick cunt as he kissed down your body. 

“John…”

“I ken ye want it, darling. Dinnae fash, I’ll give it tae ye, because yer mine, aren’t ye? Say it fer me.” You nodded blissfully, eyes fluttering with the way his fingers curled inside you as you felt the heat of his mouth against your inner thigh. 

“Yes. I’m yours, John. Only yours.” 

“That’s right. My good wee whore.” He cooed before lowering his mouth to your glistening cunt.

•••

-> Are you free tonight? Need to see you before I leave tomorrow

You had to pause and sit on your couch to stare at your phone when the text first came through. John rarely initiated a conversation through text, much preferring to call you or for you to message first and let him know if you were working, out, or at home for the night. Receiving that text from him made your heart lurch in your chest and you found yourself jumping to respond immediately. 

<- I’ll be home all night. What time are you coming? x

-> Late. Still prepping and will leave early tomorrow

<- That’s alright. I’ll wait up for you. Can’t wait x

Glancing at the clock, you noted it was just on five in the evening which meant you probably wouldn’t expect him for several hours, much to your dismay. However, given the mess that was currently in your flat, maybe the extra time wasn’t a bad thing. 

As you were cleaning, you were struck with just how much John had inserted himself into your life in such a short period of time. Though he was often away for weeks or even months at a time, you still kept a drawer for him in your closet and a shelf for him in the bathroom at all times. Just seeing his toothbrush next to yours every morning put a smile on your face. 

You hadn’t put a label on the relationship you had with him yet, not that you minded. Whenever talks turned to more serious topics, John tended to shut the conversation down and close off. You couldn’t blame him though, being a soldier and all, you thought, maybe he’d been through some difficult relationships, and didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t commit to. 

It was nearing eleven, and you were snuggling on the couch in one of John’s shirts when you finally heard his key in the lock. You’d never technically given him a key, he just took your spare one with him one day when he was back and you’d never had a second thought about it. Pushing the door open, he stepped in with a weary look on his face, but he still gave you a smile. 

“Sorry I’m late, darling. Got held up. Glad to be home wit ye.” Leaning over the couch, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, dropping his bags and heading towards the kitchen. Your heart preened at his acknowledgement of home and you pushed yourself off the couch to follow him. 

“There is food in the fridge if you’re hungry.” You tell him as you walked in. “And I grabbed another six pack for you. The ones you like.” The last sentence you added a little more shyly. He paused while filling up a glass of water, turning to look at you with mild surprise. 

“Ye didnae have tae do that fer me.” He set down the glass on the bench after draining it and held out his arms. “C’mere, lassie. I’ve missed ye.”

It was easy, falling into his arms and letting them wrap protectively around you. Burying your face into his firm chest, you inhaled deeply, allowing his comforting scent to surround you as his lips pressed against the top of your head. 

“How long are you going to be gone for this time?” Despite trying to hide the pain in your voice, John’s arms squeezed you tighter. 

“I’m nae sure, darlin’. It’s why I wanted tae stop by. Spend some time with my girl.” His girl. Shivers ran down your spine as you glanced up at him with a soft smile before standing on your tiptoes to press your lips against his, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hummed, smiling into the kiss as his hands clutched at your waist, holding you close to him. 

The kiss was languid, mouths slowly moving against each other as you tilted your head to the side, a comforting warmth spreading through your chest. His lips were cold, as if he’d been outside for a long period of time, and you could taste the remnants of tobacco, something you had been becoming rather familiar with. You honestly felt like you could stay like this for hours, in his arms, mouth on yours, your hands in his hair. It felt like a dream, and one you didn’t want to wake up from. 

Nibbling on your bottom lip, he sucked it into his mouth, pressing his tongue alongside yours as he cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair and holding you steady. Somehow, he always knew just how to make your knees weak and you couldn’t help but moan softly. Chuckling, he broke the kiss, pulling back slightly so he could take in how glassy your eyes were from a few touches. 

“I’m gonna miss ye, doll. So fucking much.” 

“Don’t say that, you’ll make me cry.” You said, brushing your nose up against his. His head cocked to the side and he smirked before leaning forward. 

“The only cryin’ I wanna see ye do tonight is on my cock.” He purred, tracing his tongue over your earlobe and causing your breath to hitch before your brows furrowed, slapping his shoulder and causing him to laugh. 

“You’re so vulgar, John.” You scowled playfully, pulling back.

“Dinnae act like ye want me tae stop.” John grinned, quickly spinning you around so your back was against the bench. “Yer easy tae read, bonnie wee lass. I see that look in yer eye when I talk pure filth. Gets ye all riled, aye?”

His voice lowers, making your skin prickle as he leaned over you. The cool stone of your bench top was pressing against your body, essentially trapping you, but you really didn’t want to be anywhere else. Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you grinned at him, eyes dancing over his face. 

“I bet if I just reached between yer legs…” You inhale a shaky breath as John slides his hand between your legs and prods your wet heat with intent. “Aye, just as I thought. Already slick fer me like the good girl I ken ye are.”

You almost hated how easily he could get under your skin, how well he could read you, but you really couldn’t complain about it.  Especially considering how well looked after he made you feel before, during, and after sex. Biting out a smart retort was also out of the question, since the gentle circles he was tracing on your clit rendered you speechless. 

“Fuck doll, look at ye. So breathless already and we havenae even started.” He cooed, grinning almost sadistically as his eyes hungrily roamed your body, before stopping.  Withdrawing his fingers, he tugged at the hem of the shirt you were wearing. “Is this my shirt?” 

“Yeah, wanted to smell you.” You answered him, finally finding your voice. “Had to make do since you were so late coming home.” His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, hand moving to slide underneath the hem of the shirt. 

“I like ye in my clothes. Should wear them more often.” 

“Bring more over and I will.” 

“Cheeky.” He admonished, flashing you a toothy grin as he tapped your nose. “And demanding.”

Drawing your lip between your teeth once more, you found your expression mirroring his. It was easy, falling into this sense of domesticity with him. Pushing on the bench behind you, you lifted yourself up so you were sitting on the cold stone, John standing between your knees. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he looked down at you, tilting his head marginally. All at once, you could feel heat building in your face and you ducked your head to break eye contact. 

“What are you looking at?” The words were mumbled into your shoulder as you glanced away from him. 

“You.” His voice was soft as he lifted your chin to meet his gaze once more. “I’m always thinkin’ about you, lassie.” Grumbling playfully and curling your lip, you nudged his hand away. In retaliation, he placed his warm palm on your cheek, holding you tenderly as he rested his forehead against yours. 

“Good thoughts I hope?” John simply chuckled as he pulled back, eyes glinting as his lips stretched into a smirk. 

“Doll, sometimes I dinnae think ye even ken what ye do tae me.”

“Is that really such a problem?” Lifting your head, you stared up at him with a teasing smile. Snorting in amusement, John shook his head at you, thumb tracing against your cheekbone. 

“Aye, it is. Yer a succubus. Sent by the devil himself tae test mah faith.” Now it was your turn to laugh at him. 

“I never took you for a religious man, John.” He shrugged. 

“More in the name than anything. But me Mam would skin me alive if I said otherwise.” The mention of his mother made your ears prick. He’d never once mentioned his family, or his background directly, but every time he saw you, he let a little more information about himself slip. It made your heart thump a little faster, happy about the small bits of information you were slowly teasing out of him the longer you brushed at his thick outer coat.

His lips reconnected with yours, the rough, calloused skin of his palm pressing against the back of your neck to hold you steady. Teeth tugged at your bottom lip, sucking lightly into his mouth as he growled deep in his throat before pulling back. 

“Bedroom.” His voice was husky and thick, hands tugging at the shirt you were wearing. Feeling your own desire rising, you followed without complaint. Reconnecting your lips to his, the pair of you felt your way through the flat as he steered you towards your bedroom, hands and mouth never leaving your body. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

The oversized shirt was wrenched over your head and cast aside, leaving you in your underwear as he kneeled above you, eyes raking hungrily over your exposed body. His hands slid underneath your thighs, encouraging them to wrap around his waist as he placed himself between your spread legs. Burying his face into your neck, he breathed deeply, mouth latching onto the tender skin near your collarbone. 

“Yer fuckin’ perfect, doll. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen. I cannae believe yer mine.” Reaching between your bodies, he pulled aside your underwear, fingers delving between your folds to collect your wetness. Swearing under his breath, John returned his mouth to your neck, sucking on the soft skin, digits continuing to tease between your legs. 

Lifting up a hand, you carded your own fingers through his hair, tugging at the longer strands of his mohawk as you whined softly. 

“John… please.” The man grinned into the crook of your neck, pulling away only to slide your underwear off and roll you onto your side, slotting himself in behind you. 

“Be a good girl fer me, got it?” He cooed, dragging his teeth over the curve of your ear. “Just lemme touch that bonnie cunt o’ yers.”

Hooking one of your legs over his arms, he used his strength to keep your legs spread apart for him as he toyed with your slick cunt. His fingers collected your wetness before alternating between rubbing your clit and crooking his fingers inside you expertly. It hadn’t taken him long to discover exactly how to touch you to make you writhe and moan for him. 

“Tell me who this pussy belongs tae.” His skin was hot against your own, warm breath fanning over your neck as he growled, deep and low. 

“Me.” You protested, head lolling as he turned his head. 

“Och, I dinnae think so, lassie.” He said, deploying several sharp spanks to your cunt. Every impact made you clench and whine, trying desperately to wriggle out of his strong grip, but he tittered. “No no, none of that, bonnie lass. Tell me again. Who does this wee cunt belong tae?” 

“You— fuck! You, John!” Your mouth parted with a loud cry as he hummed his approval, plunging his fingers back into you as he reached around with his other hand to stimulate your clit. 

“That’s it, that’s a good girl.” Crooning into your ear, he didn’t relent, causing you to barrel towards your release. With your back plastered to his chest and your legs thrown over his strong arms, you know it was useless to try and wriggle away, but his overwhelming assault on your cunt brought tears of pleasure to your eyes and you whined pathetically. 

“John— please! It’s too much.” His response was simply to chuckle darkly in your ear and continue the dexterous movements of his fingers. 

“No it’s not. Ye can take it, doll. Ye said ye were gonna be good fer me.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a cry of his name as your walls fluttered and pulsed around him. You felt yourself gush over his fingers with a cry of his name and he whispered soft praises, kissing over your shoulder and neck. 

Coming back down from your high, you rested your weight against him, panting heavily as his hands ran soothingly up your sides. Then, rolling you onto your back, he pulled a couple of pillows underneath your hips, lifting you up slightly. 

“Such a fucking sight.” He groaned, running his hands up your body momentarily before shucking off his shirt and unbuttoning his pants, tugging them off. Grabbing his wallet, he opened it before his brows pinched together and he cursed. 

“What is it?” Pushing yourself up, you looked down at him as he rummaged through the pockets on his pants. 

“Ah dinnae ken where I put the fuckin’ johnnie, hen.” He grumbled, looking up at you with a sorrowful expression. 

“I have condoms in my drawer if it’s an issue?” Gesturing to your bedside table, you made a move to open it, but a firm hand stopped you. 

“I have a latex allergy, hen. I cannae just use any old one.” His thumb caressed your wrist tenderly. “I’m sorry.” 

Furrowing your brows, you purse your lips, having an internal debate for a few moments before you reach out, placing your free hand on his arm. 

“I trust you.” 

The three simple words made him lift his head, and he cursed under his breath. Surging upwards, he pushed you back down onto the bed, nestling between your legs. 

“Ye sure, doll? I can fuck ye raw?” The tone of his voice was relatively neutral, but the grip of his hands on your hips conveyed his excitement. 

“Please.” You couldn't stop yourself from whining the words out as you rolled your hips up, brushing your clit against his aching cock. Hissing, he rested his forehead against yours, gently brushing your hair back from your face.

“I’ll pull out.” He breathed, hands clutching tighter as the bare head of his cock brushed against your wet core. Shaking your head, you cupped his cheeks to stare into his eyes. 

“It’s okay, I promise. Just… please John. I need it— need you to fuck me.” 

“Steaming Jesus, hen.” He growled, hooking your legs around his waist, he leaned down to match his mouth onto one of your nipples, tugging at it with his teeth. Moaning and arching your back, you threaded your hands into his hair, holding him to your chest. The head of his cock bumped against your clit as he rolled his hips, the air thick with lust.

Pushing himself up, he stared down between your legs as he held the base of his dick and ran it up and down the length of your slit, collecting your wetness to ease his entrance inside you. John’s grip on your hip tightened, choking out a grunt as he once more buried his head into the crook of your neck. The stubble tickling your sensitive skin as he let out a strangled gasp, sinking down to the hilt. His teeth latched onto your shoulder and he began to rut his hips into yours. 

The pace he set was rapid, sweat already dripping from his brow from the effort of restraint. His hands never remained still, caressing down your legs and brushing up your back, relishing in mapping every inch of your body. Moving, he shifted to rest his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, hands carding through your sweaty hair before he pushed himself up.

Cold metal brushed against your cheek and you turned, seeing his dog tags dangling above your face. He never usually wore them with you, always taking them off and tucking them into his bag. Your fingers laced around the chain, lightly holding onto it as his hips continued to buck into yours. A deep groan rumbled from his chest, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes were dark, blown wide with lust as he panted above you, sweat beading on his brow. 

“Ride me.” He croaked, gripping your hips and rolling the pair of you over until you were straddling his waist. Pulling his dog tags over his head, he hooked them around your neck, watching with hungry eyes as the metal bounced between your breasts with every thrust. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s my good girl.” 

Leaning forward, your hands splayed across his hairy chest, anchoring yourself as you began to ride his cock, slamming your hips down in order to chase your second release of the night. Grunting out a curse, John gripped your hips tightly, bucking up into you and slapping his hand across the cheek of your ass. The smell of sex permeated the room, clouding your senses, until you couldn’t think about anything else other than the man on the bed below you, and how good his cock filled you. 

Your thighs were protesting, burning from the effort of riding him, but you couldn’t stop, not when you were teetering on the edge of release, your clit grinding deliciously against the coarse hair above his dick. The slick sound of his cock entering you and the grunts of pleasure he was letting out were all that mattered, and you felt yourself spiralling. 

“Close… I’m so fucking close.” Digging your fingers into the meat of his chest, your breathing quickened as you felt the familiar heat coiling in your gut. 

“Umnae gonna last.” John’s voice was deep, making your pussy clench at the idea of his impending release, knowing you were finally going to feel everything. His hands gripped you tightly, bouncing you on his lap as you rocked your hips desperately downwards to meet his thrusts. 

“Please…” You begged him, struggling to maintain the rhythm of your grinding as you edged closer. “I need it, I need to feel you.” 

“Shite, I’m gonna fill ye. Fucking Christ, yer gonna drain me.” Panting, John reached up to grip the chain of his dog tags around your neck and pulled you down so he could smash his lips against yours. 

The kiss was messy, full of spit and teeth as both of your climaxes loomed over you. His hands clutched your ass, nails digging into your skin as his breathing turned ragged as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. 

“Fucking hell— I need tae come, please. Lemme come in ye, hen. Please— oh fuck— keep doing that. God ye feel incredible.” Moaning into your skin, he dragged his tongue up the column of your neck, tasting the salt on your skin. 

“Do it— fuck please do it.” The twitch of his cock inside you made you cry out, clenching tightly around him as you felt your orgasm rip through you. 

“Fuck… holy fuck I can feel ye— shite yer gripping me so fucking tight. Jesus doll, umnae… I cannae…” He trailed off, mouth latching onto your breast as thrust up into a couple more times before pinning his cock deep inside you as he groaned gutturally. Thick, hot cum released inside of you, his cock pulsing with every spurt as he moaned into your chest. His hands ran up your back, holding you to him as you both sagged into the bed, panting heavily. 

Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you keeled forward, head landing on the pillow next to John. The man chuckled, his touch feather light on your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. You were unsure how long you remained like that, pressed together and still intimately connected, but you knew it wasn’t something you were ready to lose just yet. 

John recovered first, gently rolling you off him so he could slide out and press a tender kiss to your forehead before standing up. When you let out a whining noise of protest and gripped his arm tightly, he stroked your head reassuringly. 

“Just getting a washcloth, sweetheart.” And you relented, allowing him to leave and come back, a warm cloth gently cleaning the mess he’d made of you. Humming softly, you blinked your heavy eyes open and stretched lazily. 

“I hope you’re not planning to do anything other than sleep right now.” He chuckled, walking once more to the bathroom to wash the cloth before sliding into the bed next to you. Curling into his side, you felt the brush of something hard on your chest, and you realised you were still wearing his dog tags. 

Glancing at him in silent question, he nodded once, hand running reassuringly along your back as you reached down to read the engraved text. 

O POS

2073521

JOHN

MacTAVISH

ARMY

RC

“John MacTavish.” Rolling the name over and over again in your head, you let it sink in. Finally, you knew his full name.

“Aye, that’s me, lassie.” He smirked, leaning back against your pillows. “Now yer getting to ken all mah secrets.” 

Laughing softly, you shake your head and curl into his side, allowing him to wrap his muscled arm around your body. Resting against him was warm and comforting, and you could imagine staying like this for the rest of your life. 

“I’d hardly call your full name a secret.” You mused. “Especially not when you’ve known mine from the beginning.” 

“That’s different.” He reasons, shrugging lightly. 

“Also, I have a bone to pick with you.” Jerking your head up, you narrowed your eyes down at him. Frowning in concern, John looked at you, waiting for you to elaborate. “You remember when I was guessing your last name and I kept saying names beginning with ‘Mac’ and you gave me shit for it?” 

A broad grin spread over his handsome features, one of the most genuine smiles you’d seen on his face and it warmed your heart to see. 

“Aye, lassie. I was just having ye on. Yer a smart one. Couldnae fool ye even if I wanted tae.” Playfully, you bat against his chest and he laughs. Unable to resist the jovial sound, you joined in, a wide smile spreading over your face as you looked at him. You admired every little feature of his face, from the stubble on his chin, to the bright blue of his eyes, to the splash of freckles over his cheeks, to the scar that crossed over his left eye. 

“Thank you for trusting me.” The words were barely audible due to his laughter, but he settled down and cupped your face gently. 

“Anything fer my girl.”

Despite waking up fairly early the next morning, the other side of your bed was cold and empty. Reaching a hand around your neck, you found the dog tags were gone and you felt immediately alone. This was stupid, you thought, he said that he needed to leave early. You knew this was coming. But it still hurt nonetheless every time he left. 

Going about your normal morning routine, you made your way into the kitchen where a neatly folded note lay on the bench, addressed to you. Smiling to yourself, you opened the letter and began to read. 

— Sorry for leaving so soon, but we had to make an early start. Took the six pack with me, the lads are gonna love you for it. If you need to buy a pill, there’s some money attached. If not, buy yourself something nice, on me. 

Take care of yourself and I’ll see you when I’m back. —

Taking the page up to your nose, you inhaled his strong scent and sighed heavily. It was a common theme for him to up and leave suddenly and the pain of it never went away, but he always came back and you could feel that your heart was already aching for the reunion. 

•••

You were in your kitchen unpacking the dishwasher one night when you heard your front door open and slam shut. 

“John?” There was no response to your call, but the loud stomping of boots on your floor let you know that it was him as you finished off your task, closing the dishwasher. Frowning, you went to turn around to walk towards the door but your heart leapt out of your chest as you walked straight into a solid form. “Jesus Christ, John. You could have warned me you were right behind me!” 

Placing a hand over your heart with a light chuckle, you tried to brush off the fright with laughter, but one glance up at him wiped the smile clean off your face. His eyes were dark, almost black as he stared down at you coldly, jaw twitching as his hands clenched. 

“John?” Your voice shook now, and you felt your heart racing as he loomed over you. Despite all the times you’d seen him be physical with someone else, he’d never done so much as raise a hand towards you or made you feel unsafe, yet the way he was staring down at you now made you tremble with fear. “John, what’s wrong—”

“Shut up.” He snarled, lip curling as he reached out to close a large hand on your jaw, using it as leverage to push you back until your hips met the cold stone of your bench top. “Just fucking shut up.” 

The tone of his voice made your breath hitch and eyes widen, teeth chattering as your whole body felt like it was on a knife’s edge. You did as you were told, keeping your mouth shut as you stared up at him, glancing between his eyes, hoping to see some kind of remorse. But they were cold and empty, exactly like he’d been towards the men that had threatened your safety. 

Immediately, thoughts raced through your head, trying to recall everything you’d said and done over the last few days, wondering if something had set him off. Panic began to set in as he pressed you further back against the bench, and your hands scrambled to find purchase. 

“You’re scaring me.” His nose twitches at your words, but his grip didn’t relent. 

“I warned ye that I’m nae a good man, lassie, and ye didnae listen.” He sneered, stepping closer to press his body against yours, caging you in. “And so I’m gonna fuck ye, and yer gonna take it like a good wee whore.”

The grip on your jaw tightened as he made sure your eyes remained fixed to his. Swallowing thickly, your mouth parted as you stared up at him, confusion spread over your face. 

“John, I don’t think we—”

“Yer gonna shut that fucking mouth and take my cock, or I’m gonna find someone else who will.” You snapped your mouth shut at his words, an ugly feeling of jealousy clawing underneath your skin at the thought of someone else having him. Biting the inside of your cheek, you just managed to keep the tears that threatened to spill at bay. 

The complete shift in his usual persona set you on edge, and you had no idea what could set him off or make things worse for you. And so, against your better judgement, you nodded in submission. His lips curled into a sadistic grin, hand moving from your jaw to thread into your hair, gripping it roughly. 

“Get on yer fuckin’ knees.” He growled, practically tugging you down by your hair towards the ground before your body could even begin to process his command. The feeling of your knees hitting the ground made you hiss in pain, but you quickly buried the response as he tilted your head up and shoved your face into the seat of his pants. 

His jeans smelled of dirt, sweat, and ash, making your nose crinkle in distaste, but not wanting to complain and set him off even more, you kept it to yourself. Groaning above you, John’s breathing was heavy as he ground his clothed cock against your cheek. The rough material of his pants was painful against the skin of your face and you whimpered softly as his fingers pulled harder at your hair. 

“Get my dick out.” The command was sharp and left no room for complaint. Wanting to make quick work of the situation, you tugged his pants open, finding he had no underwear on, and his cock was already more than half hard. The idea of him being hard and getting off to this made your stomach twist unkindly, bile rising in your throat. 

Ignoring the burning sensation, you dropped open your jaw and went to take him into your mouth when his firm grip in your hair stopped you. 

“Did I fuckin’ say ye could?” His tone was harsh and cruel, laced with a mocking lilt. “Greedy fuckin’ slag. Only good fer takin’ cock, ain’t ye? Go on then. Open up and make this worth my time.” 

Taking hold of his ruddy cock, he slapped your cheek with it, pushing it into your face as he continued to press his hips forward. When you didn’t take it straight away, he tapped two fingers to your chin and you immediately dropped your jaw open, allowing him to bury his cock to the hilt. The feral moan he let out as his head tipped back made your cunt clench shamefully. 

The bulbous head of his cock breached your throat easily, making you gag violently and move to pull off, but he held you down, growling at you. Suddenly, a hand slapped across your cheek, causing you to let out a muffled cry at the sting. 

“Ye’ll take what I fucking give ye, understand? Dinnae even think about disobeying me.” His tone was already ragged, signalling he was on edge. A small mercy, really, because it meant this would hopefully be over soon and you could get John back. Or at least, who you thought John was. 

He swore under his breath as he began to buck his hips forward, holding your head steady as he thrust in and out of your mouth. Relaxing your throat as much as you could, you dug your fingernails into your thighs, the sharp bite providing a slight distraction from the painful stretch of your jaw. His heavy balls slapped against your chin with every movement of his hips and he groaned out noises of pleasure as you continued to swallow him down obediently. 

Tears streamed down your face as you squeezed your eyes shut, the thrusts continuing. You tried to regulate your breathing as much as possible whenever he pulled back, focusing on not passing out as he fucked your throat brutally. 

“Open yer eyes!” Another slap landed on your cheek and you choked out a sob, blinking your teary eyes open to stare at his cruel face, leering down at you. You couldn’t even properly focus on him, the vision swimming before your eyes. “That’s it, show me how messy ye are. How messy this cock makes ye.”

To contrast with the brutal thrusts, he released one hand from your hair, cupping your cheek as he wiped a tear away with his thumb. He pulled out fully, making you lurch forward, coughing as you heaved deep gulps of air back into your empty lungs. Wiping your lips dry of spit, you looked up at him, hoping to see a shift in his expression, but there wasn’t. 

“Up.” His voice was still cold and your heart gave a painful thump, missing the usual warmth and care that came with his touch. You obeyed his command instantly. “Strip and bend over the sofa.” The tone left no room for protests, but to emphasise his point, he spanked your ass, making you jump into action. Rushing around him, you pulled off your clothes, hearing him move close behind you. 

You’d barely managed to tug off your underwear and bend over the arm of the couch when his hands were back on you. They were demanding, touching and squeezing and prodding at every inch of your body as if he had the right to every part of you. Burying your head into the plush cushioning, you whimpered out a cry as he shoved several fingers into you. He tittered, clicking his tongue in annoyance at what he felt. 

“Ye nae properly wet? Tha’s nae my issue. Shoulda used that dumb head o’ yers to realise I was gonna fuck ye next.” His words caused your eyes to widen. Breath hitching, you whipped around, shaking your head pleadingly as you reached for him. 

“John, please— just talk to me, we can—”

“Shut. Up. If I wanted to talk, I’d be talking, not fuckin’ ye. If ye cannae take it, smack me three times for fucks sake.” He said scathingly, pushing your head back down into the cushions. “Dumb fuckin’ bitch fer making it harder than it needs tae be.” 

He was giving you an out, you realised, head finally processing the words. All you had to do was hit him and he’d stop. Raising your fist up, it hovered in the air next to your body. The grip on you was still firm, but he paused all his movements, waiting for your response. The fist you made shook as you squeezed tightly, nails digging into your palm. Yes, he’d stop, but he also said he’d leave and fuck someone else earlier if you refused. Hating yourself and the cruel words he was spitting out, you lowered your hand back down, instead clutching at the fabric of the couch to distract yourself. 

John’s hands pulled your hips back to rest flush against his as he ground himself forward with a sadistic chuckle. 

“Knew ye wanted it, whore. Now shut ye gob and take my dick like ye were made tae.” Leaning over you, he spat directly onto your cunt, filling you with his thick fingers and crooking them just how you liked it, making your body react, jerking and clenching around his fingers as you moaned into the couch.

When he decided you’d been prepped enough, a hand tangled into your hair and shoved your face into the couch. His cock pressed into you, a burning stretch accompanying the slow slide. Your eyes snapped open and you breathed, trying to relax yourself as he buried himself into you, groaning against the skin of your back. 

“There we go. Was that really worth all that struggle?” The words were mocking as he began to thrust, immediately moaning when he felt you clench around him. “Good fuckin’ bitch. Being such a good cock sleeve fer me, lettin’ me use yer holes like this. Maybe I should fuck that arse too.”

Teeth nipped between your shoulder blades as he began to angle his hips, pressing a hand into the middle of your back to arch it further. Groaning in satisfaction, he began to slam his hips into yours, rocking pleasurably against that spot inside you he knew too well. Mostly against your will, your body began to react and you could feel yourself getting wet, making the slide of his cock easier. 

“That’s it. There we go. Yer getting wet now, ain’t ye? Just needed a fat cock in ye tae remind ye of yer place.” John let out a gruff chuckle, rolling his hips to catch against your walls, making you jerk and squeeze around him. His calloused fingers reached between your legs, playing with your clit as he continued to fuck into you from behind. You hated the fact he knew your body better than you did, you hated the fact he could play you like a fiddle, you hated the fact he knew exactly how to touch you to make you moan, and yet, you loved how he made you feel. 

Already, you were rocking your hips back against his, the familiar curling in your gut making its presence known. Moaning raggedly into the sofa, you felt tears dripping down your face, a mix of fear at what was happening and how John was acting, but also out of shameful pleasure that he was so easily wringing out of you. John grunted, babbling words that made no sense to your dizzy head as his thrusts grew harder and more erratic, making your toes curl with pleasure. 

“Fucking Christ yer tight. Thought ye’d surely be loose by now wit how many times I’ve fucked ye. Just a good wee whore fer me, aye?” His teeth sunk into the skin of your shoulder as one of his strong arms pulled you flush against his chest, the other still toying with your clit. “Feels so fucking good around me, god I miss this cunt when I’m gone. My fist doesnae even dae it justice. Always dream of fucking it when I get back.” 

Unable to stop yourself, the tension that had been building inside of you snapped with his words and you cried out, a sobbing moan signalling your release. John swore viciously, pressing you back down into the sofa as his pace picked up, chasing his own release now. Your brain was barely functioning and you couldn’t process anything around you, just laid there pressed into the cushions of your couch as your sort-of-boyfriend railed his cock into you until he moaned his release loudly. 

His body trembled, shaking violently as his cock twitched inside you, filling you with his seed. Nails dug into your hips as he held you close, not letting you escape for several minutes as he continued to climax. When he’d finally finished, he pulled out of you with a groan, fingers immediately scooping his cum and pressing it back inside you as he cooed softly, kissing up your spine.  

Now that the heat of the moment had passed, you squirmed away from him, feeling disgusted with yourself. Pushing yourself up on shaky legs, you stumbled towards the bathroom, ignoring the calls of your name as you shut and locked the door behind you. The handle jiggled frantically, a large body slamming into the door before the knocks started. 

“Doll? Doll, c’mon. Open up fer me.” Even to your ears, his voice sounded strained and panicked, but you couldn’t do it. The only thought on your mind was what he’d said earlier, about leaving you. “Please, sweetheart, just talk tae me. Dinnae shut me out!”

Turning the shower onto a blisteringly hot temperature, you crawled under the hot spray, tears rolling down your cheeks and mixing with the water as you cried, curled on the shower floor. The rapid knocking ceased or maybe you had just tuned it out under the sound of the pouring water. Maybe he’s finally gotten the message and decided you weren’t worth it, you thought miserably, head resting against the tiles. However, with John, that was wishful thinking. 

A few moments later, your ears managed to catch the sound of the lock clicking and the door being pushed open. Of course he could pick locks, idiot, you chided yourself. The curtain of the shower was pulled back, revealing his frantic, worried face. 

“What in God’s fucking name— fucking shite lassie!” He yelped in surprise at the heat of the water, hissing as he pulled his arm back and glaring at the tap. Turning the tap, the water immediately cooled, much to your dismay “Ye tryin’ tae burn yerself or summat?” 

“Yes.” You spat, the harshness of your tone taking him aback as you turned your body away from him. Frowning, John crouched down, his hand reaching to slide up your arm, but you pulled out of his reach. 

“What’s going on wit ye? Just upping and leaving like that?”

“Just leave!” You sobbed, curling into yourself tighter. He made a noise of confusion, climbing into the shower with you and sitting on the edge. 

“Nae until ye talk tae me.” 

“Why should I? You didn’t talk to me earlier.” John’s eyebrows remained pinched together as his head tilted, as though confused by your words. 

“Wha— hen, ye ken I cannae talk about my job. I’d just had a rough mission, needed to let off some steam.” Your eyes widened at his reasoning, tears pricking in them all over again as you scoffed at him, shaking your head. 

“Are you fucking serious? You needed to blow off steam?” The pitch of your voice rose as anger set in. “You fucked me like that because you needed to blow off steam?” 

The expression on John’s face grew a little more jaded as he eyed you cautiously. 

“What’s the matter? Ye had no issue wit it, ye came, ye didnae say no.” He shrugged, simply believing he was laying out facts as he stared at you, huddled in the corner on the shower floor. 

“You said you’d fuck someone else if I didn’t let you fuck me!” Reaching over, you shoved him, taking him by surprise. Confusion spread over his face as he processed your words before shaking his head. 

“I wouldnae dae that, lassie. Just was in a mood after we got back and needed a rough fuck.” A look of impatience was beginning to set in on his expression. “Ye didnae say no.” He repeated, raising his scarred brow. 

“I would have said no.”

“No, ye wouldnae have if i talked tae ye, so i just skipped a step. Ye never say no anyway.” Opening your mouth to protest, he waved his hand, voice turning gruff. “I dinnae wanna fight wit ye. I came here tae relax so are ye gonna calm down about this or am I gonna have tae leave?”

From your position on the floor of the shower, you turned your head away from him further, so he couldn’t witness you crying anymore than he already had. You felt stupid over how insecure you’d been, and felt you should have realised he wouldn’t go seeking someone else out, but the feeling still lingered deep in the back of your mind. 

“How was I supposed to know?” Sighing heavily, he ran a gentle hand through your drenched hair, wiping it off your face. 

“C’mon hen, get out of the shower. I’m nae talking tae ye in here like this. Yer being silly, doll.” Shrinking in on yourself, you nodded meekly, standing up under his watchful gaze. 

John didn’t speak through the process, pressing his fingers to your lips or holding up his hand if you even opened your mouth. Towelling you off, he pulled a clean shirt— one of his shirts, you noted— over your head before steering you into your bedroom. 

Stepping out for a moment, he came back in with your phone, your water bottle, and a heat pack. Silently, he set your bottle down before tucking the heat pad onto your chest before tucking you in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stroked your forehead, staring down at you. 

“Feeling better, doll?” 

“No.” His eyes closed as he sighed, jaw flexing. 

“Are ye gonna talk tae me properly?” 

“I was! You didn’t talk to me, John.” 

“Ye ken I’ve got a hard life, lassie. And I told ye I wasnae a good man. I’ve warned ye. Sometimes I just—” Biting his tongue and clenching his fists, he took a moment to breathe before continuing. “Sometimes I need tae fuck rough and hard, completely dominate something.”

“Then just tell me that. I thought I’d done something wrong, or made you upset. Then you said you’d fuck someone else and I… I didn’t know what to think. You’ve never been like that with me.” You stared up at him, but his eyes were locked onto the floor. His foot tapped rhythmically as you watched his jaw clench and unclench. 

“I’d never really hurt ye. Doll, ye mean a lot tae me. Just needed tae get that out of my system. Yer fine, we’re fine.” The casual dismissal as he stood up didn’t sit right with you, but you knew it wasn’t going anywhere, especially not with everything so raw and John on edge after just getting back. So you relented. 

“Okay. Just… you’re not mad at me, right?” Sliding under the covers, John wrapped a strong arm around you, pulling you close so he could spoon you, hand resting against your chest. 

“Nay, umnae mad at ye, lassie.” He confirmed, mumbling into the back of your neck. 

John fell asleep soon after that, his snoring filling the quiet room as you laid awake, crying silently in his arms. You were still confused and hurt by his actions, not really understanding why he’d reacted this way towards you, and why he refused to take any ownership. The whole relationship was a mess, with no real structure, but all the same, you couldn’t imagine yourself without him. 

Finally, after several hours lying awake, you managed to fall into a fitful sleep, plagued with horrid dreams about John leaving one day and never coming back. When you awoke the next morning, you felt groggy and disoriented. Glancing over, you saw the other side of the bed was empty. Trying to ignore the ache in your heart, you reached over to tug the pillow close, inhaling the lingering musky, yet spicy scent of John that you’d become accustomed to. 

The door clicked open and you bolted up, eyes wide. John was stepping into the room, two mugs of coffee in hand, his hair still ruffled by sleep. 

“Mornin’, lass. Didnae mean tae wake ye.” He said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he set one mug down on your bedside table before sliding into his side of the bed. “Did ye sleep okay?” 

“Not really.” You told him honestly, but he seemed to expect that, already looking down at you fondly. Throwing an arm around your shoulders, he pulled your head down to rest against his bare chest. The soft hair tickled your nose slightly, but you buried your face into the firm chest, relishing in the warmth he provided. 

“My poor sweet girl. Not tae worry, ye can rest on me.” He kissed you again, running his hand up and down your back tenderly. You furrowed your brows, still slightly put off from the events of last night, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart thumped happily when things were easy like this. 

Keeping your mouth shut, you rested against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Reaching over to his side, he picked up a journal and flicked it open to a new page. 

“What’s this?”

“A journal.” His blunt tone broke into a soft laugh as you smacked his chest in annoyance. “Something I started a while back. Just tae note down a lot of things. Mission plans and such.”

He flicked a few pages back, showing you maps, lists, and sketches of various things he’d clearly come across while deployed. 

“You can draw?” He hummed, flicking a few more pages back until he found the one he wanted. Letting out a soft gasp, you pushed yourself up, looking down at your own face sketched into his journal countless times, each one displaying a different emotion. 

“Had tae draw most of ye from memory. Did that a few months ago on a few lonely nights when I was missing ye, and wasnae sure if I was gonna make it back.” Unable to take your eyes off the pages, you reached out to tenderly trace the lines, admiring every piece of artwork he’d created. In the corner of the page, he’d written one word: mine. 

“They’re amazing, John. I didn’t know you could do this.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. 

“I dinnae like showing it tae people. It’s… private.” There was an edge of reluctance to his voice, but his eyes were focused on yours, as though conveying a secret. Biting the inside of your cheek, you knew exactly what he was telling you, and it sent shivers down your body. 

“Thank you for trusting me.” 

“What kind of man would I be if I didnae trust my girl?” Tapping your chin with the tip of his pen, he flicked back to an empty page and began to write. 

The moment between you was sweet and domestic as he wrote in his journal, allowing you to read the entry as you curled into his side. That act alone eased the feeling in your chest, that he trusted you, and wanted you by his side. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you still wanted to face what had passed. 

“Why didn’t you talk to me last night, John?”  His breathing didn’t even stutter as he continued to write. 

“This mission was rough, darling. We— I lost a lot of good men because of a decision I had tae make.” The stubble on his jaw scratched against your forehead as he leaned his head down. “I needed tae take my mind off it.” 

Cupping the back of your head, his fingers threaded into your hair, holding you close to him. He breathed deeply, inhaling the calming scent of your shampoo. 

“Still, it would have been nice to just… know. I know you can’t tell me everything, but I’m not stupid, John. I want to be here for you.” Your hands curled around him, holding him close. 

“I dinnae deserve ye, lassie.” He murmured into your hair. “Yer far too good fer me. Deserve so much better than me.” 

“I want you, John. And you can’t change that. Just… if you’ve had a rough time, I need you to tell me. Sex can always be on the table, but I need you to talk to me first.” 

The blue of his eyes was wide as he stared down at you, breathing slowly before nodding. 

“Aye. I can dae that fer ye, darling.” Smiling happily, you lifted your head up to press your lips against his. He sighed into the kiss, lips slowly moving against yours as you tasted the coffee lingering on his tongue. The pair of you kissed languidly for quite some time, letting the minutes tick by as you found yourself lost in him. 

“Yer mine, right doll?” He asked between kisses, his hands gently caressing the back of your neck as he continued to slide his lips against yours. 

“Always, John.” 

“Good girl.”

•••

“I’d like tae take ye somewhere I used tae go as a wee yin.” He’d said one night as you lay, cuddled together on your sofa watching a movie. It had taken a couple of seconds for you to register the words, slowly turning your head to look up at him. 

“Somewhere in Scotland?” 

“Aye. I wanna show ye my home.” He murmurs, hand mindlessly drawing shapes on your back as he remains focused on the television. “Well, nae my home town but somewhere nice. We can get away, ye ken?”

“That sounds lovely.” Humming happily, you curled into his side, indulging in the firm stability his body provided. He made a noise of satisfaction, glancing down at you with a warm smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. 

“Higher ups are pushin’ me tae take leave, so we can make a week of it, maybe a bit more. And dinnae fash yer wee head about plannin’ things, I’ll sort it out. Wanna treat my girl fer being so good tae me.” A warm buzzing filled your chest, and you felt your cheeks heat with pride. Though he never said those three little words you craved, his actions displayed more love and care that you’d received from any of your previous partners. The gifts he brought back from deployment, the nights he took you out for a nice meal, the way he worked to fix the issues that you’d been having in your flat, including the heater that your landlord had considered a ‘waste of his time and resources’. Though he never said that he loved you, he made you feel loved. 

In return, you tried to give back as much as he gave you. Cooking for him, treating him when he’d had a rough deployment, taking note of the things he enjoyed and making sure he had access to them in your home, loving him every way you knew how to. Now, with him planning a trip away like this, to his homeland no less, it felt like things were finally falling into place.

True to his word, John planned everything, keeping his cards close to his chest, only letting you know the dates of your departure and arrival back home so you could book off work. Sometimes you tried to take a snoop over his shoulder to get a glimpse of your destination, but you were always met with a playful admonishment and a tap on the nose. 

“Did no one teach ye patience, hen?” He scolded, but a wry grin spread over his face as he pulled you close. “Ye cannae wait a wee bit more?”

“I’m just excited. I haven’t gone away in so long. And you know I hate surprises.” Hoping to change his mind, you stuck out your bottom lip in a pout, and he chuckled. 

“I know we’ll have fun, darlin’. Just be patient. It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He ran a thumb over your bottom lip that was jutting out, pulling it down slightly before pressing his lips against yours. Meeting him eagerly, you wrapped an arm around his neck and he pulled you into his lap, cupping the back of your head to hold you to him. As most of his kisses did, it turned heated rather quickly, sending shivers down your spine as his hands groped at your body hungrily and his tongue pressed into your mouth. 

Sighing softly, you scraped your nails over the freshly buzzed sides of his hair that you’d done for him hours before, earning you a deep groan from him. He pulled back, breaking the kiss far too soon for your liking and stared deep into your eyes. 

“Fuck, lass. Ye know exactly how tae get me going.”

“You’re just easy.” A teasing smile graced your lips as you bit your lip. John let out an amused snort before fixing his hands around your waist and spinning you around so your back was on the sofa. The sudden movement surprised you, causing your breath to hitch and your hands to grip his shoulders.

“Bold words from the bonnie lass that cannae help but spread her legs fer me whenever I kiss her.” Whining out his name, you try to shove him back by his chest, much to his delight. Taking that as an invitation, he grabs your wrists, holding them together above your head. “When are ye gonna learn that ye cannae beat me, lass? I’ve got ye pinned.”

“Is this the real reason you’re taking me on a holiday?” You asked in jest. “So you can kiss me and tease me and bed me whenever you bloody well please?”

“I wouldnae say no tae that. And neither would you, given the way ye screamed my name last night as ye came ‘round my cock. Left scratches down my back and all.” His grin was cocky, brow raised as he stared down at you, beating you at your own game. Your face heated once more and you turned your head away from him with another pout. “Och, c’mon lassie. Ye ken I’m teasin’ ye.” 

Releasing your wrists, his hands returned to your sides and his mouth descended to your chest, nipping his way along your collarbones. Suppressing a moan, you ran your own hands up his back as your legs wrapped around his waist. The movement made him chuckle into your chest, lifting his head to cock his brow arrogantly. 

“Shut up.” You groused, pushing him lightly once more. 

“Tae answer yer question, umnae takin’ ye just tae bed ye, hen. I want us tae spend time together in my home country. Just us.” His rough hand gently cupped your cheek, thumb stroking over your cheekbone as he stared deep into your eyes. “But umnae gonna complain if we do.”

“You’d better not.” The snide reply was quickly drowned by giggles as he tickled up your sides. Tears of laughter pricked into the corners of your eyes as you tried to shove him away, but as always, his body was an immovable force. But he relented, resting his hands on the curve of your hips as he grinned above you. 

“Darlin’, I’m never gonna complain about being able tae be wit ye. Fuck, I’m the luckiest man alive.” No matter how hard you bit your lip, you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading wide across your face as you stared into his bright blue eyes. He made you happy, so incredibly happy, and you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

•••

Inverness was absolutely breathtaking, and quickly became one of your favourite places in the world. John had taken great care showing you around the unofficial highland capital, acting as your tour guide as he showed you around the highlands with pride. You couldn’t help but stare up at him in adoration as he spoke endlessly about the history of the town and surrounding areas, telling you old folk tales and legends. 

He’d taken you to Loch Ness and the castle overlooking the giant lake, telling you ghost stories about the Loch Ness Monster, and all those that she had taken to lie with her in the depths. You laughed at his stories as he held you by the lake, pouring you wine and kissing your neck. 

“I wouldnae let her take ye, doll.” He whispered against your neck, his fingers tracing along the hem of your shirt. “No one will take my girl from me, not even an old monster. Yer mine.” Laughing softly, you cupped the back of his neck, burying yourself into his warm embrace, the chilly wind nipping at your body. 

“You’d better not. I’d hate to live the rest of my life at the bottom of a lake. And without you, of course.” He made a noise of contentment, wrapping the plaid blanket further around the pair of you, holding you close under the fading light of the setting sun. You could easily feel the steady beating of his heart with how close he was, a complete contrast to your rapidly beating one. 

The pair of you headed back to the car once the sun had dipped below the horizon, the wind picking up and blowing your hair wildly around you. Lacing your fingers through his didn’t do much to stop the other hand that kept wandering down your body, groping you teasingly. Once you got to the car, John pushed you against the cool metal pressing his lips to yours for a moment before opening the door and climbing into the back seat with you. He took you right there, hips bucking up into yours as you rode him, panting, and fogging up the windows, not caring who saw, easily bringing you to your peak like he had so many times before.

During your trip, Inverness’ monthly farmer’s market was on, allowing the two of you to peruse the local hand-made goods. John kept a close eye on everything you took an interest in, telling you that if you wanted it, he’d buy it for you. Of course, you initially refused, but John was stubborn and soon enough, his arms were full of things you’d taken a liking to. 

“You didn’t have to! You’re the one that’s paying for so much of this trip. I feel bad.” You told him as you sat down for lunch in a local pub. A lively folk band was playing music, but you and John were tucked in a booth in the corner, far enough away that you didn’t have to strain your voices over the instruments. Waving a hand in dismissal, John shook his head at your words. 

“Pay it no mind, doll. I like buyin’ things fer ye. Seeing that bonnie smile on yer face makes it worth it.” Your face immediately broke into a shy grin and you glanced away from him, nudging his shin with your foot.

“Still, I don’t know how I can repay you.” Setting his drink down with a soft sigh, he reached out to take your hand, thumb tracing over yours as he stared kindly at you. 

“You bein’ here wit me is payment enough, darlin’.” His eyes were warm, making your heart hammer in excitement, your head feeling giddy with happiness. Raising your glass, you clinked it against his, hooking your ankles with his under the table, causing him to smile coyly at your playfulness. “Though maybe if ye keep that up, I’ll be seekin’ payment in other ways.”

“You’ll get us kicked out of here.” You scolded him, immediately catching his implication. The smile on his face only spread, eyes glittering roguishly.

“It wouldnae be me causing us tae get kicked out, doll. It’d be you and yer inability to keep yer mouth shut and voice down when I’m inside ye.” That comment earned him a swift kick to the shins under the table, making him grunt out a low curse. 

The cottage he’d rented for your stay was quaint and old-fashioned, a short drive out of the main town, located on a farmer’s property. The couple who owned the farm were older, but incredibly sweet, making themselves available for anything you or John needed during your stay. The lady of the house always seemed to have a twinkle in her eye whenever she looked at the pair of you.

“Is this a special trip fer the two of ye?” She’d asked one morning as you joined her in feeding the chickens. 

“Not particularly. Just a nice getaway for the two of us. He’s quite a busy man.” You replied over your shoulder as you moved to collect the eggs for her.

“Och, I dinnae think so, lassie. Ye should see the way the lad looks at ye when yer not payin’ attention. If I wasnae mistaken, I’d say he looks ready tae get on his knees fer ye.” There was that gleam again in her eye as she spoke, and you felt the tips of your ears heating at her implication. 

“No, not yet. We’re…” Trailing off, your brows furrowed as you thought about how to label your relationship. John had always turned the conversation around if you’d even attempted to approach the subject, or given you a vague answer. Then, he did things like this, romantic things that made you crave more and left you more confused than ever about his intentions. “It’s complicated.” You finished off your sentence cryptically. 

“Aye, a lot of the good relationships are. Pay it no mind. Lads that have seen many horrors tend tae take a wee while tae come ‘round. My husband was the same. Took him nigh on 6 winters to propose. Certainly wasnae the way things were done in my day. But I loved him, and I ken he loved me. I reckon yer laddie’s much the same.” Fluffing her apron, she grabbed the now empty basket of feed and began walking back to the main house with you in tow. 

Her words ran through your head for the rest of the day as you spent time with John. He knew something was on your mind, but he didn’t address it until later at night when the pair of you were indulging in a glass of wine in the hot tub that overlooked the rolling hills of the farm.

“What’s been on yer mind today, hen?” Reaching out, he pulled you onto his lap. Having the small cottage to yourself, the pair of you had foregone clothes, leaving his hands free to roam your bare body under the warm water without restriction as he waited for you to speak.

“Just Mrs Fraser being her usual self.” Keeping your tone casual, you attempted to brush off his question, but his large hand squeezed your waist, signalling you to continue. “She was commenting on you, and how you look at me. How we remind her of her and her husband when they were younger.”

“How so?” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he kept his tone light, matching yours.

“She could tell you’ve been through things. Said her husband was similar and that it took him a while longer than she expected for the relationship to progress, and she was assuming you were the same.” His hand squeezed your waist again, more firmly this time, conveying his discomfort, making your heart sink. 

“And what did ye tell her?” 

“Well there isn’t much to tell her, is there?” You tried to keep your tone neutral, but it came out slightly harsher than you’d meant, evident by the way John’s body grew rigid. The man sighed, tilting his head down to rest on your shoulder. 

“Darlin’, please, dinnae think that I like keeping ye out. I care fer ye, deeply. Christ, I’ve taken ye here, tae my home, what more do ye want?” 

“I know it takes time,” you said patiently, having taken a breath to calm yourself down, “and I appreciate everything that we’ve done together, but sometimes I wish I could have more of you. There are parts of you that are just… untouchable.��� Placing a hand over his heart, you smiled at him softly, wriggling closer to his body for warmth as the wind picked up. 

“There are parts of me I’d never want ye tae see, sweetheart.” His voice was barely above a whisper, eyes sad as he lifted a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing along the skin. 

“Why?”

“Please, dinnae ask that.” His voice cracked and he pulled your forehead closer to rest against his. Fingertips gripped the back of your neck as he breathed shakily, squeezing his eyes closed. Sensing something was eating at him, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close, tucking your chin on top of his head. And once again, that was the end of that discussion. 

He didn’t bed you that night, instead choosing to hold you tightly, pressed against his chest for comfort. Whenever you tried to roll away, he grunted in protest, pulling you back against him and pushing his face into the crook of your neck. Eventually, you relented, allowing him to pull you closer and keep you locked against his body. Reaching down, you laced your fingers through his, and he hummed in approval, finally content that he was getting his way. 

Words that Mrs Fraser had said earlier though rang in your mind, making it difficult to sleep. But I loved him, and I ken he loved me. To be perfectly honest, you weren’t entirely sure if John did actually love you. Sure, he made you feel loved, but he’d always kept his emotions close to his chest. Snorting in his sleep, John moved, grunting as he held you close. Maybe you could wait a little longer to make things official, if this was how it felt to be with him in the meantime. 

The local pub was hosting a well-known cèilidh band on the last night of your stay. The excitement in the town was palpable leading up to the event, and even John had a smile on his face as he spoke to you about it. 

“I’m gonna put ye in mah clan colours and everything, lassie,” he boasted, “ye gonna have the time of ye life.” It was impossible to not get swept up in it all. There was a knock at the cottage door and you opened it, revealing Mrs Fraser with a bundle of red tartan. John let out a noise of thanks as he stepped behind you. 

“I’ll thank ye fer that, Mrs Fraser.” The smile on his face seemed to spread from ear to ear as he took the plaid from the older lady. 

“Ye need naw thank me, lad. T’was an easy find.” She then turned her attention to you. “Is it yer first cèilidh?” Nodding, you looked between John and Mrs Fraser, both of them beaming. “Yer gonna have a grand old time. Just remember tae wear sensible shoes, or better yet, go wi’out. The last thing ye want tae do is be the first lassie tae sit down complaining of sore feet.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that.” 

“And no doubt the wee lad will teach ye the basics. But dinnae worry about makin’ a wrong step. Ye’ll be welcome all the same.” Mrs Fraser dusted off her apron for a moment, sending a cloud of flour into the air. “If ye need me, I’ll be in my kitchen. I’m helpin’ the barkeep with catering.” And then she was off. 

John angled his head, looking down at you, his eyes alight with boyish mischief. Wrapping a hand around you, he pulled the pair of you inside the cottage and shut the door. He strode with purpose towards the table, spreading the tartan material out before turning around to face you, chest puffing. 

“It’s the MacTavish clan colours.” He announced proudly. “What dae ye think?” Stepping forward, you reached out to finger the fabric. It was a deep, rich red; one that would definitely compliment the blue of his eyes. 

“It’s beautiful.” You said honestly and he hummed in approval, sliding his hands around your waist to hug you from behind. Pressing his face into your neck, he kissed along the skin as his hands travelled up to cup your breasts. 

“Just like you. And yer gonna look perfect in it.” He repeated, moving his body side to side, continuing the slow tune as his hands continued to roam. 

“You really know how to dance?”

“Aye, I ken my way around the dances. If not, I’ll just improvise. It’s all about the atmosphere. Now, get dressed, or we’re not gonna make it in time.” 

The pair of you almost didn’t make it in time for the opening song. The band was poised and ready to start when you slipped your way in, hair a little more mussed than you would have liked, because when you’d come out wearing the tartan sash, John had all but lost control, and bent you over the cottage table as he lifted his kilt up to take you then and there. His face was glowing as he pulled you into his side, listening to the jolly tune of the music begin to fill the room. 

“Ye ready, hen?” Biting your lip nervously, you gave him a half shrug, and he let out a dismissive noise. “Ye’ll be fine. Nothin’ tae it. Just have fun wit me, aye?” 

You found yourself drawn into his bright eyes, full of excitement as he tilted his head, tugging at your waist. With little resistance he pulled you into the throng of people. Taking firm hold of you with one hand, and clasping yours in his other, John began to lead you through the dances. They were fairly simple, steps all in time with the rhythmic beat, and soon enough, you found yourself lost in the music. 

There was little reprieve between songs, with the next starting up almost immediately after the former had finished, but you found yourself so captivated by your dance partner that you felt little need to rest. He had you twirling, and stepping, and spinning for what felt like hours on end, each dance different than the last. 

Face spread wide into a grin the whole time, you stared up into his equally joyful one; smile lines and crow’s feet prominent as he laughed, and you wouldn’t change it for the world. Sweat beaded on your brow and you felt your lungs heaving from effort, but you continued to follow John’s lead, allowing him to pull you around the dance floor in a series of steps until the music swelled and with a final step, he pulled you tight against him and the musicians stopped playing, the room instead filled with copious cheers and applauses for the band. 

You, instead of clapping along with the crowd, were completely captivated by the man in front of you. His face was flushed red, sweat causing the tips of his mohawk to stick to his forehead. His chest was heaving as he panted, but he kept you locked against him as he stared down at you with an elated smile. 

“Ye never told me ye could dance like that, lassie.” He said breathlessly, finally breaking the spell between you and pulling you off to the bar to get some water. 

“Neither did you!” You responded, equally as tired. Handing you a glass first, you thanked him and immediately brought the cup to your lips, draining the glass and refilling it once more. 

“Reckon ye could go another round?” His voice was casual, but you could hear the slight upward lilt to his question, as if he were hoping you’d say yes. Smiling widely, you hooked your arm around his, setting the glass aside.

“For you? Anything.” His eyes crinkled with happiness and he leaned in to press a soft peck to your lips before pulling you back onto the dance floor. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in that pub for, nor how long you’d been dancing, but the air slowly became stifling the longer you danced. When the band finally bid their farewells for the night, you and John stepped outside, breathing in lungfuls of the cool night air. 

“That was amazing.” Tilting your head up to lean against his shoulder, you grinned up at him as he threw an arm around you, pulling you into his side as you walked through the empty streets. 

“I’m glad ye enjoyed it. It's been a while since I took any time tae myself.” Sighing heavily, he tilted his head up to look at the sky. “I’ve missed bein’ home.” 

“Thank you for bringing me here, John,” Halting your movements, you wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling him into a soft kiss which he eagerly returned, hands clutching at your waist. “I’ve had the most wonderful time with you.” 

The car ride back was quiet, but not tense as he held your hand, fingers intertwined together. He glanced over at you every so often, the corner of his mouth lifting up. Pulling up at the small cottage one final time, you looked at it wistfully. 

“Time’s really flown by. I almost don’t want to go back.” 

“Then we’d best make a night of it. What do ye say, lassie?” He grinned, stepping out of the car and walking over to your side to open the door for you as rain began to fall. Ushering you towards the cottage, he pushed the door open, but was stopped by your hand grabbing his shirt. Making a noise of confusion, he looked over his shoulder to see you looking out at the falling rain. Turning back, with a glint in your eye, you motioned with you head. 

“Dance with me again?” 

“Ye wanna dance in the rain?” Chuckling, John shook his head, raising an eyebrow dubiously, but you persisted. 

“Please? I know it’s cliche but let me have this. Come on, John!” Sticking out your bottom lip in a pout, you could see the exact moment when John caved. Eyes closing, he grinned broadly before taking your hand and pulled you out underneath the cloudy sky. 

Shrieking at the initial feeling of the cool water droplets on your skin, it was soon forgotten as he once more began to lead you in a dance of his own choosing. Laughing and twirling, you spun around with him, skirt and kilt flapping in the wind alike. The pair of you danced until you felt the material of your dress sticking to your skin and his hair was plastered to his scalp. Your lips were spread wide in a grin as you looped your arms around his neck, staring into his eyes and you realised that you couldn’t be happier. That this, that he, was what you wanted. 

“I think… I think I’m falling in love with you, John.” Your voice was barely audible as you blinked up at him, wet lashes clinging together. His brows pinched slightly in confusion. 

“What d’ye mean, darlin?”

“I love you, John. Truly. I love you.” The soft sway he’d been leading you through halted as he looked down at you. His eyes grew wide as he glanced between yours, taking in your expression, and realising just how serious you were, he swallowed audibly. 

“Ye cannae mean that.” He whispered just as softly as he looked deep into your eyes, a gentle hand pushing the hair off your forehead. 

“I’m serious. I know you have your reservations about us, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I want this, it feels right. We feel right.” You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, terrified as to what he would say. The hands behind his neck were clasped tightly, nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep yourself distracted from the lengthy periods of silence. 

His eyes were wet, from tears or rain you weren’t sure, and his breathing was ragged. Sliding a hand up to cup the back of your head, he leaned in to press his forehead against yours. 

“Ye should leave me. Run far from me.” He said, but his actions were in direct opposition to his words. He clung to you, one hand on your waist as his fingers gripped you tightly. 

“You keep saying that. But you’ve done nothing to hurt me, John. Everything you do is to protect me.” 

“S’why I’m tryin’ tae protect ye now, lassie.”

“You come back from your trips and you stay in my house. You take the time out of your day to visit me at work and walk me to my car. You fix things around my house without question. Whoever you are to the rest of the world, you’re different with me. I want this. I want you.”

The pained expression on his face made your stomach lurch, making you nauseous and you begun to second guess yourself and his intentions. 

“I just dinnae want ye tae regret choosing someone like me.”

“I could never regret choosing someone like you.” Cupping his cheek, you watch his eyes shut and he lets out a breathy chuckle, as if he knew a secret you didn’t

“Dae ye trust me, darlin?”

“With all my heart.”

“Then say it again tae me.”

“I love you.” 

“Again.” His hands clutch at your sides, pinning you to him, not caring about your drenched clothes as he buries his face in your neck. 

“I love you, John.” 

“Jesus, lassie… yer gonna ruin me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You couldn’t help the grin that was spreading back over your face and then finally, John stood up tall, eyes staring down at you as he cupped your cheeks in his cold hands. 

“Ye mean more tae me than I can put into words.” He whispered solemnly. “I cannae promise ye much, but I do promise that ye have my heart. Ye always have, and ye always will.” 

Surging forward, he pressed his lips against yours. His mouth was demanding and possessive as his grip tightened around you, holding your body against his, as if he were afraid to lose you. It was rough and eager, cold lips sliding against yours as he pulled you towards the cottage. Fumbling at the front door for a moment, he pushed it open and without breaking the kiss, pulled you inside and pressed you against the wall as he slammed the door shut. His hands were greedy, roaming down your body and tugging at the dress you wore, peeling it off your body.

Steering you deeper into the house, you found that Mr Fraser, bless his soul, had lit a fire in the grate for the pair of you. The warmth of it was already spreading comfortingly through the air, drying your damp skin. John made quick work of your clothes, pulling them off and tossing them aside with little regard for where they landed and he did the same with his own, only breaking the kiss once to tug his shirt over his head. 

His lips weren’t gone from yours long, immediately re-attaching as his calloused hands slid up the contours of your body, taking in every inch of you with gentle attentiveness.

“Sue me fer bein’ cliche,'' He groaned between kisses as he continued to push you into the main area of the cottage, “but I wanna have ye by the fire.” Grinning into the kiss, you nodded, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck to hold him to you. He grabbed a blanket and pillow from the couch as you passed, nudging you towards the fireplace. 

He broke the kiss, and you whined in displeasure, but soon choked out a soft moan instead as his mouth trailed wet kisses down your body. Kneeling down in front of you, his hands grabbed your ass as his mouth continued downwards, nipping over your hips and thighs. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous. So fuckin’ gorgeous. And yer mine, all fuckin’ mine.” He groaned pathetically, head resting on your hip as he panted, breath fanning over your skin. Running a hand through his cropped hair, you tilted his head up to meet his eyes. His brows were pinched together, mouth parted as the scruff of his stubble grazed your skin. 

“I love you.” John groaned again, eyes fluttering shut, his lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. 

“Fuck me, I’ll never be sick of ye sayin’ that tae me.” His breath tickled your skin as he lightly dragged his teeth over the skin of your stomach, his hands sliding up the curve of your ass. “Please, I need ye, doll.” 

His voice was strained, desperate as he blinked up at you, hands tugging you down until you were spread over the plush rug. John hooked your legs around his hips, placed the pillow underneath, and leaned in to capture your lips once again. You could feel his hard, leaking cock pressing against the inside of your thigh as he groaned throatily. 

Tucking his face into your neck, he sucked claiming marks onto your skin, working his way down to your breasts. Cupping them in his hands, he paid careful attention to both, splitting his time evenly as he dragged his tongue over and sucked at your nipples. Whining softly, you arched your back, pressing yourself into his hands, wanting more, but he was content on taking his time. 

“Just let me worship ye, darlin’. Yer worth it, every fuckin’ moment of it.” Moving down, he trailed his hands up the backs of your thighs, holding your legs apart so he could lower his face between your legs. 

Unable to stifle your noises, you moaned in ecstasy as he sealed his mouth over your clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive nerves as he sucked intently. Glancing down, your heart leaped as you saw his eyes staring straight at your pleasure filled face. 

Reaching a hand down, his fingers slid between your already soaked folds, pressing his thick digits deep into you. The pair of you moaned in unison, you at the stretch and him and the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The light of the fire cast a golden glow over the pair of you, heating you from the outside even as John’s actions made your hair stand on end. 

“That’s it, mah bonnie hen. Take it. Take everything ye need from me.” Curling his fingers and brushing against that sweet spot deep inside you, John continued to stimulate you, focusing all his attention on your release. The slick sound of his fingers entering you mixed with your soft noises and the crackles of the fire made your head spin as he cooed appraising words. 

“So good fer me. So fuckin’ good. Can feel how wet ye are, how badly ye want this. God ye look so fuckin’ bonnie like this.” Feeling you clench around his fingers again, he doubled his efforts, grunting as he buried his face into your cunt. 

Gasping, your breathing turned ragged as you carded your hands through the strands of his hair, toes curling as you felt the familiar coil in your gut. 

“John!” Your voice was desperate and needy and you canted your hips up, chasing the heavenly feeling of his mouth against you. He hummed, sending vibrations through your core, making you shiver. Not letting up, John continued to suck on your clit and kept his fingers deep in your cunt, the stubble on his face burning your inner thighs pleasurably. 

You could feel your body heating up quickly, a mix of the roaring fire nearby and the way John so attentively brought you closer. Placing one of his large hands on your stomach, you glanced down to look into his eyes once more. His eyes were wide and desperate, pleading with you as his tongue continued to flick and swirl exactly how you liked it. 

Unable to hold on anymore, your body jerked as you cried out, one hand pinned to his hair and the other grasping at the rug below you. John didn’t let up until your body stopped shaking, and when he pulled away, you could see the glint of your wetness covering his chin in the firelight as he stared down at you with a wolfish grin. 

“I’ll never get over how ye taste either.” He growled, eyes dark with lust as he crawled his way up your body. Hitching your legs over his hips, he dragged his leaking cock up your slit, cursing under his breath at the feeling. Resting his forehead against yours, he sunk into you easily, the pair of you moaning in sync at the feeling. 

His breathing was shaky as his hips thrust forward into yours, slowly working up a rhythm that had you curling your toes and clutching at his strong arms. 

“Just— fuck— lemme have ye,” Lowering his face, mouth against your ear, you could hear every moan and grunt that left his lips as he continued to rut into you leisurely, “I need ye so fuckin’ badly. Ye feel heavenly wrapped around me like this.” 

His breathing turned ragged the longer he fucked you. He never tired and never slowed down as though thrusting into you was keeping him alive. A hand threaded through your hair at the crown of your head, clutching tightly and keeping your head still as the pace began to increase. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing pleasurably against your clit with every stroke, feeding your need for him further. 

“You have me, you’ve always had me.” You whispered into his ear, pressing your body up against his, a thin sheen of sweat causing your bodies to slide against each other. Every thrust of his cock was slippery, meeting no resistance as he continued to grunt and moan next to your ear. 

Everything was hot; the air, the fire, his body, his breath panting against your neck, and the familiar heat once more curling inside you. He was rambling now, making nonsensical noises as he continued to pump his hips. You could feel your head spinning, losing your sense of self the longer he was inside you. Running your hands along his arms and locking your legs around his hips, you moaned encouragingly, close to finding your release. 

“Together. Please— fuck— I need tae feel ye come ‘round me as I fill ye.” He groaned, the hand that was still in your hair clutching tightly, but not painfully as his other hand wrapped around your thigh, keeping you pinned to him. “Please, love. Please.” 

Hearing the term of endearment sent jolts down your spine, and you bucked your hips up to meet his, the stimulation becoming too overwhelming. Gripping onto him tightly, you cried out, walls squeezing and fluttering tightly around his cock. John choked out a low sound, nails digging into the skin of your thigh as his pace stuttered and he quickly followed suit, spilling himself deep into you. 

Panting heavily, John’s heavy body remained tightly pressed against yours, not wanting to pull back just yet. You weren’t complaining, especially as you kept your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, making his cock twitch mildly even as it flagged inside of you. 

“Say it.” His voice was hoarse as he breathed, the side of his head resting against yours. 

“I love you.” You repeated again, much to his delight. Pushing himself up, he stared down at you, his eyes soft and appraising as his large hands ran down your front appreciatively. 

“I dinnae deserve ye. But I’m selfish, and I willnae let ye go.” The words were barely audible, but they made your heart thump happily nonetheless. Feeling tears of happiness prick into your eyes, you sniffed, legs still wrapped around him tightly. 

After spending what felt like hours kissing, still intimately connected in front of the fire, John finally carried you to the bedroom where he once again worshipped you over and over again. The moments felt like bliss as you kept confessing, and he kept taking and taking. It was hours later when the pair of you finally drifted off, worn out and tightly wrapped around each other, sleeping peacefully. Finally, you thought, things were finally how they should be. 

•••

The trip home was pleasant, albeit sad as you mourned the honeymoon-esque time you’d had away with John. His hand rested comfortably over your knee, thumb caressing your soft skin every so often. Glancing over to you occasionally, he met your eyes, the corner of his lips pulling upwards into a smirk. It wasn’t long before your street came into view, and John pulled up outside your flat. 

He insisted on carrying the bags inside, refusing to accept your help as he lugged them up the stairs. Opening the door for him, he pushed inside and placed the bags down. 

“Home, sweet home.” He sighed, sprawling down onto the couch with his arm and legs open wide. Grinning, you slid into his arms, allowing them to wrap tightly around you as you lay against his chest, humming softly. 

“Thank you, John. For everything. That was amazing.” 

“Aye, it was,” He whispered, running a hand through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly. “Woulda given anythin’ tae stay there longer.” His voice sounded almost remorseful. 

“We should do it. Leave our jobs and buy a farm in Scotland. Can have cows and chickens, grow old together like the Fraser’s.” The smile spread wider on your lips as the words came out, mostly said in jest, but a lingering want was still settling deep in your heart. 

You hadn’t really spoken about your confession since the previous night, but you could tell things had changed between you and John. Though the car ride back had been mostly silent, he’d kept a hand on you the entire time, as though making sure you were still there. There had been a shift between the pair of you, and despite John still not being completely open with his feelings, the way he looked at you now made up for everything. 

He cupped your cheek, looking down at you fondly as you lay on him. His lips were pulled up in a soft smile as his calloused thumb brushed the skin under your eye.

“Say it.” His voice was barely audible, as though he was terrified to even utter the words. 

“I love you.” The hand that was wrapped around your shoulders squeezed you tightly, his eyes brimming with emotion

“I dinnae think I deserve yer love, but I’m gonna take everythin’ yer willing tae give me.” Pulling you closer, he rested his forehead on yours, breathing deeply. “My girl.” 

His hands moved, sliding down your body to grip your ass, pulling your hips firmly against his. Nosing your head up, he sought out your lips, leaning in for a deep kiss to make the moment even sweeter. 

Running your palms up his chest, you gripped the soft fabric of his shirt, knees coming up on either side of his hips so you could position yourself more comfortably. Your teeth tugged on his lip, sucking it into your mouth and making him groan throatily.  His lips moved against yours with an increased fervour, tongue pressing against the seam of your lips to slide into your mouth as you sighed. 

With the kiss deepening, his hands roamed further, moving underneath your shirt to press against your body. Bending his knees, he shifted his hips, bucking you slightly so you could feel the press of his rapidly thickening erection, making you smile into the kiss. 

“Already needy, John?” You teased, pulling back and kissing along his jawline. His lips were red and swollen as his eyes fluttered, rolling as you ground yourself on top of him.

“Always fucking needy for ye, lassie.” He panted, turning his head to try and reconnect your lips when he was interrupted by a phone ringing. His work phone. 

The sound had always made your heart sink, because it was usually followed by him leaving suddenly. Normally, he answered it without much complaint, holding you close for a brief moment and telling you that he’d be back before you knew it. This time, his hands gripped your hips tightly, brows drawn together as he stared blankly in the direction of the phone, before shaking his head. 

“No. They can fuckin’ wait. Yer more important right now.” The words made your eyes widen, mouth opening in shock, but you didn’t have long to process what it meant before he restarted the kiss. Threading a hand in your hair, he held you close, making sure you couldn’t even pull away. Your heart leapt. 

The happiness didn’t last long, however, as the phone rang twice more. It was on the fourth ring that John let out a frustrated growl, pushing to sit up and reaching for the damned mobile. Answering it, he pressed it to his ear. 

“Ye’d better have a good fucking reason fer callin’.” He grit out. The tone of his voice made you shiver, recalling that night a few months ago where he’d first been really rough with you, and found yourself not being envious of the person on the other end. 

The hope of getting back to what you were doing before the call faded as you saw the shift in John’s expression, his brows now pinched in worry. He glanced at you apologetically, but you’d already resigned your fate, reaching over to squeeze his wrist affectionately before letting him go. Standing up, John spoke in a hushed tone as he walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Sighing, you leaned back against the couch, staring at your bedroom door, wishing he’d walk out and say everything was fine and they didn’t need him, but the chances of that were slim. They always needed Captain MacTavish. 

Sliding your hand into your pocket, you reached for your phone before realising it wasn’t there. Cursing, you searched your bag before remembering you’d placed it on charge during the drive home. Shaking your head in annoyance, you grabbed the keys to his car and headed downstairs. 

It was there in the cup holder, still plugged in. Removing the cable and wrapping it up, you opened the centre console to put it inside before something caught your eye. Frowning, you tilted your head, reaching down to pick up the small, black ring box. 

Surely not, you thought, surely he hadn’t already bought you a ring…

You debated for a split second, wondering if it was something you should put back, but you couldn’t help the excited feeling that was clawing its way into your chest. Pursing your lips, you opened the box. 

At the sight of the contents, you frowned. It was a men’s ring. Gold and clearly worn, given the many scratches and dulling of the metal, with what appeared to be engraving on the inside. Your breath hitched and, with a shaking hand, you picked up the piece of jewellery against your better judgement. 

JM + LM

10/10/2010

Gu sìorraidh is gu bràth

You froze, mouth turning dry as you stared at the carved letters on the inside of the ring. The thumping in your chest was growing louder and faster, and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. Rationally, you tried to make yourself think of every single possibility you could to justify it. 

Licking your lips in an attempt  to wet them, but your tongue felt like sandpaper, breath ragged and loud. Shoving the ring back into the box as if it had burned you, the lid of the centre console slamming shut as you locked the car behind you. Leaning against the passenger side door, you could feel yourself struggling to breathe, your mind going cloudy as your eyes became unfocused. 

He was married. John was fucking married. 

No matter what far-fetched, imaginative thought you tried to conjure up to explain it, you knew, deep in your heart that none of them were true. The way he’d acted, being so avoidant of proclaiming love and affection, the way he’d called himself selfish, and that you should run away… he wasn’t wrong. He’d been telling you the truth this whole time in his own twisted, fucked up way. 

God you were so fucking blind and stupid to fall for all his sweet words. 

Curling your fingers into a fist and sucking in a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the car to move back towards your flat for the inevitable. As you stepped inside, John was stepping out of your bedroom, sighing and shaking his head. 

“Cannae do anything right wi’out me, honestly. It’s like I have tae fucking babysit them through every wee thing— ye awryt, lassie?” Frowning, John tilted his head, taking in your rigid posture and stony expression. He made a move to step towards you, but you quickly stepped back in response, holding up a hand. 

His mouth parted, but he remained silent, eyes tracing every feature of your face as though he was trying to read your mind. You hated the fact you could see the hurt in his expression and it almost made your next words falter. But you pushed through. 

“Are you married?” 

The slight widening of his eyes only appeared for a fraction of a second, but it was enough proof for you. Taking a step back from him, you let out a shaky breath, staring directly at him. 

“Are you fucking married, John?” Your voice was demanding now as you repeated the words, having found the groove and dug in. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, pursing his lips and blinking slowly to meet your hard gaze. 

“Hen, it’s not—”

“Just tell me the fucking truth. Are you married?” The emphasis you placed on the last three words was deafening, and you could see the cracks forming in his composure. His carefully calculated image was breaking before your eyes as he fought for control. 

“It’s nothing, she means nothing—”

“She’s your wife, John MacTavish.” 

“She’s not you.” The words were like a punch to your gut, making you shake your head at him, scoffing. 

“Yeah? Because I’m new? I’m young? I’m… fun? You needed to feel something else in your life because your marriage was getting stagnant? Wanted someone to make you feel loved, is that it?” 

“Don’t you be putting words in my mouth.” He snapped, eyes flashing darkly as he raised a finger towards you. You slapped the hand away. 

“Don’t you dare point your finger at me. How fucking dare you. Did you even care? Or was I just someone else you could come to and fuck when your wife wouldn’t?” Muscles twitched in his jaw as his eyes narrowed in fury. His fist clenched and unclenched as he breathed, staring at you unwaveringly. 

“Is that what ye want me tae say? That I was just using ye tae warm my cock?” His lip curled upwards as he sneered. “Yer more than that, and ye know it.” 

“So what was it, then?” You demanded, biting your tongue to distract you as tears threatened to fall. “She didn’t give you enough attention? Needed something new in your life?” 

“Stop! Just—” Sucking in a breath, John’s face relaxed a fraction as he stepped forward, his hands resting on your shoulders as he pushed you back against the wall. As much as you attempted to resist, you couldn’t break free so you tilted your head up and glared at him instead. “Are ye gonna let me talk?” 

“Why should I, John? You’re a married man, I’m a homewrecker. Tell me why you deserve to be listened to?” The fingers on your shoulders pressed a little harder into your skin as his eyes squeezed tightly in pain. 

“Yer not, lassie. Please, this is on me. I didnae explain it to ye properly.” 

“What is there to explain? You’re married, end of story!” 

“No, there’s more just, fuck, listen tae me.” He growled, pressing you against the wall, but you shoved him away, causing him to back up a few steps. 

“Does she even know?” You spat, your nose twitching in disgust. 

“Of course not. Not that it matters anyway.” He spat back with venom. “She’s a cheating whore—”

“And that justifies your actions?” Shaking your head, you pointed your finger at him, pacing back and forth. “No, you don’t get to play the sympathy card.” 

“What? Ye would have done the same thing if I told ye the story from the beginning anyway. I saw how ye looked at me.” 

“Don’t you dare put the blame on me!” You snapped at him, eyes blazing with fury. “I didn’t know and you hid it from me.” 

“I’m sorry, alright?” He gasped, voice strained as he took hold of your wrists and pulled you close. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should have told ye but I didnae ken how. Please, love, please.” 

“Are you really sorry? Because saying it and meaning it are two very different things.” The words were cold and without feeling as you stared blankly at the floor, already pulling your hands away. Letting out a strangled noise, he reached for your head, tilting it up to force your eyes to meet his.

“Don’t do this love, please. Listen tae me. Listen please.” His voice cracked as he begged, large hands cupping either side of your face. “Fuck, I didn’t mean for it tae be like this. Ye mean everything tae me.” 

“Not enough that you couldn’t be honest with me from the start because you knew it was wrong.” 

Despite how hurt you felt, watching his face crumple made your heart clench painfully. Shaking his head, John held you firmly, eyes starting into yours imploringly. 

“I should have told ye, I know I made mistakes, I know I wasnae honest but please, you have to listen—”

“No. I’ve had enough. Get out.” Pushing him away, you pointed towards the door. 

“But I—” 

“Get out, John!” You yelled, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “Get the fuck out of my flat.” 

The hurt on his face was evident and he took a step forward to reach for you one final time, but you pulled back out of his reach. Shaking your head minutely, you shut your eyes, trying to level your breathing. 

“Just go.” 

You didn’t open your eyes to start sobbing until you heard the front door click shut. 

•••

Filling the hole in your heart that John left was excruciating. He’d dug himself into every aspect of your life, reminding you constantly of his presence at every turn of your head. One night in a drunken fit of rage, you’d collected all the belongings he’d left behind along with every gift he’d bought you, shoved them into a large rubbish bag and tossed it outside. The next morning, it was gone. Whether or not John had picked it up himself wasn’t your issue. 

Blocking his number was another task you’d struggled with. At first, you’d forgotten, but then after the first day apart, the barrage of texts came through 

-> Please let me explain

-> I’m sorry, lass, please

-> I swear I’ll tell you everything 

-> Don’t shut me out 

-> I can fix this, please let me fix this 

-> I can’t be without you 

-> Please don’t let it end like this 

-> I need you 

-> I love you 

The last message had been the final straw, leaving a foul taste in your mouth. He hadn’t bothered to say it in person, struggled to do so in fact, so over text the words felt meaningless. A desperate plea to win back your favour. 

He’d thankfully steered clear of your workplace so far. You’d used the opportunity to pick up extra shifts to keep yourself busy, allowing your mind to run on autopilot throughout the weeks. 

As if you couldn’t help it, your eyes tended to find their way over to the corner of the bar where John had always sat, bringing unwanted emotions to the surface once more. The stool was currently vacant, as was most of the bar since it was nearing closing time. Sighing heavily and murmuring a good night, the last patron left, and you locked the door behind him and sunk to the floor in tears again. 

This cycle repeated for a couple of months, drowning yourself in work, drink, or other distractions to keep your mind off of John and how much you missed him. Other soldiers came into the bar, but never him. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to see him again, how it would make you feel if he did turn up. 

Everything was cold and numb without him, but there was still the bitter taste of betrayal that lingered on your tongue. The fact that he’d been married and never said a word haunted your dreams, and you began to lose count of the times you’d woken up feeling the pain all over again. 

Leaving the bar later than usual, you took a longer route home, stopping to pick up some of your favourite takeaway food before heading back. Locking your car and walking up the stairs, your mind was preoccupied on thinking what show you were going to watch to decompress that you almost missed it. The smell of tobacco with a hint of scotch and coffee lingered around your front door, making you freeze. 

Your hand was shaking as you reached for the metal handle, twisting it to find it already unlocked. In the midst of everything, you’d forgotten that John had a key to your place this whole time. Blood began to pump faster, your ears ringing as your mouth became dry. Shaking your head to clear it, and swallowing, you pushed open the door. 

John was sitting on one of your dining table chairs looking like utter shit, for lack of better description. He was still wearing his filthy clothes, obviously having just come back from deployment, boots and all. His hair was slightly longer than you’d been used to, as was the stubble on his face. 

Perking up at the sound of the door, John lifted his head and turned around, eyes wide with shock. Seeing you, he held up his hands in a pleading gesture, shaking his head. 

“Please, just hear me out, love. I need tae tell ye everythin’. Can ye let me?” Slamming your door shut and kicking off your shoes, you stomped into the kitchen, grumbling to yourself as you dumped your bag and grabbed a bottle of wine. Setting the glass bottle and the food bag down on the opposite end of the table to John, you glowered at him as you cracked open the cap. 

“You look like utter fucking shit.” Taking a long swig directly from the bottle, you found yourself looking at everything but him. 

“Lassie, please. I ken yer hurtin’, but look at me, please.” Pain was evident in his voice when he spoke, and it made you crack. Allowing your eyes to dart over and meet the familiar blue of his own. They were duller, nowhere near as lively as they’d been when you’d been dancing together back in Inverness. Back when times were simpler. 

“Have you been gone this whole time?” Pulling out the food, you began to eat, using it as a distraction as he nodded in reply. Guess that made sense why he hadn’t dropped by the bar yet. But now he was back, and he clearly wasn’t going to give this up easily. 

“I need ye tae listen tae me. It's been eatin’ at me fer weeks. I cannae even think how yer handling it—”

“Don’t act like you care about me.” The viciousness of your tone startled him for a moment, his eyes widening warily for a split second, before they calmed again. Placing his hands on the table in front of him, he continued in his soft tone. 

“I do, doll. It's why I’m here. I need tae set things straight. Even if ye dinnae want me anymore, I have tae come clean. Ye deserve tae know.”

“Well, I’m listening, John and you’re saying a whole lot of nothing!” 

Taking a deep breath, he clasped hands behind his neck as he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. 

“I was young when I met her, I thought I knew what I wanted. We were together long before I made SAS,” He started, voice soft as he spoke to you, “The early years were good, sure, but then I started going on longer deployments. When I’d come back, we’d fight all the damn time.” 

Cracking his knuckles, John pursed his lips, moving in his chair restlessly as he spoke. Your eyes watched him closely, alternating between eating and drinking to keep your mouth occupied so you weren’t tempted to interrupt. 

“I’m not sayin’ it as an excuse, I swear it, lassie. But I grew tae resent her, how she spoke tae me, how she spoke about my job, but I was raised tae think divorce wasnae an option, so I pushed through.” Resting his elbows on the table, he dropped his head so it could rest on his palms. 

“I came back one night and found her in bed wit someone else, and she told me it wasnae the first time either.” His voice was hollow as he spoke and he covered his mouth as he sucksd in another deep breath. “Tha’ was the first night I was at the bar.” 

The fact that he seemed genuinely heartbroken made your stomach squirm uncomfortably, and you looked away from him, biting your tongue for the moment. 

“I tried tae stay away from ye. I knew it would be more harm than good tae rope ye into my fuckin’ mess of a life. It wouldnae be fair on ye. I tried tae keep my distance…” His voice trailed off helplessly, looking over to you with his palms out. 

“So you’re blaming me because I wanted you?” The words were intentionally cruel, as you were trying to preserve your own heart. John let out a groan as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“Love please, it’s nae yer fault. It’s mine. Fuck, it’s all my fuckin’ fault. I made myself available tae ye. That is on me. I wasnae strong enough, I was selfish. I just— ye were right. I wanted tae feel loved. I wanted that feeling again that she gave me when we first met. I wanted tae cherish someone, and them me.” Lifting his head, he stared into your eyes, tears pricking into the corners of them. 

“And that was you, doll. You carved yer way into my bleedin’ heart in a way ye weren’t s’posed tae. It was only supposed tae be temporary. I never meant tae fall in love. And by the time I realised, I was in too deep. And I didnae have the heart tae tell ye.”

This time, it was you who breathed in sharply, heart thumping as you bit the inside of your cheeks, trying to fight your own tears that threatened to spill. 

“You can’t— I can’t—” Words clung to the lining of your throat, unable to make their way into your mouth as you let out a sob. The chair made a grating noise against the flooring as John pushed it back to kneel on the floor. 

“Please, love. Ye can tell me tae leave if you want. Tell me tae leave and never come back and I’d do it. But I need ye tae know that I love you. I have loved you fer so long. Loved ye in a way I didnae even know I could. I was scared of what it meant fer me, fer us.” He shuffled towards you, his hands gently caressing the backs of your calves as he dropped his head to rest against your knee. 

“I’ll do anything, hen. Anything fer ye, I swear. Yer the one that has mah heart, and I’ve suffered every moment being away from ye.” 

“Stop it. John, stop it.” You whispered, trying to push him back, trying to stay strong in the moment as he was on his knees begging and pleading for you to forgive him. 

“I’ve ended it. We’re done. She signed the papers immediately. We’ve been done fer so long, I was just too much of a coward tae face it with her.” Lifting his head up, his teary eyes met your own and you couldn’t help but feel your heart fight against your brain and better judgement to pull him into your arms and hold him tightly. 

“But I dinnae want tae be that same coward wit ye. Ye deserve better. I promise, I’ll give you every part of me. I’ll tell ye everythin’ ye wish tae know. I’ll keep nothing from ye, I swear doll. Ye have mah heart, my soul, I cannae live without ye. Please, love please. I need ye in my life. I love you.”

The grip on your legs tightened as he looked up at you, trying to read your expression as his words raced through your head, making you feel a myriad of emotions all at once. Your throat was dry, from the emotion, blood still pounding in your ears as you stared down at the man kneeling at your feet, his eyes hopeful as they bore into yours. 

Inwardly, you’d missed him, missed everything about the time you’d spent together and how he made you feel. He’d meant everything to you. But on the other side of the same coin, who’s to say he wouldn’t fall out of love with you, as he’d done with his former wife and leave you when he’d fallen out of love. 

Swallowing thickly, you cleared your throat, and his eyes widened, looking up at you expectantly as you gave him the answer you felt was right. 

For the Captain MacTavish lovers:

@soapsgf @brewed-pangolin @glitterypirateduck @deadbranch @crashtestbunny

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

How About It, Agent Miller? | Lenny Miller x fem!reader

Summary: The year is 1988. The Cold War is well underway and tensions are slowly rising between the US and the Soviets. CIA Agent Miller isn’t threatened by the new young agent from the Soviet Union but she has a plan to get his attention, and to get even.

Warnings: Misogyny, violence, gun, kidnapping, restraints, dubious consent, noncon, smut, unprotected sex, edging, drugging.

word count: 4661k

Sympathy for the Devil- The Rolling Stones 🎶

Devils Haircut- Beck 🎵

You Know I’m No Good- Amy Winehouse 🎶

Movie: Anna (2019)

Please read warnings before continuing, thanks!

He thought this job was going to be simple, almost easy. She was working for East Germany, young, and new to her position; surely she wouldn’t be that difficult to eliminate. He’d been working for the CIA for nearly fifteen years at that point. He was one of the top agents and had orchestrated the downfall of many notable German and Soviet spies. To be fair, there had been that minor detail of receiving several severed heads from the KGB back in 1985 but that was all behind him now. They didn’t scare him now, and certainly, that twenty-something agent he’d heard so much about wasn’t about to make him lose sleep. In fact, he was looking forward to meeting her.

The girl in question was twenty-two and one of the deadliest spies to ever work for East Germany (the communist side). Y/N Y/L/N managed to slip past the CIA on multiple occasions, stealing out the backdoor or using false passports to get out of the country undetected. She’d made one mistake, however, and Agent Miller was quick to catch it. He rued the way she’d avoided detection for so long when it felt like it was all due simply to good luck. She didn’t seem especially smart or conniving, just pretty. It pissed him off. The mistake that Y/N had made was small, easy to look over, but Agent Miller was looking, and he found it.

Y/N tricked men around her to get information on the US. Once she’d get them alone, she drugged them, shot them, etc; anything to get them out of her way while she downloaded classified files from their computers. She had managed to steal these files before without leaving traces of her crime but low and behold, the last time she had removed the flash drive without ejecting it from the computer’s system. The computer held onto the flash drive's information and told Agent Miller exactly what the young woman was planning next. She’d been collecting information on nuclear weapons and international trade deals that the US was trying to keep hush hush. And for that reason, Agent Miller knew who she was going after next.

He straightened his striped blue tie and cleared his throat as he and his team crowded into the elevator. The men behind him carried larger guns and thick bulletproof vests, ready for whatever the girl threw at them. They’d followed her into a hotel in New York City, a place that felt too normal for the situation at hand. When the elevator doors opened with a soft whooshing noise, Agent Miller nodded his agents on, directing them to either side of the corridor. Quickly, they raided the hotel room belonging to the man they believed she had gone after that evening, but did not find her there. She was nowhere in the hotel. Agent Miller cursed beneath his breath and gritted his teeth. He knew his impatience was his worst quality and it only hurt him in these situations, but then again, the American government isn’t known for being very patient with communists…

Clenching and relaxing his jaw, Agent Miller went back down in the elevator with his men. They separated into groups in the lobby, each climbing back into the armored car sent by the CIA. Agent Miller waited behind, his cold eyes trained on the curb in front of the hotel. His car was separate from the others and would take him directly back to his office. A sharp wind ruffled his dark brown hair, displacing one strand into his face as his car pulled up to the curb. Agent Miller climbed into the dark backseat, the car door slamming closed beside him and a lock clicking into place. He looked up. The barrel of a pistol was pointed at his forehead. He froze.

“Hello, Agent Miller. Wie geht es Ihnen? I’m so glad we finally got a moment alone. I apologize for the circumstances but you know how the politics are these days… it’s so… toxic. Ja? Now, be a good boy and hand me the glock you have at your hip,” a young woman smiled on the seat beside him. She was wearing all black and blended in against the dark leather seats and tinted windows. Agent Miller frowned, his hands unmoving.

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it? You’re putting me at a disadvantage here.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself like that, Agent Miller. You and I both know what you’re capable of,” she chuckled mockingly but her sunglasses hid her true meaning. “Give me your gun, now.” Her voice was hard and cool like a porcelain plate, one of the perfect edges with a chip. Agent Miller raised his hand slowly and moved his jacket to the side, showing his holster. As soon as she had his gun in her hand she tapped the glass partition between them and the driver, signaling him to drive.

“Where are we going?” Agent Miller sighed calmly, leaning back against the seat. Y/N smiled, pleased at his temperament. It made things easier.

“One of my favorite places in New York City,” she answered with a smirk, a gun still trained at the man beside her though it had been lowered.

“And what kind of place could that be, god forbid?” Agent Miller asked rhetorically and looked over at the window beside him.

“The Plaza Hotel,” she answered slowly and shifted in her seat. Her pleated leather skirt shifted across her black stockings, showing more of her thigh, fleshy and round. Agent Miller noticed it and smirked, the comedy of the situation being too much for him to take seriously. The car stopped at the back of the hotel by the service entrance. Men exited out of the building and held a door open, waiting as Y/N escorted the CIA agent inside. Agent Miller followed her calmly as he searched for someone who could help him.

“No one’s here. It’s off-season,” she sighed lightly and pushed him into an elevator.

“It’s never off-season in New York,” Agent Miller raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Surprise, surprise.”

They took the elevator up to the top floor. Agent Miller’s hands began to sweat as he was led out of the elevator and around the corridor to a suite, separated from the others.

“You must get a good salary,” Agent Miller cracked as the woman jerked the gun towards the door of the suite. He kept his hands visible as he entered the room and looked around. The room was large and was actually made up of multiple rooms. In the center of the living room area, a chair had been left out.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Bitte.” She had a way of talking that sounded like a purr but it was clear to Agent Miller that her words were more threatening than they sounded. Still, it was hard to take her seriously. It was hard to believe that this woman was the deadliest spy in East Germany.

“Danke schön,” Agent Miller muttered, his American accent muddling the German.

"Kannst du Deutsch sprechen, Herr Miller?” Y/N pretended to sound surprised as she closed and bolted the lock. “I’m flattered, really,” she smiled and removed her long black coat. Slowly she placed the coat on a couch’s arm and pulled off the blonde wig on her head, revealing her dark hair beneath which fell into a messy bob around her shoulders, over her dark mauve blouse. Last she removed her sunglasses and folded them neatly on her coat. Then she met his eyes.

“Nein? Well, then it's good I’m so fluent in English. You would never tell by my accent. At least, you didn’t the last time we met.”

“We’ve met before?” Agent Miller asked and shifted in his chair.

“Oh yes.” She smiled and dimples deepened on her cheeks.

An image came back to him, one of a young woman dropping a stack of manuscripts in the lobby of a hotel where they had been investigating the last crime scene. She’d been wearing a long brown wig and tortoiseshell glasses. She even had brown contacts in her eyes to hide her true eye color. He’d stopped to help her collect the manuscripts.

Oh gosh, thank you so much. So sorry about that. My boss is going to kill me. Thank you! She’d blushed as he handed her the papers. He’d met her before. She’d shown herself to him just to play with him. He scowled.

“Now I feel even more at a disadvantage.”

“How? After all, you’re the big-shot CIA agent, due for a promotion any day now… and I’m just a little girl. I don’t need any real smarts, not when I can just use my good looks to get what I want. Right, Agent Miller?” Her voice darkened as she finished, flashing with resentment. “You could fight me right now. It’s just the two of us. I’m surprised you didn’t. You’ve had ample opportunities to but you blindly follow my orders. It’s not that you’re scared to hurt me, you aren’t that sexist.”

“I don’t see the point of fighting when you’ve put so much work into getting me alone. I assume you have something to say.” Agent Miller swallowed, his cool facade slipping slightly as the woman approached him slowly.

“Aw how chivalrous of you! Oh, but what if I told you that I was only interested in getting you alone so that I could finally get even with you.” Y/N twirled the gun around her pointer finger and shifted it to his chest. He stiffened.

“Get even?”

“Settle the score,” she offered with a shrug.

“I don’t think I follow,” Agent Miller frowned warily.

“Then let me explain,” Y/N purred and with quick movements, she removed a pair of handcuffs from the back of her skirt and closed them tightly around both of his wrists, tying his hands around the back of the heavy chair. His eyes widened slightly when he realized what she had done.

“The fuck…” he started but she cut him off quickly.

“You didn’t think I could outsmart you or get the upper hand… you thought you could so easily catch me. And what a good job you’ve done!” She crossed her arms across her chest and set the gun down, smiling. Agent Miller averted his gaze, staring at the upper corner of the room. He clenched his jaw and struggled against the handcuffs for a brief moment.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Agent Miller?”

“Figured what out?” He snapped impatiently.

“I've been planning this for months. Do you really think I accidentally removed my flashdrive wrong, coincidentally leaving you all of the information that i’ve gathered since starting my mission? You’ve really underestimated me,” she clucked her tongue and kicked off her high heels, standing barefoot in her pantyhose on the dark pink shag carpet.

“I knew you’d find the mistake, I wanted you to. You did everything you were supposed to do, good boy,” she carded her fingers through his dark hair. The soft warm lighting in the room brought out the freckles across his pale face. Just as he started to turn his eyes to hers, she yanked his hair back so that he was looking up at her. “But how did this special agent who graduated from MIT of all places, end up in this position?”

“Did you do all of this just to show me how smart you are?” Agent Miller growled as she continued to pull at his roots.

“Something like that,” she smiled again, “I get off when men think they’re smarter than I am. I like proving them wrong… and then killing them.”

“Is that your plan for tonight?” He tried to keep a level voice as the smell of her perfume wafted down to his nose. She shook her head slightly and chuckled.

“You’ve been trained to resist torture, so there won’t be much that I can get out of you that way. And anyway, there isn’t much that I don’t already know.” She released her grip on his hair and stepped back. Y/N moved to the bar cart, stocked with crystal jars of whiskey and bourbon.

“So what are you going to do to me?” Agent Miller raised an eyebrow as he watched her pour a small glass of whiskey. She turned slowly and approached him again, swirling the whiskey in her glass. She raised the glass to his lips and poured it gently into his mouth. He parted his lips for her, his eyes trained on her face.

“Whatever I want,” she whispered and pulled the glass from his lips. Agent Miller raised his eyebrow, swallowing.

“Won’t your government disapprove?” He scoffed and shifted in the seat, calming himself down. His body was starting to get hot and his collar got tighter.

“Shhh,” she shushed him, a finger pressed against her own lips. Y/N approached him again and trailed one manicured finger from his arm to his hand. He shivered beneath her touch and his heart began to race. He felt his pulse in his stomach as she carded her fingers through his hair again, softer this time. She placed one knee on the chair between his thighs, pressing against his crotch. She tipped his head back with the edge of her nail beneath his jaw and leaned in close, exhaling beside his jaw. Seeing an opportunity, Agent Miller tried to kick her, jutting his knee up because it wasn’t restrained. She stopped him quickly, forcing him back into the chair, not missing a beat. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked on it. Her hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed but not harshly. His skin was warm beneath her hand and she smiled, her white teeth flashing.

She pressed her knee sharply into his thigh, holding his leg down, and slid it closer to the top of his crotch. She chuckled softly when she felt the outline of his cock inside his pants with the side of her thigh. Agent Miller’s body tensed below her, his hands folding into fists as he exhaled sharply.

“Aw does this hurt?” She cooed as she dug her knee further into the flesh of his thigh. His jaw tightened as she teased him. Moving closer, she rested both knees between his thighs, forcing them against the arms and pinning them in place. Suddenly she was so close and her thighs were pressing against his stomach…

How was it that he was getting an erection from this shit-show? How could she get this reaction out of him so fucking quickly? He tried to even out his breath as she shifted in the seat, her hands trailing up his chest to the knot of his tie.

“What did you drug me with?” Agent Miller muttered. Strands of her hair brushed against his cheeks.

“You don’t have to resist it, Agent Miller.” She ran her hands down his sides beneath his dark blue suit jacket. His body was full and firm, and warm. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispered against his forehead.

“What did you put in my drink…” he repeated, his voice wavering in strength as her hand moved down his stomach to the front of his pants. His erection was pronounced and visible, pushing against the fly of his trousers. She must have given him something, something to get this response. He wasn’t even that turned on. He sighed, frustrated and mad. He turned his head to the side, avoiding her soft lips.

“You think I have to drug you to get this kind of response? Silly boy,” she slid off of his lap and sat on the edge of the couch in front of him. She crossed her legs at first and allowed her eyes to trail up his body like a man would to a woman. Agent Miller stared back, his blue eyes hard. She giggled and reached up her skirt, hooking her hands under her pantyhose and pulled it down her thighs. She rolled the pantyhose slowly down her calves and slipped it off her feet. Despite his best efforts, Agent Miller watched her closely, studying the way she pushed the pantyhose to the side with her foot.

“I prefer genuine responses, it helps with my ego,” she broke the silence and watched with a sly smile as Agent Miller swallowed. With a sigh she stood and leaned over the CIA agent, her hands gripped around the arm rests. “Are you embarrassed? The high and mighty CIA agent succumbing so quickly to someone like me?” She teased him sharply, a glint of malice behind her bright eyes. “Tell me, Agent Miller. You’re thinking about me… you want me to touch you more. You want to see what I could do to you.”

Agent Miller cocked his head slightly and sighed, pretending to be disinterested. Y/N grabbed his face, her fingers digging into either side of his jaw. When she kissed him, he exhaled, almost relieved. He kissed her back, forgetting himself and liking the way she tasted, the way her lips felt in his mouth. She pulled his face closer to hers, still hovering above him. She kissed him feverishly and he followed blindly, distracted by the pleasure found in each movement her lips made against his. Then as quickly as it had started, she pulled away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Some of her lipstick was smudged across his mouth but he couldn’t tell. He was breathing heavily, his lips pulled apart so that he could catch his breath. She took a few steps back and grabbed a file from a nearby table. She flipped it open and turned the pages until she landed on the right one. She held the folder open in one hand and with the other she began to unbutton her blouse from the top down.

Agent Miller felt his cock throb as he watched her shrug off the silky blouse and drape it over the arm of the couch. When she turned he could see her black t-shirt bra fitted perfectly against her breasts. Her collarbones rose and fell as she breathed and Agent Miller nearly groaned. She read aloud from the file as she moved back to the chair.

“My records tell me that the last number of confirmed nuclear weapons in the American arsenal was 27,000. It’s been half a decade since that information was released to the Soviet Union. What is that number now?” She straddled his lap slowly, smoothing out her skirt over their legs. Agent Miller moved his eyes from her breasts to her face, trying to keep his face straight as he felt the woman’s hand unbuckle his belt.

“I can’t tell you that,” he managed as she played with the zipper of his fly, her fingers dancing over the hard bulge.

“Has the number grown?” She offered and slid her hand below his waistband. Her hand grazed the patch of his pubic hair before she reached his cock. He shivered and looked up at the ceiling of the hotel room. “More?” She asked softly as she wrapped her fingers around his erection, it was hot and wet in her hand. He was so sensitive already that he groaned softly when she touched him. She squeezed him softly and freed the hard length from his pants. She rubbed her hand up and down. Agent Miller panted softly as she masturbated him. His eyes snapped open and he watched her, their eyes locked.

“Has the number changed?” She asked again softly as the agent clenched his jaw.

“I can’t tell you that,” He fought the words out as her hand sped up.

“Are there less? Has the US been involved in a trade agreement for its nuclear weapons?” She pushed, her hand moving faster.

“Fuck…” Agent Miller panted as her grip tightened around him. His cheeks deepened with color and his chest shook as his climax built. Just as he felt like he was about to cum, Y/N pulled her hand away and clucked her tongue.

“You’re going to make this very hard on yourself,” she observed and smiled as she watched him pant. He was completely erect beneath her skirt, resting against her bare thigh. They stared at each other as he caught his breath. She snapped the folder closed and tossed it to the side, sighing impatiently.

“Who has the US traded with in the past year?” She asked, her hands holding his thighs down.

“That is public information. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“I want you to tell me about the trade deals you haven’t made public,” she loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “Which countries have illegal trade agreements with the US?” She added before kissing his neck, sucking on the soft flesh until she started to make hickeys. With her freehand she held his cock still as she lowered herself onto his head. She moved her hips slowly up and down and pulled away to look at his face. His adam's apple quivered in his throat as she moved on top of him.

“I-I can’t-fuck,” he gasped softly as she started to shift her hips over his lap, taking him deeper, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Come on, Agent Miller,” she whispered against his ear, “be a good boy for me,” she smirked. “Does it feel good? Is this harder than torture?” She teased him as her hips sped up, rocking back and forth. Agent Miller moaned softly as she held his face to face her. His mouth was agape in pleasure as she began to bounce slightly, falling hard on his cock. He grunted as she went faster, moaning theatrically against his lips which she refused to kiss.

“Do you want to cum, Agent Miller?” She whispered against his lips, her tongue touching his bottom lip with a flourish.

“Fuck…” he panted again.

“Can you cum for me?” She purred and Agent Miller nodded weakly, his eyes now closed. She smiled and pretended to pant, coaxing another deep moan from the man’s throat. “Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She asked, raising herself up and holding him inside her. He weakly tried to thrust but she held him down.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his brows furrowed in frustration.

She snapped her hips down, taking him in again and hugging his cock. He gasped as his stomach tightened. He was going to cum.

“Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She repeated sternly, not moving on his cock as the wave of climax started to dissipate again.

“I can’t fucking tell you that-fuck,” he growled when she moved her hips very slowly.

“But you can tell me, Agent Miller, and if you do, I’ll let you cum,” she stroked his cheek and kissed his jaw feverishly. “I want you to cum. Fuck, I want you to cum inside me too.” She whispered against his neck. When he resisted saying anything she pulled herself off and backed away towards the bed in the room beside them. Agent Miller watched her, his chest rising and falling quickly. Still watching him, she slid her leather skirt off, showing that she had no underwear on underneath. He felt like he might explode just by the sight of her.

“Jesus…” he groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the chair. He couldn’t help himself but look back as she undid her bra and dropped it to the floor. Standing completely naked, she laid back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows.

“If you won’t cum, I’ll just have to finish myself off,” she sighed and trailed her fingers up her thigh to her cunt, wet from sex. “It just never feels as good.” She rubbed her fingers over her clit over and over again until she felt an orgasm grow. She curled her toes and bit her lip, grinding against her own hand. Agent Miller knew that he could look away but the scene was just too much to ignore. He watched as she arched her back and twisted her hips, reacting to the sensitivity of her clit. Her eyes danced below her eyelids as she thought up fantasies to fuel her climax. Rubbing harder, she started to moan softly and quivered. Agent Miller pulled at the handcuffs, struggling to remain calm as he watched her touch herself. As her orgasm finally arrived, she collapsed back onto the mattress and caught her breath.

“Enough,” Agent Miller sneered from the chair, still erect and horny. “At least get me out of these so I can fuck you the right way.”

Y/N smiled and hopped off of the bed, her tits bouncing slightly as she did.

“You want to fuck me, Agent Miller?” She leaned close to his face again. He stared back at her, his jaw set.

“Let’s get it over with,” he answered nonchalantly and she tilted his jaw up but didn’t kiss him. She undid the handcuffs around his wrists and he sprang to his feet, grabbing at her body. He kissed her feverishly, lapping at her mouth with his tongue hungrily. She pushed off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt as he slipped off his shoes and pants. They didn’t have time to remove his shirt before he entered her. He took hold of her hips to pull her closer and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close to his chest. She clawed her hands down his dress shirt, her knees high on either side of his waist. She moaned loudly and he studied the way she opened her mouth to do it, mesmerized by the way she reacted to him inside of her.

“Good boy,” she praised him when he sped up, hitting her G-spot. She reached her hand down between their bodies and rubbed at her clit, coaxing a stronger orgasm.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Agent Miller ordered, short of breath, “let me do it.” He massaged her clit himself, his large hands covering the front of her cunt. Her mouth fell open into a loud gasp as he synchronized his thrusts to the way he rubbed her clit.

“Fuck,” he exhaled tightly as he felt her flex around him.

“Keep going,” she wrapped her fingers around his neck and pulled him closer to her face, their mouths exchanging exhales, “fuck me right.”

He kissed her deeply as he moaned, the muscles in his back tightening beneath her nails. She was so tight and wet, he nearly came just thinking about it as he moved. She carded her fingers through his hair and pulled as he chased their peaking climax. He was grunting now as she began to finish around him, shaking without much control. He moved his hands back to her hips and rocked himself deep inside of her as he brought on his orgasm. He came inside of her with loud grunts, thrusting until he’d finished completely. Only when he was done did he pull out and collapse beside her on the elegant duvet. He panted loudly, exhausted. They remained in silence until Y/N rolled over, putting her lips close to his ear.

“You know, I didn’t have to ask you all those questions. I already know the answers.” Her voice was serious and cold, Agent Miller eyed her.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see you tied down,” she answered calmly. He raised his eyebrow and scoffed just before the sting of a cold, sterilized needle pinched his neck. Then he quickly went to sleep.

When he awoke, he found himself alone in the hotel room. Everything had been returned to normal and the place scrubbed for fingerprints. And she was gone. She’d gotten away again.

[shaisuki]

Could I request Kaiser with reader. The two of them are partners for a project when he offers her a brownie he made, (one that he drugged), she was hesitant but took it, once she felt a little intoxicated, he took advantage of her, despite her trying to push him off, her state made her weaker and unable to push him off as he did what he wanted with her. At the end, he blackmailed her with the recording he took of him taking advantage of her

contested cravings

PAIRING. MICHAEL KAISER X CHUBBY READER

CONTENT WARNINGS. noncon + drugging, nonconsensual recording + groping and touching + kissing + blackmail + sabotage + penetrative sex + manipulation + cunnilingus.

SYNOPSIS. michael's is the bad news with his good looks and talent and the reason why you avoided him.

class projects aren't bad not until you're paired with michael kaiser. the school's star athlete and the resident asshole if you must add. have a bad habit of belittling others that pisses most of the whole student body and only hangs out with alexis ness. whom may have developed an unhealthy obsession with the school's golden boy. following him like a lost pup and would skedaddle if kaiser shooed him off.

you found the dynamic between them unsettling and how could ness accepted being treated like that. you guess is just how they express their feeling or to make the other feel good about themselves and you kind of really don't care, not when michael is your partner. his blonde hair is streaked with baby blue highlights on the tips and that haircut that suits him.

you instantly averted your gaze when you see him walking towards you and pretends that you didn't notice him. feigning interest in a book that you have read over and over.

“at my place?” he asks, smoothing his blonde locks. “s-sure.” you answered him. a little worriedly than you have liked and it looks like you were hesitant and regretting your action towards him.

michael paid it no mind. people acted around him like he was a real total assholes and he is and you were no different from the reactions people have shown him. he just gave you a smile and left you to your own devices.

of course, he have a room for himself. he's the school's star athlete and it comes with privilege including personal spaces. you texted him earlier and there he is. opening his door for you to come in. you gave him a curt greeting. “can we start now?” you asked him. the sooner this project is done the better. you really don't want to be alone with michael. “does my presence annoys you that much?” he smirks, eyeing you in such lazy manner that your eyes widen at what he was saying. kaiser chuckles at your reaction. “just kidding. don't want to waste more than time. make yourself comfortable then.” pointing at his work table. the books and papers and pens are neatly arranged. you didn't took him to be the studious type regarding how he acts in the general but you have judged him too early and mentally slapped yourself for thinking that way and you were still suspicious that he is too polite to you.

“what?” pursing your lips in thin line. you shaked your head. “nothing, michael.” he ignores you and sat beside you. already grabbing the needed materials and you both began in silence.

working with michael isn't so bad. he wasn't his usual asshole self who picks fight at school and insults someone for how they look and their skill. michael's behavior placed you in a dangerous situation with him and interactions with him meant to break what little self-confidence you have. opposite he was. he was so good at following up instructions and have studied in advance. it looks like it was better that you should both have split the workload.

“oh i forgot, i would be a bad host if i didn't you offer you some food. i've gotten brownies in that newly opened bakery.” he said, taking off his round glasses he was wearing while you both worked. michael screams like he comes from old money from how he acts and it was totally out of character for him to offer you some refreshments.

he placed a tray of food in the table. consisting of various sweet treats and some drinks. “pick what you want, sweets.” the nickname made you cringed cause michael is really acting nice to you. something's very off at this whole situation. looking at the assortment of sweets in the tray. you hesitated but the look michael is giving you told you otherwise. so you grabbed one and took a bite. “good choice.” he praises you before grabbing a treat for himself.

the brownie's good. the chocolatey goodness melting in your mouth, bursting with flavor. you hum in delight to show your appreciation for the good food and michael nods. smiling a bit and slowly chews. you just only ate one. afraid that he'll comment something and you would rather die than have him say something. it took awhile before you both decided to pick up what's left of the work.

strangely, you have never been feeling so lightheaded before followed by a strange pounding on your head. you grasp the pencil you were holding and it only rolls away from you. you try grabbing it again and it feels like you were holding air. “is something wrong, (y/n)?” you follow the sound of the direction of the voice. why was kaiser is blurry to your vision. did h-he? you were unable to finish your muddled thoughts and even in such state you feel his lips to yours.

your lips is what he imagined to be. soft and plump with the right touch of sweetness. thanks to the brownies. heh. it wasn't really he brought. he put an effort to it just to have what's in front of him. the drug that ness brought him did work just like how he wanted it. you were still conscious and a bit aware of everything but is unable to do anything but he is quite surprised that you were still able to move a bit even it was just an attempt to push him off.

“i can't have you pushing me. i really worked for this.” is what you heard before you are being pushed slowly in his bed.

when you laid there in his bed. michael admires you like he was a painter of his greatest masterpiece. looking like some baroque period painting coming to life while your body's is temporarily incapacitated. his efforts have bore results and he's about to sow.

he begins to strip you. quite annoyed from the layers of clothing you wore. he knows it was fully intentional. not wanting to be called a slut nor a prude by him. he knows his harsh and he likes people when they cry and you were no exception of it. he could have bullied you. break you and pull you apart until you were left nothing but michael withstood all the desires of it cause he wanted you like this. helpless and needing of him.

his palms slowly glides through the expanse of skin. you were the definition of what he deemed perfection in his eyes. your perfectly fit in his and he was about to mold you from his very own hands. he can see the tears pricking in your eyes. glistening as you helplessly watch him defile you.

kaiser never liked giving and receiving. he only takes but what's between your legs leaves him hungry for it. the plushness of your fat pussy drooling with slick is enough to drive him crazy so he did what he did. giving your fat pussy a lick and he was hooked immediately. he continued to devour your pussy until he was satisfied besides his cock is really needing some relief and it was painful. he just found the right place to stick it on.

it was only the tiniest of moans and gasps coming from you but he sure enjoyed it. a symphony being composed and is a music to his hears he won't get tired of listening to. he grabbed and bite whatever his hands and mouth can get to. you were so fucking supple and divine. fitting for an emperor like him. the way your body jiggles and ripples with his very thrusts leaving him grunting and growling for more. your fat pussy is deliciously wrapped around his fat cock that it leaves a drooling mess to your cunt. he already has cummed many times and it squelches with every thrust along with your pussy. his cum being deposited inside of you.

michael glances at the clock. the night is still young and he was going savor all of it until the morning comes. he continues to assault your abused cunt. smiling to himself at the direction of where his phone is currently placed. he needs to commemorate this special occasion.

you were sore. your body screaming in pain while you grab the pieces of your clothing besides you. the tears uncontrollably running down your cheeks while you scramble to get your things and leave this hell hole that was michael's room. “why are you crying?” he asks, sipping a cup of coffee. dressed in his robe and his reading glasses resting in the tip of his nose. “fuck you, michael.” you seethed at the blonde. michael chuckles. “strong words coming from you.” he added.

you were about to grab the last belonging of yours before he interrupts you. “i believe you have a favor to ask me.” your eyes widens. he shows you a video of him repeatedly fucking you. putting you in different positions. “don't you dare, michael.” you warned him. “you fucking raped me, you son of a bitch.” michael didn't really like the tone of your voice and it just triggered something to him. he stands up and made his way to you. grasping your soft jaw in a tight manner. he forces a smile. “oh, i really am.” he taunts you. his blue eyes is filled with storm inside them. “defy me and you're getting this video leaked.”

“what the fuck you want?”

“watch your tone.” he warns before smiling.

“be mine and i'll let this thing disappear like it didn't happen.”

“fuck no.”

“oh really, such a shame. you were enjoying it. see?” he really made it look like you were having the best night of your life. he wipes the tears on your round cheeks.

“good.” he whispers. seeing the look in your face and it left him triumphant.

“don't leave. we really ain't done. i am still starting to enjoy it.”

[neobomb]

give into things i (dont) want to [lee haechan] - the sequel

bully! (yandere) stalker! Haechan x innocent! virgin! church girl!reader Part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. please read part 1 before reading this Word Count: 1.6k [Pt.1] [Pt.2] Warnings: dark and triggering content, mature themes, toxic/inappropriate behaviour, manipulation, forcing??, choking & breathplay?, hair pulling, unprotected sex, corruption kink, noncon, fingering, creampie, loss of virginity, MDNI, smut smut smut Summery: bully!Haechan is secretly in love with you and loves pulling your hair bc it feeds into his perverted fantasies. btw, donghyuk is haechan's real name. donghyuk, hyuk and haechan are all haechan. for the one person who wished to be tagged: @got-sum-badhabits © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

“Please, Donghyuk, stop...” Haechan gently breaks the kiss, his eyes locking with yours in a tender gaze. His fingers delicately weave through your hair, brushing the strands that softly kiss your shoulders. Tears wells in your eyes as he tightens his fist in your hair, tugging harshly until you hiss through gritted teeth, your eyes looking up at him with the same innocence he is awfully familiar with.

“I stole your first kiss, didn’t I?” he says as his lips form a deranged smile. You find yourself in a state of paralysis, words eluding your grasp, unable to sculpt the sentence you so desperately seek. You muster all your willpower, attempting to dodge his lustful gaze by avertedly turning your head down. 

“Too bad you can’t take it back now.” he says, yanking your head up, letting a loud intake of air grace through your lips. His hands make its way down your shoulders and up to your delicate throat, his thumb brushing the wounded areas marked by his fingerprints. 

“It’s too easy.” he inspects his work on your throat, feeling how the skin gently rises as you gulp in nervousness. He is accustomed to your episodes of panic, especially when he would hold you up against your locker, but never had he seen it manifest quite like this.

“that I can just take your life away in a heartbeat if I wanted to.” His fingers intertwined tightly, securing a firm grip around your throat once again. He grins with delight as your eyes widen, your body shaking erratically from fear. 

“God, you’re so pretty like this” he says, tightening his grip around your neck. “Even with your short hair you look so fucking pretty.” Despite his dislike for your decision to change your haircut to suit Jaehyun's tastes, your beauty remains undeniable. After all, it was your radiant beauty that drove him crazy, making him go to immeasurable extents to gain your attention. Even with your life in his hands at play, deep down, Haechan knows that you’re the one in control. 

“Strip for me, baby” he whispers into your ears, making shivers travel down your spine. “If you want me to spare your life, you do as I say” he reminds you. You have no choice but to slowly bring your hands up to the collar of your shirt, undoing the buttons one by one. As your fingers graze the final button, a brief pause of hesitation halts your movements, but his tightening grip around your neck tells you to continue. 

You let your white button-up shirt drop to the floor, leaving you in your slightly see-through lace bra that compliments your skin tone perfectly. His favorite, he thinks to himself. Haechan pauses, taking the opportunity to truly observe you up close—a contrast to the distant glimpses through your bedroom window he's been accustomed to until now. His dick becomes painfully hard at the sight.

You slowly bring your hands to your back, struggling to find the hook of your bra clasp. Without hesitation, Haechan moves swiftly, his free hand goes behind your back to undo your bra before you let it slip off of your shoulders and down to the floor. You feel awfully exposed in front of him. Instinctively, you bring your hands up in an attempt to shield your body from his gaze. 

“Don’t hide from me, baby” Immediately, he brings your arms behind your back, locking them in place by your wrists. “Now, take off that skirt of yours without hiding from me.” he demands, releasing his grip around your wrists, letting you slowly push down your skirt and panties onto the floor in one swift move.  

He pauses, allowing himself to fully appreciate the breathtaking view of your completely naked body. He makes sure to scan every inch of your body with his eyes, making sure to commit every detail to memory with deliberate care. The feeling of your body so close to his will remain etched in his mind.

“Perfect baby, you look so fucking perfect.” he whispers before stealing another lustful kiss from your lips, hand still around your neck until this very moment. With his free hand, softly cupping your clit, brushing one finger up and down until your pussy starts to glisten from the wetness that forms. You desperately try to muffle your moans into the kiss while pressing your thighs together from the discomfort. 

“So pure, so untouched. All for me to destroy.” he whispers as his lips make their way down your body, ensuring that visible love bites mark every place his lips have visited. He releases his hands from your neck, restoring the rhythm of your breath to its natural, steady pace. To your relief, you’re no longer suffocating. 

Just as his lips were almost brushing against your clit, you gather every shred of valor and prepare to voice your thoughts. “You’re a pervert” Your speech stumbles and gets trapped in your throat while your chest begins to heave with quick, irregular breaths at the realization of his actions. 

“What a big mouth you got, baby girl?” he says, his eyes lift to meet yours, wide with astonishment. “I was about to go easy on you, baby. I wanted to make you cum with my lips.” Immediately, you regret ever saying those words, pressing yourself more firmly against the wall, wishing to simply vanish into nothingness.

“I won’t be gentle now” your eyes widen before he grabs you and pins you to your desk, leaving your ass up in the air for him to smack. For a moment, he stares at your naked ass, brushing his fingers over the red handprint he just made. He spits into your hole to lubricate it before leaning over you and lining his length up with your hole. Without any warning, he pushes his dick into you in one swift move. You sob, eyes tightly shut from the discomfort.

You feel tight, wet and warm around his cock. He can’t help but push until he settles balls deep inside of you, wanting nothing more than for you to feel every inch of him before he starts moving at an uncomfortable fast pace. He tips his head back to the ceiling, and moans your name.

“Fuck… Pussy so tight…” His voice was strained with arousal as your nails dig into your desk. Moans progressively loader as the speed of his thrusts increased. The contents of your desk cascade onto the floor as a result.

“Hyuk, it hurts…” you say in desperation. The sweetness in your voice gets him to rub circles on your clit, to which you force yourself to focus on rather than the constant painful stretch. His hips are still slapping into your ass loudly at a brutal pace, making you squirm below him. He is making it clear that he intends to show you no mercy. He wouldn’t be able to hold back even if he wanted to.

“Stay still.” he growls as he brings his hand from your clit to further press your upper body to the wooden surface of your desk. He feels your juices mixed with a hint of blood in a diluted reddish color, oozing out of you, coating his cock with every thrusts. Just from feeling your pussy pulse around him, he is certain of your growing ease.

“You want to be Jaehyun’s so bad, huh?” he hiss, knowing that his thrusts get sloppier. The pleasure has now turned you into a crying mess and you could do nothing but let him ram his dick into you. “What would Jaehyun think when he sees you beneath me like this?” he leans forward to tell you. Even though he is extremely close to reaching his own climax, he forces himself to keep the rhythm steady, determined to make you reach yours first.

“You’re mine. I’m gonna keep you like this forever.” he says. From the gratifying hum that just escaped your lips, he is convinced that you have surrendered to the thought. And with a few more thrusts, your eyes roll back as you grasp for something to ground you. He grabs a tight hold on your hips, nails digging into your skin to keep you from escaping your orgasm. 

He watches you come undone, feeling your walls clam down on his cock. He can’t help but completely stand still, observing your trembling body. He leans down and whispers “Don’t move”. 

You twist your head to catch a glimpse of him, your gaze awkwardly angled to the side. With each passing moment, his sense of relief grew, sensing your surrender. He could feel the weight of your defeat and the shame of realizing you were powerless against it. How pathetic, he thinks to himself.

“Look at you.” he growls as his hips start to move again, pounding his length in and out of you. 

“I can break you so easily” He released a deep, guttural groan. Soon enough, you feel his cock twitch against your walls as he starts to fill you, making certain that his cum is securely pushed in the depths of your womb. Slowly, he pulls his softening dick out with such precision that not a droplet dares to spill out of you.

"You belong to me now" Haechan remarks, his smile carrying an unsettling edge,  recognizing the helplessness in your eyes. The gleam of amusement in his expression was unmistakably genuine.

At this very moment, you have given into his deep desires. Haechan finally gets his way after all... like he always does....

[yanderenightmare]

this doesn’t need to be a full story I’d just love to see some of scummy kirishima trying to refrain himself from forcing himself on his darling but she makes it .. so hard

BNHA ! THIRST

Kirishima Eijirou x darling

TW: NSFW, yandere, noncon/dubcon, misogyny, prohero au, inappropriate thoughts in the office… 

I took liberties - made darling a supervisor-type from the Hero Commission fsr

It's as though every inch of you begs him to pounce. From the free-fall of crispy-done curls that cascade down around your shoulder to the perfectly placed red-lined lips you smack once talking down to him about proper hero protocol and the subsequent punishments that follow insubordination and how you'll have his license revoked if he doesn't start playing by the Hero Public Safety Commissions rules.

You make him want to gather your expensive haircut in a tight-knit fist – smudge all that red over your pretty face when taking his cock so far down your bratty throat you choke on all the prissy words kept on your tongue for him.

Strutting in that tight black pencil skirt that cinches your small waist – making it look so perfectly receptacle for his large hands – above those firm hips and those doughy thighs he wants nothing more but to squeeze into and make jiggle as he buries himself deep between them. You make his balls itch every time you stomp away from him – with the cruelly tall peekaboo slit splitting your skirt open – teasing him with every loud step you take in those slick black stilettos - showing ankles and legs and knees and thighs, up and up but not far up enough to quench the feral hunger it edges deep down in his gut.

He'd shuffle on his knees – bite his knuckles in restraint – all to cop a feel of that ass and how you sway it with the same sass of an alley-cat. He can imagine it receiving his greedy hands so well – letting him carve in so far he might see his fingers completely swallowed in the fat. Leave his handprint in stinging welts that make you weep for kindness, bent over his lap with your wrists in his fist – only to be answered by his sharp teeth sinking deep into the supple flesh – making you scream.

You don't make it easy for him… being so tiny and snatchable. It would be the easiest thing – to take and tame you – to pull your much smaller body right off your feet and push you tight against the nearest wall – all your important documents on the floor beneath his dirty boots as you take his cock between your ribs and choke on the moan it gives you.

He can barely listen when you berate him – telling him his pay will be redacted if he doesn’t try harder at keeping the wreckage of private and government buildings to a minimum – unable to block out all the impure thoughts that go bubbling from his balls, making his throat tight as you stand there so primly in your glossy silk shirt with buttons so flimsy he bet they'd pop off on the slightest little tug. He imagines it as you continue your rant – your finger pointed at him strictly, and all he’s able to think about is how your breasts would spill out and he’d get to see whatever chic lace brazier you have on underneath.

Gnashing his teeth together, gritting them tight at how painful his boner is, kept inside the strict confines of his boxers while he imagines chewing on the pretty pearls you keep around your throat – thinking about tugging the necklace tight in a strangle, making you squeak and groan as he pounds you harder and harder from behind.

He bets only one of his big hands in your hair would have you completely humbled. Bet you'd cower in cries and do exactly whatever he'd tell you in fear of having your pretty body hurt.

He bet he'd get away with it, too – that's the worst part – that the crime he wants to commit the most is one without consequence. He'll think about it until his abdomen feels like it's about to burst – until his head's so hot and pounding it hurts, and he might very well blackout and give into all of it without further thought.

It would be as easy as pulling on a ski mask. He knows exactly how he’d do it – has your entire routine mapped out and knows exactly what empty building is still under construction in exactly what shortcut you go through to reach your apartment. Knows exactly which slab of still dusty concrete he could bend you over and push your little tear-stained face down against – watching the chub of your cheek squish against the cold stone as you moan on hot cries and plead out fruitless whimpers for his mercy. 

He imagines taking his sweet time with you – getting you real nice and ready for him, playing slippery patterns between your folds where he has your feet kicked apart in a spread. He'd rest his pained and pulsating meat between the valley of your asscheeks as you shake and whine – rubbing against the soft plush skin with a rumble in his chest until you're perfectly puffy and wet for him – tight cunt suckling lewdly on three of his fat gravely fingers stuffed inside it.

He knows you don't get around much – knows you're too busy and otherwise too stingy to let any random person fuck you, so he can only imagine how sweet and sensitive you'd be for him – so needy for the attention, you'd probably start cheering him on once feeling how good he stretches your cock-starved pussy out. 

He imagines your moans are real girly, too – that you'd squeal so nicely once split apart on him. And how your thighs would quake, receiving every inch of his length inside you – toes curling in your stilettos once he's completely bottomed out – nudging his fat cockhead right up against your cervix.

You’d clench on his shaft – milk him for cum – desperate for it.

And he’d give it to you – paint your walls thick with it – cream your tight little cunt so full of it you’d moan out the prettiest breathless thank you as it spills in beady pills down your thighs into your expensive power-heels – properly put in your place.

tip-jar: Kofi

[painsandconfusion]

Back To Your Roots

With You - Part Fourteen

(tw: chemical burns, noncon haircut, yandere, domestic abuse, kidnapping) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Robin’s hair was red.

At least, it was right now. Ida assumed, anyway. She changed it a lot. Never quiet. Never simple. Never the same for more than a week at least in style, or a month in color. And she’d only had Red for two weeks now.

It was only a couple weeks ago that Robin finally convinced Ida to dye their hair. 

“A little something special - to showcase who you are and how you want the world to see you. Not just how you were born,” she’d explained to them.

Ida had been wanting to for a long time. They’d stared at the midnight blue dyes on endless hours of scrolling in bed, and brushed off when Robin asked if they wanted to dye it. 

“Nah,” they’d hummed, tucking their phone onto the nightstand. “It would stain my hair.”

“So?” Robin just curled up closer. “Then you can bleach it or dye it again. It’s your hair. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“..it’s too much upkeep. I’ll stick with what I have.” They’d pressed a kiss to Robin’s hand, and that was the end of that conversation.

On the other hand, Oren always loved their hair. Loved it long and straight and white as fallen snow. “That’s what makes you special,” he’d said. “It’s something unique about you - so few people look like you, why would you ever want to change that?” He’d kissed their lips, and that was the end of that conversation. 

His words must have still haunted them, even years after they’d left his house, running off into the night and leaving him with a knife in his gut within crawling distance of his cellphone.

It had taken almost five whole years until Robin eased Ida into the idea of making their hair their own again. Not a trophy or a reminder of how they were so different from everyone else. Just…theirs. Nothing special. Theirs. 

The hairdresser was so gentle and sweet. She’d massaged shampoo into their hair and chattered endlessly with Robin as she worked. She’d tried to pull Ida into conversation, but Ida shrugged off most of it, more than content to listen to Robin chatter about their cat and her books and the newest cardigan she’d found at the thrift store. Neon green, this time. A ‘perfect match’ for her navy skirt and royal purple scarf.

Ida so often wished they could be like her. Wished they would dare to wear bright, crazy colors and outfits made up of seven different styles. Bold enough to change their color weekly and chatter with hairdressers. 

But..Ida was changing. They’d put a little color into their life now. 

They’d let someone else touch their hair now. 

They were outside and talking to other humans, and even getting a small strip over their left ear shaved away so they could pull the midnight blue and silver streaked mass off to one side. 

It was so recent that it barely felt like a memory. It felt as it were still happening. That Oren’s fingers in their hair were the hairdresser’s. That his humming chatter was local gossip. That the aches that puckered across their flesh was just their imagination. 

Oren’s voice made quick work of that breach to reality. 

“You know, I’m not sure why you did this. I just really don’t understand,” he muttered, fingers tracing over their part where silvery white had started to grow underneath the midnight blue, pushing it up and out of the way. 

“It’s not you at all. Were you trying to look like someone else??” 

Ida stared at the kitchen wall, numb and hollow and silent. 

His hands slid down their jaw and gripped it gently, tilting their head back until their eyes met his. “..that wasn’t a rhetorical question, dove.”

Ida’s stomach twisted as their eyes searched his. Trying to gauge how much danger was behind those words. 

“..I wasn’t trying to look like anyone else.”

Oren frowned, thumbs brushing down their cheeks. Resting at the top, then sliding down again. Again and again and again. Petting them like a cat.

“Then why did you do it?”

Ida’s face pinched slightly. Of course he wasn’t going to go long without mentioning their hair. Why did they think they’d be able to get away with that? As if he just wouldn’t notice that their hair was blue now. 

“..I…I don’t know.”

Oren sighed, leaning down over the back of the chair to press a lingering kiss to their forehead. “Precious thing,” he murmured. Nuzzling a little. “You don’t know anything when I’m not around, do you?”

Ida’s stomach was starting to churn now. Eyes squeezing gratefully shut. They’d take his lips over his eyes. Gladly.

Fingers curled in, almost bruising at the underside of their jaw as Oren’s breath warmed against their forehead. Ida strained, back aching at the angle as they squirmed away from bruising fingertips.

They hadn’t answered. Right-

“..no-”

Evidently that was good enough. His fingers unwrapped slightly, smoothing up and through their hair again. “We’re going to fix this.” With one more kiss to their forehead, he pulled back, taking their hand to guide them to standing.

Ida chewed on their lip, but followed as he wanted. Anywhere he wanted. 

Evidently that was out of the room. The floorboards seemed to creak a little louder than usually as they crossed the foyer and moved up the steps. Into the bathroom.

..that wasn’t figurative, was it. He was going to get rid of the blue. Get rid of what tiny piece of Robin they had here. 

Ida’s eyes burned as he dragged a chair to the sink, turning it around. He guided them to it. 

Ida didn’t fight it. 

How could they? 

There wasn’t any stopping this, so why bother. 

They just sat, hands curled around each other in their lap. Stomach in knots.

Oren turned on the tap, fingers pressed to their forehead to tilt their head back over the sink. Ida was good. They followed the push and slumped down in the seat so their head rested on the edge of the porcelain, hair ready to shift into the stream. 

Oren pressed a quick kiss to their lips as he tugged their hair out into the bowl and started thoroughly wetting it. “This will be good. You’ll start feeling so much more like yourself again. Maybe you’ll start singing, hm?” He took a moment to dip and nuzzle their nose with his. 

So, he wanted them singing more.

Ida took a note of that, letting their eyes close against the water and the proximity and the light in their eyes. “..maybe,” they breathed. Staying quiet. 

They tried to think back to that little barber shop. 

Tried to feel Robin’s hand holding theirs. 

They let the world slip away, and let themself believe, if only for this moment, that the hands in their hair were that hairdressers - Ida couldn’t stop kicking themself for forgetting her name-

They imagined the radio playing crackling, distant music - a song they’d heard a million times but never remembered the words to. Country. Warm and upbeat and nostalgic. 

Robin’s voice. Janet Finch plots debated, and local gossip. Not Oren’s soft humming. Not his hands. Not the smell of bleach too strong for this to be the hairdresser’s. 

Tin foil. That was familiar. 

Oren tore it with his teeth, wrapping lumps of hair up in the stuff before tilting them up in the chair. A washcloth dabbed at the drips that moved down their neck.

This was it. There wasn’t any stopping it now. Even if they ran and screamed and rinsed it away, the bleach had plenty of time already to damage the midnight blue that Robin had to painstakingly supported / pestered them into getting. 

Ida could see her face in the darkness when their eyes were closed. Her little hands poking and prodding and fretting with how the fresh lockes laid. 

Gentle. 

Simple and kinda, yet bubbling with excitement and compliment.

But that was then. And this was now.

Ida’s face pinched, eyes finally opening again to look up at Oren. As the world pressed back to the scent of pine and bleach and citrus, Ida’s scalp started to tinge. Started to scratch and burn as if hair was being ripped out at the root. 

Their hands lifted, distress on their face as they reached for the foil - only to be caught in Oren’s.

“Don’t touch it, it needs to sit.”

Ida felt a whine press from their throat, hands pulling against Oren’s. “..O-..Oren, it…it burns-”

He shushed them, leaning in to press a kiss to their nose. “It won’t take long. I don’t want you half green now just because it’s uncomfortable.”

Tears brimmed at Ida’s eyes as they started pulling against him in ernest. “N-no it- it’s -ssomethign’s wrong this isn’t right-”

Oren’s jaw set. Fingers tightened around their wrists until bones shifted under his grip. A pressure that promised blooming bruises by tomorrow. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. It’s already going to be ruined with how much I’ve done with it now. It’s not like you can save it.”

The tears slid hot down their face as they shriveled under his grip. “Ore, please-I-Im nnot lying - it- it hurts Oren please-”

Oren’s lips just pinched into a thin line. “It’s only going to take a few more minutes. Just relax.”

Ida’s head shook, pulling against him again. “O-ren please-”

Oren groaned, letting go of one of their hands to reach up to the foil. “Just chill, it’s n-” He stopped, frowning. Touching the foil. Again. “..why’s it so hot-?”

Ida just dissolved into sobs, free hand now clutching at his shirt. Some unknown ghost was ripping their hair off by scalpy bits, shoving flame at the tears to cauterize it. It flickered and tingled and screamed at them in a cacophony of sensation and warnings. “Ore- pl-lease-”

Oren finally let go of their other hand, shoving the foil off. 

It splat into the sink easily. What should have freed them left nothing dangling down to touch their neck - even at this angle. 

“..fuck,” he muttered, faucet turning on again. “Head back again, love - I’m gonna rinse this out.”

That command, they had no problem following. They shoved themself toward the water, begging it to put out the fire - even if Oren’s fingers on their scalp burned, the water soothed it and helped shove away the worst of the pain. 

“..didn’t even take out half the fuckin’ color,” he grumbled, scrubbing at their scalp until Ida was crying fresh again. 

They caught a glimpse of the foil as it dropped into the trash can, long strands of blue and white flickering through the air before falling out of view. 

..how much was gone???

Their hands pressed over their face, shielding their eyes and stifling their sobs into muffled shadows of what they could be. 

They held still. 

They were good.

They didn’t move besides shifting as per his instruction as he shoved out the last of the chemical, dried their hair, and fretted with it, trying to coax what was left to frame their face. 

Ida couldn’t look at him - they certainly couldn’t look in the mirror. 

There was a long silence as he stared at them. 

“..I’m just gonna shave it. You didn’t need it, anyway. It’ll grow back fresh and white and perfect.”

..what were they supposed to say to that. 

Nothing.

They were supposed to say nothing. 

They just trembled a nod, face still tucked safely into their hands. A kiss pressed to their knuckles, and he started moving. 

They held still. Listening to him opening the drawer. To the chord unwinding. To the plug clicking into place. To the soft electric hum. 

They whimpered, but didn’t move as the teeth of the razor scraped across furious scalp, rippling burning pain down their spine. They pulled their legs up, arms wrapping around them. 

They held still. 

They were quiet.

They were good.

They didn’t move or breathe more than necessary as piece after piece fell down around them and to the ground. 

They’d probably be the one to clean them up later. 

It barely took a minute. Then it was gone. 

Everything was gone.

“Go on, dove. You can look now.” A hand slid over their hair, roaming over the half inch strands and ghosting over burns they didn’t have to see to know they were there. 

Ida looked. They looked if only to appease him.

A stranger stared back at them through the glass. Eyes red and white from crying. Hair hacked down to a patchy remnant of what remained. The white strands were so thin, they barely seemed there at all. 

Oren’s shirt. 

Oren’s home. 

Oren’s dove.

They turned, pressing their face into him. Escaping their own reflection. 

Oren cooed soft laments as he scooped them up, keeping their face tucked into him as he carried them out of the bathroom. “It’s all done now. It’s all done and you did so good for me, dove.”

They clung to him even after he set them down on the bed, muffled sobs curling into his shirt even further than their fingers - their entire self buried in him. Wishing he could make the rest of the world go away. At least for a moment. 

Oren was good. He obeyed them as they did him. He moved easily and smoothly, pulling them both onto the bed and moving blankets up and over Ida so they wouldn’t have to let go of him or even look up. He cradled them close, rocking back and forth a little as he pressed kisses to the edges of the burns. “It’s all done. All done now.”

This time, Ida couldn’t bring themself to pretend it was Robin’s arms holding them.

He’d never be her.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @kesskirata @wormwriting @batfacedliar-yetagain @paranoiaxagent @siren-of-agony @lwkshrav @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions  @pinkieglitterheart  @whumpasaurus101  @shameless-dumbass @darlingwhump @whumpy-catfish)

As always, just lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

If anyone knows where heathen-whump wibbly-wobbly-whump hold-back-on-the-comfort and mable-donut went please tell :(

.

This is the color Ida has(d), by the way-

It's shorter and thinner, but that exact same color and fade.

[beansricejc]

Returning the Favor - John Wick x F!Reader

⚠️warnings: DUBCON, smut, piv, facial, pressured intimacy, implied abuse (not John), graphic depictions of violence, cursing, alcohol, blackmail, noncon pictures, no use of y/n!, 3716 words.

a/n: it’s me again, back with something I’ve been cooking for a few days. life is wild rn but I hope u all enjoy!

summary: John does a hit for you, at no cost, and now he wants something in return. it’s only fair, right?

John remembers your little face. The way your eyebrows furrowed at his insistence of doing this job free of charge. The split skin on your lip and the bruising on your cheek and wrists, he can picture it clearly.

He pictured you walking up to him in the alley outside of the Continental, where a friend of yours told you he would be.

He recalled the way you asked about his services.

“Who do you need gone?” he had asked, as you handed him a manilla envelope. That’s when he noticed the blue and yellow pattern that littered your skin when you reached your hand out to him to give him the paperwork.

“My fiancé.” you stammered out of those damaged lips of yours. “He’s the chief of police, and I’ve tried getting away, getting protection orders, but he’s able to just get rid of anything I do.” you elaborated.

John’s eyebrows raised at the sound of that. He added the context clues together and immediately understood, especially after seeing your bruises. John assumed you weren’t a kickboxer in your spare time.

He’s still able to admire your delicate features, despite the fact you’re not trying exactly to look pretty. He can still tell that you have gorgeous eyes and long lashes, a nice haircut that frames your well shaped face to perfection. Your skin is smooth and clear, and your body? Even though you’re in a cropped hoodie, you do have leggings on.

Oh leggings. Truly underrated in all aspects. The way the cloth clings to your body, shaping around your hips, thighs, and ass.

Truly beautiful. He can tell.

Maybe he could use this to his advantage? Not necessarily the most morally correct way to get a woman, but it could do the trick.

And use he did. He would use it to his advantage, in a simple and innocent move.

“I’ll do it. No charge.” John replied to you, you’re taken aback by the sudden generosity from him, you’re so shaken by the entire situation you don’t even notice his eyes trailing your entire figure and checking you out.

“Really? No, I can’t let you,” you insist, handing him a duffel bag full of 5 figures of cold hard cash, but he simply refuses it.

“We can discuss it later…” John says, shaking his head and outright not taking the bag. “Keep your money. Please.”

-

He’s thinking of this encounter as his blade thrusts into your fiance’s throat, finally getting the winning blow after their quite large altercation. As a police captain, your fiancé knew how to hold his own in a fight quite well.

Not well enough apparently.

Your fiancé gurgles as John shoves him against his bed, the blade destroying his vocal chords and windpipe. John makes one swift movement with his wrist, and the blade rips out of his flesh, separating several tendons. The severed arteries cause blood to squirt onto John’s neck and face.

“No one likes a woman beater.” John clicked his tongue at the dying police officer, who crumpled to the floor, blood pooling from his lethal wound and onto the carpet. A bubbling sound echoes from his mouth, the red liquid dribbling from his lips, and in a few more moments, his eyes are drained of any life that was left in them.

John rolled his own eyes and quickly did his best to destroy the good condition of the condo, making it seem like a robbery gone wrong. He grabbed a few things that looked of value, including a few expensive watches and some impressive Japanese chef knives, and went on his way.

-

You had stayed at your friend’s house in the meantime. Anxiety spiked through your chest, hoping everything was going to plan. You honestly weren’t able to take it anymore, your fiancé had really outdid himself this time. You had gone out with your girlfriends for some drinks on Saturday night, he didn’t appreciate you not sharing your location with him. So the obvious reaction? To beat the absolute piss out of you. You were wearing a sweater in 70 degree weather because of the purple and blue marks that littered your skin, including on your arms, abdomen, and back.

You had enough. Clearly enough to save up money doing side gigs without him knowing and saving enough to pay for a hitman that a friend of a friend told you about. You’re playing something with your friend on her Nintendo Switch as you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

You frantically grab the device, opening it to find a text from an unknown number.

It’s done. Meet me at the Continental’s bar.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. That could only mean one thing. The job was finished.

He was finally dead.

Sighing in relief, your friend raised her eyebrows and turned to you.

“You good?” she asked.

“Huh?” You say out of the blue, shaking yourself out of your solace. “Yeah. Never better.” you force a smile.

-

John waited for you at the bar, he had changed and showered, washing the blood that had gotten on him from his little altercation with your now ex. The atmosphere is the typical Continental’s vibe, comfortable, upscale. He’s waiting for you at a small table with an open bottle of champagne. John hadn’t been able to get your cute face and nice figure off of his mind since he met you the other day. The day when he said to not worry about paying him.

Well, today he’d discuss another form of payment he was interested in. A favor for a favor one would say. A body for a body.

He wanted you.

His eyes trail up towards you who just arrived, wearing a simple yet oh so flattering outfit, your eyes are glued to your cell phone while you walk in.

John cleared his throat and shot you a little wave of his hand, catching your attention. Your beautiful eyes widen, and you smile at him, slipping your phone into the purse slung over your shoulder as you make your way over to his table. John couldn’t help but check your entire body out. Your face, legs, tits, even the way your hips swayed a bit while you walked made him just want to take a bite out of them.

God, you looked delicious.

Sitting down, you smiled at John.

“Hey, how are you?” you asked him, attempting to disguise the fact that you’re freaking out. Several emotions have been pumping in and out of your brain, you don’t know how to exactly feel. Grief? Safe? Relief? Distress?

Especially in front of the man that solved your biggest issue in your life within a manner of minutes. How do you present yourself in front of him? More importantly, how are you going to possibly defend yourself to the police?

Only time will tell.

John sighs, you sit down. He begins to speak as he pours your light, bubbly glass of alcohol.

“Not too bad, actually.” John answered your initial greeting. “More importantly, how are you, my dear?” John boomerangs your question. Your heartbeat accelerated and you set your purse in your lap.

“Complicated. I’ll figure it out later.” is what you manage to come up with, biting the inside flesh of your mouth, your delicate fingers are silently tinkering with the zipper pull of your purse that sits just under the table. Of course he asked that. This is what he does for a living, he doesn’t think twice about the act.

The two of you engage in small talk, and it’s surprisingly refreshing. John has a lovely smile for a killer, with his nicely maintained dark scruff outlining his cheeks and jaw whenever he chuckles at a quip of yours. His brown eyes are always in a narrowed position but they seem to always glow towards you, never taking them off of your face for a moment.

You don’t know it at first, of course you don't. John’s a professional. He's deliberate in every breath, every shift of his body, in such a way that could only be described as masterful.

You don’t notice him until he has taken forty-five minutes to inch closer to you in his chair, shifting every so often to eventually, be brushing up against your delicate frame, arm to arm.

By now you’re on your third glass of champagne, you simply didn’t want to think about any of your problems, to just enjoy your time with this man that simply did you a favor.

Right?

“I’d like to request something of you.” John suddenly says in the middle of a conversation about your hometown. He’s been awfully interested in different topics about your life, you haven’t even thought twice about it. “I can’t tarnish my reputation with the fact that I did a job, free of charge.” John states, his head tilted directly down at little ol’ you, who’s currently sipping your drink.

Your heart drops to your gut while you swallow.

“…that’s fine. I still have the mon-“

“I don’t want the money. It’s not important to me.” John interjected, with his hand suddenly resting on your soft upper thigh, the feeling of his long fingers squeezing the limb almost making you jump from your seat.

The way his thin brown eyes are gazing over you and your figure, it would have sent most people into cardiac arrest. You put two and two together, holding your breath as you maintain eye contact.

“I see.” were the words you whispered while he gave you a soft and endearing smile.

But those eyes? Those eyes were cold. The pair of his told you things you couldn’t imagine repeating.

Before you can say anything else, John’s lips travel to your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin as he speaks. The hairs on the back of your pretty neck stand straight up at the knowledge of how close he was to you.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I took the job.” John informs you, his voice low and sultry, only meant for you to hear at that moment in time. “I made sure he suffered. And you owe me for that. Least you could do is… well,” John’s eyes trail down your figure, especially eying your cleavage.

Your heart is breaking. There was a twinge of hope in the back of your mind, aching for this man to be the one. The one to swoop you off of your feet and come save you like the damsel in distress that you were. But men are so disappointing.

“So, are you going to give me what I want? Or do I need to take it?” John sharply asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your blood turns cold at the thought of this killer having his way with you, touching you, fucking you. You were stuck. The anger churned in your gut as you clenched your jaw.

“Fine.”

Several minutes pass, and he has led you to his hotel room on the 8th floor, unlocking it and allowing you to enter first. You can only tell the luxuries this man has at his disposal, just from the glamorous hotel room he has brought you to.

The room is dimly lit, with a few candles he begins to light and the moon shining through the curtained windows. You furrow your eyebrows, biting your tongue, as you never imagined John, the killer, to be the romantic ambience type. You suddenly snap out of your head when he calls you by your name.

“Hm?” you ask, eyes wide as he’s turned towards you next to the bed.

“I asked, is there anything you’re uncomfortable doing? And what’s your preferred pace?” John repeated himself, apparently you had been stuck in your own thoughts and didn’t catch it the first time.

Of course there are things you’re not comfortable with in bed. Hell, you’re not even comfortable doing this with a man you hardly know!

You tell him the few things that are completely off limits with you, he ponders this and nodded his head, agreeing to your terms, even though this was a favor you were returning. The man, perhaps 20 years your senior, hasn’t broken eyesight with your figure for the past hour.

You almost feel like a meal that’s been prepared, just for him. Served on a silver platter and sent directly to his room, waiting to be ravaged upon. You wouldn’t be surprised if he began drooling soon.

He wasn’t kidding when he told you he’s been thinking about this since he met you a few days ago. It’s like you’ve tattooed yourself into his fleshy and morbid brain, refusing to let go, tormenting him with every small action you did, unintentionally or not.

But your curiosity is killing you.

“What pace do you prefer?” you shoot the question back at him instead of answering it yourself. You were experienced, sure. You were a grown woman. The past several months were filled with abuse and subpar sex with your (now dead) fiancé. Not that this owed favor would be any better, you’re expecting something that lasts maybe a few minutes just so John can get his stress out.

Of course you’re not expecting John to be generous, especially if this is simply a debt to be paid by your body.

John tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue in thought while he sauntered over to you, who was on the opposing side of the bed. His eyes linger on you, not blinking even once as he soaks in your features. His rough hands began to undo his black silk tie, unbuttoning his white dress shirt that had already been stripped of its suit jacket. His knuckles are bruised and scabbed, John’s been a busy boy this week.

“It seems I may have grown a bit, fond, of you, this week.” John says, clearing his throat. “Can I show you how I want you?”

Your heart rate goes up, you bit the inside of your cheek, blinking up at the tall and intimidating creature that is John. It’s not like you can say no. You owe him. You owe him your life, he practically saved yours, no matter how unethical this was.

So you nod your head.

Moments pass but it doesn’t take John long to practically rip off your cute outfit, revealing the soft and sexy figure underneath. His bruised hands immediately grab you, he’s completely overtaken by the reminder of how small and delicate you look. Your sheer size difference between you and him, in height and weight, makes him so fucking erect. John shoved you against the fancy hotel wall, attaching his lips to yours, initiating a dance of tongues and teeth, taking your bottom pink lip and nibbling a bit. The move earns a squeak from your throat. John takes a moment to take his hands off of your soft flesh, disconnecting his lips from yours. John unzips his pants, letting them and his heavy belt fall to the floor.

It doesn’t take a second thought for him to reattach his hands to your thighs, grunting as he easily lifted your body up and to his level, with easier access to your lips and… well, your other pair of lips.

In the few minutes that you’ve been kissing, your cunt began to glisten with your arousal, especially now with John’s bare and rock hard cock pressing up to your small entrance.

“Shit, I just know you’re a tight little thing, huh?” John growled, using his innate strength to only hold you up by one arm, spitting into his hand and rubbing the slick between the tiny folds between your thighs. You moan as he delicately rubbed your clit, then giving himself a few pumps to wet his length.

“You gonna give up your pretty little pussy to pay me back? Huh? Gonna be a good hole for me to fuck?” John asked in a gruff and low tone into your ear, while you felt his thick tip push inside. Your breath hitched at the burn of his unexpectedly large dick, your cunt can only adjust so much in so little time.

“Agh! Y-y-yeah, just like that, please,” you stammered, gripping hard onto his muscular and wide back while he began to thrust. John gave you little to no time to get used to his length. You’re quickly able to adjust to his pace while he grabs your hips and thighs, moving you up and down on his cock that he was simultaneously thrusting into. Tonight, you’d be his good little fuck toy.

“Fuck, need to be deeper in you.” John growled, manhandling you and tossing you onto the hotel mattress. Within seconds, he had flipped your body, stomach side down and pulled your ass straight up in the air, giving you a few hard smacks.

You cry out in pain but before you can say anything, he’s already jammed his cock back into your tight cunt, with you squeezing yourself around him, earning yourself a few tender moans from John.

John took his large hand to grab the roots of your hair, pulling your head and neck back while John pounded into you, causing you to go dizzy. He’s fucking you almost like a rabid animal, and for some reason, you love it. The two of you resemble dogs in heat, while he relentlessly thrusted into your already sore pussy, moving his hand from your hair to around your throat. You can even feel his balls smack the cusp of your ass, informing you that he’s been fucking you with his full length for a bit now. You swore you could feel John’s cock in your stomach, moaning and begging out loud for him.

John’s hand tightens around your throat, restricting as much oxygen as possible, quieting your moans and cries for more.

He brings his other hand and spanks your red ass again, it’s gonna hurt to sit down for the next few days, but the sensation along with him fucking you from behind was a delicious combination.

“Good little slut, who’s my whore? Huh?” John asked, spanking you again. The sting of your ass is almost too much to bear.

You struggle to answer, but you do it.

“M-me! I’m your little whore.” Your scratchy voice strains. He flips over your pretty body again, his hands and eyes glazing over the front of you. You’re going to hurt tomorrow. You can only imagine all of the bruises and scratches you’ll be finding over the next few days.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world right now.” John mumbled, spreading your legs all the way to your chest and putting himself into you, thrusting over and over again. The tip of his cock keeps brushing against your cervix, making you whimper and cry out, your nails dig into his biceps, and he couldn’t care less. “So fuckin’ beautiful, just for me…” John grunts under his breath. He lets out an intense groan from the bottom of his throat, pulling out of your sopping wet hole. You almost frown.

Unfortunately, you ended up beginning to like this favor you owed a bit too much. So much so that you begin to whine and pout the second that John pulled himself from you.

The older man bit his lip and raised his eyebrows, forcing himself to stifle his wicked smirk as he peers down at a desperate and needy little thing from below.

That thing being you, of course.

“Oh?” John asked innocently, despite the filthy sin you two were committing at the moment. “What do we have here?”

Remember when I mentioned that you were a meal in waiting?

Well, John was about to devour you.

He’s starving for you, attaching his lips and tongue to the folds he’s been unforgivably pumping into for the past half an hour. The sensation of his calloused fingers gripping and spreading your fleshy thighs apart, with malicious intent, mixed with the gentle and needy laps his tongue is giving your pussy is nearly too much to handle. He even gives your clit a few soft motions with his lips, your vision is blacking out from the carnal ecstasy John is so humbly gifting you at the moment.

Your ears can pick up a soft grunting from him, he’s taking his free hand and twisting it up and down on his shaft, touching himself to the act of him savoring your cunt.

John pushes two of his long fingers into you while he quickens the pace on your sensitive core, earning a sudden scream from you, jolting up and arching your back. John opens his eyes, not stopping, rather just looking at the way your tits bounced when you arch your back.

You were close. Way too close. John’s fingers were skillfully working you up, and you began to unconsciously clench around them.

“J-John, I’m gonna-“

“Cum for me.” John interrupted, his mouth still in your pussy as he kept his movements steady. He let out a few masculine whimpers into your clit while you lost control of your senses.

Your orgasm nearly brings you to the brink of tears, your vision blacks out, this is a completely new way to experience a climax. Your small hands grip the hell out of the hotel bed sheets, John allows you to ride out your orgasm, while you’re still recovering with your eyes closed, he quickly moves up towards you, and you feel a hot sticky substance splash onto your lips and cheeks.

“Fuck.” John catches his breath, panting and trembling along with you as he came on your face.

And there was a ton of it. Your eyes fluttered open, but you immediately shut them again, noticing that he wasn’t done, with more thick white ropes of his seed spurting now onto your nose and brow, painting a licentious portrait onto your delicate features.

You hear a click, and can see the outline of a bright flash through your closed eyes, but with your cock drunk state, you wouldn’t even think to mention it to John.

Besides, now he has a pretty little Polaroid picture of the facial he gave you, just the right size to keep in his wallet for safe keeping.

Now he has a bit of leverage on you, just in case he'd like another favor like this again. You wouldn’t want him to spread such a lewd picture of yourself around the internet, now would you?

He’ll enjoy every last bit of you for every single session you two share together. He’ll take advantage of your vulnerability and willingness to cave at any slight disadvantage you had.

You were his, and you didn’t even know it.

[vladdyissues]

Yay for suit porn! 😄 So. What clothing do you think Vlad would enjoy seeing on Danny?

I think Vlad would enjoy seeing Danny in formal wear—suits, blazers, designer shirts—but suitable to younger men, of course. Perhaps even some trendy teen styles. But here’s the catch:

They’re all things that Vlad personally prefers and bought for Danny. It’s his way of putting his mark on the boy, making him wear clothes that Danny may hate but he looks really good in nonetheless. The whole “forced to wear school uniforms” incident in Eye for an Eye really established a kind of noncon clothing kink for me. Vlad forcing his styles and tastes upon Danny, making him dress up, and then reveling in how right he was that this color complements the blue in Danny’s eyes or this shirt hugs him in all the right places, must be an incredible ego trip for him. And he gets to see his little badger looking so handsome and chic.

In a way, it’s Vlad embracing Danny without actually touching him. Seeing Danny walk around, marked and branded with Vlad’s choice of clothes, jewelry, cologne… it’s the predecessor of foreplay. More semi/permanent things like piercings—a metaphor for penetrative sex—and haircuts and eyeliner and lip gloss are also ways for Vlad to visually assert his possession of Danny.

He’s basically fucking the sugar cookies out of that boy without ever laying a finger on him.

[monayen]

uhhh I dunno really but — maybe a fic of reader just walking in the forest because they r lost then getting caught in a bear trap nyen set up and uh he does something fucked up to reader, like fucks them then kills them or something? Or something heavy gore related while he fucks them.. sorryyy ahhh (I’m a damn masochist.)

The Lost Camper | Nyen

➷ Paring - Nyen x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - noncon, unsafe sex, fear play, knife play, blood kink, stabbing, sadism, fingering, violence, degradation, dacryphilla, READER DEATH

a/n - this came out to 4k words :') i know anon described a bear trap/hunting-esque situation but i felt making the reader a more cryptic-like being of the woods made a bit more sense (and easier to fit in) either way, reminder that this is DARK. there isn't a happy ending and the reader does freakin' die. (though rebirth is implied. see it how ya' do) i apologize for any mistakes as this is my longest work to date (whoop whoop) thank you for your comments and requests on both ao3 and tumblr. keeps me motivated ^^ currently working on a Randal fic and some Luther headcannons :3 inbox open as always. ANYWAYS ENOUGH

You aren't sure why you decided to hop over the Ivory household's security measures and rummage through their things while they slept. You’ve seen campers before in these woods plenty of times. Hundreds, if you kept count… but you don't.

You also don't ever interact with campers these days either. They didn’t tend to be special and they didn’t ever really get in the way. Maybe you’ll spook them by hovering around behind the greenery, sticks cracking underneath rugged boots. They don't interest you anymore beyond listening to them talk about their boring, human lives. 

It doesn't make them completely irrelevant to you though, as you’ve gained a habit of sneaking onto their campsites. You steal – quite often. Well, as often as people come this deep into the woods. It's how you justify it, how else are you supposed to get canned food and new clothes? And so what if you also take a couple of books you can't read and stuffed animals whose furs mat under dirty hands. The mossy den you reside in could always use new things, even if you have no use for them.

For as long as you remember, it has been like this. A being of the woods, you’ve become a cryptic-like legend. “The Lost Camper”, you’re called. Whatever that means. You aren't sure what life is like past bark and muddy soil, clothes messy and hands rough. You were never lost, this is all you know.

Is it all so bad? So bad that humans go out of their way to tell campfire stories about your existence? The grass gives you more comfort than any sleeping bag can. 

So there really wasn't any need for you to be past that fence they set up. The truth was that they were… interesting. More interesting than any other family who ventured out here. You saw as they gathered around and talked, well, two were doing most of the talking. Brothers, apparently. (despite not looking much alike) 

They tagged along a couple more… characters. Notably, these two catmen that hovered around the older one of the brothers. They looked more alike, cat ears dawning their similar haircuts. You could tell them apart by their clothes – easier, their demeanors. 

The blue haired one stood hunched, staring at his… ”master” talk. Immediately, you could tell he was the more timid of the two. You observed the other pinkish haired one smoke a cigarette a few steps away from the group. His eyes – eye, actually – looked low and dark. The patch on one of them leaves you to wonder what might've happened for it to be left in such a state. Catching his name from his master, “Nyen”, which made sense considering his appearance.

You must have been staring too long, because suddenly Nyen lifts his head and his sunless eye meets yours for a second. Ducking quickly behind the trees, it should have been your sign to leave, to go on your merry way of collecting berries and getting high off of mushrooms for entertainment. 

But of course – you didn't. Instead, you retreated to the comfort of the conifer and stood idly. The sun set faster than you expected, any thoughts of simply leaving long gone hours ago. An eager smile spread across your face, these unique campers were asleep and you were going to rein free on their grounds. This was going to be the most fun you’ve had in ages!

As you tiptoe to their spot, you point out the odd set up. They had a truck and two tents, but only one tent actually seemed to be occupied. They also left a plethora of things outside unattended. Great for you. 

Nimbly, you start pocketing random things into your large well-loved leather crossbody bag. You’ve rummaged through many people’s unattended things before, but they definitely take it to a different level. This place was filled with bizarre stuff, stuff you’ve never seen before. 

Why the fuck were they carrying several wooden carvings of beavers and… birthday cake flavored “lube”... unsure what the latter was. Either way, you found it all the more entertaining to stuff these random things into your bag, giggling slightly when you pulled out a photorealistic framed drawing of a blue pony with a rainbow mane. 

You were so intrigued by all these things that you didn't realize masked, narrow eyes staring at your figure past the of the darkness camp. 

-

Nyen had been waiting for this. How stupid can you be? He saw you past the trees when the sun was still up, staring with a stable gaze – observing. Your face was shaded by the leaves, but he could see the grip you had on the tree trunk you stood behind. You looked rugged, you weren't just another camper or hitchhiker. He huffs his cigarette, more freaks. Nyen moves his eyes towards his master, clearly already stressed with the hitchhiker they had picked up hours before. Another huff.

His eyes meet yours when he decides to look up again and just as quickly – you're gone. 

Once Luther hears about this, his brows furrow slightly at the idea of another thing to deal with. “Oh dear, I just can't catch a break.” Nyen waits for his master to continue.

Randal (who totally wasn't eavesdropping) perks up once he recognizes who they were talking about, “Oh! Oh! You mean the…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “The Lost Camper…” Luther twists his head to stare at his brother, “Is that the name?” 

Randal nods excitedly, “I’ve read all about her! Apparently, she’s a ghost. Or like a cavewoman. Or an animal-hybrid. I actually didn't read that much.” He shrugs, “She doesn't hurt people, I think. Just swipes a few things and wonders around. Which is a little boring, would love it if something tried to kill us! AGAIN!”

Luther shakes his head and looks back at Nyen, “Hm, it’s too late now to move everything back inside…” He places a finger on his chin, “If that's true, then deal with her if she becomes a problem, alright?” 

Nyen nods, “Yes sir.”

From what Randal said, he knew you would most likely lurk in the incognito of the night. So he took his stance outside the tent everyone else slept in. 

He almost giddily twirls the handle of the knife, waiting and waiting. Hours pass, he doesn't have a watch but his internal clock tells him it’s around 3 am when he finally spots you. Look at you, being a problem.

Your back is faced away from him. Through the darkness, (and thanks to his skill of seeing well in the dark) he witnesses the silhouette of your thievery. Nyen can't point out exactly what you are taking but all he can imagine is his master’s upset face if he sees things are missing. The grip on his knife tightens.

He needs to wait again, wait for the perfect moment, wait to pounce . Nyen hears giggles escape your mouth – small, but he hears it. His jaw clenches. How dare you tee-hee while taking his family's very important stuff? He almost wants to lunge at you straight away, but he decides against it. Nyen wants to stab you in the throat and watch the blood splurt once you turn around. He just needs to get a bit closer…

SNAP

How irritating. Nyen just had to step on a twig. 

Your reaction time is just as fast as his, darting into the dark woods with him quickly trailing behind you.

Nyen huffs to himself. He wanted to make this quick, but he certainly doesn’t mind a chase.

-

Holy shit, shit, shit. Thoughts race a thousand miles per hour, with your legs following right behind. You admittedly got too into it that you weren’t focusing, now you have to make a great escape. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve had to run away from a camper, there was a time where a woman got spooked by you on her way to take a piss. Her scream was so loud that you immediately dashed past her, dropping the clothes you had stolen. Her husband (presumably an experienced outdoorsman) actually trekked through the woods with a shotgun for a while as you held your breath in the branches above. Ultimately, her family was gone before the sun was down. 

But you aren't sure you can just avoid this one. You allow yourself to turn peek behind you and see him . The smoking catman, Nyen. The shade of the night is heavy, but you’ve adapted to see well in the dark. You’re sure he has that skill too with the way his gaze is steady, hard, and right on yo u through terrifying masked eyes. Where did his eyepatch go?

Shaky hands clutch the filled crossbody bag that jumps with your every movement. If you had to go through this, you at least want to keep the stuff. 

Just tire him out, you think. It's reassuring that you know these woods like the back of your hand. You’ve tread several miles, exploring and wondering, though never finding a road. (Odd.)

Agilely weaving him past trees and fallen logs, your boots try to find leaf covered ground in an attempt to not leave visible tracks, but that would cause you to move slower – and you can't afford that. You assume with enough loops and turns, he will lose your trail.

A loud, gravelly yell can be heard behind you, “You can't run forever!” It makes your heart hammer because it's true. You aren't sure how long you’ve been running now but it feels like hours .

Periodically, you pause to catch your breath, but it isn't long before you hear his heavy steps get closer and closer, forcing the chase to start again.

It’s terrifying. You have amazing stamina. It's part of being in these woods, moving a lot. Nyen is different though, you don't think he’s stopped once. He’s a hunter, a bit slower than his prey but always behind. 

Huffing, you duck under branches and jump over uneven ground with aching legs, barely catching yourself a few times. It’s strenuous to carry on like this, so close to giving out. It’s impossible to focus with this adrenaline pumping through your veins, are you going in circles? Herbage you’re so used to begin to feel like a labyrinth of ever consuming moss and vines. 

Managing to keep your distance, you start to believe that maybe you’ve lost him when the echo of rushed footsteps begin to fade. There’s a wave of relief when all that can be heard is the sound of heavy panting and earth stirring underneath sore feet. 

You close your eyes as you continue to move forward, wind flowing through your hair with momentum. It’s just for a second, for a moment of clarity. It's a terrible second. Your right ankle rolls horribly on a rock, making you tumble down with shriek. It reverberates past trees and you’re sure he's heard it. 

He’s already closing the gap, leaves shuffling behind you. Regaining composure with gritted teeth, you come to the conclusion that he can have his damn things. It’s not worth running forever. Peeking at your quickly growing swollen ankle, you aren't sure you even could.

Finding an area where the trees thin out with patches of soft grass, you use the last of your excretion to exclaim, “Wait, wait!” Facing him finally, he stops feet away from you. 

You finally get a closer look at him. His stance is still aggressive, as if you are about to take off at any moment. You see his glare filled with pure disdain, thin lips curling in a snarl. His eyes go beyond his bizarre mask, it feels like he's piercing you with them.

“Say it.” It's a husky voice that makes the anxiety in your stomach swirl. You realize you haven't been face to face with someone in… a while.

Croaking out with a strained voice, “Look, here. Have it back, I don't want it anymore.” With shaking hands, you tug the worn leather over your body and drop it onto the ground in between you two. Gulping, you scan his figure for any type of reaction.

That's when you notice a glint in his hand – a knife. Maybe it was foolish to assume he wouldn't have a weapon on him, he was chasing you after all. But it dawns on you that you don't have one. 

Nyen seems to pick up on your sudden stiffening, taking a step forward. It takes everything in you to not take off, but you know it would be fruitless with a sore ankle. 

“I know who you are.” You shake, “You do?” He nods slowly, “Randal told me about you. ‘The Lost Camper’, a habitual thief and urban legend. A fucking pussy too.” 

A low laugh escapes his lips, he’s getting closer. “So, you think you can just get away with this?” Sweat builds even heavier on your brow and you shake your head, “No, no. I’m – I’m sorry. I didn't mean to–” He cuts you off, “You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing. You need to be dealt with. ”

Your flight instinct kicks in and despite the light injury you sustained, your feet begin to move on their own. It's not fast enough though, he lunges at you and the sudden weight causes you to fall down with a pained hiss.

There's a tackle, he's grabbing at you while you try to force yourself up under him. It’s incredibly rough, there isn't enough room to struggle around with how his weight presses you down.

You watch terribly as Nyen brings his knife up in the air. The pale moon shines on the blade, and for a second, you see the reflection of your terrified face before it stains red. 

A guttural scream forces out of your mouth, making you throw your head back before it crooks back down to see crimson blood seep through your jeans down the side of your thigh. 

Nyen doesn't waste time in pulling the blade back, watching how you writhe in pain. Through teary eyes, you see pure excitement spread across his shaded face. He’s enjoying this. 

You can barely resist when he's forcing your thick jacket off your body – not satisfied with how the material lessens the cuts he’s adorning your body. “Don't do this…” It’s meek and pathetic, you know but you can't help it. He stands above, blood staining his hands. 

“It's already happening.” It's deep and low, and you feel every drip of venom that laces his words. 

You witness Nyen begin to rub the growing bulge in his tan jeans, causing your stomach to twist in a way that you're scared you may vomit out of the fear and pain. The catman groans, “Fuck… I’m going to make a mess out of you.”

Soon enough, he strips you of your worn shirt and jeans clothes. It's scary how Nyen handles you like a ragdoll, no concern for the twists and gashes your injured body has to endure. 

“So this is what you were hiding under all that? Lucky me.” It’s so condescending that you grit your teeth. For any chance of keeping your dignity, an attempt of covering yourself and moving is made – but it’s met with a swift kick to your ribs that results in burning heaving.

A cold hand slips under your bra, lifting it over and groping at your chest. Whimpering, you attempt to shy away from his touch but he draws you back with an even colder tip of a blade that swipes across your skin. 

Red drapes over your body like a warm blanket in contrast to the cool chill of the forest air. You can almost stare off into the starry night you are so used to while you try to regain bated breath, just for an escape.

Nyen doesn't allow this though. He flips you over roughly onto your stomach, ripping away the comforting sky from your vision. Again, you want to at least protest when he greedily spreads your legs open, hand prodding at your sensitive heat.

Shit. You don't remember the last time you ventured into anything sexual. Maybe you’d rub one out when the idea popped up, but it never really did. You’ve seen a… er– dildo (if you remember correctly what it was called) once or twice when snooping around camps. It gave you a good laugh then, but you would ultimately leave it. 

Now you can feel how his hard length presses up against you. It’s an uncommon sensation, and fuck – why does it have to be big? 

Cutting your underwear off, his long fingers soon dip into the heat of your pussy, pushing in and out. You gasp and tremble underneath his touch. He doesn't wait for you, curling his digits up as growing wetness coats his knuckles. It's disgustingly good, making your traitorous body clench around his fingers. 

Nyen looms over you, wiping the soaked knife onto dark long sleeves, helping him keep his grip on the handle. Then, he pulls his fingers out of you, tauntingly slow to hear how you whimper pathetically. “Look at you, bitch. You're fucking dripping.” He mixes the juices with your blood, “Heh, in more ways than one.”

With unbuckled jeans, he moves fully on top of you, knees pining the sides of you down as he grunts against your soft ass. Nyen then grips your hair and pulls your head back, curving your spine into an uncomfortable position. His knife finds its way to your exposed neck. 

Shaking, it nips at your skin as shallow breaths escape you. He brings himself closer . “Should I just kill you now? What do you think, slut?” Adrenaline rushes through your body, a shameful cry escapes you, “No, no! Don't– don't!” 

He grinds against you, “Then beg.” Shaking your head, you respond – “Please. Please let me go, I’m sorry.” A deep sinister chuckle responds, “No, bitch.” He yanks your head back even farther. Feeling his hot breath against your face, he spits, “Beg for me to fuck you.” 

Tears pool in your eyes, shutting tightly when his blade grazes hurt skin once more. His hard length prods at your entrance – waiting. With a deep breath, you whisper oh-so pathetically. “Please fuck me.” You pray it's enough.

“Better than that. C'mon, or I’ll slit your pretty little fucking throat.” He yanks your hair, pushing into your skin. You panic, fat tears streaming down your face. “No! Don't kill me! Please, please just fuck me. Please.”  

Your screams turn into loud cries, echoing onto the tall trees that surround the scene. Nyen relishes in your wails, nails digging into the back of your scalp before his cock sinks into you roughly. You squirm with a loud pained gasp, you weren't close to ready for him. 

His knife (thankfully) removes itself from your neck, grip on the handle still iron strong. It doesn't give you anything to distract from as he stretches you out incredibly painfully. Inch by inch, your muscles contract and try to adjust to his size – but it's not nearly enough when he begins to start to move. 

“You're so fucking tight.” He lets out a sharp grunt, skin slapping against yours. “You've never fucked, haven’t you?” All you can do is cry. “Perfect.”

Forgetting the threat of his knife, he reminds you with a deep slash across your back. Pain vibrates through you, hands grip at soil and blades of grass in an attempt to stiffen the burning sensation that consumes you. Nausea festers and chokes at the back of your throat, certain that if you had eaten this morning it’d be spilling out your mouth by now.

It's an entrancing sight for Nyen, the large gash displays the crimson beautiful blood dripping down your arched back and onto your asscheeks as he slams into you. It’s a lot of blood. So much so that he feels how you physically weaken under him, fully incapacitated.

He decides to flip you back onto your back once again like the ragdoll you are. There, he can see how the light in your eyes start to dim. Red, and swollen, and tear rimmed – they stare back at him, wordlessly pleading for any type of mercy.

Nyen ignores it, choosing to grab your injured thighs and hike them over his broad shoulders, angling even deeper inside of you. Tight muscles draw him closer, grunting at the feeling of your warmth enveloping him. “Shit, you're a greedy fucking thing, aren't you?” He spits at you, grabbing your face to make sure your eyes stay on him, inches separating your faces. 

You don't respond, hoarse cries and moans are all the sounds you can make. Nyen’s mask taunts you, wide eyes never leaving yours as his nails scratch at your chest and waist, marking and trailing. Nyen’s nails even have the nerve to dig into your open wounds, forcing the blood to escape even faster. 

Any pleas you can muster out fall on deaf ears, and you almost wish he killed you before all this. But then it clicks that this is all just a game to him – you're simply a toy. The evil grin on his face is evident of this, he's truly enjoying watching this horrible scene come undone by his hands. The chase, the torture, your cries . It only makes his heavy cock harder and his thrusts sloppier. 

Your head is woozy and your vision is getting blurry. Numbness circuits through your body, the only thing you can feel is the sensation of his cock ramming into you over and over again. 

Nyen lets go of your face and chooses to grab at your bouncing tits, squeezing hard enough to create bruises. His twitching cock then rubs inside of you perfectly . A loud whine follows that causes Nyen’s jaw clench at the sudden extra pressure around his length, “Ah, hgh,– take my cum like the pathetic bitch you are,”

Stars in your vision soon mix with the stars in the night sky, you can't feel your legs anymore, neither your arms. Blood loss is getting to you – and quickly.

His body drives into yours, the sensation of gore under you squelches around against skin and dirt. Then, the knot building inside your numbing abdomen finally snaps, your breath hitches and you keen loudly – writhing around him.

Nyen soon follows, basically growling at how your pulsating pussy feverishly sucks him in and empties his balls. He rides the orgasm, fucking his cum deep inside you, and basking in the gripping release.

When he pulls out and off of you, your body limps on the ground. Overlooking, he can see how your lungs shallowly take in much needed air. Blood glistens off your cut adorned skin, and god is it a fucking beautiful sight.

He tucks his cock back into his blood soaked jeans, and he can already hear about how it's extra laundry to do now. But frankly, he doesn't care. Nyen gives you a once over, just to make sure the image of you really seeps into his brain. After well enough, he pockets his knife and walks over to the criminal leather bag that started this all. 

Suddenly, a weak grip holds onto his ankle. You.

You look at him with big, lidded eyes and croak out, “Wait… wait– am I… am I going to die?” He stares back at your frightened face with his reactionless one. It's quick before he gives you a sinister smile, then he yanks his ankle out from your grasp and grabs the bag that lays beside you. 

“Yeah, probably.” He then pulls a cigarette out of his back pocket and lights it, flicking hot ash onto your chest. 

“You were a good fuck though, I’ll give you that.” It’s patronizing. A final tear streams down your cheek as you watch him walk into the fog of the trees without another word.

You stare at the sky once again, leaves sway above and let moonlight peek through. Your inhales seem to be getting shorter and shorter, but you don't realize. You just pay attention to the movement of the leaves and the formation of stars. 

Grass picks at the back of your head, it’s soft – one of the only things you can feel besides excruciating pain. You let it be your pillow, the comfort that is ever fleeting from your grasp. 

This wasn't a fate you ever expected to have, it wasn't even proper death. It all makes you want to get up and fight for yourself. To live. He wasn't going to win. 

But reality sinks in when your vision fills with black spots, and you remember you're actively bleeding out, abused and hurt. Dying. It hurts to move, and the lone thought of welcoming it reverberates in your mind. It’s okay… It’s okay… 

With a final breath and ringing ears, darkness finally mercifully consumes you. 

To the dirt you were born, to the dirt you return to. 

And to the dirt you will rise up from again. 

[forwhump]

a/n; I’m sorry I keep posting 😭😭😭 remember when I hated it more than anything ?? now I can’t stop

I actually have a list of requests now (!!!!! 🥹 !!!!!!) & I swear I cross my heart I pinky promise if you asked me for something I WILL post for you !!! if you were kind enough to request smth from me I’ll actually write & post anything you want forever just not chronologically in any form at all, that’s all LOL

I found this first when I was perusing the wren folder so that’s why this one is up but NEXT TIME, next time it will be softer & there will be caretaking I promise

just a little bit of wren’s first night in the district first, that’s all <3 (spoilers : it’s horrible) @ doughnut this one’s for you 😚

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, rape, noncon, humiliation, psychological torture, sexual torture, misgendering, transphobia

sexual servant whumpee, creepy whumper

There are a glorious few moments, when Wren first opens his eyes, that he isn’t scared.

He’s in pain — the pain starts before consciousness does. But he isn’t scared. It’s a small mercy.

Instead, he wakes to that pain. Groggy, it’s hard to tell exactly what hurts, a sort of fog much the same as trying to wake from unconsciousness. As he wakes, as the fog of sleep clears, the pain settles and Wren couldn’t tell exactly what was hurting because everything hurts. He groans, and even his jaw hurts. He tries to groan, anyway, but the sound is muffled because he’s gagged, a strip of cloth pulled tight and knotted at the back of his head.

For a second, for a split second, Wren doesn’t really think about it. Still barely conscious, he barely considers the gag, and thinks, instead, of the knot at the back of his head. He can feel where it’s tangled in his hair, tugging at his scalp with each exhale. He’s face down, and as he blinks his eyes open, he doesn’t really notice the concrete, but the sheet of his hair.

Wren doesn’t wear his hair down. Wren hasn’t worn his hair down since he was a very small child, a child beauty pageant queen, and his mother would spend hours brushing and oiling and meticulously braiding it for him. He doesn’t think he’s had a haircut since only a few years after that. By the time he was old enough to decide for himself what to do with his hair, he was proud of it. He has great hair. But he also has really long hair, and it’s a pain in the ass. Really impractical, at times.

This is what Wren thinks about. He doesn’t wear his hair down. Why is his hair down? It’s pooling on the concrete around him, and why would he have —

The concrete?

Everything hurts.

Wren’s gagged.

That’s when he gets scared.

It’s the most scared he’s ever been in his life.

Wren’s been scared before. He would be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn’t. He’s never been scared like this. He’s never felt anything like this.

It’s an infection, a parasite that burrows deep into his chest, into his core, and it spreads through him quickly, churning through his bloodstream, just under his skin. He’s shivering, and he doesn’t notice, not right away, that it isn’t only because he’s scared. It’s only when he rolls onto his back that he realizes just how cold it is, so cold his breath clouds the air above him. His hands are tied behind his back, and he traps them against the ground beneath him as he rolls over. It’s why his arms, his wrists, his hands, his shoulders ache — his hands are tied so tightly at his back his fingertips are buzzing with static.

There’s only a single light in the ceiling above him, something fluorescent. Its glow is orange and its flicker, irregular, buzzing with shorted electricity. Something starts to burn low in Wren’s stomach, and the contrast to the cold in here and in his bloodstream is enough to make him gag.

The room is empty, except for him and that fluorescent bulb. It’s concrete on all sides, an empty concrete cell, and the only door is an iron slat carved out of one wall, the bolted, armed doors of a military hanger.

Wren can taste his heartbeat. His hair is down. What the fuck is —

And he can still barely keep his eyes open. Blinking slowly, he braces his hands behind himself and manages to push himself up from the floor, not far but far enough that he can lean heavily against the wall across from that door. His skirt is flouncy, red and white gingham layered with tulle, and it settles in a fan across his lap as he sits up. His eyes close on their own, too heavy to be —

They fly open again just as quickly. His skirt?

No, it’s —

No, he’s not wearing a skirt. It’s a dress, and only then just barely. It’s short, and it’s so tight around Wren’s waist that it hurts, and it hurts a little worse each time he breathes. It’s a child’s dress, and something about that makes Wren more uneasy than anything else. He tries to swallow, and it makes him sob.

He’s wearing cowboy boots. They aren’t his boots.

What the fuck is going on?

It’s so fucking cold.

Wren tries to stand, leaning his weight against the wall, but his legs are shaking too badly and they give out from under him. He falls hard. This time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

He tries to take a deep breath and it catches on something in his throat, something that makes him sob. He isn’t sure when he started crying, but his tears are cool on his face.

What the fuck is going on?

He isn’t so fortunate that he has to wonder for long. Huddled against the wall, shaking so hard he might be pulling himself apart at the seams, Wren cries. He tries to stand, to pull his hands free, to make any sense of his surroundings, and he can’t, and he cries. For a time, the only sounds are the hoarse, panicked hitching of his sobs and the constant, droning hum of the fluorescent bulb above him.

It starts with a chirp, with a weird, technical sort of beep. Wren doesn’t even get the illusion of relief, of somebody coming to his rescue — something is really, really wrong. What’s going on? There’s another beep, then a series of more beeps, and then a sound, through the door, like muffled thunder.

Wren’s heart beats at the back of his throat.

When the door opens, it opens slowly. A man fills the doorway, and he makes Wren’s blood run cold. He looks like something from a nightmare, something so horrible Wren can’t even really fathom him. He doesn’t look real. He can’t be. All black, a monster, the shadow of a monster, except for the cowboy hat, perched low on his head.

For a second, for a naive, blissful second, Wren doesn’t recognize him. He doesn’t recognize the dreadful black uniform or the macabre silhouette. He doesn’t remember how limp Robin had been.

Beneath his cowboy hat, he’s wearing a mask. It’s just as dreadful as the rest of his uniform, but when he pulls it down, it’s so much worse.

He knocks the wide brim of his hat up, out of the way, grinning down at Wren. Looking up at him, into his face, at his eyes, it’s like looking into the eyes of a violent animal. There’s nothing human in his eyes. Wren recognizes those eyes.

He lurches without meaning to, pressing himself a little harder into the wall.

There’s an intensity in the way he watches Wren that makes Wren’s stomach bubble, acidic. He grins a little wider, and something in the way it pulls at his face is grotesque. Unnatural. He doesn’t have a human smile, either. “Why, good mornin’, sugar,” he says, and he says it with an equally unnatural twang. Is he mocking him? The dress, and the hat, it’s — “I’ve been waitin’ on you.”

So, this —

This can’t really be happening, right? It isn’t. This is — what is this? What’s — who is this? What is he — gingham. This is — gingham. Why is Wren wearing gingham? What the fuck is happening? This can’t be happening.

The train of thought must show on his face and the soldier doesn’t try to hide how much he loves it. His grin stretches. The way he angles his head is predatory. Something in Wren’s chest gets very, very tight. “Why, shucks,” he mocks. “You’re awful pretty when you’re scared, girl.”

Heat spreads beneath Wren’s face and trickles down the back of his neck. When the soldier takes a step closer, he flinches back against the wall again. He doesn’t mean to. His hands are shaking at his back, trapped against concrete so cold his fingers are starting to numb with it.

There’s an even colder, unfiltered terror in the way his grin is fixed to his face, in the way he isn’t looking at Wren, not really, but at the hemline of the dress. Gingham. He stalks towards him like a predator, and he crouches down in front of him, too close.

He’s big. He’s massive, in fact. Wren’s never been a particularly big guy, but this guy would tower over even Robin, all six feet and three some odd inches of him. His shoulders are probably double the width of Wren’s own. When he crouches in front of Wren, he blocks the light with the bulk of him, and tears blur his silhouette.

When he speaks again, he speaks without twang, but with a smug, probably militant sort of confidence that makes Wren shiver, try as he might to help it, try as he might not to let this man see. “My men call me Point,” he says, and there’s something almost condescending in how he says it. “You will not. You will not speak unless you’re spoken to. If you must refer to me, you will refer to me as daddy. If you disobey, you’ll be punished, cowgirl, and I won’t take it easy on you. I don’t care how purty you are,” and he puts the accent back on. “Y’understand?”

Wren can’t breathe. His chest is too tight. The lump in his throat is too big. The soldier — Point? — looks like he’s expecting an answer, and Wren doesn’t have one. He can’t breathe. Against the wall, he shakes his head.

“No?” Point asks, sickly sweet.

For such a big guy, he’s fast. He grabs Wren by the face, so fast Wren can’t do anything to stop it. He cracks his head back against the wall behind him so hard that for a moment, Wren loses consciousness again.

It’s a glorious moment, but it’s only a moment. When he blinks his eyes open again, Point is leaning in, leaning too close, and the back of Wren’s head is wet. Warm.

“You will behave,” Point warns, and the accent is gone, replaced by something lethal, unamused. “You will do exactly as I tell you, cowgirl, or I will hurt you very, very badly.” Wren makes a soft, involuntary sound, and that grin flickers back to life on Point’s face, a thousand watts. “I took a big risk taking you out of there, girl. You were supposed to be put down. You owe your life to me, and I’m not about to let you get away without paying your debt.” He lifts the cowboy hat from his head, placing it on Wren’s. Wren shivers, trying to shake it off, and the soldier moves again, that same sort of movement, too quick for the human eye. He grabs Wren by the throat and pins him back against the wall. “Behave.” He thumbs slowly along the underside of Wren’s jaw as he holds him there, and the way Wren’s skin crawls almost aches. His fingertip catches on the gag. “Now I’m going to take this out,” he explains, “because I want to hear you beg. But if you wanna scream, cowgirl, you can go right ahead. Y’know why?”

Wren doesn’t want to know. He tries to sob, and it gets stuck beneath Point’s hand.

Point, who angles his head and whistles.

The door swings open again barely a full second later, and it’s still more than enough time for the fear to build, and build, and build, and burst into something that Wren shudders with, so hard his ribs rattles against each other. Another soldier fills the doorframe, another macabre silhouette. Another follows it, then another still, shadows that crowd the dim concrete cell, an army that filters into the room, blocking out the light.

Point grins at him. “Because the only men that will hear you,” he explains, for good measure, “are my men, and they want to hear you scream. The only men that will hear you are my men, and they’re just waiting for me to be done so they can have their turn with you. I’m not usually much for sharing,” he adds, finally sliding the cloth from Wren’s mouth, “but we’ve never been allowed a plaything down here. It would be cruel not to let them have my sloppy seconds.”

Cold seeps through Wren’s skin and forms crystal in his bloodstream, a cold that aches from the inside. “Please,” he blurts, and it’s weird the way the words come, not from his brain but from the festering, infected panic in his chest. “Please, don’t, don’t —”

But Point only grins, leaning in so close Wren can feel his breath. “I knew it,” he says, sickly sweet, laying the accent on thick. “You’re prettiest when you beg, cowgirl.”

“What?” Wren breathes, and he’s dizzy. He doesn’t think it has anything to do with hitting his head. “Please, I —”

He’s interrupted by a groan so low Wren can feel the rumble of it in his bones. His mouth tastes like bile and his own heartbeat. “That’s it,” Point coos softly. “There’s a good girl.”

Wren’s breath hitches, caught somewhere high in his chest. He doesn’t mean to, but he whimpers around it and Point makes another, lower sound, so low the hair on the back of Wren’s neck stands up. He leans away, only far enough to peel off one of his gloves with his teeth. Bared, he flexes his fingers, and something serpentine beats around the inside of Wren’s stomach. “Please,” he breathes, and one of the other men audibly snorts. Wren isn’t even sure why, but it makes him sob. His hands are curled into fists so tight the bones in knuckles are grinding together. “Please,” he whispers, and Point slides a hand beneath his skirt, warm against the inside of his thigh.

Wren reacts with his entire body. He jerks away so hard he knocks his own head, still bleeding, back into the wall. Point, for such a big guy, is fast, he’s too fast, and he has his other hand curled around Wren’s thigh before Wren sees him move. He makes this embarrassing, hiccuping sort of sound, trying to shake him off, to push him away, but Point, without sweat or struggle, pulls him away from the wall by his leg, onto his back on the concrete. As he pushes Wren’s thigh up towards his chest, he coos softly. “Good girl.”

Wren doesn’t even get the chance to plead again. Point leans in close, too close, cheek to Wren’s cheek, and forces three of his fingers inside him with a groan like a man dying.

Wren doesn’t scream. Wren doesn’t do anything, actually. He freezes, so tense he can feel the ache in every one of his bones. His mind blanks, a whiteness, a sort of emptiness he’s never experienced before. It’s like everything stops, all at once, narrows to Point’s fingers and the pain he pushes inside Wren and the rumble of his approval against his chest.

“Stop,” he hears himself say, from somewhere outside himself, from somewhere really far away. “Please.”

Point coos at him again. “Oh, cowgirl,” he says. “We’re just getting started.”

When he does ease out his fingers, it’s to push up his dress, the gingham and the tulle, shoving it up and around Wren’s waist. Panic surges and it tastes like bile. He doesn’t think, not really, not coherently, he only panics, and he tries to kick and Point catches him with a vice grip around his ankle. He hauls Wren closer and the concrete is so cold against his bare skin.

“No,” Wren says, and his voice isn’t his own, too breathless, too loud, too high. “No, please, please, don’t —”

Wren would dare say he’s a strong guy — he’s a lot stronger than he thinks he looks like he would be, at least. He’s no match for Point. Not at all.

And it’s strange, almost, or it would be, anyway, if Wren had the capacity to ponder the strangeness of it. He was already scared, a suffocating, delirious sort of scared, a kind of scared he didn’t think would be possible. And still, somehow, Point forces his thighs apart, and Wren can’t stop him, he can’t fight him, he can’t struggle, he can’t do anything Point doesn’t want him to do, helpless, and it’s like Wren hadn’t been scared at all. It’s like Wren, until that moment, didn’t know what it meant to be scared.

Something new rises, crests, and crushes him. He can’t breathe under its weight. He does scream, then, and he doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

Point grins widely. He isn’t looking at Wren’s face. He holds his thighs apart and kneels between them.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. How is this happening?

“Please,” Wren gasps, this hitching, horrible thing, “please.”

Point shifts, pinning Wren to the ground with his weight. Whatever his uniform is made out of, it feels like gravel against his skin. He moves slowly, taunting, as he pulls his belt loose, as he pulls himself free from his pants.

Wren isn’t breathing, not even hyperventilating, just making these hitching, gasping sort of sounds he can’t control. There are so many men in here with him, crowding this concrete cell, and none of them help him. There are so many men in here with him and they all just watch him beg. There are so many men in here with him and Wren has never been so alone, not once in his life.

He wants his big brother. He wants his mom. He wants to go home.

“Please,” he cries, desperate, frantic, almost a wail, most of a scream. “Please, pleasepleasepleaseple—”

Wren, in the end, screams himself hoarse.

It doesn’t fucking matter.

[the-healthy-human-mind]

Miss Americana - Chapter 2

Now Playing: Labor

CWs: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, slight noncon, violence, abuse, mentioned drinking, eluding to rape, cursing, blood, sexism, , banter “*” in italics depicts Norwegian.

November, 2013

“I still don’t understand why we had to switch schools. Again.”

Andrews groans, “shut up, Evelyne. You know the last school got suspicious, and Marshall got careless.”

Evelyne huffs, walking towards the school entrance. “We could’ve at least gone somewhere without uniforms!”

It felt like every secondary school in London was the same. Boring colors, shitty slop for lunch, asshole teachers, and the group of mean girls that everyone wants to befriend. Evelyne looks over the four students, sat together at lunch. Marina, the blond hair, blue eyed bitch. Becky, the brunette everyone ignored. Nancy, the ginger. That was a punishment in itself. And George. Because men are assholes too. 

“You’re staring.”

“No shit sherlock.”

Andrew sighs, putting his fork down. “Can you stop acting like there’s a threat everywhere?”

She glares at him. “See if I ever warn your ass of danger.”

Their banter is interrupted by a group of girls flocking towards the cafeteria windows, giggling amongst themselves.

Evelyne walks over to the windows, seeing a man around her age walking up the path. Pale skin, blue eyes, and the most ridiculous haircut she has ever seen. When did mohawks go back in style?

“Who is that?”

A gasp, “you don’t know?”

“She’s new, Marina!”

The blonde rolls her eyes, turning to Evelyne. “That,” she points to the man, “is John MacTavish. He comes here a few times a year to visit his aunt. And every day that he’s here, the bastard tries to hook up with every girl willing to get his dick wet.” 

Evelyne looks out the window, watching as the boy smiles at the student in front of him. “He looks stupid. Who let him butcher his hair like that?”

Marina and Becky both gape at her in shock. 

She just rolls her eyes, “I have biology next. Have fun drooling over a fuckboy.”

The walk home feels endless. Four miles to and from school, and Andrew decides he’s too good to walk with her, so he bribes the shy virgin to give him a lift. To be fair, the quiet was nice for once. Nellian hadn’t stopped talking since she learned others could hear what she was babbling, and Marshall was, well, Marshall. Beer was one hell of a relaxer. Evelyne lowers the volume on her headphones when she feels someone staring at her back. Her suspicions are made true when she sees a tall shadow come up behind her.

“What do you want?”

“For ye to stop starin’ at me when I come around ye.”

Evelyne spins around to face the voice, “excuse me?” And is met with the one and only, John MacTavish. Great.

John smiles, “just fecking with ye, been trying to get yer attention all damn day. I’m Johnny.”

He holds his hand out to her, smile still plastered on his face; even when she only glares.

“Again, what do you want?”

“I’d like to get to know ye. Can I get ye a coffee? Or maybe take ye to-”

“No. Goodbye now.”

She turns and walks away, huffing when she hears John run up behind her again, still talking. He was going to be a problem.

December

“*It’s after 6.”

Evelyne looks up from her phone, eyes meeting those of her mother. 

“*Really? I had no idea, not like I can read or anything.”

Alice glares at her child, sitting on the couch across from her slowly.

“*You cannot be late like that, Evelyne.”

“*Why? All of my chores are done, Nellie and Claire are already in bed, and my homework is finished.”

“*Just listen for once Evelyne.”

“*Why should I?”

“*Because you’re a woman, and we women know our place. You’ll learn, if you truly value your life, how to act properly.” 

Evelyne pauses at that, turning to look at Alice. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Emotional torture from the head of your high table And I'm getting fucking tired”

Her mother just shrugs, taking a sip from her glass. Evelyne pushes herself up from her perch on the loveseat, coming to stand in front of Alice.

“What. Does That. Mean.”

“*Me and your father don’t appreciate your recent attitude, that is all.”

She scoffs, “seriously? Why-”

“*We do not buy flowers for you. Yet you have a dozen roses in your bedroom. Strange to keep them in a closet, no?”

“What makes you think I didn’t buy them for myself? I have my own money.”

Alice pulls out a piece of paper from her book, opening it, and in her broken English: “to M'eudail, from Johnny.” 

Evelyne’s heart hammers as her mother looks at her smugly, “you went snooping in my room? What the hell!”

“Be grateful I did not call you father to tell you alone.”

She lunges for the paper, but is pulled back by the collar of her shirt, the fabric ripping in the process. She winces when her ankle twists uncomfortably as she lands on the carpet, looking up only to see the hateful gaze of her father.

“*Let's talk.”

“*He’s just a friend!”

“*Then why is he calling you that?”

“*He’s Scottish! They’re weird, I don’t know!”

Both her and Andrew flinch when Marshall slams his hand on the table. 

“The truth!”

“It is! Andrew, make him listen!”

Evelyne pleads with her brother, who frowns back at her. “Please, Andrew.”

He sighs, looking back at their father. “Johnny doesn’t even live here, he leaves in 2 weeks, they’re just hanging out during lunch at school.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“I’m not sir.”

A whine makes Evelyne turn her head to the stairs, Nellian staring back at her, Claire hiding behind her twin. Her eyes widen, if Marshall saw them…

 “Go back,” Evelyne mouths to them, watching in relief as Claire pulls Nellian back up the steps.

“*What are you looking at, girl?”

“*Nothing,”

The table vibrates and the glass vase as Evelyne’s phone rings, a silly selfie of Johnny on her screen. 

Evelyne steps back as Marshall steps forward, and to her surprise, grabs the collar of Andrew’s shirt. 

“It's not an act of love if you make her You make me do too much labour”

Roses were always Evelyne’s favorite flower. There was just something about the red roses that drew her attention. Looking at the blood pouring from Andrew’s nose, however, was not pretty. Evelyne watches as Andrew sulks into his room, following her father into his room. She watches as Marshall sinks into Andrew’s desk chair, leaning his elbow on the arm rest. 

“*Are you going to tell the truth, girl? Or do we need to continue?”

Evelyne raises her head high, watching her brother in her peripheral. Marshall sighs, and she feels as though she is going to puke. 

“*Don't do this sir-”

Andrew shuts himself up when Marshall glares at him. Her father stands to full height, towering over her. His eyes are cold, meticulous.

“Do your worst, bastard.” 

“You make me do too much labour.”

Taglist: @sigynxlokiwifelover

[abhainnwhump]

So, I'm Joining the Whump Community.

Greetings, mortals of whump tumblr. The name is Abhainn and I finally have the courage to start using this cursed platform. This is a separate blog from my main one, which will be mostly OC and Undertale AU content. This blog will also include the above, but also general prompts. Also, I'm sometimes insensitive when it comes to trigger warnings, so please let me know if I forget to add them!

My top five tropes are: 1. Noncon body modification. This one has been my favorite since I discovered whump. Anywhere from forced haircuts to adding/removing wings and horns (preferably adding). 2. Intimate and creepy whumpers. They're so fun to read and write about. Bonus points if they're delusional to the point they believe they love whumpee/whumpee loves them. 3. Mind control/hypnosis/conditioning. I don't know where I got my love of mind control stories, but I'm pretty sure it was from watching MLP as a kid (the two part episode where Discord takes away the main characters' colors and personalities. I was obsessed.) I'm such a sucker for "I know you're in there somewhere fights" when the mind control character has to fight a friend. 4. Fluffy recoveries! I love whumpees that go through hell and earn their precious hot chocolate and thick blankets. It's just as much fun as making them suffer. :) 5. Charismatic whumpees. Those little shits who crack dark jokes the entire time they're in captivity. They make whumper regret their entire career.

I don't get squicked easily unless it's NSFW or pet whump. Even then, it has to be graphic to make me uncomfortable (says the person who reads skeleton smut on Wattpad for a laugh).

I also have no clue how often I'll post because of school and other projects, but I'll do my best.

[sableflynn]

haircut

In which Volkan cuts Felicia's bangs for her.

contents: references to/implications of noncon and torture

---

He was drunk when he cut her bangs.

No, not drunk, he would insist: Volkan would never concede to such a flawed human state as inebriation. He prized his control of himself and others above all else; he did not lose that control to alcohol the way weaker men did. Regardless, he was several drinks in when he pulled Felicia into his lap and brushed aside her curtain of bangs.

“These are getting too long,” he murmured as the bangs fell to cover her eyes.

He wasn’t wrong. They’d grown long enough to obstruct her vision, longer than she’d ever let them grow. And that was what she was steadfastly refusing to acknowledge: she couldn’t allow herself to recognize that she’d been here long enough for her bangs to grow out so much. Her hair was a physical marker of the passage of time, a reminder that this wasn’t normal and she wasn’t safe.

“Your hair still looks good, at least.” He demonstrated his point by winding his hand through the long tangles of her hair, punctuating with a jerk of her head that forced her to arch back and grab his arms to stabilize herself. “I like this. But these bangs,” and his free hand brushed them again in vain before they fell back into place. “They cover half your face. You shouldn’t be able to hide your eyes like that.”

Her body tensed in unconscious recognition of his fucked-up sort of foreplay, the precursor to pain or to sex, which was just another sort of pain. He hadn’t hurt her yet, really—he wasn’t even hard—but every molecule of her being was attuned to him, and the animal part of her picked up on the cues of his pleasure at her discomfort, and the logical part of her knew this sort of attention always ended the same way.

He shifted, forcing her to grip his biceps tighter, and pulled a knife from his pocket. The lamplight glinted off the sharp blade as he flicked it open.

She tried to ignore the way her stomach dropped at the sight of it. “You’re going to cut my hair with a knife like that?”

“I can’t exactly bring you to a salon, can I?”

She hated him in these moments in particular, when he teased and joked with her like they were a normal couple, almost pretending that he saw her as a person. She hated herself even more for playing along with it, for almost yearning for it, because she was desperate for anything but the monotony of torture and degredation.

“Hold still.” The command was redundant when his knife was inches from her face. She held her breath as he gathered her bangs in his hand and sliced with deceptive gentleness. His face was close enough that she could smell the lingering mix of liquor and cigar smoke that clung to him like a perfume, could feel his hot breath on her skin as he cut away her bangs as easily as he’d cut away her strength, her self-worth, her sense of being. The past few weeks fell away in tufts of soft red hair that littered the hardwood floor.

When he was done, he took her face in both hands, pulling her back to examine his work. “Much better,” he said, thumbs pressing into her cheekbones a touch harder than necessary. She didn’t need to see her reflection to know she looked like shit. She could feel it like the absence of a limb: the cool air hitting her face, bangs irritating the very top of her forehead, cut higher than she’d ever choose to have them. Her eyes uncovered, unprotected from the lingering veil of her hair. Nothing to shield her as Volkan studied her. Nowhere for her to hide as his manner took the turn she’d known was coming, and he pushed her onto her back on the couch and climbed on top of her, the knife in his hand once again.