#older inmate!Ink

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

||Caught within the trapped cells: part 5||

Hi there dears. I think I can try to add another chapter to this little mini drabble series today. Again, this is heavily focused on the inmates and officers so I hope you like. Also, the one reason I couldn't decide who to write next was thanks to writer's block. I was stuck on who to write for next. Though, I got stuck on who was next: Either being Terry and Sai, Ink and Denji, Yuji/Megumi/Kisho etc. But I guess I'll make a choice now. So! How about we give some love for Denji and Ink! They are next! <3

~~Chapters so far~~

First Cell: Officer Katsuki and Inmate vanguard

Second Cell: Officer Mills and Inmate Vin-Shia

Third Cell: Officer Nakano and Inmate Seon

Forth Cell: Officer Davion and inmate Knight

((Your reading chapter 5))

||Drabble Summary||

The officers were falling faster now to the pools of pleasure since Davion fell thanks to Rust. Now we move on during this event with morning coming again. Seems another pair is spotted. Who is next? Read to find out.

||Warning||

~Strong Sexual NSFW warning ((This is going to be present in all the chapters. If your under 18: Do Not READ!))

~Teasing

~Flirting

~Rough play

~Dom and Sub play

~Punishment

~demon corrupting an officer

~Chapters will or could be really long

||Muses in this drabble||

Van Ink the dragon and some others that will show in later chapters belong to my amazing friend @demon-blood-youths

While Denji Hayakawa is a muse that's from the anime series Chainsaw Man along with some others that will show in later chapters are from their anime shows but also to me due to having them as muses.

((Note: This drabble will have heavy grammar mistakes and errors but this was written for fun. I hope you understand but also enjoy please. Also as I warned: This will have heavy sexual themed content. If your under 18, please don't read. Thanks for understand and enjoy.))

The night carries on but it seems like most things are calm again. As morning comes about, the area was still in lockdown. Some of the officers were worried seeing that four officers were gone but it seems something must have happened.

"Now what do we do? I don't see Bakugo, Rex, Davion, or Nakano. Do you think something happened?" Kisho was worried looking at the others that remain seeing this. Some was unsure on what to say about it but they were trying to figure out how much longer it was going to be before the lockdown was over. However, they were wondering what happened to the others?

"Alright, I got through. I'm going to check how much longer we have before the lockdown is over.." officer Winter checks while looking worried only to see it was...reset? "Huh?"

'Lock down has increased due to inmates trying to break out or provoke the timer.'

"Oh damn it!" she said. "Were still trapped in here." she said seeing some more nervous now. Given this ideal, we don't know what could happen now." Winter sees her team worried with some others not sure of what is happening.

"Calm down. As long as we stay focused we will be okay. We just need to be sure we stick together during the day.." Ryunosuke said but he knew this was bad. Given how violent the lower inmates are..even his own charge Matt. He'll have to check on him later.

"Well, we will be sure to do that. For now, what do we do? We can't get through to Mr. Henderson right because of this?" Izuku said.

"I don't know but for now, lets just focus on what we can do." he said as everyone else nods going to their posts for now. However, that's when the main four was going to return later that morning.

During that time later on, Rex did return along with Nakano, Bakugo, Davion, and Yuuka who were tired but the four were already corrupted thanks to what happened that night.

"Hey, you four are alright! What happened?" Denji asked but Rex sighed to look at him.

"We are fine. Lets just say we were trying to calm something down last night..but it's taken care of." he said with arms crossed.

"Y..Yeah, we are okay.." Yuuka said even if she was looking a bit tense now. But she was trying not to show it.

"Well, whatever happened you guys are safe so that's good." Denji said but Bakugo grumbles not saying too much. "Well, how about you four take a break or off for now-"

"Were fine. WE will continue our work but you guys can give me updates on what happened." he said seeing them doing that. However, Yuuka was quiet but she looks flushed. Why did Oblivion have to give her this for a punishment till tonight?

~~~~~~~~~Back to this early morning~~~~~~~~

"Good girl. You did well last night." Oblivion was sitting up petting her head but Yuu was dazed as she was shaking from what she went through. Her body never expected such a feeling of pleasure before that now she was hoping to get more. Oblivion noticed but she only sees her reaching that she takes her hand.

"I know, I know. It felt good and you want to feel it again right?" she asked seeing Yuu nod. "Well, how about this? I'll give you something and if your able to behave; I'll give you more...how about it?"

"R...You woul..would? Then w..what...i..is it.." she asked but sees something in Oblivion's hand. A vibrator.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So now she had to have this inside of her while Oblivion was messing with the settings to see if she can behave herself. For now, Yuuka was okay even if she was holding back her whimpers feeling a bit wet. She had to get through this before tonight. She just hopes no one else notices.

For now, everything was quiet for now but it leaves Bakugo grumbling that he was keeping his end of the deal if he wanted more of the dragon. "Hey Denji!"

"Huh?"

"...I think you should do guard duty with the inmate today. I'm..going to take a break for now after all this crazy shit."

"Ha?! Why? Scared that she'll drain you dry or something-"

"NO! I'm tired from last night so take over! Just don't do anything stupid." he said but Denji was confused seeing Bakugo heading to his quarters to rest.

"What was that all about.." he mutters but he knew Bakugo was flushed since he was hiding his heated expression. He did want to feel more but he would have to wait for now since he gave his word to get Denji to her. Get him to take over guarding Ink so she can corrupt him next. When getting to his room, he quickly locks the door and goes to sit. He was already hard thinking about her that he begins trying to calm down while looking down.

"Damn it..d..damn it.." he groans now stroking himself. He was going to be busy right now as the day keeps on going like nothing happened. True the inmates were to stay in their cells till the lockdown was over but some was still planning a way to get out or some catching their officers to play with. Four were already taken but another will be added as Denji was given the task of watching Ink for Bakugo or having his turn.

"Hey, you doing alright in there Vanguard. You seem happy this morning." Denji said by her cell door but she hums slightly to look at the door.

"No worries, I'm good. Just bored since were stuck in our cells because of this lockdown thing. How long till it gets broken?" she asked.

"Well, we still have a while due to another inmate trying to break it...so were still stuck in here." He sighed even if Ink smiled without Denji seeing it. Seems like this might work for her.

"I see. Well, that means we can hang out right, Officer Hayakawa?" she asked seeing him blink to look at her from his shoulder.

"Uhhhh hang out?"

"yeah, just hanging out and having fun! I heard from Bakugo you always like to have fun around here...right?" she sees Denji think about it even if that's true. He tends to do a few things to bring some fun in this place.

"I mean yeah, I don't mind that..but what are you getting at?" he asked.

"Ohhhh nothing. I just wanna have a little fun." Ink said smiling to him that Denji was silent to look at her seeing the Dragon sitting there in the cell looking at him. What was she planning here?

"Listen you, that's not allowed. I don't know what your going for but you better behave." Denji stays true to himself and keeps looking ahead. Their was no way he would lose to her and her cute looks. This got Ink thinking but remembering what Bakugo told her.

Even if Denji is known for his strength and keeping to his job, he's weak against cuties like her. Even better knowing she had the cutest features. Even if she was a woman, he still had to stay focused!

"Come on can't we hang out a little and have some fun?" Ink asked again that Denji sighed.

"Listen, I told you that's not allowed. You either behave or I'll be sure you get sent to.." as he turns to face her he tenses to see what was in front of him. Ink was right in front of him but she smiled tilting her head while gazing upon his face.

"You sure we can't play a little?" she asked softly to touch his cheek that Denji already feels her petting his head. Even showing he was seriously cute. He blushed red seeing up close she was cute.

"I..I umm.."

"Hmmm? What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" she teased. She reaches to poke his lips gently but as she did that, Denji moves away only for her to turn his head back and pulls him down to kiss him.

"Mffm!?" He twitched feeling the kiss but he grips her shoulders feeling Ink kissing him. She only blushed from the kiss that she even feels his hands shaking now. Her lips were really soft and it felt really nice.

She and him remains close kissing one another before she breaks the kiss panting softly against them. Her grey eyes were glowing to grip his uniform shirt to chuckle.

"You seem speechless....wanna another one?" she asked but he only panted to squeeze her shoulders but she only stops to back up. But Denji didn't let go to kiss her neck that made Ink shiver a little. His lips were warm against her skin that he was nuzzling and kissing her neck that he accidently bit her skin. She tenses feeling sharp teeth bite her but he felt his eyes widen.

Drops of her blood was tasted on his tongue that he shook.

'W..wait...her blood....no way..it tastes so warm, soothing, and smooth....like a creamy treat and creamy soda...s..so good..' he thought while pulling back licking where he bit her. Ink only shivers to grip the uniform more but she only feels him about to pull her closer that she pulls his head from her shoulder to look at him.

"H..Hey..."

"Come on Denji...why not come inside and have some fun..I won't bite...You can play with me all you like...and even have your fun.." she said seeing Denji only blushing worse. He could see her appearance to make him shake. She was standing there showing off but her body was pressed up against the cell bar door that he even saw her boobs showing to him.

"......" yeah, it was getting hard to when it comes to cute girls, Ink was one hot girl. Maybe he could get a-No no no! But he was going to reach to squeeze them but he shook trying to resist. Her lips were soft and she already was a tempting tease! That's not fair.

"......." The taste of her blood still remains on his tongue but he shook only to try shaking it off. Being quick, he was about to but stops to calm himself down.

"I..I can't..it's not right I.....damn it.." turning away he rushes off to take a break from his post leaving Ink. She sees him leave but she licked her lips with glowing silver eyes.

'So Bakugo was right..he's seriously cute....really cute..' she thought. "I almost had him...maybe a more physical move would have worked." she thought.

Later that afternoon, Denji was trying to get what happened out of his head but some other officers were unsure if he was okay.

"Uhhh Denji? You okay-"

"I'm good!" he said quickly to startle Kisho who had Rioto near by hearing this.

"Maybe he's sick.." he said holding a tray for his lunch but Denji only looks ahead holding a fork. The other claws wonder if he was alright but Bakugo knew or he was the only one that knew what was going on., He did guard Ink so she might have pulled a move on him. For now, others were quiet trying to stay calm even Officer brooks and Officer Niguredo who saw Yuuka remain quiet while eating her food even if she was flushed pink, legs squirming a bit thanks to it.

"...." Both were unsure if she was okay but they remain quiet to hope she was.

"Anyway, we should be fine. Lets just finish up lunch and get back to places." Ryu said but seeing that many nods only to keep on eating. However, he was still concerned about Matt he did check on him but saw he was resting up. Maybe later he'll recheck on him again. As for Denji, he was lost thinking about Ink again but he was getting excited wanting to feel and taste her more.

Oh boy, this was going to be hard.

[inbloomwriting]

Everything to me - Chapter 1

Chapter one - Apple seed

Story Masterlist

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.8k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

"You never understood you're everything to me I just hope you know, the future in your heart Is just about to start"

The universe must be mocking her, (Y/N) is sure of that. This is all one big elaborate joke and any minute now Ashton Kutcher is gonna jump out from behind some bushes and tell her that she has been punkd. 

She had a plan, all neatly laid out and organized. Blue ink on white paper in a fancy leather-bound notebook. Like a professional adult would do it who has their life all figured out. 

Renovate the store and get it back up and running

Sell it for profit 

Pay back Mum and get the fuck away from everyone and everything that has ever made her feel unworthy

That was the plan and she was so fucking determined to stick to it for once in her life. So this must be a prank. This must all be one big misunderstanding.

But it’s not a prank, is it? It’s the consequences of her own damn actions.

Her heart is racing as she climbs the stairs up towards Rebecca Welton’s office. Her legs and feet are heavy, like concrete. Why is being honest with your friends so damn hard? 

It’s not just any friend either. It’s Rebecca. Rebecca who has always been in her life ever since (Y/N) was just a kid. Rebecca who is the only person (Y/N) ever looked up to. Why is being honest with her so terrifying?

You know why! 

Yeah, (Y/N) knows why. Because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if Rebecca hates her for what happened. Of all the people in the world, she needs Rebecca on her side. 

As she lifts her hand and knocks on the door of the office, (Y/N) wonders if this is what death row inmates feel like. Knowing the end is inevitable and it’s all your own fault.

“Come in” 

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door and steps into the room. 3 pairs of eyes look back at her but really, the only ones that matter belong to the beautiful blonde sitting by the desk.

“(Y/N), Hi. What are you doing here? Did we have plans? I thought you went back — “

“Yeah I — no, we didn’t have plans.” 

It almost kills her, that smile that Rebecca sends her way. The one that’s so warm and loving and that’s been a constant in her life for most of her childhood and teenage years coming from Rebecca. Rebecca living in that lovely white house next door with the rose bushes and the big windows. Rebecca who taught her how to do the perfect eyeliner wing, who passed down her coolest leather jacket to her, who held her hair the first time she got wasted and threw up in those very rose bushes. Rebecca who was the older sister she never had. 

She loves that smile it used to bring so much comfort to her. Now it makes her want to die. The girl she used to be, deserved to be on the receiving end of that smile. She doubts she still deserves it.

“Can we—” (Y/N)’s eyes dart around the room towards Higgins, then towards the other man. He’s the American trainer, Ted. She’s talked to him once very briefly and he seems so — nice. Genuinely nice. Not for the sake of being perceived as a good person but because he just is. “— do you think we could talk privately?” 

There’s a flicker of concern in Rebecca’s eyes and (Y/N) hates that she put it there.

“Oh, of course. Ted, Leslie, would you excuse us?” 

Everything’s a blur. They leave and (Y/N) thinks Ted makes some kind of pun but she doesn’t really recognize anything but the racing of her heart and the sour feeling in her stomach. Oh, fuck.

Rebecca sits her down on the big couch by the window, the one that’s meant for personal talks, not business. She’s so nice. Oh, she's too nice.

“Are you dying?” 

“I — uh, no.”

“Okay, good.,” Rebecca says letting out a sigh of relief. “Now that that’s out of the way, can I offer you some tea?”

(Y/N) shakes her head.

“Coffee?” 

She repeats the motion

“Champagne?” Rebecca asks, a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in question.

God, wouldn’t she kill for a glass of bubbly right now. 

“No, I’m good. Can you just come sit down, you’re making me nervous.” 

Not only does she sit down, Rebecca’s hand immediately finds (Y/N)’s, holding on warm and tight. It almost pulls an ironic scoff from (Y/N)’s lips. Mum doesn’t know but even if she did, she’d never offer this kind of comfort to her. She never did. So for a second, she lets herself relish in the affection. Just one second. 

“Okay, now out with it.” 

She’s rehearsed this conversation so many times in so many different ways. Like a school presentation. Meticulously planned. Even added in pauses for questions and shit like that.

All of that has vanished, her brain is empty, her tongue made of lead. 

“I uh — look um. Do you remember when your dad died?” 

Of all the ways she could’ve started this talk, this is probably the worst of them all. Who says things like that?

Rebecca seems a little taken aback for a moment before nodding her head and suppressing a slight smile, one brought on by the absurdity of the question, not by joy. “I do, yes. Hard to forget if I’m being honest.” 

“Yeah, I would know.” 

“Yeah.”

“So that night I was obviously very emotional because it reminded me of my dad and all of that bullshit.” Tears are already threatening to roll down her face, sitting on her waterline waiting for the right moment to strike. It’s impressive she still has any left to cry since that’s all she did the last few days.

“That’s understandable. Oh, please tell me you didn’t force yourself to come and relive all of your pain just because you felt like I expected you there? If I knew it was so hard on you I —” 

This, all of this, is twisting the knife so much deeper. Leave it to Rebecca to search for a fault of hers in all of (Y/N)’s mess.

“No, Rebecca, it's nothing like that. I — I fucked up. I let it all get to me and because I’m, well — me, I got a little tipsy. Went outside to get some air and there was this guy. God, Rebecca, he had the saddest eyes. I just felt this weird connection so I sat next to him. We talked and talked and then ended up going to a bar and then to my place and then to my bed and well yeah.” 

She giggles. Rebecca really has the audacity to giggle at that. In her defense, she tries to hold it in but it does slip out eventually. 

“It’s not funny.”

“Is this why you’re upset? You slept with someone at, no wait, after my father’s funeral. That’s okay.”

“There’s more.” 

"Oh, what is it? Was it a footballer?” 

At the lack of a vocal response, Rebecca connects the dots.

“Alright. That’s — that’s not so bad. I was seeing a 21-year-old footballer. I don’t see what’s making you so upset about this.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh shit.” 

Getting Rebecca to swear was always something (Y/N) found a silly sense of pride in. Rebecca with her perfect hair and outfits and manners. It felt like something so alien to her and yet that was (Y/N)’s favorite version of Rebecca. The one that’s as messy as you and me even if it’s just for a second.

“Yeah, shit.” 

It’s the first time she said it out loud. Rebecca is the first person to know, except for (Y/N) herself and her gynecologist. Her mother doesn’t know. 

The father of the baby doesn’t know.

Just her and now Rebecca.

“And I don’t know what to do. This wasn’t the plan. Fuck — please don’t be mad.” 

“Why would I be mad? ” 

There is an infinite warmth in Rebecca’s eyes. A warmth she always longed for coming from her own mother but never received. A warmth that seems entirely misplaced right now. 

“I fucked your employee. I used your dad’s funeral to make the shittiest of all shit decisions and now I come here unloading all of this on you because I, once again, don’t know how to get myself out of the hole I dug.” 

Soft hands wrap around (Y/N)’s shoulder and pull her in. Rebecca smells like expensive perfume and hairspray. All comforting and familiar. It’s nice, (Y/N) thinks, that despite everything falling apart in and around her, there is at least one constant in her life. 

“Were you really afraid of telling me or are you just afraid?” 

She’s so smart and so observant, sometimes it’s infuriating. 

“I’m so scared, Rebecca.”

Life doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It doesn’t ease you into things, slow and gentle. There are no training wheels, no floaties. Life happens whether you’re prepared or not. It’s nice to know that there are arms wide open for you to fall into, a hand to pull you out of the roaring sea as you’re just about to drown.

“You can always unload on me, you know that right? That’s what family is for.” 

All the willpower to stay brave and collected and not cry, all that vanishes with Rebecca’s words. Family. They’re family. Maybe not by blood but definitely by fate. By choice. 

Mum would’ve told her to suck it up, to stop crying, and to face the consequences of her own actions. Would’ve probably had an “I knew this would happen” or an “I told you so” on the tip of her tongue. There is none of that with Rebecca. She just accepts the tears soaking through her, no doubt, expensive blouse and softly strokes (Y/N)’s head. 

For a long time, there are no words exchanged. Some moments ask for calmness not conversation. There’s something deeply therapeutic about crying on the shoulder of someone you deeply trust.

“Can I ask?” Rebecca inquires with a gentle voice just barely louder than a whisper.

She doesn’t have to elaborate. There are only so many questions people have after you told them you had a one-night stand and ended up pregnant. 

“You’re gonna hate the answer.” 

A laugh falls from Rebecca’s lips, her breath tickling the top of (Y/N)’s head. “Don’t tell me It’s Jamie.” 

“Okay, I won’t then.” 

“Oh, (Y/N).” 

Where there should be disappointment in her tone, there is understanding, there is slight amusement but above all, there is deep and honest care. 

“ Can you blame me? Look at him. He’s sculpted by the gods and something about that silly little accent does it for me. I hate to admit it, I truly do.” 

“Does he know?” 

(Y/N) shakes her head, guilt and fear coursing through her veins.

“I don’t even have his number. I know hardly anything about the guy other than that he’s a footballer, that his ego is huge, and that he likes to cuddle after sex.” 

Rebecca’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Does he? Huh.”

“Yeah, it was really cute actually.” 

For a moment she almost gets lost in the memories of that night, however hazy they might be. Jamie was fun and to an extent he understood. And there’s nothing quite as sexy as a man who is just as sad and messed up as you. Is it healthy? Absolutely not but (Y/N) never claimed to have a particularly healthy view on anything. 

“He works here, you know. In this very building. You can just pop down and tell him.” 

The way Rebecca says it makes it sound so easy. Like it doesn’t come with a shit load of guilt and fear and embarrassment. 

“Wait, I didn’t even ask and I just realized that’s very presumptuous and maybe a little rude of me — do you even want to keep the baby?” 

That’s the big one. The question of all questions. It’s the second thought that came to her head when (Y/N) saw the two lines on that fateful plastic stick. The first one being “Oh fuck.” It’s the question her doctor asked. It’s in all of the leaflets and informational reading she’s been handed.

“I’ve never thought about it before. I mean sure I thought about some hypothetical future but those dreams always changed depending on my mood. Now I’m here and I need to make a choice and It’s — It’s terrifying.” 

“But?” 

“But I think I do want it. I think I want to be a — a mother.” 

It’s a word that feels strange on her tongue, bitter and sharp. Like biting down on your cheek and tasting blood. Mother was never the warm comfort of a home. It was the cold hand on her shoulder, the icy glance of disapproval. 

Maybe mother can be something else. Maybe she can turn it into something sweet.

“I’m just scared. This wasn’t the plan, not right now at least, and not like this. I’m scared of doing it alone.”

“What in the world does that mean? Alone?” 

“I don’t expect Jamie to step up. I’d appreciate it, of course. But he has a brilliant career and so much going for him. Getting me, a one-night-stand, pregnant could ruin so much for him. I don’t ever want that.” 

“No,” Rebecca says and cradles (Y/N)’s face between her warm hands “I mean, you’re not going to be alone. No matter what Jamie says. You have me. And I can guarantee you that there are at least 10 other people in this building right now who will also have your back. Whatever happens, I can promise you that you don’t have to do this alone. And don’t sell yourself short, you have a career too!” 

Maybe the universe isn’t mocking her after all. And maybe this isn’t a punishment either. Maybe this is just life pushing her into the deep end. Thank god she has people to help keep her afloat.

(Y/N)’s eyes wander from the clock on the wall towards the door then back. Over and over again.

Every time the door opens and someone leaves the locker room, her heart speeds up. Maybe if she dies of a heart attack right here and now she won’t have to talk to Jamie. That sounds like the most reasonable reaction. Anyone would agree. Right? 

The boys all regard her with a sense of cautious familiarity. They know her face, know they’ve seen her before but can’t recall where much less put a name to her. 

Well, all of them but Sam. He greets her with that big signature smile of his, so full of joy and sunshine. Calls out her name and asks her about her day. Rebecca might have a point that there are more people here that care about her. Their conversation is brief but there is no doubt in her mind that if she were to call him any time of the day, Sam would drop everything and help her out. That’s just the kind of person he is. 

She wonders if that’s the kind of person Jamie is. 

Another glance at the clock. 2 minutes pass. The door opens once more.

Jamie is smiling when he steps into the hallway. His hair is wet, probably from the shower, and held back by that silly little headband of his. He’s wearing a ridiculously bright orange hoodie and obnoxious colorful sneakers. Everyone else would look absolutely ridiculous in this get-up. Jamie makes it work. It must be some kind of superpower. 

Or maybe he’s just so unfairly fit that it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing. Even naked he looks phenomenal.

Stop thinking about him naked, that’s what got you into this mess.

“Oh, hi!” 

He’s so nonchalant, so casual when his eyes meet her’s across the hall. And really, why wouldn’t he be? What they had was casual. A one-night thing, no strings attached. Just two slightly broken people finding solace in each other. That was all it was supposed to be at least.

(Y/N) feels the weight of the secret resting so heavy on her shoulders, she’s sure she’ll collapse underneath it any second now. 

“Jamie, hi. Uh — can we talk?” 

“Sure, ‘bout what? Are you pregnant or something?” 

He says it with a smile, not giving a single thought to the fact that his joke might be no joke at all but the honest to god truth.

(Y/N) on the other hand, feels like someone doused her in ice water, just poured it all over her. Her hands are clammy, breathing shallow, heart racing. Maybe she’ll get that heart attack after all.

When she doesn’t answer, doesn’t laugh, Jamie’s eyes grow wide in return. Though his reputation might make you believe otherwise, he’s quite quick in putting two and two together. At least in this situation. He doesn’t look happy, that much she expected, but he doesn’t look upset either. He just looks shocked. There is nothing but pure disbelief on his face. The cocky smirk has dropped, now his mouth is opening and closing trying to produce words as his head is trying to process the information he just figured out.

“Do you want to go discuss this somewhere more private?” 

Of all the places to tell someone they got you pregnant, the hallway at his workplace might not be the more desirable. 

A pale-faced Jamie nods his head, his eyes distant and glassy. She knows the feeling, has been there just a few days ago. That’s his whole life playing like a movie in his head right there, now with added scenes of a small child with his eyes. Oh god, she hopes the baby gets his eyes.

Jamie drags her into a small room off of the main hallway. Cubicle cupboards line the walls, filled with shoes and boxes. Orange and bright green and yellow. Every possible color of the rainbow, they have a pair of shoes to match in here. The smell though? The smell has her gagging. Sweat and cold cigarette smoke. It’s disgusting. 

“Oh god, Jamie. This is disgusting.” 

“It’s the boot room. ‘s where we keep the boots — and people come here to smoke.” 

“They come here to smoke? On purpose? Like they chose to spend time in here?” 

Jamie absentmindedly nods his head. He’s so pale-looking (Y/N) fears he might just pass out any minute now. 

“Jamie, are you okay? Do you want to sit down?” 

His eyes start to focus again, looking straight at her. He’s terrified and quite honestly, she can’t blame him. Confusion and fear are all she’s felt for the last few days. A bit of excitement too, sure. But mostly the first two.

“Yeah. No. I mean yes. I guess? No. I — fuck.” 

Nervously he combs his fingers through his damp hair as if to calm himself down. Is that something his parents did to him when he was a kid? A motion of comfort? There is so much she doesn’t know about this man. If he decides that he wants to stick around, can this ever work? Can you raise a child with someone you hardly know and not completely fuck them up? 

“Is it mine, then? Are you sure about that?”

“No, I just like going around scaring people into believing they got me pregnant. Yes, Jamie! I am 100% certain.” 

His hands fly up in defense “Jesus, sorry. I don’t know your sexual history. You had sex with me after a funeral, don’t know how much you get around, now do I?” 

She had expected him to ask if it’s his, hell anyone probably would, but there’s something about his tone that is just so off-putting. The accusation that swings along with his words. The judgment. As if he is in any place to talk.

“Oh get off your high horse, dickhead. We both made that decision after the funeral. Didn't hear you complain. And out of the two of us, It’s not me who fucked a girl in a hot tub on national television. Eurgh” 

“You alright?” 

“No, this room is making me gag. I assume this is bad under normal circumstances but this pregnancy situation has my sense of smell going through the roof. This is killing me.” 

“Well, why didn’t you say nothing?! We could’ve gone somewhere else.” 

“I just wanted to — eurgh— I just wanted to get this over with.” 

“Let me get you out of —” 

“No, let me just say this real quick and then I’m off.” 

She’s prepared this speech a million and one times in a million and one ways. It always worked out fine but then again, her audience was just her cat and the mirror. Having Jamie look at her, a mix of concern and shock still on his face, that’s a whole different story.

“I am having this baby and I would like for you to be a part of their life, but I accept if you say no. Just know that whatever you decide, that’s final. I can’t have you running off and then coming back in a few years regretting your decision and wanting to be a parent after all. And I most definitely will not allow you to say you’re in and then give up on the baby halfway through. I had a parent like that, I will not have my child go through the same thing. I don’t need your decision now just — make up your mind and make sure you’re 100% certain. Here uh— “

Trying to hold her breath so as to not breathe in any more of the foul smell, (Y/N) rummages through her purse before pulling out a small piece of paper.

“They don’t usually do ultrasounds that early but I made friends with the nurse as I was waiting and they allowed me to get one and see the baby. Don’t really see shit on here if I’m being honest but apparently that blob is our child.” 

Jamie takes the picture, his eyes moving between the image and back to her, down to her stomach then back to the picture. It’s like his head and his eyes are trying to cope with the fact that there is a real baby growing inside her. His baby.

“I just thought you might want to have this, if not just throw it away. I’m not trying to manipulate or guilt you into anything. Let me know when you’ve made a decision. You know where I live and Rebecca has my number just ask her for it — I gotta get out of here. Eurgh.” 

And while an overwhelmed Jamie sinks to the floor of the boot room, ultrasound picture clutched in one hand while the other nervously combs through his hair, (Y/N) throws up in the bin by the front door. 

There are 3 things (Y/N) knows for certain. One of them is that Michelle Pfeiffer as Stephanie Zinone in Grease 2 is the coolest person in the world. The second one is that decaf coffee kinda sucks. And 3 is that whoever is knocking on her door at 9:15 tonight, disrupting her rewatch of Grease 2 better has a good reason to do so if they want to keep their head attached to their body.

Slowly she’s dragging herself towards the door. Today was exhaustion enough both physically and mentally, she really doesn’t need the stress of an unannounced visitor. Not when she’s dressed in an old, oversized Hardrock Cafe shirt, bike shorts, and those ridiculous yellow slippers she got on her last trip to Disney that look like Minnie Mouse’s shoes.

“I’m coming, Jesus — “ 

“I don’t know shit about babies.” 

Jamie looks different as he stands before her on her front steps, hair messy and flat against his head, wearing a big grey sweater. Gone is all the charming confidence and the mischievous smirks. He’s all sad eyes and shy smiles. He reminds (Y/N) of a sad, beaten puppy. She almost feels bad for him. Almost. That’s until the words that just fell from his lips really register in her mind.

“You could’ve just texted me you’re not interested. Didn’t have to come here, really.” 

“What? No, I am! “

“You just said —” 

“I said I don’t know shit about babies. Cause I don’t. But I’m not gonna run off.”

“You won’t?”

Jamie has never looked so genuine, so serious as in that moment and it sends a weird feeling through (Y/N). She didn’t have any expectations in him. You can’t really have those if you don’t even know the person. Sure, she hoped he would take interest in her and the baby but things truly could’ve gone either way. To hear him say that he wants to step up and be there, that’s a feeling she can’t really put into words.

“Can we uh — can I come in? Your neighbor is staring at me.” 

(Y/N) opens the door to let Jamie pass before leaning outside and facing the house next door. Sure enough, old Mrs. Hartley is standing by her window, eyes trained on (Y/N)’s front door. Jesus fucking Christ, do these people not have their own lives? 

The small pink couch looks even smaller with Jamie’s broad frame perched in the corner. He’s holding onto the fluffy white pillow as if he needs some kind of buoy to keep him afloat.

“Do you want tea or something?” 

“Do you have beer?” 

She only raises an eyebrow in response and points to her stomach. 

“Right. Pregnant. Forgot about that for a second, sorry. “

Oh, the privilege of getting to forget about that. 

“I have water, ginger ale, and apple juice.” 

Jamie screws his face in repulsion. If there is one thing she’s learned about Jamie Tartt in the limited time they’ve spent together, it’s that his emotions are always so clearly reflected on his face. She’s not sure he knows exactly how expressive he really is.

“I’m good. Here, I actually brought you some stuff.” 

As she sits down on the couch next to him, Jamie holds out a Tesco bag to her filled to the brim with stuff. 

“What’s all this?” 

He looks bashful, almost shy as he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. 

“Just some stuff for your nausea. Google said anything ginger helps so I got these lollies. Also sour candy and crackers. Not sure if it works but I felt so bad seeing you earlier and knowing it's kinda my fault, innit?."

It's such a sweet sentiment that (Y/N) can feel the tears gathering on her waterline. Maybe Jamie is the kind of person she can call when in need. Maybe he can become that person.

"That's very sweet Jamie, oh there's more."

It's a small box with two even smaller socks, so tiny it almost seems impossible that a human being can have such small feet. 

"Saw them and couldn't stop thinking about how cute they were and then I couldn’t stop imagining our baby being so tiny and wearing them and, yeah.” 

“They’re adorable, Jamie. Thank you.” 

His words wrap around her heart like vines. Taking root. Blooming. 

“Our baby”. The thought of having a baby is still so foreign to her. Her own baby, her child. Hearing Jamie call it theirs sends a flutter of feelings through her. Their baby. Part her and part Jamie.

“So what I meant earlier is that I don’t know shit about babies. None of my friends have babies, I have no siblings and all my cousins are around my age so I never really had experience with babies. I know they’re cute and I know they poop a lot. “

“They are pretty cute.”

“Yeah, and our baby?” he says and motions between the two of them “‘s gonna be the cutest fucking baby of all time. It’s genetics.”

The matter-of-fact tone in which he says it pulls a laugh from (Y/N). He does have a point though.

“I am not going to lie, I'm extremely unprepared for this. For being a — a dad.” 

There’s a bitterness there, a heaviness. Maybe Dad is as sharp and as cutting a concept to Jamie as Mum is to (Y/N). 

“Don’t have a dad. Well, I do but he’s right asshole, isn’t he. So I got no idea how to be good at this, had no one to show me. I’ll try though. I want to be different. I need to be. Promised myself when I was a kid that I was not going to be like him, ever.”

“I understand that, trust me Jamie I really do. But I need you to be sure that you want that. I don’t want you to stay around because of some misplaced sense of duty. I want you to want this.” 

"Didn't think I did. When you told me and you gave me an out I wanted to take it. But then I kept looking at that picture, can’t make out anything on it by the way but that doesn’t matter, I kept looking at it and that part of me. That's my baby and I couldn't live with meself if I gave up on it. On you. A lot of people have given up on me in my life and I resent them for it. I can't be the one giving up now, can I? I'm better than that."

She doesn't even realize the tears have found their way out until Jamie's face fills with concern. "Oh no, I didn't mean to make you cry or nothing."

"They're happy tears, I think. I'm really scared, Jamie. Knowing that I don't have to do this all by myself, that helps a bit."

"I promise I'll try to be the best at this. I'll even rub your feet if they're hurting and I fucking hate feet."

Leave it to Jamie to put the humor back into even the most serious and tense of conversations.

"You don't have to rub my feet, that's okay. I do think we should get to know each other better though, now that we're gonna be raising a child together. I know hardly anything about you."

"Uh, you know plenty about me. You know I'm fit, obviously. You know I have great hair. I'm good at football, fucking ace actually. Also sexually."

That little shit has the audacity to wink. it should be annoying. It's weirdly charming though.

"And now you also know that I'm gonna try my best to be good at this. Hey, when the baby is here can I get one of them kangaroo pouch thingies and take them to training with me?"

"Kangaroo pouch? You mean a baby carrier?"

"Yes, that! Strap it to my chest while I do my warm-up."

"You are not taking our baby to training with you, are you insane?"

"I'm joking, Jesus. Would look fucking cool though, maybe get us matching sunglasses. Hats too. Baby icon."

"Oh my god, you know what, maybe this is a bad idea after all."

But it's not, she doesn't mean that. Jamie knows it and (Y/N) knows that he knows. For the first time since those two lines appeared, it feels like she can breathe easy again if even just for a moment. Things will be hard, no doubt but at least she can share it with someone. And it's just an added bonus that someone never fails to put a smile on her face.

"What are you watching there anyway?" Jamie asks, nodding his head towards the tv.

"Grease 2."

"They made a second one? Is it good?"

"No, it's terrible. I love it."

"See," Jamie chimes up, a small genuine smile.on his lips "learned something new about you. The mother of my child loves bad movies. This getting to know each other plan is going so well already."

And while it is a joke, there's also a flicker of truth to it. It's the little things that make us who we are. Like our love for bad movies or our desire to be better than our parents before us.

"Do you wanna stay and watch it with me?"

"Can we start from the beginning?"

"Obviously"

"Then yes! Give me one of them ginger lollies please."

They spent the next few hours watching Grease 2 followed by the first because - well it's just right to watch them both, really. It doesn't feel forced or awkward. This is not two strangers trying to bond for the sake of their child. This is a genuine friendship in the making. It feels wonderful. They exchange numbers, birthdays, favorite colors. It’s all very superficial information but it’s a start and it’s easy. This whole situation is hard enough, sometimes easy is just what you need.

The clock says 12:03 when Jamie decides it's time to go home. 

Just as he is about to leave, one foot already out the door, he turns back with curious eyes.

"Do you know how big the baby is?"

"Uh, no. Pretty tiny I think."

"They didn't tell you what fruit size?"

"Fruit size?"

"Yeah like, it's as big as a strawberry now or something."

(Y/N) shakes her head in response "I think they mostly do that in American movies."

Jamie looks deflated for a fracture of a second before he lightens up again and one of those rare smiles takes over his face. The one that makes him look so boyish and excitable. Like a fucking golden retriever.

"That's okay. I'll find out."

"You do that. Let me know what you find. Have a good night Jamie."

"You too!" Then his eyes move to her stomach "And you too baby."

God, he can be so adorable it's absolutely sickening.

As she lays in bed, (Y/N) thinks back to just the night before. To the anxiety and the fear. To all the what-ifs that ghosted through her head. That seems like a whole lifetime ago and even though a lot of those fears are still present, they get overshadowed tonight. By the knowledge that she's not alone. And by the absolute sunshine that is Jamie Tartt. 

Just before she closes her eyes, her phone dings with a notification. 

Her hand comes to rest gently on her stomach. There’s no change there yet, absolutely no sign of a baby growing in there at this very moment. And yet she knows and that makes all the difference. 

In a voice, soft like silk, she whispers “Daddy says goodnight”. It’s cheesy, outright sickening but in the dark of the night, who is there to judge her for it? Sometimes you have to let yourself be ridiculous and cringy if your heart demands it.

That night she doesn't fall asleep to fear and anxiety. That night she falls asleep with a smile on her face. 

[jilyawards]

The Jily Fandom Rec List 2024 is a compilation of Jily stories our readers want to keep an eye on for this year's awards.

MAY

All The Lonely People (Where Do They All Come From?) (WIP, 4.9k as of 31 May 2024) by @nodirectionhome-ao3. Rated M.

James Potter is a Ministry agent. Lily Evans is a disrupter. But Lily is gone...a figment of the past... Or so James thinks.

Risky Behaviour (completed, 1k) by @jamesunderwater. Rated M.

Lily is determined not to get distracted during rounds again. Written for @jilymicrofics Mystery Microfic May Prompt 27: Risk

Sweet Seventeen (completed, <1k) by @jamesunderwater. Rated G.

James is dating an older woman. She loves snow. He loves... well, it's too soon to say it.

here lies (completed, 4.4k) by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Rated T.

“Were we expecting you?” He looks slightly horrified, as if he’s forgotten an important appointment, and turns to his wife for help. “I’m sorry if— “No, dear.” Euphemia shakes her head, moving toward him and running a smoothing hand through his mop of messy, white hair. “Lily here was just depositing our highly inebriated son.” “Oh, that’s rather charitable of her.” [or: James can't hold his drink, or his affections]

the same rule applies to goodness and grief (completed, 3.6k) by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Rated T.

“I need your assurance that if this all goes tits up and you end up dead, you’re not gonna haunt me for stealing your family.” “I’m starting to question whether your concern for my safety is genuine.” “Just can’t help it, Prongs. World's cutest baby. You and stupid Evans. Beautiful people. I hate you both.” “Good night, Sirius,” says Lily, shaking her head in laughter. [or: James is starting to worry Lily so she calls in reinforcements]

maybe it was egos swinging (maybe it was her) (completed, 11.1k) by @apalapucian. Rated T.

james starts rolling his shoulders, wincing. "jesus, evans." "back at ya," says lily, testing her wrists. "ever heard of taking it easy?" "with you? never." "can’t believe you’d use confringo on me." "knew you'd block it," he says. "can’t believe you’d use depulso." she shrugs, grinning. "knew you'd block it." (or: seventh-year, auror-aspirant, academic rivals, head boy and head girl james and lily.)

Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Inmates (WIP, 24.3k as of 31 May 2024) by @themaraudershavethephonebox. Rated T.

At eighteen, Lily Evans learned she had a soulmate. June seventh she woke up with scrawled text over her ribcage that could not come off in the shower no matter how hard she scrubbed, or with the wipes her mother used to get pen ink out of her father’s clothes, nor the acetone her sister used to remove her nail varnish. Lily Evans still believed in love, in magic. That she could fly. But the universe would not be calling the shots when it came to it fuck you very much.

Love for the Summer (WIP, 51.9k as of 31 May 2024) by @missgryffin. Rated E.

It's the summer after sixth year, Lily Evans is realizing she fancies James Potter, and James has Sirius Black's motorbike to thank for getting Lily out of the friend zone.

The Loyal Companion: A Tale of Bad Dates and Good Whiskey (WIP, 10.7k as of 31 May 2024) by @sophie-hatter-jenkins. Rated M.

Lily Evans endures a series of disastrous first dates at her new favourite bar, The Loyal Companion. Still, at least the whiskey is good. And the bartender is cute. Not her type though. Nope, definitely not.

Just the Two of Us (completed, 10.2k) by @arianatwycross. Rated T.

Head Students James and Lily face a perilous twist when a malicious potion surfaces in hate mail directed at Lily. Dumbledore orders a week-long quarantine in the Head Students' suite. With unspoken crushes lingering, the duo navigates close quarters, leading to unexpected revelations, lingering looks and forehead kisses.

silence and patience, pining in anticipation (completed, 1.2k) by @kay-elle-cee. Rated T.

Lily’s been hung up on James for years; a tipsy conversation might be the push she needs to do something about it.

A Heart of Coal (completed, 8.6k) by @wearingaberetinparis. Rated T.

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side. Written for the March Jily Challenge. Prompt: A curse will strike on A's birthday and that can only be undone by a dragon’s fire, true love's kiss or a fairy's tears. None of those three even exist, or do they?

meet you there (completed, 7.8k) by flagpoles. Rated M.

Lily Evans to James Potter: why is this bar called the horse and carriage btw James Potter: romantic gesture from binns for his ex wife James Potter: it was their nicknames for each other. wish i was joking Lily Evans: fuck me i would also divorce a guy who nicknamed me carriage James Potter: believe it or not she was horse Lily Evans: well christ // they work in a bar and things are going completely fine, actually

Check out the previous months' recs too: January, February, March || April

Happy reading!

[whumpitisthen]

A True Sacrifice

It's an exceptionally quiet day at the facility today. The corridors are empty, the guards are sparse and the cafeteria buzzes with a nervous anticipation.

The slop the staff have the gall to call food has never been quite this well received. While usually most of the captives find distracting each other with idle chatter more pleasant than chowing down on the watery stew, today no one even looks another in the eyes. Everyone is hunched over their own trays and concentrate on only that, whispering to their neighbouring chairs if they must. No one is absent.

He sits at the end of a mostly empty table, watching two women share worried looks, looking over their shoulders for danger. The guards stand at attention, a serious look on all their faces. The black armoured uniforms and powerful looking rifles, while not exactly unexpected to see, are certainly an upgrade to the batons and the lighter padded outfits they usually have on. They do not communicate with each other either, only murmur into their radios once in a while, keeping their concealed eyes trained on the inmates.

He had heard too, of course. He heard about what is meant to go down today.

He has learned to both love and despise things like this — uncommon things. On the one hand, every day is the exact same — same food, same chores, same tests, same abuse. Unpleasant and mind-numbingly boring; and so when something scary enough happens that even the guards don their full security gear, he finds a particular interest in the careful air that settles over them.

On the other hand, nothing good ever comes from disorder. Not when everyone is warned in advance for an upcoming 'event'. Not when nearly every doctor, assistant and low ranking security officer has left the building, and only the most highly trained special forces remain, locked in a room with all the prisoners. Not when the name of that creature is mentioned in the report.

There are many unexplainable phenomena that exist between these four walls. Some of them are harmless, simply illogical items that humanity does not understand just yet, and so they keep them here until they do. A lot of them are harmful, yet not fully understood, so they are kept for examination as well as safety concerning the rest of the world. There are even some creatures, some that seem friendly or non-violent at worst, but are nevertheless held here for the nature of their bodies or their abilities or whatever else the scientists deem them unfit to be let free for.

And then some of them are downright dangerous, evil beings. Ones who need to be kept locked up and closely monitored, because all they know is destruction. Ones that find their purpose in deliberately hurting humans or anything living. Efficient killers, chaotic entities, spirits of another time or even dimension who almost resemble humans, but are twisted in their minds, harming those they meet, even if hurting isn't their intention. Plagues, contained disasters, beasts, hypnotic objects, a hive mind. He has been lucky enough not to be sent to visit any of them so far. He has heard horror stories from some of the older, more experienced prisoners, and was allowed to read some of their files every once in a while by a doctor who seemed just as fascinated by these things as him. Just the thought of being in the vicinity of some of these subjects sends a violent chill down his spine.

Well, he has been lucky so far. Maybe he will remain lucky enough to avoid today's guest as well?

The lights flicker, and any idle noise that may have existed before then is sucked out of the air. Every captive is frozen stiff, hesitantly jerking their heads in all directions wide-eyed, looking for guidance. He, for one. chooses to lean on his elbows and hunch over, walking through a prayer in his head. He can feel it approaching.

He had read the note left on his wall over and over; a small, torn, yellowed piece of paper with dark spots and browning ink. Unsure of who could have left it there, he settled on it being a normal occurrence in this place, and that maybe one of the friendlier creatures decided to leave him with some advice. He hopes it's advice, anyway.

"It exists in laws set by your kind only as long as it remains entertained. It has been knocking on its door for a week, louder every day. Its observers are terrified!

Tomorrow, it will ask for more entertainment."

The lights flicker again, three times in a row, and now people are starting to panic. Everyone was told to stay still, quiet and calm — if they want to survive. Normal people would at least question that casual threat on their lives, but most prisoners here have already learned that if you are ordered to follow such strange rules that come from the researchers, there is most definitely a very good reason you were, and should do your best to do as they say. If they tell you you cannot, say, look inside an inconspicuous red book with a gash on its cover set on a pedestal in the middle of the cell it's placed in, you better not, because chances are, someone before you has, and whatever happened to them was bad enough to warrant a warning for those that follow. He, regrettably, has had first-hand experience with that one. The things he saw on those pages still haunt him to this day, mixing into vivid night terrors every time he closes his eyes. He hasn't disobeyed anyone since then.

Despite all that, warnings are truly useless when primal instincts take over. He can pick out a couple of people starting to break down in fear, who are promptly held close by other captives — not entirely out of worry for them, more so out of concern for the collective them. It's best to help out the weak link in case their own skins are on the line and they become collateral damage because of one idiot who couldn't just sit still like he was told.

The guard closest to him talks into his radio, and in the quiet, he can pick out that even the soldier's voice is shaking with nerves. He wonders if all these armoured, scary looking guys will even be able to do anything if shit hits the fan. This doesn't seem like the kind of experiment that can be fixed with some guns and ammo if it goes wrong. If it was, there would be hundreds of the guys and the doctors would at least be present in the vicinity. They must be here for another reason; maybe to observe what happens inside while the scientists are away.

One thing they were all told was that once the lights go out, it will enter the room, and that once it does, everyone is absolutely prohibited from moving or reacting to anything at all until the lights are back on. No exceptions. They were told to just squeeze their eyes shut, keep their lips sealed and bear it until it's over. If they can do that, nothing will happen to them.

Then they were told that one of them won't make it out.

That's when it all came together in his head. He knows exactly which creature will visit today. He knows why it's visiting and how horrible the consequences of being picked by it are. He knows exactly what that note meant.

This is a subject that cannot be contained. Not by humans, not by any specific material, not by any spell or limit or whatever else. It has no weakness to be exploited, nor does it have a special connection to anything that could be manipulated. It exists outside of the laws set for people in this world, including but not limited to the very laws of physics. The only reason it remains here and obeys the rules of the facility is because it is playful and conceited, and it fancies a bit of fun more than senseless, endless tyranny over this world. It likes messing with people, hurting them and distressing them greatly with its presence. It finds humans fascinating. It is confident they cannot do anything about its existence or actions, but it finds living without consequences far too boring and predictable. No fun at all.

So, it made a deal with humans. It would act in accordance with the rules set for it by humanity for as long as they can entertain it. It will remain in its cell, it will not hurt anyone, it will not cause problems on purpose, it will not show itself at all — remaining a shadow dwelling monster instead, making it so that as long as there is light, it cannot cause mischief. All that on the principle of  playing a fair game, of course. This makes controlling it not only possible, but easy. Unless, of course, the rules of the game are not adhered to well enough. Or it decides to bend some rules or find loopholes. It would not be the first time.

The price? A sacrificial lamb. It will be provided with one human of its choice, who it will ‘play’ with as much as it wants. However, its definition of fun and play are very different from what one might expect — it wishes only to bring that person to the very brink over and over, stretching them thinner and breaking them down to tiny pieces that it can build into something different and observe. And then, once that human breaks one too many times from the constant relentless torture and bending of the mind — if they even manage to survive for that long, — it tears them apart and demands another one. It will leave its cell to look for a new toy from the collection of prisoners provided by its captors. The deal seemed miraculously beneficial at the time to everyone, and it probably still remains so to this day. After all, what's one dead human every once in a while in exchange for control over what some believe to be the devil himself?

The young man reminisces about the note. It said the beast has been banging on its door for a week, getting louder and louder each day. It must have been getting very impatient after having finally snuffed out another life and waiting to be sent someone new. He heard it’s always a surprise when it decides it has grown bored. Sometimes it only takes a few days for the sacrifice to be tortured to death, other times it keeps its playthings around for months, slowly consuming them on a level no one could ever understand but them and their tormentor. It meticulously morphs them into something they never wanted to be and forces them into a corner by repetition and pain. It leaves him nauseous, the thought of what the poor guy who is chosen will be made to go through. This is an anomaly; there is no telling if the first chosen will even make it out of this room.

Now, the lights in the hallway leading to the cafeteria dim, flickering erratically until they finally die out one by one. It's like watching it approach in real time, not by seeing its body walk, only the darkness that follows it grow. Not long before it reaches the double doors — locked to keep everyone inside in the event of panic taking over and chaos ensuing, — he makes the conscious decision to take a deep breath and relax as much as he possibly can. He lays his head on top of the table in front of him, forehead warming the metal surface. He then surrounds himself with his arms tightly, building a little tent of warmth and protection to hopefully block out any sound or sight that may distress him. Maybe he can just completely ignore everything around him. Maybe it will be over quicker than he thinks. Maybe it won't even look his way if he can make himself small and unassuming enough, just quickly snatches up someone else and leaves right after, returning to its cell forever and he will never see it again. It's possible. That's the best he can hope for.

His heart stutters in unison with everyone else's when the last light outside goes out with a droning buzz, concealing what must be eyes peering in through the windows at the top. In the deathly silence, three slow, innocent knocks ring loud against every eardrum.

It is here. 

"May I come in?" — follows its intimidating voice soon after. A grin can be heard through its low, throaty timbre, twisted humour dripping from its tongue. It sounds like it finds the notion of obeying powerless creatures like humans amusing. Like someone pretending to be invested in playing house with their niece, struggling to keep a straight face as they play along in something so juvenile.

None of the guards react, while the captives only plant their hands firmer to their mouths. You'd have to be some special kind of stupidly arrogant to think anything you say will be taken seriously by this thing. He supposes if such arrogance exists, it would be found among the head professors here. They must think themselves deities to be fucking around with supernatural destructive entities like this one without fear.

To his surprise, the hesitant footsteps of the guard next to him reach his ears, fading towards the entrance. Are they actually going to open the door for it? A tremendous amount of concentration is required to squash any thoughts coalescing in his brain of making a run for it and slipping out through the door while it's unlocked. Even if he somehow miraculously got through it, what would it solve? He would get shot before he makes it that far, and if not, then he will be running right into the clutches of a monster. Nevertheless, his desperate mind tries convincing itself that there is a way out of this.

"Aw, really now... Is there no one willing to play with me? I'll behave, I promise," — it all but whines, but he can feel its impatience growing. He has never been more aware of the hairs on the back of his neck than now as they prickle and lift with the shiver that runs down his back. Maybe it is for the best that one of the security officers grew a pair and decided to join in on the game of pretend, if only so it will stop hauntingly musing and clawing at that damn door. — "Oh! Hello there, little one. Are you lost?"

The guard says nothing in response, completely ignoring its mockery. He hears the keycard sliding into its slot on the wall, unlocking the doors with a sharp electric shriek. With great hesitance, and an audible inhale, the soldier reaches for the horizontal bar to push down on and open up the way inside for the menacing thing, stepping off to the side in tandem with the swing of the door hinges.

As the door is pulled open, there is only a blink of massive, sharp claws latching onto it before the light bulbs inside the cafeteria explode at once, drowning everything in near complete darkness, leaving only the red hue of the emergency lighting painting the walls with bloody shadows. A small commotion breaks out, the dramatic change in surroundings managing to freak out a few people, causing a bit of a scene towards the leftmost corner from where he sits. Listening to others panic only serves to scare him more, but he manages to keep it all under his skin, trying to distract himself from his quickly rising heart rate by self soothing motions. Around and ‘round, over and over again his thumb travels the sleeve of his prison uniform. Slow circles. He concentrates on trying to do the most perfect circle he can on the smooth fabric.

The small panic is ignored by the creature for now in favour of focusing on the valiant effort from the guard who was brave enough to approach it. It must appreciate the gesture.

It breathes out a chuckle that barely sounds human at all. — "What a brave little soldier you are. Thank you for letting me in, Brandon. Lovely to see you again."

It knows the guard? As far as the prisoner knows, no one here wears name badges at all except for him and the other captives. It could be that he guards the creature's cell, and they have interacted before. Perhaps seen each other. However, that still does not explain how it could know his name when no one is allowed to talk to it.

"Tell me — is your wife still ill? Have you managed to scrape together enough money to save her yet?" — It coos at the armoured guard, enunciating each word to draw out the hurtful sentence. This seems like an incredibly intimate, serious conversation to be having right now. Something tells him that it's not that the two have been chatting away with each other when nobody's looking, more so that it just knows much more about the people residing here than it lets on. The way it phrased the question seems too mean-spirited and mocking to be genuine, and the sympathetic drawl it used was less than convincing.

"Now, what is that expression for? I'm merely curious." — The guard must gesture or nod in some way, because though he says nothing in response, the prisoner can hear the heavy, languid steps of the creature entering the cafeteria finally, huffing in dramatic annoyance. That grin does not leave its mouth. — "Alright, alright. Don't let me distract you from your very important job."

The doors close and the telltale buzzer of the lock sliding back into place seals the fate of each captive in the room.

For the first time since it got here, it finally acknowledges the presence of the crowd of people anticipating their possible deaths sitting in neat rows at long lines of tables. He can only hope no one is dumb enough to act out; there is no telling what it will do if it is displeased. — "Awe, just look at you all. Trembling in your boots, like newborn kittens."

As it stalks deeper into the room, he listens to Brandon move back to his position next to him. He catches the clicking of his armour sheets knocking into each other from his shivering, despite him standing completely still. Even through the mask it's obvious how hard he is trying to keep it together, taking long, deep breaths in order to keep calm. The captive wonders if it was an allotted job to open the door for the creature, or if he really just thought it best to play along with its games.

"No need to be so scared… After all, I'm the most harmless thing in this facility. Perfectly contained and controlled. Predictable!" — It bangs on one of the tables right after 'predictable', jerking everyone in the cafeteria terribly. It giggles to itself in delight. Despite the warning the prisoners received about not reacting to anything it does, it has yet to punish failure to follow rules. And truthfully, everyone flinched, including the security personnel surrounding the room. It pauses, glancing from prisoner head to prisoner head, then passes over the guards once, waiting a good few seconds before continuing. — "You are all so well-behaved — were you expecting me? Did you know I would come out to play today?"

The way it saunters through the room like it belongs anywhere near here is almost disorienting. Somehow he is the one who feels like he doesn't belong. And truly, he doesn't. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time on that fateful day. He wouldn't be here if that one guard didn't see him sneaking out of his cell a few weeks ago. He would be free, finishing up university and truly starting out his adult life. He wishes every day for a miracle, but he doesn't even know what kind of miracle would be able to save him. One that could destroy this whole damn building, let everyone who was kidnapped against their will free, while also trapping all the abnormal, dangerous curiosities and experiments it holds safely deep below the surface.

The next time the thing speaks, its voice comes from a radically different direction from where he heard its footsteps leading. — "I did warn them in advance... It can't be that I frightened them so much they ran off, can it? There is not another soul in this whole place but us, little lambs."

A sharp gasp and a sob, somewhere to his far right. There is the subtle whisper of the uniforms the captives wear, the noise it makes as it is twisted. It has someone. Has it grabbed them? He wants to see what's happening so bad, but he wants to stay alive more. He keeps his head down and his eyes shut. — "It's so nice of them to leave me such a lovely gift."

"No, please, please — "

"It's just unfortunate that they had wasted my time — and yet more unfortunate that they didn't even come to watch me some more, as they so like to do."

It must have made its choice. He prepares himself for the death wail and desperate pleading of the poor soul, expecting the monster to latch into them and drag them away back to its own cell soon. He tries to plug his ears and curl up as tight as possible, to somehow block out the terrible, traumatising event and be glad it wasn't him that was chosen. What a morbid, inhumane thought. The only thing more shameful than being happy for another's misfortune is the fact he feels absolutely no shame for thinking like that.

“Hmm… I was really looking forward to showing them this."

The screech of agony comes and grows in volume so quickly he barely has time to jam his fingers deeper into his ears before it ends. Abruptly. A sickening crunch and a splash of liquid hitting the linoleum floor, then silence. Deathly silence. No one dares to utter a word. What happened? Is it over? He certainly won't be the one to risk asking.

Long enough goes by for one of his fellow captives to ask instead of him, tears audible in her voice. He would be lying if he wasn't close to bawling as well. — "I-Is it over?" — comes the innocent whisper. When her voice isn't immediately answered with violence and death, he dares to open up his fingers just a little to look through the cracks. She would not have been able to even finish that sentence if it wasn't over, right?

He sees a massive shadow cross the room right in front of him, blocking out the red light beating down on his face for only a split second. It moved inhumanely fast. It was inhumanely tall. It also had at least three more pairs of long limbs than a human would, each ending in too many bladed fingers.

It's gone before he could even squeeze his eyes shut again, already out of sight. It moves rapidly and without a sound — a horrible chill freezes his body in place at the primal fear that takes hold of him. He prays it didn't catch him flinching so violently.

Right after he concludes that it is definitely not gone yet, it answers the question for her, —

"I am afraid I am not done just yet."

The same woman who spoke up now screams for her life, her desperate cry only overpowered by the creature's demented laughter as it tears her apart without as much as another word. All that remains is the latter half of her corpse, fallen to the ground with a dull, final thud. This is bad, this is very bad. It must have killed its first chosen as well, — is he just meant to sit there until his turn comes? Just hope that his shivering and gasping of terror won't be too loud for it to end him? How long is he meant to stay like this?

Its long, deep sigh is filled to the brim with contentment. — "You break so easily..."

A shot goes off then, deafening like the screeching, roaring guffaws it lets out as it bends to dodge the bullet, leaping away into a corner swiftly. It clicks its tongue, probably at the one who shot at it. Its voice drops to a low growl that resembles the purr of a carnivore. — "Aww, did I break a rule? Did I make the big, scary humans angry?"

More shots follow in rapid succession, exploding from all angles, more and more of the guards lifting their respective guns to join in. Now the captives are made to scream from the added stress, frightened not only by the creature's antics, but from the gunfire as well. Some almost hope to get shot rather than ripped in twain by it. If any bullets reach at all they do not hurt it, as the only reaction it gives is uncontrollable laughter and mockery.

Worst of all, he can't even tell who's still alive anymore. Between the bullets and the creature roaming the floor, there's no way nobody is caught in the crossfire. A stray bullet catches his shoulder, singing his skin on its way. He cries out, gripping at it, but luckily it is more busy jumping from prisoner to prisoner to use them as living shields than with punishing them for their understandable reactions one by one. Something sounds almost bitter in its voice as it speaks between the rain of bullets.

"You almost got me!"

A muffled cry and the sound of a heavy rifle hitting the floor.

"Go on, make me obey!"

Ripping of armour, of flesh.

"Show me how scary you can be!"

Something bangs on the table in front of him with a sickening crunch.

"Oh, you shot your own. How sad."

In the end, when the fire dies down and silence stretches between drips of blood, no one dares to say a word. Whoever is still alive has either passed out from injuries or overstimulation, or has receded so deep inside their own minds that they still twitch and quake at echoes of long gone fire. He feels closer to the latter, unable to even move an inch if he tried, ears ringing like a church bell.

The room now strongly smells of gunpowder and blood. Most of the soldiers are dead, only a couple hiding away in corners, injured or just terrified, and a single one standing stock still, hands clasped tightly around his gun. He can hear him gasping for air.

It wanders between the corpses as if it was skipping through a meadow of flowers. It seems just as peaceful too.

"Mmm..." — It stops somewhere in the middle of the room, cocking its head to the side. It coughs out a snicker. — "Now you seem disappointed in me."

It's talking to someone again, but who? He's sure he's the only one left conscious after all that. His toes curl with the thought that it is talking to him.

"Oh, could it be?" — It sounds giddy, growing louder, condescending. It stretches every syllable threateningly, playful. His guts tie themselves in knots at its awful tone. — "I can hear you, Doctor! Brandon, you didn't tell me you had her on the line!"

If he concentrates, he can just barely pick out the tiny voice yelling orders at Brandon from his radio. He is obviously not following them, clutching that heavy piece of metal in his hands like his last lifeline, hugging it close instead of defending himself with it. He does not move, but the creature doesn't mind walking closer to him instead, kicking corpses out of the way nonchalantly. — "She has caught it all, has she? Doctorrrr, why didn't you show up today? I was looking forward to seeing you."

It is coming closer again, closer to Brandon most likely. He wonders just what in the actual hell this guy did to have made friends with something like it. One wrong move is enough for it to tear out your throat, and yet it treats him like a dear friend compared to everyone else. The tip of his rifle still burns from all the lead he shot its way prior to it killing off most of his colleagues.

The radio has become suspiciously quiet.

"You left me this delicious gift, but didn't even come to see me? Brandon, tell her to come visit me!" — It is right next to him, talking to Brandon — it's just his luck that he managed to sit next to the murder demon's only buddy.

Brandon says nothing. It's voice darkens then, purring out these words, — "I truly would have loved to see you today, doctor. It's a shame you weren't here. I would have been more than happy to let you join in on the fun. I would have loved to show you the consequences of your carelessness in person."

The radio sparks to life again, her voice coming hurriedly, — yelling at Brandon to shoot it now now now — but not much more makes it out before it grips the black box and tears it off of the guard, whispering right into it to make sure the one on the other side listens well, — “Next time you need someone to test your new toys out on, make sure they actually work before you piss me off. See you on Monday, love.”

Whichever scientist it is talking to starts yelling again, voice distorting with the steadily increasing pressure it uses to crush the small device in its hand. The last dying static that makes it out of the speaker is snuffed out viciously, causing both other men to flinch when it shoves the thing into the wall right next to Brandon's head, shattering it to pieces and letting the plastic shards fall to the blood covered floor. It's silent once again.

So the fuckers were watching. Of course they were, nothing happens in this godforsaken place without their knowledge. However, what the demon meant was clear — the scientists have displeased it by making it wait despite their agreement, angered it when they didn't even come in to witness its retribution in person out of cowardice — proving they knew fully well they had messed up — and then made it furious when they opened fire as soon as it began doling out more pain than they thought it should. All that, banking on these new weapons being sufficient enough to stop it. It’s all clear to him now — it decided to hold this horrifying spectacle as a punishment and as a warning in response to the arrogance that had let the researchers slip up and forget their place. Now, of course, the ones paying for it are people like him, with no control over the situation, not people like that doctor watching from a safe distance from what must be another lab, or even her own home, free of all consequences for her rash actions.

Well, free for now. He doubts it will forget her disrespect come Monday. If he was in her place, he would quit and never return.

"What do you think, my darling Brandon? Shall I make the message more prominent?" — Its spine creaks like a firecracker. He imagines the massive thing hovering over the cornered soldier with a scary grin, daring him to shoot it so it can make him regret he was ever born in the blink of an eye. The last bastion of this toy castle, standing between a wall and a creature that could tear down this entire building, if only it wanted to.

No shots are fired, no screams are heard. A loud metallic bang on the floor — Brandon dropping his weapon. The creature hums a pleasant sound after nearly a minute of unsettling eye-contact and only the sound of their own breathing, finally snickering and backing off of the terrified guard. It seems satisfied. — “Atta boy. I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Brandon’s quivering lips part behind the mask of his helmet, letting past a shaky exhale. He pushes himself back further, searching for balance on the wall behind him with his knees feeling like they could buckle at any moment. Though he is a special case, he is far from immune to the vicious whims of the horrific creature.

The monster begins wandering the room once again, surveying the darkness for prisoners that may still be alive. Its demeanour has changed, though; it seems much more irritable, less playful. It is no longer hiding its heavy footsteps, and it no longer taunts and mocks neither Brandon, nor anyone else. He doesn't know if the change is a good or a bad thing. He's only glad it hadn't noticed him yet.

It finds a possible candidate for itself  but kills them off in the same moment when said candidate jumps to their feet in a blind panic and tries to run from it. It sends an arm through their abdomen, lifting them up towards the ceiling and tossing them into a wall, no doubt shattering their spine and killing them. The way it kills does not become any less terrifying, no matter how many times he has to listen to bones crack and flesh rip. It sighs, moving on. — “Disappointing. Awfully disappointing.”

Another life snuffed out not a minute later — it's almost dismissive with how carelessly it sends bodies flying through the air like puppets. No one seems to be able to satisfy it. It’s like it has lost interest in playing along. That isn't exactly surprising, if he thinks about it. If he was such an all-powerful, menacing beast with no kryptonite, and his fun was ruined by the people he had made a deal with out of boredom, he probably wouldn't stick to the rules either, but ignore them and look for other ways to amuse himself.

However, stuck with his thoughts as he is, the only thing he could truly concentrate on is one question: what if no one will be chosen by it today? It can surely just break out of here and look for more meat, if not just completely abandon the agreement and go on a merciless hunting spree. That would be disastrous, maybe irreversible. He can only hope that if he is killed today, unable to please it, it will at least find the motherfucker who kidnapped him and kill them too. All of them.

Bodies that still have a soul in them are scarce. The mental fortitude he needs to stay so still and quiet as he listens to it smashing someone's skull into a wall just a couple tables over has become even scarcer. He's going to die here. He will. It doesn't want a prisoner like him, it just wants to destroy. No rules tie it down until the doctors repent, and to repent they might have to give their lives. It's just going to kill off each leftover prisoner one by one; probably Brandon too once it runs out of defenceless captives.

“Is this it? This is what I was made to wait for?” — It comes up behind another man and doesn't even wait for him to react, snapping his neck in one quick motion. — “What a waste of my time. This is getting more and more boring, Brandon, and you know how I get when I'm bored.”

As if demonstrating, it snaps the arm of a person lying on the ground, already injured from a gunshot just to hear them wail. Once it heard enough, it tears off the whole limb, and moves onto the next one, not letting up until their body finally gives out. The prisoner can't see any of it, but he can more than sufficiently imagine it from the horrid sounds.

He can hear frustration clear as day in its otherwise emotionless voice. This is the end. It's only a matter of time before it finds him. At least he won't be taken by it, tortured for god knows how long; and he takes solace in that. His death will be brutal, but quick. Maybe he should just get its attention and be done with it.

He considers it, but his train of thought is swiftly interrupted. — “May I make a suggestion?”

It's a timid, yet loud, hesitant voice muffled by a padded helmet. No one but silence answers it. The beast stops in its tracks, pausing for just a moment. He cannot believe he heard that right. The first thing he feels is bitterness, for he really will be left all alone when the creature eliminates this suicidal soldier before him.

“Brandonnn…” — it sings at him, a vile, dangerous melody crawling with unsaid intentions. However, to his surprise, it doesn't instantly leap across the floor to tackle the guard and behead him for breaking a rule. Instead, its eyes find Brandon, humming to him from what sounds to be across the room. It brings small relief to hear that smile having returned to its face. If nothing else, at least it's interested again.  — “You are being very brave today. You aren't supposed to speak to me, don't you know? It's very dangerous.”

It purrs at him knowingly, but doesn't pounce on him. Not yet. What could Brandon's plan be? Distraction? Self-sacrifice? Maybe the monster whisperer can find a way to calm it down after all. He holds his breath, praying that whatever the guard is about to do doesn't end in more carnage.

“Well, seeing as, uh, we're all breaking the rules, I thought I'd, I'd join in.” — It's unusual to hear a prison guard so nervous; usually they sound either bored and emotionless, or antagonistic as they drag captives off to help out with deadly experiments that are too dangerous for more important people to take part in. It's hard to feel righteous joy at listening to one of the people who routinely treats all like him as less than human finally being on the receiving end of the cruelty of a subject like this when he may be next; but he can't say it's impossible. Every stutter makes both men more anxious, and the monster more intrigued.

The creature starts walking towards him at a languid pace. The guard tenses. — “You just can't help playing with fire.” — He can almost hear Brandon's heart pounding from where he cowers. The silence is deafening. — “And what may your suggestion be?”

He hesitates to answer. It’s approaching him, now closing in on him much too quick to think clearly. Like a timer, counting down with each step towards his death. Like convincing the Grim Reaper to grant him more time.

As it steps up to him, towering over the man in a terribly intimidating fashion, he forces himself to answer it in the smallest, most strained little voice he has ever heard from a guard, — “I think you would like this one.”

The confusion is quickly overridden by terror. It can't be. Brandon can't do this to him. It's not hard to imagine what the offering could be, but he still tries to come up with a different answer. Breathing becomes a challenge. The creature's curiosity has been peaked, however. It looks towards where Brandon points with a questioning hum.

The prisoner can feel its gaze landing on him. Its voice travels towards him while it addresses the guard.

“I am very curious why you think I would.”

For a moment, hope reappears in his heart. He at the very least managed to put it in a better mood and distracted it, but that is not enough to save anyone, especially not him, now that he drew attention to him like this. Everyone is still just as stuck, but maybe a miracle could happen, and he manages to convince it to go after someone else — the doctor, for example. Whichever one pissed it off so bad.

Brandon swallows thick as he thinks of the right words to say next. The longer he talks, the more his hope of ever getting out of this in one piece diminishes. — “He, he has been behaving perfectly this whole time. He has been quiet, and still, and, and I know you like the ones that, uh… that are easy on the eyes, as well as obedient.”

The creature is laser focused on every word he says, equal parts amusement and something darker lurking beneath. — “I must say, it is nice to hear your voice. A welcome change. Keep talking for me. Convince me.”

It turns away from Brandon to scrutinise the captive’s quivering body instead, burning holes into the top of his head. Though he cannot see what's going on, he can hear it very well, and when it starts walking over to him, he gags on a sob and his breaths become irregular.

“Right, uhh — I've seen him around a lot. He's new, but he's never really been a troublemaker. He, uh, seems smart, a bookworm. A loner. I heard he was a top student at a nearby academy before he was brought here. I always see him reading reports and docs. I'm sure he's read yours too. Maybe he could be… interesting, to play with. Right?” — This was humiliating, dehumanising and evil. With every word it became harder to stay still, yet easier to lose himself in despair. Brandon is basically killing him in the most roundabout, terrifying way. It seems to be considering this option, thinking it over. — “Come on, what else…  And, uhh, I spoke to him once. I think you'd like his voice, he's got this soft, light way of speaking. Maybe it sounds good as he… screams. You know? He cries easily too. I've heard from one of the others that he's a crybaby. He isn't used to pain. His life was pretty easy as far as I know, so he bruises easily. I think he, uhh, he could… entertain you for a little bit?”

“Mmm. Is that so…” — It's behind him, it's right behind him, what is he meant to do? He no longer supports Brandon's idea, and he downright despises it once the demon starts touching him. He feels its long fingers wrap around his shoulder, teasing at his neck. It purrs as it listens to Brandon, clearly delighted by some of the things he says about him in this awful, uncomfortable, much too personal rant. — “Oh, that does sound very enticing. And he is indeed very well behaved. I barely noticed him at all.”

As it leans over him to observe from up close, he gives up entirely on trying to survive, jerking away from those awful, dangerous claws with a whimper; to the delight of the monster. He doesn't want to be chosen, he really doesn't, he can't do this, he can't — but he can't even force a single plea out of his throat. He is frozen solid, yet pliable in its embrace as it circles him, inspects him, smells him. Possibly worst of all, he can't even bring himself to be angry with Brandon. He probably would have tried something similar in his place. However painful it feels to be betrayed by someone who seemed to be on his side, it is still for the greater good to sacrifice one for the lives of many. He just never expected to be sacrificed himself. He assumed there must be another from the hundred other prisoners next to him that would be a better choice, and found crucial comfort in that.

He tries to avoid looking at it as it pulls and nags at him. Its frigid claws freeze his lungs and burn his skin. This fear is unlike anything he has ever felt before. Debilitating, primal, fit for a prey animal in the clutches of a predator. It makes alien sounds that resemble giddiness, digging through his hair eagerly, grabbing onto a stray lock and jerking it hard enough to wrench his head to the side, keeping him bent like that. Its words chill him to the bone as it murmurs into his ear. — “You lasted so, so long, little lamb. If only your shepherd dog could have scared off the wolf on his own, huh? His owner is not here to help, and he is too cowardly to give up his life to save yours. How sad.”

It does not sound sad whatsoever; it sounds wicked and excited. It completely suffocates him with all those limbs, feeling every part of him. He has never felt so many hands on him at once. It's awful, he can't even fight off any of them before they have him by the wrists and ankles and waist and neck and chest and he is completely defenceless against all of it. He feels himself being lifted into the air and there are even more hands touching him, coming to caress his face and knot his hair, and when he opens his mouth to scream a desperate wail of helplessness, fingers enter his mouth to push on his tongue and explore his molars.

Brandon has gone quiet, averting his eyes and trying his best to ignore what he has done. It's for the greater good, that's all that matters. And he might keep his job after all, despite his failure to follow orders from his boss. If he returns in one piece and with a successfully tamed monster back in its cell chewing on its newest victim, perhaps he will be excused for it.

When it finally seems satisfied, it simply drops him, uncaring of the height he was held at. He lands painfully on his front, scraping his chin off the floor. He tries to clamber away immediately, blindly backing away from it, but those hands return sooner than expected, gripping him by the neck to keep him in place.

It forces him to look in its eyes. It has awful, terrifying, coal black orbs that pierce him right through. Whatever it is looking for in his teary expression, it finds it, because it grins with sharp teeth and takes hold of one of his wrists again, dragging him along with itself. It walks right past Brandon, tearing the doors open with no issue. It pauses in the doorway, turning to the guard once more.

“Thank you for helping me choose, my dear Brandon. I hope to see you again soon,” — it says, waving him goodbye. It wastes no time to return to its cell, a newly reignited curiosity pulling it towards the corridor. Brandon succeeded in exciting it. Ideas of torment materialise in its head already as it listens to the poor prisoner sob, pulling at the fingers gripping him tight.

In a moment they are both gone. The lights brighten, the danger is gone. The few people who survived this encounter are saved. Brandon escorts them back to their cells, one by one, taking the time to let quiet tears fall as he shuffles through the sea of dead. He does not have the peace of mind to write a report nor to notify anyone about it being over for another couple hours. And in reality, it isn't over. It never is. The prisoner will die sooner or later, and then he will have to do this again and again and again. He will have to live with his choices, and if it comes down to it, he will have to make the same decision again.

The next day, as he stands outside the cell door, listening to the unending wailing and begging coming from behind the solid steel, he will have to convince himself that this is better. That he made the right choice. He will cry and apologise over and over again to the locked metal gate.

And it will be listening to him, satisfied with its one true victim's pain.

<3

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

Part 2 of me slowly irritating the fandom to death with mediocre pencil sketches and world-building concepts!

A quick disclaimer: A lot of the stuff here is just me fleshing things out bc I love filling in small world-building holes. The base for the style guide was @soledadcatalina's post from several years ago (that I currently cannot link bc Tumblr hates me) but with a lot of additional stuff based on my personal concepts and various experience/people I've met who have done some versions of these things (not the fighting and killing stuff, just bits and bobs). Although I'm a bit of a clothing nerd and love both analyzing and constructing design elements for wardrobe I am not a professional. (Image ID at end of ramble below the cut)

Ok so in my quest to find any vital descriptors I re-read the first there books, then Silent Night, then the bonus chapters, and then Lockdown again. The clothing is described as grey in a few places but the cover of Solitary shows Alex's jumpsuit to have stripes, so I finally came to a compromise. The jumpsuits start out as black and white striped classics but the warden is cheap and so the ink is shitty, quickly blotting and fading and staining so the older jumpsuits are a greyish color. (This will be come relevant for bandanna section of this post, towards the end). The actual Furnace logo is something that a little extra effort was put into, possibly being embroidered into the fabric (tbh yes I think the warden would do something like that just to be an extra level of asshole). The material itself is also not the best kind, and can shrink if overheated for too long.

Each latest batch of inmates is given a brand 'new' jumpsuit with distinct stripes for their first day. After they go into the showers, their uniforms are now officially part of the prison-wide circulation. There's always a very slight surplus for the sake of laziness and mild convenience, but not enough so that popped can vandalize the torsos of the jumpsuits or smuggle a second one out. But that doesn't stop people from fucking up the legs and the sleeves.

So, as a general rule, sleeves are fucked with more than legs partially for safety reasons and partially because shorter than expected sleeve are less of a pain than being tall and dealing with pantlegs that fit like capris on you because some short assholes just have to make it all about them even though plenty of the jumpsuits have shrunk over time so you think they could just vandalize those instead. So there's a certain amount of jumpsuits around that will actually fit on shorter kids, with very few additions or removals due to the risk of getting beaten up for constantly fucking up the uniforms. A good way to tell a short old-timer from a new fish is that the old-timers will push and shove for the ripped-leg jumpsuits while the new fish will try to go for either the less worn out models (that don't fit in the slightest and have the stripes still) or the leftovers.

Aside from the ripped legs, the solution most short kids have is the roll the excess up somehow. On someone taller, the baggy look is an option but when the fabric is a foot longer than your legs, you gotta do something. New fish go for the very big and bulky cuffs that have to be rolled up like 7 times to let their feet touch the ground directly. More experienced kids tend to make stylistic cuffs. Maybe it's mis-matching the height to which the pantlegs are rolled to, maybe it's rolling one leg the usual way and rolling the other one inward, but the cuffs end up looking more stylistic than necessary, which adds to the overall look.

Moving up, we've got sleeves. Most are also too long, but are usually shorter than they started due to inmates instantly ripping small pieces off of the edge for toothbrushes, hair ties, or just boredom. The life cycle of the sleeve is 'Starting length', 'fraying at edges', 'loose t-shirt sleeve length', and 'sleeves torn off completely'. Most of the older jumpsuits are in the latter two phases. Sleeves are narrower than the legs by a slight margin. Again, despite the inevetable degrading of the material over time, the number of shorter-sleeved jumpsuits is relatively stable, although it does go up and down more frequently.

With these basics, you can start telling apart people's time spent in the prison, level of deference to the warden, their hierarchal status, and their odds of survival in encounters with the other inmates. Of course, some of the excess or completely worn out jumpsuits are stolen and scavenged or ripped apart and passed around for anyone who needs more fabric tan there is in a sleeve or who needs a big square/rectangle of material.

Finally, the part that I personally get excited about, bandanas, accessories, and miscellaneous usage!

Skull Bandanas: Canonically all surface items are confiscated and I have no doubt that includes the gang bandanas. On the surface they probably either buy them or use paint (depending on area and resources, etc) but neither of those are really an option within the Furnace itself. So, to make a proper Skull bandana: take an extra jumpsuit, cut out a decently sized square, bleach out a rough circle in laundry (put some extra focus on the black stripes to make it look more natural), either burn the fabric at laundry /kitchen or get soot/the blackest dust available in the chipping and turn the white stripes surrounding the Skull black this way, and then use the same process for rough eyeholes. More detail-oriented members can heat up shanks/small pieces of metal and also add on rough teeth and holes in the nose area.

The finished product is a roughly black square with a roughly white skull in the center, to be worn only by the Skulls. Atempts to mimic the design to blend in don't work as the Skulls are relatively selective. Most of the bandanas were made within the first month (using just striped squares for the first part) and to get one now usually requires ousting a previous member unless Ambrose makes an exception (made twice within the span of five years).

Fifty-Niner Stripes: Usually made with the a mixture of dust and dirt from chipping. Some of the more unhinged members had tattoos from the surface but nowadays it's mostly dust/soot used as paint (can be stored in some extra rags and mixed with some of the chemicals in the laundry).

Leopard marks: These are established as cigarette burns on the surface and shiv-made holes in gen pop but I do think someone suggested 'hey what if we just use dust like the others' and promptly got shanked for it.

Accessories: So that sounds a bit weird, but allow me to explain. Strips roughly the length of sleeve's circumference can become improvised hair-ties, good for anyone who can't/won't see a slicer and anyone with long hair, which I imagine isn't too small of a population. Longer and thicker strips of cloth wrap around feet to act as (shitty) improvised socks. And even though wearing a bandana even remotely similar to the ones the Skulls use will get you killed, plenty of inmates make a similar version (sometimes just a long and wide rectangle) to act as durags or very basic headbands to keep sweat out of their brows during hard labor. Unlike the Skull ones, these tend to be either striped or faded grey.

Miscellaneous: Obvious, but the the sleeves and pantlegs frequently act as bandages since no one wants to go to the infirmary. There's also the pre-emptive use as a basic form of wrist/ankle tapes and a shitty version of a boxing glove by wrapping cloth around the hand. Shorter strips wind around shanks to make handles. Scraps and useless pieces of the jumpsuits quickly add up and some clever people figure out that they can sweep up all the pieces, shove them into the pillow case or under the sheets and get slightly better sleep.

[Image ID:

Two pictures of black and white pencil sketches on paper. The first shows four generic inmates dressed in the Furnace jumpsuits lined up and facing the camera. Aside from one with black stripes on his cheeks and one with a bruise on his face, they have no facial features. The focus is on the uniforms and their distinctions. The second page has more small notes about Skull bandanas.

Inmate Uniform Notes (going right to left for inmates, head to toe for notes):

On the first kid, who is dressed in a striped Furnace jumpsuit zipped up all the way with baggy sleeves and extremely rolled up-cuffs the notes are: "Surface hair" (referring to clean and neat haircut), "Zipped up", "New uniform, bolder stripes", "bulky sleeves covering hands", and "very rolled up legs".

The second kid, who has messy long hair and a partially unzipped jumpsuit with faded stripes, baggy but uncuffed legs, and ripped up sleeves (down to wrists), has the notes: "Can't/won't see the slicers", "mostly faded stripes", "worn/torn sleeves", and "baggy legs, maybe a little rolled".

The third kid is significantly taller, with hair in a slightly neater cut pushed back and two stripes on his face, marking him as a Fifty-Niner. He is holding something in his right hand and there are bandages wrapped around his left fist. His jumpsuit is completely faded and partially unzipped, with the sleeves ripped off and the legs fitting almost perfectly, if a little big, and he has the notes: "better cut since in a gang" (hair), "coal/dust lines" (gang markings), "arms completely torn off", "stretched and worn out after years" (in reference to whole jumpsuit), " 'bandages' made of ripped sleeves" (fist), "stripes fully gone", and "excess bit [of pant leg] tucked under".

The fourth and final kid is shorter than the first three, with closely cropped scruffy hair, a bruise on his left cheek, and cloth wrapped around his right wrist. His jumpsuit is zipped all the way up, the sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and the legs are mismatched, with the right ripped short and the left cuffed. The notes around him read: "scruffy cut (wounds hidden)", "Zipped up but other details make this a fashion choice", "fading stripes", "casual sleeves", "improvised brace for wrist", "shrunk from overheating" (referring to the uniform fitting him despite him being smaller than average), "mismatched legs" (one ripped, one rolled up), and "stylistic cuff" (referring to rolled up leg).

Skull Bandanna Notes (and misc) (going roughly right to left, top to bottom):

Bottom right corner shows two small hair ties, one made of just one scrap, and one with a second scrap twining around, mimicking an elastic hair tie. Above, in the main square, are two versions of the unfolded Skull bandanas, roughly square-ish with the Skulls having circular eye sockets, small slants at the nose, and vague outlines of teeth. The top version is more detailed and the bottom is more likely to be what was worn in gen pop.

Across the top are three rough sketches of inmates wearing the bandanas. One is wearing his to cover his scalp, with the skull front and center. A small note on his points out the grey area in the middle, cutting through the black and white, reading "stripes faded but not gone". The one in the middle has his bandana tied around his neck and is looking up. The last boy wears it around his forehead, still leaving the top of the head uncovered as he glares down.

At the bottom of the page there is a simple sketch of part of a jumpsuit, with the stripes and a note "bleached out with time". The picture next to it shows a rough square (the starter for a Skull bandana) with visible stripes. A note to the black stripe reads "bleach (laundry)" and the one to the white stripe says "burn or cover in black dust (laundry/chipping when guard is distracted)".

Between the boys wearing their bandanas and the starter sample are small pictures of a few shanks and sketch of a Fifty-Niner in profile, glaring to the side. A note points to the mark on his cheek, reading "soot".

End ID]

[em0avacado]

Pen Pals - Ezekiel Reyes

trigger warning : none other than brief mention of removing someone’s pelvis, wearing maybe.

word count : 2068

Dear Ezekiel,

Her first letter started simple, she wasn’t sure whether to address the inmate more formerly, or of this was fine, but with lack of better knowledge on this, she settled on that. It all started when curiosity got the best of her. She had a friend who would constantly talk about her very own pen pal, she’d talk about the stories theyd tell her, how they were interesting and that they had, in reality, not much better to do with their time in lockup. At first, the young woman was rather skeptical, but after reading some of her friends letters herself, the curiosity started eating her alive from the inside out. Maybe she’d give it a try, what’s the worst that could happen? So, after a few hours of extensive reasearch, she’d picked an inmate and began writing, although, after the first two words of the letter, she was stuck. It wasn’t long until she realized how much time had passed since she’d actually written a letter to someone who wasn’t her grandmother.

With a pen gripped tightly in her hand, the black ink began to spill onto the page as her mind finally came up with things to scribble onto the soft blue lines. The nails of her right hand tapping against the finished wood of her desk, it wasn’t long until she ripped the paper out of the coiled notebook and started over again.

Dear Ezekiel,

My name’s Ophelia, I’m about twenty six years old, and my favourite colour is orange, because it reminds me of orange creamsicles on a hot summers day. Seems childish, I’m aware, but alas, my curiosity only carried me so far. It’s been years since I’ve actually written a letter, let alone made a friend. You see, I’m a very reserved person but i supposed that the only way of really making friends with a pen pal is to start off by introducing myself into a bit more depth than small talk. The friends I do have, they call me Oph, no one really calls me by my first name.

God, she sounded so utterly stupid, she thought, but what else was there to write? Who even knew if this man would write back? No one, no one did. But, can’t be for sure unless she tries, right? right.

However, she went on, writing down anything she could possibly think of that could stark some sort of interest from the man behind bars. She went from how the green on the trees in the spring brought her a specific joy in her heart because when she was younger her father would point out that the green in forests meant that the wild life was happy, healthy, to explaining what the saw was initially invented for. Once her hand began to cramp, she called it a day. Folding the papers together neatly, she shoved them in an envelope and sent it off to the right address before her hesitation stopped her. Now; it was time to wait. And she hated waiting.

Without a real timeline in her head on when she’d hear back from Ezekiel, she waited days, then weeks, at some point, the thought seemed to slip her mind. Heading to work each day, only to head home, check her mail box, head inside, prepare herself for the night and get at least a few hours of sleep before doing it all again the next day. An impossibly boring routine that was disturbed when she found an envelope, with blue in scratched into the front. Reading the name ‘Ezekiel’ within the first few lines of the actual letter, thrilled her. Quickly, she tossed her bag and keys to the side, kicking the door shut behind her, she tore into the envelope and began to read.

Dearest Ophelia

You can tell me absolutely anything you wish to, just from your first letter i can tell that your mind is a place of wonder. If you think anything like you write, I’d love to pick your brain some day, those run on sentences really get a man thinking.

A wide grin spread across her lips, her eyes flit across the pages as she read ever word scribbled onto the lines in blue ink. He told her anything that reflected topics she covered, answering all the questions that she asked, even adding in commentary here and there. He matched the amount she wrote, rambling on just as much as she did.

P.s. were chainsaws really invented to cut open and take out the pelvis of a woman who took too long giving birth?

A cackle rolled passed her lips when she read that very last sentence, and she dove into explaining the history of it once more. Every letter she wrote, would end in a fact so buzzard it was hard to believe. The two went back and forth as fast as time would allow, matching the length of letters, each and every time. Quickly, that ugly blue ink from Ezekiels pen became her favourite colour, replacing the orange colours that she once preferred over all else.

But, all good things do eventually come to an end, for years, they’d go back and forth, writing letters and knowing everything about one another. Occasionally letters were sent with tear stains wrinkling papers from when she poured her heart onto the page, she’d sent a picture of herself once too, one she never got back. Dozens of paper cuts, empty pens and notepads empty, pages torn out and sent. Then, one day, it all just stopped, her last letter never got a response, she waited weeks, but weeks turned to months quickly and she assumed he’d gotten out, it wasn’t worth contacting her anymore now that he was set free into the world once again. It hurt, it shouldn’t have, he was just a pen pal, a friend who wasn’t permanent in the slightest, she knew that, she did, but that bond she thought they developed was broken. Perhaps she got attached, but, for lack of better wording, it sucked.

It was now the middle of December, and Ophelia had planned what she usually did during the holiday season. Nothing. She didn’t have family left, her friends had their own families to attend to, besides, she had just up and moved to a town she was dangerously unfamiliar with. Although, none of that really phased her. On her way home from work, she stopped by the store, a hardcore case of the munchies leading her down chips isle. Humming to herself softly, her eyes scanned the shelves, tossing a bag or two in her basket before strolling down the isle.

A small, white sheet of something, perhaps paper? Swayed to the ground slowly, landing rignt at her feet, with a quirked brow, she leant down and picked it up. The man who dropped it, standing not too far in front of her, didn’t seem to notice that he’s lost it. A man, with a buff figure, broad shoulders, he walked like he’d been constipated for a week now, his phone in hand, which his focused had zeroed in on. She trapped the small paper, which turned out to be a photograph. Ophelia didn’t want to look at it, to respect the mans privacy, but curiosity killed the cat, right?

The photo, she immediately recognized the bright red hair, the pearly white smile, the mess on the pale skin and the beaming green eyes. That was her, the photo? it was the one she sent to Ezekiel all those years ago, when they first started talking. But why did this man have it? With confusion, she rushed forward, tapping the man on his shoulder “excuse me -“ she started, but her words caught in her throat when he turned around, it was him. he looked like he did in the pictures on the sight, the one he sent her, just slightly older, his hair had a tight trim, he had a few more stress lines than the picture did.

The basket tucked under her arm just moments ago, hit the ground with a crash. Her eyes went wide, her skin paled. Ophelia looked like she’d just seen a ghost, Ez mimicking the shock on his own features. “you- i-“ she managed to get out, forcing her mouth shut.

A nervous chuckle came from Ez, paired with a weak “O- hey.” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

She raised her fist and punched him in the bicep “what the fuck?!” she asked, her shock replaced by anger as she waved the photo in front of him. “really?! I thought we were cool, friends? even? you said I was one of the best friends you’d ever made and I don’t even get as much as a ‘oh hey Ophelia I’m getting out talk to you never!’ ?! and you just carry my picture around like a creep?” she asked, pushing it against his chest and crossing her arms over her own. “well?”

“Listen, I’m sorry.” he said, looking for ways to explain himself, why he hadn’t kept in touch, any sort of excuse but there was nothing, truth was, he had wanted to stay in contact but everything with the club, and the deal, and pops got in the way, so it kept getting pushed back. “it was a dick move and I’m sorry.” he said, looking down at her.

“yeah no fucking shit.” she spoke, her arms still crossed over her chest, her glare burrowing holes into his head. She opened her mouth, ready to add more onto what was already said to him, but in that moment someone in a kutte that nearly matched his own, rounded the corner, ready to speak to Ez until her glare shifted from him to the slightly taller man, his green flannel buttoned up, chains clanging together.

“Hey boy sco-“ he stopped mid sentence, not taking another step, he narrowed his eyes at her, looking between her, and his brother, a smile came to his lips in realization “oh shit.” he laughed “you can deal with angry fire crotch on your own, I’ll wait outside.” he laughed, heading out and leaving the two alone again.

“Angel?” she asked, he looked exactly like Ez would explain in his letters, nodding his head, she furrowed her brows slightly and leaned down, picking her basket up again, hanging it in the crease of her elbow. “Look I get it, you got out, had better things to do, I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me but come on? We spoke for years, we bonded, or so I thought? Feels ridiculous now, but, hey, I hope that your life treats you better than it has, I’ll see you around.” she said, nodding her head at him, turning to head to the till when she felt his hand on her arm, spinning her around.

“I looked for you.” he started “not nearly hard enough but they never gave away your address, nothing, which was smart but I did look for you, where I could.” he confessed “not once did I forget about you, Ophelia, I couldn’t.” he dropped his arm when she stood, looking up at him.

“I know. Duh. Your memory is like- permanent.” she said, and he nearly rolled his eyes.

“okay smart ass that’s not what I meant.” he groaned. “you’re unforgettable, even if I could forget, I couldn’t.”

“you’re much smoother on paper” she added another little side note.

“Ophelia.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyways, that picture was the only that allowed me to feel a sense of home as of lately, and would be the only thing that did until i found you. That’s why I kept it.” he told her, her gaze softening. “Now that i have, found you, i won’t let you get away again.”

“sounds kidnap - y.” she muttered, interrupting him. He dropped his hands, slapping against his thighs with a soft sight, he shot her a glare.

“Ophelia I swear to god i’m trying to confess my feelings right now could you put a pause on that for a moment?” he asked her, raising a brow.

“no.” she said simply, scratching her nose. “don’t confess your undying love for me in the middle of a grocery store, please. That old lady has been listening and eyeing you this whole time.”

[thetseliotofyourlovesong]

it eats our dignity for breakfast

Make my body an arsenal of words.

Wrap “The Male Gaze” around my waist

And carve five letters on the soles of my feet so every step I take will brand me and break the earth beneath them:

“Whore.” Step one.

“Bitch.” Step two.

An “I” and a “C” for every “U”...

“Indict,” “Criticize,” “Underestimate.”

Like the time they told me I couldn’t fly and I said, “listen ass hole, I can try!”

So I stitched wings into my shoulder blades and cascaded off the roof of shame.

Four letters for every digit like finger paint or the imprints of an inmate: “Slut.”

Because I aggravate.

“Give me your other hand.”

“Cunt.” Because I don’t quiver, I grunt.

“Undress ma’am.—Or are you a man?”

No I wear this dick when I’m not feeling thin enough to be licked by the lips and kicked in the clit by a toxic masculinity

Or fucked by the grin of a feminine bluff masquerading as romantic lust.

I’m not a love interest.

Just a hole in their gut, but interestingly enough I’ve mastered the art of the lustful, “I don’t give a fuck!”

But wait.

It isn’t my vagina they penetrate.

Pluck out my body hair and peel back my eyelids.

Watch my gender presentation evaporate.

“Remove her nail polish.

Negate her education.

Cut out those dread locks.”

Squat.

Cough.

“Wait, what’s that?”

War paint.

Etched into my skin.

Encase my identity within the shadow boxes of unmet expectations.

These are my battle scars from the times when my eyes like shiny stars embraced the weight of self harm. Self inflicted mutilation now a social obligation to pay back the past generations for escaping their incarceration.

And the ink you see, cannot be taken from me.

On nights I tripped on acid, I decided not to be plastic and generate a kind of hate from everyone who wishes I’d just relate myself rightly to them.

This is not rebellion.

I am a well of ink marking my territory.

This body is where I sleep.

I don’t have trouble fitting in.

It isn’t conformity I have an issue with.

I am not making a statement.

I am living MY life in the body I was given.

And no, I don’t wonder what my tattoos will look like when I’m older because I’ll still be pushing the weight of sexist boulders off my shoulders.

When my tattoos fade along with this aging tabooed cage.

I will be full of self indulgent rage wondering why I can’t afford healthcare on a fraction of the wages a man makes.

The only problems I have are why I can’t be left alone and why the fuck what I do with my body is anyone’s business but my own.

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

||Caught within the trapped cells: Part 6||

Hi there dears. I think I can try to add another chapter to this little mini drabble series today. Again, this is heavily focused on the inmates and officers so I hope you like. So we are still moving on but it's still Ink and Denji. Then we will have another two couple come in next with their fun.

~~Chapters so far~~

First Cell: Officer Katsuki and Inmate vanguard

Second Cell: Officer Mills and Inmate Vin-Shia

Third Cell: Officer Nakano and Inmate Seon

Forth Cell: Officer Davion and inmate Knight

Fifth cell: Officer Hayakawa and Inmate Ink (part 1)

((Your reading chapter 6 right now))

||Drabble Summary||

After a little while Denji was getting flushed due to what happened with Ink later that day. Now his own thoughts were filled with the dangerous Inmate. Even when he's guarding her again, he knew she might be up to something but what? What will she do now? Read to find out.

||Warning||

~Strong Sexual NSFW warning ((This is going to be present in all the chapters. If your under 18: Do Not READ!))

~Teasing

~Flirting

~Rough play

~Dom and Sub play

~Punishment

~demon corrupting an officer

~Chapters will or could be really long

||Muses in this drabble||

Van Ink the dragon and some others that will show in later chapters belong to my amazing friend @demon-blood-youths

While Denji Hayakawa is a muse that's from the anime series Chainsaw Man along with some others that will show in later chapters are from their anime shows but also to me due to having them as muses.

((Note: This drabble will have heavy grammar mistakes and errors but this was written for fun. I hope you understand but also enjoy please. Also as I warned: This will have heavy sexual themed content. If your under 18, please don't read. Thanks for understand and enjoy.))

After Denji took a slight break from before, he was unsure of what to do after what happened. Everyone was at their posts now or some resting for a while after that night. He was quiet walking back to his post to keep a guard on Ink but his thoughts were still lost to what happened.

"....." He would have told the other guys he wanted to take a break and yet, Bakugo told him to stop being scared and do his job. He wasn't scared! He was just...flushed. Even after the kiss and touching the inmate, he was starting to think of very naughty things about her. Wanting to feel more and taste more of her. This made him shake his head just to let out a slow breath.

"Come on Hayakawa, just focus. You can get through this. You can do this.." he mutters walking down the stairs heading to Ink's cell where she was still resting up. However, she already got some food for later so she was fine. In a while, he saw the cell with the woman inside. He goes to it and looks inside seeing Ink laying back while resting up. However, she sensed he was back. Sitting up, she slowly looks to him being happy.

"Denji..you came back. I missed you." She smiled happily.

"....I can tell. Have you eaten?" he asked seeing her nod stretching as she sits on the bed. He was able to see some skin but he looks away trying not to blush.

"I did. The food today was better than last time. I feel so full thanks to it. Though, you were able to eat right?" she smiled even if Denji sighed.

"I was able to... " he said simply but resumes standing at the cell gate to keep a guard out in case. Ink was seeing him now standing where he was but she only looks to Denji seeing him now focused. Though, she was still bored right after their last attempt to play around.

Maybe she'll need to think of another way to get him to play with her. While laying on her bed, Ink was looking at the ceiling of her cell, thinking of ways to have more fun with him. However, Denji was still flushed standing in the hallway of this area. So quiet but not many inmates were in this section. Everyone had their own area or large like room so the officers or guards watching someone would still be taken care of.

Thinking about this, Ink looks to Denji only to wonder if he was still effected from what happened. "Hey Officer Hayakawa are you sure your alright. You seem a bit distracted." she asked that Denji remains quiet to sigh.

"I'm fine Ink. You don't have to worry about that." he said simply only for her to get up off from her bed to look at him. Seems he was still a little flustered from before.

"Is that so? You just seem out of it that's why I asked. If you want, maybe I can help?" she said simply for him to be more silent. She wanted to help him? Wait..it sounded like some trick.

"Oh no, I'm fine. It's nothing for you to worry about. All you have to do is remain in that cell and behave-" that's when he felt something touch his back knowing it was her hand. She was touching him again that he feels her grip the jacket uniform.

"You sure about that? Is their anything I can do to help? I feel like I got you this way..so maybe I can owe up by finding a way to say sorry to you. I won't bite or anything if your nervous...I'm good at behaving." she chuckled.

"I find that hard to believe Ink. If you were going to behave then you would have...wouldn't you?" he asked only for her to sigh then look down. Her eyes were hidden and yet, they were glowing.

"I know but you know from my file on how I am Denji. I tend to get bored quick so you and the other claws make it so much fun...you like having fun too don't you?"

"....." He didn't respond to her but he only blushes feeling her hands now caressing his back. What was she planning now? He couldn't give into her even if she let him touch her and taste some of her blood.

"Even if you do, I still have a job to do miss Vanguard. Now please, go back and sit down. I still have my duty to do. "he said but Ink only sighed to smile.

"I know, I know..I'm not trying to do anything but...even officers like you need to have fun at times. Besides, I know you had a little fun...even after our game a while ago." she saw him tense hearing that. "I gave you a sample of what your missing officer Denji and you even had a taste of my blood...it was pretty good right?" she teased.

"..I..It wasn't..I mean......" he started to speak but that's when he turns to look at her but sees her look at him with a innocent expression. Though, her grey eyes were showing something else.

"You weren't? You mean you didn't like the kiss I gave you? Or the blood you tasted? It was pretty good I can tell. I normal don't let anyone do that..but your special. That's why I allowed it but if your that eager...I can give you more to drink." she teased rubbing her neck that Denji blushed worse to look away.

"H..Hey, what the heck are you p..planning here!? You are not going to win me with that!" he points to her even if his face was beet red. What the heck was going on in Ink's head?!

"I.....maybe watching you was more challenging than I thought. What are you planning?" he said.

"Nothing, nothing at all. Like I said; I only....want...to...play." she said slowly to grip the metal bars to look at him. Her eyes meets with his making him blush again. "So...lets play Denji please? I wanna have some fun..." she whines looking at him as he only gulps seeing her tilt her head to the other side.

"Hmmmm...Or maybe you need convincing?" she asked standing up straight to look at him that she shows her hands. He didn't know what she was planning before moving to start removing her prison unifrorm.

"H..H..Hey hey hey! What are you doing?! You shouldn't be undressing i..in front of.." he sees the shirt gone but Ink only blinks to act innocent showing off her features to him.

"Oh come on, theirs nothing wrong with a little teasing. Besides, you don't seem to mind it. Your even having a nosebleed." she points out seeing him blinks to see. He was! How did she-

"Even so, lets play Denji...pretty please? Or maybe you want me to kiss you again?" she said poking her own bottom lip. "Or...." a teasing smile shows on her lips to even expose her neck and shoulder.

"You want to have another taste of the blood that danced on your taste buds..." she said. For a bit, he was speechless not sure on what to say but his face still was red that Ink smiled.

"Or....maybe you want to have some fun in my cell?" She said reaching for him but he only felt flushed to walk closer and when he was in reach, she pulls him down kissing him on the lips again. The same soft lips touched his that he held her again while Ink wraps her arms around his shoulders with eyes closed.

He was shaking just holding her while they were kissing and yet, Ink's eyes were half way open feeling him hold her close while kissing and touching her lower back. However, she smirked to slowly break the kiss to see Denji panting.

"What's wrong big guy?" she asked seeing him only grip the back of her inner shirt. Why was he losing so quickly to her? Is ink really that dangerous? She looks to him being innocent only for him to lean down about to kiss her again but she stops him.

"Hold on now....seems your breaking again. You really are so cute." she teased and yet, he blushed again worse getting aroused that he didn't let her go. Not yet. Ink looks to him but she did feel something down there only for him to slowly let go.

"Or maybe your shy? Trust me Denji, I won't bite. I am a good little dragon..I'll behave myself......if you want to have more though..you'll have to come in so we can hang out." she giggled but right away, she saw him look quiet only to get the key card to her cell as he inserts it and opens the door walking inside.

"Well, seems you wanted to-" As she starts to speak, he pulls her close to kiss her again that Ink yelps from being picked up in his arms and moves to press against the wall now making out with her. The kiss was hot for them both but he only wanted to feel more, taste more, and just have her. She only panted feeling him flushed again but giggled to look at him.

"So needy..You already look so flushed too Denji." she pouts while speaking against his lips only to get kissed again that he held her by the waist while not dropping her. He only breaks the kiss panting to now kiss and latch onto her shoulder hearing a gasp to a shiver. He was going to bite her again but he was trying to calm himself not wanting to hurt her.

"Mmmmm...." she shook in his arms leaning her head against the wall before he moves his lips from her neck panting to kiss against it. That's when she looks to speak in his ear.

"You want more right?" she asked seeing him nod.

"..>Y..Yes...yes please.." he begs and yet Ink smiled to look at him.

"If you wish..then of course..I'll give you more..if you join my side and help me get another one to corrupt. If you promise to do that for me..I'm all yours for this afternoon. You can do whatever you like with me from now on......it's just me and you after all...so...what do you say Denji?" she asked seeing him think only to pant holding her tighter.

"Y..Yes; Yes I'll do it just please...please I feel hot..I need..." He was bucking his hips and Ink smiled petting his head.

"If you wish....I'll help you out.." she teased.

~~~~~~~~~~

During that afternoon, Denji was panting thrusting his hips forward while holding onto Ink's waist. She was moaning out resting on the bed while this beast claims the dragon for his own. She only bit down on the sheets feeling another deep thrust rubbing all her sensetive spots.

"Ahhh~ ahhhh..D..denji...Denji f...feels good...you feel s..so good.." she said in a heated tone to look ahead only to moan out louder feeling his hips thrusting harder suddenly. He growls gripping her hips loving how wet and tight she feels around him that he panted to stop grinding against her.

This made Ink wince shaking as his cock swells and pulses inside of her. "Haaaa...hhhaaaaa..."

"N..not e...enough..not enough...I need more.." he groans only to pull her up and held Ink up by resting his hands on her breasts to cup them.

"H..Hey I said you can haaa have me when ever you li..like remember? I'm not going nuggghh anyw..where I promise.." she said softly to him that he blushed only squeezing her breasts to make Ink tense.

"I..I know..but I still want to feel more......so can I have that?" he asked.

She blinks to blush but twitches feeling his fingers pinching and rubbing them. She whimpers gripping his wrists but leans her head back against his shoulder.

"Nuggghh....nnmmmmmm..."

"Why are you so soft? Your soft..a..and so cute.." he moans now bucking his hips as Ink moans gasping out from this position rubbing against her spot again.

MMMMM!!!" she shook only to laugh, drooling a little.

"I..I can't haaa h..help it. My body...nuggghnnn...it's reacting on it's own..w.when I get excited n..now....but you'll help me wo..won't you Denji? Help me feel better.." she begs turning to kiss his neck that he panted almost hungry like to suddenly squeak. She felt something wet and hot against the back of her neck only to a slight sting behind. He must be biting her again that he can taste more of her blood.

She tightens around him whimpering again only for him to keep pressing his body weight on top of her while grinding against her slowly. She felt amazing and tasted so sweet but soothing. He wanted more of it. Ink only twitched feeling him even playing with her boobs to squeeze and poke the nipples that he even pulls at them hearing another yelp.

"I'll help you...ha....I'll give you a..all the help you want j..just..." He wanted to ask for more, beg for more, plea for more, anything to feel her that she blushed to chuckle turning her head to face him.

"T...Then what's stopping you? You've got me in your arms naked and pleasuring me like c..crazy. I told you your able to do what you like w..with me...just..b...be sure you give it your all. You don't have t..to hold back....." she said against his neck that Denji shook only to see this Dragon looking dazed. Her grey eyes were glowing that she was panting.

"I'm all...yours Denji. So please....please let me feel more." she begs only for Denji to sit back with her with Ink sitting on his lap. She blinks to feel that but gasps when he thrusts up into her deeply as she twitched leaning her head back. Panting, she whimpers gripping his wrists.

"Haaa....hhaaa...D..Denji.."

Before she can speak another word, he begins thrusting up into her deeply to make the dragon cry out arching her back. "Denji!!!"

"Haaaa....hhaaaaa......"

"Ahhhhh y..yes, m..more!! I wanna feel more! Give it to me!!" she begs now slamming her hips down along with his own to meet those thrusts. Geez, he was a beast in bed but worth it. She wanted more of this dangerous cock that she was hearing the bed creaking each time they moved. However, Denji was groaning loving the heat and tightness that he was still squeezing her chest only to kiss her neck again.

"Denji..d...denji.....n..nugghhh!!" she felt her hair covering her eyes while bouncing on his lap knowing he was going to ravish her for a few hours. But, thanks to this, she got another one. No one can resist Ink Vanguard.

Now, with two, that leaves 4 more to corrupt into her little group. She knew Bakugo will find another but Denji will take more time to savor her. For now, she was trying to enjoy her desires while crying out clawing the bed as he claims what he wanted.

~~~~~~~~~Meanwhile~~~~~~~~~~

"So, it seems your little lung dragon is a bit shy now hmm? Figures. With the lockdown it might be making her a little nervous." Jaron said nothing hearing this while most were on free time but he was looking out with some of the guards standing watch on some prisoners.

"......"

"Though, don't take my word for it. Rust says she'll come around. Even that dragon of his has and he's not minding it. Or maybe he's a bit busy with him right now." Sai sighed thinking about that but was eyeing the bat who was breaking up a fight with some help from Officer Akutagawa as most were breaking it up.

"It still makes me wonder though.....you know because of this, those other jerks might try to steal the officers for themselves you know.."Jaron said but Sai thinks about it only to sigh.

"That might be true but who knows? So far, nothing else has happened. But this is not their playground. It's ours. The fractions and they'll know better than to mess with what is ours." he said only to see the fight broken up. The two saw some other inmates watching but seems they looked away knowing the fun was over.

"Speaking of that, what about you? Didn't you say you had a plan to get Officer Mcginnis?" he asked while seeing him speaking with officer brooks who was listening but was unsure of what is going on.

"Lets just say...I have a plan. I Just need to wait to put it into motion. I'm going to have so much fun when i do. I hear the others are doing the same. Maggie got the attention of T-bone and their still crazying in fighting. Hellmare and Hiroshi are 'close' but we don't know much more than that." he leans back to look at the sky.

"I heard Matt and some of his followers are making some separate plans with their officers too like Matt with Ryu, Shrika with Willie, Jason with Gin, hmmm.....Chuya with sid, Charlie with Tanizaki, and..I think Cobin with Ichiyo. So many and that's just a few of them too.." he said.

Jaron looks to her but he then looks down wondering what he should do. However, that will come in time. He just had to get her alone for a bit.

"But that leaves the question; what are you going to do when you get your lung dragon along?" Sai asked Jaron only for him to sigh but close his eyes.

"I got a idea.....but I'll have to wait a bit." he slowly opens his eyes to look ahead. "I wanna be sure she submits to me...one way or another but..I think that won't be too hard.....and she knows that." he said making Sai curious.

"Oh? Seems like you had a fun idea for it."

"I do...same with your little snake too?" he said.

"OF course. Seems we all have some idea..this will be fun." he chuckled only to hear the guard call that all inmates are to get ready to head back inside soon. Though, most of the inmates were already planning some fun when heading in for later on.

This should be fun.

[cometsweepandleonidsfly]

Editor's note: Megan Rapinoe gave her brother, Brian, a birthday shout-out on national TV after winning the 2019 Women's World Cup, the Golden Boot as the tournament's top scorer and the Golden Ball as its top player. Here is the story behind their complicated relationship.

DAYS BEFORE THE first game of the 2019 Women's World Cup, Brian Rapinoe jokingly texted his sister, Megan Rapinoe -- co-captain and star midfielder for the U.S. women's national team: "Megs, breaks my heart that you couldn't fly me out for an all-expenses-paid trip to France." She shot back: "Oh yeah, so sad I couldn't pamper you for a month in France."

An hour before kickoff against Thailand on June 11, the rest of the Rapinoe family found their seats in the Stade Auguste-Delaune in Reims; Brian charged his ankle monitor and rounded up the other guys in the dormitory at San Diego's Male Community Reentry Program, a rehabilitative program that allows an inmate to finish the final 12 months of his sentence taking classes or working jobs outside of prison.

The MCRP common room might not be France, but it's a vast improvement over solitary confinement, where Brian has watched Megan play in the previous two World Cups. He sat on a couch in his red USA jersey, watching on a 60-inch flat-screen, and felt "f---ing great." He had accomplished a major goal for himself: to get out of prison in time to watch his kid sister play in her third World Cup.

Every time the U.S. scored, the room full of men cheered loudly. Nobody there thought the U.S.'s 13 goals against Thailand and exuberant celebrations after each were done in poor taste. "This is what soccer should always be like," one man said.

"It's the World Cup: There's no f---ing holding back," 38-year-old Brian says. "This is every four years."

And his sister didn't hold back. When Megan scored goal No. 9 for the U.S., she sprinted to the sideline, spun around twice and then slid to the ground for a foot-kicking celebration. As the camera zoomed in on her, one of the guys yelled, "Holy s---, it's Brian!"

He has the same face as his sister.

The face, the charisma, the wit, the tendency to burst into song: In so many ways, Brian and Megan are alike. But they are also a study in contrasts: At 15 years old, Brian brought meth to school and has been in and out of incarceration ever since. At 15, Megan played with her first youth U.S. national team and started traveling the world. As a young inmate and gang member, Brian was inked with swastika tattoos -- an allegiance to white supremacy that he now disavows; as a professional soccer player, Megan was the first prominent white athlete to kneel to protest racial inequality.

Despite their different paths, the brother and sister have stayed close through letters, phone calls and texts. "I have so much respect for her. And not just because she's the s--- at soccer. It's her utter conviction in the things that she believes in and the stances she takes against injustices in the world," he says.

"I was her hero, but now -- there's no question -- she is mine."

Megan, right, "worshipped" Brian when they were children. Brian, who is five years older, introduced her to soccer early on.

GROWING UP, MEGAN and her twin sister, Rachael, adored Brian. He was their hero, the charismatic jokester who did Jim Carrey and Steve Urkel impressions and danced ridiculous dances. The girls had three other siblings, but he could make them laugh harder than anyone else could. He taught them how to catch crawfish in the creek, walked them to the patch of field across from the church and taught them soccer until his mother called them in with a two-finger whistle. In the side yard, he set up cones and showed his 4-year-old sisters how to dribble the ball -- with the inside of the foot only, with the outside of the foot only, left and then right. "And it wasn't like he drilled them. He let them do it their own way," says his mother, Denise Rapinoe, her voice cracking. "It was just the cutest thing, and we remember it so clearly."

In elementary school, like her brother, Megan was rough and tumble, and spoke her mind. Her second-grade teacher's aide pulled Denise aside to relay the following scene: Megan came in from the playground, walked into the classroom, stood with her arms on her hips and announced, "Brian Rapinoe is my brother, and I am just like him!"

"I worshipped him," Megan says. "He played left wing, so I played left wing. He wore No. 7; I wore No. 7. He got a bowl cut, so I did too."

So when Brian first started smoking marijuana as a 12-year-old, a 7-year-old Megan was confounded. Why was he doing that? Brian still doesn't know for sure. "Right from the start, I was hooked," he says. "One drug always led to the next." He was also attracted to the "fast life," he says, to getting high, to driving nice cars and to the "hype around this lifestyle." She wanted him to stop, and she was still young enough to think there was something she could do. Three years later, when her parents sat her and Rachael down and told them the police had arrested Brian for bringing meth to school, she cried. He was going to juvenile detention. She did not understand: What had happened to her big brother?

"For many years, Megan and Rachael were pissed as hell," Brian says. "They still loved me, they still let me know they were there for me, but they were like, 'What the f--- are you doing?'"

"My mother is the queen of the family," Brian, left, says of Denise Rapinoe, right. "I just love her so much. I'm such a baby when it comes to her."

BY 18 YEARS OLD, Brian had moved on to harder drugs -- heroin, specifically -- and he became more reckless. He was charged with car theft, evading arrest and a hit-and-run while driving under the influence of drugs -- and now, as an adult, his juvenile detention days were over. He was sent to prison. Within months, he aligned himself with the white prison gang and was inked with Nazi tattoos. A swastika on his palm; lightning bolts on his fingers, sides and calves

These tattoos devastated his family. "The prejudice, the racism -- it was so against the way he'd been raised," Denise says. "He wasn't that kind of kid. He was kind, his nature was so loving."

To Brian, the swastikas weren't about prejudice and racism at that point -- they were about heroin and survival. To support his addiction, he needed to be, in his words, "an active participant in prison culture." The California prison system was segregated. That meant Brian lived strictly among the white population. "You come in as a kid, and there are these older dudes you think you respect, spouting ideas, and you kind of listen," Brian says. "I developed a protect-your-own mentality."

He tried to explain that to his mother. The gang was a family, he said; it was a place to belong. "I told him, 'This is not who we are,'" Denise says. "'This is not who you are.'"

Megan was as heartbroken as her mother. "I thought [the tattoos] were horrible," she says. "I still think they're horrible. I could rationalize them: I understood that when he first got in there, he was searching for identity, trying to survive."

But the big brother she had worshipped? It felt like she had lost him.

As a young player on the U19 U.S. women's national team, Megan wore the No. 7 jersey. It was the number Brian wore when he played soccer.

BRIAN BECAME HEAVILY involved in gang life and racked up charges while doing time: possession of drugs, possession of a deadly weapon, three assaults on other white inmates. He spent eight of his 16 years in prison in solitary confinement for this behavior. By 2007 -- as he was turning 27 years old -- he was transferred to Pelican Bay State Prison in Northern California, the state's only super-max-security prison.

While general population is segregated, solitary confinement is not, and every inmate gets one hour out of his cell to walk the pod. Here, the protect-your-own thinking began to fall away for Brian. "You start relating to people beyond your hood, your area, your color," he says. "It doesn't take long before you start talking with each other, seeing how much you have in common. Back there, it's just you in the cell, and the man next to you is just a man himself."

There's no radio, no television in the individual cells in the hole. Sitting in a cement box, counting the number of holes in the perforated door is "hard; it's definitely hard," he says. "But you find a way to escape. You've got books, you've got writing, some guys draw. And you develop these relations with other people, these connections."

Three times a week, inmates also get three hours outside, albeit in his own cage. "In the yard, you start talking [to other guys] -- sports, music, my sister is always a big ice-breaking conversation. You say [to them], 'When we go back in from yard, you can look at my pictures,' or you say, 'Here's something I wrote.' Maybe you become good friends -- like me and Monster did."

Monster, also known as Sanyika Shakur, is a black nationalist and the author of the bestseller, Monster: Autobiography of an LA Gang Member. He and Brian were on the same pod for two years. Using a line and a weight, they'd send each other long letters from cell to cell, fishing for them beneath the doors. Brian shared the song lyrics he wrote; Monster let him read drafts of his articles and essays. For years, Brian had been a serious reader, consuming everything from the classics, to books about social issues. He'd read The New Jim Crow and learned about how police disproportionately search black men and arrest them for nonviolent drug offenses, and how the War on Drugs decimated communities of color.

"He taught me what it means to be racist," Brian says, "and he taught me what it means not to be racist."

By 2010, the now 30-year-old had a new understanding of what the white supremacist insignias represented. He had his face tattoos lasered off. The swastika on his palm became a spider web; the Nazi lightning bolts became skulls. He did not want any racial insignias on his skin. They did not reflect who he was. But he was still using heroin -- and the next year, he was arrested for selling it.

Brian was behind bars once again -- this time at Donovan State Prison in San Diego.

When Megan scored in the 2011 Women's World Cup against Colombia, she seized the moment and sang Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" -- something, people say, Brian would do.

IN JUNE 2011, Brian had something new to talk about during his hour walking the pod: His little sister was playing in her first World Cup -- and he was going to get everybody to watch.

The 15-inch television was at the other end of the hallway, some 50 yards away. He built a tower out of 60 books and tied them together with torn sheets. Sitting on top of it, he could just see the TV through the window in the door. In an early game against Colombia, Megan roped in a goal, then immediately sprinted to the corner flag, grabbed a cameraman's mic and sang Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA." The guys got a kick out of this because Brian was the singer on the pod, and this flamboyant corner-flag serenade was so like him.

Days later, ahead of the quarterfinals against Brazil, all 30 cells on top and all 30 cells on bottom were watching, everybody perched at their doors. Megan -- young and audacious with her signature short blonde hair -- subbed in at the end of the game, and in extra time, sure enough -- boom! -- she sent a 50-yard cross-field ball to U.S. forward Abby Wambach, who headed it home to tie the game. "We were going wild," Brian says. "We were yelling and pounding on the doors."

Later that night, on the prison pay phone, Brian talked with his mom. She described the end of the game, how Megan, having just experienced the craziest, most awesome moment of her life, walked to the stands and stood there, searching through the some 20,000 faces for her mom's. Denise put her two index fingers in her mouth and let out her trademark whistle -- the same whistle she had used when they were kids. She had to do it a second and then a third time before Megan could hear her. Megan tapped her ear. "She was letting me know she heard me," Denise told Brian at the time, choking up -- which made Brian choke up a little, too. He could imagine it.

"Not being there -- it hurt," Brian says.

Another four years passed. This time he was in solitary confinement because of his violent record at the Vista Detention Facility, a lower-security prison, in San Diego County -- and Megan was headed to Canada for her second World Cup. The women would end up winning it all, the first time the team had done so since 1999.

"That was the hardest," Brian says. "I was super happy for Megs and super sad for myself. I fricking love my family so much. They were all there. It was like, f---, man, I'm like not really even a part of this. Yeah, I got a lot of support for her in prison, but when the game is over and the ruckus has died down, I'm sitting in my cell. I'm not there to give her a hug, I'm not there to witness it, I'm not there to be a part of it. It's just another thing in their lives that I'm missing out on. What the f--- am I doing with my life?"

Brian was almost 35 years old. He had spent more than half of his adult life incarcerated.

After Megan kneeled during the anthem in 2016, a former prisonmate called Brian to commend her actions. "What your sister is doing -- it means so much," said Sanyika Shakur, a black nationalist. "She is standing up for people who don't have a voice."

ON SEPT. 1, 2016, when San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick kneeled during the national anthem to protest police brutality and racial profiling, Brian was briefly out of prison -- although he was still using heroin. Three days later, Megan kneeled in support while playing for her club team, the Seattle Reign. Then, while playing for the U.S., she did it again.

Brian saved the newspaper article with the picture of her solemn, angled-down face. He watched the YouTube videos of the coverage. He thought, Hell yeah. He also read the comments: "If she was on my team, I'd knock this idiot out. She should be banned from the national squad for life. Such disrespect." He understood that she would anger people, understood the impending fallout. He knew that enrollment in her summer camps and sales of her clothing brand, Be Your Best You, would go down. He thought, My sister is brave; my sister is bad ass.

Like every time before, Brian's freedom proved to be short-lived. By July 2017, he was back up north in Pelican Bay. Back to the regimented, day-to-day prison routine. Where tomorrow is the same as today. His whole life had been a habitual rut; Megan's anthem protest felt like the opposite of that. Her stance showed him there is a way to put a foot down on something in life, in spite of the fallout that will come.

Not long after, he had a breakthrough. His cellmate was helping him inject heroin into the back of his neck when the needle broke. "I freaked out on him, really lost it," Brian says. "And he said to me, 'Look at how you are acting right now.'" And for whatever reason, those words torpedoed into Brian and transformed into personal questions he asked himself. Your whole happiness and peace of mind is focused on this dirty-ass hypodermic needle: Is this what you want? Do you want this cell and this bulls--- powerful persona to be all you are?

He thought about the seven murders he'd witnessed out on the yard. He thought about his own knife fights -- about everything he'd done and been a part of -- just so he could continue to do heroin. He thought about Megan. Look at all she's done with her life -- look at what you've done with yours.

That's when he finally decided he was ready for change. He enrolled in the new self-improvement and rehabilitation classes the California prison system had begun to offer. Each completed class reduced time from his sentence.

Most importantly, after using and selling drugs for 24 years, Brian quit -- and he's been clean for 18 months.

"If I do drugs," he says, "I will go back to prison. I didn't believe that for a long time. Now, I believe that -- I don't ever want to go back."

Shortly before his first day of school at San Diego Community College, Brian met up with a friend from Pelican Bay, Cesar, who is also taking classes. "From the Bay to the books," Brian says. "I am so stoked to begin."

TODAY IS BRIAN'S first day at San Diego City College. As part of the Male Community Reentry Program, he's taking classes to finish up the final year of his sentence, and he has some butterflies. "It's been a long time since I've gone to school -- even when I was in school, it was juvenile hall -- I've never taken anything except regular math. I've never even taken algebra.

Plus, he says, it's a little unnerving to sit in a classroom with 18-year-olds whose experiences have been drastically different from his own. He's self-conscious about his tattoos -- particularly his neck tattoo, SHASTA, inscribed in large gothic letters, the name of the county in which he grew up. "These tattoos, I freaking hate them," Brian says.

But he also knows those tattoos could matter again in the future. He wants to get involved in the juvenile delinquency program, wants to talk to anybody who might be about to jump off the same ledge he did. "These tattoos, it's gonna get their attention," he says. "It's like, dude, you don't think I know what I'm talking about?

"I want to make a difference," he says. "I want to be like Megan."

He had "a really fricking deep conversation" with her about two months ago. They talked about racial profiling; they talked about police brutality; they talked about what Megan's kneeling meant to both of them. Megan saw that in spite of their very different paths, they'd arrived at similar conclusions.

"My brother is special," Megan says. "He has so much to offer. It would be such a shame if he left this world with nothing but prison sentences behind him. To be able to have him out, and to play for him, and to have him healthy, with this different perspective that he has now: This is like the best thing ever."

While Megan is in France, she and Brian text daily -- with game thoughts, encouragement and shared excitement.

"This is one of the most exciting things I can even remember ... just everything really, you, the school, the program," Brian texts.

She replies: "People always ask me what got me into soccer ... your wild ass of course."

"Luckily I played a cool sport. What if I'd been into arm-wrestling or something."

"Oh lawd, yea you really set me up."

"Get some sleep -- love you."

"Lovee you Bri! Let's f---ing go!"

-- Freelance writer Gwendolyn Oxenham is the author of Under the Lights and in the Dark: Untold Stories of Women's Soccer.

[sitlascl]

Maya 2019 crack broke

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The girls had three other siblings, but he could make them laugh harder than anyone else could. He was their hero, the charismatic jokester who did Jim Carrey and Steve Urkel impressions and danced ridiculous dances. GROWING UP, MEGAN and her twin sister, Rachael, adored Brian. Brian, who is five years older, introduced her to soccer early on. "I was her hero, but now - there's no question - she is mine." Megan, right, "worshipped" Brian when they were children. It's her utter conviction in the things that she believes in and the stances she takes against injustices in the world," he says. And not just because she's the s- at soccer.

#Maya 2019 crack broke professional

As a young inmate and gang member, Brian was inked with swastika tattoos - an allegiance to white supremacy that he now disavows as a professional soccer player, Megan was the first prominent white athlete to kneel to protest racial inequality.ĭespite their different paths, the brother and sister have stayed close through letters, phone calls and texts. national team and started traveling the world. At 15, Megan played with her first youth U.S. But they are also a study in contrasts: At 15 years old, Brian brought meth to school and has been in and out of incarceration ever since. The face, the charisma, the wit, the tendency to burst into song: In so many ways, Brian and Megan are alike. As the camera zoomed in on her, one of the guys yelled, "Holy s-, it's Brian!" 9 for the U.S., she sprinted to the sideline, spun around twice and then slid to the ground for a foot-kicking celebration. "This is every four years."Īnd his sister didn't hold back. "It's the World Cup: There's no f-ing holding back," 38-year-old Brian says. "This is what soccer should always be like," one man said. Nobody there thought the U.S.'s 13 goals against Thailand and exuberant celebrations after each were done in poor taste.

#Maya 2019 crack broke full

scored, the room full of men cheered loudly. He sat on a couch in his red USA jersey, watching on a 60-inch flat-screen, and felt "f-ing great." He had accomplished a major goal for himself: to get out of prison in time to watch his kid sister play in her third World Cup.Įvery time the U.S. The MCRP common room might not be France, but it's a vast improvement over solitary confinement, where Brian has watched Megan play in the previous two World Cups. women's national team: "Megs, breaks my heart that you couldn't fly me out for an all-expenses-paid trip to France." She shot back: "Oh yeah, so sad I couldn't pamper you for a month in France."Īn hour before kickoff against Thailand on June 11, the rest of the Rapinoe family found their seats in the Stade Auguste-Delaune in Reims Brian charged his ankle monitor and rounded up the other guys in the dormitory at San Diego's Male Community Reentry Program, a rehabilitative program that allows an inmate to finish the final 12 months of his sentence taking classes or working jobs outside of prison. This story, on their complicated relationship, was originally posted on June 27, 2019.ĭAYS BEFORE THE first game of the 2019 Women's World Cup, Brian Rapinoe jokingly texted his sister, Megan Rapinoe - co-captain and star midfielder for the U.S. Editor's note: After leading the United States to the 2019 Women's World Cup title on July 7, 2019, Megan Rapinoe gave her brother Brian a birthday shout-out on national TV.

[a-and-mtrashpile]

Kiss It Better: Sweet Pea

*Gif not mine!*

A/N: This wasn't requested but don't forget they are still open!! I almost cried while writing this tbh. Sorry this is so sad, I had a really sad day and needed a way to release all the sadness

Warnings: really frickin sad, really frickin angsty,

Words: 784

Song: Kiss It Better by He Is We I suggest listening to it while you read

The young couple held hands as they walked down the dark street. Sweet Pea smiled as the girl next to him kept looking at the ring on her finger. "I love you so much Pea," She mumbled as she leaned into his side.

Before the boy had a chance to respond, a loud bang rang through the air. The girl that was once holding onto his hand now laid on the ground. Sweet Pea quickly got down and pulled her into his arms. "Baby, stay with me. Come on, please don't leave," the Ghoulie watched in horror as he saw the serpent tattoo inked into his neck.

The gun fell out of his hands and Sweet Pea turned. As the man tried to run off, Sweet Pea shot him in the back. The body fell to the ground, lifeless as Sweet Pea pulled the bleeding girl back into his arms.

Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him. "Kiss it better, please. I'm not ready to go," she groaned as she lifted her arm to his face. "Don't worry baby, everything will be okay," tears were now streaming down the boys face as her eyes fluttered closed.

Rough hands grabbed his arms as the paramedics rushed over to her. Handcuffs were placed on Sweet Pea as he watched his fiance be put into a body bag. He thrashed against the restraints, causing more cops to drag him into the police car.

Sheriff Keller looked at the scene, his heart breaking for the young boy. As he followed the other cop cars back to the station, he kept thinking of a way to help the boy.

As Sweet Pea sat with a bunch of serpents, one of the oldest ones looked at him. "What'cha in here for boy? You look way to young." Sweet Pea's stone cold eyes met his as he showed no emotion. "25 to life because I took the life of the man who ruined mine." Everyone sat in silence, everyone around them continuing to work out and enjoy the little time they got outside.  

"Care to elaborate?" Another one asked. "Me and my fiance were walking home then some Ghoulie shot her. He stupidly dropped his gun and I avenged her." "Alright, back to your cells!" The guards started to round up the inmates, leading them back to the cells.

The same older serpent from earlier pat Sweet Pea back as they stood up. "I'm sorry," were the only words that came out of his mouth before he disappeared into the crowd. "Golly green giant! Did you not hear me? Back to your cell!" A guard shouted at Sweet Pea, breaking the boy from his trance.

As all the lights went out in the prison, Sweet Pea sat on the edge of his bed. Tears started to slip down his face as he replayed their first date.

A loud laugh escaped the girl as she sat in the booth. "You're trying to tell me that you, out of all people, are being Santa this year?" Sweet Pea nodded as he took a sip of his milkshake. "If I'm not mistaken, Santa is supposed to be fat and jolly. Not 6'5 and brooding." Sweet Pea laughed as the girl smiled.

"Wow, thanks. Am I really that broody?" "Almost as bad as Jughead." As the girl finished her sentence, Sweet Pea put his hood up. He pretended to type on a computer as he took a bite of his burger. "I'm not like you, I'm weird. I'm a weirdo." The entire time, Sweet Pea kept a straight face as the girl held her stomach from laughing so hard.

"What's going on here?" A new voice asked as they walked up to the table. The girls laughter got louder as Sweet Pea started to laugh. "Oh nothing," she said through the giggles. "Am I interrupting something?" Jughead asked, looking at Sweet Pea with a confused look.

"They're finally on a date!" Pop shouted from behind the counter, causing a smirk to spread across Jughead's face. "Toni owns me 5 bucks!" He said before rushing out of the diner. After he left, the both of you instantly broke out into more laughter.

The rest of the night was full of laughter and love between the two. Both knowing that this was the beginning of something amazing.

As more tears fell down the boys face, he pulled a small picture out from inside his pillowcase. "Stay with me, until I fall asleep," he mumbled, holding the picture close to him. Toni snuck it to him during visiting hours, knowing the love of his life was the only thing that would keep him going.

[theliterateape]

Red Brick Door - A Fiction

by Dana Jerman

“These were my people, but I was not theirs. Their clammed unhappy world was my world, and it terrified me.” – Dale Gunthorp (from Gypsophilia)

Her face was constantly consumed in a grin that lent her an emotionally invincibility. Somehow, no one could piss her off. In high school, a time when the rest of us were doing nothing but being pubescent and grumpy and frowning, embracing its toughness, its indifference- she was busy being engaged in a teeth-flash fest all day long. Even in class when concentrating her closed lips were upturned at the corners. She endured taunts with laughs that only brightened her face, because she was beautiful, although it was easy to make fun of her. Those who would blow off steam on others knew they could go to her because she wasn’t going to get all huffy and turn their friends on them later. I only saw her get mad once and it was all in her eyes and brows.  Her mouth remained open and perky. Tall, brown eyes. A high voice that danced around you with singsong qualities. Never had a boyfriend and walked with a tall briskness that defined direction. Ashley.

I was graduating a class ahead, so during my sophomore year, she showed up for her first at the same city university. I suppose it wasn’t a day, as in a defined 24 hours, that the temper in her smile changed, dissolved. It was a pretty subtle process dragging for weeks, insidious. I still feel as if I should have guessed that something like it would happen. That her mouth would get tired.

I’d run into her on campus at a random juncture and was startled into an indignant curiosity not to find that brazen show of oral cavity on display. Upon trying to engage her in that familiar shining smile her bottom lip would barely twitch in a gesture akin to a muscle spasm and she would breeze past like the embodiment of the cold shoulder. All that wattage was burning right out.

I spied her in a study carol at the library one day, her head buried in a few open texts at a time and writing diligently. I’d never had the opportunity to study her physically before beyond the smile and for a minute I thought she was someone else. Older. With her hair up in a bun on her head, it was plain to see the words “Red Brick Door” tattooed simply on the pale flesh of her neck. Struck by a bewildering force, I stood in amazement. Once glee-filled oozing endorphins this girl was now shrouded in an enigmatic cloud that rebuilt her. I recalled the furiousness of her pen as it moved across a near full sheet of notebook paper. It was probably at this time that I felt I could have changed things, like everyone believes in their individual power to affect a situation and pivot history.

//

Much later amongst old friends at a house party with drinks in hand, I observed an old comrade feed her new significant other hummus for the first time as they sat around a long table. Watching, smirking, until my ears burned as a few seated around the television in the next room began to call the name Ashley White in casual speaking. I moved in to eavesdrop.

“You heard about all this, right? Do you remember the tall blonde from the 1991 class?  She acted kind of scatterbrained?” The question.

“Yeah, somebody mentioned something to me a few days ago. Isn’t she, like, dead now, er something?” The remark.

“No, no, she’s been incarcerated for murdering members of an all-girl gang. Like, thirteen of them are dead. Amazing. She has yet to go to trial, but I guess she was part of the gang, the “brick house” or something.”

They nodded in understanding and went back to drinking and watching the news, full of superficially covered street crime and commercials. I felt flush with anger for hearing this report second hand and of all places at a party. It made me consider the largeness of the city, the impersonality. Ashley’s smile was like a beacon of pure light, accompanied by those wild brown eyes. In my memory again this time like a force changed- a sense of history and balance now altogether flawed, astray. Who could have guessed how much she really needed from a community that continually denied her?

I left the party. Seized with a sensation ineffable, existential. Before realizing it I was seated at home with a pen in one hand, writing a letter to Ashley. I asked questions and made statements.  She returned my post after a few months with this:

"Look, it’s hard for me to write in here. I’m not comfortable with how mail is handled and scrutinized. My general ability to be mobile in this ward is continually limited. To be blunt, I’m getting used to things. Deep thanks for writing to me. Explanations will follow if you wish to communicate further by making your presence known on an allotted visitation date. Until then, with hope and liberation – Ashley."

And so I went. There is a belief that places only really exist between when you come and when you leave.  Everyday for the rest of my life that penitentiary and things said there will blaze on in the back of my brain like an ache impervious to aspirin.

//

Max security. The walls gray and pea green and orange, reminding me of middle school– stale, injected with a numbing agent, a tranquilizing drug that made my insides feel like mildew. The rhythm of thick doors slamming around me gave a claustrophobic feel to each room I was escorted through. The plexiglas window had a stainless steel circular screen in its middle. We would be speaking through a bathtub drain. Two women down on the end were engaged with inmates I couldn’t see. The feeling of encouraged separation, isolation, of total warranted domination by a system sat on my shoulders like puttied guilt. Then the door buzzed and a blue light came on across from me, through the glass.

Her hair was cut very short. Her eyes only sunken a little, she smiled when she spied me with her mouth and nothing more. She wore loose fitting grey scrub-type pants and black moccasin slipper sandals that made her feet look too small. A yellowish shirt. Her hands, the deft fingers lithe with clean, short nails, cuffed in front- a death-row Christ. As she sat, I smiled to return her grin but no words would come out.

“I’ve been excited at the thought of your coming.”  In the opening confession her voice was a warm rasp like high grain sandpaper. I thought about her sitting at her typewriter (it was a typewritten note she had sent to me not so long ago), not speaking for days on end as she wrote, her diligent pain pouring out onto sheet after thin sheet – easily ripped and discarded, the dry ink smeared on the edges from the tips of tongued-wet curious fingers. I knew I was crouching in my seat and felt like a tree stump that never got any sun from its place on the back of a hillside. I sat up. I wanted to be candid and open, but asking again the questions I’d posed in my letter seemed trite. I almost forgot the woman was a murderer. It made me sick for a split second to feel safe behind the glass. I didn’t want safety.

“Ashley, I owe you an apology.” I cleared my throat, “I’m here for selfish reasons- I only want to listen.” I couldn’t move a muscle under her wily eyes that might have wanted my voice more than her own. Her smile, like glimpsing her naked, stayed as her eyes dropped away.

“Hmm. You’re probably interested in all the minor bullshit my lawyer would advise me against sharing. But hey, you’re the first to visit me, you know? People are too busy worrying about what I have become and what I’ll look like if they do finally get around to visiting me. Anyway, it won’t matter for much longer, someone’s pulling my number. Women survived my injustice and I don’t want to be a part of that world. If there is a need to say it, life with them became more about hard-line assertion. Vengeance.” She seemed eager to launch into philosophy, regardless of my understanding. A guard moved over to light the cigarette that appeared between her lips.

“Life with the affiliated clan, you know success became less about presenting situations and initiating challenges to one another. Less about liberation and embracing the “necessity to freedom” that for so long we nailed ourselves to in credo. RBD to us represents the entrance to our minds. We have the power to bulwark our consciousness and keep ourselves and what we need in, while the rest stays out. Reducing our wants through sisterhood. That’s why when you come in, you don’t leave.”

The look on her face suddenly weakened.  She reached back with both cuffed hands in a motion to loosen her neck muscles. I thought again of the tattoo there. A reminder and announcement, an enunciation.

“There were two women- partners, central to the group. Had just adopted a baby girl. Before too long one of them was being neglectful. Turns out she was abusing her position by seducing a woman from another organization. One night the other woman came and tried to take their child. The innocent lover discovered that the guilty one had encouraged this woman to kidnap their baby, and she went off.  She used those within and solicited other alliances to start a war. It’s always easy to find an enemy if you want one.

For me, it’s a case of  “right time, wrong revolution.” My attempts at destroying what I believed was a stagnant, poorly executed terrorist movement landed me here, because even if I wasn’t the punisher first, someone has to be punished. I was devoted to a localized uprising that had to die before it fell into the oppressive trap of mainstream power by associating with the wrong ideas, the wrong classes. But my struggle isn’t new.

I think about the women I chose to assassinate and admitted to slaying in court not but two weeks ago – in front of mothers and fathers and husbands and children and friends. I have three months to live because I called these women to my apartment one afternoon- just picked up the phone like it should be done. I’m not insane. I feel pain when I think of them. I think of what we did as a family. Little moments of peace.” She dropped the cigarette under her slipper and leaned back.

“A handful of us worked at the sugar plant near the east side. The sunset at the horizon point there reflected on this huge set of sheet glass windows on the rooftop– it made everything warm. I felt a balance when I went there, like I was standing on the equator. Like South America. Have you ever been there? We were beginning to plan a trip to Argentina before things…”

She paused with a sigh under closed eyes.

 “I fought for a freedom and that’s exactly what it cost me. Hard to face that I was a part of them, yes, but more a part of this… future that ironically I no longer have?”

Taciturn, I waited for her to answer her own question. Then her smile, that shining light, possessed of a kind of sheer magnetic power, returned briefly at the buzzer before she rose and left. She melted back into the cell of my memory now reconstructed from conflicting histories and righteous agendas. Of course I never saw her alive again, so she remains very much trapped there, in-between but whole, smiling.

[multi-fandom-inserts]

Babygirl

Reader x No-one... YET!

Author Note; Hello my loves, I’ve missed you, here’s something I’ve been working on. Let me know who you want the reader paired with as this will be a series ;) 

Warnings: Violence ! 

Belle Reve is a maximum security prison for those deemed a threat to everyone, it housed some of the most dangerous people in the world, including yourself. Your cell was lace in the middle of a huge, vacant room that had a long strip of reinforced balcony running along it's perimeter, the room itself had a large steal door locked from the outside with no windows, no view to the outside world. Your cell was a large bared room with walls 12 x 14 meters with high ceilings containing a shit thin mattress bed with scratchy blankets and cardboard thin pillows, a toilet and sink and a stack of books that guards allowed you to keep in your cell.

Attached to your cell on the right hand side was an identical cell housing one of the most psychotic and dangerous woman in the world – Harley Quinn – the prison warden had housed you together in the hope it would cause a bitch fight, little did they know that you were the Joker's little sister.

Harley and you had hung out plenty of times before, every time J was out doing business neither Harley or you were allowed to help in, you two hung out, didn't matter if it was in J's club or at your apartment and got along like a house on fire, both as crazy and fearless as each other but the days had turned into weeks, then months and both of you were getting incredible restless.

You scratched the days you've been in Belle Reve on the floor of your cell: 145 days in total. You sat on the edge of your cell smoking a cigarette next to Harley as she pricked a needle that had been dipped in ink into your ankle. You had a lot of tattoos, full sleeves on your arms, one vine slipping up your neck and plenty totted on your legs with your trade mark “BABYGIRL” tattoo across your knuckles and a tiger on your abdomen but unlike Harley you have non on your face, an order from your older brother, he had said plenty of times that your face was too beautiful to taint with ink. It was no secret you were beautiful, with shoulder-length blue hair and piercing Y/C/E eyes and porcelain skin.

“All done!” Harley sung as she put the needle down, she was surprisingly good at tattoos and you'd love to see what she did with a real tattoo gun, looking down at your ankle to see it's a black rose with “Harley” written through the vines and leafs.

Smirking, you tell her you love it. She giggles like a child before sitting against the cell wall bravely knowing it's electrified to keep you two apart but they only turn it on when we pose a threat to the guards – which is often.

The days were slow and boring, Harley was more like a child than you'd realised and was getting restless and you were getting more agitated keeping her entertained, in the outside world you had plenty of work to do that kept you from getting bored, admittedly, it was killing people but it was a job nonetheless. Harley rattled on the cell wall and chanted at the guard that walked along the balcony during our checks – they usually happen every hour – holding an automatic weapon aimed at us at all times.

On the 170th day though, something weird happened, the guards entered the room in a large number of fifteen, all with guns and riot gear on with thick helmets and goggles. A smirk settled on your lips at the sight of them, trouble was emerging and trouble you liked. You nipped a new cigarette between your lips and lit up, Harley had ripped her bed sheet up and was handing from the roof of her cell like a bat – pun intended considering it was Batman who put her and myself in here – the guards ordered her down and for my to get up from the floor.

We both refused the orders, they unlocked the cell and entered cautiously, guns aimed at you. The first guard that entered was one of the main guards, you recognised the sinister green eyes from all the times they tortured you for information on your brother, his large hand grabbed your shoulder sending you into defensive mode.

You slam your elbow done into the crook of his elbow, knocking his hand off your shoulder, the guard steps forward to throw his weight into a punch, you duck and dive your first into his stomach, just below his diaphragm into his chest. You slip past him, using his bent knee as a step up, wrap your leg around his neck to move yourself onto his shoulders, the guard yelled and panicked, but the fight had been boring and less than a challenge for you. Holding the guards head still, you turn it flawlessly, angling his chin upwards during the turn, snapping his neck like a twig.

Harley giggled as the guards body dropped to the floor causing the rest of the guards to fall back a little. Suddenly, a force knocked your chest sending you flying backwards into the bars of the cell, then a excruciating pain snatched your body making you tense and your jaw clench so hard you thought your teeth were going to break. Harley's scream snatched the room taking your attention from the pain in the centre of your chest and then suddenly it let up.

Looking over at Harley, she's laid out  semi-conscious on the dirty cell floor, a gunshot echoed through the room snatching your attention from Harley to look at a tall man stood at the front of your cell holding a black handgun with smoke erupting from the top. He was tall, slightly tanned, very handsome with a goatee and short brown hair. He was dressed in a Special Forces uniform with a bulletproof vest and a automatic weapon in his right hand holster.

“Hey there, Cap-tin.” you smirking, drawing out the word “captain” to make fun, he was clearly in charge of the guards but he wasn't in charge of you or Harley.

“The name is Flag, Rick Flag,” he said sternly, “Not captain, it's Colonel.”

You let out a long and patronising 'oooh'. He smirked before stepping into your cell, grabbing you by the throat and dragging you from the cell and throwing you into a wheelchair. The guards acting quickly, strapping your legs and wrists into restrains and putting a strap around your throat to stop any unnecessary moving. You managed to get a glimpse of Harley before being wheeled out. They had strapped her to an upright board with far more straps and restrains.

The guards lined you both up before the large metal doors as they slowly began to open, you felt a sharp prick on the left side of your neck and then you heard Harley squeak. Your vision became blurred and then everything went black.

You came too just as the light hit your face, your vision cleared quickly and before you knew it, you were outside for the first time in 170 days. The warm weather was a blessing, the sun hit your face and the wind blew in your hair but this wasn't a time for celebration, why were you outside?

Before you had a chance to ask, the guards entered a paddock area filled with army dressed men, some had taken their jackets off but they all had weapons and were paused in a circle trying to contain something. The guard pushed  you and Harley to the edge of the circle before undoing your restraints. Harley immediately jumped up and screamed, “Hello boys!” raising her arms above her head revealing her stomach.

You had thanked yourself silently for taking off your prison jacket, you would have baked in this heat otherwise, so instead you stood silently in a white, very short tank top and prison trousers that were an unflattering colour of orange, but as you examine the circle, you see two other men wearing similar inmates clothing. One was covered head to toes in strange tattoos, even his face was tattooed like a skull, his tanned skin and accent as he mumbled to himself suggested he was Mexican. The other man was dark skinned, bald with a thick black beard, you recognised him instantly from your killing days – his name is Floyd Lawton aka Deadshot, one of the best contract killers around.  

“Hey baby-doll,” he smirks spotting you across the circle, he makes his way over to you, despite the grumble from the guards and sweeps you up in his arms for a hug, it's been almost a year and a half since you last saw him but I guess you know why now.

“What's going on?” you ask as he lets you go, but Floyd just shrugs. “How's Zoe?”

Floyd looked at his feet, knowing you didn't mean to hit a nerve with your question because you cared for the young girl, he would sometimes drop her round when he was called on a last minute mission and you never said no, he was thankful for that and always appreciated it. You'd formed a friendship and with you both being assassins, you knew one day, one of you would be sent to kill the other; it's just how it works out.

“Who's the man of tattoos?” you whisper.

Floyd shrugged, “Some guy who killed his family in a fire, apparently he can control it, pretty neat huh?”

“Klling the family or controlling fire?” you questioned earning a chuckle from Floyd, just then two more people appeared, one strapped to a board like Harley, covered in scales and slime – Killer Croc – they let him go but not before strapping a thick black collar around his neck. The second was a dirty looking man, built with huge muscles, a messy beard and an annoying accident, when they removed him from the bag he flung himself at another guard knocking the poor guy out cold.

Impressed, you studied him gently as his eyes gobbled the image of you and Harley up. Pig, you thought as you moved back over to Harley who hugged you tightly as you leaned against one of the large containers. Eventually the last prick arrived, he was huge with large armour, as soon as he got out of the car, his fist slammed straight into a female guards face.

Without hesitation, you sprint and jump at the six-foot-five man, kicking him swiftly in the face before manoeuvring your body round his head and neck, to pull your body weight round, his body flipped over and fell to the ground whilst you landed on your feet and offered a hand to the female guard, she took it and you helped her up before you felt the cold barrel of a handgun press against your temple.

“Move away, Y/N.” Rick's voice echoed throughout the silent circle, putting your hands in his view, you moved away from the guard back to Harley who was cheering and jumping up and down like a cheerleader. “Okay, now you're all probably wondering what’s going on. Truth is, the government has decided that we need to fight evil with evil, and you guys are going somewhere very bad, to do something that's gonna get you killed. But until that happens, you're my problem.”

“Lucky you.” you mumble as he pulls out a tablet and holds it in front of us,

“And this is the voice of reason.” he says sternly, a image popped up on the screen but it was gone too quickly for you to see what it is. Then a woman popped up on the screen, she was stern looking with a headset on and dark, cold brown eyes, for a moment she was silent, gobbling up out image in prison clothing before speaking in a very authoritative voice;

“For those of you who do not know me, my name is Amanda Waller, there's an active terrorist event in Midway City.  I want you to enter the city and rescue HVT1 and get them to safety. Complete the mission you get time off your prison sentences, fail the mission and you die.” she threatens, “If anything happens to Coronal Flagg,  I will kill every single one of you. Remember I’m watching.”

“Looks like you got yourself a fan.” you tease with a smirk, the rest of the inmates giggled.

“Lady! Shut up!” Rick yells angrily making Harley jump beside me, he composes himself quickly, “You disobey me, you die. You try to escape, you die. You otherwise irritate of vex me and guess what? You die. Those collars my men are now putting round your neck is to ensure you death if you do any of what I just listed. It's collar is as powerful as a hand-grenade and can only be opened by my fingerprint.”

His men then drop a large trunk at each of our feet, our names are written on the top in marker, kicking yours open it reveals all your clothing and weapons you were arrested with. Smiling to yourself, you start to rummage through my items, taking off your clothes without much care of the men around you, you slip on a pair of flexible black jeans, a white crop top and a leather jacket – that J had given to you on your  birthday – the only shoes you had were little black boots, there wasn't much of a heel but it didn't bother you, you had fought in much worse.

Your weapons hadn't been touched or damaged, clipping your holster round your waist and to your upper thighs, you slipped in your Glock handguns into the holsters, inside your leather jacket, you put your favourite four inch knife into the protected pocket.

“Won't fit anymore?” you heard Harley ask Floyd.

Looking up, you see Floyd has out on his famous Deadshot outfit, a red catsuit that clung to every muscle he's got. You listen to their conversation as you wrap your hands in bandages like a boxer would before a fight, it helps with the impact of punches, hand-to-hand combat was your favourite, guns are to quick.

It was getting to five minutes before wheels up, everyone was finishing off with getting ready, Harley was putting on make up and insisted on putting some black lipstick on you so it would look nice with your hair. You wander over to the guy will all the tattoos, he was looking down at his palms in bewilderment.

“You okay?” you ask, he jumps a little before shoving his hands into his pocket, you smirk before nudge his arm and showing him your palms, in the centre of both you had a large snowflake tattooed, “You know, my ma, she just used to call my Ice Hands, before they were always so cold, here...” you say as you touch his hand with yours, his was super hot but yours were just above fridge cold. His heated eyes cooled down as he invited the cold, you stood there for a few minutes before the cold of your hands had gone warm and his cold.

“I'm Diablo,” he tells you, you smile kindly.

“I'm Y/N,” you tell him softly,

“AND I'M HARLEY QUINN!” Harley screamed jumping into the conversation, clearly thinking this was a meet-and-greet but the rest of us rolled with it, the scruffy man was called Boomerang and the prick that you dumped into the ground is called Slipknot. Killer Croc just wanted to be called Croc so you didn't press him for his real name.

“Let move, Suicide Squad!” a voice yelled over the paddock as a quinjets engine roared.

“Suicide Squad?” Floyd questioned as the rest of them mumbled.

You shrug, “Guess that's us,” you say not bothered at all by the name, better you die outside of Belle Reve than inside it's walls.

Taking Harley's hand the two of you kipped towards the quinjet, the rest of the team followed you, settling down in the seats of the jet, Floyd took the seat to the left of you, he smiled at you and touched your hand gently.

“Always check your six, babygirl.” he remains me before sitting back in his seat and signing loudly. Harley was yapping like normal to Croc who looked as thought he wanted to kill her already. Boomerang was being a pervert and staring you up and down as well as Harley.

But you pushed them all from your mind, this mission sounded dangerous and unlike anything you'd seen before, was this J having one of his jokes or an actual threat. You had no idea what to expect, non of you did but you had to suck up your doubt and put on a brave face.

It's survive or die, and you planned to live a long life.

[etoilesdephan]

Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt? (Chapter 5: Inustitia)

Chapter masterpost

Read it on ao3!

Total words: 12059/?????

Trigger warnings: Graphic depictions of blood. Anxiety.

“Turn left,” a gruff, bored voice spoke to him, but he didn't hear it, shoulders hunched and expression ragged as he stared at the camera in front of him, but his mind was somewhere far away. Somewhere on the other side of the city that he'd considered his home, the place of success and where his life had been going steadily up.

Now he stood here, dressed head to toe in the dark grey prison uniform issued to him as soon as he had crossed the threshold.

It was all like a bad nightmare and he had no strength left to wake up from it. It was like having an anchor tied to his ankle and he was slowly walking towards the deep end of the pool while everyone just watched him.

“Turn left, inmate!” the tone, louder and harsher, finally resonated with his mind and, numbly, he shuffled his feet to turn his body. He felt like he was swaying. His head felt detached from his other limbs, floating somewhere above his neck and controlling the rest of his body robotically.

He hadn't even realised at which point the photos had been finished and when his fingertips had been stained by the black ink for taking fingerprints. Somewhere idly in the back of his mind, better days were still trying to humour the fact of how behind the prison technology was, but it never reached the front plan of his mind. There hadn't really been a moment to prepare for this. It was a blur between the gavel and the trip to the prison, there were no other stops in between. He only remembered his family, Lesters included, talking to him, regarding him, there had been protesting and an apology from the lawyer though it hadn't been too genuine-sounding.

Before he knew it, he was surrounded by the soulless concrete walls of his new home and he felt his skin crawl as the coolness of the surroundings embraced his arrival.

So many jokes had been laughed at, back in the days of Manchester, now they crawled under his skin and the feeling made him want to pull the skin on his arms off, to rid himself of the prickles.

“Blanket, toothbrush, toothpaste,” the things were listed as they were placed into his arms “Additional privileges are awarded based on your performance here,” he felt some other items placed onto the blanket he was holding, before he was lead through the hallways, full of metal bars and that grey mouldy stench that only moisture mixed with the dirty scent of cement could create. He could hear the voices, muttering and eyes looking at him and he felt the disgusting feeling of being too exposed. He longed for one of his bigger hoodies, the soft blanket, the warm side of Phil to lean into.

Phil.

Finally he croaked out “When are the visiting hours? And phone calls?” He saw the look that the guard gave him, pressing his lips together thinly “You may make one call per week, the visitors are in two days.”

He nodded, obediently. That was also when they stopped, the jingling of the keys and the sound of metal scraping against metal loud. “Settle in and follow the orders as they come.”

He stepped inside the cell and looked up to see the other two guys in the small room watching him with mild curiosity that made Dan want to step right back out. “Behave,” the guard reminded and it was then that Dan realised that the door had been locked up behind him, and it was then that the reality of what had happened hit him.

He was in prison. He was an actual convict, unjustly. His whole life had been stripped off and he was left with a lousy selection of basic necessities in a small room with two other people.

Anxiety poured into his limbs and he momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Though he was usually seen as good with people these days, there was a strong sense of social anxiety that he felt whenever he was faced with someone new, especially when he was on his own. Fans had been one thing, they were always kind of predictable; some small talk, a photo, a hug at most and soon they would part ways.

This was completely different.

“Are you gonna stand there and stare at me all day?” he realised that he had been staring at one of the guys then and quickly averted his gaze, trying his best not to trip as he crossed the small room and sat down on the bed, holding his few possessions still. He kept looking down at the brush, noting the cheap brushes' hair already uneven though not used before.

He felt the presence before he saw it, and dared to look up as the other guy, his cellmate, leaned against the wall between their beds, arms crossed over his chest “What are you in for?” he'd expected the question, sooner or later, but he felt the bile burning his throat at the mere thought of pronouncing his sentence. “Are you mute or something?” there was a humour, rough, in the voice and he frowned, finally properly looking up, right at the scarred features of the other man “Attempted murder.”

“Oi, Larry, this one's down your lane,” instantly the man turned to look over his shoulder at the guy whose name was apparently Larry, the same one who Dan had stared at before accidentally “Attempted is not committed,” was the answer that followed and Larry flipped over the page of the book that he was reading, not even bothering to look over at the other two men.

“Look out, they might think it's a confession,” the lankier man, one who felt too close to Dan, chuckled and Dan felt his skin crawl. “Spike, in for several counts of armed robbery,” the man introduced himself and Dan nodded to that, curtly, wishing that Spike would leave. And even more so wishing that the name didn't make him think about the silly names that Phil used to give his plants based on his lifelong love for Buffy. He was sure that there was a lone succulent somewhere in Phil's bedroom with the exact same name.

“Got a name, murder boy?” he felt the acid rising from his stomach and he set his stuff aside at the foot of his bed. “Dan,” he muttered before he lied down, turning his back to Spike, hoping that it would be enough of an indication that he didn't want to continue the conversation. His heart was still beating too fast, too loudly, his breaths were hard to maintain steady, and he tried his best to not let himself freak out more than the feeling that already was settled in his bones.

There was a scoff, a chuckle “Too soft, murder boy, you're gonna have a tough time here.''

It was when the springs of another bed squeaked that he knew that he had been left alone and he curled up a bit, pressing his face into his hands.

Murder boy kept echoing in his mind.

=====

The blood was dripping, pouring endlessly between his fingertips as he tried to press down on the open wound. “No, no, no,” he muttered to himself, frantically, and looked around for something, anything that he could use to block the wound. There was a shirt on Phil's bedroom floor, and he quickly grabbed it, bunching it against the bleeding hole in Phil's chest, feeling the heaving, gurgling breaths beneath his hands.

He looked down, tears stinging in his eyes. He saw Phil's face, so pale, blue eyes wide in frantic as the older man was trying to mouth words but couldn't conjure a sound for them. “Just hold on, hold on a little longer, they are almost here,” and though he didn't recall it, he knew that he had called the ambulance.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, tears finally springing from the corners of his eyes and falling onto the blood-sticky hands that were trying to hold the wound shut as he supported Phil's back against his leg, trying to not let his best friend suffocate on the blood.

He felt a shiver from Phil's body, a violent jerk, and suddenly the blue eyes were glazed over.

“No, come on, stay with me, come on,” he pressed down on the wound more, the once blue shirt now stained crimson. It squelched with a gross sound when Dan's fingers curled into the fabric.

“Stay with me,” his tone begged and he could barely see anymore, the tears blurring out his vision.

He jerked awake, face wet with sweat and tears, and chest rising and falling heavily with every gasped breath. The alarms rang inside his head, and he couldn't understand where or who he was for a brief moment until his gaze focused onto the cold light pouring from the lamp attached to the ceiling.

Suddenly the reality flooded back in to him and he just lie there, trying to catch his breath. He felt the eyes on him, but there was only the makeshift silence of their half-exposed home.

A loud signal, one outside Dan's brain, filled the whole building, echoing sharply. He heard his two cellmates stand, nearing the door and he pushed himself up, limbs shaky, not entirely sure of what was happening.

“Lunch,” Spike supplied an answer without Dan asking, and he pushed himself up properly, noting the door opening and the line of guards directing the inmates downstairs and down a hall. It was like watching a bizarre movie, where he was too immersed, and he trailed between and after the other men, unsure of how he would find his way back later, but it was the least of his concerns.

The look that Larry had given him just before they had walked out still ghosted in the back of Dan's mind. He felt the fright chilling him, or perhaps it was his sweaty clothing, unable to maintain enough body heat.

He felt the eyes, saw the looks, clearly noticed by some as the new guy.

He tried to ignore them.

The tray of food before him was disappointing, the food balanced but cooked without any of the fondness that every one of their meals at home had been. He found an empty table, feeling worse than being in high school and university cafeterias had ever made him feel.

Dan understood that if he was stuck here, it was not going to be easy, but he didn't want to get involved with others. The thought of years of loneliness caused a serene smile on his tired features, cracked lips wrapping around the fork as he tried to get rid of the disgusting sensation in his stomach by swallowing a few pieces of the meal.

It was like the life before 2008. Though he had friends, he felt alone most of the time. That loneliness was half the reason why he had ended up on YouTube somewhere along the way, it was what had caused him to stumble upon the AmazingPhil channel and fall in love with the creator of it, slowly at first and then completely and undeniably as they began talking more with every passing day.

To think that he was to return to those days again.

A sigh fell from his lips and he set the fork down, resting his head into the open palm instead and running long fingers through the the curly and messy locks.

“You're new!” the statement came just before a sound of a tray dropped on the table made Dan jump, looking up at the owner of the voice. A guy, a little shorter and a little better built than him, with grey eyes and a pitch black mop of hair unceremoniously plopped down right next to Dan, a wide smile on his lips. It was eerie and Dan shifted, trying to make more space between the two.

“Oh don't be so shy, new guy,” a hand was held out towards him and Dan looked at it with mild suspicion instead of accepting it “The name's Rudy, and I feel like you could use someone to explain you more about how things are run here.” Rudy dropped his hand when it wasn't accepted, but he didn't looked bothered by it at all.

Dan regarded him for a silent moment, from the widely stretched lips to the way his eyes were full of life and how his shoulders were perfectly relaxed. The absolute opposite from how Dan felt.

“Dan,” his lips parted before his brain caught up and his tone came out a lot more confident than he felt.

“Dan,” Rudy repeated with a nod before leaning onto the table and grabbing his fork to start shoveling the food down his throat with a speed that made it look like he hadn't eaten in days. Slower, Dan did the same, chewing through the over-boiled vegetables and drinking the water that tasted like had been boiled yesterday and left in the kettle overnight.

“So what do you know about the order around here? Bet they gave you your basic essentials and told to obey the orders, without explaining anything, eh?” Dan almost choked on the piece of carrot that he had been chewing on when the full-on enthusiastic man turned towards him again and basically described what had happened.

“Uh, yeah,” He answered and though the other man was still unnerving him, there was that part of Dan that wasn't as cynical and suspicious, that dared to think that perhaps this guy was genuinely just trying to be helpful. (And part of him had the most tense alarms ringing, screeching for him to stay away.)

As if feeling Dan's looming worries, the guy suddenly dropped his fork, downed his drink and pushed himself up, stretching his back before he flashed Dan a wide smile “Come on, I'll show you around,” At noticing Dan look over at the guards briefly, he laughed and added “We're free to roam certain sections during the lunch and a bit before dinner, relax.”

Dan hesitated for a moment longer before he noticed a few inmates emptying their trays and calmly walking out of the cafeteria.

His mind was screaming at him when, side-by-side, the two left the cafeteria and Dan felt like shrinking as they passed by the guards that eyed them suspiciously. Rudy was not once bothered by it, however and easily held a one-sided conversation, explaining about the local rules and the 'rules' between the inmates. There was a small library available, all the books strictly followed and checked with every exchange. There were the showers. There was a yard, thickly surrounded by walls and fences. There was even a small common area, though it seemed to be largely deserted save for the few guys currently scrubbing the tables.

Apparently there were duties as well, Rudy soon explained.

The words flowed through Dan's mind, at first catching up with the information, but soon enough he was completely zoning them out and it was only when they had returned to the library and Rudy waved a hand in front of his face did Dan realise that he had no idea of how much time had passed.

“I'll leave you to that, Dan,” The dark-haired man was still smiling and when he left it was like a Cheshire cat's glowing grin in the darkness that appeared to be burned into his retinas.

[whatsupsac]

What’s Up Tonight, 5/9/18

Sac Activist School - Asylum Seekers: Join the Sac Activist School and Asylum Seekers: Moria at Sol Collective for an evening of a pop up art exhibit and segmented screening of the documentary, followed by Q&A. Asylum Seekers: Moria is a documentary film exposing the inhumanity surrounding the refugee crisis in Europe, highlighting one of the worst refugee camps in the EU, Moria. Drinks, snacks and spicy popcorn provided. 6-8PM. Suggested Donation: $10

Poets & Writers Literary Roundtable: Hosted by the Sacramento Poetry Center, this free, informal meeting is a great way to connect with fellow presenters, presses, teachers, and writers. Roundtable Meetings bring together people from all areas of the literary community to exchange ideas, news, and resources. It's also a chance to learn about P&W and how their Readings & Workshops program might support your literary events.  Writer and activist Katie McCleary will be the guest speaker. McCleary works in arts and education programming for low-income and at-risk populations. She is co-founder of 916 Ink and River Rock Books, and currently works with inmates in Folsom prison. McCleary will speak about her work and why writing matters. 6-8PM. Free. RSVP to jfitzgerald@pw.org.

Teenage Dirtbag 90s Dance Party: The Press Club hosts. DJs will be bringing the best 90's jams (Gin Blossoms, Third Eye Blind, Green Day, Jane's Addiction, etc) and beer pong, kings cup and flip cup tables will be set up, 90's teen movies on the tvs and as always the cheap drink prices that make you happy you don't have to score your booze from your friend’s older brother. 21+ 9PM. $5.

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

||Caught within the trapped cells||

Hi there. I think it's time for a mini drabble series once more. However, this one is heavily focused on the officers that was caught by the inmates here. So lets see where it goes.

||Drabble Summary||

After the officers were taken one by one by the inmates that got out. It seems some of them now have the others trapped. It seems we check on the first inmate and officer: Bakugo and Ink. What will happen during this night during the lockdown? Will the officers manage to stay sane or fall to the corruption? read to find out.

||Warning||

~Strong Sexual NSFW warning ((This is going to be present in all the chapters. If your under 18: Do Not READ!))

~Teasing

~Flirting

~Rough play

~Punishment

~demon corrupting an officer

~Chapters will or could be really long

||Muses in this drabble||

Van Ink the Dragon and some others that will show in later chapters belong to my amazing friend @demon-blood-youths

While Bakugo Katsuki along with some others that will show in later chapters are from their anime shows but also to me due to having them as muses.

((Note: This drabble will have heavy grammar mistakes and errors but this was written for fun. I hope you understand but also enjoy please. Also as I warned: This will have heavy sexual themed content. If your under 18, please don't read. Thanks for understand and enjoy.))

Bakugo Katsuki was knocked out while he was resting against something with his wrists tied to the metal bed board of a cell. However, he winces as something was slowly stroking him down there.

"Bakugo.....Bakugo, wakey wakey..." said a soft voice but a hand reaches to touch his cheek as whoever was speaking was right into his ear.

He slowly turns his head feeling a bit tired till he then opens his eyes seeing where he was. Wait, this isn't the hallway....right there, he tries to move but couldn't seeing his wrists were tied.

"H..huh?..w..what the hell?!"

"Oh hi Bakugo. You woke up. I was wondering when you would...heh, you are a pretty heavy sleeper though."

He blinks looking forward to hear the voice seeing it was inmate Vanguard. That told him he had to be in Ink's cell!

"Ink? What the hell is going on? Untie me!"

"Heheheh, nope. I don't want to. It took some time to get you here but I'm happy that I did. Besides, I missed you.." she pouts but she keeps her hand on his cheek to move it down then slowly rests on the side. While her other hand was still caressing the soft bulge in between his legs. He tenses to look then at her growling.

"Ink-"

"Shhhhh.....Look, I'm not going to do anything bad to hurt you or anything. You know that's not me. I just....wanted to have a little fun or a game we can play. You like games right?" she asked with a smile.

".....What sort of game are you talking about?" he asked but Ink tilts her head to keep her hand where it was as she moves it up to his chest.

"You know.....our little private game. I've missed playing with you ever since that new rule Mr. Henderson gave you guys...and I been holding off pretty good. So...since your here...." she lowers her hand slowly that it slips right into his pants to feel him directly.

"Can we play it like before?" she asked now slowly stroking him.

"H..Huh??! You...are you crazy! Ink, we are not going to play that game again. You need to-Nuggh!" he feels her squeeze his cock but shudders when she slowly was stroking him even slowly to smile.

"You sure you don't want to? I know from back then you were bored too.

"W..who says I was?" He said feeling her warm hand stroking him very slowly like she was teasing him but Ink looks to him then down at his pants seeing slight movement due to her moving her own.

"I know you did miss our games....just like me miss you when we play them. So why not have some fun with me? We can play together.." she smiled happy to him but she reaches to take her hand out slowly but works on undoing his pants.

"H..Huh?! H..Hey! No you-" he heard the clink of his belt before it was removed but she was now undoing the button and pulls the zipper down to show the boxers. "......" He was a bit hard thanks to her but Ink looks to notice that she smiled.

"Seems like your alright with this. Did you miss me too?" she said smiling even if Bakugo looks away from her with his face a bit pink. So cute.

"You don't have to say..I know you missed me too. But I can make it up to you for that." she said gently to sit up but she begins to lean in close holding his cheek to give a soft kiss to his own. Even her lips were warm that made Bakugo close his hands into a fist.

"It makes me wonder how the other officers will react when I get them trapped under me too. I know the other five will be just as fun to break like it was with you.." she speaks softly to him only to hear him sigh.

"They are not t..that easy to break and I'm not either. Don't look down on us like where that weak, Vanguard.." Bakugo warns and yet Ink blinks to giggle.

"I know, I know..that's what I'm curious of. But.....maybe you can help me."

"What?"

"I already got you wrapped around my little finger officer Katsuki so...you can help me get the next one. I want to try getting Denji next. He seems like fun."

"What makes you think I'll help you? "he said only for Ink to smile but looks at him with her glowing grey eyes. She looked fucking cute like this but she slowly leans in close that their lips almost touched.

"Because I know you will. I can tell you wanted me as badly as I wanted you. I get the feeling you missed the feeling of pleasure so..I know. You miss our games...don't you officer Katsuki.." she said but when Bakugo was going to speak she kissed him softly on the lips holding his cheeks. He growls feeling the kiss again after a while but it was just like before.

Sweet. Warm. and every intoxicating. This dragon was dangerous. Seductive and dangerous. How could many guys not fall for her even when she was doing this? He feels the kiss still remaining but he got hard even more wanting more. To kiss her, touch her, take her, anything! It was hard enough for him that it leaves him flushed. She could tell he was returning the kiss only for her to break it smiling.

"See? Your excited yourself......" she said.

"I'm not..I...It was a reaction.." he lied but Ink looks to him.

"You sure it was a reaction?" she asked to now sit back and slowly reach to her inmate shirt. Bakugo sees her slowly reach to pull it up showing her slender stomach before seeing the dark blue bra she was wearing.

"And not a hungry desire to play our game?" she teased that Bakugo blushed red seeing this but he looks away only to feel Ink lean in closer to start kissing his neck and pressing up against his body.

"H..Hey, don't you......"

"Come on Bakugo....if you agree with hanging out with me, I'll let your wrists go and you can play with me." she pouts even when she begins unbottoning his jacket uniform, wanting to feel his chest.

"H..Hey!" He tires to stop her only to get kissed on the lips again. He feels her tongue slip past his lips hearing a whimper from her and a groan from him. He shook feeling the hot kiss between them before he feels her open his shirt and exposes his muscle shirt he was wearing. She and him still kept kissing before she breaks it panting softly. A thin trail of saliva between them was seen before it breaks only for her to blush now.

"Even now I'm getting excited for our game...so lets play okay? We can feel good together Bakugo..." she said flushed that she even strokes his chest hearing a grunt from him. Damn her fingers. They were caressing the shirt and some of his skin even if she was sitting on his lap he was already aroused wanting her so damn badly.

Closing his fists, he tries to break free to see she tied his wrists with leather but hisses when she slowly teases his nipples. "I..Ink....."

"Hmmm?"

"E..enough already..c..come on....just let me out of this and maybe i won't..."

"Nope...I have to be sure you feel good too.." she teased only for her to lower her hands back to his cock that she begins to stroke him again making him hiss. "Besides, you feel good right?"

"N..No hhhaaa..No I...mmmmm...." he tries to move but Ink keeps him where he was while she was stroking him a bit more seeing the tip leaking pre-cum. She knew he was excited to play their game even the thought of how excited he was getting also effected her. She felt a bit wet down there but she focused on him.

"Come on Bakugo...you don't have to hide it...it feels good right?" she asked as he hisses and growls, his hips buck to start thrusting into her hands.

"I...I..."

"Yes?" she quickens her hips hearing a louder hiss but it's mixed with a moan this time. Damn it all! He wants to say no it didn't feel good but he moans even louder knowing it's wrong. It felt good even with her soft hands and fingers. Now he was growing hot wondering how she'll feel inside again. Ink was still stroking him even more that she quickens her hands while blushing herself.

She could feel him throbbing around her hands like he was going to cum. This got her more wet down there to her legs shaking. Even if he was a officer, he was pretty cute. Looking at him, Ink saw his flushed expression to see him panting trying not to cum but she even sees her hands coated in some of the pre-cum.

"Does it feel good? Are you close officer Katsuki?" she asked.

"Haaaa....hhaaaaa...."

"It's alright. You can cum...go ahead....you can let it all out." she said quickening her hands to make Bakugo buck his hips again.

"H..Hey wait n..no!" he groans leaning his head back but he was feeling so close. He grits his teeth trying to hold back but it was too much. Ink kept going more and more till he roars out bucking his hips again. Ink saw him cum hard on the bed, her hands, and a bit on herself as she sees it twitching when he did.

"So much......" she softly said blushing seeing him panting still cumming. When he stopped, he lowers his hips to crash on the bed catching his breath. Even when seeing this, Ink squirms a bit now excited more.

"........."

"Haaaa....hhhhaaaaa.....hhhaaaaa..d...damn it......" he was looking dazed a bit but that's when he saw Ink come closer but looks at him. "W..what now? G...got something to s..say or you....." he sees her slowly remove the lower part of her inmate uniform now showing the panties too to make him blush worse.

"....Were not d..done yet. I wanna keep playing Bakugo Katsuki.." she said gently to him that he had a nosebleed. Seeing her like this didn't help. Even with her medium black messy hair was covering her shoulders and face a little was cute to see. She was pretty fit but just the right amount that he closed his hands again shaking.

"So...lets keep playing our game.."

"How can I if you got me tied up like this?" he grumbled still flushed.

"..I..If you behave then I'll let you go........but you then can help me...I feel really weird but in a good way. So help me out.." she said to lean against him but was in between his legs so her body is up against him.

"Then I can help you." she said pouting that he only remains quiet. He said nothing but looks to her then away.

"..So....deal?" she asked.

".........D..Deal..." he said as she sits up to start removing his wrists so they were free. However, as he did, he could see a wet thin trail from her leg running down. Wait, was she aroused too? He knew she was but as soon as his wrists were freed, he quickly grabs her wrists to carefully lay her down hearing a yelp.

"Hey you said you would-" Right away, he kissed her deeply while keeping her quiet. A whine slips past her lips while he was kissing her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Haaaa...hhaaaaa..B...Bakugo y..you said you...mmmmmm..you s..said you w..would b..behave...."

Ink was panting trapped under him but she moans throwing her head back. Bakugo had her trapped under him but was eating her out heavily. His hands were wrapped around her thighs tightly while growling, sucking, and slurping what he could. If Ink was going to do that then he should return the favor.

Ink, on the other hand, was shaking and moaning trying to move but he was strong. He wouldn't let her go just yet while pushing his tongue into her.

"Haaaa....ahhhhhhh........nnugghhh..."

He slowly moves up to even tease the nub to make her gasp sitting up gripping his hair. "H..Hey, don't touch the n..nub that's ahggghhaa ahhhhhh..." He ignores her now teasing it but she grew wetter and hotter panting.

"B..Bakugo..Bakugo..y...you..ooohhhh...mmmmmmm...." Her fingers were shaking, her legs trembling as he groans still eating her out. He already wanted more of her even if he was corrupted by this dragon. He didn't care. He even latches on to make Ink scream arching her back. her arms were shaking now with her fingers shaking.

"E..enough B..Bakugo..hhaaaaa...e..enough I...I'm gonna...." she tries to make him pull back but he growls not going anywhere while eating her out more that Ink moans gasping in pleasure. Her eyes were closed feeling the pleasure before throwing her head back.

"Ahhh...g..gonna c..cum...gonna cum...gonna-" biting her bottom lip, Bakugo felt her suddenly orgasm as he groans seeing her shaking again. Her fingers tug at his hair while she came with a cry. He sees her panting heavily from the feeling as she was falling back on her back. Bakugo licked his lips from the view but he was still not done with her. Lowering down he slowly started to latch onto one of her breasts to suck on that and the nipple.

"Ah!?" she shook feeling his tongue rubbing against it while squeezing the other. He knew she said that but right now, he was too hot to think clearly. Right now, he wanted the dragon and he wanted her now!

A heated growl was heard from the officer still sucking on her breast before he lets it go with a pop, panting. That's when he goes to the other one doing the same as she hissed feeling the one he just sucked now sensitive since he was rubbing the nipple.

"Ahhhh B...bakugo!!!!"

"You hhaa t..teasing dragon..damn it all.." he was already sucking and teasing her more that he already moves the free hand down her stomach to start fingering her again.

"H..Hey, your c...c...cheating..hhaaaaaa...your b..being naughty..s..so..oohhhh...n...naughty!!" she moans but Bakugo spreads her open feeling she was slick and wet now. He only pulls at her nipple in his mouth only to let it go with a pop seeing it move that he was thrusting his fingers into her hearing more moans.

"Ahhh!!"

"That's it..you better moan you naughty dragon. I'm going to make sure you get punished for this." he panted still thrusting them in faster that she curls her toes shaking again. Even with his fingers it felt so good!!

"Mmmmm...mmmmmm!!!" as he was fingering her, he was already seeing her dazed out expression seeing her grey eyes glowing more and her teeth sharpening a little. However, Ink shook again gripping the pillow as she was going to cum again.

"B..Bakugo e..enough....I....."

"Hmmm?" he looks to see her dazed now but she was reaching to kiss his neck.

"I..I don't know if I can hold it anymore....I..I want it..." she said but he looks only to chuckle.

"Seems like the dragon is admitting defeat.....I guess I can get you that....I'll be sure you feel good.." He said holding her hips but he got her laying on her side while holding one leg up. He sees her wet now but she was shaking seeing him being hard.

Ink and Bakugo said nothing but he held her waist to grind against her. She panted to look at him then quickly moans feeling him thrust deeply into her. He held her tight feeling her so wet, hot, and so tight. Tighter than the last time.

"Haaaaa...hhaaaaaa......"

"T..tight....damn so tight.." he growls even feeling Ink tightening around him. She panted to shake looking at the pillow but she moans to whimper.

"G..go on..m...move..I know you w..want t..to.." she said only for him to nuzzle into her neck as he begins thrusting into her. She moans softly from the thrusts but heard Bakugo groaning out. Damn he missed this feeling. She felt so good inside that he was even squeezing one breast while doing it.

"Ahhhhh....ahhhhhhhh..mmmm.....B...bakug..o...."

"Feels good don't it? Your too good Ink......really good.." He said still thrusting his hips but he only feels her trying to buck her hips back as he hissed close to biting her neck.

"I d..do..I feel g..good...I w..want more...I wanna feel good even more.." she begs only for him to adjust himself now thrusting faster. Right away Ink moans gripping the pillow but she had one arm wrapped around his own, letting him take her.

"Ahhh..ahhhh..f...faster......f..faster faster faster......"

Bakugo heard this but went faster as she cries out in pleasure. He growls still thrusting into her, hearing the skin clapping against her own but he already was losing it panting and growling into her neck. He already was gripping her hips while giving her pleasure that he heard her voice just exciting him more.

However, that's when he changes his pace to now start pounding into her. Ink screams with grey eyes wide but lowers her head taking them. He was strong but her body just accepts it. He was too good and it was so hard, her body was aching wanting it.

"Haaa!! ahhh! ahhhh!! AHHHH!!"

He didn't ease up on her but he only groans wanting more. He even squeezes her breast while she was drooling from the rough treatment. "Bakugo!!! Y...Yes m..more!! r..right there! Right there!!" she moans looking out of it. Seems he found her special spot that he keeps going harder and harder focused on it. He heard her whining now thrusting back with the bed moving just a little with the officer claiming the dragon.

"Grrrrr I..Ink...Ink...." He still keeps thrusting faster and harder, making her feel good as she was crying out for him. Both were lost to the pleausre that a warm coil was building in her stomach. Gasping, she opens her eyes to shake more.

"B..bakugo..I..I'm close..s..slow d..down a little..I don't wanna...."As she said this, Bakugo suddenly shifts to get on his knees now pounding into her. "AHHHHHHH!!!! B..BAKUGO N..NOT YET! NO!!"

"Haaaaa...hhaaaaaaa.....then cum..I'm not stopping not now or ever. Your mine tonight Ink so cum!" he orders as she was drooling with her eyes rolling in the back of her head. Even when she tried to move, he was strong holding her hips so she couldn't.

"Ahhhhh...ahhhhhhhh..g...gonna c..cum....gonna cum!!!!" he keeps slamming his hips but he growls now hitting her spot even more that she claws the bed sheets. "Gonna CUM!!!!" she moans only to feel him hit that spot again when Ink screams out. Her hips quivered as she came violently as Bakugo held her hips tight growling as he bucks forward. However, she felt something hot fill her up twitching. He must have came too while both her and him were dazed.

"Haaa y...you c...came...you.....mmmmm..." she grips the pillow but he panted more, drooling from feeling her even tighter. Bakugo looks to pull her up but started kissing her deeply while she returns the kiss in want. Her and her held the kiss for a moment before she breaks it.

"S....Seems you liked our game...but your not d..done y..yet a..are you?" she asked shaking that Bakugo panted only to change position. Now he was sitting back but slams her hips down as she moans clawing the bed.

"Oh no..I'm not...." he was dazed and hungry for her that he begins making her bounce on his lap when another round has started. She only moans bouncing on his lap but she felt him squeeze her breasts while playing with her during their game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This kept going for a while but Ink already was bouncing on his lap facing him. Her breasts being sucked on while she shivers again holding his head close. "I...mmmmm..k..knew you wanted t..to play but the night is still young....mmmmm.." she panted as Bakugo thrusts up into her wanting more.

"Though..haaaa..I will give you more.......but in return...you'll help me get the next officer.......okay?" she asked but he panted pulling back wanting her but he heard the request.

"F..fine..just let me have more..I'll get another for you to break......." he panted only for Ink to slowly smile but looks at him.

"G..good.....for that..you can do whatever you like with me..I'm a..all yours Bakugo.." Hearing this, he slams up into her again as Ink moans out throwing her head back, moaning his name for him to hear. Seems she fully broken him but no worries she was happy. This means more playtime for them.

This leaves one officer corrupted with five more to go. However, this officer was not the only one trapped. More were stuck with their charges so.....

Who's next?