#so much Johnny ass in leather running around

[lmshady]

Me with all the Rush Week Johnnys~

Will say, Rush Week has been stupid fun. I love it~♥

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 4 - (Leather or) Latex

Soap x F!Reader - 2.5k (on ao3)

summary: Johnny doesn't tell you about an allergy of his until he's already got you writhing and needy beneath him. (Reader POV)

cw: dubcon, reader & soap are drunk but not so drunk they can't consent (but alcohol is mentioned throughout the drabble)

You giggle against Johnny’s lips as he pushes his hand up your shirt, big calloused palm running over your stomach and wrapping around your hip. You return the favor, letting your fingers creep under the neckline of his wife beater and running over the dips of his muscles. 

You knew he was buff – could see it clear as day, even before he flexed his arms and winked at you from across the bar, the cocky ass – but feeling him beneath your fingertips, feeling the way his muscle moves as he runs his hands over your body has your thighs squeezing together and your heartbeat racing.

Most of the journey from the taxi he’d hailed to your apartment door is a blur, just you and Johnny stumbling into and around each other as you try to keep your lips locked for as long as possible, hardly willing to separate for even a breath.

You’ve always been a bit of a needy (see: horny) drunk, but the heat coursing through you feels like a whole new level of lust. You feel warm all over, the gusset of your panties already sticking uncomfortably between your thighs when you haven’t even really gotten past first base. 

If you’d had one less drink, or one more friend at the bar looking out for you, you know you wouldn’t have risked taking Johnny home to your apartment the same night you met him. But you’re delighted that sober-you had taken a few risks so that drunk-you can reap the rewards via a very sexy Scotsman.

“Fuck, lass,” he grunts in one of the few moments you have to pull away for breath. “Cannae think with ye pressed against me like tha’.”

“Like this?” You purr, practically pinning him to the wall of the elevator and rubbing yourself against him like a cat in heat. You’d be embarrassed if you couldn’t feel his obvious approval pressing against your stomach.

“Yes,” he hisses, groping your ass with both hands. He’s got you tugged out of the elevator and moving down the hallway before you even realize you’re on the right floor, nipping your neck lightly as he waits for you to find the right door.

“C’mon, c’mon, hurry up,” he urges, groping you through your short dress and nearly making you flash the empty hallway. 

You giggle, pressing your ass against him as you finally manage to stop fumbling long enough to get the key in the lock and shove the door open, both of you stumbling through. 

He’s got you pressed against the door as soon as it closes, your thighs locked around his hips and your dress rucked up around your stomach. You’re panting into his mouth as your teeth clash against his, writhing as much as you can against the bulge pressed to your core.

“Bedroom,” you urge, hands twisted in the front of his shirt. He pulls back with one last bite to your lips, mirroring the smile on your face. He’s already flushed, pink high on his cheekbones and pupils blown wide. Your grin turns shy, some semblance of awareness returning now that you’re finally home. 

“Where?” He asks, voice so low that it’s almost all growl. You surge forward enough to press more kisses to his mouth, closed mouth despite the way he tries to worm his tongue between your lips.

“First door on the right,” you say against his cheek, arching to rub your pussy against him, combing your fingers through his sweat-damp mohawk. 

He doesn’t put you down when he pulls away from the door, and the display of strength nearly makes you melt against him. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, sucking hickies into his throat as he quickly strides towards your room. The natural movement of his body keeps you lightly grinding against him, just enough stimulation to keep your head foggy with alcohol and lust.

You bounce lightly when he drops you on the bed, your laugh cut off when he quickly follows and drops his weight over you. 

“Johnny!” You cry, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pulling him close. “You’re heavy.”

He laughs along with you, pressing hard kisses against your lips. “‘M too big for ye, bonnie, ‘s tha’ it?”

You let your look turn seductive, eyes half-lidded as you drag your nails over his back. “Not sure about that, handsome. We’ll have to wait and see, hm?”

His moan is downright pornographic, hips jerking against your stomach and biceps on either side of your head bulging. “Oh, I’m plenty big, lass. I’ll fill you up just fine, ‘nd then some.”

You hum, pressing slow kisses across his cheekbones. “I’m hearing a lot of talk so far.” You press yourself up against him, dress hiked up high enough to reveal your white panties, the gusset nearly translucent from your arousal. “You sure you can back it up?”

Your taunt works almost too well, Johnny’s narrowing before he’s shoving your dress up and over your head, leaving you in your matching bra and panties. He moans as he throws your dress to the side, diving straight into your chest and kissing your tits through the lace of your bra.

You run your hands through his mohawk, scratching along his scalp in encouragement as you press your knees to his ribs. The second he starts dipping his head further down your body you grab his tank top, yanking the hem of it until he looks up at you from where he’d been kissing your stomach.

“No more foreplay,” you whine, tugging his top until he gets the hint and tugs it off. “Just want you to fuck me.”

He smirks against your belly, big hands rubbing up over your hips and waist. “Yeah? Needy thing.”

You cock an eyebrow, dropping one leg to rub your knee against the tent in his jeans. You don’t bother saying anything, letting yourself smirk when he moans and drops his head onto your plush skin. 

“Alright, alright,” he pants, and you feel a flush of pride when his hands are trembling just a bit as he unbuckles his belt, discarding it without care and pushing his jeans off just as quickly. 

You can’t help but moan when his cock bounced up to press against his stomach, red and hard and so clearly aching. You want him in your mouth almost as badly as you want him in your cunt.

“Ye’re good for the ego, hen,” Johnny teases, lifting himself enough to press against your stomach, showing the both of you just how deep he’ll sink inside of you.

“Shit,” you whisper, writhing beneath him. “God, you better be able to last.”

He barks a laugh, twisting one of your nipples in playful retaliation. “Ye gonna have yer way with me?”

You hum, wrapping one hand around his cock and biting your lip. “Hope you can go a few rounds, baby.”

“Don’t worry,” he purrs, and you find yourself suddenly flipped around, resting on top of him, pressed stomach to stomach. “I’ll keep you busy for hours, lass.”

You giggle, pushing up with your hands on his chest, squeezing the muscle there and arching your back to present your tits for him. Your ass rests against his cock, the warm length of him pressed against your panties. 

“Condom?” You ask, tugging your underwear to the side so you can fully press yourself against him. His hands are hot on your hips, fingertips pressed into the fat of your ass so he can guide you into grinding against him.

He furrows his brows, moves you a little more quickly over him. “No,” he says simply, pushing himself more firmly against him. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You frown now, placing one hand on his chest to hold yourself steady and looking down at him. “No? What do you mean no? We need to use a condom.”

He sighs, exasperated, and jerks his hips up against you. You gasp when the head of his cock nearly slips into your slick hole, your body jolting up and away on instinct. “Wait, wait, Johnny, condom!”

His sigh is verging on pissy now. “Ye really telling me ye don’t want me to come inside of ye? Don’t want my come dripping out of ye, a treat to remember me by?”

The thought makes you shudder, but there’s enough rationality left in your head for you to scooch forward enough that his cock isn’t pressed quite so directly against you. “Johnn, seriously, we need to use protection.”

His eyes narrow, clearer now than they have been since he hailed the cab nearly an hour ago, and you find yourself flipped back onto your back without any warning. 

“I cannae use one,” he says, eyes trained on your tits as he speaks. “Latex allergy.”

Your eyes narrow, sobering more quickly now. “What are you talking about–”

He ducks his head to your chest before you can finish your sentence, locking his lips around one pert nipple and sucking. You gasp, arching up further into his hold as words slip away from you.

“J-Johnny,” you try, yanking on his hair when he won’t listen. He pulls off a moment later, but only just long enough to start yanking your bra over your head. “Seriously, we need to use protection–”

You’re cut off again, grunting your displeasure this time when he flips you easily to your stomach. You huff, pushing yourself up on your hands and glaring over your shoulder.

“I already told ye,” he insists, pressing kisses over your shoulders and slipping his cock between your folds, your underwear tugged to the side enough to leave you revealed to him. “I cannae use them. Ye want to fuck, or ye wanna take a trip to the ER when my cock stops working halfway through?”

You hesitate, all of your instincts telling you to say a resounding no and kick this jackass out of your apartment, but well… you’re more worked up then you’ve been in months, and he’s already gotten this far. It’s not like you don’t take birth control, either.

The decision is taken out of your hands when you feel the plush head of his cock notch against your hole, then a stretch that has any hope of denial yanked right from your chest. You go a little blind as he steadily fills you, breath hitching and fingers gripping desperately to your sheets.

“Tha’s it,” Johnny moans above you, hips jerking just once and making you squeal. “Fuckin’ take it.”

“Johnny,” you moan, eyes squeezed shut. “C-condom.”

He growls above you, bullies himself to the hilt and huffs when you yelp. “Already said no, lass. Besides,” he says as he pulls out nearly the whole way, his voice breathy. “It’s too late now.”

He sets a steady but relentless pace, hips smacking against your ass as he fucks you relentlessly. You have no hope of quieting your moans, reduced to nothing but animal desire. 

“Fuck, ye feel so good, bonnie,” he moans above you, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck until you reach back and tug his hair, forcing him away. “Gonnae fuck ye full, yeah?”

“Johnny, Johnny,” you cry, pressing back against each of his thrusts as much as you can, mindless with your pleasure.

“What?” He pants, smacking your ass once and driving another moan from you. “What’re ye bitchin’ about now?”

“Feels so good,” you manage, worming one hand beneath your body so you can rub as best you can at your clit. “Gonna- gonna come.”

“Yeah, yes, come on my fuckin’ cock,” he groans, voice rough. His thrusts are deep and harsh, penetrating you so quickly that you can hardly keep your fingers steady enough to get yourself off. “Yer squeezin’ me so well.”

“Gonna come, gonna come,” you chant, clit hot and slick beneath your fingertips. You feel like you’re hardly breathing as you finally find the perfect rhythm, your pace matching Johnny’s as he tries to rearrange your guts.

You melt into nothing but a puddle as you finally manage to find your peak, ears ringing and every part of you buzzing as you go limp underneath Johnny.

“Fuck, fuck,” he pants above you, losing what little rhythm he had. “God, hen, yer so– shit, gonna come inside ye, gonna fill ye up.”

You whine, some distant part of you upset with that, but you can’t bring yourself to complain, God forbid trying to stop him. Johnny presses bites across your shoulders as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm, the bruising pain only dragging out your own euphoria.

You’re so wrapped up in your own pleasure that you hardly realize when he comes, only distantly aware of the way he collapses over you. 

You bask in your orgasm for as long as you can, tolerating the sweaty man giving you nearly all his weight since he comes with a cock for you to clench down on as your body floats through the aftershocks.

Eventually, your discomfort with Johnny on top of you becomes too much to tolerate and you shift uncomfortably, grumbling. “Get off,” you moan, trying to buck him off and failing terribly.

He complies easily enough though, rolling off of you but keeping you held tight to his front. His cock slips out of you a moment later and you wince at the feeling of spunk dripping between your thighs.

You wriggle out of his arms a few minutes later, groaning when he holds tight. “Johnny, let go.”

“No,” he pouts, wrapping his arms tight around your chest and burying his face in your neck. “What happened to a few rounds?”

You groan, throwing your weight away from him and hardly managing to move an inch. “Unless you want to give me a UTI, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.”

He moans, sounding a bit like a kicked dog, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Don’t wanna let ye go.”

You hate the way your heart warms at that and only just manage to keep from smiling. “I’ll be right back, Johnny. Promise.”

He props himself up on an elbow to look down at you, eyes narrowed as he studies your expression. “Fine,” he finally decides, flopping away from you and down onto his back. “But hurry.”

You can’t help but laugh as you head to the bathroom, affection keeping you from any lingering grumpiness. You do your business quickly and discard what’s left of your clothes, finding yourself eager to finally get a true taste of more than just Johnny’s mouth.

He’s propped himself up against your headboard when you step back into the room, cock already chubbing up against his thigh at the sight of your naked body. You can’t help but smirk, feeling sexy under his hungry gaze.

“Now,” you say, sauntering towards the bed and letting your hips sway. “How about a few more rounds?”

He’s already grinning as you climb onto the bed, hands reaching for your body as you settle over his thighs. “Oh, bonnie,” he says, lips cherry red from your kisses. “Ye and I have a long night ahead of us.”

[neoarchipelago]

Haven't properly written in a while... This writer's block is destroying me...

_-_-_-_

Simon Riley getting hurt on his bike.

Like he has a mild crash because of a dumbass doing a U-turn and got smashed.

Bike is ruined, arm is bleeding from rubbing the asphalt. He just gets up, groaning because, shit, that bike is too weeks old. Walks like a boss but the old lady has already called 911 and is crying apologizing. Simon feels suddenly bad for his internal 'dumbass' comment. Paramedics tend to his wound, the old cop scolding him for driving in leather pants but in t-shirt.

"What kind of two half ass protection is this son?"

"What?"

Simon just feels a migraine rushing to him.

He gets a ride home from Soap who he called. Best buddy wouldn't shut up either but he loves his Johnny like his own brother so he lets him ramble.

He walks up to the elevator, saying bye to an over worried Soap who just groans and curses in his own babbling.

The elevator's doors close and silence finally settles. He runs his temple with his left hand through the balaclava, the right one holding his leather gloves and being bandaged.

His right arm stings, but he had much worse. Nothing a bit of bourbon couldn't erase. The pounding of his head needs to shut up too. The doors ding and he groans.

He walks to his apartment's door, fumbling the keys and the sound of a door slowly opening is heard behind him.

He glances back, pretty soft eyes looking in his direction. Ah yes. The neighboor.

"Hello Mr ril-... Oh god... What happened?"

He almost wants to chuckle at the worried expression.

" 'ust a scratch..." He mumbles, the words rumbling with his low tone.

But the footsteps he hears makes him sigh and he turns around looking down at the pretty Princess in front of him.

"Mr Riley! That doesn't look like a scratch... What happened?"

The pleading eyes, the worried expression does it for him, his eyes never leaving yours as he automatically mumbles:

"I crashed the bike."

Your eyes widen in shock again. He feels bad. You look even more worried now. He didn't even know that was possible and it somehow breaks his heart.

"Oh sh-...hum"

Hmm... She curses? He never heard her curse. It's adorable.

"Please tell me you're ok... Are you hurt anywhere else? Why didn't you call me? I mean-"

God that blush is cute. How can you be so cute? He wants to just put you under a glass case and keep you in there. He'd get lots of flowers and moss. You'd be his fairy-

"Mr Riley?"

She tilts her head to the side.

"I'm fine. No broken bones."

That seems enough to make her sigh of relief. But suddenly she grabs his good hand and she tugs softly towards her still open door.

"What?"

Simon is floored that this is the only thing he manages to say.

"You can't stay on your own! You just got into a crash! You need to be looked after!"

"What?"

He wants to punch himself now. Don't you know any other words Simon Riley?!

Also, why is he walking behind her like a lost puppy she's softly tugging on the leash of?

Why is he inside her apartment? With the door closed?

How did he end up sitting on the couch? With a cup of tea and cookies.

"What?" He asks again.

She giggles.

"What do you want for dinner? I'll let you decide what you want I'll go prepare the guest's bedroom!" You happily jump to your task after he nods.

Simon looks around, the warmth and cozy space, the plants and the weird cat staring at him from the window sit. He kinda looks at Simon the same way Simon is looking at him. With the same expression that says:

"What?"

[konigsblog]

MDNI

what kinks would soap mactavish have?

‘SIR’ KINK — much like ghost, soap enjoys being called ‘sir’ whilst fucking you. he absolutely adores when he's pounding into your asshole after an especially frustrating mission, bent over and gripping the bedsheets, your jaw slack and your swollen lips parted as he continues to trust into your slicken hole. you whimper out a weak ‘sir’, immediately catching the sergeant's eye.

something about the authority, the power he has over you. he continues to rut into you, slowing down and becoming sloppy whilst whispering into your ear. “repeat that, bonnie...” he pants breathlessly beside your ear, leaning down, his burly, bare chest against your back as he grips your hips firmly. he begins ploughing into you while you chant ‘sir’. he continues slamming and pounding inside your greedy cunny, making you shudder when he spurts a thick, potent load inside your poor pussy.

POWER EXCHANGE — whether that's him having control, or you, he adores it. when you take his belt and wrap it around his head, covering his eyes with the leather material while he's laid down against the bed, his hands restricted and bound behind his back. perhaps it's the anticipation, but he just can't help but feel all shakey and jittery while you're fiddling with pants. when you bounce on his thick, girthy cock, he moans out through the ecstasy running and rupturing through him. his back arched slightly, the weight of your body against his hips almost addictive.

“oh—fuck!—lassie... god, yer' so tight...” he gasps eyebrows downturned at the tightness of your pulsing pussy around his meaty, girth. panting heavily, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs when you ride his fat dick erratically.

WAX PLAY — again, this is due to the anticipation and thrill of the activity. when he's pouring the hot wax onto your nipple, he see's the nervousness in your eyes. reassuring you, he continues spreading it across your breast, letting it set before ripping it off. the cold air hits your sensitive, hardened nipple, making you gasp and whine. and the wet sensation of his saliva on your nipple makes you shudder, arching your back and moaning out loudly. it makes johnny laugh, a hearty and low chuckle emitting from his throat when you squirm.

HARD DOM – of course, he adores having dominance. he enjoys experimenting, but absolutely can't get enough of being a hard dom. when you're bent over the edge of the bed, your hands held by johnny's fist behind your back, while he uses his other hand to push your head down against the mattress.

“look at ye', takin' it all, every... single inch...” you whimper at his words, knowing deep down that it's all truth. the way his fat, tight balls smack against your ass while he thrusts into you is almost addictive to johnny. he adores the way you wriggle, gummy walls tightening and clutching onto his big dick while he ruts into your slick cunny.

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 04 - leather

soap x f!reader | 2k words cw: established relationship, sub!Soap, dom!Reader, impact play, heavy restraints, handjob, love a/n: everything is consensual, just not explicitly discussed. summary: johnny reaps the benefits of some diy. banner by @/cafekitsune

John spent weeks locked away in his shop, toiling on a project he was adamant about keeping a secret. A surprise.

When it was complete, he fetched you from the house with the eagerness of a dog pulling a lead. Barely in the door from a long day at your hellish job, you were suspect and reluctant.

“Johnny, please make it quick. All I want is a bath, and a bowl of ice cream.”

“I ken, I ken. Just wait ‘til ye see.” 

He shepherds you through the shop door and shuffles toward a bright blue tarp draped over something sizable. You inwardly groan, immediately assuming he’s gone and found another bike to restore.

“Oh, boy…”

“Remember John’s party back in February?”

Heat erupts on your cheeks. Jesus. “Yes…?”

“And remember the basement? Simon?”

Your head whips around, expecting the lug to materialize from the shadows. “He’s not here, is he? We’re supposed to chat before–”

“No, nothing like that. Do ye remember what he was doing?”

How could you forget? It was hard to look away. The whole room had gone quiet when Price and Kyle unveiled Simon. It was a shock seeing the big man rendered helpless. Ankles, wrists, and neck locked in a stockade. It was medieval. You never took him for a man who’d consent to being displayed like that, let alone restrained. But that was one of the joys of visiting Johnny’s friends.

“You didn’t.”

His grin grows. “Aye, I did.” With a dramatic flourish, your husband hoists the crinkling fabric into the air and away.

“Jesus Christ, John.” You giggle nervously at the sight of the gleaming wooden stockade. The light bounces off the lacquer, catching the steel fixtures and rich, black leather. It’s gorgeous, and the sight alone lights a fire in your belly. “This is what you’ve been up to? Turning the shop into an actual dungeon?”

“We'll move it indoors. Got the plans from Price and everything. It’s not an exact copy, but it’s a decent prototype.”

You shoot him a look at that, running your hand along the cushioned beam meant to support someone at their stomach. “Prototype? You betting I’ll like being in there that much?”

He goes quiet, and slowly rounds to the front. His smile now sheepish. “Actually, I was hopin’ you’d put me in it.”

~~

Your husband is not a giant like Simon, but he’s not small, and he’s certainly not someone to underestimate. You’ve had your head locked in his arms before, have had him manhandle you about like a toy. He uses his broad shoulders and muscular thighs to his advantage, and his concentrated bulk lends him quite a bit of speed. Wrestling with him is never strictly playful, at least it never ends that way, and he always fights dirty.

So seeing him bent over, ass perked in the air, and tugging at the restraints is somewhat of a revelation. Knowing he’s trained to avoid capture and resist interrogation, and knowing what he could do with his hands-free? It’s a good thing you’re clothed. Your underwear is soaked.

(So’s his, his leaking cock gradually darkens his cherry red jockstrap.) 

You card your fingers through his hair, feathering it affectionately. “Comfortable?”

He smiles warmly, leaning his cheek into your palm when it slides down his face. “Reasonably.”

“You ready?”

“Aye. Please.”

“That’s a good boy.”

After wrangling the stockade into the basement, a team effort between you and him, he sprang surprise number two on you—a brand new set of a flogger and a crop. Matching. Another apparent recommendation from Price. Your hand hovers between, ultimately selecting the flogger first. A pretty thing, black and dyed red leather, and a decent weight. It’s not your first rodeo, but you're not as seasoned as Price or Kyle. You take the time to roll your wrist with it in hand, letting the quiet flutter of its tassels build anticipation. 

Your Johnny looks so good like this. Legs forced open, muscles straining under his skin. You notice the twinge in his knee, something he swears is alright, but you let your mind mull over options for doting on him tonight and tomorrow in the background.

He gasps when you start. You surprise him with light, twinned strokes over the backs of his thighs. It’s a test for the stability of his work as much as it is for him. Neither of you are accustomed to him being on the receiving end. It’s a rare privilege. But the stockade barely budges when he jolts, and he doesn’t tap out. You escalate accordingly.

His thighs, his back, his shoulders. Everywhere but his ass gets painted in a series of mildly firmer strikes. You’re careful, mindful of his work-related injuries and sore spots, and listen closely to his breathing. It’s heavy and deep, hitching when you drag the flogger slowly over his cheeks. Sweat beads at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck, yes.” he whispers when you let it rest a moment. He tells you he’s green, then wiggles eagerly. “Get on with it.”

You tease him instead. Lashing out, literally or figuratively, is simply rewarding his mouthy behavior. You let the tassels swing without force behind them, and the tips barely skim him. A few minutes of that gets him apologetic, whimpering. It’s a fight to hide the pleasure in your voice.

“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“I-I said please. Please. I’m needin’ it.”

You hum, draw the flogger away, and wait. The second you see his head try to turn, trapped in its leather-lined hole, you lay down a volley of firm hits to the meat off his ass. You don’t let up as his skin grows rosy. You don’t stop even when he’s moaning at the top of his lungs, whole body jerking in the stocks, rattling and testing the hardware. You go until your wrist aches.

After ditching the flogger, you inspect where the gear touches his limbs. While on a knee, listening to his breathing even out and his body settle lax onto the bar, you bite your lip at the sight of him. 

“Making a mess down here, baby. You want this off?” You ask, rising to your feet, toying with a band of his strap. “Not digging in, is it?”

“No. Water?”

You fetch the bottle immediately and watch closely as he drinks. His throat bobs and it’s never looked as good as it does resting on the plush leather of the stockade’s hole. Sweat drips down his temples, his jaw. When his eyes flick up to look at you, glassy and blue, your stomach clenches. His fucking mouth puckered around the straw should be innocuous. Should. You’re going to lose it the next time he has you. This is all you’ll think about until then.

The first few hits with the crop are love taps. Enough to make his muscles spasm, but keep them loose enough. He hisses from a couple of harder hits to where his thighs meet his ass. He twitches, toes curling and uncurling, before he sticks it out marginally further, as much as he can given his limited movement. Neither of you are into dealing serious damage, but it’s as if you can read the thoughts darting through his mind. Hear the gears turning. He wants more. He’s ready for more.

Following a couple of idle swings, you start, similar to how you did with the flogger. Without telegraphing, you lay easy smacks to his thighs, moving up a hair each time until one bounces off a cheek. You soothe over it, admiring the color. Slowly but surely, he’s getting pinker.

You knead one cheek, trailing the flat of the crop up a leg, adjusting your grip and stance to slap the other, and switch after a half dozen. You brush your thumb, petting his stinging skin and coarse hair, and sigh contentedly at a little whimper.

“Doing so good for me, Johnny. Such a strong boy.”

It earns another choked, desperate sound. He gives his color when asked, and you return to an arms-length away. You flick the crop across his skin, glancing blows to revive the bite and burn. You progress to rapid-fire snaps, peppering his skin until he’s squirming again. Peeking over the wooden top beam, you smile at the slack in his jaw and his breathless panting. He meets your gaze with a pleasure-drunk laugh.

“A little more?”

“A little more.”

Since he hasn’t requested that his underwear come off, you swing the crop up slowly and drag it along the underside of his covered cock. It twitches at the contact, testing the fabric. You smirk as he keens and curses, thrusting futilely once again backward in the stock. If you didn’t think he’d come in two seconds flat, you’d call him a slut. Rather, you prod and nudge his balls with the crop’s head, letting the thin leather bend and slip around them until a glint catches your eye. A fine spiderweb-thin string of precum seeps through the cotton. It dangles. Drops. A low, prolonged moan escapes him.

“Fucking hell, John. Look at that…” You drop the tool, eyes drilling into the stain. You dip your thumbs under the waistband. “May I?”

His head barely lifts and drops in a nod.

“Need a yes, baby.”

“Y…Yes. Please.” His voice is jagged, raw. 

“So, so good,” You breathe. You tug the strap down, the two of you groaning when his cock bounces free and sways. More droplets splatter onto the ground with a wet sound. “Christ. I’m…”

“Fuck, please, I’m gonna burst.”

The jockstrap falls down his thighs abandoned, and you press to his back. He hisses when you drape over him and take him in hand, partly from the rough texture of your clothes and the feel of your warm palm. Swiping your thumb over the drooling tip, you spread his prespend over his aching length and firm up your grasp to how he likes it. John starts to stammer out something undoubtedly impatient, but it flattens into a choked-off grunt as you stroke. His feet lift and stomp on the vinyl lining the flooring of the stockade. He bucks, trying to fuck your fist, but the stomach bar keeps him chasing it as feverishly as you reckon he’d like.

“You close?” You tease, lips dusting over a red spot on his sweaty shoulder, and swallow hard.

The pure need in his voice makes your chest tighten. He struggles with a response, nearly slurring his words. “Dinnae stop, fuck, I-I…Oh, fuuuuck—” 

One downside of his little DIY project? Not seeing his face as he comes. He lurches in his holds, and you peel yourself off of his back. As he swears and sputters, hips jerking, you ease your grip and retract your hand. Stepping away, you stare at the mess on your hand, then his quivering thighs, and sigh wistfully.

Licking your fingers, you watch as he slumps bit by bit, coming down from his high with ragged breaths. You free his ankles and take a moment to examine him before unlatching the hinged beam closing in his wrists and neck. You smooth over his mohawk, damp with sweat, and rub a small circle into his scalp. You support his head as it lifts, blinking hazily up at you. His gaze alone takes the edge off. He’s so sweet like this.

You maneuver him to the couch to decompress, using the last of the strength in his legs. A whole assortment of goodies is within reach the second he asks, and you remind him of that as you push a throw pillow under his head. Large swaths of his back are pink and red but already fading. A bolt of guilt passes through as you catch yourself thinking of how much darker you’d like to go next time. He tears up again but settles and nuzzles into the pillow. He’s gone. You’re gone. Seeing him so vulnerable—it’s a head rush. Just like watching Price and Kyle work Simon over. You thought you understood before, but now…? You’ll need to call the good Captain for advice.

“You…” John mumbles with a smile lazily stretching across his face, words elongating with a yawn. “You like my project…?”

You brush over a brow, lowering to lay beside him. Your voice cracks along with your heart. “Yeah, baby. I love it. Love you.”

His eyes flutter closed, and he sighs deeply. Sated. That makes two of you.

[charliemwrites]

Chapter 3

Content: Mild Pet Play, Dub-Con, Sexual Content

You wake to the scent of cooking eggs.

The previous night filters in between the muted clatter of dishes. Sneaking and hiding, then running and struggling. Your ass aches dully, no doubt bruised in a few key places, but the rest of your body is loose and heavy. Pleasantly so. Owed to that spectacular orgasm, though you’re reluctant to give Ghost any credit for that. He just took advantage of your body’s unorthodox arousal responses, that’s all.

Has absolutely nothing to do with the molten gravel of his voice. The rock-hard biceps, barrel chest, thick thighs. Those midnight eyes lurking behind that damn mask.

Nope. Nothing to do with him…

Well, that’s enough of that.

You yawn and stretch, blink your eyes slowly open. Before bed, Ghost scooped you up and took you back to your own cushion, saying something about earning the right to sleep with Johnny. You’d been dozing off and only managed a half-hearted grumble when he clipped your leash on again.

Across the room, Johnny is still splayed out and snoring – likely stayed up on self-imposed watch when he should have been resting. Shaking your head, you gingerly sit up, testing your body weight on your sore butt. Not too bad, if mildly uncomfortable. Manageable, you decide, and slump against the wall.

You rub your eyes, shift as your bladder twinges. Fuck. All that water Ghost made you chug last night. You glance dubiously at the kitchen doorway. To call out or not?

Ghost appears before you can decide. He notices you instantly, rumbles “good morning” in a sleep-laden voice that sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t respond, eyes dropping to your lap as your face warms. Christ, one good orgasm and a tender ass, and you feel like a teenager with a crush.

Don’t even realize he’s moved until he sinks to a knee in front of you. It’s too close; he absolutely dwarfs you. Your head doesn’t even feel screwed on yet, still floating somewhere in the memory of the previous night. He tuts as you duck your head, fingers curling in your blanket.

“What did I say about answering me?” he rumbles, deceptively soft. “Are we already misbehaving?”

He radiates so much heat. A tired part of you wants to curl into him, soak it up as you shake off the chill of sleep. You clear your throat against that thought and turn your face away. Not that he lets you get far, guiding your chin around and up. Exposing your throat – and yet still so devastatingly gentle.

“No. Sorry,” you whisper. “Just woke up, ‘s all.”

He coos. “Just a grumpy little thing, is that it? Need a spot of coffee?”

“A-and the restroom,” you add quietly, unwilling to risk denial. “Please.”

“Give us a proper hello and I’ll take you for a piddle.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, tamping down embarrassed anger as your face burns. He’s willing to give you what you want, that’s all that matters.

“Good morning, Ghost,” you murmur.

He hums. “Lovely, but not how my kitten should greet me.”

You blink, brows furrowing in confusion. How you should…? Right, because you’re his “pet.”

You recall what you can of cat behavior (though it’s been a while since you’ve interacted with one) and come to a hesitant conclusion. Slow and gauging, you shift forward, balancing on a hand between your legs. Ghost holds your gaze, dark and indecipherable.

Praying that his request supersedes his “no touching” rule, you lean up to press your cheek to his. When he doesn’t yank you back, you rub your face against the soft fabric of the balaclava, nuzzling to the sharp line of his jaw and then down to his neck. A rumble starts low in his chest. At first, you fear he’s growling. Then realize when he tilts his chin that he’s humming. Happily, it seems.

“Good morning, sir,” you murmur, pressing your nose to the hollow under his jaw. He still smells so fucking good. Even with the lingering scent of gunpowder and leather beneath the bodywash.

“Very good,” he croons, fingers burying in your hair. He scritches his fingers gently along your scalp, petting you. “What a sweet baby.”

You brace yourself against another shudder. You aren’t supposed to find this arousing or enjoyable. He’s holding your need to pee over you. That’s the only reason you’ve gone along with this. The only thing you get out of it is a trip to the restroom.

The chain rattles, drawing you from your thoughts. It’s… gone? When did he do that? Ghost squeezes the back of your neck and guides you away from his shoulder. You meet his eyes, bite the inside of your cheek when you see the gleam in them.

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He clicks his tongue again, but lets you stand. It takes you a second, still a little stiff, but Ghost is patient as you stretch. Standing too close, sure, but not rushing you. Probably still preening over your compliance.

He walks you in front of him towards the basement hallway. When you come up short, Ghost chuckles and smooths a hand down your side. Meant to comfort, maybe.

“Downstairs bathroom is this way, little one,” he explains. “The basement isn’t for kitties. Even naughty ones.”

Well, even if he’s lying, it’s not like you have much choice. So you brace yourself and venture into the short hallway at his prodding. There are… four doors. You blink, glance at him over your shoulder. He points to the one at the very end. There are a series of locks on the outside, big heavy ones.

“Ominous,” you joke, strained.

“That’s the basement.” He pivots you to the right. “This one’s the restroom.”

“What… about the others?” you ask.

He snorts. “Sex dungeons one and two.”

You whip around, eyes huge. He barks a laugh and pats your ass.

“Storage and garage,” he chuckles. “Christ, your face.”

“Well, how should I know?!” you complain, shoving at the bathroom door. “I don’t know what you’re into!”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. You will.”

And then he slams the door behind you, leaving you in speechless silence. You press your hands to your face, compelled to hide when there’s not even a mirror for company. Fuck, you’re so stupidly turned on. It defies all logic and sanity. Once you feel a little less like you’re about to spontaneously combust, you hurry to do your business.

The downstairs restroom is a clean and modern half-bath. A brief exploration reveals nothing of interest (namely a weapon) in the cabinets. Hand towels, extra toilet paper, a little travel kit with a toothbrush and toothpaste under the sink. It’s decently stocked, but not helpful for anything beyond its intended use. Fair enough, you suppose.

When you finish, Ghost is waiting for you in the hall. Just like before, he walks you in front of him back to the living room. Soap is just starting to rouse, stretching and yawning widely. You immediately pivot to join him.

Two fingers hook in the side of your collar and tug, not hard enough to choke, but enough to stop you.

“Ah ah,” Ghost says.

You grab at his arm with an embarrassingly whiny noise, turning back to him in confusion.

“Why not?” you demand, frowning.

“Because you don’t have permission, brat,” he answers, voice turning dangerous. “Now, release.”

It takes a beat for you to realize what he means. Then you drop your hands, praying your little transgression hasn’t earned you another punishment so soon. Thankfully, he just tsks.

“Don’t give me that look. You two can play in a bit.”

You scrunch up your nose – not sure what “look” he means but knowing that he’s probably being condescending. Seems like his default.

“Back to bed,” he commands, jerking his head.

You huff and slink to your cushion, even going so far as to flop down. You’re being petulant, you know that, but you’re cranky. Ghost doesn’t say a word, just attaches your chain and leaves you with a patronizing little pat to the head.

“Morning, pup,” he calls.

Johnny squints at him for a second, scratching at the dark stubble shadowing his handsome jaw.

“Mornin’,” he grunts after a second.

Ghost snorts, stops with his boots at the edge of Johnny’s cushion. “I think we can do better than that. C’mere, pup.”

Johnny sighs through his nose but pushes himself up on his knees to shuffle closer. His eyes flick to you, looking for a clue.

Like a pet, you mouth as clear as you can.

His brows twitch with confusion. Then Ghost scratches encouragingly at the shorn hair behind his ear and understanding sparks in his sleepy blue eyes. He balances his palms on those broad thighs and presses his face into Ghost’s lower stomach. Your brows arch, impressed and a little envious – though you’re… not sure of who.

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles, “my good boy.”

“Aye, mind taking me for a pish, then?” Johnny grumbles.

You cough a laugh as Ghost shakes his head with exasperation. But Johnny gets his wish, unclipped and led away just like you were. It sounds like he snips a couple more smart comments, but you don’t catch any of it as another yawn racks you.

When they return, Johnny returns to his cushion and allows himself to be secured again without complaint. Ghost scrubs a palm through Johnny’s overgrown mohawk, then disappears into the kitchen.

“How’d ye sleep?” Johnny asks. He seems more alert now, bright eyes giving you a thorough once over, lingering on your lower body.

“Like a wee lamb,” you tease, badly mimicking his accent.

“Haud yer wheesht, it gets worse every time,” he complains, rolling his eyes.

You snicker at his scowl, even when Ghost emerges from the kitchen. Helps that he has plates piled with food in hand. He delivers one to you and the other to Soap. Dips into the kitchen once more and returns with two mugs this time.

The rich scent of coffee greets you when Ghost sets one in your reaching hands. Peering at the surface, you’re pleasantly surprised to find it just the right shade. The first sip confirms; he’s made it just the way you like. Sugar, creamer, and even a hint of cinnamon.

That should be disturbing. It should chill you to the core and turn your stomach that your serial killer kidnapper knows exactly how you take your coffee. Maybe it will later. Right now, though, it’s a familiar bit of comfort.

“Thanks,” you mumble, balancing your plate on your knees.

Ghost grunts from the couch where he’s settled. No breakfast for him, apparently. Probably on account of his mysterious identity under the mask.

It would be degrading to have to eat on the floor – except you and Johnny have done this plenty of times. On missions, in safe houses, in the base common room. Hell, even to this day, the two of you have camped out on the floor of one of your flats, watching movies with takeout between you. At least you’ve been served on actual plates with utensils.

“Och, love a man who can cook,” Johnny groans into his eggs.

You stuff a bite in your mouth, humming when you find that the scramble is really good. Bits of bacon, onion, pepper, mushroom. Hell, it’s better than you or Johnny would have made for yourselves on a normal day.

“Okay, yeah,” you admit, “this definitely makes up for the kidnapping.”

Ghost doesn’t deign that with more than a droll look as he turns on the television.

There’s even perfectly browned toast with jam! What the hell sort of serial killer is he?

“Ye’ve got any other talents?” Johnny chuckles, mouth half-full. “Did ye knit these blankets yourself?”

“You two are awfully chatty all of a sudden.”

“Good food’ll do that,” you chirp, grinning across at him.

“Didn’t realize I’d nabbed a coupla hens.”

You exchange looks with Johnny. “Bawk bawk, Ghostie boy,” he cackles.

You nearly choke, flipping him off when he laughs at your ragged coughs. And Ghost, to your eternal shock, just shakes his head.

“Call me that again and you’ll be squawking for a different reason,” he warns.

It’s more than likely not an idle threat, but there’s audible amusement in his voice too. Like he thinks Johnny is funny in spite of himself.

Odd, you think.

From what you know of scenarios like this, stalkers don’t really want the people they kidnap. Not the actual person, personality and all. They want some ideal they’ve built up in their head. Try to twist and manipulate their victim into behaving the way they’ve deluded themselves into believing they are. So far, not the case with Ghost. He doesn’t seem disenchanted by Soap’s banter or your snark.

Maybe he did his “homework” after all. Or maybe you and Johnny are on an ever-dwindling timer. Eventually, Ghost’s patience will dry up. Your reactions will stop being novel and amusing, will become frustrating and wrong. He’ll decide you two are not his perfect pets after all and go looking for another pair to fantasize about.

And then, well…

“Finish eating, kitten.”

You blink, eyes darting up. Ghost is staring from the couch, gaze fathomless, like he knows exactly where your thoughts were spiraling. You hum and shovel another bite in. Past him, Johnny is watching as well, a contemplative frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It’ll do no good to fret about the inevitable right now, so you pointedly turn your gaze to the telly.

“Aw, the news again?” you complain around your mouthful.

Not much you want to see happening in the world. You used to make a game of guessing which international conflicts Price and Gaz would be deployed to. But then it made you sad and worried, and your therapist told you to stop – for once you’d listened.

“Saturday cartoons are always a winner,” Johnny chimes in. “I loved Looney Tunes as a bairn.”

“You are a Looney Tune,” you reply.

“Och, c’mere and say that, ya wee menace.”

“You’re lucky I can’t come over there.” Punctuated by an obnoxious slurp of your coffee.

Ghost points a warning finger at you, so you stop – though not without sticking your tongue out at Johnny. He responds with a rude gesture that makes your mouth drop open in faux outrage.

“How about a movie.”

Ghost doesn’t say it like it’s a suggestion, but Johnny is sure to impart his opinion anyway.

“Aye, let’s watch a horror movie. We can all compare notes.”

“I’m partial to slashers,” you add.

“Are you now?” Ghost drawls.

You blink at him once and stuff the rest of your toast – a not inconsiderable chunk – into your stupid, traitorous mouth.

“Good idea. Who’s that big bloke with the mask and the knife? Hunts horny campers down?” Johnny asks, a wicked smirk curling his mouth.

You tilt your head, point at Ghost with an arched eyebrow. Johnny’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

“Jason Vorhees,” Ghost answers, flat and unamused.

“Aye, that’s the bitch,” Johnny crows, snapping his fingers. “Cousin of yours, then?”

This time you do choke, breadcrumbs straight down your windpipe. You have absolutely no business crying with laughter in a serial killer’s house – at that serial killer’s expense, no less – but here you are, trying desperately not to suffocate on breakfast.

“Right then,” Ghost sighs.

He rocks to his feet and lumbers to Johnny. His giggles taper off as Ghost approaches, though a shit-eating grin remains plastered wide across his face. He tilts his head back, opens his mouth to say something else obnoxious. Before he can make a single noise, two of Ghost’s thick fingers plunge past his lips.

He jolts, tries to jerk back, but Ghost just follows and pins him against the wall with a leg planted between his thighs, knee to his chest.

“If you bite down,” Ghost rumbles, “you won’t like what happens next.”

Biting looks like the last thing on Johnny’s mind. His eyes go half-lidded and hazy as Ghost’s wrist flexes, petting at his tongue and teasing at his gag reflex.

“You’re cute, pup,” Ghost coos, “problem is, you know it.”

You press your lips together; your input probably isn’t wise at this moment. But yes, he’s absolutely right.

He draws his hand back a bit, hooks his fingers behind Johnny’s bottom teeth and gives a little shake.

“I know you’re all riled up, but it’s not time to play yet,” Ghost condescends, like… well, like he’s humoring a naughty pet. “Now, be good or you won’t get to play at all. Understood?”

Johnny warbles an affirmative noise, tongue flicking over Ghost’s scarred and tattooed knuckles. He allows it for a moment, long enough for a droplet of spit to sneak down Johnny’s chin. Then he steps back to let Johnny breathe, wiping wet fingers on his cheek.

“Good.” He turns and catches your eye. “That goes for you as well.”

“I’m just sitting here!” you protest, offended.

He points at you again, fingertips still shiny with Johnny’s saliva. A (not) small part of you is sorely tempted to see what he’ll do if you push your luck. The ache in your ass dissuades you, but only just. You deflate, turning your face away haughtily.

“Understood,” you grumble.

From the corner of your eye, you watch him duck to collect Johnny’s plate and empty mug, then blink in shock as he crosses the room to do the same with yours. You stare as he takes it all back to the kitchen, followed soon by a telltale rattle of dishes in the sink.

When your eyes cut to Johnny, he’s also gawking at the doorway.

“Do you… get him?” you ask.

“Not a bit.”

Ghost ends up choosing the original 1978 Halloween. You curl up on your cushion with your blanket around your shoulders, bobbing along to the opening theme. After a moment, that creeping sense of being watched itches at your shoulders. You turn to find both men watching you with unnerving affection.

“What?” you ask, flustered. “It’s a classic!”

Ghost obliges to turn back to the screen, but Johnny’s eyes linger. You wrinkle your nose and make a show of ignoring him. Even still, you feel his attention on your profile. It makes you fidgety, so you force yourself to sit still until he finally refocuses on the movie.

It’s easy to settle in after that; Halloween is one of your favorites after all. Nothing like a big scary masked dude with an unrelenting and uncompromising obsession. You remember that Michael Myers was one of your first guilty wanks as a teenager, not sure why you found him attractive, just that you did.

Oh, if only you knew.

Halfway through, your hip starts to protest the extended stint on the floor. As soft as the dog bed is, it’s no substitute for a proper cushion or mattress. You try repositioning, legs extended, then folded, then bent. Nothing eases the building ache though, and finally you relent to stand.

It draws Johnny and Ghost’s attention again, the former frowning when he sees how you’re favoring your leg.

“Acting up?” he asks.

“Just need to stretch,” you say, waving away his concern.

It’s more than that and you know it. Between the fight at the cabin, crawling around yesterday, and a lack of meds, you’re lucky that your hip is only just starting to hurt. Borrowed time, at this point. If you sit down now, chances are that you won’t be able to get up on your own again.

Johnny knows it too, based on the tension in his jaw. But he spares your pride and pretends to believe you, turning back to the telly – though you know he’s sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.

Ghost is not so polite.

His stare is so heavy it threatens to knock your good leg out from under you. Like Johnny, you pretend to watch the movie, working through exercises the PT taught you. It helps a bit, though you neither lay down nor put much weight on it. You settle for leaning against the wall, absently fiddling with the chain of your leash.

Ghost abruptly stands, one of those uncanny fluid movements that remind you why he’s so deadly. He doesn’t say a word, just disappears into the back hall. Restroom, you figure, and turn round again. In the back of your mind, your spine prickles. That instinctual wariness of taking your eyes off a lurking predator. It’s not like it would do you much good to see him coming anyway.

Doesn’t stop you from startling when fingertips caress the back of your neck. You’re not surprised that you didn’t hear him, but you didn’t even notice his shadow this time. The weight of the leash disappears as it coils onto the cushion at your feet.

You still, shock and confusion freezing you to the spot. Is this another game?

Ghost saunters back to the couch, lounges closer to one arm rather than dead center like usual. He may be facing the screen, but you know he’s scrutinizing your reaction – or lack thereof. After an extended moment, he leans forward, elbow on his knee and hand extended towards you, palm up.

“Here, kitty,” he calls.

You hesitate, caught on distrust and pride. He wiggles his fingers a bit, makes a clicking noise with his tongue like he’s luring a stray. Another beat as you consider… but maybe you really are a cat because curiosity wins out. You slink across the living room until you’re hovering at the far end from him.

“That’s it,” Ghost croons, “c’mon.”

Slowly, carefully, you place a hand on the cushion. His eyes glint with satisfaction, so you settle more of your weight and place the other hand a little closer to him. He hums and leans back in a deliberate gesture to allow you space. You slide your knee up, all but entirely on the couch now – but you stop. Wait.

Ghost just observes, an amused crinkle around his eyes. He doesn’t coax again or try to reach for you. That, more than anything, lures you into crawling fully onto the cushion, scrunched up against the arm of the couch.

“’S alright, little one. Stretch out that leg.”

You blink, mouth parting on words he’s robbed you of. It is… an unexpectedly kind gesture. But then he hasn’t been needlessly cruel, has he? Okay, yes, he spanked you raw last night, but that was a clear chain of action-transgression-consequence. He’s sort of gone out of his way to make you and Johnny comfortable, even if he’s a manipulative asshole.

A glance at Johnny decides you. There’s a glimmer of genuine respect for Ghost in his eye.

You ease across the cushions inch by inch, letting your legs extend until your toes are centimeters from Ghost’s thigh. Only then does he touch you, a warm calloused hand curling around your ankle. His thumb rubs light circles over the ball joint, hypnotic little spirals that leech the tension from your muscles.

“Settle in, now,” he says, “we’re almost at the good part.”

And you have no reason not to, so you do. The extra padding is an immediate improvement and you’re able to enjoy the rest of the movie with minimal readjustments. Ghost never seems to mind, just waits until you’ve rotated the socket to your satisfaction and resumes his gentle petting.

As soon as the credits start rolling, Johnny sits forward and rattles his chain.

“Well now, I’m feeling left out. I’ve been perfectly well behaved,” he complains. “I want in on the snuggle party too.”

You perk up. Johnny is always a good movie companion.

Ghost snorts. “That’s what you call well-behaved?”

“Aye, and if you’ve been stalking us for that long, you know it.”

You hum in agreement. Johnny sitting quietly through an entire movie is something of a feat.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” you chime in. Ghost pins you with a skeptical look and you, in a moment of inspiration, widen your eyes at him. “Please? Sir?”

He squeezes your ankle, eyes narrow. “You’re not subtle.”

You wiggle a little closer, ignoring the twinge in your hip. “Please?”

“Alright,” he grouses. “Enough.”

He stands, dislodging your feet, and crosses to your cushion. At first, you’re afraid that he’s going to leash you again. But then he unlocks the chain from the wall anchor and crosses back to Johnny. He kneels down, fiddles with the links and padlocks for a second before grabbing a firm hold of Johnny’s collar and tugging.

“This is a privilege, you understand?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “If you act up, it’s not your ass I’ll be taking it out of. Clear?”

Johnny’s eyes flash, a stormy glance sent your way in understanding. “Aye, crystal.”

“Give us a bark like a good mutt.”

Johnny’s lip curls, but he delivers a sullen little “woof” that seems to satisfy Ghost. He releases the collar and returns to the couch. This time, he takes the side your upper half is lounging on. Before you can scramble to make room, he lifts you up, takes your spot, and drops your torso onto his lap.

“Hey,” you grumble.

His fingers bury in your hair, equal parts restraining and pacifying. You wriggle around, dig your shoulder into his thigh as revenge. It not that his huge thigh doesn’t make for a nice pillow – the issue is that it does. Warm and firm to support your neck, but still a generous layer of soft tissue for your cheek to snuggle into.

“Consider this a trade for letting the pup onto the furniture,” Ghost drawls.

You subside as Johnny, now on an extended leash with the addition of yours, takes the other end. He gathers your legs in his lap and immediately starts massaging his big, warm hands along the damaged nerve pathway. You make a quiet noise, mouth a “thank you” that earns you a warm look.

“What’s next, then?” he asks. “I’m still partial to that Jason bloke.”

You snicker, earn a tug to the hair from Ghost.

“Something spooky?” you suggest. “Ghosts?”

This time he pinches your cheek hard enough to smart. You whine, almost whack yourself in the face while swatting at him. He does end up putting on a supernatural movie next, much to your delight. It’s something generic that you’ve seen a million times, but the familiarity soothes you.

Twenty minutes later, it strikes you how domestic it all is. Ghost is still playing with your hair, Johnny is digging his thumb into a sore muscle – and despite everything, you’re warm and comfortable and… feel more at ease than you ever have alone in your own apartment.

Well, shit. That’s… that’s probably not healthy.

Thankfully, your thoughts are interrupted by Johnny’s clever hands finding a point that sends a shockwave down your calf and up your spine. You gasp, body jerking, and then loose a soft moan. Ghost’s hand pauses in your hair.

“Yeah?” Johnny asks, voice dipping low and rough. “That the spot, bonnie?”

You hum the affirmative, all you’re able to manage as his fingers press into it again. Persistent pressure, kneading tender muscle where the worst of the pain seems to originate. Every tiny shift ignites another round of sparks through that side of your body, plucking quiet noises from your throat. It hurts as much as it feels good, one of those weird dichotomies of the human body not knowing how to interpret stimulation.

Eventually he eases up, gently working out the last of the tension until you’re little more than a puddle spread between his and Ghost’s laps.

“Thank you, Johnny,” you mumble into Ghost’s leg.

“Any time, darlin’.”

His hands don’t stop moving, though. No longer massaging, just… touching. Not that you mind. You’ve always liked his touch a little more than you should as a friend, and after your pseudo-confession last night, you’re practically squirming for more contact.

He seems all too happy to oblige, one hand anchoring on your knee. The other edges further and further between your thighs, stroking tantalizing patterns across sensitive skin. Even through your joggers his touch is hot, sends tingles into the pit of your stomach.

Johnny’s good with fire, and the one he’s building in your body smolders like coal. Reminds you of underground mines, burning quietly beneath the surface until they finally erupt above ground, scorching everything.

You’ve carried a torch for him so long you wouldn’t even notice if you started to burn.

It becomes increasingly difficult to focus on the movie as his hand creeps higher and higher. You’re starting to react; it’s only a matter of time before the evidence becomes obvious. You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth, heart beating hard and fast in your chest.

When you sneak a glance his way, his eyes are already on you, knowing and heated.

“Johnny.”

You both jump at Ghost’s sharp tone, eyes flying to him.

“What did I say?” he rumbles. “Behave.”

“I am!”

“Are you going to settle down, or do I need to make you?” Ghost asks, implacable.

You swallow, try to sit up to diffuse the stubborn light in Johnny’s eyes. Ghost’s fingers hook deftly in your collar and keep you pinned down. All you can manage is to twist a bit and shake your head when Johnny’s gaze darts to you. His hand tenses on your knee, jaw twitching with the clench of his teeth. You can see him teetering on the edge of something rash; his temper is a glass threatening to tip over and shatter.

And if that happens, this tentative peace is over. Ghost will punish you both, and probably take away these comfort “privileges” as collateral.

“Ghost?” You murmur. There’s a beat where you think he’ll ignore you. And then his chin tilts, dark eyes glinting when he sees the shy turn to your mouth. It’s not entirely an act either, your face heats as you struggle to hold his gaze. “When the movie is over… could we… could we play?”

He grunts, eyes narrowing – though you can’t tell if it’s with amusement or aggravation at your antics. His thumb traces your bottom lip, tugging it from between your teeth. You let him glide the pad of it along your canines and then back to your molars, opening your mouth to accommodate his hand. Squeeze your thighs together and realize Johnny’s hand is still there, make a soft noise knowing that he can feel the effect this is having on you.

“That pent up already, hm?” Ghost muses.

You nod, careful that you don’t nick skin. He blows out a long breath as if you’re asking for something terribly inconvenient. Then he turns back to Johnny. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, only to offer it with an audible smirk.

“Well, pup?”

You purposefully flex your thighs around Johnny’s hand, a silent plea to mind his temper. It proves to be unnecessary. His eyes are locked on Ghost’s hand, his thumb glistening with your saliva. Johnny’s full mouth parts, tongue unfurling decadently over his bottom lip.

“Is that it, mm?” Ghost purrs. “You just need to play? Need to get all that energy out?”

He smears the pad of his thumb down the midline of Johnny’s tongue and Johnny moans, like the secondhand taste of you is ambrosia. You bite the inside of your cheek and swallow back an answering noise; don’t want to interrupt the moment.

Ghost presses down, pins Johnny’s tongue.

“Puppy needs his exercise, or he gets antsy,” Ghost chuckles. “Alright, then. Be good until this movie is over and then we’ll set you right, yeah?”

Johnny hums agreement, tongue curling around Ghost’s thumb as his thick lashes flutter.

“Atta boy.”

Ghost indulges him a moment longer, then pulls his hand away. Johnny’s brow furrows like he’s going to protest, but then he clears his throat and nestles into the cushions, face pinkening.

The hand in your collar begins to stroke the skin around it, lingering on your erratic pulse and the bob of your throat. It’s distracting, keeps that flame burning bright in your belly. Johnny’s hand is still between your thighs, but even without moving, you’re all too aware of it.

“Goes for you too, kitten,” Ghost warns when you start fidgeting.

You tuck your face against his thigh and force yourself to lie still. The movie is a lost cause at this point. You’re just counting down the seconds until it’s over. Johnny isn’t in much better state; you can feel him pressing against your calf, thick and hard.

In your head, an entirely different movie is playing. Ghost toying with Johnny the previous night, big hands stroking his cock like they belonged there. The way Johnny’s face twisted with pleasure and desperation. You can almost hear the sounds he made, the way ecstasy shredded his voice.

And then you blink, and the credits are rolling.

It barely registers before you’re smothered. Johnny stretches the entirety of his body along yours, one long, muscular line of blissful heat crowding you into the cushions. His mouth smashes into yours, nothing neat or restrained about it.

A little, hazy part of you thinks that if you’ve been carrying a torch, Johnny has been tending a bonfire. At least that’s the way he kisses you. Like it’s the end and beginning of his whole world, like any second his tongue isn’t exploring your mouth is a waste of air. You can’t breathe without him filling your lungs, can barely even move to reciprocate.

And god, do you want to.

The best you can manage is to curl your fingers into his shirt and give him all the access he’s clambering for. He keeps pressing and pressing, wedging his thigh between yours and snaking an arm beneath you to squish your chests together. His teeth scrape your lip when you rock your hips, moaning as you finally get barest hint of the friction you crave.

He gets more frantic when you gather the brain cells to move your hands, sneaking them beneath his shirt. His stomach flexes as you trace the tempting lines you’ve admired so long, physically mapping the hills and valleys you memorized with your eyes. You gently scratch your fingers through the downy hair beneath his navel and feel him twitch against your hip. Do it again and get the barest, eager rock of his hips.

You’re lightheaded when he finally pulls away, though he doesn’t go far. His beard rasps along your cheek and jaw as he licks and sucks down to your neck. Your eyes flutter as you tilt your head back, trying to give him room.

You find Ghost’s eyes instead.

The reminder that he’s right there, that you and Johnny are making out like horny teenagers in his lap, sends a wicked thrill through you. It feels dangerous, like you’re provoking a wild animal, dangling food in front of a starving beast.

Johnny nips your collarbone hard; it’s going to leave a mark. Between one heartbeat and the next, Ghost tangles his fingers in Johnny’s mohawk, tugging him back from you with a chuckle.

“Easy now, pup,” he says, “play nice.”

“This is nice,” Johnny growls, flashing his teeth. His thigh flexes at the apex of yours, sending a shudder down your spine.

“Then we’ll just have to train you better, won’t we?”

With his free hand, Ghost rucks up your shirt. A tiny part of you thinks to protest his assumed entitlement to your body, but the thought fades when Johnny literally drools. You make a soft noise, get shushed by Ghost while Johnny’s pupils swallow the blue of his eyes. When your shirt can’t get any higher, you help Ghost shimmy it the rest of the way off, leaving your torso bare.

He presses against Johnny’s head, who gladly dips down to continue mauling your chest – only to be stopped just before he can reach you. His mouth hovers at the hollow of your throat, hot breaths puffing out against your skin.

“Well?” Ghost mocks.

Johnny’s tongue darts out, tasting, testing. When he tries to get closer, lips curling back from his teeth, Ghost stops him again. Only allows him close enough for the barest, sweetest brush of his mouth. Understanding, Johnny groans with annoyance, but Ghost is unyielding. He guides Johnny’s mouth to your nipple, hard and pebbled in the open air.

You moan as Johnny circles his tongue, spirals that get tighter and tighter until he’s flicking at it. He smirks when your eyes meet, laps with the flat of his tongue and then blows cool air. You squirm and pant, wanting more, wanting to lean into his mouth, but can’t with Ghost’s wide hand stretched across your collarbones.

Johnny’s teasing doesn’t last long either when he’s constrained to the smallest taste of you. Finesse devolves as hunger grows, his tongue losing its rhythm and technique in favor of sloppy, desperate licks. Saliva drips onto your chest and ribs, his appreciative grunts pitching into pleading whines.

“Something you want?” Ghost taunts.

“Let me…” Johnny breathes. “Let me…”

Ghost just chuckles again and drags Johnny’s face down your abdomen, smushing his cheek against the skin so that his beard leaves red marks in his wake. At your lower stomach, though, Johnny puts up the first real resistance. He turns his head and presses his parted lips to the angry red scars climbing over your waistband.

“Johnny…” you murmur, a little heartbroken at the way his face twists.

Ghost eases up a bit, gives him room to worship the injury that ended your military career. His tongue traces old suture marks, wide gashes where shrapnel embedded. He rubs his lips against the whirls of burns. You slip a hand from between your bodies, rub your thumb against his cheek until his gaze locks with yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. It sounds like it comes straight from his soul.

Your chest hitches with a surge of emotion.

“I’m not dead,” you reply, just as quiet, but fierce. “Stop treating me like I am.”

His eyes flicker, ignite, and burn. He sinks his teeth into a clear patch of skin amongst the carnage. You yelp even through a grin, leaning into the bruising pain until Ghost tugs playfully at his hair.

“Release, pup,” he says after a moment.

Johnny does, but not without sucking first to ensure a livid mark is left behind. He licks his lips as Ghost pulls him away. You’re pulsing against Johnny’s thigh, wish you had even a centimeter of room to grind against his leg.

Ghost seems to notice, cooing at your flushed face as his free hand pinches your nipple. It’s a delicious sharp counterpoint to the sweet ache of Johnny’s earlier attention. You cry out, want to arch for more as much as you want to hide away, and you’re unable to do either. He does the same to the other, twisting as he plucks the flesh to aching sensitivity.

“Getting restless, kitten?” He mocks as you mewl and squirm. “I told you that you’d get to play too.”

You nod, blinking up at him as frustration starts to sting your eyes. He clicks his tongue and untangles his hand from Johnny’s hair, snaps your waistband.

“Off.”

Johnny, bless him, scrambles to help you strip, tossing your pants over the side of the couch. You hiss as your sore ass rubs against the cushions, less pleasant than the soft lining of your joggers.

Ghost outright laughs and manhandles you around onto your front, strokes a covetous hand down your back.

“C’mon, little one. Arch your back like a good kitty.” You’re already complying when he adds, “Show Johnny his toy.”

Syrupy heat washes over you, drips along your spine. Your moan twines with Johnny’s, lust drunk. You plant your knees as far apart as you can and tilt your hips, leaning your weight into Ghost’s lap. Johnny curses softly under his breath.

“Go on, pup. You can touch,” Ghost purrs.

Suddenly Johnny’s hands are everywhere. Your chest, your hips, your thighs, your ass. Stroking and kneading and pulling and squeezing. It’s an overload of sensation after that carefully controlled contact; Johnny’s like a kid let loose in a candy store. All enthusiasm, no restraint, so eager to glut himself on you.

Ghost’s hand cups the back of your neck, thumb caressing the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“That’s it, sweetness. Let him have his fun, get all that energy out.”

You whimper as Johnny licks a hot stripe up the back of your thigh. Punctuates with teeth digging into the crease where it meets your ass.

“Wanna eat you out,” Johnny slurs, breaths heavy against you. “Lemme eat you out, Kit. Promise I’ll make it so good f’you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Feel like you’re going to shake apart and he hasn’t even touched you.

“Please, Johnny,” you whine.

“Fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans, spreading your cheeks. “Say my name jus’ like that.”

You gasp as he seals his mouth against your fluttering hole, spare syllables tripping off your tongue. He goes down on you the same way he kissed you. Near feral, licking and sucking, drool dripping. You open up for him embarrassingly fast, can feel droplets of your own arousal falling onto the couch below.

He massages his tongue against your walls, growls when your hips twitch at the too-much-too-fast of it all. His fingers hook around your thighs and yank you back into his face. You yelp, reach for something to feel anchored. Find a large, calloused hand and grip tightly as Ghost hums over your head.

“Doing so well, pup,” he rumbles. “Good boy.”

Johnny curses, wicked vibrations down your nerve pathways. His enthusiasm somehow doubles with the praise. He fucks into you with his tongue, curving the tip each time he draws it out, only to plunge as deep as he can again. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream when he fits a finger inside, pulling gently at your entrance, gaping you open a bit to give his tongue more room. It’s intimate and filthy and perfect.

“Don’t be mean, kitty,” Ghost says. The hand on your neck slips around to toy with your sensitive nipples, pinching and tugging until you’re writhing back onto Johnny’s face. “Tell the puppy how well he’s doing.”

It takes a second to remember what words are. And then another to gather enough air to speak.

“S-so good, Johnny,” you mewl. “Feels… feels so… g-gonna cum if you keep…”

He groans long and loud, twisting his wrist to press his thumb against the nerves past your hole. Your eyes roll back, realize you’re going to make good on your word even sooner than you expected. Then his finger crooks inside you, finds that spot that sends your brain into the stratosphere.

“There, there, Johnny please, right there, don’t stop,” you chant, plead, cry.

He abuses it ruthlessly, pressing and petting until your broken little “ah, ah, ahs” go up an octave and you’re cumming with a scream. You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted, rocking into it as wave after wave threatens to knock your legs out from under you. Johnny milks every last drop of pleasure from you, his rhythm not faltering once while you ride it out.

Your orgasm finally ebbs, but Johnny is still going. Isn’t even slowing.

“Johnny, ‘s too much,” you whimper, trying to crawl away and failing miserably. “Please, please, ’s too – you have to…”

“Told me not to stop, love,” he reminds without pulling his face away. “I don’t plan to.”

“N-no, Johnny,” you start, but he dives right back in and steals the words from your mouth.

He drags you like a riptide into a sea of overstimulation, drowning you in pleasure bordering on pain. You can’t even get your muscles to cooperate enough to push at him, tortured with aftershocks that leech any strength or resolve from your body.

So you settle on your only hope for salvation.

“Ghost,” you sob, “Ghost, please make him stop. C-can’t take it. Please.”

He hums as if debating, lets the moment extend until you wail at the threat of another finger against your soaked entrance.

“Enough, pup.”

Johnny practically snarls, teeth grazing oversensitive skin and making you squeal.

“Enough.”

You feel him shift, though your eyes are closed so you don’t see what he does. All you know is that Johnny’s mouth and hands are gone all at once, leaving you wrung out and trembling. There’s a beat of charged silence. Then two sets of hands help you stretch out your legs, rubbing any lingering soreness from your hips.

You squeeze Ghost’s hand in silent thanks, receive one in return that makes you blush brighter than the orgasm did.

“Don’t pout, pup,” Ghost chides, amusement thick in his voice. “Show me how much fun you’re having.”

Fabric rustles behind you. You peek over your shoulder, suck in a breath when Johnny’s cock springs from his joggers. There’s a noticeable wet patch on the gray fabric. His head is flushed red, shiny with precum, so hard it looks painful. You bite your lip at the sight of him so close, so big. Half of you wants to climb on his dick and ride him until you pass out, the other half is still reeling.

“Let’s give the kitty a break, yeah?” Ghost says. Who would have guessed he’d be the voice of reason here. “Play with yourself for us.”

Watching Johnny fist his own throbbing cock is the singular most erotic thing you’ve ever seen. He’s gorgeous, lit by the TV screen and soft lamplight, hips rocking into his hand like he can’t convince his body to commit to the rhythm. The rosy head peeks in and out of view, pearls of pre slicking the way. Every few strokes, he twists his wrist and squeezes a little harder, and his thumb sweeps over the weeping slit.

“Pretty boy,” Ghost croons, “so good for us, isn’t he, kitten?”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, Johnny,” you rasp.

He moans, head rolling back on his shoulders. Remembering how he reacted to Ghost earlier, you keep talking.

“I wanna choke on your dick, Johnny. Want you to fuck my throat until I’m crying.”

“Kit.”

He sounds gutted. You make a soft noise, part your legs a bit so that he can see the mess he’s made of you.

“Gonna make you cum in all my holes,” you continue, “drip with you all day.”

Every salacious thought you’ve ever had spills from your tingling lips, no filter or shame to stop them now. Johnny’s hand speeds up on his cock with each word, brutally fast. You can see him twitching, know he must be close from the way his voice is rising and breaking.

“Stop,” Ghost says like a gavel strike.

Johnny’s hand freezes, seemingly from sheer befuddlement rather than willing obedience. His orgasm recedes, replaced with frustration.

“Ghost, why—”

“You don’t want the kitten to get you off, then? My mistake.”

Johnny perks up instantly while your gut clenches – and you can’t even tell if its anticipation or dismay.

“No, wait, ‘m sorry. Please, Ghost.”

“That’s more like it.”

He snatches a fallen throw pillow from the floor – the same one from the previous night. Again, it goes under your hips, propping your ass in the air. This time, he nudges your thighs closer together. Johnny seems to catch on, makes a quiet, pleased noise. You don’t understand until he straddles your thighs and the slick head of his cock nudges at the seam of your ass.

You whine as his hand plants on your lower back.

“What?” Ghost mocks, “You didn’t think playtime was over, did you? ‘S not very fair to Johnny, is it?”

You make a vague noise of agreement. Johnny should be able to get off, and you’re pleased that he’s using you to do it.

“Sweet thing,” Ghost chuckles, petting between your shoulders.

You press your forehead against his thigh, sink your teeth into the muscle as Johnny’s thick cock sinks between your thighs. There’s hardly any friction, wet from his mouth and your combined arousal.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he groans. “Tense up for me, doll. Make it nice and tight.”

You squeeze your thighs together and cant your hips just so, making the perfect channel for him to fuck into. The head of his cock drags against sensitive, swollen flesh, bullies overworked nerves with each jerk of his hips. He’s not being gentle; don’t think he could manage it if you asked.

Even after your “break,” it’s still overwhelming. You struggle to lay there and take it, hands clenching and unclenching in Ghost’s pants. Find yourself mouthing mindlessly at the sizeable bulge pressing against your cheek. Reluctance and embarrassment long abandoned, you turn your head to press your tongue against the fabric.

“Ghost, can I?” you ask. “Please, I-I need something to… please?”

He chuckles roughly, sinks his fingers into your hair to keep your head in place as he rocks against your face.

“That what you need, little one? Need a cock in your mouth to distract you from how good the pup is making you feel?”

You nod as best you can, writhing beneath Johnny’s weight and the awful pleasure that sings through you every time his cock catches on your hole.

“S’pose you’ve been good.”

Ghost dips his other hand into his sweats, allows you to tug them down a bit. His cock is somehow bigger than Johnny’s, almost intimidating. Long and thick, curved towards his stomach, gratifyingly hard just from watching you and Johnny play. A pretty silver ring loops through the head – a Prince Albert, your mind supplies.

You swallow him down without a thought, moan at the way the piercing rubs against your tongue. It’s an instant obsession, you can’t help flicking at it each time you rise up. He seems to enjoy the special attention, grunting when you suck obscenely at the head.

“Oh fuck,” Johnny groans behind you. “You two are so fucking hot, it’s not fair.”

He thrusts harder, more erratic. Your thighs clench tighter as you take Ghost down as far as you can, gagging, eyes watering. He grunts, hips twitching, lodging himself just that little bit deeper. You can’t breathe, but you don’t really want to. Not when you can feel metal teasing the back of your throat.

“Fuck, Johnny, keep being good and maybe I’ll let you have this one day,” Ghost groans.

With the hand in your hair, he guides you into a proper rhythm. Not as demanding as you’d expect a man like him to be, but he’s not coddling you either. You have to get air when you can, actively swallow past your gag reflex. Hum and moan as Johnny continues to grind, getting wetter as his end approaches.

You’re distracted enough by Ghost’s cock ruining your mouth that Johnny’s rutting is almost bearable.

“Fuck, shit, I-I’m gonna…”

“Atta boy, Johnny,” Ghost growls, voice gravel. “Cum all over our pretty kitty.”

You shudder as Johnny buries himself one last time. Heat splatters across your stomach, then as he pulls back, all over your thighs, ass, hole. His breath stutters as he milks himself through it, then smears the head through the mess. One of his fingers toys at your entrance, massages his cum in there.

You keen, teeth accidentally scraping Ghost’s shaft. Thankfully, he seems to enjoy that, a ragged groan thundering through his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls. “Get over here, mutt.”

Johnny, dazed and sated, stumbles off the couch and crawls between Ghost’s parted knees.

“Up, little one,” he instructs you.

You follow his guidance to the top half of his shaft, where it’s still easy to breathe and move your tongue.

“Well?” Ghost says to Johnny. “Pick up the slack.”

And soon you feel his breath caressing your face, his forehead bumping gently against your chin. It takes a bit of doing, but you manage to coordinate, licking and sucking and worshipping Ghost’s cock. Your lips meet in the middle, exchange messy kisses, Johnny moaning at the taste of Ghost’s precum on your tongue.

It’s messy and hot, humid with shared air and sweat and lust. You dip the tip of your tongue into Ghost’s slit where the piercing threads. He curses, hand tightening in your hair. As one, you and Johnny double your efforts, finding those most sensitive spots and working at them until Ghost pants, ragged, “Just like that.”

Your only warning is the noise Johnny makes in the back of his throat. Then Ghost’s dick jerks violently and salt explodes across your tongue. He pulls you off almost immediately, spurts across your nose and cheek, then yanks Johnny up to receive the same. The two of you lap up the remains, then, at Ghost’s urging, clean each other up.

In the aftermath, you drop your head heavily into Ghost’s lap. Beside you, Johnny slumps over, his arm looping tiredly around your back.

“Well done,” Ghost murmurs, a hand on each of your heads. “Better now?”

You exchange glassy, stupid glances with Johnny, twin dopey grins tugging at your mouths.

“Yes, Ghost,” you chorus.

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Masterlist

[yanderestarangel]

♡ 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋 | 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐅𝐓𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

TW: aggressive sex, daddykink, smut, ftm reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, degradation, sex without a condom, creampie, feminine!ftm reader, himbo!reader, age gap.

Johnny Cage has always been a busy man, especially after his success as a director in the film "Mortal Kombat" after returning to the earthly plane with everything he saw on exo-earth, however, he always found a way to have time for you.

Johnny always had eyes for you, a pretty boy like you walking around backstage like a roadie helping him and the actors, with those beautiful dresses, cleavage on your breasts, perky ass, lips covered in lip gloss, high heels, impeccable makeup, hair tidy, a walking work of art.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕.

Johnny found out everything about you through your friends, and he wanted you, not just to fuck you, but to make him yours, yes, he was obsessed with you, and he knew it.

It was an ordinary day, you were inside Johnny's luxurious car, in the back seat, as always, he just wanted to be alone with you and he finally did.

"-You look beautiful today my boy, that dress looks beautiful on you, as always." -Johnny said with a smug and lewd smile, his cock was practically tearing his pants as he drove, you could feel his light brown eyes penetrating the depths of your soul, looking at your thighs in that short dress, His eyes remained fixed on you in the car mirror, his gaze almost burning with intense lust. He couldn't resist anymore, he had to touch you.

Without warning, Johnny stopped the car in a secluded area, with the engine still running. He turned to face you with a predatory smile.

"-Come here, dear. I can't resist you anymore."

You obeyed his commands, as you went to the front seat, the car's air conditioning sent goosebumps on your skin as you saw Johnny undo his belt, unzipping his black dress pants and releasing his erect, pulsing member next to the box, and it was huge, to the point where you wondered if you were going to be able to swallow it all, but you did, bending down as Johnny couldn't resist your eager mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock. He savored the feeling of your lips and tongue working magic on him, knowing he had complete control over you.

"-You're a good cocksucker, boy." -he moaned, gripping your hair tighter as he pushed deeper into your mouth.

"-You love pleasing daddy, don't you? Show me how much you want to make me cum." -As you continued to suck him, Johnny's arousal became more and more intense. He could feel his cock twitching, ready to explode inside your mouth. His grip on your hair grew tighter, guiding your movements to match his rhythm.

"-You're going to swallow every drop, boy. Drink daddy's cum like a good little slut." -His voice was low and full of authority, the sound sending shivers down your spine as you eagerly carried out his command.

The sounds of your wet mouth and the sound of the car engine filled the air, creating a sinful symphony within the tight, luxurious space, the leather seat now dirty from your wet pussy.

"-Damn, baby, you know exactly how to please me" -Johnny moaned, feeling the intensity building inside him. He couldn’t get enough of the way you were so submissive, taking him deep into your throat.

Finally, with a loud groan, Johnny released his load into your mouth, filling your with his hot, sticky cum. He watched you swallow it all, his eyes on your submissive expression. It was a sight that fueled even more desires in him.

"-Good boy, you took everything" -He praised, the satisfied tone evident in his voice. "-Now, let's go back to the mansion. Daddy Johnny has a lot more planned for you."

Johnny’s desire for you was insatiable and he wasted no time in seizing the opportunity. He carried you effortlessly in his arms, strength and dominance evident in his every movement.

With quick movements, Johnny kicked the door shut, pressing you against the wall, his hands holding your ass possessively. His eyes devoured the sight of your exposed wet pussy, the plea of your desperate body for him only fueling his arousal further, he pressed you against the nearest wall, the thud making a loud sound as Johnny pulled his cock out of his pants.

"-I knew you'd give in eventually. And now, Daddy's going to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours until you're begging for more." -Cage positioned himself at your entrance, teasing your wet folds with the tip of his throbbing cock.

"-You're a filthy little himbo, craving my cock deep inside you, I'm going to make you cum so hard, boy." -Johnny finally pushed himself inside you, his thick cock stretching you to his limit. The feeling of him filling you completely sent an electrifying wave of pleasure running through your body.

He began to move with purpose, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one hitting all the right spots. His hands gripped your ass tightly, keeping you pinned against the wall as he fucked you relentlessly.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your moans of pleasure and Johnny's grunts of satisfaction. He didn't hold back, giving you everything you wanted, every moment of your needy cries and the way his body trembled under his touch.

He continued to thrust into you with a slow, deliberate pace, savoring the tightness and heat that engulfed his cock with each movement.

"-Take it, baby. Take all of daddy's big dick. You're doing so well, pleasing daddy like a good little slut, You're daddy's good boy, a silly himbo with a tight little pussy made just for me."

The sight of your pussy dripping onto the expensive marble floor only fueled your excitement even more making Johnny's cock throb even more inside your pussy, slamming the head of his cock hard into your womb.

"-Cum for me, baby. Show daddy how much you love being fucked." -Johnny speaks in his ear while he felt the bulge of his own cock in his belly.

And with that, you let go, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that washed over you, your body shaking in ecstasy as you climaxed. Johnny continued to fuck you through your orgasm, prolonging the intensity of your pleasure.

He finally released his cum inside you, your body shuddering with your own climax. Johnny Cage held you tightly against the wall and his body. With a smug smile, Johnny pulled away, slowly pulling out of you as his cum fell out of your pussy and onto the floor.

And he looked at you with a satisfied look.

"-That's what it means to be a good daddy's boy, clean yourself up honey, Daddy Johnny will take care of you. And then... we'll see what other ways I can make you scream later."

© YANDERESTARANGEL

[bunnybabe03]

I accidentally deleted my old account so I’m reposting this here since it got so much love the first time around!!

Price x Soap x Reader

Dog Tags

Your collar tags jingled in front of your face as the larger man attempted to pin you to the ground from behind. You had almost managed to fight him off when he slammed your body to the ground, causing a loud whimper to escape your mouth.

“Johnny..” a warning voice came from across the room, “play nice.”

“But-,” he started to whine.

“No buts. Play nice or don’t play at all. You know she’s smaller than you.” You looked over your shoulder to see your captain leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the desk. He was lazily holding a cigar and watching you two wrestle on the floor of his office. He tilted his head to get a better look at you. “Are you okay, Darling?”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, still pinned to the ground by Johnnys right arm.

“Good. Johnny, consider this a warning,” Price said, snapping his head forward to look at him.

“Yes, Sir…” Johnny responded, anxiously messing with his tags on his collar. He removed himself from you and moved to pout in the corner as you tried to catch your breath.

When you first joined the 141, it was a well known fact that Soap belonged to Price. He was constantly tagging along behind him, kneeling on the ground beside him during meetings, and of course wearing his collar everywhere except the showers and bed (that is unless Price instructed otherwise). You had always looked at them longingly. Hoping that somehow Price would accept another pup some day. You had convinced yourself you were crazy for thinking like this, that is until Price called you in to his office one day and presented you with the nicest looking collar you had ever seen. It was an expensive looking black, leather collar with silver hardware. It was complete with a silver tag engraved, “Puppy”. It was a stark contrast to Soap’s. His was a dark brown leather with gold hardware. He had a similar gold tag that was engraved, “Johnny.”

Putting out his cigar, Price stood up from his chair and made his way around the desk to where Johnny was pouting. “Now, Johnny,” he started, “Stop your sulking and go clean yourself up while I check her over. When you’re done it’ll be your turn.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said as he walked to the bathroom.

“Good boy.” He slapped Johnny on the ass as he passed by, earning a small yelp from the Scot. He crouched down in front of you and took your chin in his hand, forcing you to look up at him. He slowly turned your head from side to side looking for any marks that Johnny may have left. It was made extremely clear that the only one allowed to mark you was Price. If you had even a scratch from Soap, he would be in for the punishment of a lifetime. Seeing no bruises or cuts, he stood from his position in front of you. “You’re on thin ice, MacTavish!,” he yelled to the other room. You heard the Scot mumble something incoherent over the sound of the running shower.

A while later, Johnny came walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped poorly around his waist, Mohawk dripping on his face and the floor.

“Fucks sake, Soap. Learn to use a towel,” Price said, startling you awake. You’re not sure when you had fallen asleep on your captain’s lap, but you knew Johnny liked his “beauty showers” as you and Price called them, so probably around 20 minutes ago.

“‘s just water, cap,” Johnny said as he crawled onto the bed to join you in Price’s lap.

Price let out a loud groan as his previously dry shirt was now soaked with the water from Soap’s hair. He lifted you up, Johnny instantly taking your spot, and motioned for your turn in the shower. You of course obeyed and jumped off the bed to go clean yourself up.

Your shower was surprisingly uneventful. Usually either Price or Johnny (or both) would make their way into the bathroom and distract you from rinsing the shampoo out of your hair. You started to walk out of the bathroom, toweling off your hair (unlike Johnny) when you came to a stop.

You had seen Price and Johnny make out hundreds of times, but you had never seen Johnny this desperate. Usually he kept a little bit of composure around you, not letting you see how much of a mess Price could really make him. But this was different. Johnny was a complete whiny mess under your captain. Price had Soap’s arms pinned above his head with one hand, the other looped under his collar, and was kissing the man like he was starved.

“Being such a good boy for me, Johnny. So needy and pathetic. What does my puppy want?” Price asked with a smirk.

Instead of words, a string of moans and whines came out of Johnnys mouth as if he’d suddenly lost the ability to speak.

“Use your words or you’re not getting any more…” Price threateningly pulled away.

Still unable to form a coherent sentence, Johnny buried his face into Price’s chest in embarrassment.

“Darling?” Price asked in your direction. You jumped from the sudden attention. You had forgotten where you were, entranced in watching the two men.

“Hm?” You quickly hummed in response.

“Will you please come here and take Johnny’s place until he remembers how to tell Daddy what he wants?” Price said in a mocking tone as Soap whined under him.

“Yes, S-“ You were cut off as Johnny suddenly found his voice.

“Your cock.” Soap half whined into Price’s chest.

“What was that, pup?”

“Want your cock.” Johnny said a bit louder, but just as needy.

“Then take it.” The words had barely left Price’s mouth and Soap was already unbuckling the captain’s belt.

Price’s eyes met yours as he motioned for you to join them. Wasting no time, you rushed over and sat by the captain. Johnny already had his cock halfway down his throat by the time you got to the bed. He really was more desperate than you had ever seen him. Price grabbed you by the scruff of your neck and pulled you into a deep kiss. Before you knew it, his tongue was in the back of your mouth. His hand had moved from your neck to your chest as he teased around your nipple. His other hand pushing Johnnys head down on his cock. Every time Johnny took him deeper, you could feel Price moan into your mouth.

You could stay here forever and you would be happy. At least that’s what you were thinking when Price abruptly pulled away from you. He yanked Soap up by his mohawk, causing a string of whines to fall from his mouth.

“Johnny,” Price started, looking at Soap’s sad puppy dog eyes. “Get her warmed up for me.”

[pumpkinsy0]

Ok this might seem stupid but hear me out, perhaps we could get some headcanons of papercut in the events of the book but instead of Johnny it was Curly who stabbed the soc and him and Pony had to run away together? It would also be cool to see what the Curtis AND Shepard gangs reactions are

this aint stupid,,,,ur onto something here,,,,

•ok look, not REALLY related but curly woulda loved that white trash w mustangs and madras line, this white on white violence gotta STOP💔💯

•ANYWAYS, i think he’d put up more of a fight, he’d try to get to pony but they were outnumbered so he gets cornered, HOWEVER, he always carries some weapon on him, or maybe he picked up a coke bottle, POINT IS, bob still died lmao

•i dont think curly and pony would stay around that area as long as johnny and pony did, curly would want to leave as soon as he could so nobody could see them, so ponys forced to just get it together in under like 2mins so they could leave, so ponys disassociating badly

•theyd go to tim, curly doesnt like dally and tim IS his older brother, then tim would tell dally, and they still end up at the dirty ass church</3

•now curlys shaken up too, like hes not trying to show it to look tough, but hes never done THAT before, never flat out hurt someone that badly before, but he still doesnt regret it bc it was to defend pony, however considering hes black in the 60s in TULSA, hes so certain a judge will not gaf that it was outta self defense, so actually hes disassociatin too, they both a lil fucked up rn

•back at home, dally didnt tell darry or soda where they were but tim sure as hell did, he gets what darrys goin through cause theyre both older bros worryin over their younger bros, darry doesnt know HOW to react at all to it, he doesnt tell soda nor johnny, or anyone really, when two bit says he’ll go to texas (i think it was,,,) to look for him, darry says not to bother, so they all feel like darry knows where pony is and they dint know wether to be happy or terrified bc why isnt he tellin em or getting him??

•when it comes to the shepard gang, tim did tell some of em whats going on, only his trusted guys tho, theres basically nothing they CAN do to stop word from spreading about it bc the socs who were there already went to the cops, so they all have to lay low for a while, stay in line cause tim quite honestly cant handle anything more rn

•angela’s pretty much losing it too, shes drinking more, way more irritable, if one of the shepards is gone, ALL of em r losing it dawg

•in the church, curlys trying to act like his normal self but u can tell that he’s damn near close to losing it cause this could mean prison or the death penalty, hes so sure hes done for and pony wants to reassure him but holy fuck it aint lookin too good, they do their normal banger but u can feel this somber tension between the two as if this is gonna b their last moments together

•curly is NOT talking about turning himself in at all, he’d rather kill someone else to NOT go actually, on top of that tims telling him to stay hidden, dallys tellin him to stay hidden, so thats how he knows hes GOTTA stay there

•NOW THE FIRE, just like dally, curly dont care that much bout those kids im ngl, but bc ponys running in there, now HE has to help, boooooo👎🏽👎🏽👎🏽👎🏽

•curly aint like johnny, hes grabbing those kids and pushing them out, whatever injuries they get outta that they gonna have to deal w later, its better than them being dead id think, when the church falls, honestly??? i think my main man curly gettin outta there in time, he lowkey DID push pony out the window cause he was taking too long and then jumped out bit aye, hes livin

•its either that or he risks it and takes the longer way out if like, the wood fell where the window was

•he aint livin without some injuries and scars tho, he did definitely break SOMETHING and got some burns on his hands and wherever else, but hes relatively fine, a part of the reason y is bc he wears a leather jacket, unlike johnny who wears a jean jacket, and jean jackets r more flammable, and as seen w pony, the leather jacket did help him a bit in that fire, he still is banged up tho

[msfbgraves]

Holy shit Terry was such an asshole in that fill with John and Betsy. Being a pain in the ass and those nasty snide remarks to poor Betsy. On the other hand, John was a massive asshole too, with those crappy comments about Robby and his annoying dislike of Daniel. Poor sweet Betsy caught in the middle. Wish she had thrown them both out on the street.

I suppose Daniel was kept away not just for a rest, but because the new baby is an omega too, and there’s a special bond there.

I think things had to bubble over some time. John has been doing Terry's dirty work for decades, always there, and Terry keeps him in very, very good money because of it, but I understand his annoyance after decades of Terry's erratic behavior. Especially since that behavior has increased tenfold since he married Daniel. Still, he's a lot richer, and Robby's a good kid, and though Terry doesn't care for John jr. he clearly is under Terry's protection and good thing too because that's John and Betsy's son as much as Tory is their daughter.

And Terry cannot function without his omega and there seems to be no sign of that getting better. He's hugely succesful and runs a mostly very happy crew but Jaysis, can he be an eejit about him.

The main reason that Daniel is in the hospital is that there is no one outside Luna in the world for him right now. He's simply not going to leave a warm, safe space where he is provided for when he can spend time caressing that little face instead. And he's probably more tired than he realises but mostly omega puppies can have that hypnotising effect, especially when the Mama is omega too (though in this world's Nativity story, that is how the Virgin Mary was with baby Jesus and she is beta). It's nothing to be worried about provided you keep them safe and comfortable. Still, Anthony - who has not been confirmed omega at this point - was the opposite. He was a very lively baby, but then he needed to pull his Mama out of a funk.

Don't worry. As soon as Daniel learnt what had happened he invited all the Kreeses over for the finest roast beef the man had ever had, had Terry gift him a box of premium hand rolled cigars and a new handbag for Betsy, plus a sizeable amount of cash for John ("Buy her that mink"), a leather jacket for Johnny and a matching one for Tory (also a seperate one Tory could gift Robby for his birthday, she'd be so proud). Afterwards, Daniel sent John and Terry out to the pub and spent the remainder of the evening with Johnny, Betsy, Tommy and Susan (the latter two having been on guard duty but now invited in to warm up, also, because he wanted to give Tommy te chance to be around Johnny, nudge nudge wink wink).

Terry came home with another few bruises but apparently, those had cleared the air, as it was John who dropped him off.

[waitingandwishing]

(Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3)

~Slap me on the wrist tsk, tsk, I'm trying~

Prev - Next Chapter

"This is the worst thing that could've happened to us," Johnny stated. The All Valley Arena Committee sent out letters, indicating what was going to be at the tournament and what was required of each team. "Skills competition, bullshit. Kata isn't karate, it's dancing. And what's the crap about a girls' division? Thought they were all about women's lib. They ought to man up and take a punch like the rest of us."

“I can take a punch better then most of these guys, sensei." Trixie crossed her arms.

"No, you're already in bad shape enough. I can't let you play. We need more girl students." Johnny dismissed.

"Why? Miyagi-Do has Sam and Cobra Kai has Tory. Why can't it just be me?" She asked.

"Well just in case something happens, we'll have a backup." He replied.

“The hell do you mean ‘have a backup’?! I’m a capable fighter.” Trixie huffed. She wanted to fight, not wait around for someone to save her. Last time she’d done that Miguel was in a coma.

"Do any of you know any girls besides Trixie?" Johnny asked. The boys all stared back awkwardly. "Of course you don't know any girls." Johnny said, rolling his eyes.

Bert raised his hand. "There's this girl from the debate team." He stated.

"Debate team? We need killers, not more nerds." Johnny scoffed. "Alright, go run some laps. Maybe it'll jog your memories. Try not to breathe too much. There's black mold in the corner."

The boys took off running, leaving Trixie and Miguel with Johnny. "Sensei why can't we just have Trixie. She knows kata and she’s one of our best fighters." Miguel stated.

"Look, I'm not denying that she's a good fighter, I just think that it would be an advantage for us to have more girls." Johnny replied.

"Is this because I fainted? Because I’ve gotten better, I’ve been practicing and I want to fight!” Trixie frowned, “I don’t understand why a small little hospital accident is so important to you!”

“Leave it and go run laps.” Johnny shooed the two of them away, to which Trixie scowled.

“You’re pretty set on fighting in the All Valley, aren’t you?” Miguel asked and Trixie nodded.

“This whole time I’ve been sitting around doing nothing. I wanna get better, I wanna be better! If I don’t fight then I’ll never know if I’ve grown from last year's tournament.” Trixie explained, “But, it’s whatever. I’ll convince Sensei. I know I will…”

_____________________________________________________

Trixie’s fists collided with the punching bag in hard, steady beats, each strike echoing her frustrations. The dull thud reverberated through the dojo, and the leather bag rocked with her fury.

‘She raised her guard, but at the last second, he dropped low and delivered a swift sidekick to his ribs. The impact made Trixie stagger, but before he could recover, Trixie followed up with a perfectly timed spinning back kick, his foot connecting with her chest.

She grunted, falling to the floor before getting up, wiping her mouth. She resisted punching his face before walking off the mat with a deep breath. “Beat his ass for me, Diaz.” She muttered to Miguel, who nodded.’

‘All your life you’ve been weak, they’ve treated you like you were just a broken tool.’

Her jaw was clenched, lips pressed tight as sweat began to bead on her forehead, dripping down her face. She struck harder, her knuckles reddening, but she didn't care. Each punch seemed to bring out fragments of memory, flickers of moments that had led her to this.

‘In a flash, his hand lashed out, striking her across the face. Beatrix stumbled, the sharp sting spreading across her cheek. She caught herself on the table, gasping.’

‘Prove to them that you’re strong! Prove to them that you can be better than you’ve ever been before!’

She swung, images flying past her mind’s eye. Her parents, the pressure to be someone she wasn’t. The faces of friends who didn't understand. She poured herself into each hit, her eyes narrowing, her breaths coming faster. She punched, imagining all the hurt leaving her with each blow.

‘Trixie grinned as she swung at Hawk’s face, making his nose bleed. “No mercy, bitch.” She whispered to him.

Johnny made a move to go forward but stopped, a look of shock on his face. Miguel moved back towards the group, brandishing the headband.

Trixie held his hand as they both held up their hands. "Team black!" They yelled. The students of the team moved towards him with cheers. Johnny gave Kreese a sideways look.’

‘They think you’re weak… Prove them wrong.’

Finally, her arms dropped, her fists throbbing and sore, her shoulders shaking. She leaned into the bag, closing her eyes as the tension drained from her in waves.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.” Miguel grinned, leaning on one of the plaster walls of the warehouse. She turned to Miguel, wiping sweat off of her forehead with a slight smile.

“I don’t mind, takes my mind off of beating the punching bag.” Trixie took a sip of her water, “What’re you doing?”

“Me and sensei were going to go out and recruit some girls. Did you wanna come?” He asked. A flash of anger boiled in her stomach, to which she swallowed down quickly.

“Yeah, sure.” Trixie shrugged and exited the dojo with Miguel, getting into Johnny’s car.

As they got to the field, Trixie started to have second thoughts. “Are you sure this is okay? I mean, an old man going around talking to girls that are younger than him sounds sort of… Wrong.” She frowned.

“We’ll be fine, we just gotta recruit some chicks for this All Valley bullshit.” Johnny clutched onto the blue fliers.

“I still think I would be a good candidate for the All Valley. I mean, I’m basically the female equivalent to Miguel.” Trixie crossed her arms with a frown.

"Sure you'll be able to convince them?" Miguel asked his sensei.

"Please. When I went to this school, the only thing I was better at than karate, and I was pretty good at karate, was talking to chicks. Watch and learn, Diaz. Watch and learn." Johnny stated before walking off.

"How much do you want to bet he's going to get slapped within 10 minutes?" Trixie asked, crossing her arms.

"I think 10 minutes is being generous, don't you?" He asked teasingly.

The two watched as Johnny jogged around the track, talking to two runners. The two girls looked at him in horror before taking off. He then tried with some soccer players and field hockey players but it was definitely a no.

"Find something?" Trixie asked as Johnny came back over to them.

"No, but I think I have a good idea." He stated with a smile. She wasn’t sure that she liked all of his ideas so far. "Diaz, take off your shirt."

Miguel's eyes widened. "What?" He questioned.

"Come on, show off those muscles you got. The chicks will dig it." Johnny insisted.

“This is a horrible idea.” Trixie rolled her eyes with crossed arms, leaning her weight onto her hip.

"Why?" Johnny asked.

"Because it's not going to work.” Trixie shook her head.

“Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you give it a try?” Miguel asked with a teasing grin and Trixie shot him a challenging look.

"Oh? Is that so, Diaz?” She asked with a smirk.

Miguel grinned. "I think it is." Miguel took off his jacket and shirt to reveal him wearing a gray tank top underneath. Trixie watched as Johnny gave him baby oil to rub on his muscles, something about highlighting the curvature or something like that?.

"Like what you see?" Miguel asked as he rubbed it on. Trixie averted her gaze from his arms to his face, matching his smirk.

“Maybe I do. Why?” Trixie asked, pulling off her hoodie to reveal a tight tank top underneath. “Like I said, this is a bad idea, but it’s the only idea so I suppose I’ll help.”

She tied the hoodie around her waist as Miguel stared at the way her arms flexed as she tightened the sleeves into a knot. “Quite staring, Diaz.” Trixie winked with a chuckle, “Almost like you’re desperate or something.”

“Yeah, but you’re into that, aren’t you?” Miguel shot back and Trixie widened her eyes slightly, face turning slightly red as she averted her gaze.

“Maybe I am.” The blue haired girl finally said.

“Alright, alright, you guys can bang when you get back home, focus.” Johnny shooed the two of them. Trixie rolled her eyes before walking up to a few girls with a charming smile.

Miguel watched as she went up and introduced herself, placing her arm on the strangers softly as she smiled. “No way! That’s so cool, I love that band too!” Trixie smiled, “We should talk sometime, I mean, I’m pretty busy with karate and all but maybe you could join?”

“I-I’d love to! I mean, we’re kinda busy too with this but for you maybe I’ll make an exception.” One of the girls smirked and Trixie nodded, eyes flickering over the stranger as she bit her lip slightly.

“It’s hard being the only girl in the dojo so I’m glad you’ve decided… Especially one as beautiful as you.” Trixie chuckled, waving to the stranger before walking up to Miguel, “I’ve got a maybe but that’s it.”

“How-”

“I know how to satisfy, now calm down Miguel. You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” Trixie kissed his cheek, patting his arm.

"Hey Trixie, hey Miguel." A voice spoke, making the blue haired girl turn around.

"Hey Moon, what's up?" She greeted the brunette.

"Apparently some perv was creeping on the track team so we're gonna practice inside. What are you guys doing here?" She asked curiously.

"Recruiting for our new dojo." Miguel replied.

"Eagle Fang karate." Johnny added.

"You know, you should join actually." Trixie suggested, hoping she would say yes.

"Really? Okay. Yeah that sounds like fun." Moon replied before doing a double-take, "Wait. Do… Do I have to hit anyone?" She asked hesitantly.

"Hell yeah you do." Johnny replied with a smile.

"Oh, no, then I-I'm out. I… I can't do the whole physical aggression thing. But you know you guys should ask my ex." Moon suggested.

"Oh yeah, Piper’s an athlete, right?" Trixie asked. Moon nodded.

"Yeah, she's the best athlete in school and she's not afraid to get into a fight."

"Sounds like the badass babe we've been looking for." Johnny stated.

"Yeah, you might want to take a different approach with her.” Moon proposed.

RING RING RING

Trixie picked up the phone with a confused frown, “Hi, this is Beatrix Wong speaking?”

“Hey, Trixie, I need you to get back home to take care of Camille. Uh… Some stuff’s come up a-and I just need you to watch her.” Trick said from the other line. She frowned at his panicked state, what had happened?

“Yeah! I’ll be there in a bit and I’ll call you when I get home.” Trixie smiled and turned to Miguel, “I’ve gotta go, something came up.”

_____________________________________________________

Trixie moved first, lightning-fast, a strike aimed at his center. Miguel deflected it with a sharp block, his forearm meeting hers with a crack that echoed through the dojo.

Her eyes narrowed as she assessed his stance, noticing the slight dip in his guard. She lunged, snapping a kick toward his ribs, but he turned and countered with a spinning backfist, just missing her shoulder as she ducked low.

Trixie moved with calculated aggression, her strikes relentless, flowing one into another, each hit aimed to disrupt Miguel’s rhythm.

She swept her leg toward his feet, aiming to take him down, but he leapt, clearing her sweep, and landed with a counter kick that glanced off her arm, stinging but not slowing her.

She steadied herself, eyes locked on him. This time, she feigned a high punch, and when he lifted his guard, she pivoted, dropping low and driving her elbow toward his torso.

It connected, and Miguel stumbled back, a sharp breath escaping him. She didn’t hesitate, closing in with a series of fast punches aimed at his chest, each one forcing him to retreat.

But he recovered quickly. Catching her wrist in mid-punch, he twisted, pulling her forward and off-balance. She spun to avoid being thrown, twisting free and planting her foot to stabilize herself. The two paused, breathing hard, neither willing to give an inch.

Trixie charged, and Miguel braced himself, meeting her with a block that sent a shock through his arms. He countered with a series of swift, precise strikes—one to her shoulder.

She cried out, holding her shoulder looking down as Miguel widened his eyes. “Oh, god, Trixie I-”

She was going to prove that she was better than she’d ever been before.

Johnny watched as she let go of her shoulder, sweeping him down to the floor with a huff. “My bad.” Trixie grinned, holding out her hand for him to take. Johnny observed Trixie, deep in thought before announcing something.

“Trixie!” Johnny yelled and the blue haired girl snapped her head to look at him, “You’re in for the All Valley.”

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 7 - Biting

Ghost x Soap - 3.3k (on ao3)

summary: Desperate for money, Johnny finds himself in a vampire's lair. (Soap POV)

cw: vampire ghost x human soap, description of drinking blood and other vampire things, discussed sex in exchange for money, drugging

Johnny stands at parade rest in the middle of the room, hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically behind his back.

In the military, he’d always had more control of himself, always managed to stand still when he really needed to, if only to avoid pissing off whatever CO was lecturing him that day.

But here, in in a seedy club with music playing so loudly he can feel it in his feet, through his fuck-off mean combat boots that make him a good two inches taller, Johnny can’t force himself to fully relax into his stance. One look at the arrogant motherfucker leaned back in his leather armchair like a king, and Johnny’s hands were clenched so tight he was sure he’d split the skin of his palms with his nails.

Even without knowing who this particular nightclub is run by, Johnny would recognize the man in front of him as a vamp no matter the circumstance. His face is covered by a mask, but there’s no hiding the dull pallor to the skin of his hands, or the bright red of his irises.

“Well?” Graves asks from beside him, and oh Johnny wants to tear the man’s throat out with his teeth. “Whaddya think?”

The man in the chair – Ghost, that’s the name Graves had asked for when he’d dragged Johnny up here – tilts his head to the side, looking at Johnny in the same way a fox looks at a rabbit. He blows a cloud of smoke through the mask covering his mouth, bringing his cigarette to the fabric to take another drag, and Johnny wants to be as far away from this freak as he can get. 

“Cute,” Ghost rumbles, stubbing the fag out on the worn leather of his seat. “Don’t know what you brought him up here for, though.”

Johnny swears he can hear Graves grind his teeth. “He asked if we were hiring, and just the other day you were complaining about needing a… well, you know.”

A cold feeling creeps up Johnny’s spine, and the realization that he’s missing something crucial settles over him. 

“A personal assistant,” the man standing behind Ghost supplies, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and looking amused. He’s another vamp, his dark skin gray-toned and red eyes bright even under the dark lights.  “Isn’t that right, sir?”

Ghost’s eyes narrow for a moment and he drags his gaze away from Johnny’s body and over to the other man, tone unimpressed. “There a reason you’re not doing your job on the floor, Garrick?”

Garrick looks over at Johnny and – bizarrely – winks, smirking. “Saw Graves heading up with a pretty thing, figured I’d see if he was gonna be sticking around.”

Johnny gives Garrick another once over, slotting this new information in his head. If he does get the job here, it won’t be bad to have a friendly face he knows to look for on the first day, so Johnny allows himself a small smirk when he makes eye contact with the other man. Garrick’s expression sharpens, and Johnny can’t help but feel like he’s missing the punchline to an inside joke. 

“Get outta here,” Ghost scoffs, waving dismissively and Garrick goes without much more protest. He passes right by Johnny, letting their shoulders brush and pausing by his side.

Johnny does his best not to tense when he hears the other man sniff, chest pressed against his shoulder. 

“Got a good one here, Ghost,” Garrick calls, and when Johnny shifts his head just enough to glare at him, he laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t break him too quickly, yeah?”

It’s only his decade of military experience that keeps Johnny from reacting in any visible way when Garrick gropes his ass on the way out.

“So?” Graves pushes, hands twitchy at his sides in the way all thrall addicts are. “He’s good, right?”

Johnny bites his tongue, his tolerance for being talked about like he’s not even in the room wearing thin. The only thing keeping him here is the number Graves had thrown out when he’d tried to leave the first time. He’s dealt with worse than an egotistical vamp and an addict angling for his next hit for a lot less than what’s on offer.

Ghost sighs and shifts forward, feet planted firmly on the ground and his hands dangling limp between his knees. “He’ll do.”

Graves lights up, darting forward a few more steps before forcing himself to stop, rocking on his heels. “Great! So when can we meet up next?”

Ghost snorts, shakes his head once. “Get out, Graves.”

“But–”

“Out. We’ll see how much he’s worth and talk later.”

Johnny grits his teeth. He’s worth more than both of these fuckers combined, but that won’t pay the rent in his shitty studio apartment.

Graves looks over his shoulder at Johnny, like he’s supposed to say something, then seems to remember that he’s on his own. “C’mon, Ghost, just a sip and I’ll be out of your hair – I won’t even take a full mouthful!” 

Ghost is silent, head tilting to the side in a way that somehow feels threatening in the way only true predators can. He doesn’t even have to say a word before Graves is scoffing, head ducked as he turns and strides out of the room. 

The room isn’t silent – can’t be, in a building like this – but the air feels stills once it’s just him and Ghost left. Johnny goes truly still now, gripping his forearms tightly and making sure that not a bit of him even twitches. 

Ghost’s eyes are locked on Johnny, unblinking. Johnny resolves to wait him out, doesn’t want to make the first move when there’s a chance he’s somehow misjudged what he was brought in for. 

“Well?” Ghost eventually speaks, voice low and expectant. “What’re you waiting for?”

Johnny shifts, eyes narrowed on the vamp in front of him. “Graves said you’d pay. I want half up front.”

Ghost snorts, leaning back in his chair and lighting another cigarette. This time instead of puffing it through the mask he pulls the fabric up, revealing thin lips and the scarred skin of his cheeks. His lips are tilted up in a smirk as he takes a puff, calm as can be. “Yeah? ‘Nd how much of my money did Graves promise you?”

Johnny rolls his shoulders back, braces himself. “Ten thousand.”

Ghost’s only reaction is a hum that doesn’t give away any of his feelings, not a part of him revealing his thoughts on the number. It relaxes Johnny a bit, tells him that maybe Graves didn’t just tack on a few zeroes to lure him in more easily. 

“For a number like that,” Ghost says, blowing the smoke through his nose. “I’ll expect more than just your blood.”

Johnny shifts his weight, keeping his face flat. He’d known this was a possibility when he came up, knows that drinking blood is a prelude to sex for a lot of vampires. He’d been willing, is willing to do nearly anything for ten thousand dollars. Still, looking at a big brute like Ghost and knowing what he’s asking for makes him tense, makes him feel like he wants to run and never look back.

But this is the closest he’s been to making money in weeks. He can’t afford to run, no matter how much the prey instincts in the back of his head scream at him.

Johnny swallows his nerves as best he can, steels himself and straightens his spine. “Where do you want me, then?”

Ghost takes another puff, letting the conversation stall for what feels like an eternity. He makes no attempt to hide the way he’s looking at Johnny’s body, eyes lingering on his throat and his stomach, where his abs are visible through the sweat-damp white t-shirt that sticks uncomfortably to him.

He doesn’t speak until he’s finished his cigarette, leaving the butt in the ashtray like his first. 

“On my lap.”

Johnny doesn’t let himself hesitate, forces his knees not to lock as he takes quick strides forward until he’s standing in front of the vamp, hands still locked behind his back. Ghost doesn’t say a word, even as he hesitates, just watches him from beneath blonde lashes.

“Half up front,” he repeats, heart in his throat. 

Ghost snorts, lip ticking up enough to flash fang. Johnny barely resists shuddering, trying not to imagine what those will feel like buried in his throat.

Ghost is still silent as he pulls out his phone, asks for Johnny’s bank details so he can transfer money. He fumbles as he tugs his own phone from his back pocket, fingers shaking just slightly. He’d expected cash, but as long as the number in his account goes up, he’s got no complaints.

It takes a few minutes for them to exchange the right information, then another few for the money to process, and Johnny can’t help but feel awkward as they wait. He can’t bring himself to wish he’d waited to ask for the full price on the way out, though, especially not when he gets his first glimpse of the five thousand new dollars in his account.

“Alright,” he says once he feels like he can speak again, clearing the shock from his throat. He just barely keeps himself from saying thank you, the manners his ma had drilled into him warring with his pride as a grown man about to sell his body. 

He puts his phone back in his pocket, instinctually wipes his damp palms on his jeans. 

Ghost just watches him from amused eyes, still as relaxed as he’s been since Johnny stepped in the room. He doesn’t speak, just lets Johnny stand there awkwardly. 

Johnny huffs after nearly a full minute of this, frustrated. “Well? You gonna take my blood or not?”

He gets the sense that Ghost is cocking an eyebrow beneath the mask, but Johnny can’t see. “I told you where to go. I’m not repeatin’ myself.”

Johnny grits his teeth, blowing a sharp breath through his nose. He wants to crack his neck, then each of his knuckles individually, then maybe his wrists and elbows, but he’s determined to keep what little pride he can during this… exchange, and part of that is pretending he’s not nervous.

So Johnny takes another deep breath, trains his eyes on Ghost’s nose instead of his eyes, and carefully shifts forward and into his lap.

It’s not a smooth thing, not when Johnny is as large as he is and as uncomfortable as he is, but he manages not to fumble too embarrassingly. He settles with his knees on either side of Ghost, stretched wide to accommodate the vamp’s width, and his hands resting on the leather back of the chair.

“Easy,” Ghost rumbles when Johnny stiffens over him, one massive hand coming to rest on the small of his back. The tip of his pinky rests just under the hem of Johnny’s jeans and he can’t quite repress his shiver at the cold fingertip against his heated skin. “You’re fine.”

“I know,” Johnny says through gritted teeth, determined to remain fine through sheer willpower alone.

Ghost makes a sound that verges on condescending, and if the man human Johnny knows he would’ve already broken his nose. ”Relax, then. It won’t hurt.” He stops, tilts his head to force eye contact with Johnny. “Much.”

Johnny bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile, forcing himself to relax one muscle at a time. “I’m not worried about it hurting. Just wanna get it over with.”

Ghost seems to appreciate that, nodding slowly. “C’mere then.”

Johnny fights all of his instincts to let himself be moved, Ghost’s free hand gripping the nape of his neck tightly and guiding his head down. His breaths shudder through his chest as he presses his face to Ghost’s neck, the pale skin cool against his forehead.

“Good,” Ghost murmurs approvingly. “Now don’t move.”

It’s a nearly impossible instruction to follow, but Johnny manages it. He can’t stop the way his fingers twitch when he feels the slick press of fangs to his throat, can’t stop the shiver when he feels a cold breath of air against that same sensitive skin, but he does manage to still himself completely when Ghost presses the tips of his fangs to Johnny’s skin.

He stops breathing, paralyzed in the moment, and Ghost just lets it sit. 

Then, the sharp piercing pain of a bite.

Johnny cries out as the first shock of pain hits his system, then bites lip to keep himself silent. It fucking hurts, and he knew it would but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Johnny’s had friends who do this, either for money like him or pleasure like Graves, and while they all mention the pain (how it hurts, then it doesn’t, then you get a hit of venom and all your problems go away), they never mentioned how excruciatingly weird it is to feel someone drinking your blood.

The skin around Ghost’s fangs goes cold first, his stony face pressed to Johnny’s flushed skin and sapping all the heat. He can feel as more warmth seeps from that area, that same icy chill crawling down his neck and through his veins. It completely disables him, leaves him unable to do so much as twitch a finger lest he somehow encourage the terrifying sensation further.

He has no idea how long it’s been before Ghost hums, the low sound rumbling through both of their chests and shocking Johnny back into the moment. His breaths shudder in his lungs as he sits tense and frozen on Ghost’s lap, his heart racing a mile a minute.

Then–

It’s bliss. It’s warm, and soft, and sweet, and Johnny thinks that he’s never felt more at peace in his entire life.

His body goes limp, any hope of holding himself up fading as a blanket is pulled over his mind. Stars dance over his eyes, painting pretty pictures that he coos at and tries to chase with his fingertips. He can’t quite reach them, so he reaches further, pushing against the thing in front of him blocking him from getting any further,

There’s a sound beneath him, something that he can feel through his entire body, and it makes him melt. Suddenly the stars don’t matter nearly as much as getting as close to that sound as possible.

“What’re you doing?” A voice says, but Johnny’s too busy pressing his face to a cold throat to bother listening. “Hm. You’re warm.”

It sounds like a compliment, and as much as he wants to respond, words aren’t something Johnny can use right now so he settles for making a soft appreciative sound. 

“All you humans are,” the voice continues, breaths blowing across Johnny’s hair. “Like little furnaces, the lot of you.”

Johnny doesn’t quite know what the man is saying, couldn’t care less as long as it doesn’t impede the serenity he’s found himself basking in. He pushes himself closer to the cold body in front of him, hands resting on its shoulders and face buried in what he thinks is its throat. 

“Needy, aren’t you?” The voice asks, and Johnny’s body shifts as it laughs. He can feel the sweat starting to drip down his hairline and he presses even closer, consumed with the cool feeling against his over-heated skin. 

“That’ll make the next part more fun,” the voice says, and a moment later Johnny feels his body being shifted for him. Then a cold hand passes down his spine, and oh why didn’t he beg for this before? He’s so hot and the skin against his feels like cool water on the hottest day of summer. 

“You’re high as a kite, aren’t you?” The voice asked, and the cold shifts beneath Johnny’s pants. He whines, unsure, and shifts. “Hush. You never had any venom before? Haven’t seen someone drop like this without blood in a long time.”

Were Johnny capable of responding, or even understanding the question, he would say of course I’ve never had venom ye arsehole, I don’t make a habit of gettin’ high and beggin’ vamps like you for another hit. But he can’t say any of that, can’t even really think those words, so he whines instead, arching his back and pushing his ass further against the cool fingers dancing around his hole.

“You’ll be easy to stretch like this,” the voice considers, and Johnny gasps when something slips inside him. “Could probably fuck you now and you wouldn’t even notice.”

That sounds… off, so Johnny whines, squirming in place. The voice just laughs, and Johnny gasps when he feels himself stretched further.

“Calm down, I won’t do it. Not yet, anyway.”

Johnny relaxes, moans and sighs slipping from lax lips as the voice plays with his body. The high doesn��t fade, it keeps him docile and easy as he rides the waves of peace, more than happy to just exist as he is. 

“Alright,” the voice grunts after some indeterminate amount of time, cold fingers slipping out of him and shifting to his hips. Johnny whines as he’s pulled away from the throat he was leaned against, the heat coursing through him suddenly becoming so much less manageable. 

“Are you gonna cry?” The voice asks incredulously and yes, yes Johnny is going to cry, if the tears welling up in his eyes are anything to go by. On the next blink they streak down his face, blistering against his skin and God he wants the cold back. “Fuck, I can’t wait to watch you do that on my cock.”

Johnny whines, shifting, though he’s not sure why.

“Yeah, you want it too, huh?”

The hands are forcing him down, then, not helping him at all as he slips off the chair and falls to the ground. He groans at the pain jolting from his knees, falls forward into the lap in front of him. 

The voice huffs, and the hands disappear. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna be a fun one.” The part of Johnny that’s not high recognizes the sound of a belt being undone, but the part of him that’s still floating on another plane of existence can’t even muster the energy to open his eyes. “Alright, open up little human.”

When a thumb hooks over his teeth to force him to follow the order, Johnny doesn’t even flinch. When his mouth is filled with something cold, blessedly cold, he practically falls forward to get more of it. 

It feels like ice on his tongue, shocks his sensitive gums enough that he manages to finally open his eyes, some small part of his mind returning to itself.

Ghost stares down at him as Johnny swallows his cock, red dripping down his lips and smeared messily across his chin.

“There you are,” he coos, and Johnny’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when a heavy hand rests on the nape of his neck, one of the hottest parts of him soothed by his ice-cold skin. “Comin’ back up, are we?”

Johnny has just wherewithal to think yes, I am, before Ghost’s hand turns tight against his neck. He’s pulled off the cock in his mouth like a puppet, then forced back down just as quickly, then again, and again, and again.

It doesn’t take long for the facefucking to take what little of his mind Johnny had gotten back, but he finds he doesn’t mind slipping away too much, not when away means all his stress is gone, even just for a bit. 

If getting high on Ghost’s venom can make him feel like this, Johnny can understand perfectly how Graves has become what he is. He can’t quite bring himself to be upset with that, either, not with his hot skin being cooled by the vamp above him and his throat solidly used.

It’s easy to let his eyes slip closed, the venom crashing over his mind in another wave, and Johnny floats as he lets his body be used.

[jaesqueso]

member: johnny

genre: smut/angst (very slightly)

movie quote: “New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire” The English Patient, 1996

wordcount: 973

warnings: fingering, protected sex

2.5k followers celebration drabbles ❤︎

☽ ・・・・・ ☾

You remember the day you met Johnny. Struggling with a machine at the gym he politely asked if he could give you a hand and good thing you were already training for a while so he didn’t notice how your words got caught in your throat. His glistening skin and muscular arms showing through his sleeveless shirt literally took your breath away as he showed you the correct way to do your exercise.

From that day on you seemed to always run into him at the gym and even worked out together a few times before he finally decided to ask you out. That day you didn’t even feel the muscle pain from the exercises you did, just your heart fluttering as you counted the days until the date.

As good as he looked on his gym clothes he looked even better all dressed up. He wore a silk black and white dotted shirt paired with the most fitted leather pants.

You got to know each other better, had dinner that turned into drinks and all you wanted was more and more. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire. You’re not usually one to dive into intimacy straight away but the way his lips brushed against your earlobe as he leaned in to invite you back to his apartment with a low voice had you weak on the knees and before you could even think you were already nodding yes.

Johnny was polite enough to show you around the place before you were making out on top of his bed. His lips felt soft against yours, his hands felt warm as they roamed all over your body, clothes slowly pilling up on the floor as they’re thrown across the room.

Straddling his lap you could feel his bulge grow under you and that only helped with the arousal you were already feeling. He gropes your ass and your fingers tighten their grip on his hair. With his help you grind your hips on his, forcing small love sounds from both of you.

One of his hands finds their way down your stomach, slowly disappearing inside the waistband of your panties which was the last piece of clothing left on your body. You can feel him smirk against your neck when his finger runs between your folds finding you drenched in pleasure.

The circular movements applied on your clit made you whine on his lap, silently begging for more, and more he delivers. Smoothly one of his digits slides inside you, quickly followed by a second one. Johnny pumps his fingers in and out as his mouth attaches to your breast, swirling his tongue around your hard nipple.

Your hips move along with his fingers that curl up when they’re all the way in, reaching that sweet spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. You can feel your orgasm approach, embarrassed to get this worked up with only his hand.

I need you, Johnny.

The magical words make him suddenly flip your bodies around so you’re laying on the bed with him hovering you. Before diving back in, his hungry eyes take in every inch of you along with the smirk that lingers on his lips. His hands smooth up your thighs until they drag your panties down and off.

Instinctively you spread your legs for him, pussy glistening under the dim lights of the room making him almost drool, like a starved man looking at a feast. But you said you needed him and he knows exactly what you mean.

From his bedside table, Johnny removes a condom and lays it on the bed before reaching down to remove his own underwear. His dick is hard and throbbing, pre-cum leaking through the tip showing you how much he needs you too. His big hand wraps around the girth gently pumping it, his gazed fixed on your wet hole that clenches around nothing in anticipation.

After unwrapping the condom down his member, his body towers yours, your legs pushed up between your bodies. You feel his tip brush between your folds before aligning with your entrance. His lips join yours, swallowing the whines that come off your mouth when his cock slowly fills you up.

He lets you adjust for a few seconds before he feels you move your hips, encouraging him to move too. Starting of slowly, it doesn’t take long for him to pick up a nice strong pace that make you arch your back off the bed as your moans and his groans fill the air.

The orgasm he had built up in you, quickly comes back and you barely have time to give him a warning before you cream all over his length. The way you clench around him drives him crazy and after riding off your high he flips you around, face on his pillows and ass in the air, as he positions himself behind you. Not able to resist, his hand comes down to smack your butt before pushing back in.

Still in your post orgasm bliss, your hands grasp his sheets, the new position making him hit deeper inside you. You can hear his bed frame his the wall, but you don’t even care as long as he keeps fucking you this good. And it must be good for him too because a few seconds later he tightens his grip on your hips filling in the condom inside you. Gently he cleans you both up before laying back down and pulling your body under his embrace.

You and Johnny ended up not working out, but the memories of the times spent together still come to mind, specially when your all alone in your room at the late hours of the night.

☽ ・・・・・ ☾

taglist: @yokshi-unbeliebubble @nc-teen  @yutahoes @dimplehyunn @iknowyuno @bebskyy @ne0cultur3technology @nurenciye @luvjeongjaehyun @chenleyang @booyouwhore17 @jenoxygen @nohyuckieduckie​

unable to tag: @doahflix @criminalmindsz

[yuzukult]

acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan​ , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she’s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”

[johnsamericano]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 3:

ѕυн נσнииу

23 days of NCT masterlist.

warnings: tooth-rotting shit, Johnny is a dick at the beggining, inexperienced reader, fem masturbation, it's kinda bad but I hope you enjoy.

taglist: @notbeforelong @curieouscapt @whathamelon @unknown5tar

“I’m going out with my friends tonight, don’t wait up for me.” He commented while slipping his black, leather shoes on.

“Drive carefully .” You answered as you popped a cup of instant ramen inside the microwave.

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath after the door closed behind him. Freedom finally.

You turned on the Tv, setting the volume louder than usual. Johnny didn’t like noise, to be honest, he probably didn’t even like you. He had so many house rules, you couldn’t even breathe without getting scolded by him. Not even three months had passed since your wedding and you already felt like you were in some sort of military camp.

“God, it smells so nice.” You murmured, pulling out the hot cup from the microwave and dumping the content in a bowl.

You ate on the sofa, another thing that Johnny hated, while watching your favorite series, enjoying your time alone. If it wasn’t for your parents, you would’ve never agreed to marry him, but they sounded so excited with the idea that you couldn’t refuse them, it wasn’t like you had a line of men waiting for you anyways.

You decided to have a little dessert, a mug cake, to be specific. You decided to make one for Johnny as well, the memories of you as kids eating all sorts of candies coming back to you as to mixed all the ingredients together. What happened to him during high school? All you knew was that he studied abroad and came back like a completely different man. He wasn’t your Johnny anymore. Of course, you were sad at first, but your sadness soon turned into anger as his attitude towards you got worse.

“Get lost.” Or “You’re so annoying.” Were some of the things you’d often hear.

You stopped trying after a semester, and it was quite healing to be honest. But then your parents had to bring him back to your life, and in the worst way possible. Nevertheless, they seemed happy, knowing that someone nice was living with you. Of course, they didn’t know the new Johnny.

After eating up all your food, you washed the dishes and laid down on the couch, your eyelids slowly closing as you drifted away. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later when a pair of arms woke you.

“Huh?” You opened your eyes a bit disoriented.

Johnny held you between his arms, carrying you towards your shared bedroom, which he almost never used.

“Go back to sleep, I got you.” He tucked you in with delicate movements. You could sense alcohol in his breath, but he wasn’t acting drunk at all. “Close your eyes.” He murmured as he felt your gaze over him.

“If alcohol was all it took for you to be nice, I would’ve poured some whiskey on your morning coffee every day.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your remarks.

“I’ve been a bit rude to you, haven’t I?” He kneeled down in front of the bed, his thumb tracing the shape of your eyebrow. Now you were certain he was drunk. “I’m sorry, I still don’t know how to act around you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you rejected me-”

“I’m sorry, what?” You frowned.

“You know, the letter I sent you when I was abroad...” He tried helping you remember, things getting clearer for him at your lack of response. “You didn’t get it, did you?” You shook your head. “Shit.”

“So you’ve been an ass to me for a letter I didn’t even get? Way to go, Suh.” Anger started boiling at the bottom of your stomach, sleepiness abandoning your system. “God, I wanna hit you so bad right now.”

“Please, do so.” He felt like a piece of garbage, having treated the girl he loved like his worst enemy for a misunderstanding. “But, hypothetically, if you had gotten that letter...what would’ve been your answer?” He fidgeted with the bedsheets, feeling your legs shift under them.

“I don’t know, what did it say?”

“I’m not gonna tell you what a lame 14 year old wrote to his crush.” He scoffed. “It was just a love confession, quite cheesy if you ask me.”

“If I had gotten that letter...” You cupped his soft cheeks, they were burning, probably because of the drinks he’d had, or maybe because of your touch. “I would’ve begged my parents to let me take a flight to see you, so I could answer to your confession in person.” His heart stopped, the answer he’d longed for so many years was finally about to slip from your mouth. “I did like you, John. But then you abruptly changed, and you hurt me so much during this past years.” Your words sounded unforgiving, and yet, you had the softest look on your moonlit face. “But I’m willing to let that go if you tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

He didn’t hesitate to pull your face closer to his, your noses slightly touching.

“I’m so glad you agreed to marry me, that way I get to spend the rest of my life with the woman I’ve loved for so many years. Only if you want that too, of course.”

“Will rude Johnny be back tomorrow morning?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together.

“Rude Johnny’s dead.” His sweet smile encouraged you to finally shorten the distance between your lips. It was your very first real kiss as a couple.

Your lips fitted perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces. He was the first to make a move, placing his hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer as he climbed on top of your body. The kiss started getting heated, his tongue freely exploring your mouth as his hands got playful, softly kneading your breast.

The palms of your hands touched his well built pecs, a small gasp escaping your mouth as you realized how strong he really was. He was definitely not the skinny teenager you were in love with.

“What is it, baby?” He smiled, his cheeks turning slightly pink, your wide eyes looking attentively at him.

“Did you eat teenage Johnny or something?” He laughed, the prettiest and most genuine laugh you’d ever heard from him.

“No, but there’s someone else I’m surely gonna eat out tonight.” You smack his chest, a high pitched whine coming out from his mouth. “What was that for?”

“Don’t talk like that...it’s my first time.” He’d already guessed it by the fact that you’d never had a boyfriend or a proper date, but it was still shocking to hear it from your own mouth.

“Then I guess I’ll have to be gentle.” His long fingers started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt right in front of your inexperienced eyes, cockily smirking at the way you’d unconsciously bite your lower lip. “Can I ask something?” You nodded, eyes still glued to his half naked chest. “The day of our wedding...was that your first kiss?” You remembered the lame peck you received as soon as the officiant declared you husband and wife.

“Sadly.” He felt as if a hundred needles were stabbing his lovesick heart.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, kissing your soft lips over and over again. “I stole your first kiss.”

“Then make up for it.” You raised your hips, your sensitive core meeting with his bulge and stealing a gasp from both of you.

His hungry lips attached to your neck, sucking several purple marks on it as your hands quickly worked through the remaining buttons of his shirt, helping him slide it down his arms. Even with the lack of light in your room, you could see his torso perfectly, the way his biceps would twitch as his hands slipped inside your shirt, thumbs caressing the soft skin of your tummy.

“Johnny.” You moaned, his hands moving upwards to play with your hard nipples.

“Turn on the light on the nightstand, I want to see you.” He murmured beside your ear, kissing the shell of it as you extended your arm to do as he said.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust to the new illumination. Johnny looked even more ethereal under the dim, yellow light.

“Why have you got to be so damn perfect?” Your fingers traced his well-defined abs, mesmerized by the shape of them. While you were distracted drooling over his body, he took the chance to lift your shirt just above your round boobs, moaning at the sight of the two, beautiful mounds. Reality stroke you as you felt your nipples harden from the cold air. “Don’t look at me like that.” You avoided his eyes, your body growing hotter under his intense gaze.

“How do you expect me to look at the woman I love?” You turned to your side, shirt still lifted.

“Stop it.” Johnny loved how shy you’d always been around him, specially whenever he complimented you.

“No.” He pecked your cheek, hands going down to remove your shorts, stopping right before lowering the waistband. “Are you really okay with this?” You nodded, still refusing to look at him.

“Are you?”

“What a silly question, of course I am.” Without any further delay, he pulled both of the pieces covering your lower half down. You pressed your legs together, trying to hide your wet center. “Why are you hiding yourself from me, baby?” He mocked, hands caressing your round ass.

“I’ve never been naked in front of anyone.” He was quick to dispose his remaining clothes, wanting to make you feel more comfortable.

“Look at me.” His big hand was holding the side of your head as you turned back to him, trying your best not to look down at his manhood. “Open your legs for me.” As he was the experienced one, you decided to let him take the lead, slowly revealing yourself to him. “Good girl.” His praises only sent electric shocks right into your core.

“Are you gonna put it inside now?” Adorable, Johnny thought, using his finger pads to tease your inner thighs.

“No, I need to prepare you first. Otherwise, it might hurt.” He’d done it thousands of times, but it somehow felt different with you, as if he had to be extra careful to make sure you had the most pleasurable experience, even if it meant having to endure the stinging pain between his legs for a while longer.

He first used his middle finger to run it up and down your slit, satisfied at how wet you were for him. He talked you through every single one of his movements, making sure you were comfortable with everything he was doing.

“Johnny.” You whined, three fingers pumping in and out of your entrance. It was definitely different than when you did it by yourself, his digits reached deeper, delivering a new kind of pleasure. “I need you.”

He hummed, pulling out his fingers to grab the base of his dick. He ran the tip over your slit, your hips slightly bucking at the contact.

“Tell me when it stops hurting.” He was only halfway in when you asked him for a break, already feeling overwhelmingly full. “Don’t worry, take your time.” He said despite feeling the urgent need to move.

It took you a few minutes to recover, letting him bottom out. The pain was bearable after that first break, so you almost immediately asked him to move. Johnny started off slowly, both of his hands beside your head as he rolled his hips against yours.

“Does it feel good?” He didn’t even need a verbal answer, your facial expressions were more than enough to let him know just how good he was making you feel. “I’m not gonna last long.”

“Me neither.” You held onto his biceps, the knot on your tummy becoming tighter as he picked up the pace.

He lowered his face to connect your lips, both of you moaning into each other’s mouth as you reached your high, bare chests touching each other while you tried to slow your heartbeat.

“I wish this would’ve been out wedding night.” He kissed your collarbone, pulling out to plop down beside you. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Let it go already, John.” You hugged his naked body against yours, letting his hand play with your hair. “As long as you’re like this from now on, we’ll be alright.”

You didn’t even notice when your eyes started closing again, falling asleep beside your now loving husband. The next morning you panicked as he wasn’t by your side anymore. Had it been a dream?

“Good morning, sunshine.” Johnny suddenly came through the door, a tray with food between his hands. “You must be hungry after last night.” He left it on top of your legs, smiling naturally as if this was your everyday routine.

It was definitely gonna take time to adjust to this Johnny.

“Heart shaped sandwiches? That’s so corny, Suh.” You laughed, staring at your food with sparkly eyes.

“Hey! That took me two hours to make.” He went to the bathroom and returned with a hairbrush. “Your hair’s a mess, let me fix it while you eat.” He sat down behind you, slowly going through your hair as you stuffed your face with food.

“Does this mean I’m not gonna have to add whiskey to your morning coffee?” He chuckled behind you, pressing his lips to the back of your neck.

“That won’t be necessary.” He tied your hair up in a not-so-messy bun, lacing his arms and legs around your waist once he was done. “You look cute on my shirt.” You hadn’t even noticed. Probably he’d cleaned you up and dressed you right after you fell asleep.

“I look cute in everything.”

“Yes you do.” More kisses. “Now hurry up, we’re going out today.”

“Where to?”

“I’m taking you out on our very first date.”

[renhy6ck]

little girl. – yuta.

warnings: bdsm (master / slave relationship), daddy kink, thigh humping and smooth dirty talk.

synopsis: slave y/n waiting her master at home as she shoulds. after he came home, he will decide if she deserves some attention.

—

your knees hurt, there were more than two hours in which you were committed to obey him, sitting on your own legs, your hands flat on your thighs and your head down, feeling the cold metal of the collar pendant hitting your bust.

the door opens, causing a loud noise to echo throughout the room and you use your peripheral vision to watch yuta's silhouette cross your path. he doesn't talk to you, he doesn't praise you, he doesn't even look at you, going towards the dresser next to the wall, where a large square mirror hung a few centimeters above; you heard the noise of the keys being set against the wood and his boots against the ground.

"sir...?" you called him in a low voice, holding your own breath for fear of a reprimand.

yuta sat on the couch, putting himself comfortably with his legs apart, marking his thighs on the black skinny jeans.

"oh, you're there."

the voice sounded indifferent, which made your heart beat. he moved minimally, fixing yourself on your legs, feeling bits of your hair fall on your shoulders and face while your eyes continued to face the carpet on which you had installed yourself.

"come to me, baby"

your head finally got up, leaning your hands on the ground and crawling towards him, eyes scintillating and dilated when you look to his tired and marked face.

the jaw locked and the eyes on you, a little smile in the corner of the lips when he sees you kneeling next to hos feet covered by the leather boots. your eyes got up, admiring his beautiful face and red hair with a few threads over her forehead, more messy than you remember.

yuta allowed his long fingers to run through your soft hair in a gentle caress, gently removing some black threads from your eyes.

"answer me, did you wait patiently like a good little girl?"

"yes, Sir." you smiled, getting a bigger smile from yuta as a reward; the white teeth show it. his thumb held your chin, caressing it with grace.

"you make me proud, you know? a good slave for me, always obedient..." he sighed, unfortunately pulling his fingers away from you.

both hands hit the thick thighs, his dry lips soon came into contact with his tongue moistening it as your watched him silently. "come here, sit on daddy. you deserve it."

you stood up, wailing quietly at the sight of injuries on your knees, with a few drops of blood accumulating in the midst of the living flesh. it didn't take long for you to sit on yuta's right thigh, leaning more gently on his knees on the couch this time, moaning softly due to the pain of pressing it once again against anything else.

"are you hurt?" yuta questioned, rolling his eyes to your leg.

you waved in a tearful expression, raising your knee for him to check, he touched the wound with the indicator, looking at it with his lips together.

few times had yuta been so meaty as now, proud and content with your actions. he felt, for the first time, that his good girl was educated enough. after so many punishments, tears running down your cheeks due to beating your ass and things like that, he finally felt you deserved a reward.

"it hurts?"

he looked into your face and you felt a nice feeling of relief.

"yes, Sir..."

"use me, my dear. rub daddy's leg until you cum, hm? i think you deserve it."

your hands touched your master's broad shoulders, moving your hip back and forth, causing your clit free of any tissue to rub against the pants. you groaned, closing your eyes with the gross feeling that it sent you. it was good, but frustrating, at the same time that your mind screamed not to stop.

"tell me if it's good." one of yuta's hands touched your waist, sliding his fingers down to your ass, squeezing your buttocks marked with red and purple with force, pushing your forward, so that your movements continues. "you're not liking it, is that it?"

you feel the breath hold in your lungs,a groan of pain escaped with his fingers against the injured flesh. last night, you had to learn to obull him after disrespecting him in public by sending a picture of your fingers inside you while he was in public.

every slap on your ass were to remind you that you couldn't touch yourself without permission and every drop of hot candle on your back was to remind you that, even if you didn't know, he was with jaehyun and johnny and that they didn't need to see either.

"it's so good..." you whined, letting your head lean back, the hair tips touching the coccyx. "you, sir always knows how to reward me"

the black stripes of yuta were placed exclusively on you, unable to change direction when you used it so hard, seeking your own liberation. he could feel his own wet thigh due to your excitement fluid.

yuta let some thoughts of how good it would be to invade you completely, widening your pussy willingly with each thrust but, preferred to remain silent, watching your own show.

his other hand pulled your hair from your back of the neck while the other continued to squeeze and push your ass forward, your aching clit and pulsing relentlessly against the jeans, with your inlet tightening against nothing.

some painful and pleasurable groans escaped from your mouth, always calling, thanking and praising him.

"you are so good for me, always teaching me to be good enough for you." you pressed your thighs against his, making yours in-between open your lips with the feeling of pressure.

"a little slut so needed and so obedient..." he nodded. "cum for daddy, baby"

before you answered him, he raised his own thigh, pushing it against you, tightening your waistline again, keeping it motionless over him. in a few seconds, due to the painful pressure, you couldn't resist, reaching the apex in the middle of whimpeing with tears escaping through your cheek, your breasts tired of moving so much against the air.

yuta's lips sealed your cheeks, descending to your lips in a calm kiss and no need for a tongue. his arms wrapped around yours, moving away from the thigh with the mixture of his fluids and now, kneeling between his legs. his big bangs slid down your bare back, causing a feeling of shivering and comfort.

"do you see how i act with you when your learn your own lesson and obeys it?"

your head, previously shrunk in the curve of his neck, turned away. your eyes looking at him with devotion, your pink lips together in a restrained smile with the cheekbones raised. lovely, he thought.

"yes, daddy. you're the best. thank you."