I snuck out of my cell quietly, having exchanged a pack of cigarettes for a couple of bobby-pins so I could jimmy the lock open and get out without needing to perform sex acts on the warden to get a key.

I made my way through the halls, peeking in on the other prisoners as I made my way to where I knew Romanoff would be patrolling. I had no idea where Maximoff would be, but I was sure I’d find out soon enough.

I looked around the corner, stealthily checking to see if I had finally come across her. I heard a noise behind me and before I could turn to see what it was, I was pushed, face first, into the nearby wall.

“Now what do we have here?” It was Romanoff, and she was sounding very amused.

“Good evening, Romanoff,” I grunted out, finding it difficult to breathe with her putting all her weight on me. “Nice night.”

“Y/L/N.” She said, lessening the pressure on my back just enough that I could breathe again. “What do you think you’re doing out?”

“Just taking a nice midnight stroll.”

“Straight to me, huh?”

I chuckled. “You were a pleasant surprise.”

“Surprise my ass.” She gripped me tighter and gave me a shove, pressing me against the wall again. “I’ve been watching you. You were looking for me.”

“Was I?” I squirmed beneath her, realizing quite quickly that this wasn’t going how I’d planned it to. “I was just taking in the sights.”

“Really now?” She was quiet for a moment before one of her hands released me and she reached for the nightstick at her waist. “Maybe I’d like to do the same.”

“W-what are you -?”

She flipped me around and pressed the baton to my throat. Panic set in and I gripped at it with both hands, trying to keep it from choking me.

“You look cute wriggling like that.” She let out a breathy chuckle, taking her free hand and undoing the strings of my waistband. “Maximoff is gonna love this when she hears about it.”

My baggy pants fell without much effort and she eyed my panties, my body shaking as she grabbed at my hip with her strong, calloused hand.

“You’ll do what daddy says, won’t you?”

Panting, I nodded. I looked at her face; calm but her eyes held a hunger I had never seen in them before.

“Turn around.”

She let the nightstick fall from my neck and I obeyed, bringing my hands down to my sides and trying to relax.

“I’m gonna need to do a cavity search on you. Check for contraband.”

“Romanoff …” I whispered softly and she slammed the nightstick down next to my head.

“No talking.”

She put the nightstick back in its holster and I heard her shuffle around, then I felt her. Something hard pressed into my ass and I realized that she had plans for me.

“Packing, Romanoff?” I tried to joke. She let out a soft sound of acknowledgement and dug her fingers into my hips in response.

“No talking.” She repeated herself, her voice low and quiet. “Daddy’s always packing.”

I closed my eyes and bit my lip as she rubbed her length against my ass, my wetness leaking through my panties for sure and dripping down my thighs.

I could feel her shift behind me and my panties were torn from my body. I gasped at her strength, unable to believe that she could’ve done that. My body trembled as I felt her spread my cheeks apart, her finger trailing between them, examining me.

“You’re so wet.” She murmured softly, her finger gathering the slick from my pussy to bring it up to my asshole. “And so tight.”

I grunted as she pressed her finger into my hole, my body instinctively fighting her off.

“Relax,” she cooed, pumping her finger in and out of my ass slowly. “This doesn’t have to hurt.”

I moaned then, trying my best to calm down. This, out of all of the possible outcomes, wasn’t exactly the worst. Her other arm wrapped around and her hand came to cup my front, her fingers searching for my clit.

“You’re gonna feel so good, Y/L/N.” She said as she swirled her fingertips along my throbbing clit. “I’m gonna make sure of that.”

“Oh, fuck.” I breathed softly, overwhelmed by the double assault I was receiving from the other woman.

My hips bucked as she fucked me, feeling my release approaching rapidly. And as suddenly it began, it stopped.

I panted, knuckles white, body on fire as I waited for her to touch me. I didn’t make a move, barely made a sound when she grabbed me and flipped me around again, her face instantly buried between my legs.

“R-Romanoff ...” I whimpered, hands on her shoulders as she ravished me with her tongue.

She raised her head to look at me, her tongue jutting out to lick the cum off her lips.

“Daddy.”

Our eyes met and my knees went weak. Her grip on my hips tightened and I let out a little moan.

“Daddy.” I repeated, my eyes desperately begging her for any form of contact.

She smirked at me, lifting my hips up slightly and devouring me once again. This time, I grabbed her head with both hands, pushing her down onto me as I thrust up against her.

Her blunt nails dug into my heated skin and I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t want this. This is what I had been looking for the whole time.

Her tongue swirled and flicked at my clit and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I leaned my head back against the wall and came into her waiting mouth, hips bucking wildly, teeth buried into my bottom lip so I stayed quiet.

She continued to lick at me even after I was finished. When she finally stopped, allowing me to breathe, she wasted no time in standing in front of me, lifting my right leg over her hip and positioning herself at my needy cunt.

I could feel the tip of her inching inside me and I was losing my mind. I gripped at her shoulders, trying to keep myself balanced as she finally bottomed out. Her lips found mine; rough, demanding and controlling as she pounded into me.

I whimpered into her mouth, unable to keep quiet any longer. Her hands found my hips again and gripped them tightly, nails digging into my bare skin, leaving crescent shaped marks in their wake.

“You’re doing so good for me,” she grunted against my neck, peppering kisses there. “So fucking good.”

“Daddy, I-I’m -”

She didn’t want to hear it. She raised her right hand up to my mouth and covered it, pressing herself against me so I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, and I could barely breathe.

Her hips pounded into my own, her movements becoming frantic as she chased her own high. I moaned into her hand as I felt myself cumming, my walls milking her strap as if she could actually fill me up.

She continued her assault on my neck, careful to not leave any marks, and came. Her thrusts slowed and I could feel her hot breath just below my ear.

“You’re mine, Y/L/N.” One final hard thrust into me and she pulled out, letting the strap settle between my thighs. “I’m gonna take you in every way possible. You belong to me.”

I nodded, mouth still covered. I didn’t fight back, I didn’t squirm or try to get away. I wanted more.

She let out a chuckle and released me and I fell, crumpled up against the wall.

“Maximoff is gonna love you.”

I panted softly, looking up at her as she spoke. My eyes trailed down from her lips to her strap and I could practically feel the drool spilling from my lips.

“You want more, Y/L/N?” She grabbed the strap by the base and brought it to my lips. “Show daddy how you suck cock.”

I took it eagerly, my hands on her thighs as my head bobbed up and down along her length. The taste of myself only turned me on further, so I did the only thing I thought of doing; I touched myself.

I brought one hand down between my legs and rubbed at my clit with an impatient fervor, needing this more than I realized. Her hands gripped at my hair and pulled me down on her dick, and I choked briefly before regaining my composure and taking her fully. She hit the back of my throat and I raised my eyes to look at her face.

She looked down at me, her eyes dark, her bottom lip between her teeth, and her chest heaving. This was the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life.

“Oh, fuck, Y/L/N,” she groaned. “I’m gonna get off from fucking that pretty face of yours.”

I moaned around her length, fingers working frantically. I wanted to cum with her. Her eyes squeezed shut and her jaw fell slack as she came, her hips bucking into my face as she chased her high.

It took me no time at all to follow her, cumming around nothing and just wishing she was still filling me up like the whore I was for her.

I was a complete mess. She pulled herself from my mouth with a sigh and stroked the hair back from my face, a soft gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by me.

She slid her strap back into her pants, fixing her zipper and adjusting her belt to look presentable again.

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

if your jaw dropped at the sight of his photo imagine the surprise on his face when they gave him all your information. no photo though. but enough about you to pull the convict in. oh, you were beautiful. at least on paper you were.

ideal wife-y material. that made simon chub up in his jumpsuit. he didn't care what you looked like, by the first letter he was already calling you his wife to the likes of johnny. calling you missus riley by the time he had been exchanging letters with you for a month. he learned so much about you, and you became more endearing. you told him your favourite movies, that some flowers made you allergies act up, your love of animals. you even told him about the stuffed animal you 'rescued' from a puddle, washed it up and named it tulip who now sits on your desk at home. it was sweet, you were sweet.

simon near killed a man in a botched robbery and you were talking to him like it was a first date. mind you, over letters but simon loved them. you were advised not to send anything in the mail, your address was obscured with the service's address so simon couldn't find you once he got out. but, with the right words and promises, he had your full name, the location of your job and the address of your home. you were even sweet enough let him put it as his main address once he left prison. already the sweetest thing since honey.

but simon was a greedy man, asked for a few photos of you. while you were shy, he said to you, "wanna know what my girl looks like. wanna know how she looks so when i come home, i'm able to recognize her in any crowd." and you sent a few photos, and to simon's surprise. a suggestive one.

he could see a peek of your breasts and he realized he wanted to get his paws all over them. he wanted to leave pretty bruises on that tender flesh. mark what was his, that was what he learned in prison. in order to keep something he had to keep a tight grip on it. not even johnny saw the photos, you were for his eyes only.

you were nice enough to print them on good quality photo paper, and after that there was an increase in simon's good behavior. he had to get out as soon as possible to sink his achy cock in his missus. and when the day finally came and you came to pick him up. he already felt tight in his jeans.

and not that you were so innocent either, you had your hand on his thigh while you drove home. months of dirty talk over letters, the time simon basically wrote poetry about how he wanted to taste between your legs was still a favourite to read while you were all alone in your apartment. your hand between your legs, imagining a man like simon pleasing you in a way that made orgasm come quick.

your self pleasure was nothing compared to the feeling of simon against your skin. you barely got his scarce belongings into your flat before he was pressed up against your behind. his large, rough hand on your hip, which made your stomach leap. your core got warmer.

he then said to you, "aw, doll. that's not a way to greet your husband. been away for too long, need to feel her." and then dropped his duffel bag in favour of having you pressed up against the door of your flat with your shorts soon around your ankles.

"simon! ah!" you said as he held you by the shoulders against the door while he got his belt off and his cock out. five years without a hole to call home, but he got out of the pit with a little (future) wife to happily make up for loss time.

when he sank into you, it was a religious experience, "oh honey, i'm home." before he got both hands on your hips and his hips hit up against your ass. there was little time to get familiar, it was a deep seated want. simon rutted against you like a feral dog and the pleasure made you mind race and your knees wobble.

you two couldn't even get to the bedroom, not that simon cared. he'd happily have you over the hood of his car. you knew he didn't have any satisfactions from the outside. you were being good and being his connection to the outside world. it was only fair that he thanked you with all the orgasms he could wring out of you. he'd make sure that the third round was in your soft bed. but his thrusts were heavy and desperate and the uneven pace made your brain become flooded with pleasure.

you tried to find some kind of leverage against the door, but you were simply stuck against him. you were fucked against the wood door with your hips in your convict lover's hands. he may have smudged a little bit of the details of his crimes, but it was alright. you were such a forgiving soul that you let him into your life, into your home, into your womb. he couldn't remember if you still took the pill, but it was too late for that. not while your slick cunt drooled all over his balls.

why complain about a slice of heaven when it was dropped into his lap. he eventually wrapped both arms around your middle and fucked into you feverishly. he felt the excitement in his body as he moved against you. you felt amazing, there was a certain beauty to you as you took his cock was cemented that you were his. you'll have a ring on your finger and a fat belly by christmas. the thought made him twitch.

been too long since he had a homecooked meal, and while having your cunt grasp his cock. he knew that he'd be spoiled with his wife's cooking. if it was as warm as you pussy, maybe it'll reform him more than prison ever did.

after so many years without a touch of a woman, it felt nice. it felt great to work his cock into you. have you squished up against the door as he worked himself into you. breaking in his home, breaking in his wife. what more could he want. even gave that stomach of yours a sweet little pat.

be a good girl and give him a chunky riley baby by new year.

when you climaxed, you basically were limp in his arms and he pressed you further against the door for leverage. he purred to you, "that's it, that's is, doll. you're doing so good, fuck. been wantin' this for ages. good girl, good cunt. all for me. not gettin' into trouble while i was in, right? keepin' yourself for me."

you nodded, cheek pressed against the door as he continued to fuck you. your head felt dizzy. you didn't bother dating after you started your correspondence with simon. no point, he kept your happy. simon knew that loyalty was rewarded, so he did so by shoving every inch of his length inside of you an finishing straight into the back of your womb.

he groaned and gave you a few more thrusts before he pulled out. he patted you on the behind and kissed the back of your neck, "happy to be home, doll. our home. now why don't you show me around." and chuckled when you could barely string together a sentence. he pulled you up against his chest and near leaned over you to kiss you on the cheek, "look alive, sunshine. gotta show your husband his new home. except i think it might be too small. especially when the twins come." and it went in one ear and out the other, you dumbly nodded and simon did the right thing and fucked you over the coffee table until you came a second and third time. it's alright, he'll get a tour of his home by fucking you over every available surface. <3

Dennis had flinched when Pope had violently shoved himself off the ground where he had been sitting opposite him - he had given Dennis the bed to sit on while he composed himself and recovered from his initial panic. But as Pope paced the tiny cell with short, rapid, circling steps, Dennis had made every effort to shrink from the crackling energy that seemed to be shoving Pope from wall to wall.

He didn’t yell, he didn’t lash out or throw anything or kick the walls, or anything that other alphas liked to do to show that they cared. His breath was wild and heaving, leaving his chest in something halfway between panic and a growl. 

He caught Dennis’ movement out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly drew up short.

“No - no, no. I’m sorry. I promise I’m not - fuck.” He cut himself off, and his voice sounded wrecked. “I’m not - I won’t hurt you. I’m not mad at you. Fuck.”

He resumes his pacing but Dennis can tell he’s making a physical effort to curb some of the violent energy. He turns restlessly to Dennis, jabs a finger at him like he’s suggested something disgusting.

“And I’m not gonna - do that. I swear to you. I’m a lot of shitty things, but I’m not a fucking -” 

He chokes himself off, lips rebelling around the words. “I won’t touch you. You can stay over there, I won’t come near you.”

And he had kept his promise, settling in the corner of the cell and staring anywhere but at Dennis, who felt like he was leaving his body. He didn’t know how long he had sat there on the bed that smelled like Pope - clean, somehow, even in this place. It felt like it had been hours. Hours of silence with nothing but the frantic realisation of what had happened bouncing around in his head, his thoughts like frantic sheep, panicking and bleating as the walls closed in. It felt like his life had shattered so quickly, and yet he was so tired he felt like he had been awake for days. He wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or strangely comforted by the alpha sitting in the corner.

His eyes were heavy and they stung and he felt like thinking was becoming too much.

“You can lie down.”

Dennis' whole body jolted with that unpleasant feeling of being yanked from a darkened room into broad daylight. He could feel his pulse fluttering at his neck as he forced his eyes back towards Pope, who was looking at him like he harboured some great guilt.

“Sorry.” He modulated his voice, lowering it to something that Dennis found oddly, pleasingly scratchy. “I was just saying - you're tired. You can lie down. Look, I'll show you something.”

Dennis didn't twitch this time as Pope stood up, heading towards the corner of the bed slowly with his hands raised. He made no protest as Pope shuffled towards the metal post on the furthest corner and proceeded to swiftly work the top open, withdrawing something from inside.

He turned to Dennis, a little shard of jagged metal, the end wrapped in dirty fabric, resting in the palm of his hand. His eyes were severe as they pinned Dennis' own in place.

“I'm going to give this to you, and you're not going to immediately take a swipe at me.”

It wasn't a question, but Dennis very much felt like nodding was the best option. If he wasn’t sitting down, his tail would have been firmly planted between his legs. Pope studied him for a moment, eyes slowly taking in everything from Dennis' own bugged out pair to the feet he was trying to tuck underneath him. 

“Don't put your shoes on the bed, it's not hygienic.” 

Dennis immediately uncurled, shoes hitting the floor with a soft splatting sound, because the soles were so worn they barely counted as shoes anymore. Pope nodded once, satisfied, and dropped into a half crouch in front of Dennis, where he could tilt his head to keep his gaze locked on the omega’s face.

“You take this. I'll show you how to keep it in your waistband without stabbing yourself, but just hold it for now.”

Dennis reached out and delicately took the makeshift blade between finger and thumb, holding it there while blinking up at Pope, waiting for the next instruction. 

Pope’s brow furrowed as if he was distressed.

“Jesus Christ - okay, it doesn't matter.” He shook his head as if to clear it, refocusing on Dennis. “You ever want to use this? Grip the covered end in your fist, and put all your strength into stabbing. It's not a slashing weapon, okay? And it's not strong, it might break or stay in the guy after the first stick, so you make sure the first one is a good one.”

The words pattered down against Dennis’ face like raindrops on the sea surface. He was numb, they registered like abstract, wet things in a drowning world. He felt like he'd fallen asleep after all, because this - this was all so far outside his realm of experience or expectation that his body felt like it was lagging. He felt his head listing, and Pope clicked his tongue sharply.

“Hey.” Dennis jolted, head bobbing like he was trying to stay afloat. Pope’s eyes burned and stung and refused to let him sink. “Stay with me. You can’t go off somewhere else now. Are you listening?”

“I'm - I'm listening.”

“Good. Look at me.” 

Dennis looked. Pope straightened from the half-crouch he'd been in, stepping back so Dennis could take in his whole body.

And even partially-hidden beneath the blue, rough jumpsuit that all the hybrid inmates wore, Dennis could tell it was an impressive body.

Broad shoulders, big arms (big, clever-looking hands), a chest that looked sturdy and a little bit like Dennis would struggle to wrap both arms around them. Legs that made Dennis realise what ‘tree trunk thighs’ actually meant.

He felt the distant memory of something old flicker in his belly. Maybe he deserved to be here after all.

Pope waited until Dennis' eyes drifted back up to meet his before he straightened his shoulders. He pointed at Dennis' hand, which was still cradling his knife like an injured butterfly.

“You see someone walk towards you like they're looking to take something from you - if they're tense, if they're staring, if their veins are popping - you don't wait. You use that, and you make it count.”

Dennis shuddered, unsure whether it was the words or Pope’s stare - head tilted down but eyes fixed up and forward and unwaveringly on every twitch Dennis made - that lifted all the hairs on the back of his neck.

Pope gestured at each of his thighs, tracing a line down near the middle of each expanse of muscle.

“Important arteries are right here. Can’t remember what they’re called, we’ll get my brother to teach you when I call him next.” Dennis nods, like all of this is sensible and natural.

“Arms are good, right up here.” He points to the softer inside of his own arm, and Dennis’ skin tingles in sympathy. “You manage to get a good swipe here, it’s gonna bleed like a stuck pig.” 

“Throat’s always a safe bet. For you, not for them.” The corner of Pope’s mouth does something that looks remarkably like a rapid uptick, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. 

“You get either side here,” Pope grips his own windpipe with a force that makes Dennis wince, “and you get bleeders. Get the middle, and they’re gonna be distracted by their new blowhole.”

Dennis feels his own lips twitch frantically, unexpectedly. Like it was tugged out of his skin by a fishing hook lodged at the corner of his mouth, the line held securely in Pope’s hands. He thinks he makes a noise, somewhere between a shrill, distorted giggle and a shameful whine. 

Pope glances down briefly, then back up at Dennis, something almost bashful but…oddly pleased on his face. His shoulders relax, and his hands drift down to pat his own stomach firmly.  

“Belly’s usually a pretty good bet. It’s soft, and people are more focused on trying to throw punches so they’ll leave it unguarded. It needs to be fast, repeated. As many times as possible before their brain catches up to what’s going on. It’s especially good if they’re trying to get on top of you.”

Pope tilts his head slightly, seems to be weighing something up before crouching in front of Dennis again. He has his empty hands spread out, and he moves slowly closer to where Dennis sits. Keeping his eyes fixed on Dennis’ face, he very gently, very slowly lowers his hands so his fingertips just make contact with each of Dennis’ knees. He swallows, bows his head to maintain eye contact, and all of a sudden there is a strange softening of his face. His mouth thins and then relaxes, brows beetled in a look of something almost vulnerable.

“I - I won’t let that happen.” His voice is soft, uneven like grit, but Dennis hears the promise underlying it all, and god help him, he believes it. He leans forward a fraction of an inch, and Pope nods minutely, almost keenly. “I’m going to look after you. I won’t let anything happen to you. While you’re with me, you won’t ever need to use that, I swear.”

He nods down at the shiv still cradled in Dennis’ hand, reaches carefully to curl Dennis’ fingers more firmly around it. His hand is scarred and rough and huge around Dennis’ own.

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t stab me while I’m sleeping or takin’ a piss, you know? But this is - insurance. For you. I promise I won’t hurt you, but I don’t expect you to believe that. You’d be smart not to.” Pope’s eyes haven’t lost any of their intensity, but there is something very close to beseeching in them when he looks at Dennis now, something like a twisted form of hope. “If you ever think I’m giving you a reason to doubt that promise, I want you to use it. I expect you to use it. You understand?”

Dennis doesn’t know why it’s suddenly hard to swallow, or why his eyes sting when Pope gives him a gentle shake when the only thing he can produce is thick, jagged breathing.

“Answer me.”

“I don’t wanna -”

“Answer me.”

Dennis’ shoulders tighten, feeling like a sapling in a galeforce wind. Pope’s eyes don’t leave his.

“Okay. I understand.”

The words, and all his remaining energy, leave him on an exhale that feels like it’s his last. 

Pope nods, satisfied, smooth expression back in place as he rises.

“You’re tired. Lie down. I’ll be over here.”

“No!”

If he’d had the energy to think about it, Dennis might have questioned whether lunging at someone like Pope was a good idea. But he had nothing left except a senseless, prey-drive desire to stop Pope’s warmth from leaving his little bubble of stale air.

Later, Dennis will think back and have the wherewithal to marvel at how someone like Pope, brimming with tension and straining at his own awareness like a dog on a fraying rope, had the discipline not to do any of the things he had just taught Dennis to do. 

But when Dennis’ hand catches on Pope’s wrist - white-knuckled, probably pinching at his skin unpleasantly - he doesn’t knock Dennis away, bear him down to the ground and smash his skull against the floor. He doesn’t snarl or growl, or even bare his teeth. 

For one second, his whole body tenses up. His ears dart back briefly, before slowly creeping back upright. Dennis can feel the sinews in his wrist gradually release their tension, can see the moment his shoulders relax.

“Please, can you - stay here? Just - we can share. You don’t have to sit on the floor. Please.”

Pope stares down at him for a long time, and Dennis wonders what he’s looking for. He can feel that his own ears are plastered to his head, trying to tell Pope something he’s not sure he could find the words for.

Pope heaves a sigh, and Dennis doesn’t quite manage to contain his cringe. Pope wordlessly shoves his way onto the bed, using his own body to gently nudge and shove Dennis where he wants him. Pope stays sitting at the head of the bed, making no move to lie down. He uses one hand to easily pry Dennis’ own off his wrist, and the other to guide Dennis’ legs up onto the bed - shucking his shoes off - and roll him over onto his side, until he’s lying with head on Pope’s legs.

“Thank you.” He believes for a moment that the words are so small, they might get lost in the cracks between the walls before they reach Pope’s ears.