#and also to realize that there are possibilities outside of what your story is “supposed to be” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Premium Tumblr themes are available from anywhere between $9 to $49.

#and also to realize that there are possibilities outside of what your story is “supposed to be”

moralesmilesanhour · 4 months

Note

I personally view the possibility of a romantic relationship between them as detrimental to their individual characters and it's not really something people want to talk about, which I get, but like there's a really deeper way to view their relationship other than "haha cute wholesome dramatic teen superhero romance" like on a metanarrative level. Because you'd think all the other things in spiderman mythos the movie is critiquing and expanding they'd address the very obvious elephant in the room with gwen but oop-

Yeah I think I'd rock w Gwiles more as a romantic ship if Gwen's role as a love interest wasn't so thematically dissonant. If they were gonna hijack Miles' story like that I think they should've had a better reason than justification for a romantic relationship. And then they added Margo to the mix so like what was the point of all that lmaooo

#i know this sounds counterintuitive. but i genuinely think Gwen's arc as a character would've been cleaner had they not made her #a secondary protagonist #like we had her motivation and her friendship with Miles is the catalyst for her learning to open up #and also to realize that there are possibilities outside of what your story is “supposed to be”#that's it! that's all she needed!#the romance doesn't work bc even characters who show up for like 5 minutes have more of an impact on Miles than she did for the entirety #of itsv #this story is fundamentally about Miles and so that is going to reflect in how other characters' arcs go #to suddenly decide to make it a love story is kind of a doomed endeavor imo #i hope any of that makes sense #tl;dr: they should've just given gwen a solo film im sorry #ask #blabbering

6 notes · View notes

yourmidnightlover · 3 months

Text

the sun

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: after the events of the snap, you find out news that's both heart wrenching and warming. what happens five years later when bucky's back?

warnings: death, mourning, pregnancy, childbirth, canon-typical violence (not much but just adding to cover all the bases), loosely based on end game and infinity war (as in ignore my mistakes lmaooo), if i failed to mention any warnings PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

wc: 2.6k

a/n: dude idk why i've had an urge to write such heart wrenching angst lately. i'm actually in a decent place rn. i tried to cut this fic down bc originally it was SOOOO long i felt like a lot of it was just filler and i feel like shorter fics of mine tend to do better... ANYWHO! this does have a happy/hopeful ending so no worries! also picturing this beefcake for this story is AGHHHHHHH!

you never thought two lines on a stick could ever break your heart the way they did.

tears clouded your vision as you gripped the counter, trying not to crumble or succumb to your grief.

6 weeks ago, the avengers lost. everything.

half of the world, gone in a moment.

in one moment, your world collapsed. seeing bucky fade to dust right in front of you...

sobs wracked through your body as you crumbled to the ground.

this was supposed to be a happy moment. there should be tears of joy, not sobs of sorrow. your heart should feel full of love, not like there's a super-soldier sized hole in it.

"y/n," nat's voice rang outside the door, giving you a moment to yourself.

"just-," you tried to level your breathing before she opened the door, knowing but not understanding the grief you were feeling.

she wrapped her arms around your body, tucking your head into her neck as she gently rubbed your back soothingly. steve leaned against the bathroom door, glancing on the counter to see what they had all expected.

a positive pregnancy test.

you were having bucky's baby.

without bucky.

you gripped his dog tags that you had been wearing since the funeral. they were the only thing that could truly ground you.

they brought back happy memories of cuddling in bed, the cool metal shocking your skin for only a moment before realizing that it was only bucky and smiling at the memory.

god, it hadn't even been two months.

how were you supposed to do this alone?

"we're here for you," steve's voice called from the doorway, as if he could hear your thoughts. "you'll never be alone. not in this... not ever." he shook his head, his brows furrowed in a serious, straight line.

eventually, your sobs subsided. you stood with nat from your seat on the ground, wiping your own eyes mustering up a pathetic smile before she left you and steve to work out your grief together.

"we didn't even know it was possible," you shrugged. "it's like he sent me them..." you placed your hand on an invisible bump before facing steve, his teary eyes reminding you that he had lost his best friend, too. "he sent us this baby."

you reached your hand out for steve to hold. he took it gratefully and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight and letting only a few tears slip his waterline before pulling back.

"if you'll let me, i want to be there for you for everything," his chin wobbled. "buck would kick my ass if i let you go through this alone." a genuine laugh left your lips for the first time in nearly two months.

"i would be so grateful for that," you nodded as you let go of his arms. "part of me still can't believe that it's real. it's like part of me still expects him to walk into the compound from a long mission or something..." you shook your head. "i know that sounds so stupid."

"it's not," he shook his head with a smile. "it's what i wish was true, maybe it's your subconscious trying to preserve your mind?"

"maybe," you shrugged before continuing, "i should probably talk to tony and bruce, huh?"

you knew you were around eight weeks along.

according to the doctors' tony had enlisted, however, you were already 12 weeks along, which was impossible.

bucky had been gone on a mission at that time... but it's whatever. you got to hear the heartbeat. steve went with you, too. you both bawled together. you kept three copies of the ultrasound and he kept two.

banner had already offered to do some testing on the dna of the baby, noting that the serum would likely affect the pregnancy (as it probably already has).

you had talked to tony about retiring from the whole superhero gig for the time being. you needed to mourn and prepare for a new life simultaneously. tony had promised to provide anything you needed at the drop of a hat, and he sure as hell delivered.

within no time, your pregnancy was being measured at 20 weeks while only being pregnant for 12. banner was concerned for your body's ability to keep up with the rapid rate of growth of the baby. he had you on a strict, hefty diet with two different prenatal vitamins in attempt to help your nutrition.

in spite of your best efforts, you were always exhausted and in pain. but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. this was bucky's baby. you didn't care how much pain you went through when you had half of him growing inside of you.

you couldn't walk for long without feeling like passing out, which banner chalked up to low iron. steve had grown progressively more worried for you and the baby the longer the pregnancy went on.

as a result, he had moved into the spare room that was in your and bucky's house. truly, it just made it easier for him to help you finish up the nursery anyway.

he was very handy about it all, painting, building furniture from scratch, the whole deal.

"i've been thinking... and if it's a girl, i want to name her evangeline james barnes," you informed steve as you ate the steak he had been making for the past few weeks of your pregnancy, as ordered by dr. banner. that with carrots, broccoli, potatoes, and for dessert strawberries, blueberries and raspberries over ice cream. "and if it's a boy, cyrus james barnes. evangeline means good news, and cyrus means sun."

steve placed his hand over yours, "i think buck would've loved them." he smiled warmly as you downed the food in a few minutes.

you had begun showing soon after you found out you were pregnant, but now, it felt like it was impossible to hide. nat had been wonderful about helping you keep up with the changes your body was going through, getting you new maternity clothes every week.

she even made sure to get you every single craving that wasn't in accordance to banner's hefty diet. not that he didn't want you to eat more, he thought it was best you did! but he also wanted to make sure that with all that you did eat, your body got as many nutrients as possible.

just to be safe, he kept you on other vitamin supplements anyway.

you couldn't help but imagine what bucky would say or do about everything now.

he would hold your body closely, pressing firm kisses to your bump every chance he could get while whispering some sickly sweet sayings to your unborn child, words that would melt the winter soldier's cold exterior.

he would whisper words of encouragement any moment you felt worried about your abilities to be a mom. he would say how beautiful you were, in spite of being bloated in places you didn't know could bloat.

he would be wonderful, and in your mind, he was still alive and vibrant. well, as vibrant as bucky ever was, at least.

truthfully, that's the only way you were able to keep going on like this. steve was wonderful, but you couldn't help but want the love of your life by your side as you tried to navigate this new chapter.

in a couple more weeks, you were projected to be at 32 weeks. bruce and tony were talking with your doctors about the safety of inducing so early, both for you and the baby.

oh, and you wanted the gender to be a surprise.

and within the week, you were having your baby.

steve and nat were by your side during the birth, whispering encouraging words and compliments of your strength.

"i need him!" you screamed in pain as you held one of each of their hands, sobbing in agony. "i need james! i need my bucky! i can't do this alone, i can't-i can't!"

"you can," nat reminded you. "this baby needs you," she held your face to look at hers. "bucky is a part of this baby." you swore you could see tears in her eyes before turning to face steve.

"remember what you told me when you found out you were pregnant?" he didn't bother wiping the tears from his face. "bucky sent you-sent us this baby. he knows you can do it." you sniffled before nodding at your two best friends, pushing with one last scream and a second later, you had...

"cyrus james barnes," the nurse called to you. "it's a boy, congratulations mom."

the next few years went by quicker than you could've ever imagined.

crawling, first words, first steps...

you missed bucky. not a day passed where you didn't miss him.

but, having cy helped a lot. he looked just like his father. dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, a cute little nose... not to mention his father's stubbornness.

you made sure he knew who his father was. you took him to the museum often, showing him the statue of his father and his background in the world war, him saving the world so much. you told him how you fell in love with him.

how you fell for the quiet man before ever really talking to him. how you were partners on a long-term, undercover mission and that's where your love ignited from the sparks.

not that cy understood any of what you told him. you just felt it was important to know that his parents loved him, and each other dearly.

you never took off his dog tags, either.

steve was a huge help the whole time. he kept working for the avengers, so he was gone often, but he provided a good male role model for cyrus. after all, he was his uncle steve. he already taught him how to throw a ball, albeit a little softball, but it counts!

you made sure to document everything that went on in yours and cyrus's life.

banner had said that cyrus was growing at an exceeding rate, but nothing to be concerned about. in fact, cyrus was turning five in almost half a year, meaning the anniversary of bucky's death, or disappearance or whatever you called it, was coming up.

then, you got a call from tony and banner.

it all happened so quickly, from testing to planning to the execution. pepper watched cyrus for you while you went back with steve, scott, and tony to get the tesseract.

of course, the men being men had to come upon a few hiccups, but eventually, after going as far back as the 70s, you brought back the tesseract.

the only thing is that nat never came back...

next thing you know, bruce is snapping his fingers and clint is getting a call from his supposedly deceased wife. your eyes fill with tears, hands searching in your pockets for your phone to see if you've gotten anything yet.

is it possible he wasn't brought back? he was the first to... disintegrate. die. maybe that meant something in the eyes of the stones?

then, you felt a buzz in your hand.

although, you didn't have any time to try to grasp what that meant, because more aliens came to earth.

shocker.

after yet another war, one that you weren't even prepared for, after losing more people, again. after losing tony...

but amidst the chaos of the aftermath of the fight, with screams of joy and shock and grief surrounding you, tears streaming down your face, your eyes met the blue ones you only saw in your son.

he slowly walked towards you as the tears sped up. you didn't even realize when your feet began running towards him.

when his arms wrapped around your waist, you finally felt the home you thought you had come to terms with never feeling again. your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder as you breathed in the scent of gunmetal that had overtaken him in the battle.

"oh my god," you cried into the leather of his jacket. he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist as you felt his smile on your cheek. "i can't believe you're really here."

"i'm here, doll," his hands cradled your head so tenderly. "i'm not ever leaving again. never."

you pulled back before your eyes widened in realization. "you've gotta meet someone, jamie."

his brows furrowed in confusion, just smiling and nodding along with whatever you said.

within the next few hours, simply being held by bucky before steve stole him away with a hug, you finally brought him home.

"so, steve moved in," you started as you pulled your car into the driveway, turning to see bucky looking at you with an incredulous look. "you'll see why." you reached to hold his hand before he brought yours to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

you told him to wait in the car as you went inside to relieve the babysitter for cyrus. after giving him some cash, he went outside, knocking on your car window to let bucky know he should make his way inside.

upon entering, he saw you sitting on the floor with a little boy with striking blue eyes that seemed so familiar to him. his nose, too. his lips though, they were all yours. he had a slight grin plastered on his lips, one that matched yours to a t.

"daddy?" suddenly, it all clicked.

his heart, his mind, his fucking soul, everything made sense now. the pain, hydra, the mind washing, the torture.

meeting you. falling in love. dying?

his son.

he started walking closer to bucky before the steady walk turned into a run. bucky knelt down, wrapping the boy in his arms, cradling his tiny frame in his arms protectively. his son.

"cyrus james barnes," you said with a teary smile on your face. bucky, without breaking the hug with his son, looked up at you with a smile that matched yours. "cyrus means 'sun', and i thought it was fitting. he brought me so much light and hope after you..." you choked up before he stood up with cy in his arms, walking towards you before wrapping you in the big, family hug.

"i love you so much, both of you."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #marvel #sargeant barnes #bucky #sargeant james barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes whump #bucky x avenger!reader #bucky x fem!reader #dad!bucky

1K notes · View notes

smuutboxx · 7 months

Note

It’s nice seeing more male reader blogs pop up, im excited to see what you’ll write in the future.

I’m requesting a Jax x male reader with the classic scenario of getting trapped in a small space together. An idea is that the group is on an adventure and the two gets pushed in by one of the things they are supposed to be capturing, but you can do whatever you’d like on how they got locked up in there. I’d also like to quickly request that the reader isn’t shy or anything, he has both bark and bite to his character yk? (You can make the reader dom or sub since it doesn’t really matter to me, but it would be appreciated if the reader is a dom in this story) Thanks!

"Hide And Seek."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's Note: Thank you so much for the kind words :-) I love this request as well!

Genre: Smut (18+)

Pairings: Jax (The Amazing Digital Circus) x You (Male Reader)

Warnings: None, other than sex obviously. --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We’re doing what?”

Pomni inquired, her head tilted in confusion with her finger beside her cheek. ‘How very animated of her’ you thought in observation. “A classic game of hide and seek! Because if I sit here for any longer and continue to think I’ll blow my f@%#ing brains out!” Ragatha smiled, almost in a threatening way. You nodded at her explanation, you’ve been stuck here long enough to understand how not to think too hard about reality turning out to be a hoax. “--Not counting!” Jax's' ears shot up as he quickly put his index finger on his nose. You followed his action as quickly as possible. Then Gangle, Kinger, Zooble, Ragatha, aaaaaaaaand…

“Suck it Pomni!” Jax cackled, taking your hand and running off. You had realized you had taken a liking to Jax and he of course reciprocated those same feelings. You weren’t sure if he was entirely attracted to you like you were to him – but he wasn’t a very subtle guy. You look back and see everyone scatter as if someone just broke a bottle of alcohol on the floor. Pomni groaned and lay flat on the floor, her arms and legs spread out as she counted out loud. “1….2…3…-” Her counting continued as you searched around with Jax for a possible hiding spot. Something great, something that would take hours! Somewhere...private. You were only a man, why not take this opportunity to be in such a closed-off space with him? “Psst!” Jax motioned for a small closet in a hidden-ish area. You grinned, letting out a mischievous giggle with him as you rushed in, tugging him with you by his overall straps.

Now it was dark.

“Where is this even in the circus?” You whispered, realizing you weren’t sure where you two had run off to. “No idea, it’s good though. Right?” You felt him turn to you, his ears flowing with the turn a second after. You nodded and smiled at him, he somehow smiled wider. Your head quickly whipped to the door – thinking you heard a noise. “Wha-” Jax gave an attempt to talk but you swiftly covered his mouth. His ears perked up, hearing Pomni's' footsteps. “Helllloooo?” She called out, her tone of voice seemed more freaked out than playful like it should have been. She didn’t enjoy being alone here. You and Jax both held your... breath? And waited for Pomni to pass by.

..her footsteps passed. You both let out a sigh of relief. “Hold on.” You whispered, lifting yourself slightly to check outside of the door. Before you could check you felt the doorknob fail on you. “Jax?! There was a lock on this door??” You whisper-yelled. Jax shot up, hitting his head against something and letting out a hiss, then covered his mouth. You both stood still, looking at each other with terrified eyes. Once about 30 seconds passed, you gave him an irritated look. “Hey! Don’t look at me like that! I had no idea!” He said still in a hushed tone. “Where are your thousand keys?!” You let go of the doorknob and poke his chest aggressively. He shrugged, his shit-eating grin still plastered on his face as his ears lowered and his hands up in defense.

“Dude.” You push him down as he lands on his ass, legs spread. “Oh c’mon sweetheart, I seriously had no idea!” He pleaded crawling over to you. You huffed and sat in the opposite corner with your arms crossed. Yeah, you wanted to be in a dark and private area with him, but with the ability to come out at some point! Stupid ass rabbit. Jax giggled quietly as he got closer to you, “You don’t wanna be stuck in here with me?” He said in a low voice, his eyes squinting with his wide smile. You learned that not only does Jax…really like you but he’s extremely touch-starved. When you showed him affection the first time he never stopped touching you.

“No, nobody would enjoy this.” “Except you.” “Why me?” “Cause I’m your favorite.” “Your ego is high.” “You're my favorite.” “I know.”

You felt two big hands on your thighs, your legs naturally spread for them. Yikes. The only problem Jax had was your clothes being on your body, which were currently being removed. “Jax.” Why were you trying to stop him? You didn’t want him to, but you also wanted to see how desperate he’d get once he took all your clothes off. It’s probably been years since he’d got to be buried in anything. He shoved his body against you, almost aggressively trying to be as close to you as possible. “It’s cold.” Great, your clothes were off, now your ass was bare on the floor. “Hey, handsome,” Jax whispered into your ear, suddenly wrapping his hand around your cock. You jolted and uncrossed your arms quickly to wrap your arms around him. “Whaaaat?” You whined quietly, shoving your head into his neck. “You wanted us to get stuck in here, didn’t you? You slut.” ‘Fuck him, oh god. Fuck.’ You held onto him tighter, his degrading words heading straight to your cock. Which he felt in his hand as he continued to move his hand faster and faster up and down.. 'up and down..aah..up and down..fuck..’ -- “Jax..!” You moan in his ear, a little louder than you should have. He stopped his hand, letting out entirely. “No!” You whisper yell, bucking your hips in the hair for something. “Please- Jax. C’mon!” He grabbed your face and pulled you closer to his face. “Shut the f#%! up, do you want Caine to catch us?” He scolded, and you shook your head. You looked up at him pleadingly, tugging at his overalls. “Mmhh…m’sorry.” You heard Jax giggle again. “Good boy.” He allowed you to take his overalls off finally, sliding them down just below his waist to reveal himself.

You weren’t gonna ask why you had genitals, but you weren’t going to complain. He took your leg, lifting it over his shoulder. ‘God, finally.’ You thought, covering your mouth with one hand as you looked down to watch him slide into you. You squeaked as he made his way inside you, whispering his name over and over again as if it were a spell and you were wishing for something to happen. The moment he felt himself settle inside you he processed the feeling. You were so warm, fuck so warm. He needed more, god he needed more. Jax leaned over, gripped your hips, and dug his face into your shoulder still with your leg on his as he slammed his hips into you. You dig your nails into his back, a desperate whiney moan leaving your throat.

“Fuck you feel so good. you feel so good. you feel so good. you feel so good–”

You wanted to giggle at his actions but the way he was plowing himself into you wouldn’t let you speak, so you grabbed his ears and tugged onto them to pull him away from your shoulder which was full of drool. He let out a high-pitched moan, his cartoonish eyes rolling back. ‘Didn’t he say to be quiet?’ You managed to think, feeling your climax coming closer and closer with each aggressive thrust into your hips. As soon as you let go of his ears his head shot back to your shoulder like a magnet. Suddenly he bit down, shoving his cock deep inside you and cumming inside without warning.

You gasped at the new warmth and wrapped your hand around his throat as if to punish him – but that kinky little shit enjoyed it. He kept his hips moving, slightly slower than before as you felt your high coming in rapidly. Your quiet moans began louder and louder, squeezing your grip around Jax’s throat. You arched your back and made an absolute fucking mess of yourself. You came all over your stomach, scratching at Jax’s arm to make him stop moving his hips as the overstimulation became uncomfortable. He slowed his hips down soon, pulling out and taking a good look at you.

“..thanks.” He huffed, wiping the drool from his chin and eyeing you up and down. You roll your eyes, catching your breath. “You needed that.” You tease, holding his face gently and rubbing your thumb against his cheek.

What a silly rabbit.

#tadc smut #jax x reader #tadc x male reader #jax tadc smut #tadc jax x reader #the amazing digital circus smut #the amazing digital circus x reader #the amazing digital circus jax smut #the amazing digital circus jax #jax smut #jax x male reader #jax x male reader smut #x male reader smut #x male reader #gay #gay smut #fanfiction #x male reader fanfiction

792 notes · View notes

ohbo-ohno · 3 months

Text

lamb to the slaughter

summary: Recently injured, discharged, and desperate for money, Johnny manages to find a job at a local prison by calling in a favor. What seems like just the blessing he needs to get himself back on his feet quickly becomes his worst nightmare when one of the prisoners fixates on him in the worst way possible. (or: dark ghoap prison au. mind the tags!)

word count: 26.3k

cw: GRAPHIC NONCON SEX, trans soap, victim blaming, transphobia, watersports, forced feminization, drugged sex, use of the word "faggot" during sex, prisoner ghost/prison guard soap

author's note: many many endless thanks to ceilidh, who served this plot on a silver platter to me when i was complaining pathetcially about being incapable of thinking. also lumi for listening to me scream ily <3 two quick disclaimers: (1) i do not know how prisons work, and i did not google anything about them for this fic bc i knew i’d get bogged down in research lmaoo. this fic goes by my rules, which means everything that happens works for plot convenience and not by any real world logic. (2) this plot is held together by duct tape and sex scenes, pls do not come here looking for a rich story

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

The man in front of Johnny is familiar. Not because they’ve met before, but because he’d spent nearly a decade surrounded by men just like Herschel Shepherd - tall, broad, commanding assholes like him had been his least favorite part of being enlisted.

Johnny spent his entire military career being doubted and underestimated by mirror images of the man in front of him. He sees the doubt now in the way Shepherd looks at him, the way his eyes linger on Johnny’s middle and the quick expression of shock when he’d walked in the door and stood eye-level with the ex-General.

It makes him want to let his lip curl, to bite out something insulting, but this is his only worthwhile job prospect so he holds his tongue and shifts in the uncomfortable chair set in front of the dark wood desk.

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, folding his hands over his stomach and leaning back in his seat. His shirt is tugged tight over his abdomen, almost pulled out from where it’s tucked in his pants. Johnny wonders if he’ll try and get in shape again when he realizes, or if he’ll fully let himself go and embrace the beer-belly he’s halfway to. “I’ll be honest with you, MacTavish - if you didn’t come highly recommended, I wouldn’t consider you for a second.”

Johnny barely keeps from snorting. That’s certainly an interesting way to say if I didn’t owe John Price a near unrepayable favor I’d laugh you out of the building .

“I know, sir.”

“We’ve never hired someone with your…” Shepherd pauses, bites his tongue like he’s tasting something nasty. “ Condition .”

Johnny resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I know, sir.”

Shepherd looks like he wants to say something about Johnny’s tone, and he probably would have were they still in the military. But in the concrete walls of his office, he only sighs and sits forward, forehead creasing. “I suppose you’re lucky you’re so tall. The inmates might not even notice.”

Johnny wants to say obviously, you wanker, I’ve been injecting hormones into myself for over a decade and I’m taller than you are .But he can’t say that, or anything like it. The fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter how tall he is, or how long he’s been on testosterone, or how muscular he is - because Shepherd already knows what he was born as, and nothing else will matter to a man stuck so firmly in the past.

That had been one of the only things Johnny was looking forward to outside of the military - the chance to meet people who didn’t know he was transgender before he could even introduce himself. In the service, every superior he’d ever served under knew he had transitioned before they knew anything else about him. It had never mattered that he could hardly look less like a woman, they were going to treat him differently because of something he never could have controlled. The thought of his first boss as a civilian only seeing the M on his ID, of not dealing with the shock and confusion and inevitable prejudice that come with being trans, was one of the sole bright spots he’d thought of after being discharged.

He grits his teeth now, sitting in a shitty chair with cracking vinyl in a superior officer’s barren office. Somehow, thousands of miles away from any military base he was ever stationed at, Johnny feels like he never fucking left the service. His knee twinges in pain and he barely manages to keep from shifting to try and ease it.

“Folks usually cannae tell,” he finally replies. “Not unless someone tells them.”

Shepherd catches the implication in his tone and nods to himself, letting his head roll to the side. “You’re a surprise hire, so the other guards won’t know of course. It’s probably for the best if you keep it that way.”

“Probably,” Johnny agrees, just barely keeping the sarcasm from his voice. He tacks on a, “Sir,” for good measure.

Shepherd eyes him again, scanning him head to toe like he can see all of Johnny’s weak spots. It takes effort not to shift in place and stretch his stiffening knee. The damn thing hasn’t stopped aching since he was let out of the hospital, even with the painkillers he takes daily. He worries about how much worse it’ll be when he runs out.

Finally, Shepherd grunts and stands, leaning his weight against palms laid flat on the desk. “You’re dismissed, MacTavish. Officer Garrick will be waiting for you just down the hall. He’ll give you a tour and help you get settled”

Johnny nods and stands, finding himself grateful when Shepherd doesn’t offer a hand to shake. Neither of them are under any illusions that the other wants them there, and Johnny’s glad he’s not expected to pretend this is anything but his final resort. There’s no coming up with a lie about how he wants this job, no pretending his strengths and weaknesses fit into this career - just a silent acknowledgment of an owed favor and a contract with his name signed on the dotted line.

He lets Shepherd’s office door close behind him and takes a deep, stabilizing breath, a modicum of tension melting from his shoulders.

The air in the prison is warm and stale, and Johnny feels like he can’t quite get a full breath in because of it. The halls are suspiciously silent, and if he were still a betting man he’d say the air conditioning has gone out and left the whole building just past the point of comfortably warm.

His steps are near silent as he walks back the way he came, his old training keeping the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It’s a conscious effort to keep from limping at all, and his right knee screams at him for it.

Johnny’s determined not to show any weakness, though. He can sit on his ass as much as wants to give his bum knee a break - after work. But here in this building, he knows he can’t can’t show such an obvious weak point.

The man waiting for him at the end of the hall strikes the same chord in Johnny’s mind as Shepherd had - they both look like men straight out of the military. Garrick is a few inches taller than Johnny, with buzzed black hair and a dark complexion.

“Hey,” the man smiles, standing from his relaxed position against the wall once Johnny gets within a few feet of him. “Officer MacTavish, right?”

“That’s me,” Johnny confirms, holding a hand out for a quick but firm shake. “You’re Garrick, then?”

“Call me Gaz.” Garrick smiles, wide and easy, showing off teeth just slightly crooked in his mouth. Johnny smiles back, almost surprising himself with how easy it comes. “It’s my callsign, from when I was enlisted. Nothing else ever quite feels as natural, least not when I’m armed like this.” He laughs, open and light, and Johnny finds more of his tension easing away.

“You can call me Soap, then,” he says, falling into step beside Gaz as the man leads him down the hall.

“Alright, Soap, I’ll be showing you around and giving you a quick rundown of everything you’ll be expected to do. You ready?”

“Course. Lead the way, Officer.”

———————————————————————

The job ends up being easier than Johnny expected. He almost wants to turn to Gaz and say that’s it? You just want me to babysit these killers all day? Is that really all you do? But even Johnny’s rusty - and that’s being kind - social skills tell him that would be a step too far on his first day.

Gaz tells him that the first few weeks will be easy, that Johnny will mostly just be expected to travel with a pack of other guards and act as an extra set of eyes. He’s to go where his CO tells him to go, watch who his CO tells him to watch, and do what his CO tells him to do. Really, it’s nothing too different than he’s been doing for the last decade - except here there are no targets , only prisoners, and his objective is to keep them alive instead of killing them.

Quite frankly, it all sounds boring to him. The thought of standing around for hours on end and watching prisoners just go about their day-to-day lives sounds like hell on both his bad knee and his attention span, and Johnny’s far from eager to start his new job.

But it’s the only place he’s found that’ll pay him nearly enough. Anywhere else, and he’d have to stop sending money to Nan, and it’s not like any of his cousins would be decent enough to pick up the slack - they’ve long since proved that they’ll smoke or gamble any spare change away before taking care of anyone else. So if he wants to keep the lights on for his family, he’s not getting out of here before any of the prisoners.

“We really don’t have much of a behavior issue here,” Gaz says on their way out, the sun just beginning to set as they stop just outside the door. “The prisoners have their own hierarchy, and they tend to keep themselves in line. But when they don’t-” Here he smirks, sending a conspiratorial look Johnny’s way. “Well, that’s what the baton and taser are for. Don’t be afraid to use them if you need to, alright?”

“I’m not worried,” Johnny says, waving the other man off. “Plenty of the men I was deployed with probably shoulda been locked up, same as these blokes. If I can’t handle them, I’m worse off than I could’ve thought.”

They share a laugh, and Johnny can physically feel some of the weight lifting off his shoulders when he realizes he doesn’t have to force it. Maybe the new job won’t be so bad if he can make some real friends.

The thought tugs him to a stop, stalling his laughter. Friends. It’s been nearly a decade since he’d had a friend. His fellow soldiers were brothers in arms at best, despised acquaintances at worst. The prospect of having a coworker he’s truly amicable with, someone he’d maybe go out for drinks with, gives him more hope for life as a civilian than any mandated therapy session ever had.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gaz says, once they’ve both stopped laughing. “Where you parked?”

“Oh, uh- I’m takin’ the bus for a bit. Car’s in the shop,” Johnny explains, wincing internally at the lie. He’ll have to come up with something a little more permanent before long, but the explanation is satisfactory enough for now.

“You sure?” Gaz’s brows furrow a bit, in what reads to Johnny as genuine concern. “I don’t mind giving you a ride, the bus is quite a walk.”

“I’ll be fine, mate,” he reassures, clapping Gaz on the shoulder and turning away, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, yeah? See you then.”

He doesn’t wait for the other man’s response, just wraps his jacket tight around himself and tucks his hands beneath his arms. It’s just cool enough for him to shiver, and to wish he’d worn boots instead of runners.

The prison yard is full of inmates as Johnny walks by it - a good distance away from the fence, but still easily visible. He knows they’ll be out for another ten minutes or so after he’s officially off the clock, which means they’ll be locked back in their cells before long.

As soon as one of them catches sight of Johnny - and his ugly khaki uniform - they start howling and shouting through the fence.

“‘Ey, where you goin’ Officer? Headin’ home to your nice mansion?”

“Goin’ back to fuckin’ suburbia, pig?”

“Don’t you come back, damn polis! I see you tomorrow, I’ll make you my bitch!”

Johnny’s lip curls at the insults, and he has to force himself not to shout something back. His pride chafes against his silence, but he knows instigating will only make things worse. Still, he’s tense as he walks, jaw clenched tight enough to give himself a headache when he hears a wolf-whistle as he turns the corner.

Jackasses, all of ‘em, he thinks, only relaxing when he knows he’s no longer within their sight. He can see the bus stop now, even though it’s a few blocks away.

His knee twinges just as the first drop of rain hits his nose and Johnny sighs, hustling as much as his aching leg will allow.

He’s soaked to the bone by the time he finally makes it to the bench.

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny finds himself in surprisingly high spirits. The bus had been right on time that morning, instead of ten minutes late like it had been the day before, and it’s started to sink in that he’s finally got consistent work - and more importantly, a consistent paycheck. His walk to the bus, and then the prison, is clear and pleasant, not a cloud in the sky.

By the time he finally clocks in, he’s almost walking with a pep in his step. The only thing that clouds his mood is the pain in his right knee - he hadn’t walked as much as he had yesterday since finishing off his physical therapy, and he hasn’t been doing the best at keeping up with his exercises. The joint is stiff and tense today, and it’s harder to mask his limp. Not impossible, but something he has to focus on.

Still, the dull pain isn’t enough to fully cloud his spirits. He picks up his baton and taser from the staff room, clipping them to his belt and smiling at Officer Garrick when the other man steps in.

“Mornin’,” he calls, glad to see the other man step to a cubby right near his to start getting ready for their shift. He counts the keys on his keychain, making sure that they haven’t impossibly disappeared, and hooks it through a belt loop, tugging to check that it’s secure.

“Morning, Soap. I’m glad to see you’re in high spirits.”

“Aye. Got a good night’s sleep, got me ready to take on the day.” It’s a lie - Johnny hasn’t truly gotten a good night’s sleep since he came home. He’d heard similar things from other soldiers, something about a real bed being too comfortable, but he had managed to sleep decently the night before.

“I’m glad. You’re working under Officer Graves today, and… well, he’s not particularly popular with most of the guards.”

Johnny cocks an eyebrow at Gaz, leaning his hip against the counter as the other man readies himself. “Really? I figured I’d still be with you a few more days.”

“Neither of us are that lucky, I’m afraid.” Gaz smiles at him sardonically, then steps back and holds a hand toward the door. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The walk to the lobby of the prison - a large room right before the entrance into the actual prison, but with thick windows to see in - together, both lingering at the back of the small crowd of guards.

Johnny’s boss - Graves, a man he hadn’t met yet but already had a sour opinion of, thanks to Gaz‘s description of him during their tour - stands at the front of the room, reading off job assignments from memory and sending guards into the prison to get ready for the day.

“Garrick, I want you in the yard today. Keep an eye on Vargas - he’s been gettin’ too cocky recently. And then… ah, our new guy.” Graves smiles at Johnny as he stands from his place against the wall. Gaz pats his back heavily as he heads off, and Johnny moves towards his new CO when the shorter man gestures him forward.

“I want you to take food to our guy in solitary,” Graves says, clapping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. He’s got to reach up, since he’s several inches shorter than Johnny, and something about that difference makes his spine straighten. “He’s a mean bastard, but he shouldn’t cause you too much trouble. You won’t get the easy assignments everyday though, rook, so don’t get used to it.”

Johnny just barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “Aye, I’ll manage. Where’s solitary?”

Graves claps him twice more, then steps away. “Read the maps on the wall, MacTavish, it’s not my job to hold your hand,” he says, turning away. “Parra! What’d I say about gettin’ close to the cells like that?”

Johnny grumbles under his breath as he turns to the faded map pinned to the wall. It’s not the easiest thing to read - one corner is unstuck from the wall, and the creases across the whole paper are so deep that certain words are unreadable. But Johnny’s read more confusing under worse circumstances, and it doesn’t take him long to find himself and the cafeteria on the map.

There are a few guards already in the large room when he arrives, most of them paired off among each other and lingering around the edges of the room. He doesn’t bother talking to any of them, and instead heads straight for the assembly-lines of cooks, eager to get his first task done and hopefully get assigned to something he can stand still for.

“Excuse me,” he calls, waving down the first woman to look towards him. “I’m supposed to be taking breakfast to a prisoner in solitary. Have you got that for me?”

The woman he’s speaking to - Rhonda, her name tag says - looks entirely unamused by Johnny’s presence, but she slides a tray of food across to him.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling at her. He’d always enjoyed getting the tougher soldiers to crack when he’d been assigned to their teams. Seeing a burly sniper’s lips finally twitch after days of joking around felt nearly as good as praise from a CO, and something about Rhonda makes Johnny think she’ll be ten times harder to amuse than even the most hardened soldier. “Should I just bring the tray back to you, then?”

She gives him a long look, scanning him head to toe. “You new, then? He’ll give the tray back to you when he’s finished, then you drop it off with the busboy.” She points over to an older man leaned against the counter, cigarette hanging loose from his lips despite the strict ‘no smoking’ policy Johnny had been warned of. He only notices a moment later that the fag is unlit, and the man seems more interested in rolling it between his teeth than smoking it.

“You’re a doll,” he says, winking at Rhonda as he picks up the tray and only grinning more fully when she rolls her eyes and turns away. “Back in a jiffy!”

He’s almost positive he can hear her curse at him under her breath, and that only makes his smile feel more real.

The walk from the cafeteria to solitary isn’t a long one, but it is lonely. Johnny occasionally passes or spots another employee making the rounds, but none of them bother to even acknowledge his presence. After such an open greeting from Gaz, he’d expected most of the guards to be somewhat like him, but he’s quickly finding that it seems to be the opposite. He can’t bring himself to be too disappointed, though - he’s content enough with just one friend for now. He tells himself that he never would have been able to keep up with more than that - he barely keeps contact with family, these days - and pretends he doesn’t feel just the slightest bit disappointed.

The solitary confinement hall has ten cells, five on each side, though only one of them is closed and locked. There’s a guard waiting at one end of the corridor, half-asleep and leaning most of his weight against the wall, but he jerks straight when Johnny clears his throat.

The man has to blink for a minute to clear the sleep from his eyes, and Johnny cocks a brow as he waits.

“Oh, are you here to take over? Good, good, my shift’s already run long and Shepherd’s been a bitch recently about overtime.” The man’s already straightened and several steps away by the time what he’s said clicks in Johnny’s brain.

“I’m not here to take over your shift, mate, I’m just here to give the inmate his…” he trails off as the man doesn’t turn around, fully disappearing around the corner before Johnny can finish his sentence. “...food.”

With a sigh, Johnny turns toward the cells. The doors are all nearly identical, the only thing differentiating them being their signs of wear and the light above their frame - one green, nine red.

Not fully sure what he’s meant to do, Johnny bends to slide the long and thin slot near the ground open, nudging the tray through and wincing when it clatters to the floor. After a moment of silence he stands back up, lingering unsurely.

When the silence stretches a full two minutes, he pulls open the small window at his eye-level, squinting to see into the dark room.

It’s empty.

For a moment, Johnny can do nothing but stare. But no matter how many times he runs his eyes over the same details of the room, they don’t change. Nothing moves, not even a shadow against the wall, and the room appears entirely empty.

“Anybody in there?” He calls, wincing internally at the choice in wording. He sounds like he’s asking if a bathrooms empty, not making sure a likely violent criminal hasn’t fucking escaped.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no response from the empty room.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Had something like this happened in the military, had someone else fucked up so massively that every person even tangentially involved was at risk for punishment, he’d have helped the idiot cover it up and then told everything to Price and let him worry about whether or not it needed to be taken any further.

But here, Johnny can’t put himself at risk. He doesn’t have Price’s reputation to fall back on, doesn’t have tenure or medals or broken records to cushion his fall. If he’s caught in any sort of crossfire here, he’ll lose everything.

He worries his tongue between his teeth, shifting to ease weight off his bad knee. He can’t make any decisions without knowing all the information, so he cautiously unhooks his keyring from his pants and finds the right key, unlocking the cell door.

The hinges are loud as the door eases open, and Johnny only just barely manages to keep from jumping at the broken silence. His palms are beginning to sweat just a bit, but his hands are steady as he just barely cracks the door and steps inside.

He’s hardly a full step into the cell when a hand grabs him by the collar, tugging him into a fist to his eye. Before he can do more than grunt at the burst of pain, he’s shoved face first into the rough cinder block wall, his arms yanked behind him and twisted painfully.

“Fuck!” Johnny hisses, tension lining his every muscle.

The man behind him is silent, but Johnny can feel the long line of him pressed against his spine. He’s a big fucker, not a bit of Johnny’s back isn’t being touched, and he can feel breath ghosting over his mohawk.

“You’re new,” the prisoner says after a long few beats of silence. Johnny bares his teeth against the wall, jerking in the man’s hold. “Ah, ah,” he scolds, tugging Johnny’s wrists back and pushing his shoulders forward with his free hand, tugging his arms uncomfortably in their sockets. “Stay still.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Johnny sneers, dropping his head a bit and allowing his face to twist in discomfort since he knows the prisoner can’t see him. “You’re gonna stay in this hellhole twice as long once Shepherd hears about this, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again, ye bastard.”

“You a snitch?” There’s an amused tinge to the man’s voice, one that has Johnny growling and jerking in his hold again, damp forehead pressed to the wall. “You gonna go tattle on me, Officer? Tell them the big bad prisoner roughed you up a bit?”

“Get the fuck off of me,” Johnny hisses, kicking his good leg back to the prisoner’s knee. He doesn’t manage to hit him, but the man has to spread his legs a little further to dodge the blow. Before he can force Johnny into an even harsher hold, he kicks his leg back again with even more force. The prisoner makes a rough sound low in his throat when the heel of Johnny’s combat boot digs into his balls, his hold on Johnny’s wrists slackening immediately.

Had Johnny had any less experience in hand-to-hand combat, he wouldn’t have been able to jerk free before the prisoner got his bearings back. He can feel the man’s hold tightening just before her jerks away, turning quickly and landing a solid blow to the center of his chest.

The prisoner stumbles back just half a step, more out of surprise than anything he’d guess, but it creates more than enough space for Johnny to slide away from him and quickly throw himself out of the cell. Just before the door can slam closed, pale fingers lock around the corner.

It’s only Johnny’s momentum and his adrenaline that gives him enough strength to force the door closed anyway - were he not throwing his entire body weight backwards, he knows the prisoner would’ve been able to keep it open.

There’s a barely muffled curse as the man’s fingers are crushed in the door frame, and only Johnny pounding them with a closed fist gets him to fully let go. It only occurs to him a moment later that he has a baton on his hip for this exact moment, but he’s too busy trying to breathe through the adrenaline rush to care about his idiotic mistake.

He swallows thickly, working saliva back into his mouth, and takes another step further away from the door. He takes a long breath to make sure his voice is steady, then speaks loud enough for the prisoner to hear him.

“You know the routine. Eat your fuckin’ food, then slide the tray back out.” He tacks on a “Bastard,” his head already starting to pound. He’s not actually sure if that’s what the routine is, but he can’t imagine it’s anything else.

When the prisoner doesn’t respond, he takes another few steps away and leans where the other guard had been. He presses his fingers around his throbbing eye socket, hissing at the dull but growing pain. He’ll have a nice shiner, for sure, but as best he can tell there’s no further damage.

It only takes a few minutes for the prisoner to toss the tray back out, the plastic clattering loudly in the silent hall. It’s completely clean, just crumbs and a residual grease left smeared on the plate.

He crouches down to grab the tray and nearly jumps out of his skin when he glances up and sees the top half of a face glaring at him from the small opening.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he hisses, jerking back and away before he can really manage a good look at the man. He sees pale skin and shadowed, deep-set eye sockets, but not much else.

Johnny curses as he slides the little door shut, scolding himself for having such a visceral reaction to a man. A man who can’t possibly be the worst thing he’s ever faced, a man who’s literally locked in a cage. It’s a blow to the ego to have gotten so worked up over an unarmed prisoner when Johnny has multiple weapons on him, easily within reach.

It’s pathetic, is what it is. Pathetic, and a sharp reminder that he’s not the same man as he was even a year ago. Sergeant Soap MacTavish and Officer John MacTavish aren’t the same, no matter how much he tries to tell himself nothing’s changed since he was before being discharged. Everything’s changed, and this is just salt rubbed in the wound of it all.

He’s just turning around to head back to the cafeteria when he hears a new voice call out. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Smith is supposed to be on duty right now.”

The man heading towards Johnny is around his height, with brown skin and dark hair. He wears a uniform identical to Johnny’s, except the nametag over his heart says PARRA instead of MACTAVISH.

“Brought breakfast for ‘im,” Johnny explains, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and unable to keep a scowl from twisting his lips. “The other officer - Smith, I guess - left before I could tell that to him.”

Parra rolls his eyes, stepping fully forward and glancing over at the locked cell door, checking for something Johnny can’t think to look for. “Sounds like him. He’s always trying to get off early, doesn’t care who he dumps his shift onto.” He gives Johnny a considering look and a small smile. “Thanks for waiting for someone else to show up. A lot of new guys would just leave the job to someone else.”

Johnny doesn’t bother to correct him, figuring it can’t hurt for Parra not to know he’d been about to leave.

“I’m Officer Parra,” the other man says, offering a hand. “But you can call me Rudy.”

“Officer MacTavish,” Johnny returns, shaking the man’s hand. “Johnny.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Rudy smiles. “You can head off now. Graves’ll want you assigned to something else soon, best not to keep him waiting on your first day.”

There’s something odd in Rudy’s tone that makes Johnny unsure of the man, something almost judgmental. He gives the other guard a stiff smile, and turns to leave with a, “Thanks, mate. I’ll be seeing you,” sent over his shoulder.

He only gets turned around once on his way back to the cafeteria, and it’s only because he can’t quite shake the feeling that someone’s watching him. There’s something keeping his arms covered in goosebumps despite the warm air, some instinct making him fight the urge to glance over his shoulder no less than five times.

It’s through sheer force of will that he doesn’t. He knows with absolute certainty that no one’s following him, because the hallway is dead silent besides his quick footsteps. But that feeling still doesn’t dissipate, and that puts Johnny on edge.

The cafeteria is packed full of prisoners when he finally arrives, but none of them pay him any attention as he skirts around the edges of the room to drop the empty tray on top of a pile of other dishes. The busboy doesn’t give him any attention, so Johnny turns to scan the room for Graves.

He’s standing near the main entrance to the cafeteria, not the side door Johnny had come through, and leans against the wall just a foot or two away from a group of guards. They’re laughing just loudly enough to be obnoxious and Graves taps his baton against his palm, somehow making a show of the simple motion.

Johnny tries not to feel too irritated before even speaking to the man again, but it’s difficult.

“Graves,” he calls as he steps to the man’s side. “Got the prisoner in solitary fed, what’d you-”

“It’s Officer Graves, MacTavish,” Graves corrects, his tone snappish but lips quirked in a grin. “I’m your boss, not your equal.”

Johnny expects him to barrel on and say something else, but Graves only raises a brow and waits for a response.

“Right,” he forces out, trying not to grind his teeth. “Officer Graves. I fed the bloke in solitary, where do you want me now?”

Graves gives him a long look, something sharpening in his gaze. “You can shadow Garrick for the rest of the day, learn the ropes a bit more.”

Johnny’s nodding and already turning away when Graves says, “Hey, what happened there?”

“What?”

Graves uses his baton to point to his own right eye, head tilting. “Got some swelling going on there, MacTavish. Anything we should know about?”

Johnny turns back, considering for a moment before deciding he’s got nothing to lose since the prisoner didn’t actually manage to escape.

“The cell looked empty when I shoved the tray through. Thought the prisoner must’ve escaped somehow, but I double checked before reporting anything. The bastard must’ve been hiding somewhere, he got a good blow in before I got him off me and locked him in.”

Graves laughs at that, a sharp and loud sound that makes Johnny’s shoulders inch towards his ears.

“Yeah, that’s Ghost for you. Seems like he hazed you for us, rook.”

Johnny cocks his head. “Ghost?”

Graves hums, nodding. “Sure. His real name is Simon Riley, but everyone here just calls him Ghost. Big bastard, mean too. He’s in solitary more often than not these days, but that’s perfectly fine with me. The men get real testy when he’s in genpop with the rest of ‘em, always trying to take his place.”

“Why’d they call him Ghost?”

Graves scoffs, and one of the men next to him snickers. “You joking? You met the man this morning - they call him Ghost because of the way he disappears. Then fools like you go looking, and he takes you out before you even realize he’s there.”

A part of Johnny wants to bite out something about how he wasn’t taken out, and he actually got the best of this Ghost, but he locks the words behind his teeth and lets Graves’ dig roll off his shoulders. He nods, and takes another step away. “Well, he won’t be gettin’ the drop on me like that again, I know that.”

Graves laughs again, like Johnny’s a fool, and it takes everything in him to turn and walk away instead of knocking him out.

———————————————————————

The rest of the day goes as he had expected. He and Gaz follow the prisoners from room to room like shepherds, watching them try to find anything to fill the time.

Gaz talks while they watch. He tells Johnny about certain inmates’ personalities, tells him who’s someone else’s bitch, tells him how to spot a conflict they actually need to step in and de-escelate. Johnny listens intently, even if his mind wanders during some of the more boring explanations.

Eventually, when Gaz’s voice has gone flat and Johnny has stopped asking clarifying questions, the conversation moves into stories about their military days.

Johnny learns that he and Gaz had just barely missed each other several times. He learns that the other man knows Price too - and that they’re closer than Soap had been to his captain - and that Gaz had left instead of being discharged, that he has a sick mother at home to take care of.

When Garrick asks why Johnny left, he hesitates. It would be nothing to explain that his knee has been blown to smithereens, that he’d been discharged because he could hardly walk for weeks, let alone be of any use in combat. Gaz has surely seen worse injuries, just like Johnny has, but there’s still something that makes him pause before explaining.

When he fumbles around an explanation involving his elderly Nan and deadbeat cousins, Gaz only tuts and gives him a sympathetic look, and the conversation moves on. But Johnny’s lie lingers at the back of his mind, like an itch he can’t quite reach between his shoulders.

The day passes… well, not quickly, but not necessarily slowly either, with Gaz by his side. Six-thirty rolls around, and Johnny feels satisfied with his first day.

He’s walking towards the staff room with Garrick and another officer, Keller, when Graves stops him.

“MacTavish, c’mere for a second.”

Johnny glances at Gaz to see if the man has any idea what their CO could want from him and receives an entirely useless shrug in return. With only a small amount of trepidation, Johnny turns towards Graves and steps into the adjoining hall the other man gestures him towards.

“I need you to stay a bit late,” Graves starts, his expression far from mocking like it had been this morning. “I’ve got an assignment for you. You’ll be paid overtime.”

“Alright,” Johnny says slowly, shifting his weight onto his good foot. He’s more than willing to stay for a little bit of extra money, but there’s something in Graves’ expression that makes him feel like he’s missing something. “What’s the assignment then?”

Graves runs his tongue over his top teeth, then sighs. “Ghost showers on his own - some deal he made with the warden, don’t ask. He can’t be in there with other prisoners, but someone has to watch him to make sure he’s not sharpening another knife from his toothbrush. He’s requested it be you.”

Johnny’s still stuck on toothbrush knife when Graves’ look goes from reluctant to expectant. Then, what he’s said clicks.

“He… requested me?”

“That’s what I said.”

Johnny can’t help but let the skepticism bleed into his expression. “So he gets to request whatever he wants? And he gets it?”

Graves sighs impatiently, like Johnny’s asked him the stupidest question possible. “Ghost makes requests like this for the same reason he showers alone. He’s got some sort of deal with Shepherd that gets whatever he wants, and today what he wants is you. God only knows why, but quite frankly, I have no interest in questioning the man. If you’re so curious, ask him yourself.”

Johnny scowls, not bothering to disguise his expression at all. Graves only manages to get more irritating everytime they speak, and Johnny’s got no patience for dealing with him. “Fine. Where are the showers, then?”

Graves gives him quick directions. “Oh, and you’ll have to stand in the showers with him. You stand just outside, he’ll get the best of you. We’ve lost enough guards that way, and I don’t want to deal with training another newbie.”

“Wait,” Johnny says, stopping Graves before he can walk away. “Did you say in the shower with him?”

Graves scowls at Johnny like he’s something rotten. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of the man already, rook?”

“You just said he’s taken out multiple guards!” Johnny defends.

Graves rolls his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Keep your baton and your taser on you, and don’t drop the soap. Simple.” He smirks, giving Johnny a patronizing look. “Don’t work yourself up about it.”

Graves walks away before Johnny can say something insulting back, which - as annoying as it is to not have the last word - is probably for the best. Johnny’s hands are already clenched into fists at his side, and even with his very limited job experience he knows punching your boss on your first day would be a mistake.

Still, the sight of Graves swaggering away before Johnny can say something equally rude to him is bitter, the implication that Johnny is a coward is even more so. He can’t wipe the scowl from his face as he heads to solitary confinement, the tension in his spine only growing.

Rudy is still on duty when he arrives, not looking any different than he had that morning, and not moved an inch from where Johnny had last seen him.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ back in this wing?” Parra asks, his lips lifting in a smile as he stands from the wall to greet Johnny.

“Graves sent me to take Riley to the shower,” Johnny explains, rolling his eyes in what he hopes comes off as more I-hate-extra-work than I-hate-our-boss.

“He’s got you on that now?” Rudy lifts his brows, glancing over at the cell door like he’s looking at Ghost. “Well, better you than me - truth be told, he always creeped me out a bit. You got your cuffs?”

Johnny dangles them from his pointer finger and Rudy nods, moving forward to unlock the cell door.

“Alright, you know the deal, Ghost. Back of the cell, facing the wall,” Rudy calls out, his tone not changed at all from the way he had spoken to Johnny. He watches through the eye-level window for a few long moments, then grunts, satisfied, and swings open the door.

Part of Johnny is still expecting to see an empty cell, even knowing that Parra had just watched Riley. But sure enough, there Simon Riley stands at the back, facing the wall.

The cell is smaller with him in it. Ghost is all filthy jumpsuit and broad back, nothing but a pale neck and buzzed blond hair from what Johnny can see. There’s hardly a foot between the top of his head and the ceiling, and if he were to lift both his arms he’d be able to touch each wall with the palms of his hands.

He holds perfectly still, hands tucked behind his back, and he’s still one of the most threatening people Johnny’s ever seen. The air around him feels rotted, like the very atoms of oxygen are saying stay away, this one’s dangerous.

Unfortunately, Johnny doesn’t have the luxury of listening to his instincts. He steps forward with feigned confidence and snaps the suddenly pathetic looking cuffs around wide wrists with as little hesitation as he can manage. When Johnny steps back, Ghost turns with him and takes a step forward.

If he was intimidating from the back, he’s terrifying from the front.

He’s got a wide jaw and a heavy brow, with a crooked nose and thin lips. He’s got stripes of nearly white skin across his cheeks and neck, little scars that are at all different stages of fading. His eyes are brown, and the dark lighting in the room combined with his deep-set eye sockets make him almost look like he doesn’t have any at all.

His face is flat, still, and unexpresive. Something about the complete lack of expression is more intimidating than the half a foot and hundred extra pounds of muscle he’s got compared to Johnny.

But Johnny’s far from inexperienced in putting on a brave front when facing something dangerous, and he doesn’t let Ghost see how shaken he is. He fixes a scowl on his face and steps out of the cell, unclipping his baton and using it to point down the hall. “You know the way.”

Riley’s head tilts, like he’s considering whether or not he should listen, and he gives Johnny’s body a long, invasive look. It takes every ounce of training he’s had not to flinch or try to adjust his stance.

A long, silent moment later, Ghost steps out of the cell and begins the walk to the showers. Johnny is close behind him, baton in his palm and muscles locked, ready for anything the prisoner might try.

Once he’s sure they’re far enough away that Parra won’t hear, Johnny says, “You pull some shit like you did this morning ever again and I’ll break your fuckin’ knees.”

Ghost is silent, his steps unfaltering. Johnny scowls behind his back, frustration quickly building. “Ye hear me? It won’t be your buddy Shepherd you deal with next time, it’ll be me. Whatever deal you’ve cut with him won’t matter then.”

Again, silence. Johnny scoffs when he realizes he’s not getting a response, poking the butt of his baton into the small of Ghost’s back to urge him on a little faster.

Johnny’s lip curls as he swings the door open, turning his body enough to allow Riley plenty of room through. The man still brushes his arm along Johnny’s chest, and it’s a conscious effort to keep his breath from hitching.

When Johnny follows Ghost into the showers, letting the door slam shut behind him, Ghost looks back at him and raises a brow. The look is distinctly unamused, and Johnny glares as he leans against the wall, trying to make himself seem confident and assured.

“I’m here to make sure you don’t kill yourself or plan to kill someone else. That means I’m not leavin’ this room while you’re in it,” he gripes, undoing Ghost’s cuffs with just a bit more roughness than strictly necessary. When Ghost’s look doesn’t change from that who the fuck do you think you are expression, Johnny smiles rudely up at him. “Get over it. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Ghost blows a sharp breath through his nose, maintaining his silence as he takes a step further into the room and begins to undress.

Somehow, Riley almost seems bigger without clothes. Every pale bit of skin exposed only serves to reassure the voice in the back of Johnny’s head screaming danger!. He’s muscular, but his entire body is covered in a layer of fat that only serves to make him seem bigger, stronger.

When he turns towards Johnny, every single part of the officer’s mind is screaming at him to run .

Ghost sets off Johnny’s flight reaction like nothing in life ever has before. He’d never once thought to run from a terrorist, or a bomb, or any sort of combat situation. Now, standing with a baton in hand in front of an unarmed man, he feels the distinct urge to fucking flee .

It only makes him more determined to plant his feet and stand strong. If he can face down crazed terrorists, he can sure as hell face one convict.

Johnny’s careful to avoid looking between his legs when he kicks his pants off. He very intentionally keeps his eyes locked on Ghost’s chest, unwilling to look away but equally unwilling to examine the larger man any more intently than he already has.

Ghost stands completely still, naked as the day he was born, for a few long seconds. Then he smirks, blows another sharp breath through his nose, and turns away.

Johnny doesn’t move from his spot by the entrance. He’s still firmly in the showers like Graves told him to be, but across the room from Ghost as he chooses the shower head furthest away from him. He faces the wall and because he’s so far away, Johnny gets a full view of his body. His back is as scarred as his face had been, but instead of clean and thin scars there are burns and gnarled marks he recognizes as gunshot wounds.

To Johnny’s relief, Ghost doesn’t take his time. He’s quick to cover his body in soap and rinse it off, hardly taking any time to scrub himself clean at all. Somehow it doesn’t surprise Johnny that this man doesn’t care much about his own hygiene.

He’s turning the old faucet off hardly five minutes after turning it on. When he turns around, Johnny quite can’t look away before he sees that his cock is half-hard, thick between his legs and almost curving upwards, but it’s almost like he’s too heavy for it to fully lift.

Ghost’s face is still set in that flat, deadpan expression as he begins to stride towards Johnny, completely ignoring his pile of clothes. Johnny scowls, standing up from the wall and straightening. “What do you think you’re-?”

Ghost’s hand is around his throat before he can finish, slamming him back into the tile wall. Johnny’s head cracks against it and his scalp presses into the grout..

“Why do you talk so fucking much?” Riley hisses, nose to nose. His body presses against Johnny’s, soaking the front of his uniform. “Didn’t anybody ever shut you up?”

Johnny can’t help but be offended as he raises the baton and slams it into Riley’s side - he hasn’t rambled nearly as much as he had on missions, here he’s downright quiet - but the bigger man just eats the blow. Johnny feels like he’s hit a punching bag, like Ghost won't be hurt no matter how hard he hits.

When Johnny slams the baton into his side again, Ghost’s free hand rips the taser from his belt. He can’t help but make an aborted growl, but one flex of Riley’s hand silences him completely.

Ghost holds the taser between them, letting it hover just a few inches from Johnny’s neck, and presses the trigger to let the electricity dance. Johnny doesn’t flinch, only struggles and glares. When Riley smiles, Johnny swings for his head.

It’s nothing short of humiliating, how quickly Riley has him fully trapped. It seems to take the same amount of effort for the prisoner to throw Johnny’s taser to the side and rip his baton from his hand as it had for him to shower - almost none.

“You gonna be good, or am I gonna have to get mean?” The larger man growls, tapping the baton against Johnny’s hip and bearing down on him. Like this, with the way Ghost towers over him, Johnny feels completely covered by the man. The overhead lights are blocked out by his body, and Johnny is completely in his shadow.

He strains back towards the wall, manages to get just enough pressure off of his throat to gasp, “Fuhck- yew-”.

Riley’s answering smile is sharp, cruel. “Beg me properly and you might just get what you want.”

Johnny’s face twists in rage, but before he can do anything in retaliation, Ghost slams the baton into his right knee and releases his throat.

Johnny’s vision whites out as he falls to the floor, the tile unforgiving against his knees. His ears are ringing when he can see again, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s from the echo of his own shout in the room.

He only manages to get one foot beneath him when Riley locks a hand in his mohawk, tightening his fingers and twisting until Johnny’s pulling away with a wince. He forces the smaller man’s head to the wall then steps closer, so his feet bracket either one of his knees. His neck is wrenched at an uncomfortable angle, Ghost pushing him down so he’s bent backwards with a sharp arch in his spine.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Johnny hisses, face still screwed up in pain as Ghost presses his hips forward, his damp and quickly hardening cock sliding against Johnny’s cheek.

There’s a low chuckle from above him, and Johnny twists his head to the side, baring his teeth to bite-

The baton presses against his throat, just below his Adam's apple.

“Keep your teeth covered or I’ll knock ‘em out,” Ghost growls, pressing hard enough for Johnny to choke on his next breath of air. He closes his mouth tight, grimacing as he feels a few strands of hair pulled out of his scalp. “Good.”

The praise chafes against his skin and Johnny opens his eyes just enough to glare up at Ghost, hands pressed against his thighs.

Ghost grins down at him, all sharp teeth and malice. “You gonna put up a little fight? I got no problem knocking you out and using you when you’re all limp and quiet. That how you want your friends to find you? Want them to see you fuckin’ ruined?”

Johnny’s fingers flex around the muscle of Ghost’s thigh, but he doesn’t push him away. There’s no doubt which one of them is stronger, especially with Johnny’s knee screaming in pain beneath him.

If the military taught him anything, it taught him to endure. As much as it frustrates him to lean into the wall behind him, to not rip Riley’s balls right off his body and bite his dick off, Johnny knows that isn’t the right choice here.

“Good,” Ghost rumbles, the hand in Johnny’s hair loosening fractionally. Not enough to really relieve any pain, but enough to be noticeable. “Might keep you around. Fuck this pretty mouth whenever I want.”

“Just get it over with,” Johnny hisses, swallowing and wincing when the baton presses against his throat more harshly for a moment.

“Eager,” Ghost hums.

Luckily he doesn’t say anything else, just tugs Johnny’s head back a little more and presses the tip of his cock against his lips. Johnny can’t help the way he winces when Ghost pushes into his face. He can’t bring himself to let his lips part, can’t give even another inch when it already feels like Ghost has taken a mile.

There’s an annoyed huff from above him, and Ghost’s hand leaves his hair to pinch Johnny’s nose shut harshly. His eyes fly wide open, staring up at the man in shock, and his shoulders curve in an effort to let him pull away from the unexpected pain.

“Open up, c’mon.” Ghost’s hips move leisurely back and forth, sliding the ruddy head of his cock along Johnny’s lips and over his cheeks, covering him in sticky pre-cum. No matter how much he thrashes and tries to pull away, Ghost’s fingers only squeeze tighter and follow him.

Johnny holds out for as long as he can, but eventually the burning in his lungs gets to be too much and his lips part - hardly an inch - to let him breathe deeply. As soon as he hears the inhale, Ghost’s hand flies from Johnny’s nose back to his head, shoving his face forward until his mouth is stuffed.

He chokes immediately, eyes flying wide open. It’s not that Johnny’s unfamiliar with something in his mouth, it’s that Riley’s cock is so large he can barely open his jaw wide enough to let him in. He feels like a snake, except instead of swallowing his prey, his jaw is forced to unhinge for another man’s pleasure.

“That’s it,” Riley hisses, ignoring the sick gluck-gluck sounds as he pulls back and pushes his way in farther. “Fuckin’ take it.”

Johnny nearly chokes on bile, lungs heaving as he tries to breathe around the intrusion inside his throat. Ghost has no sympathy for his struggle, doesn’t give him any time to adjust as he lodges himself firmly inside the channel of Johnny’s throat.

Tears stream from Johnny’s eyes, from both humiliation and the strain of being face-fucked. Every time he tries to close his eyes, to let himself drift away even a bit, the hand in his hair tightens far past the point of pain. Ghost doesn’t speak to him again, but the heat in his eyes and the angry snarl of his lips tells Johnny exactly what he wants - eye contact and Johnny’s pain.

The only mercy is that Ghost doesn’t last long. Johnny isn’t fully cognizant enough to try and keep track of how long the violation lasts, but it can’t be more than a few minutes. Johnny can see the way Riley’s chest heaves as he gets closer, the way his shoulders hunch and the way his hips work in faster, shorter thrusts to get himself off.

He comes in long, thick spurts straight down Johnny’s throat. Another mercy - he doesn’t have to taste it, doesn’t have to do anything more than let his throat work in instinctive swallows to keep the foreign liquid from choking him.

Ghost isn’t quite panting when he finishes, but it’s a close thing. He’s leaning over Johnnt enough that every time he breathes in, the curve of his stomach covers the bottom part of his face from Johnny’s view.

Once he’s drained himself dry, he pulls his cock back enough that just the head of it rests behind Johnny’s teeth, the whole length of him softening.

Just as Johnny begins to wonder what the fuck he’s doing, why this nightmare hasn’t ended, Ghost sighs and rolls his head back on his neck, looking up at the ceiling. Another breath later, a sour taste begins to flood Johnny’s mouth.

He’s tearing away and sputtering as soon as he realizes what’s happening, throwing his head back against the tile so the warm stream of piss hits his neck instead, pouring down his chest instead of his mouth. He can’t throw himself to the side, only succeeding in hurting his neck when he tries because of the iron grip Ghost has on his mohawk.

“What-” he gasps, teary eyes wide as he stares up at Ghost. “What the fu- what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Riley scowls down at him like he’s done something completely unreasonable, jerking his soft cock slowly as he continues to piss. The hand on Johnny’s head tries to force him down again, but he fights back this time and manages to only catch a few drops on his chin instead of having his mouth forced back onto the man’s dick.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Ghost scowls, pointing himself straight at the bit of chest exposed by Johnny’s shirt as he finishes. The rancid stench is heavy in the warm air, choking Johnny. “Figured you’d need a reminder of your place. Clearly I was right.”

Johnny’s seething, every muscle made tense from his anger as he flushes dark. “You evil fuckin’ bastard,” he hisses.

There’s a single, sharp laugh above him as Ghost finally - finally - steps away, beginning to pull his jumpsuit back on as if absolutely nothing is amiss. Johnny doesn’t shift from his spot on the floor but to move as much weight as possible off his right knee, wincing at the horrible pain of it.

Before he can work himself up to standing, Ghost is stepping closer to him and turning the faucet above his head. Immediately, a shower of cold water pours onto Johnny’s form.

His gasp is loud as he rockets up, stumbling back into the wall when his bad leg won’t take his weight. The water is freezing cold as it drenches him, and his fingertips go numb in seconds. His mohawk goes limp from the water, the gel he usually uses to keep it neat melting away and leaving his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

He’s panting when he finally lifts his head, body adjusting to the cold. He pushes his hair back and away from his face, cringing at the wet thud of it against the shaved sides of his head as he slams his other hand into the wall, desperately looking for the faucet.

When he finally finds it, he jerks it to off, nearly heaving as he shivers against the tile.

“What the hell,” he whispers, staring wide-eyed across the room. He can’t tell what’s real and not anymore, can’t tell if this is just one of his bad nightmares, or if an inmate really skull-fucked him, pissed in his mouth, then dumped water on his head.

He blinks slowly, dumbly, before he drags his eyes over to where Ghost stands a few steps away, arms crossed and handcuffs held loosely in one hand. When Johnny only stares at him silently, Ghost lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”

Johnny’s jaw drops, leaving him gaping like a fish. “What?”

“You want to see Parra still stinkin’ of piss? You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Johnny can’t do anything but stare.

———————————————————————

The walk to the bus stop is long and miserable. Even though it’s not raining, Johnny is soaked to the bone just like the day before, and he limps down the cracked sidewalk at nearly a snail’s pace.

His leg hasn’t hurt this badly since he first got out of the hospital, and although his eyes won’t focus and he still feels off-kilter, he can’t help but be glad he’s late enough for all the prisoners to have left the rec yard. There’s no one to see his walk of shame.

His mind wanders from thought to thought, willing to land on anything that doesn’t make him think of what happened less than an hour ago. He flinches physically every time his thoughts shift in that direction, the reality of it too raw to examine.

His knee burns and feels like it must have tripled in size, his pant leg tight from the swelling. The sound of his shoe scraping on the concrete is like nails against a chalkboard.

He can still taste the piss in his mouth.

On the bus, the driver seems to go out of his way to hit every pothole and speed bump as roughly as he can. Every jerk of Johnny’s knee against the wall brings him a little closer to tears.

He hasn’t felt so out of control in a long time. He can’t control his pain, can’t control his body (his hands shake, his breath shakes, it feels like his goddamn heart shakes), and he can’t stop remembering how Ghost had blocked out all the light in the room, how he’d forced Johnny down and taken the reins, how he’d-

He’s not sure he’ll make it home without losing his lunch.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He stumbles near his trailer, nearly loses his balance and only keeps it because the idea of falling to his knees sounds worse than death, and retches into the overgrown grass.

He brushes his teeth more times than he can count. The last time he vomits, there’s nothing left to come up but stomach acid and spit.

———————————————————————

Gaz does a double take when he sees Johnny the next morning, eyes widening in what would be comical shock if Johnny felt any less like a dead man walking.

“Shit, what happened to you, mate?” Gaz attempts a smile as he stands at his cubby, but can’t quite keep the concern off his face. “Rough night out?”

Johnny’s cheek is almost bloody from how hard he’s biting it. “Something like that,” he manages to mutter, his voice gravelly and hoarse.

Gaz gives him a look, like he wants to push for more, but luckily he drops it. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re with me today. We’ll keep you in some quieter areas until that hangover goes, yeah?”

Johnny just grunts and follows Gaz out of the staff room, not bothering to correct his assumption.

———————————————————————

“MacTavish!” Graves calls, stepping between Gaz and Johnny while they’re both locking up their weapons for the night. “You’re on overtime again tonight,” he says, slapping Johnny’s shoulder with a forced familiarity before turning away, already moving on.

“No,” Johnny spits, the word flying from his mouth before he can even fully register what Graves has just told him. His lip curls at just the thought, and he feels the saliva in his mouth thickening.

Graves stops in his tracks, throwing a look of confusion and annoyance over his shoulder. “No? C’mon, Officer, I know you want to go home, but just suck up the extra hour-”

“No,” Johnny repeats, his voice a little too loud and a little too harsh in the otherwise silent room. “I’m clocking out. Find someone else.”

Graves turns fully towards them now, eyes narrowing when he sees Johnny’s resolve. He picks up on Gaz’s confusion beside him, but the other man shifts closer and Johnny knows he’s on his side.

“You don’t get to say no to something like this, MacTavish.” Graves’ voice has taken on a harsher edge, and it’s the most authoritative Johnny’s heard the man since he got the job. Still, it’s not anywhere near intimidating enough to convince him.

Johnny hikes his chin in the air a bit, glaring down his nose at his CO. “Overtime is optional, right? I’m not taking it. My shift ended ten minutes ago. I’m going home.”

Graves shakes his head before turning and stepping away. “I’ll have to tell the warden. Not a good impression to make in your first week, rook. You hated looking at Ghost’s ugly ass that much, huh?” He scoffs like Johnny’s a fool, and lets the door slam shut behind him.

Johnny ducks away from Gaz before they can walk out to the parking lot together and hugs the grimey toilet bowl in the staff bathroom, losing what little lunch he’d been able to stomach. The sky is dark with rain clouds when he steps outside.

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny is stopped by the warden himself before he can even clock in.

“MacTavish,” Shepherd grunts, barely leaning out of his office. “Come see me.”

“I need to clock in, sir,” Johnny says, gesturing to the nearly broken machine set on an old folding table.

“See me first,” Shepherd says, ducking into his office without any other explanation.

Johnny’s knee is miles better than it had been the day before, but it’s still more difficult than it should be to cover his limp as he heads to Shepherd’s office. The brace he’s worn the last few days helps somewhat, but really only helps keep him from getting stiff or overextending.

“Close the door behind you, son,” Shepherd says when Johnny joins him, already settled behind his desk. He mimics the same position he had when Johnny had first sat in front of him - leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, chin tilted towards his chest.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” Johnny asks after shutting the door, lowering himself slowly into the uncomfortable chair. He can’t help but wonder if it would’ve been smarter to stay standing, if this is a we won’t need you here again sort of meeting that he’ll want to get out quickly.

“Not yet,” Shepherd says after a heavy silence, tilting his head to the side. “Graves tells me you refused overtime last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And why is that?”

He manages not to flinch, but just barely. “I was tired, sir. Just wanted to get home and get some rest.”

Shepherd’s expression stays flat, but there’s an unimpressed spark in his eye. “And it’s got absolutely nothing to do with what your overtime task was, then?”

Johnny wants to bristle, wants to bite back, but he keeps himself under control. “I find inmate Riley… unpleasant to be around. To put it lightly. Sir.”

Shepherd scoffs, rolling his eyes and leaning forward. “Every damn person in this prison is unpleasant to be around, boy. That doesn’t mean you blow off orders and come and go whenever you please.”

Now Johnny does sit a little straighter in his chair, insulted. “I’ve stayed for my entire shift every day I’ve worked for you.”

“That’s not much to brag about, MacTavish, you haven’t even been here half a week.”

Johnny takes a deep breath, reminding himself just how badly he needs this job. “I’m not required to take overtime, sir, and I believe my job performance has been satisfactory otherwise. Is that all?”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow, and Johnny knows they’re both thinking the same thing - were they still in the military, that kind of talk from a subordinate wouldn’t fly. But despite their shared past, they’re not in that environment any more - Johnny’s behavior isn’t insuboridnate here, and they both know it.

Shepherd takes a long moment to respond, setting his still-linked hands on his desk and leaning his weight onto them. “No. You’re right in saying that overtime isn’t required. But I’m looking for employees who show dedication to their job and an ambition to grow in this career. So far, I’m not getting either of those things from you. I need guards who are willing to go the extra mile, not guards who can’t stay an hour after their shift to watch one goddamn man shower.”

Johnny takes a deep, stabilizing breath. Shepherd's tone is harsh, mean, and damn near identical to every CO Johnny had in the service. Before he can argue his case, the warden speaks again.

“Listen, I understand that you’re still adjusting to civilian life. I’m not cruel.” He spreads his hads in front of him, open and inviting. “I’ll give you grace. But I need men who are willing to listen when I give them an order. If that’s not you, then I think it’s best you start looking for another job.”

Johnny’s eyes shut for a moment against his will, and the breath that’s punched out of him has a distinctly defeated air to it. “Alright. Alright, I understand what you’re saying, sir.” He swallows thickly, working the words past his throat. “It won’t happen again.”

Shepherd nods, something vaguely understanding in his expression. “Good. Overtime is time and a half pay, so you’ll be well-compensated.”

Well-compensated. The words sound vile in Johnny’s mind, and he wants to kick and scream and say nothing could compensate for what that man did to me .

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes. Dismissed, Officer.”

Johnny nods, standing and taking quick steps to the door.

“MacTavish?” Shepherd calls out, just before his hand lands on the doorknob.

Johnny doesn’t turn before responding. “Yes, sir?”

“It’ll get easier, son.”

Now Johnny turns, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Shepherd is leaning back in his chair again, but now there’s something almost pitying in his expression. Something vaguely sympathetic.

Johnny leaves the office without responding. He worries if he opens his mouth, he’ll just start screaming.

———————————————————————

Overtime doesn’t get any easier. In fact, every day Johnny’s forced to watch Ghost shower it gets more and more difficult to ignore the voice inside his head screaming to run, regardless of all the arguments he’s made that tell him he has to stay.

The first day back, he’d tried to tase Ghost when the other man came toward him. He’d had his baton in one hand, the taser in the other, but he’d quickly learned that Ghost’s sheer size made him an almost impossible opponent to fight - the taser was knocked out of his hand before he could’ve even reached Ghost with it, and the baton went just as quickly.

Johnny had thrown a sloppy punch towards Ghost’s face and had only gotten a mean laugh in return.

“Got a little more fight in you today, huh?” Riley had hissed, their faces pressed so close together that Johnny could feel his breath. “You can kick and scream all you want, boy, but this still ends the same way.”

The second day, he’d thought about not going into the shower and instead standing in the hallway and getting the drop on Ghost. But he’d glanced up and seen a little blinking red light, a camera, in the corner between the wall and the ceiling and knew that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself were he to lose, and Ghost assaulted him on camera. So he followed the priosner into the showers, feeling like a man sent to the gallows.

He’d tried to bite Riley’s dick before he could choke on it that day. At the first scrape of teeth, Ghost had shoved his thumbs into Johnny’s mouth and hooked them between his molars, holding his head still like that instead of by the hair. Johnny had nearly choked on his own vomit, and his lips were numb for what felt like hours after.

The third day, Johnny kneels before Riley can knock him down. He’s already worried something is seriously wrong with his bad knee, and Ghost hadn’t spared it at all. Gaz had asked if he was alright that morning after seeing him limp, and had offered to bring a knee brace he kept at home - Johnny hadn’t bothered to tell him he was already weaing one. He can’t afford to take a day off because he can’t walk, so he kneels and pretends the small submission doesn’t choke him.

Defeat is bitter on his tongue as Johnny watches surprise mingle with satisfaction when Ghost watches him lower himself. He only stays on one knee, unwilling to put any weight whatsoever on his right knee, and Ghost - miraculously - allows it.

When he stands in front of Johnny and strokes himself to full hardness, he mutters quietly, “Knew you were a fuckin’ faggot.”

Johnny’s flinch is hidden by his reaction to Ghost’s cock being unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth. This time once he’s finished himself off and made sure to let every drop of his come drip down Johnny’s throat, he steps to the side to relieve himself instead of using him as a urinal. Johnny’s almost ashamed of how grateful he finds himself feeling.

On Sunday, his first day off, Johnny leaves his bed exactly once. He gets up, pisses, and lays right back down with a pillow elevating his leg. He sleeps fitfully for nearly 12 hours and wakes up nauseous, only just choking back bile before ruining his floors. His Nan calls twice and leaves two voicemails when he doesn’t answer.

On Monday, Ghost is let out of solitary confinement.

———————————————————————

A full day of rest has done Johnny’s knee a world full of good.

While still not fully recovered, he doesn’t feel sick when he tries to walk without a limp anymore. The brace helps him with that, and with Riley coming out of solitary Johnny can’t help but hope that he’ll have a chance to truly recover a bit.

He tells himself that he can put his hellish first week in the past now. Ghost is out of solitary, which means Johnny will have a better shot at avoiding him and sticking with the other guards.

Monday morning, Graves reassigns him from genpop to protective custody. It’s the first time he’ll be separated from Gaz for any length of time, but Johnny’s too high on his sudden distance from Ghost to care too much. If anything, this gives him a better chance to bond with other guards.

His hopes don’t quite come true - all the guards working in protective custody are quiet, with no interest in talking to each other, let alone a new guy. The silence isn’t unbearable for the first few hours, but Johnny already knows that multiple days spent with people so unwilling to respond to anything he says would drive him crazy.

It’s after lunch, when he leads ten prisoners from the cafeteria back to their cells with another guard tailing them, that everything goes wrong.

While Johnny almost has the layout for the prison memorized, there are still moments he gets turned around or confused. And having only been to the section of the prison with PC cells once - that same morning - Johnny’s not the most confident on how to get them back. He takes a left turn instead of a right, and for some godforsaken reason, the other guard doesn’t correct him.

Instead of turning into the large protective custody dayroom where prisoners spend their time when they’re not locked in their cells, Johnny turns into the general population dayroom.

He hardly has time to realize what a monumental mistake he’s made before he and every person following behind him is swarmed by prisoners.

Johnny’s knocked to the ground by one of the largest men as he dives for someone behind him, and his wrist is nearly crushed beneath a filthy white shoe when he reaches for his taser. The prisoners all but stampede him in an effort to swarm the men from protective custody, and Johnny can hardly see through the sea of legs.

Someone trips over his good knee and falls to the ground beside him. On instinct, Johnny lunges for him, trying to push himself up off the floor in the space the other man has created. But before he can get more than one foot under him, that same prisoner tackles him back to the ground and wraps a hand around his throat.

This time, when Johnny swings his baton at the man’s side full force, he falls to the ground and curls into a ball. The commotion around him is nearly deafening, and only growing louder and louder as guards get involved to try and pull the prisoners off of one another. He can see several men fall to the ground, shouting from the pain of being tased.

Johnny’s just barely managed to get to his feet when the prisoner in front of him throws himself to the side, and he only has a split second to register that the black blur swinging towards his head is a baton before everything goes black.

———————————————————————

Johnny wakes, hours later, to a dull pain in his head and a parched throat.

He groans as he rolls his head, tongue darting out to try and wet his lips as he squeezes his eyes tight against the pain. His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his tongue feels swollen. While his head feels like there’s a person trying to crack him open down the middle, there’s something soft around the edges of his consciousness, something that makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud instead of laying on a thin mattress.

As more of his senses start coming back, he realizes where he recognizes the soft feeling from - his last stay in the hospital. The fuzzy feeling in his head, the total lack of any emotion that isn’t contentedness, the steady beeping to his side, and the way his bad knee feels completely normal all tell Johnny that he’s higher than a kite on pain meds.

His nose scrunches when he tries to open his eyes for the first time, some uncomfortable crust making them itchy and heavy. He lifts one hand to clumsily paw at his face, only making him itch more as he rubs the crust into his own skin.

Somewhere in the room, he hears a door open and close quietly. He blinks quickly to try and clear his vision, but can only recognize the man when he steps right to Johnny’s bedside.

“Ghost…?” He murmurs, his voice cracking.

The man above him hums quietly. He sets one hand on the railing of Johnny’s bed and leans in close, bringing his face into full focus as he hovers less than a foot above Johnny’s face. One of his big hands comes up to Johnny’s face, swiping roughly over his eyes and clearing the gunk from them.

“Well, look’it you,” he says, voice low and quiet. “High as a kite. Got yourself in some trouble, huh Officer?”

Johnny scowls - or well, he means too, but he can’t quite feel his face move into the expression - and clumsily bats Ghost away. The older man stands back up with a quiet laugh, reaching to the side and above Johnny for something.

“Not m’fault,” he slurs, trying to twist and follow Ghost’s arm. “Should’a… shouldn’ta… mmph.” His voice trails off, whatever defense he’d been about to use floating away from him. “‘S not m’fault.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Ghost says. Johnny can see now that he’s holding a clipboard, scanning over the information and flipping between the top page and the one beneath it. “John MacTavish, hm? Johnny. Fits you.”

“Tha’s me,” Johnny says, and now he can really feel the way his lips tug up. “Only Nan calls me tha’ though.”

“What, Johnny?”

“Hmm.”

Ghost is silent for a long moment, and Johnny’s eyes begin to droop again. He feels obscenely comfortable, more comfortable than he even does in his own home these days. Even with Riley looming over him, he can’t bring himself to feel much more than tired .

He can hear Ghost rummaging around beside him, but doesn’t bother to look and see what’s going on. His eyelids flutter when a moment later the bed sinks with Ghost’s weight, but even that is hardly enough for Johnny to bother moving.

“Hey,” Ghost says, his voice a tad louder than it had been before. Johnny moans low in his throat, tossing his head on the pillow in a distinctly whiney way.

“Hey,” Ghost repeats again, and a moment later there’s a sharp tapping at the side of his face, a calloused palm clearly trying to get his attention.

“Whaaat?” Johnny groans, tilting his head away from the hand and only opening his eyes enough to glare at Ghost. He bats at the hand and manages to grip it loosely, tugging it away from his face. He hardly notices when it shifts to rest over his pec, fingertips resting high on his side.

“Don't pass out on me, now,” Ghost commands. “I think this’ll be more fun if you’re awake.”

“What’re ya…” Johnny slurs, trailing off when Ghost turns closer towards him and sets both hands on his hips. “What’re you… doin’?”

“Quiet.”

Johnny makes a pouty sound, but he doesn’t move to stop Riley as he hooks his hands in Johnny’s pants, tugging harshly a few times until they rest around his knees. He leaves his boxers on, takes a second to snap the elastic band against Johnny’s sensitive stomach and huff a laugh when Johnny squirms.

Ghost makes a small sound that Johnny doesn’t put any effort into identifying, and then suddenly cups his cunt with a large hand. The way Johnny squeaks would be embarrassing, if he still had the capacity to be embarrassed. Instead he only squirms in place, trying to wriggle up and getting nowhere.

“Don’t tell me…” Ghost trails off, his fingers burrowing between Johnny’s lips and feeling him up thoroughly. “No kiddin’. You’re not even a real faggot, Johnny?”

The sound that slips from Johnny’s lips is pathetic, and he shoots Ghost the best glare he can manage while the machine beside them slowly beeps more and more quickly. “D’nt call me tha’...”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, shifting up and to the side so he’s between Johnny’s legs. “You’re not a fag then? Got a nice fat cunt here, MacTavish, you tellin’ me you’re a woman?”

“Nooooo,” he moans, trying to shut his knees but only squeezing Ghost closer. “‘M not… ‘m not either….”

The sound that comes from Ghost is distinctly mocking, and Johnny’s chest tightens. “Really? I can feel you gettin’ all wet even through the boxers, you’re one of them.”

Johnny hums a negative, digging his head back into the pillow. Ghost ignores him completely, and tugs his hand away for only a second before stuffing it fully down the front of his boxers. “C’mon then, Johnny, you answer me - you a faggot, or a woman?”

Johnny’s breath grows heavier as Ghost grinds his palm against his t-cock, hips working in small motions as his body takes over. He moans a little, one hand lifting to grip Ghost’s forearm.

There’s another, sharper sensation in his face, the other cheek this time. It hardly registers as painful - more as rude - but it’s enough for Johnny to blink up at Ghost.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he growls, flipping his hand to pinch Johnny’s cock between two of his knuckles, squeezing until Johnny wheezes.

“F-fag! A fag,” He gasps, just barely remembering what Ghost had asked. “Not-not a woman, y’can’t… can’t call me tha’...”

Ghost coos, lessening the pressure between his two fingers. “Cute, Johnny, but I’ll call you whatever I please.”

Before Johnny can gather enough focus to reply, Ghost twists his hand again and stuffs two of his thick fingers inside of Johnny’s leaking hole with no warning.

Johnny keens, just barely louder than the suddenly racing beep-beep-beep echoing in the room. When he tries to close his legs again, tries to hide from Ghost’s assault, the older man tugs one of his knees higher on his side, leaning forward and forcing Johnny to stay spread.

There’s no real discomfort or pain - either because he’s slick with his body’s betrayal or because of the painkillers, Johnny’s not sure - and when Ghost angles his palm the right way, fingers stroking just so inside of him, Johnny melts into the pillows with a whorish moan.

“Oh, is that it? That the spot?”

Johnny feels like there’s something he should be upset about, something in Ghost’s tone that scrapes at his mind, but he can’t think past the warmth slowly spreading through his abdomen. The best he manages is a quiet sound of agreement, hips working in lazy thrusts to try and get more more more. He hardly notices when Ghost slips a third finger inside him.

“Open your eyes, Johnny, c’mon.”

It’s only the sudden fourth finger, the slight hint of a burn at his center, that has Johnny blearily blinking up at Ghost. His fingers tighten only painfully in the sheets as he tries desperately to grind himself to orgasm. Riley hooks Johnny’s leg a little higher on his hip, pressing his hips to the back of his thighs.

“There y’are,” he grunts, leaning close so his face is all Johnny can see. “Fuck, you’re gone, aren’t ya? Bet you can’t even tell I’m stretchin’ you. Waste of my fuckin’ time then, huh?”

“N-” Johnny hiccups, his back arching as Ghost’s fingers slip from his hole, moving instead to undo his own belt. “No, please, y’can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Ghost asks sharply, snapping his belt off and pulling his fat cock out. “Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for, little cock dumb slut. Not good for much else than bein’ my hole, huh?”

“Stop,” Johnny gasps, trying to coordinate his limbs enough to at least try and shove Ghost off, only really succeeding in resting his hands on the larger man’s biceps. “Tha’s… tha’s fuckin’ mean, y’can’t say that…”

Ghost laughs as he shoves himself inside of Johnny, no mercy and no sympathy. Johnny’s back arches high off the bed, his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut as Ghost’s hips press flush with Johnny’s thighs in just seconds.

He can’t feel anything but warmth and pressure. He’s reduced into nothing more than a writhing body and his fucked full cunt. His breaths shudder out of him in sharp bursts as his body reckons with something he can’t fully feel.

“Fuck,” Ghost hisses from above him. “Tight little bitch.”

Johnny keens high in his throat, tears springing to his eyes at the terrible mix of degradation pleasure. He feels like he’s drowning in sensation, like he’s desperately trying to keep his head above the water during a hurricane.

He fully stops breathing when Ghost pulls out the first time, struggles to get any air into his lungs when he’s slowly filled again. The tears drip down his temples, mixing with the sweat already dampening his skin.

“Bet you hate this, huh?” Riley pants, hips beginning to truly work against him now, the slap of it loud in the dark room. “You love your little fights, love hissin’ and spittin’ and tellin’ me how much you don’t want it.”

Johnny tries to lick his own lips and wet them, but doesn't manage to tuck his tongue back into his mouth. He’s left panting like a dog, drool dripping down his chin. Ghost nearly growl when he sees, his thumb landing solidly on Johnny’s tongue and holding it down.

“Almost had me convinced,” he says quietly, like a secret shared between just them. “Never saw you get hard. Thought you really might not be a fag, thought a little fuckin’ brat like you havin’ lips like this was just another cruel joke.”

He huffs, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “But that wasn’t it, huh? Nah, whatever bastard made you just knew a whore like you would need three holes. Two wouldn’t have been enough, huh? No, whiney little sluts can’t have any less than three.”

Ghost’s words float in and out of Johnny’s head, dripping into his ears and his mouth and immediately melting away. He’s consumed with the burning pleasure in his center, able to think of nothing but reaching the crest of sensation he can practically see.

“Pleathe-!”

“Please what?” Ghost growls, shifting forward. His elbows rest on either side of Johnny’s neck, the smaller man’s knees hiked high on his side, and he starts to really drill into Johnny. “Need it harder, huh Johnny? Want me to get you off, when you’re all pretty and drugged and can’t do shit to stop me?

Johnny whines, trying to draw his tongue out from under Ghost’s thumb. The bigger man only grunts, leaning forward and spitting a wad of saliva onto his tongue. Then he lets Johnny close his mouth, letting him swallow.

“Yeah, there you go,” he breathes, staring between Johnny’s lips and the column of his throat with an intentness Johnny can’t even begin to understand, not with the way his pace doesn’t stutter at all. “Gonna fill you up from both ends, make sure you fuckin’ feel this tomorrow. Might fuck your mouth when you pass out, make sure you’ll fuckin’ breathe me.”

Johnny’s got no idea what’s being said to him, too lost in the way Ghost’s stomach rubs against his cock, the way his body is covered completely, the way his thighs clench around Ghost as tightly as possible and yet the man doesn’t slow at all. Even with his mouth closed, he still drools, can’t stop moaning and panting as Riley forces a space for himself.

“Yeah, just like that, tighten up for me. C’mon, c’mon-”

Johnny’s wail nearly drowns out the way Ghost eggs him on, his body bursting into flames as he’s finally shoved off that edge. He feels everything and nothing, raw and numb, comfortable and wound so tight he’s sure he’s about to snap in half. His throat aches from his volume, but he can do nothing but grab on tight to Ghost’s shoulders and try to ride out his orgasm.

He can’t even tell when Ghost finally comes, only really registers a loud grunt in his ear and the way his hips slow to a stop inside of him.

Johnny’s already fading when Riley pulls out, would hardly have noticed if he hadn’t seen Ghost standing fully from the bed. He can’t move from where Ghost has left him, his knees splayed wide and leaving his cunt bared to the room.

He’s too tired to open his eyes, too high on painkillers and ecstasy to care that he can’t. Before long, he’s falling asleep to the obnoxious sound of his heart rate monitor slowing.

———————————————————————

When Johnny wakes up the next morning, he’s sore and confused.

“Wha’...” he breathes, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing a hand over his face. His head throbs, but that’s far from his biggest concern as he takes stock of his body.

“Oh good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says, and once he clears the sleep dust from his eyes Johnny can see Gaz lounging casually in a chair next to his bed. “Good timing, too, Graves just left.

“Graves?” Johnny asks, clearing his throat when he hears how raspy he sounds. “What the hell happened?”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to grab a watter bottle from the small table beside the hospital bed and offer it to Johnny. There’s a terrible taste in his mouth, and Johnny gratefully takes the bottle and sips from it. “You really don’t remember?”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow, and he thinks back to the day before.

It all comes back to him quickly once he can work past the pain in his head - his new assignment, the unfriendly other guards, his stupid mistake, and the ensuing brawl. What’s harder to remember is what happened after, what happened when he woke up to a dark room and a guest who’s face he can’t quite see.

There are vague impressions of a man - a large man, a heavy man, he can remember what he felt like on top of Johnny - and the dull ache between Johnny’s legs gives him a good idea of what the man did to him.

It’s hard to keep his breathing even.

Gaz doesn’t seem to notice, rambling on. “Graves is sayin’ you did it intentionally, said some real dumb shit about you, mate. You’re damn lucky you’ve somehow got the warden’s favor - I’ve been here a few years now, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone make a mistake like this and keep their job.”

Johnny groans, throwing himself back onto the mattress. “Thanks, Gaz. Very comforting, you are.”

Gaz laughs, patting Johnny heavily on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, they don’t pay me for my bedside manner. C’mon, they’re kicking you out.”

Johnny lifts his head enough to look at the other man. “Kickin’ me out? Really?”

Gaz gives him a don’t start look, standing and gathering a bag Johnny hadn’t noticed before. “They already let you stay overnight, mate. You’re lucky they gave you a bed at all. Plus, warden gave you the rest of the week off for recovery. You’ve got no room to complain, my friend”

It takes a bit for Johnny to feel steady enough to leave, longer for he and Gaz to make it outside of the prison. He gets nasty looks from several of their coworkers, but he lets their clear irritation slide off his back. As long as he’s got a job, he couldn’t care less what the others think of him.

It’s difficult to get Gaz to let Johnny go home on his own, but once he promises to take it easy for the next few days - and overplays his own exhaustion just a bit - the other officer lets him go after exchanging numbers and making him promise to text if anything changed.

Johnny can’t quite work up the nerve to check between his thighs until he’s in the privacy of his tiny shower.

He probes at his sore hole with tentative fingers, wincing at the slight sting of pain and resting his forehead against the tile. He only opens his eyes for long enough to recognize the liquid coating his fingers before he lurches out of the shower and kneels above his toilet.

He’s not sure what it says about him that he doesn’t actually vomit - is he just getting used to the constant violation, or is there too much else wrong with him to feel overwhelmed by this?

He doesn’t think about it for long, just lets his stomach settle, quickly cleans himself in the shower, and then buries himself beneath his thin blanket and throws himself into the oblivion of sleep.

———————————————————————

The first day Johnny goes back to work, he decides he has nothing left to do but resign.

It’s a choice he agonizes over every single day he spends cooper up in his small mobile home. This job had come as a blessing, and had only come in the first place because he’d been owed a favor by John Price who’d called in a favor of his own. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve never been lucky enough to get here.

And he’s about to throw it all away.

It’s hard not to feel disappointed in himself, to not say suck it up and get over it . But Johnny’s nightmares have shifted from explosions and gunfire to a weight over his chest and a cock down his throat. He wakes up soaked in sweat and panting, slick between the thighs but shaking with fear. He gets flashes of that night in the med wing sometimes, images of Ghost hovering above him, the feeling of something on his tongue and something else in his cunt.

He can’t handle another violation.

So walking to the bus stop, the whole ride over, and the walk in, Johnny is thinking about how he’ll manage to quit without offering to serve his two weeks. If worse comes to worst, he figures there’s nothing anybody can do if he just stops showing up.

When he stops by Shepherd’s office and asks for a meeting, he’s confident he won’t even spend an hour in the building. That confidence is crushed the moment Shepherd looks at him with pity instead of frustration.

“MacTavish…” he sighs. “I know what you’re trying to get out of.”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow. “Sir?”

Shepherd sighs, and leans forward to bring something up on his computer. “The only places without cameras are the shower and the cells. Everything else in this building, I see.”

There’s a pit forming in Johnny’s chest, but he can’t do anything but say, “I’m not sure what you’re implying, sir.”

The look Shepherd sends him says yes you are, and the man turns the screen of his computer around to face Johnny.

It’s… it’s him, in a hospital bed, with Ghost over him. Johnny’s jaw drops open as he watches his legs get hiked up higher on the other man’s chest, the bulk of him covering Johnny’s cunt, but the spread of his legs doing nothing to hide the slick dripping from him.

The video is silent but horrifying. Here’s what Johnny has forgotten, what’s slowly been coming back to him in his dreams, and it’s being played for him by his boss.

“Sir…” he says, unsure of what he’ll say but knowing it has to be something. “I don’t…”

“You can’t quit,” Shepherd says, straightforward and with no bend.

Johnny can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “I have to.”

Shepherd lays his hand flat on the desk, making just enough noise to startle Johnny. “No, son. You’ll be staying here. If you don’t, I’ll take that video right to the police myself and have them charge you with assault.

Johnny’s eyes fly to Shepherd’s, his brows arched high on his head. “Assault? Me? But- look at the video! I was injured and high off my ass!”

“You’re also an officer, with power over the prisoners.”

“Power? Look at what the bastard did to me!” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, wants to break the computer screen so no one ever sees that clip again instead of bringing more attention back to it.

Shepherd winces, very intentionally not looking at the screen. “An argument could be made that you… encouraged him. You’re in the position of power, and that makes you at fault.”

Johnny grits his teeth, glaring. “I was drugged and-and… well, if anyone was assaulted it certainly wasn’t him.”

Shepherd leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “You can’t have it both ways, MacTavish.”

“I- What?”

“Either you’re a man or not. Look at the size of you, son. You think anyone will believe that you couldn’t have fought him off?”

Johnny’s speechless, unable to do anything but stare at Shepherd, mouth gaping.

“Or you’re a woman, and no one would be shocked to hear a tragic story about a female officer being overtaken and assaulted by her male prisoner. Is that you? That the story you want to tell?”

“I’m not a fuckin’ woman.”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow. “Watch your language with me. Those are the only two stories you could sell in court.”

“They’re not -”

“Yes, they are,” Shepherd hisses, suddenly more incensed as he leans forward and lowers his voice. “You don’t have a goddamn choice here, MacTavish. You keep this job, nobody else needs to know you fucked Riley. You leave, I’ll make sure every person you’ve ever looked at sees the goddamn video of it.”

Johnny reels back in his seat, hands shaking and mouth bone dry. He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe that this is the point his life has brought him to. “Why? ”

Shepherd sinks back in his seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose and suddenly looking ten years older. “Because he doesn’t want you to quit. Riley and I have a deal, and it’s a damn fragile one. He’s fixated on you for whatever reason - I let you walk, all my hardwork with him goes down the drain.”

Johnny’s teeth grind in the back of his mouth. “Sounds more like your problem than mine.”

Shepherd glares. “It became your problem when you let him fuck you.”

“I didn’t let -”

“Video, MacTavish. I can see exactly what happened.”

Johnny’s face flames, and he squirms in his seat. “It wasn’t… I didn’t want to…”

Shepherd’s voice is almost mean when he says, “Didn’t seem to fight that hard.”

Johnny nearly flinches, and doesn’t say another word.

“Listen,” Shepherd sighs, turning the computer around and finally running off that horrible video while seemingly doing his best to look at as little of it as possible. “The job pays well. You’re good at it - well… you could be good at it, if you tried a little harder.”

There’s a part of Johnny that’s offended, but the rest of him is too baffled by this entire meeting to do anything but listen.

“If Riley wants to…” Shepherd winces, the tiniest flush coloring his cheeks. “If he wants to be in a relationship with you, let him.”

“Relationship,” Johnny hisses, lip curled in disgust at the word. “Is that what you think-?”

“I don’t give a damn what he wants from you, MacTavish,” Shepherd cuts him off, glaring. “You’ll put up with it, and if necessary, you’ll do it with a smile. Either that, or I make your life much, much more difficult going forward. Do we have an understanding?”

Shepherd’s tone makes Johnny want to leap forward and claw the skin from his face. Not quite mocking, not quite pitying, not quite frustrated, but all authoritative and pissy. Again, Johnny is reminded of how much he hated men like this in the military.

After a long moment of silence, Shepherd sighs and holds out a hand. “C’mon, son. We both know you’re staying. This can be as easy or as hard as you make it.” He pushes his hand a little further out, like he’s expecting a handshake.

Johnny ignores him completely, storms from the office, and slams the door on his way out.

———————————————————————

The next weeks pass in a blur.

Whatever hope Johnny had of having a normal life post-military, of getting closer to Gaz and maybe even other officers, is well and truly crushed after Graves informs him he’ll be permanently assigned to Ghost from then on.

Johnny refuses to look at Gaz long enough to see the man’s expression of sympathy, but he hears it in the quick gasp and the little rumble of sound.

Ghost doesn’t quite smirk or smile when Johnny walks up to him on that first day back, but there’s a smugness radiating off him that makes Johnny scowl.

It’s lunch when Riley calls him over for the first time. He doesn’t make a show of it, only flicks his gaze over to Johnny long enough to make eye contact and raises a hand to beckon him.

Johnny pretends he doesn’t see at first, shifts and stares at a wall. Ghost doesn’t let it go, and shouts, “MacTavish!” across the room after a moment of silence.

Graves glares at him and jerks his head over with a sort of what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look.

He can’t help but feel a little like a kid when he storms toward Ghost, unable to keep the frustration hidden when he feels like he’s drowning in it. “What?”

Ghost gives him an unimpressed look. “Watch it. You’ll come when I call you.”

Johnny grits his teeth. “Course, sir,” he bites sarcastically.

Riley’s lip twitch, at that only pisses him off more. Ghost shifts back in his seat, the tray in front of him already wiped clean - the food looks disgusting to Johnny, but Ghost had eaten so quickly you’d think it was the best thing he’d ever had.

“You think that’s as embarrassing as I can make things for you?” He asks quietly, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “I could do anything I wanted to you right now, and not a man in this room would stop me.”

Johnny’s lip curls. “What do you want?”

“I want you to mind your manners when you speak to me,” Ghost snaps, his voice rising just a bit. Johnny’s sure he’s not loud enough for anyone else to have heard, but he shifts uneasily anyway.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Now what do you want?”

Riley doesn’t quite look satisfied, but he drops it. “I’m doin’ you a favor here, Johnny. You rather I not tell you the rules, let you stumble all blind into a punishment in front of anyone lucky enough to be nearby?”

Johnny’s head jerks down a bit in instinctual frustration. “Okay. Alright, fine. Just get it over with.”

Ghost hums low in his throat. “You’ll look at me when I’m speaking to you. Start now.”

Johnny bites his tongue as he raises his eyes, glaring into Ghost’s with all the anger he can muster. The man only smirks, murmuring a “Good boy,” in that tone that Johnny still hears in his dreams sometimes.

“I want you by my side unless I’m in my cell - then, you’ll stand outside when you’re still on duty. If you need to be somewhere else for some reason, you’ll come immediately when I call.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog,” Johnny can’t help but argue.

“You’re whatever I tell you to be. I ask you to crawl behind me on fours, and you’ll do it - happily . Or are you so eager for that little video to make it’s way to good ol’ Graves’ pocket?”

Johnny’s face flushes, and he inches closer, ducking down as if they haven’t already been speaking quietly enough for no one else to hear. “You can’t- you can’t show that to anyone. I don’t know what you have on the warden, but-”

“Exactly,” Ghost cuts him off, glaring. “You don’t know. And you won’t, because it’s not information for you. All you need to do is fuckin’ listen, and you aren’t doing a good job of it so far.”

Johnny grits his teeth, straightening. “What’s your next rule, then?”

Riley considers him for a second, then leans back on the metal bench. “Next rule is you’ll speak to me with respect. I outranked you in the military, and I outrank you here. You’ll watch your-”

“Wait,” Johnny interrupts, brow furrowed. “You were in the military?”

“Don’t interrupt,” Ghost scolds, glaring. “But yes. Not with you, but I was. Made it up to Lieutenant before I got out.”

It shouldn’t change anything for Johnny, the revelation that he and Ghost have a common background. And it doesn’t - not really - but there’s something in his mind that just… shifts, a bit, after learning that he and Ghost have similar roots, that they were maybe even in the same place at different times. Somehow the idea doesn’t quite fit with everything else he knows about Ghost.

“But regardless, I won’t tolerate a brat. You’ll behave and watch your mouth when you’re with me. Understood?”

“Fine.”

“Fine…?”

Johnny’s lip curls and his hands tighten into fists at his side. “Fine, sir.”

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles with a smirk. “You won’t touch yourself without permission. That’s your third rule.”

Johnny can feel his face flaming, and he ducks his chin close to his chest, shoulders hunching in an attempt to hide himself. “What? ”

Ghost’s smile is ugly on his face, wide and showing off crooked teeth behind thin lips. “That pretty pussy belongs to me now, and I don’t want your grubby hands on my property.”

“I’m not- my hands aren’t-” Johnny huffs, shaking his head a bit until a strand of loose hair falls into his eyeline, then pushing it away with a small sound of frustration. “I’m not your property.”

“Oh, yes you are. But there’s no point in arguin’ with you, you’ll understand soon enough. That’s it for now - we’ll start you off with the simple stuff so you don’t fuck up too soon.”

“Oh, thank you,” Johnny rolls his eyes sarcastically, back to glaring at the table.

Ghost grunts, smacking a hand beside his tray with just enough force for Johnny to jump. “What the hell did I just say about the attitude?”

Johnny stares at him wide-eyed for a second, but quickly relaxes into his frustration. He swallows his pride and says, “Sorry.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, glaring up at Johnny. “You’ll make it up to me later,” he decides. He stands from his seat with little warning, nudging the tray closer to Johnny. “Drop the tray off, then follow me to the rec room.”

He can feel every single pair of eyes on him as he walks to the busboy, and Johnny can’t help but think that he’s never once in his life felt this much scrutiny before. But he ignores every one of them, his eyes carefully forward and just slightly unfocused so he doesn’t have to see the way their heads turn.

He follows Ghost to the rec room, his pride in tatters.

And that’s where it begins. The indignities only get worse.

Ghost informs him slowly of more rules. Johnny’s never to sit near Ghost, only to stand (sitting is a reward, and one he finds quickly is very rare). He’s only to look Ghost in the eye when responding to him, and never to look anyone else in the eye when he’s shadowing Ghost (“You’re on my time, you won’t give a spec of your attention to anyone that’s not me.”).

And the sexual favors… Johnny is just glad they’re kept private. Ghost only ever touches him when they’re alone, and they’re only truly alone during Ghost’s solo showers and when he tugs Johnny into his cell for the last hour of his shift.

The taste of Ghost’s cum becomes unfortunately very familiar, and the bruises on Johnny’s knees never quite get enough time to fade before new ones appear. The only small blessing he can see is that Ghost never pisses on him anymore.

He still fucks Johnny’s mouth in the shower, but he’ll take any amount of skull-fucking over the humiliation of being treated as nothing more than a urinal. Even after weeks of nothing but blowjobs being forced on him, he still tenses for that sour stench after every once.

Johnny also learns that Ghost is - predictably - as mean in bed as he is out of it. Half the time, the bastard isn’t even decent enough to give Johnny a pity orgasm when he assaults him.

He’s also incredibly creative with his dirty talk, and infuriatingly that’s usually what gets Johnny off - when he’s allowed to get off, that is.

Pretty fuckin’ cunt, made to take my cock, huh?

Should keep you tied to the bed, use you as my own goddamn mattress so I can fuck you whenever I want

You’re awful loud today, baby, you want the others to hear you? Hm? Want them to come knockin’ and ask for a turn riding this tight ass?

Nothin’ else in the world compares to a hot hole like this, shit, I’d kill a man to have fucked you when you were a virgin.”

Sometimes Johnny thinks about rubbing himself to completion at home, on the nights when Ghost edged and denied him time and time again and his boxers were sticky with his slick when he took them off. He never quite works up the nerve, though, sure that Ghost would somehow know what he had done and unwilling to face any more severe of a punishment from the prisoner.

His service to Ghost extends outside of the purely sexual, though. That comes as more of a surprise than it probably should, and there’s something about it that’s more difficult for Johnny to bear.

When Ghost fucks him, it’s a fight. Ghost likes it like that, and Johnny gets to tell himself he tried the best he could to keep the other man’s hands off of him. It’s as close to a win as he can get in this situation, and he forces himself to be okay with that.

But all the little things Ghost expects him to do - serve his food, clean his cell, bring him any book he asks for, give him a damn massage once - they feel more… willing. Like Johnny is choosing to do these things for Ghost. And he knows that he is, technically, but only because he’s terrified of what would happen were he to disobey.

And still, that’s not enough of an excuse to calm his psyche. He goes home to his trailer and feels filthy, showers for so long every night that his water bill has become egregiously high. He picks at his nails constantly now, never quite feels like he gets them fully clean. The thought that his service to Ghost is willing, is consensual, haunts him.

He thinks that’s what Riley enjoys the most - the inner turmoil. Sometimes when he asks Johnny to do something particularly embarrassing, he’ll watch the way his face twists with an expression that can’t be described as anything but gleeful greed. He comes fastest when he threatens to fuck Johnny in front of his coworkers, or when they can hear other voices. Nothing seems to get him off quite like Johnny’s anger and humiliation.

So it should come as no shock that one of his favorite things to make Johnny do is work out with him.

Ghost works out while all the prisoners are in the rec yard, usually monopolizing one machine and scaring off anyone else who comes too close. But because of his deal with the warden (and Johnny curses that man more and more every day), he gets an extra hour outside that no one else does.

Outside of the context of their dynamic, Riley is one of the best trainers Johnny’s ever had. He certainly pushes him harder than anyone else has, and he makes sure they’re both working out all parts of their body.

Unfortunately, he’s more than a little unfair to Johnny.

He always uses whatever maching he’s picked for that day first, and he never lets Johnny adjust the weight down to his own level. Johnny’s big, stronger undoubtedly than most of his coworkers, and damn proud of it. But he’s not Ghost big, not able to do many reps with the shitton of weight Riley uses.

But that doesn’t matter - Riley tells him to do it, so he does. He’s usually little more than a noodle when he’s done, but he can usually force himself to do at least half of the workout that Riley did.

He always spots Ghost - and does it correctly, no matter how much he wants to strangle the man. It’s probably his favorite act of service Ghost forces onto him, because he sees prisoners helping out other prisoners across the yard every day. Granted no guard is stepping in to spot them, but it’s better than being the only person waiting at the beck and call of another.

So he spots Ghost without complaint, even though the older man never once needs his help. It’s unfortunate, too, because Johnny’s pretty sure he could just pretend to not be strong enough to help the other man if he were to get stuck, but unfortunately he’s not that lucky.

While he spots Ghost, he finds that the favor is almost never returned - not unless Johnny is so weak from the previous day's workout that he can barely do a full rep.

When they’re doing bench presses, Ghost stands above Johnny’s head, damn near blocking out the sun, and smirks when all he can do is try his absolute hardest to keep the bar from choking him.

On most days he can manage a pathetic few reps, but there was one day where he really, truly couldn’t do it. He’d been lucky and nobody else had been in the rec yard, but he still remembers it in his dreams sometimes.

Ghost had known before Johnny even sat down that he wouldn’t manage, he could see it in the prisoner’s face. The last few days - their first days working out together - had been hell on his body, and he could barely raise his hand enough to wave, let alone bench press several hundred pounds.

“Ghost…” he had muttered, laying on his back and looking uneasily at the bar above him. “I really don’t think I can-”

“Quiet,” Ghost said, stepping so close that Johnny could see his bulge right above his head. “You’ll be fine. I’m spotting you.”

Johnny can’t help but scowl. “That is not spotting.”

“Well, it’s all your gettin’. Hurry up, the more time you waste here, the longer I’ll keep you after your shift.”

“Shit, okay, okay, I get it,” he said, wrapping his hands around the bar and taking a deep breath. “You swear you’ll-?”

“Johnny.”

“Fine, fine.”

He’d managed a single rep - which was impressive enough for him, quite honestly. But it wasn’t enough for Riley, who grunted a negative and a “Keep going.” when Johnny tried to put the bar back in its place.

“Ghost,” he had panted, on the verge of whining.

“Johnny,” he’d mimicked, voice pitched insultingly high.

He doesn’t get a full second rep in, only just barely manages to hold the bar above his throat with shaking limbs. His whole body is shaking, and he’s drenched in sweat.

“Riley…” he gasps, teeth clenched so tight he’d be worried about cracking one if he wasn’t so focused on not dying.

“Need some help, Johnny?”

He can’t do much more than grunt an affirmative sound, but for once Ghost doesn’t make him beg. Instead he wraps both hands around the metal bar, and sort of pushes it forward a bit.

“Wha-?” Johnny manages, before he realizes what Ghost has done. He’s trapped him securely beneath the weight - Johnny’s not strong enough to push it away from his chest, and if he moves too much he risks rolling it forward and onto his neck. It’s an incredibly dangerous position to be in, and the fear only makes Johnny shake more.

“There we go,” Ghost says quietly, patting Johnny on the head once before stepping away.

“Ghost?” He gasps, rolling his head to the side as he desperately tracks the other man. “C-c’mon, ye can’t-”

“Don’t waste your breath, Johnny, you’re already panting like a dog,” Ghost scolds, tapping him lightly on the stomach as he passes. He tugs the weight a little further down, and to Johnny’s relief it allows the slightest bit of strain to fade.

Ghost grips him roughly by the knees, forcing them to spread wide on either side of the bench.

“We’re gonna play a little game, Johnny,” he rumbles, yanking down Johnny’s pants and boxers in two quick tugs. “You finish that rep before Graves calls us in, I’ll let you come. You don’t, I fuck you in front of him.”

“N-no!” Johnny gasps, one leg jerking up as he squirms. His pants are tugged off one ankle, left loose around the other, and he feels sweat dripping from his navel down to his center already. “Y-you can’t.”

Ghost hums, and a thumb parts Johnny’s folds. “Then you better get that bar up, boy.”

Johnny’s sobbing before he even registers Ghost’s mouth on him.

The experience is the very definition of overwhelming. He can hardly breathe with hundreds of pounds resting on his chest, and Ghost’s tongue feels like magic on his cunt. He licks Johnny’s engorged clit, knows just when to wrap his lips around the bundle of nerves and suck. When Johnny gets too close to the edge, when his whimpers turn to whines and his moans pitch up, Ghost ducks to Johnny’s hole and spends time drinking all of his slick.

He has absolutely no idea how long it will be until Graves shows up, and the thought drives Johnny insane. At any moment the other man could walk out and see them, see Johnny pinned and Ghost eating his cunt like he’s starving.

With a gasp at a particularly rough edge, Johnny gets the bar a few inches off his chest. He feels like he’s suffocating when it drops back down.

“Good,” Ghost purrs, one hand lifting from where he’d been holding Johnny’s lips open to stroke his stomach beneath his shirt. “Almost there. Go on, try again f’r me." He sounds drunk on Johnny, his words slurred and muffled. Johnny doesn’t sound any better, sobbing and moaning in equal turns as he’s driven to the edge again and again.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He’s just able to time his breathing, erratic as it is, with his effort in pushing the bar away. His muscles scream at him as he gets it higher and higher in the air, and every single part of him goes completely limp the moment he stops gripping the bar.

“There ya go,” Ghost growls, and Johnny groans as the vibrations sink into him. “Tha’s my fuckin’ boy.”

Johnny whines, manages to muster up just enough energy to lift one hand and drop it onto Ghost’s buzzed head. He can’t do anything but keep it there, but it helps him feel less lost in the pleasure. He doesn’t even have enough strength to grind against Ghost’s hand, but the other man doesn’t need the help in getting him off.

By the time he’d gotten re-dressed (by the time Ghost had re-dressed him), Graves had been walking in the door. He’d only given the two of them a nasty look, and Johnny’s face had burned bright at the realization that they’d been caught.

“Inside, you two. Now.” Was all Graves had said, but Johnny had trouble even glancing at the man for days.

Ghost had never been that hard on him during a workout again, but the threat of it was always there, and it was more than enough to keep Johnny from complaining again.

That’s how most of their dynamic worked - the second Johnny pushed back against Ghost’s control even minutely, he was met with swift and firm punishment. Unwilling to experience whatever degradation Ghost chose again, he’d be sure not to repeat the same mistakes.

And Johnny finds that when he listens, when he doesn’t question Ghost and doesn’t let the humiliation get to him, the man verges on kind. In his own sick and twisted way.

(At night, alone under his sheets, Johnny wonders if Riley is really soft, or if he’s too used to the man’s cruelty and simply thinks anything less than that is kind.)

———————————————————————

Two months into their “deal”, Johnny’s world is brought to a sudden stop again.

He’s in the staffroom - an hour early, because Ghost expects him to be there when he takes his showers, which happen to be first thing in the morning - when Gaz walks in, a small paper bag in his hand.

“Hey, mate,” he beams, quickly walking towards Johnny. “Glad I got here early enough to catch you, feel like we’ve hardly talked in ages.”

Johnny gives his best sympathetic smile, checking the bullets in his gun. “Sorry, mate. Job’s been wearin’ on me more than I thought it would.”

Gaz quickly looks away, nodding rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” There’s an almost-awkward moment of silence before Gaz holds out the bag he’d brought. “Oh, I brought donuts. Y’know, to celebrate the good news.” He shakes the bag enticingly. “Want one?”

Johnny grins, quickly snagging the bag and tugging out a maple log. “Thanks, I love these. What’s the good news?”

He’s taking his first bite of the treat, savoring the taste of it on his tongue, when Gaz makes a shocked noise “You don’t know?”

He’s still chewing, so the only response Johnny can give is a shake of the head and a raised brow.

“Huh, I’d figured he’d have…” Gaz trails off a bit, his own brows furrowing as he takes the bag back. “Well, I guess I get the pleasure then - Ghost was up for bail, and he got approved.”

Johnny chokes on his next bite of donut instantly, bending in half and coughing desperately.

“Shit, mate!” Gaz exclaims, whacking him hard enough on the back to dislodge the little bite of food and allow him to suck in gasps of air.

“He’s-” Johnny gasps again, then straightens. “He’s what?”

Gaz looks completely surprised, leaving his hand on Johnny’s back just long enough to make sure he’s stable before letting it drop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. I figured with your… relationship, he would’ve been the one to tell you.”

Johnny nearly chokes again, spluttering in shock and leaning his entire weight against the counter. “Relationship? We’re not in a-a relationship!”

The look Gaz gives him is a mix between pitying and disbelieving. “Come on, mate, you don’t have to lie to me. Everyone knows already.”

Johnny gapes and can feel the blood draining from his face. “Everyone?”

“Well you weren’t exactly subtle,” Gaz counters, his own brows furrowing now. “You really didn’t know? About either thing?”

“No!” Johnny exclaims, turning so he can lean his back on the counter and bury his face in his hands. “I don’t even-” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’ve given me too much to deal with here, mate.”

“Well to be fair, I didn’t think I’d be revealing anything to you this morning.”

Johnny spreads his fingers just enough that he can see through them, shaking his head at the linoleum floor. He can’t bring himself to look over at Gaz, not knowing… not knowing that the other man has known, and known this whole time.

“Nobody judges you for it, by the way,” Gaz says quietly, a few moments later.

Johnny raises his head, glances at the other officer once before looking away again. “What?”

“For your relationship,” he explains. “Love is love, and all that. Most of these men are in here for life, you’re not the first one to start a relationship with one of them, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

Johnny only groans again, throwing his head back and staring blankly at the ceiling.

As humiliating as it is to know that all of the guards have known about his thing with Ghost, he can’t help but think back to the first thing Gaz had mentioned.

His brows furrow as he turns to fully look at Gaz again, trying to ignore his blush. “Did you say he’s out on parole?”

Now Gaz smiles again. “Yeah, I can’t believe you hadn’t heard! I mean granted, I only saw it in the paper this morning, but still. Can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”

Johnny can only stare at the other man with his mouth agape. “Do you still have the paper?”

Gaz frowns a minute, then swings his bag off his shoulders and digs through it for a moment before pulling out a rolled up newspaper. He flips it open, turning past the first few pages and then pointing to a smaller box in the bottom left hand corner.

“Here it is,” he says, then begins to read it out loud. “Infamous illegal weapons seller Simon “Ghost” Riley released on parole today - mistake or mercy? Not their best work, admittedly, but I suppose no one usually reads this far- hey!”

“Gimme that,” Johnny mutters, snatching the paper and ducking close to read it more closely.

There isn’t much more information - the small article only lists the day Ghost was arrested, all his charges, and the accomplices arrested with him but sent to a smaller prison.

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathes, dropping the paper and leaning back. “Holy shit.”

Gaz snatches the paper back, looking at Johnny like he’s lost his mind. “Is that a good holy shit, or a bad one? Because I figured you’d be happy about this, honestly-”

“I have to go,” Johnny interrupts, quickly tearing all of the gear he’d already put on off and striding out of the room.

“You’re welcome!” Gaz calls, just as the door closes behind him.

The warden’s office is only a few doors down, and Johnny’s just barely restraining a smile as he throws the door open without knocking.

“I quit.”

Shepherd looks up from his computer, blinking dumbly at Johnny. “Excuse me?”

“I quit,” he repeats, stepping into the officer and glaring at the warden, still unable to fully control his smile. “Your buddy Ghost is out of here, so you’ve got no reason to keep me either. I’m quitting.”

It seems to take a moment for Shepherd to process the words, but once he has he sits back with a sigh, tugging open one of the drawers.

“I supposed I should’ve expected this,” he says, pulling something out and then shutting the drawer. “You know, you’re welcome to stay on if you’d-”

“No,” Johnny says quickly, fully glaring at the man now. “You and I both know there’s no reason for me to be here anymore with him gone.”

Shepherd thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Fair enough. You’ll want these, then.”

He holds his hand out palm up, with two small flashdrives resting there

Johnny grabs them before the ex-general can take them away, then frowns in confusion. “What’s on them?”

“Every time you and Ghost were… intimate where a camera could see you. I figured you’d want to have them.”

Johnny’s face flames again, but he nods jerkily and stuffs the drives into his pocket. He’ll burn them the second he’s home.

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, heaving himself out of his chair and holding out a hand. ”You did me a favor keeping that brute in line. I have to thank you for that.”

Johnny can only stare incredulously at the man. A thousand angry tirades run through his mind, righteous words he could spit at the man, accusations to lay at his feet and hopefully dig at whatever conscious he’s got left.

But Johnny doesn’t have room for any of them right now. All he can think about is how he’ll never have to see Simon “Ghost” Riley again.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he says with a slowly growing smile. “And I have no respect for you. Goodbye.”

And with that, Johnny turns and leaves the office. He’s all but whistling his whole walk home, hardly even noticing the twinge in his knee.

———————————————————————

Johnny’s place isn’t anything close to nice, but Ghost doesn’t mind.

He stands on the gross outside the trailer, smoking a cigarette and appreciating the cool air. Even though he’d had any privilege he could’ve asked for while locked up, he can still feel the difference in the air knowing that he’s free now.

It hadn’t been difficult to find Johnny’s address. He’d demanded the man’s full file from Shepherd before leaving, and the old bastard had been more than willing to hand it over.

Simon will go back and kill him someday. No one who allowed Johnny to be hurt like that should live.

He hadn’t thought much about where the officer lived, but he’d thought plenty about how he behaved in that home. He’s far less interested in the fact that Johnny lives in a trailer with peeling paint and old tires, and far more interested in what’s inside the tin can that can tell him all about who Johnny is when he’s alone.

And he’s… messy. Very, very messy.

A part of Ghost likes to think it’s because of him, that Johnny is too exhausted after a long day meeting his standards and taking his cock that he comes home and doesn’t do anything but collapse into bed. Another part of him is disgusted by all the fast food containers and already plans how he’ll whip the boy into shape so he can actually see his countertops. No wonder he's struggled so much with their workouts.

The trailer is small, certainly meant for a bachelor or someone travelling with just a partner. The bed in the back is messy and unmaid, and it’s only two or three feet away from the small kitchen area. Between those, the couch, where a laptop is charging on one of the cushions.

Simon digs around while he waits for Johnny to come home. He figures it won’t be long - the second he learns that Ghost is out, he’ll realize that Shepherd has no reason to blackmail him anymore and run as fast as he can.

Ghost smirks at the thought of how surprised he’ll be when he gets home. He’s damn near giddy to see his boy, to see his face drop when he recognizes the man in his home. He wonders if the anger or despair will take over first - he desperately hopes it’s anger, though he wouldn’t mind seeing Johnny cry at the sight of him.

For now, he snoops.

Johnny doesn’t have much of anything. He’s got a full sleeve of condoms next to his bed that Ghost snorts at before tossing in the trash, along with a few bottles of lube and a couple simple dildos. His clothes are all similair, and he’s only got a few pairs of jeans.

The most interesting thing is the small gun kept in a cabinet over the sink - it’s an almost pathetcially small thing, but Ghost grabs it and tucks it into the back of his pants regardless. He’s well aware of Johnny’s skill with a gun - he’d been a sniper for a bit, according to his file - and has no intentions of dying before he can properly tame the little brat.

It takes about an hour for his boy to come home. Longer than Simon had expected, but he won’t hold it against him.

He can’t help the spark of sadistic excitement in his chest when he sits himself on the edge of Johnny’s bed, forcing himself into a more casual position so Johnny doesn’t think he’s too eager.

His boy’s reaction is everything he’d hoped for.

Johnny’s face is lit up in excitement when he first opens the door, lips spread in a wide grin and shoulders rolled back. When he lays eyes on Ghost, it takes a second for that expression to drop.

(The sight of Johnny staring at him, beaming, makes something old and dead shift in Ghost’s chest. He’s not sure he or Johnny will like the things that feeling drives him to do.)

Ghost can see the exact moment Johnny realizes he’s not dreaming, realizes that Ghost has followed him home. It’s the way his smile drops slowly, the way his eyebrows pinch together and he blinks rapidly. His shoulders fall forward, like he’s trying to curl in on himself.

He doesn’t even close the door behind himself.

Simon cocks his head to the side, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs wide - he’s nearly the width of the damn trailer.

“Welcome home, Johnny.”

Just like he’d suspected, it’s his voice that shifts the ex-officer from shock to anger. In a heartbeat Johnny goes from gaping and blinking to snarling and tightening his hands into fists.

He takes a single step forward, then seems to realize how close just that small movement brings him. He points an angry finger at Ghost, nearly spitting angry. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“Language,” he corrects automatically, barely resisting the urge to smirk at the angry sound that bursts from Johnny’s chest. “You didn’t think we were finished, did you?”

Johnny’s face is going red from anger. Briefly, Ghost wonders if he’s going to pop a blood vessel.

“Get out!” He shouts, hands shaking in anger. “You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here! I’ll call the police, get you arrested for breaking and entering!”

Now Ghost really can’t help the way his lips curl. “No, you won’t.”

Johnny’s lip curls into a nasty snarl at the challenge. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

Ghost lets his head tilt leisurely to the side. “Because you want to be a good boy for me too badly.” He lets on hand shift to his pocket, lips twitching further up when Johnny flinches at the movement, and pulls out two small hardrives. “And because I have these, and I’ll spread them as far as I need to to keep you well-behaved.”

He knows Johnny’s got a pair of his own, knows that Shepherd just wanted to get rid of them, but that doesn’t dampen his reaction to the small drives. Johnny’s staring at his hand like he’s holding a nuclear weapon, like his world ends with those harddrives.

When Ghost closes his fist over them again, Johnny lurches forward before stopping himself. Ghost tuts, then sits forward. “Now, I think we’ll go over the new rules. Since we’ll live together now.”

That’s what finally makes Johnny snap. A sound of pure rage tears from his throat as he dives for the cabinet above the sink. In the second that he’s not facing Ghost head on, Simon quickly follows and presses himself along Johnny’s back.

He cocks the gun, holding the barrel of it to Johnny’s temple. It’s not loaded, of course, but the boy in front of him has no way of knowing that.

“Looking for this?” Ghost says in his unblocked ear, nose running along the shell of it. “Tsk, very naughty, Johnny,” he teases.

Johnny’s shivery in front of him, his system no doubt overloaded with all sorts of feelings. Ghost pushes his nose just behind Johnny’s ear, inhaling deeply and sighing at the pure scent of him. He can’t wait until he knows each and every thought passing through that brain, can’t wait until he can predict Johnny better than Johnny can predict himself. He’s already halfway there.

“Are you gonna be good, or am I gonna have to shoot you?” He asks quietly.

“Don’t-” Johnny gasps when Ghost presses the gun a little harder, trying his best to move away from the pressure but pinned too tightly. “Don’t. Please.”

It’s the crack in his voice that makes Ghost soften, just the tiniest bit.

“On your stomach, on the bed.”

He moves back just enough for Johnny to pull away, watching intently as he starts to pull away from the cabinet.

Johnny’s moving slowly, one step only half the length it was before, but Ghost doesn’t rush him. He relishes in the sight of Johnny curled in on himself, afraid and obediant.

Then, without warning, Johnny whirls around and punches him square in the chest.

It’s the same damn move that got him the first time they met, and he’s just as unprepared for it this time. He only stumbles back a step or two, but for a man as highly trained as Johnny that’s more than enough room to do damage.

Before he can regain his balance, Johnny’s burying his shoulder into his chest and shoving him to the side. Ghost falls flat on his ass, stumbling out of the open door and the few rickety old steps into the dirt below.

Johnny flies down after him, landing with his knees on either side of Ghost’s ribs and wrapping his hands around the larger man’s throat.

Ghost chokes when he squeezes, reaching up to try and yank Johnny’s hands off of him. But the younger man has adrenaline and fear on his side, and he hangs on like his life depends on it.

A moment later he leans back, still firmly choking Ghost but letting his eyes run over the man and the ground beside him. It takes a moment for Simon to realize what he’s looking for.

“Dropped… it…” he chokes out, his lips tilting up into the slightest of smirks despite his delicate situation. The gun had flown from his hand as soon as Johnny knocked him off his feet, but he can’t see around the other man to know if it had landed outside.

Johnny’s hands flex against his throat, strangling him with just enough strength that black spots begin to dance across his vision. Still, he’s hardly weakened, and he throws a rough punch at Johnny’s face with his quickly fading strength.

The boy dodges it, but just barely since Simon’s reach is longer than his. He can see that the other man is considering something, and his hands squeeze harder again as he leans closer to Ghost’s face.

Oh, he thinks a moment later. I see. Smart boy.

Ghost lets his hands smack at Johnny’s face and arms a few more times, then slowly pretends they’ve gone limp in the dirt next to him. A few seconds later, his eyes flutter shut.

For a long moment Johnny doesn’t remove his hands, and Ghost worries he’s miscalculated. But then there’s a relieved sigh above him, and the hands disappear. Had he any background other than his own, Ghost would have sucked in heaving breaths and given himself away.

As it is, he doesn’t move until he feels Johnny’s knees leave his ribs.

He’s up and behind the smaller man almost immediately. It takes a second to catch his balance, his brain still deprived of oxygen and only half-awake, but he’s got enough coordination to grab Johnny by the ankle before he can get fully inside the trailer.

Ghost laughs at the way Johnny shrieks in rage, free hand clawing at the dirt as he pulls himself forward and Johnny back. When he raises his eyes, he finds himself staring down the barrel of the gun.

His breathing is still harsh and uneven, and his grip on Johnny’s ankle is secure. He glares at the boy, not the gun, and growls, “Go ahead. Do it.”

Johnny’s hands are both on the gun, both shaking, and his eyes are wide with adrenlinea and fear. With only a moment’s hesitation, he pulls the trigger.

It clicks, empty.

Ghost gives himself just enough time to appreciate the shock in Johnny’s eyes before launching himself forward, forcing them both up a step and grabbing Johnny roughly by the jaw. With one hand on his ankle and the other on his face, Johnny’s tucked into a small ball beneath him.

“You want me dead, Johnny, is that it?” He growls, heaving hot breaths across the boy’s face. “Gonna shoot me then bury my body in this dump?”

Johnny’s expression of shock quickly twists to one of anger, and he spits into Ghost’s face. “Go to hell, ye bastard.”

Ghost bares his teeth, forcing himself even closer into the smaller man’s space. “You’ll pay for that.”

It’s all too easy to force Johnny up, to shift his hold from jaw to neck and to throw him inside the trailer. This time he makes sure the door is closed and locked, then turns back to his unruly pet.

He easily swipes the laptop away when Johnny tries to bash it over his head, storming towards the smaller man and grinning when the other man stumbles backward.

“Wait- don’t-” Johnny tries as he falls back on the bed, Ghost quickly following him. He drops the empty gun beside them, locking his hand back around the front of Johnny’s throat and holding him down on the bed.

“Wait, don’t,” he mocks, spitting on Johnny’s face. He laughs loudly at the way the younger man winces, eyes scrunching up at the action. “You know your beggin’ only makes me harder, baby, it’s like you want this.”

Johnny’s sneer is ugly, but his anger is beautiful as he glares up at Ghost. “I don’t want anything from you except your pain, bastard. I’ll fuckin’ kill you, first chance I get.”

“Which is why you’ll never get a chance,” Ghost taunts, leaning close enough that he can press their noses together. “You’re too fun for me to let go of you any time soon, Johnny, so fight all you want - it only makes your submission sweeter.”

He forces his lips to Johnny’s in a rough, but passionate kiss. The smaller man doesn’t reciprocate, but Ghost is perfectly content to nip and lick at his lips anyway. He’ll have the boy slobbering for it soon enough.

“On your stomach,” he says against Johnny’s mouth, moving his hand to the man’s shoulder to urge him over.

“Riley,” Johnny gasps, trying to stay on his back. “Don’t.”

Ghost shoves him over anyway, pressing his face to the side of Johnny’s once he’s flipped and wrapping his arms around the man, relishing in their size difference. Even with Ghost’s workout regiment, he’s still so much smaller.

“Simon,” he says lowly. “You call me Simon. Or Ghost.”

It takes almost no effort to tug Johnny’s pants and boxers down. He kicks them both to the side, then pushes Johnny’s chest up and shirt off while he considers what the first color of panties he’ll put the man in will be.

He forces Johnny’s feet wide with his own, smirking when he whines at the stretch. Then he grabs both of Johnny’s hands where they’re clawing at his sheets and folds his arms behind his back, locking one hand around both forearms so he can hold the boy down.

“Let’s see you now,” he mutters, leaning back and using his free hand to spread Johnny’s ass cheeks. “Oh baby, you’re so soaked for me.” He makes his voice intentionally mocking, feels himself twitch in his pants when Johnny shivers at the sound of it.

He quickly yanks down his own pants and boxers, letting them fall to his ankles carelessly. He indulges in a few strokes to get himself to full hardness, then passes his thumb over Johnny’s cocklet a few times.

The younger man jolts at the sensation, head thrashing against the sheets as his back arches further into the touch. Ghost can’t quite make out what he’s trying to say, but he gives him a rewarding rub anyway.

“Did well gettin’ yourself read for me,” he praises, dragging his hand up to prod at the tight hole dripping slick. He carelessly tucks two fingers inside Johnny, only using them to pull out more slick and watch the way it coats his clit. “Too bad none of it’s gonna matter. Tsk, such a waste.”

Johnny raises his head enough to turn to the side and look at Ghost, confusion marring his pretty face. His eyes are glassy with tears, but none have fallen yet. Ghost knows that’ll change soon.

“What?” Johnny asks quietly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Ghost smiles, moving his two soaked fingers up a little further and tapping a few times at the tight hole he’s yet to use. “You were very bad, Johnny. Only good boys get their cunts used. Bad boys need to learn a lesson.”

Johnny whimpers, burying his face in the pillows again. When Ghost sticks the tip of one finger into the tight furl of his ass, he rockets up like he’s been shocked.

“L-lube!” He gasps, already writhing in place with just the smallest amount of penetration. “In-in the table.”

Ghost sighs, wiggling the tip of his finger inside of Johnny and smiling at the wince he gets in return. “No lube for you today, Johnny. Since you liked spit so much earlier, I figured we’d use that.”

He watches Johnny’s eyes go wide as he spits a large glob directly where his finger is, laughs when Johnny’s “Wait-” is choked off as he shoves his finger the rest of the way in.

He quickly begins thrusting the digit in and out, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to keep him pinned. He stretches the boy as much as he can with one finger, but quickly adds a second with just a bit more spit.

Johnny whines high and loud, like he’s in all sorts of pain, and Ghost moans, grinding himself against the boy’s thigh.

“That hurt, Johnny?” He asks, his cock throbbing. “Your little asshole sting?”

Johnny hisses through his teeth when Ghost folds his finger and tugs. “You know it does!”

Ghost laughs, pulling out just long enough to slap his cunt playfully. “Course. That’s the whole point.”

He drags his fingers through the slick, doing his boy the kindness of bringing some of it back up to his ass to give him a little more lubricant.

Three fingers, it turns out, makes Johnny squeal like he’s being shot. His feet stamp against the ground angrily, and he throws his head back and forth like he’s looking for something to bite. Ghost can’t help but chuckle at how stupid he looks, only encouraging him by spreading his fingers.

“You feeling a little dry, Johnny?” He asks, pulling out to stroke over the hole and see how it’s stretching so far. He’s moving faster than he should, so it only just barely winks at him, but there’s little resistance when he slips all three fingers back in.

“Yes,” Johnny hisses through visibly gritted teeth, cheek laid flat on the bed so he can glare balefully at Ghost.

“Hmm. Want some more of my spit?”

Johnny splutters, trying to rear up again before Ghost muscles him back down. “You fuckin’- I need lube, Riley!”

Ghost frowns down at Johnny’s sex, fucking him roughly a few times in retalliation. “That’s not what you call me, stupid boy.”

Johnny hisses angrily, stomping once. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid!”

Ghost rumbles a disagreeing noise, tugging Johnny’s arms a little tighter. “Then how come you’re so bad with simple instructions? Can’t mind your manners, can’t call me the right name… can’t even ask for what you need from me properly.”

“I don’t need you to spit on me!”

Ghost sighs, like he’s dealing with a misbehaving puppy instead of an enraged man. “I won’t give you what you don’t ask for,” he warns, pulling his fingers out. “But if you’ve got all the lube you think you need…”

He lines the tip of his uncut cock up with the small, understretched hole. Johnny’s complaints rocket in volume when he realizes what Ghost’s doing, and the larger man slips his cock a little lower and rocks his hips back and forth to soak himself in Johnny’s slick while he listens to the younger man beg.

“Wait, wait-! No, no, no, nonono, please, please, don’t! Ghost!” He cries, head thrown back and thrashing as wildly as he can. Ghost’s cock only drips more precum as he’s forced to wrestle Johnny down, leaning most of his body weight onto the man beneath him. “Ghost, Ghost, Simon, please, please don’t fuck me there! Not- not without-!”

He breaks off into only pants, so Ghost grinds a little harder and leans close to spit, “Without what?”

“Spit! Without spit, please, please spit on me again Ghost!” Johnny cries, face streaked with tears and eyes screwed shut.

Ghost hums as he shifts a bit, making sure that his cockhead drags from asshole to clit to fully soak himself and Johnny. “That what you want? Want me to spit on you, sweet boy?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Johnny sobs, blinking slowly up at him.

Ghost smiles, leans close, and spits directly onto the apple of Johnny’s cheek. The flabbergasted expression on his boy’s face is more than worth any fighting he needed to get here.

“There you go,” he purrs, grinding himself a little more slowly and making sure the head of his cock rubs against Johnny’s clit. “What do we say?”

“You- you said you’d… on-on my…”

Ghost tilts his head, his smile sharp. “I said I’d give you my spit, baby, nobody said anything about where. Why don’t you stick your pretty tongue out and taste it for me.”

Johnny doesn’t listen, but Ghost lets it slide because his little confused expression is making him ache.

“But I’m too dry,” he says quietly, staring up at Ghost. “I’m gonna- I’ll tear.”

Ghost coos, pulling back just enough to line his cockhead up properly with Johnny’s ass. “Not if you relax for me.”

Then, he pushes himself in.

He knows he’s risking Johnny injury, so he dips his free hand down to rub his clit so he stays as relaxed as possible. As much as Ghost loves seeing Johnny cry, he knows he’ll be able to fuck him more if the boy isn’t torn.

He cries big, fat tears as Ghost pushes himself into the hilt. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give Johnny time to panic and tighten up, only forces himself in and keeps his fingers moving quickly on the clit beneath him.

“There we go,” he breathes once his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. His eyes flutter shut, rolling his head back on his neck and luxuriating the tight heat of his boy beneath him. “Feel so good for me, Johnny.”

The man beneath him is only animal noises and sniffles. Ghost can tell that he wants to tense, that he wants to fight, but the mix of Simon’s hand on his cock and his instincts keep him loose enough that he doesn’t tear.

“Look’it that,” Ghost whispers, dragging his finger from clit to hole and tracing around the stretched rim of it. “And you thought you couldn’t take it. Like I said - stupid thing.”

Johnny’s keen is high-pitched and wounded as Ghost slowly pulls out, watching the place where they meet intently.

When he slams back inside, Johnny screams.

His pace doesn’t let up from there. Once he’s assured Johnny won’t tear, he fucks him with all the strength and roughness he always does. He pays almost no mind to Johnny’s pleasure, using him only as a fleshlight for him to get off in.

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to balance himself and really start to fuck him. “Made for my goddamn cock, shaped to my will exactly, I’m never fucking letting you go.”

He’s panting over Johnny, back hunched as he works himself up. “Never felt anything like this. No man, no woman, just you, Johnny. My perfect, tight boy, huh? Cunt or ass, you squeeze me like you never want me to fuckin’ go. Proper fuckin’ cocksleeve.”

Johnny’s sounds are caught between pleasure and pain as Ghost slowly wears him down, tears streaming down his face but hips twisting back for more.

“Too bad you were bad, huh?” Ghost pants, putting his mouth right beside Johnny’s ear. “Coulda been fucking you in that pretty cunt. Could’ve stuffed you full of my cum, given you a nice little creampie. You want that? You want me stuffed deep in your guts?”

Johnny’s nowhere near coherent enough to speak, but Ghost is more than capable of talking for the both of them. “Coulda bred you, baby. Coulda given you a pretty little thing in your tummy, coulda filled you up and made you mine. Might still, if you can learn to be good.”

Ghost’s hips begin to work erratically as he reaches the edge, uncaring for any sort of rhythm or consistent pace as he focuses purely on getting himself off.

When he finally does reach his climax, he swears he sees stars.

It takes a long time for his cock to soften fully, for Johnny’s ass to stop milking more and more come out of him. He doesn’t mind, of course, only half-heartedly humps Johnny to finish himself off.

As he begins to relax on top of Johnny, the younger man only tenses.

“Ghost,” he whines, wriggly desperately. “Ghost, c’mon, it’s my turn.”

Simon huffs a laugh against Johnny’s nape, free hand coming up to run through his mohawk. “Your turn? For what?”

Johnny whines liked a kicked dog. “To come. C’mon, I’m so close, just need a little-”

Ghost quickly pulls out and angles his hips away, so Johnny’s cunt is left with only the cold air. The little brat cries like he’s been shot, hips working fruitlessly against the bed.

“Told you you’ve been bad,” Ghost mutters, quickly crashing from his high but keeping Johnny firmly stuck beneath him. “You don’t get to come tonight.”

Johnny wails, and Ghost can’t help but laugh as he finally stands.

Johnny’s all squirming and begging beneath him as he digs through his pants pockets.

“No, no, Ghost, please, I need to come! I can’t- I can’t do this, c’mon, I’m so close, you got me so close, you have to-! Please, Simon, come on!”

“Settle,” Ghost rumbles, giving his forearms a tight squeeze as he pulls the handcuffs out of his pocket. It had been all too easy to take them from the staff room before leaving, and he sets them on the bed as he finally lets go of Johnny’s wrists.

Like he suspected, he’s too desperate to do much but beg. The most he manages is flipping onto his back, but Ghost is lifting him by the hips and forcing him further up the bed before he can try anything.

“I can’t settle, Ghost, you’re fuckin’ blue ballin’ me!”

Ghost gives him a sardonic look as he knee-walks further up the bed, grabbing Johnny’s left wrist in one hand and using the other to quickly handcuff him to the small curtain rod above his bed. “What balls? All you’ve got is a cunt.”

Johnny’s too distracted by his new predicament to care about Ghost’s comment, staring at his hand with wide eyes. Simon steps back just long enough to fully strip, throw the gun to the ground, and toss a blanket onto the bed.

“What-? Where the hell did you get these?!” Johnny spits, yanking his wrist on instinct and curling away from Simon.

“Where the hell do you think?” Simon grouses, throwing himself to the bed next to Johnny and tugging the other man down. “Get down here. We’re sleeping now.”

“We’re-?” Johnny jerks in Simon’s hold, but he can’t do more than squirm. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Uncuff me! Now!”

“No,” Ghost grunts, pulling Johnny even tighter to him and squeezing to quiet him down. “You’re not runnin’ away from me. Sleep.”

“How the hell can you expect me to sleep with one goddamn hand in the air?!”

Ghost groans, quickly covering Johnny’s mouth with one hand. “Quiet. Sleep.”

He doesn’t even flinch when he feels Johnny bite his hand. He does consider investing in some smaller ball gags for Johnny to wear to bed, if he’s going to kick up such a fuss every night.

After a few minutes of stillness and silence, Johnny relaxes in Ghost’s arms. He knows it’s purely instinctual, knows that he’ll probably wake up to Johnny’s best murder attempt in the morning, but for now he feels content.

He’s confident he’ll be able to break Johnny down into the perfect little pet. He’ll never get rid of all the boy’s fire - that’s half his fun - but he’ll make sure Johnny understands the proper power hierarchy, understands when to fight and when to listen.

For now, he falls asleep with his boy safe and secure in his arms.

#i always feel weird properly tagging my dark fics because i dont want people to accidentally stumble on them lol #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #bo writes #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #john mactavish x simon riley #soap mactavish x ghost riley #ghoap smut #ghostsoap smut #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #ghoap #ghostsoap #dark fic

327 notes · View notes

spidernuggets · 4 months

Note

heyyyy, 👋🏻

first of all, i hope you're doing well. second of all, i see you asked for requests so i decided to send one. this is actually the first time i've actually requested a story ever 🫣

anyways, i was thinking something with roommate!jason. i personally don't care if the reader knows or doesn't know about him being the red hood. don't care if you make her them (i'm a girl but i don't mind a gn!reader, why not let everyone feel included) a vigilante or a civilian. what i do care about is there being tons of mutual pining, a typical idiots in love situation iykwim 😂 and then something happens and they realize they love each other? i'd love for it to be fluffy but you can also make it as spicy as you want i won't mind 😜 i just looooooove the 'and they were roommates!!' trope.

or if you want, i'm a sucker for any sort of meet-cute scenario

love yaaa 💝

🌳 (do anons still use emojis as signatures?)

Absolutely thank you thank you 🌳anon for this request!! Notes at the end vv.

Jason Todd x Reader

"Why- WHY did it have to be a man! Why not a female- Or, or a girly pop man at the very least- That's not a girly pop man!"

You probably made the most embarrassing and awkward first impression ever when you first moved into your new apartment.

You moved into Gotham, unaware of the insane villains and masked heroes that filled the city. But you soon found out about that later.

But when you unlocked the door to your new apartment, there was a big man sitting on the couch. And your eye twitched. You gave a lopsided smile while carrying two boxes, placing them beside the door.

"Uhm. Sorry, I think I'm supposed to be your roommate," you say quietly, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Oh. Okay, do you.. need any help?" He offers, and you quickly deny.

"No- no, thanks. I'll be quick anyway," you say, picking up the two boxes. "Uhm.."

"Second door to the left," Jason says, his eyes glued to a novel, pointing towards where the empty room was as you replied with a quiet thanks.

You made three trips when bringing in all your boxes, avoiding as much communication with Jason as possible. You shut your room door and started whisper-yelling at yourself.

"Why- WHY did it have to be a man! Why not a female- Or, or a girly pop man at the very least- That's not a girly pop man!" You cried to yourself. The last roommate you had was at your old university, who was a guy, too. Let's just say he wasn't the... most hygenic person. Or the most polite. Or couldn't even bother to put a sock on the door knob before you came back from a lecture!

"The walls are real thin, by the way!" Jason shouts from outside your room. Then you stopped yourself.

That's how you created the most embarrassing and awkward first impression with Jason Todd. But the more time the two of you lived together, the less bad he seemed. Well. He never seemed bad in the first place. One day, you just explained to him your awful encounters with your last roommate, and Jason couldn't help but laugh at your experience.

So by then, you and Jason became best friends.

He told you that his job always involved him working the night shift, which never bothered you. It just reminded you to stock up on coffee and energy drinks.

But one night during his night off, the two of you were on the couch. Jason was reading "Midnight's Children," which he found in a charity shop and was ranting how someone could donate such a good book. You had your head lying on his lap, flicking through channels whole Jason commented on certain points in the book.

You stopped at the news channel, a certain red masked vigilante in action. This caught Jason's eye.

"Why are you watching the news?" He asks.

"You know, I never knew there were a bunch of heroes and villains when I moved into Gotham," you stated.

"What, really? I thought you were a crazy person when you moved here. Especially when you started complaining that I wasn't... What was it you said again? A 'girly pop man?'" Jason snickers as you smack his chest.

"Shut up! But nah, I didn't. But that Red Hood guy is making me think that moving here isn't all that bad."

Jason moves the book away from his face, looking down at you. "What do you mean?" Now he's curious. The news continues to play, showing Red Hood taking down multiple criminals on his own.

"He's hot," you say nonchalantly. Jason freezes. "Like, look, watch, watch," Red Hood blows a punch to one of the men's faces while skillfully avoiding the bullets and strikes from the others. Both your hands cover your face. "Ughhh!! He's so fineeee!!!" You groan.

Jason doesn't know how to react. There's no doubt that he's found you attractive. But he enjoyed you as a friend and didn't want to ruin what the two of you had. Unfortunately, your comment didn't help with his undying attraction towards you and shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"Alright, move," he tries to say casually. "Need to go bathroom." You move your head off of him as he rushes towards the bathroom.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Was all that Jason was thinking as he paced around the room.

He looked into the mirror and saw his face coloured a deep red. What the fuck was happening? He mever felt like this before. He groaned, burying his face in his hands, his elbows leaning on the counter. But when he looks through his fingers, he sees a tent growing in his pants.

SHIT.

No, no, no. He can't feel this way. Fuck! He quickly turns on the shower, stripping away his clothes, suddenly feeling a lot cooler, and steps into the shower.

He made sure the water was cool, hoping to bring his libido down.

"Jay! Hurry it up in there!" You yell from the outside, still sitting on the couch. Fuck, what the hell was he supposed to do??

Fuck it.

He wrapped his hand around his length and started pumping. He tried muffling his moans, hoping the sound of water splashing against the tiled floor would cover up his sounds, too.

His hand strokes the length of his cock faster. "Fuck, Y/n. Just like that," he whispers to himself. He never felt more guilty. You were his friend, and there he was, in the shower, jerking off to the thought of you.

He let out a stifled groan as the white, sticky liquid was released all over his hand. At the same time, you came knocking at the door.

Jason's eyes widened as he quickly rinsed off, stepping out of the shower.

"Jason? You okay in there?" You ask. He opens the door, looking down at you. He doesn't think he can look at you the same way ever again.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he tries playing it cool. "Your big-ass head just gave my leg a cramp," he teases, quickly disappearing into his room as you flipped him off from behind.

When Jason enters his room, he presses a pillow against his face. He promises himself never to let that happen ever again. Well. Unless he grows a pair and actually asks you out.

The next evening, you walk through his door. You see him packing his duffle bag for his late night patrol of the city. Or as he told you: Late night security at Gotham's National Museum.

You go give Jason your daily goodnight and bye hug. You wrap your arms around his neck, his expensive cologne absolutely intoxicating you, wishing you can continue to spend the night with him.

"Don't die on me," you say to him, as per usual. Jason scoffs, telling you to stop doubting his security skills.

You never doubted Jason. But you were always worried for him. Gotham really isn't the best place to be a civilian in, especially being night security at a place with a target on its roof. The museum would be crawling with villains trying to steal precious and expensive artefacts.

You couldn't deny it. Even when you first met Jason, you found him insanely attractive. Like, who wouldn't swoon for those bulging thighs and thick arms? And you hate to admit it, but there have been some nights where Jason was out, and you took the opportunity to have some of your own... late night activities while shamefully thinking about your roommate.

But you also wondered when he was going to tell you that he was Red Hood.

You found out his little secret before Jason found out you watched the news. One night, you stumbled across Red Hood and Nightwing, taking down a bunch of goons that worked for Lex Luthor. You saw that Red Hood got shot in the shoulder. And the mext morning, you saw Jason walking around shirtless in his room. And as much as you were tranced by his abs, you noticed his bandaged shoulder.

When asked what happened, he said he crossed paths with a mugger going to the museum. You tried to brush off the theory that he could be Red Hood, but the thought always lingered in your head. He is always going out at night. And with this theory, you grew more and more worried for you best friend.

You were reading Jason's annotated book of Pride & Prejudice when strong knocks on the door made you flinch from your seat. You rushed to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing Jason with a beat-up and bloody face. You yelp, quickly opening the door.

Jason was hunched over, grabbing his side, blood still spilling from his hip. You rushed to his side, going under his arm, supporting him as you dragged him to the couch. You notice he was still in his Red Hood gear as you went to quickly find your first aid kit.

"Fuck- Jason! What happened?!" You exclaim, kneeling in front of him. "You need to take your armour off!"

He lets you peel his chest plate off while he explains that he went off to complete a mission on his own. You strip him of his compression shirt, ignoring how pretty his muscles looked and went to clean his wound.

"I'm sorry," he groans, his wound stinging from the disinfectant wipe. "I never meant for you to find out like this."

"I already knew," you say quietly. Jason looks down at you in confusion. You look like you were about to cry. "I already knew you were Red Hood. I- I wanted to tell you that I knew but.. It just seemed like a sensitive topic," you explained. "So I wanted to wait for you to tell me yourself. And.. I thought if I just mentioned or complimented Red Hood often while you were around, you'd tell me sooner." You say as you wrap the gauze around his wound.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya," he said, avoiding your gaze.

"Well, you did! You'd go out every night, and I'd have to stay here, watch the live news to make sure you were okay!" You raise your voice. "I don't know what I would've done if I lost you.." You say more quietly.

Jason's eyes are wide, but they slowly soften, guilt ridden as his hand comes down to caress your face.

"I'm so sorry, N/n," he repeats. "I just wanted to keep you safe. You've no idea how much you mean to me." You lean into his touch, lightly smiffling as your hand ghosts over his.

"Wait," Jason speaks up. "So, did you only say Red Hood was hot so that I'd tell you I was Red Hood?" He deadpans, looking at you.

You stare back at him dumbfounded. "Is that your only concern right now??"

"Well, did you?"

You roll your eyes, getting up from your position, leaning closer to Jason's face and using the back of the couch as support. "Course I didn't," you say, staring into his eyes, your gaze flickering down to his lips.

Jason took the close proximity as an opportunity to grab your waist, bringing you down and forcing you to sit on his lap. "So you think I'm hot?"

You scoff. "You really need to get your ego checked," you say as he smiles. His large hand reaching up to the back of your neck, pulling you down to finally plant his lips against yours, his fantasies coming true.

And some of his other fantasies might just come true later on. Besides, Jason being Red Hood wasn't the only secret of his that you knew about. To be fair, he was the one who told you the walls were real thin. ;)

hmm, yeah, there wasn't as much fluff and pining as I intended.

Hopefully, this short fic doesn't let you regret your first story request for me.

Speaking of which, your first story request was for me?!??! 😱😱 I'm absolutely honoured, tysm, and i hope you've enjoyed the fic🙏🙏

Also, i'm sure a lot of anons sign off with emojis!! 🐀🐀

256 notes · View notes

artfulacrostic · 11 months

Text

had my second high definition viewing of atsv in the theater today and here are my favorite details that i missed due to being overwhelmed on my first viewing:

LONG AF POST:

-gwen is literally wearing a rainbow shaped trans pride pin on her jacket with her prom outfit. she's soooo so canon trans <3

-captain stacy HAS A TRANS FLAG PATCH ON HIS POLICE UNIFORM JACKET?????? when i'm telling u my eyes popped out of my head 😳 SHES SO CANON TRANS!!!

-poster outside miles's guidance counselor's office reads: "visions sciences: telling you your story".

-parallel of miles's and gwen's dad kicking things out of general exasperation towards the beginning and end of the movie respectively

-when miles as spidey is talking to his dad and giving him advice (for himself) there's a reference to miles possibly reading vonnegut? (maybe in class??) "if this isn't nice what is" is a collection of kurt vonnegut's commencement speeches. (literally subtitled "advice to the young". the writers were extremely clever for this reference. if not reading it in class, miles has been searching up life advice on his own)

-i barely caught this but i'm PRETTY sure that in miles' room near his door there's a MICHELLE OBAMA presidential race sticker??? was president obama in the earth-1610 dimension michelle obama?? iconic if so

-fedex on earth-1610 is REDEX

-gayatri seems like they took elements of both gwen (police dad) and mj (young model) for her background as i believe i caught her visible on a "zomato" ad billboard (which appears to be the earth-50101 version of ubereats)

-i spent all of hobie's scenes trying to pick up the details of his many pins; but the only one that i could really make out with the quick shot changes besides the union jack pin was the one right above it, which is a three-leaf clover. i wondered if maybe it had some kind of significance to maybe irish independence or smth but i couldn't find anything online that backed that up so not sure what it means. if u know pls drop it in the replies.

-hobie's boots are definitely NOT ladder laced. i KNOW there is concept art and poster art of him with ladder laces but in the actual movie they are 100% crossed. also unlike the poster art, both boots have blue laces, not one blue, one yellow/orange. i wanted to be all on board the ladder lace code train but i'm pretty sure they just made his laces blue so that they could contrast against the red boots and be spidey colors. they probably abandoned the ladder lace part of the visual when someone realized what blue ladder laces meant in lace code. "HAS hobie killed a cop," you ask? given his comic backstory i'd say the odds are HIGH. but i would bet they didn't want people to think that since he's gone through canon event asm-90 ("a police captain close to spider-man is killed by falling rubble during a battle with a nemesis") that there's any possibility THAT was the cop he killed and he's proud of it (since it's supposed to be all abt character development from the ✨trauma✨ of the event)

-during the whole "intervention" scene, while all the other spider-people are facing directly in towards miles and miguel from wherever they are standing in the circle, hobie is the only one whose back is turned. he watches most of the scene over his shoulder. also, during a couple shots facing miles before the entire society of spiders show up, hobie is separated in the shot from all the other main spiders (Peter B, Gwen, Jess, etc) BY MILES. he is visible over one shoulder and everybody else is visible over the other. these two details are great signals of hobie having already MORALLY turned his back on miguel's authoritarianism, as well as giving a nice inverted "devil/angel on the shoulders" nod.

-peter b asks miguel to take a picture of him and mayday since it's her first chase; miguel brushes him off but mayday understands and uses her webshooter to click the camera button on peter b's phone and take a selfie without him noticing 😂😂😂 shes everything to me

-when miguel is pinning miles to the train, after gwen and peter b have caught up, there is a very fast moment when miles calls for help ("PETER!!") and peter doesn't reply to him, but calls out to miguel to calm down (smth like that) instead 🥲 peter for the love of god step up your mentor game and look out for this kid i can't handle it anymore

-when gwen takes the watch hobie made her out of the box, the screen is briefly visible and reads "project botleg". bootleg -> bot -> "botleg"; I SEE YOU HOBIE. people think he's so cool (and he is!!) but he's also just as much of a dork as all the other spiders. what a goofball

-in miles-42's room, a speed bag/speed ball/maize ball is attached to his wall near the door. there are other substantial differences to their rooms, but i think this is clearly a reference to uncle aaron-42's large presence in miles-42's life, given the association from both movies of aaron with the punching bag and miles getting guidance from him/looking to him for support.

-in addition to all the miles-1610 vs miles-42 prowler vs spidey reflection imagery in the end credits, guess who else has several moments of flashing from spider-man colors (red and black at least) to prowler colors (purple and green)?? miguel, that's who. miguel and miles-42/uncle aaron-42 team-up in beyond the spiderverse? or just an extra parallel for the antagonists sharing goals/possibly methods?

OKAY ANYWAY if ppl want i can try and dig up images of some of these but i figured that would make this post long af so that's all for now folks!! go see across the spider verse again and marvel at how much more fine detail you find like me 🕸🕸🕸

410 notes · View notes

holdmytesseract · 1 month

Note

Greetings Bestie, I am here with a Magnus blurb request

How about a piece where Magnus realizes he's in love with his partner, and it's at a funny & inappropriate time and place? Like they're in an interrogation or maybe undercover?

Perfectly Bad Timing

Warnings: fluff, police things, more fluff

Word Count: blurb

a/n: Bestiiie, thank you so much for this! I really hope you're going to like this lil' story! 🥹💖

Magnus's eyes were glued to you. Something you didn't seem to notice. If the young man across from you and him noticed? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Anyways, the policeman wouldn't care. He always had just eyes for the wonderful woman he gad the honour to call his girlfriend, but today... Today was one of these days on which he got reminded by himself how freaking much he actually loved you.

During an interrogation in the first case Kurt allowed you and Magnus to be leading inspectors was admittedly not exactly the right moment, but what was he supposed to do?

You two worked at the Ystad police station for almost five years together now and he had never... Never seen you interrogate a person. This time was a first - and to Magnus, it was stunning. You were stunning. The way you talked. How you always found the right words to say against the snappy, arrogant and pubescent teenager. Your smart and witty nature...

Magnus would even go as far and say it was dominant, and he couldn't deny that he found that to be pretty hot.

The palm of your hand slamming down on the wooden table everybody sat at, caused the young policeman to snap out of his daydream. At least a little.

"Stop lying to us, Nils. We knew you were at the boathouse. We found your goddamn fingerprints!" You accused the eighteen-year-old across from you. By now you were utterly frustrated and kind of angry. Not just because the disrespectful young man just wouldn't cooperate, no... You were also angry because you already sat inside this constricting, small room for almost an hour and your colleague/boyfriend hadn't said a single word!

You gritted your teeth and slowly turned to face the curly haired man. "Magnus?" He shortly blinked and looked up; oceanic blues meeting your Y/E/C ones. "Yes?" You nodded at the door. "For a word..."

Magnus nodded in agreement; noticed immediately that you weren’t in a good mood. His chair scratched over the polished floor as he stood up and followed you outside in the hallway wordlessly.

You had crossed your arms and waited for him to close the door shut. "Magnus..." You started and took a deep breath; trying not to snap at him right away. Perhaps he had a reason why he didn't say something yet. "We are in there for almost an hour and after five minutes you kind of zoned out completely. Baby, you are absolutely no help! That's shitty. If you're just sitting beside me and staring holes into the wall, I might as well do this alone."

Magnus swallowed hard. You could see his Adam's apple bobbing. And he was blushing. "I-I know, I-" "Then why are you doing it?" You interrupted him. "This isn't working without you! Nils might be the key to solve this case! We can't let this opportunity sl-"

The policeman had heard enough. He knew what this was about. His head told him that repeatedly. But his heart... His heart just wanted one thing... For his lips to kiss you. So, he did.

Magnus interrupted you with his mouth on yours; hands on your hips and pulling you against his body.

You were shocked at first - like frozen, but then you couldn't help but to melt against his touch. Against his sinful kiss.

"Mags..." You panted, once he broke the kiss to get some fresh air into his lungs. "W-What... What was that about?" A boyish smile grazed the curly haired man's face; cheeks reddening. "Me, realising how much I love you, min älskling. I'm sorry for not doing my job, but... All I could focus on, was you."

Your expression softened. He was so cute and kind. How could you possibly be mad at him?

"Aww..." You hugged your boyfriend tightly; burying your hands in his wild, blond curls. "I love you so so much as well." You kissed him again and again and again; the ongoing integration forgotten... At least for a few minutes.

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @huntedmusicgardenn @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @loz-3 @javagirl328 @icytrickster17 @jaidenhawke @eleniblue @lou12346789 @lady-rose-moon @km-ffluv @herdetectivetheorist @lokiforever @crimson25 @simping-for-marvel @cakesandtom @vanilla-daydreaming @kimanne723 @glitchquake @lulubelle814 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @buttercupcookies-blog @november-rayne @mandywholock1980 @lokidbadguy @smolvenger

#campfire sleepover #2k follower celebration #magnus martinsson #wallander #wallander fanfiction #magnus martinsson x reader #magnus martinsson x you #magnus martinsson x y/n #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston characters

104 notes · View notes

swordcreature · 6 months

Note

hiii, I really love your writing and got super excited when I saw that you take requests.

could you possibly do headcanons or like, short scenarios for how the companions would react to: a Tav who's normally relentlessly positive just fucking snapping. like they get back to camp one night and Tav's whole facade just shatters?

thank you if you do!! ♡♡

ty ty ty you're too nice i'm here blushing <3

okay so i ended up writing the six origin companions, but if there was someone else you were specifically looking for like halsin or jahiera please let me know!!

i also wrote this from a romance pov for each companion taking place very very vaguely in the third act.

ngl i struggled trying to find a way to write this that i was satisfied with. i don't know that i have like an in depth conceptualization of every single companion given that there are so many changes to them throughout the story, some of which you can't possibly see in a single playthrough

but i think i found a happy medium between love and hate lol

i really hope you like it!!!!

Shadowheart, Astarion, Lae'zel, Wyll, Gale, & Karlach - When Tav Snaps

How the companions react to chronically positive Tav snapping

(Tav is GN in this)

Shadowheart:

Secretly, Shadowheart is just the tiniest bit pleased to see their leader, normally sunshine and rainbows and just too damn chipper, sulk back into camp. But that feeling is quickly replaced by overwhelming guilt and worry as she realizes that something is very wrong with Tav. She tries to reach out, offering a hand to gently ask what's wrong. When Tav snaps, yelling and crying and breathing so hard that they look like they might puke, Shadowheart is frozen. She watches in terror, almost outside of her own body, as the one she loves most loses their composure until just raw embers remain. Shadowheart so desperately wants to do something, to say anything, but the reflexes learned from years under Shar’s stoic thumb kick in and she cannot move. Tav is the strong one, the person she turns to when the weight of the world is too much to bear, not the other way around! She’s supposed to be the emotionally stunted one, the broken one, godsdamnit! The only thing she can think to do in the moment is to borrow from Tav, to replicate what they have done for her so many times on this fucked up adventure they’re on. So, she sits Tav down and listens. Lets them cry and cry and cry until their eyes are so swollen they can’t open them very far. Shadowheart puts a hand on their knee to ground them and offers quiet, soft words of comfort. She doesn’t want to solve all the problems that led to this – she'd be stupid to think she could. No, she wants Tav to know that it’s okay to feel these heavy things. They don’t have to keep everything bottled up until they crack. If anything, Shadowheart wants them to know that they can be anything and everything with her, and she will still be there to listen and to love.

Astarion:

Astarion pretends that Tav is the most annoyingly optimistic, too happy, do-gooder to ever grace his presence, but deep down their relentless positivity enamors him in an odd way. He’d never say that aloud though. He has gotten used to Tav practically skipping back into camp, head high and smile bright. So, when they take one, heavy footstep close enough to camp for Astarion to hear, his hackles immediately rise. His eye trail Tav as they trudge back into camp, ignoring the calls of the other companions as they seem to blankly seek out their own tent. Astarion tries to offer a lusty quip, something to lighten the mood, and he hates the way his voice wavers with concern. When Tav doesn’t respond, he’s quick to take their shoulders, turning them away from camp, towards someplace more private. Tav doesn’t fight back or say a word which is like a knife to Astarion’s dead heart – he's never seen them without a grin, let alone so despondent. In private, he pushes for an answer as to what’s going on, pressing the matter to its breaking point because he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to make them happy. And what use is he if he can’t even bring a smile to the face of the one person he cares about? Tav’s resolve breaks. They’re seething, angry at the world, sobbing and sneering and crumbling. Astarion stares, wide eyed. Part of him wants to slip back into old habits, acting as though he finds amusement in Tav’s breakdown. The happy-go-lucky leader finally snapping? How delightfully ironic! But that’s not him anymore. At least, he’s trying to not be that anymore. So, he pulls Tav towards him. His body instinctively tenses before reminding himself that this is Tav and the decision to hold them is his alone. Tav sobs harder into his chest. For a moment, Astarion thinks he’s done something wrong. But the longer he holds them there the lower their sobs get, until they’re left heaving in breath after breath, slowly calming down. Astarion hasn’t said a word since they left camp. He doesn’t need to. The unspoken language of touch tells Tav everything they needed to know: he’s here for them, he cares for them, they’re safe with him. And when Tav is calm and they walk back to camp, he’s not to be blamed for the sardonic joke he lets slip.

Lae’zel:

Lae’zel immediately notices that Tav’s demeanor has changed when they walk back into camp with clenched fists and nostrils flared. She can sense the difference a mile away, but to her that’s all it is. A change. She’s not incredibly well versed in the range of emotions that non-githyanki display, but she at least understands that this is not Tav’s normal. She watches from the corner of her eye as they make a beeline to their tent. It’s strange to say the least. Something tells Lae’zel that she should check on them, some small part of herself that never used to neg her before she met Tav. So, she tentatively steps towards their tent, hands awkwardly at her sides. She calls for them, and they pop their head out with puffy, red eyes. Lae’zel speaks and she’s confident she said the right words. Until Tav is back inside their tent muffling a scream into a pillow, making horrendously loud noises as they try to catch their breath. Lae’zel stands motionless, still outside the tent. She grits her teeth as she battles with her own mind. This kind of behavior is weak, their leader should not be displaying such things outwardly. But, this is Tav who has taught her so much in such a short time – like that it’s okay to show weakness, vulnerability, even if she struggles with it still. The part of her that cares for Tav more than it fears weakness wins over, and she steps through the threshold of Tav’s tent. They’re disheveled: hair a mess, nose snotty, eyes bloodshot. Lae’zel sits next to them as they stare at her. A moment passes before they return to sobbing into a pile of pillows. Lae’zel is truly out of her element, and out of sheer unease she starts to talk. She’s not really even saying anything of much importance, just tiny pieces of her life before the tadpole. The first time she wielded a sword, how she wanted to ride a red dragon as a child, the first time she saw a human in person. She just talks and talks and talks, never even looking at Tav until their breath evens out and their body slumps. They fell asleep. Lae’zel leaves quietly, but not before she pulls a blanket over Tav’s shoulders.

Wyll:

Wyll knew it was coming. Although Tav is an absolute delight, he's seen before how holding back all negativity can really break a person. It’s no surprise when one day he finds Tav in a destroyed building not far from camp, knees tucked against them, heaving as though they’d been kicked in the chest. The only thing keeping their wails quiet was the hand shoved in their mouth, biting down with a force that surely had drawn blood. Wyll kneels before them, pulling their face up with both of his hands, and commands them to look at him using the same voice his father would use on him as a child. Strong and assured. He takes a big breath in, urging Tav with his eyes to do the same. Tav mimics his actions again and again, little sobs and hiccups escaping every so often. They sit like that for a while until Wyll is sure that Tav is more controlled. He takes the space next to them, allowing them a moment to collect their thoughts. Wyll listens attentively and even relents when Tav asks to be alone, seeing the ghost of a smile on their face. When Tav gets back to camp, Wyll is waiting for them with a plate of warm food ready. The other companions are all in their tent – Wyll didn’t ask so much as forcefully suggested that they make themselves scarce – so the two have the fire all to themselves. The silence between them is easy. Wyll sits Tav between his legs and leans them back to his chest. His fingers run through their hair, undoing the knots that formed as they broke down against the harsh stone wall. When Tav falls asleep like that, he doesn’t move them. Instead, Wyll settles in and tries to make himself at least somehwat comfortable while his love gets their first good night's rest in a long time.

Gale:

Gale blabbers on and on about something so inane and stupid that most of the camp has retreated to their tents by now. Except for Tav who was returning from the Wyrm’s Rock. Letting go of poor Wyll, the only campmate too polite to leave Gale outright, he turns to Tav, walking in step beside them. He misses the way their eyes don’t lift from the ground, too busy waving his hands around to accentuate his point. They ask for a bit of space, but Gale is too enthralled in his speech to notice the way Tav’s eyes water when he doesn’t step away. And then they snap, tears spilling, hissing harshly for Gale to just shut up. He’s shocked, mouth hanging wide open in surprise. He doesn’t even chase after them when they walk past him, not stopping until they’re out of camp, over the road, and into the tree line. Gale’s not stupid though, he knows that Tav would never be so impolite normally. So, despite his pride being slightly wounded, he follows where they cut through the forest, hoping they didn’t go too far. When he finds them, they’re stomping around a clearing pulling at their hair, face contorted as they cry. Did he do this? Gale clears his throat to make himself known. Tav peers at him for a moment before turning around, holding their arms against their chest like they could fall apart in the breeze. Gale takes a hesitant step towards them, gauging his next best move. When they don’t protest, he closes the distance between them and puts a hand on their shoulder. They turn and immediately pull themself into his arms. Gale is quick to hold them there, resting his chin on their head, stroking their hair with his palm. He doesn’t know how to solve this, how to make them feel better, though something in him says to keep still. Keep holding Tav to his chest until they no longer shake. He idly wonders if a calming spell would work better than the little comfort his arms can provide. But Tav’s breath is slowing, their cries going silent. His voice is warm in their ear as he recites some poem that comes to memory of a man who thought he could hold the world on his shoulders. Tav only half listens but lets Gale cradle them against him until they look up and softly ask to go back to camp.

Karlach:

Karlach thinks she is the luckiest woman alive. Fresh out of the Hells for the first time in ten years and she meets someone who is sunshine incarnate, someone who has a good heart, someone who wants her as much as she wants them. Then, she gets to actually touch the person she loves? She’s sure she’s never been happier. Every time Tav strolls into camp with a spring in their step, Karlach’s heart could burst with love – and not hellfire. She knows Tav is due back and her heart flutters impatiently as she waits. But it quickly starts to sink, more like drops ten stories to the groun, as she sees Tav with their eyes glued to the ground, walking into camp as though they’ve been carrying the owl bear cub on their shoulders for the past hour. They try to walk past Karlach in a rush, but she sticks out an arm to clothesline them. Karlach is so much stronger than Tav, so it’s easy for her to pull them to stand in front of her even as they put up a small fight. She wants to know what’s wrong, something is very clearly wrong, but Tav doesn’t budge. They fight back tears and stare at the ground. This was going to take drastic measures. With no warning, Karlach grabs Tav’s hand, yanking them out of camp and into one of the alleyways that connect it to the lower city. She stops as she eyes her goal. The alley is littered with wooden crates and barrels, old vases and general garbage. Tav’s confusion temporarily surmounts their urge to cry though it’s short lived. They look up to Kalach searching for an answer. Karlach just smiles and removes the mace she keeps strapped to her back in case of emergencies. She hands it to Tav with a nod towards the debris. Tav understands, or at least they think they do – they've surely seen Karlach commit enough property damage in the heat of a breakdown to get the idea. A deafening crack bounces down the alley as Tav connects the mace to a standing wooden barrel. It explodes into shards of splinters, and with it so does Tav’s resolve. They scream as they swing the mace into their next victim, a crate filled with used glass bottles. It lets out a satisfying crunch. Karlach isn’t sure how long she stands there, letting Tav silence their sobs with the sound of destruction. They’re out of breath, their swings weaker as they try to continue. But Karlach catches the mace on its down swing, pulling it and Tav close. Tav tries in vain to catch their breath as Karlach squeezes it out of them in a hug so tight it could bruise. With a shaky voice, Tav thanks her, leaning their forehead against herchest and closing their eyes. Karlach doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

295 notes · View notes

luneariaa · 7 months

Text

this really took me some time to decide on how to actually write the story lmaoo;; ngl the plot got somehow lost 😭

contains angst but comforting ending; not much proofread.

also tagging @sody-toast !!

. dividers by @/cafekitsune !! 💜🌻

"So, the usual, Mike?"

The girl behind the cash register machine asks for confirmation, along with a friendly smile plastered upon her face. Mike is spaced out-- as per usual, so when hearing those words, it's enough to bring him back to reality.

"Oh, yes." He gave his own quick reply, before seemingly becoming a bit lost in his own thoughts of the past once again.

"Got it!"

While the girl has her back facing him, he simply waits there silently. But that is, until he sees someone rather familiar from the distance.

He sees you, waving at him while grinning happily from afar outside the bakery he was currently in.

Your sudden appearance sends him into a temporary state of shock, clearly not expecting this. Without wasting any time, he reaches for the door and goes out, the food he ordered being left forgotten as he chases you out while you run someplace.

As his feet hit the hard ground below onto the pavement outside, he eventually caught up to you pretty quickly.

"Hey!"

Slowing down a bit, he grabs your wrist and prevents you from running away any further. "Where do you think you're going, huh?"

He wasn't even realizing that he's been smiling a bit all the while, though it didn't last when he finally realizes that it's not you that he's been chasing. It's just a total stranger who happens to pass by the streets, now looking at him weirdly.

That's not you, never was. He's just trying to convince himself that you were the one who just waved at him. Smiling, laughing at him..

By this point, he just feels pathetic and ashamed of himself.

But was it truly his fault, when all he's trying is to cling to the thin thread that he created upon himself? To come to terms with you being truly gone, but it's a hard process for him despite it happened a few years ago; he lost count.

Just great.

Working at Freddy's once again, and it's already quite exhausting for him. But he needed the job for the cash; for him and Abby.

So far, nothing really interesting has happened, so this leads to him deciding to take a quick nap at his security desk. What could go wrong, right? But the second he closes his eyes, his thoughts immediately drift back to you, replaying old memories that have passed through time.

Mike could remember the days when you both would spend time with each other even with limited time possible. Your eyes would meet his own every so often, a soft smile playing on your lips that's reserved for him.

The look of pure adoration and love in your eyes that he would never get tired of. And you're wearing the outfit that he bought for you during your first date with him.

How could he ever look away whenever you decided to wear it? It looks so perfect on you, he couldn't stop staring for hours shamelessly.

But nothing lasts forever. That's what he keeps trying to remind himself with.

You were supposed to buy something from the store while Mike was away at work around that time of day, but that fateful day has also marked your forever end as well.

You never came back.

The day you died-- it was a hit-and-run accident. Blood was everywhere, even staining your own clothes. Your head was being hit hard on the road, which caused you to go unconscious almost instantly. The phone you previously were holding has flung elsewhere; the screen cracked badly.

Maybe he shouldn't let you out that day. Maybe he should've stayed at home. Maybe, just maybe..

He would've changed the past if he could, but alas, there's nothing that he can do. He's just a human, after all.

A series of painful images flash through his mind while he's still asleep-- one of them being the day he found out that you're being involved in the said accident. He could never forget no matter how hard he tried to.

"No, no, no, no.."

"Not again. Damn it." He covers his face with his own hands out of frustration. He just wants the nightmares to stop.

But at the same moment, he could've sworn he could feel your touch; hugging him from behind. The soft caress of your hand on his back is unmistakable. He could feel it.

Mike takes a few deep breaths, as if to try to compose himself. His attempts to reach back to return your mere touch are futile, nonetheless, only grabbing at the nothingness in the air.

It's a harsh reality, and you are not coming back.

Mike was starting to give up once more, but stopped from doing so when he felt your mere touch on his cheeks. It feels so tender, loving, warm.. He could see you standing in front of him; placing a needed kiss on his forehead affectionately, before a warm smile was plastered on your features.

No words were needed at the moment. He doesn't really care if he's going insane due to the whole situation; he just needed you.

Even when you're not coming back alive-- to him, his memory of you will live on forever.

"Stay." His voice sounded quiet and hoarse, almost begging. "Please.."

You didn't respond, however. But the smile on your face is enough to reassure him that you're there with him at that exact moment.

But it's enough for him. He knows that you'll be with him for as long as he's alive when you start to embrace him ever so tightly and lovingly.

And that's all he needs.

#fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy’s #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt x you #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you #fnaf x y/n #aria's post 𖥔 ݁ ˖

166 notes · View notes

lady-of-endless · 1 year

Text

“I stand with you” (Ramattra x Reader)

Author’s Note: So I found another muse and I’m obsessed. Here is a nice little angsty fic (with a happy end). As usual, please excuse any grammar mistake, I’m not a native speaker.

Word count: 1743

Edit: here’s a new fic that can be read separately https://www.tumblr.com/lady-of-endless/710235615367692288/flashbacks-and-height-differences-ramattra-x?source=share

What should be done when someone despises you for who you are?

Your answer was to leave that individual alone and try not to bother him as much as possible, minding your business. It was supposed to be simple, not the complicated task it turned out to be.

Even if you went on with your daily duties at the peaceful monastery in Nepal, he kept on testing you. Slowing you down with his ravenous vortex, blocking your way with his void barrier, whatever it took to reveal your true colors and prove to his brother the hideous truth about human nature. It become a routine whenever he visited.

It all started when Zenyatta announced his brother's first visit to Nepal. Despite your excitement to meet him, your mentor had to briefly explain Ramattra's principles. Before even trying to find a solution, he already arrived.

You could recall how shivers ran down your spine when your chin was lifted by his staff to look up at him.

"Your name, human."

His voice was a shadow compared to the light of Zenyatta's tone. Ramattra spoke harshly, demanding. He could have ended you then and there but instead he gifted you mercy.

So, since then, there were only two kinds of days in Nepal. Calm days and days in which Ramattra visited and interfered with whatever you tried to do. However, with each of the latter, you started to learn more about the vengeful omnic and his devastating story. Unconsciously, Ramattra also discovered more about you. As sickening as it was initially to watch you get along with every omnic from the monastery, he started to get more curious. As trust does not blossom overnight, his visits started to get more frequent. Gradually, his daily torments stopped but even so, you still felt his gaze on you.

One day, Zenyatta decided to visit another monastery in Nepal with Genji. He left you and his dear brother responsible for the sacred place, much to Ramattra's displeasure who was not supposed to be there.

The night was so quiet, a serene snowing night, that could not anticipate such an unfortunate event.

Pacing aimlessly in your room with a late-night cup of tea, you accidentally saw from the window the terrible image of an omnic trapped under a fallen statue that decorated the court of the monastery. Gasping, you dropped the cup instantly, leaving your room in a desperate hurry but knowing exactly who could help.

His name echoed through the halls as you ran barefoot and called for him.

Arriving at his door, you started to bash your fists against the wood repeatedly, not caring about his recharging state at that late hour.

He heard your voice from the first call and sighed deeply, looking at the door but not moving yet.

"Ramattra, please! It's an emergency! An omnic!" You explained in a breathless voice. "Is injured, please, help."

Finally, the door was opened swiftly, his tall figure towering over you.

"Take me there."

You nodded and started running again, with him by your side this time.

"If you have anything to do with this, human, I will not hesitate to-"

"A statue fell over because of the weather." You stated hastily.

It was only then he realized it was indeed horrible weather outside, and even worse for something so weak as a human. Yet, there you were, running in a flimsy impractical outfit. He could not throw a remark because you both arrived at the scene.

A broken and incredibly heavy statue kept the poor monk injured and trapped in place. His pleas to help him panicked you even more. Ramattra wasted no time changing to his nemesis form to lift the stone from the omnic.

After that, when he reversed his transformation to his omnic form, you felt that it was your turn to act. Almost bumping into Ramattra who also wanted to look at the injuries, you both analyzed the damage fast.

It was critical. Ramattra got solemnly quiet and you were quick to notice it.

"No, don't even think about it, there must be something we can do."

He slowly shook his head, he has seen too many injured omics not to predict the outcome.

"I think...I can try to heal him." You continued in a small unsure voice.

Ramattra froze in place remembering that his brother explained how you were studying ways to use your healing ability the first time he saw you at the monastery.

"You think? Are you this unsure of your abilities?" He asked more sharply than he intended.

"I have never done this before... Healing an omnic." You explained in a whisper so that the one in pain could not hear.

Ramattra was speechless once again. Before he could demand explanations, you already started.

"Just describe to me how those components look when they're in perfect shape."

After voicing your idea, you pleaded to the injured omnic to stay with you, cupping his face gently. That gesture of human warmth should have infuriated Ramattra but not this time. "Please hurry, let us do it, Ramattra." You said daring to grip his hand tightly.

He was baffled by everything and especially by the hope in your eyes when looking at him. Why were you this motivated to save an omnic? How dare you care for one of his people when you were just a human? Leaving his wonder behind, Ramattra cleared his throat and started to help you.

Now, with your hands on the cold metal of those broken components you were trying to focus while Ramattra explained how each circuit should be in a stern voice. As you took in his words and concentrated, the damage started to slowly reverse under your touch. He looked in wonder at the omnic and then closely at your face.

After what seemed to be so many moments of an intense healing process, the injured omnic could finally get up from the ground alone. Happiness flowed in his tone when he thanked both you and Ramattra for saving his life. You were smiling weakly in return, something still felt off.

"Thank you for your crucial explanations. You saved another one." You said to Ramattra while both of you looked at the omnic who was walking back to his room in safety.

Ramattra only shook his head and started walking away from you already. This event got him too confused. He had to encounter the joy of keeping another omnic safe with caution and also sort his thoughts alone.

"Maybe you should study more since you are even staying at a place full of us omnics, don't you think?" He commented preparing for one of your comebacks.

However, no answer was heard from you this time, no response, no calm voice.

If Ramattra could have frowned, he would do it right then. Instead, he stopped and dared to be curious about your condition, taking a look over his shoulder. He saw you crashed on the ground, in the thin layer of cold snow.

...He stopped in place.

This is probably a false alarm, he thought. But he convinced himself that you had no intention of testing him.

...He took a step closer.

Maybe you wanted to pay him back for all of his torments. But you never seemed that upset or bitter about it.

...He walked closer to your static figure.

"Get up, human." His voice was as sharp as the wind.

A thought of using his staff to touch you flashed across his circuits but he kneeled next to your body instead. You were still breathing but shivering. Unintentionally, he remembered his brother's explanations again. What you also tried to learn from Zenyatta was how to handle energy loss after healing someone. You needed to rest, but logically not outside in that freezing weather.

Ramattra called your name. For the first time, he did not call you "human", "human pet", or "nuisance", he called the name that tormented his thoughts for days.

Hearing it, made you weakly open your eyes just to close them back.

"Get up now, or your vitals will drop!" He repeated, slightly nervous.

No reaction.

You knew that healing an omnic was different from what you knew you could do and something probably draining, yet you did it with no hesitation.

What was the reason?

Defeated, Ramattra looked around for any other omnic in sight but there was none. He sighed and embraced your body clumsily.

For years, he only knew how to harm a human, not protect it. He had no idea how to hold a body like yours, how to keep it close, safe. Yet, he had to do it. No, he started to want to do it. He did not care how fast the color from the human faces can drain because of low temperatures before, now, it started to worry him.

With the help of his nemesis form, he could put his scarf around your shoulders without letting your body out of his unfamiliar embrace.

"You forgot what I am?" You whispered in a shiver, feeling what he was doing.

There was never a moment in which he would forget what you were. A human that got on his nerves with your affection and care for the ones of his kind (without being a deception, he discovered). A human, different from those oppressors who took away the ones close to him and he killed in return. How could he forget when your face haunted him in his tries to meditate or make plans lately?

"Shut it or I will leave you where I found you." He said instead of everything else. "Save your energy and hold onto me."

So, yes, he knew what you were and who you were. The one that saved an omnic, the one that likes to interact all the time with ones of his kind, the one that wants to learn more.

Your name did not sound like a bad omen anymore.

Was this what Mondatta preached about? Was this what Zenyatta tried to explain about you? A flashback of his lectures at Shambali made Ramattra feel a pressure in his chest, right where he thought he had a blade instead of a heart.

Suddenly, a cold gust of wind hit. Still advancing through it, Ramattra looked down at your peaceful expression and carefully placed a hand on the side of your face to shield you.

"You are safe with me."

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch 2 #overwatch scenario #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fic #ow2 #ow2 x reader #ow2 fic #ramattra fanfic #ramattra fic

646 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 5 months

Text

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. A known swordsman makes a brief appearance in this. Buggy is jealous and a bit insecure in this chapter. A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. Also I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who reads, reblogs, and replies on this story. I love everyone of you and it makes my day brighter knowing there are people enjoying this! So thank you thank you thank you! <3

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness @uhnanix Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 7

Buggy woke up to a bucket beside his bed, a glass of water on the nightstand, and a note telling him you were in the kitchen. He was confused as to why you left him a note because he didn’t know why you were there at first. He had fuzzy memories from the previous night: going to the shop, walking back to the ship, a drink, a marriage proposal, sharing his bed-

Oh shit. He fell out of bed, horrified by how he acted towards you. That was the last thing he wanted and he scrambled to find some clothes to put on. He found his shirt from the previous night and threw it on, ignoring the stains and smell of beer coming off it. Maybe you were still on the ship and he could explain everything, unless you left and never wanted to see him again. That was entirely possible.

You were in the kitchen when he came crashing in, eating a banana as you looked at the photos he showed you last night. He froze when he saw them and you looked up with a smile.

“Good morning, Buggy.”

“Where did you get those?!”

“You showed them to me last night.” You chuckled before taking a sip of your tea. “After you asked me to marry you.”

His hand shot off to grab them but you were quicker, moving them out of his way. You then pointed to the floating hand.

“Also, can you explain this?” You asked. “Miss Pins mentioned something about Devil Fruits but I didn't get it. and last night your body… was a part for a moment and it was…interesting to see.”

How were you talking so casually about all this? It was like discussing the weather, you were asking if it was cloudy outside. Others would have been horrified, thinking he was some kind of freak for what his body could do, but you were just eating a banana as you waited for an answer.

“I… have Devil Fruit powers.” He mumbled as he sat himself in a chair across from you. “I ate the Chop Chop fruit, so my body can split apart.” He scratched his head and looked at you. “Well? Aren't you disgusted or scared of me now?”

“Am I supposed to be?” You frowned as you finished your banana. “It's not like you bleed everywhere when it happens, right? If anything it's probably useful. You took your bottle back from me last night when we were walking, which was, admittedly, a little weird, but I had already seen it before. Just after you laid down last night I realized I wanted to ask you.”

“So…you're not disgusted that my body does this?”

“Buggy, I don't find your body disgusting.” You assured him as you sipped your tea. “Okay?”

He blushed and looked away. “Really? Even my nose?”

“I think it's cute.” You smiled.

“Sh-shut up! Don't lie to me!” He shot back as he glared at you.

“I'm not, promise.” You assured him as you looked back at the photos. “You were so cute as a kid.”

Buggy sat back in his seat, still glaring at you as you set the pictures down and got up to pour him some tea. Did you really think his nose was cute or were you just saying that? So far you'd never been mean to him, only occasionally teasing him, but he still was wary when it came to his nose.

When his tea was ready you brought the cup back to him and pushed the plate of fruit over to him. “I figured fruit would be a good post-birthday hangover meal. You need to hydrate.”

He crossed his arms and eyed the plate before looking back at you. “Why are you still here? I figured you would have left.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” You told him as you picked up an apple and cut into it, separating it into slices. “You said stuff about me making you happy if I married you, and… I got worried.”

“I'm fine.” He grumbled as he looked down at his lap. “I was drunk, ignore what I was saying.”

You put the apple slices down on the plate before getting back up to find something with protein for him. He picked up one of the slices and shoved it in his mouth as he turned to watch you. He acted like a damn idiot last night but you stuck around to make sure he was okay. Did you want something from him or did you genuinely care about him? This wasn’t something he was used to or expected, so it was a little hard for him to understand. You found a jar of peanut butter in a cupboard and grabbed it.

“Here, have this.” You opened it, noting that it still seemed edible before finding a spoon to scoop some out for him onto the plate. He watched you suspiciously before he helped himself to the peanut butter.

“You don't have to stay.” He said with his mouth full of food. “Your boss is gonna come looking for you.”

You shrugged as you sat back down in your chair. “I'll leave in a bit, but only if you walk me back.”

He glanced up at you with a frown, but you said nothing as you grabbed a towel and wiped his face for him. He grumbled and tried to pull away from you but you didn't let him, making sure his face was clean before you sat back down. He glared at you, face flushed as he finished his plate.

“Ignore everything I said last night.” He said again as he looked down at the plate. “I was drunk.”

“So you don't think I'm nice?” You asked with wide eyes, feigning surprise. “Or soft? You don't want to marry me then?”

“I-I do!” He said before slapping his hand over his mouth. You grinned at him and leaned back in your chair. He glared at you. “You're cruel.”

“I thought I was nice.” You teased as you sipped your tea. He crossed his arms and huffed in annoyance as you grinned at him. “Let's finish up, I need to head back. I have a customer returning today and I need to make sure he gets his order.”

He just grumbled as he drank his own tea. You got up and tidied up the kitchen, making sure to wash the dishes and dry them. He watched you as you moved about, enjoying how you already felt comfortable on the ship, that you seemed to know where everything was already in the kitchen. It was a sight he could get used to, he decided, but he didn't know if it was something you'd want.

“Let's head out, okay?” You said with a smile.

Buggy just nodded, but instead of leaving the ship you led him back to his room to put the pictures back while he pulled his boots back on. You found him a clean(er) shirt to wear and held it out to him, turning you back so he could change. He didn't know why, you obviously saw him shirtless (and he had a brief flashback to what he thought was going to happen last night and he momentarily died of embarrassment before straightening back up), but once he was ready he reached to put his bandana back on when you stopped him.

“Can you leave it down?” You asked, your own cheeks pink as you reached out to touch a lock of his hair. “It's um, just so pretty. I’d like to see it.”

He stared at you, wondering if you were teasing him again, but you weren't. A lock of his hair was entwined in your fingers as you ran your thumb over it, and when you realized what you were doing you let go and put your hands behind your back.

“Sorry.”

“No, it's…fine.” Buggy said as he tossed the bandana aside. He always put his hair up, finding it to be a nuisance as it got longer. His Devil Fruit made it difficult to get a haircut, it just reattached itself whenever he tried to cut it, so he gave up and let it get long. He didn't think it was a feature someone would care about, like his nose.

You smiled at him, he felt his face heating up and he looked away as he held his arm out to you. When you linked your arm with his he straightened up before he marched out of his room with you on his arm, thinking today would be a good day.

When he saw your customer he was horrified by how handsome he was. Dark hair, cheekbones, sharp, yellow eyes. And you were nice, helping your customer into his coat, explaining what you did with his request, and when you touched his shoulders Buggy couldn't help but feel jealous because you did that for him too, you always made sure his coat fit him, but it was obvious now that you did it for everyone. Buggy had no reason to feel special.

When you finished up, your customer kissed your hand before leaving. Buggy was seething. You just shook your head before grabbing Buggy by the hand and leading him to the backroom.

“I have a present for you, Buggy.”

He tried to ignore Benji saying how cool that guy looked or Miss Pins commenting how that customer was so handsome because he knew they wouldn't think that way about him, so why would you? He said nothing as you let go of his hand and retrieved a small white box from a pile of other ones. He crossed his arms, glaring at his feet as you walked back over to him and held it out.

“Happy birthday.” You said, but he wouldn't take it from you. “Buggy?”

“You didn't know it was my birthday until last night.” He mumbled. “How do you have a gift for me already?”

You shrugged as you opened the box for him. He still wouldn't look at you. “I thought of it this morning. I did some hand stitching on this for a customer who never came back for it, but thankfully he prepaid for it.” You pulled out a square of silk, a light purple color, and held it out to him. He finally looked up, reaching out to touch it with his fingers carefully. “I thought it would look better on you than in some box.”

He hesitated and pulled his hand back. He didn't deserve a gift like this from you, especially considering on your own birthday he was an asshole to you. You said nothing as you rolled the fabric loosely before draping it over his neck. You pulled his hair out from under it before you looped it into a knot and tightened it just a bit.

You smiled as you tugged on the front of it gently. “It looks good on you, Buggy.”

Buggy swallowed heavily and nodded. You were so close to him right then. His heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty. If he didn't do what he wanted to do right then he would regret it. You'd get romanced by someone else, some more handsome pirate, and he had to make it up to you for what he did on your birthday.

Without a word he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, nose bumping and-

Honk!

Buggy froze and pulled back from you, a look of horror on his face at what just happened. You stared at him, but before he could bolt you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him back, tilting your head just enough to avoid bumping his nose. He kept his arms at his sides, unsure where to put them.

It felt like it went by too quickly when you pulled back from him, smiling brightly as you pecked him on the cheek.

“Is this a belated birthday gift, Buggy?” You teased as you let go of his shirt. He was red in the face but he grinned, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to be smooth.

“D’you want it to be?” He asked. You touched the silk around his neck and leaned into him, but he leaned back, expecting some kind of surface to support him, but instead he fell backwards and crashed onto the floor.

You immediately knelt down and helped him sit up, checking him for injury. He seemed fine, just embarrassed, so you kissed him on the cheek.

“It could be, but I wouldn't say no to flowers.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

91 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 5 months

Note

Hello! Happy Fazbear Birthday (again)!

Can I request a fluffy AU Mangle x reader? Maybe the Mangle has escaped and broke into the readers house one night. Imagine how horrifying it would be to hear a drip… drip… drip… sound, waking up and seeing a fluffy AU Mangle staring at you as it hangs off the ceiling, dripping blood in your floor!

Sure! Here's a short story I came up with what you gave me!

Breach

Yandere! Fluffy AU! Mangle Short

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Breaking and entering, Biting, Blood, Gore/Graphic descriptions, Clingy behavior, Forced companionship.

You aren't sure what woke you up first. All you know is when you turned over in your bed you realized something was wrong. The smell in your room was like if an animal brought in roadkill. You assumed it was outside your window.

That is until you hear the noises. The sounds of breathing and scratching. The sound of dripping liquid spilling onto a floor, carpeted or not. You open your eyes slightly.

Not fully conscious you feel something wet and warm drip onto your blankets. The dripping sound is muffled… you find yourself trying to sit up. It looks like something is dripping from your ceiling.

You look up… and see something you thought would never follow you home.

Your line of work was in the Afton Facility. A base of secret experiments on living mascots. This one… Mangle… was a failed one. You were only ever meant to feed them then leave.

You weren't at work when the breach happened. You had no idea Golden Freddy was so powerful he was able to escape and leave the facility in chaos. You had no idea of the carnage left behind.

You would never have expected Mangle, Toy Foxy 1.0, to break containment and look for you. How did they remember you? How did they get here? How did no one see it leave?

You wonder if they smelled you. It's a possibility… could they also find your file in the electronics? You weren't sure if you were impressed… or downright terrified.

This creature found comfort in your presence. Comfort to the point they made an effort to follow you home. Through bushes and in the shadows… the mess of flesh managed to find your home…

Then they made themselves at home on your ceiling.

You stare silently at the furred fox amalgamation, the white and pink fur stained red. Two eyes stare at you… from two different heads. The fox's snout is in a grin as they stare at you. It looks straight out of your nightmares.

For a long while, they don't do a thing. They seem to be admiring you. The fox is careful not to move much except to swivel their neck around to watch you. You're locked in a staring match.

You can't seem to say anything. Your mouth hangs open in shock. You feel the urge to retch occur when you realize there's a puddle of blood on your lap.

“Hey there, doc…” They growl playfully, both heads leaning closer. “Hope you missed me as much as I missed you, when you were gone things got quite intense!”

The fox still sticks to your ceiling as their long neck allows their main head to meet yours eye to eye. The grin never goes away. You feel paralyzed with fear, they're too damn close.

“I suppose it was a good thing… I never considered that place home.” The fox scoffs, looking away momentarily to see their other head before snapping back to you. “But with you? Anywhere is considered home!”

You don't hide the squeal that comes from your throat as they release from the ceiling and plop onto your bed. The sound is a disturbing splat and you try to roll off your bed. Unfortunately, the skeletal head they have chomps onto your clothes/skin before pulling you back. What's worse is it doesn't let go… even as the other head continues to speak.

“Where's the warm welcome…?” Mangle sighs, turning your head to meet their main one again.

“You aren't getting rid of me… so why not embrace me?”

#yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf 2 #yandere fnaf fluffy au #yandere mangle #yandere fluffy au mangle

71 notes · View notes

twig-tea · 1 month

Note

Hi!

So Cherry Magic Thailand was amazing. Which really surprised me. I still have reservations about the next jbl adaptations by Thailand, but I guess we'll see. Anyway, because of that I have been thinking about this.

Which existing series do you think could benefit from an adaptation by a different country? That could maybe give the story a different perspective or simply because they would have different resources? Thanks

Rose💜

Thank you so much for this ask, Rose, and apologies for being so slow to answer!

The first obvious answer to this is anything from the censored era of Chinese BL being picked up by a different country. We're already seeing the benefits of that in Taiwan's adaptation of DaGe in Unknown the series, which from what I've been told is not only going to allow some intense kisses (possibly, if the actors aren't trolling us, more explicit sex scenes than are actually in the original Priest novel, though I'm not going to assume we're getting anything until I see it), but also with changes like a reduction in the homophobia of characters. Recently they announced SaYe/Chasing the Light was optioned for a film version outside of mainland China, so I'm now hopeful some of the stuff that was shelved is going to get made after all, and maybe with less censorship. That being said, a whole list of just censored dramas that were based on BL novels would be boring. So instead I'm considering what shows did I like but wanted to see done again in a different way, and which country would handle the themes and style of the original in a way that would be fun to watch?

I'm thinking about Love Stage!!! Which was a Japanese manga adaptation with a version from both Japan and Thailand, and My Dead Gangster Oppa which was adapted from a Korean webtoon, and Why R U Korea adapted from the Thai show, and how the productions in the different countries would change what we get. So, I'll be basing my answer on those as well as CMT you referenced.

[Sidenote: originally I was going to say Thailand should adapt Man Who Defies the World of BL except with Series-Y tropes and then realized that's exactly what Why R U was supposed to be in the first place--it would be neat to see a Korean version of this storyline with webtoon tropes (we kind of got that with Our Dating Sim but they went with dating game tropes instead). ANYWAY that's not really an adaptation so I'm not including it below, but putting it into the universe.]

Enough waffling, let's go!

Twig's Foreign Adaptation Wish List

Taiwanese adaptation of 2gether

Hear me out. If we're going to see this story again, I want better reasons for needing to fake date and better chemistry once they're actually dating, and I can imagine Taiwan adding in the angst and chemistry to make this show work through to the end. Taiwan would also have no problem keeping Sarawat's obsession with Tine's pecs in the storyline (critical inclusion, imho), and we know Taiwan loves a "they met before and this is fate" plot so I think this would work well. Switching Sarawat's obsession with Scrubb to something else would be a really interesting cultural shift and would help ground the series in the adaptation country.

Korean adaptation of I Can Hear the Sunspot / Silhouette of Your Voice

@absolutebl has said this before and they're right, this is the one JBL manga adaptation that I'd love to see it done again as a series with enough time to fully handle the character development that happens in the manga. NGL in my heart of hearts I'd want Japan to take another crack at it, but for this game I'll say Korea. I know Korea has a few good disability narratives (thinking of the love for Twinkling Watermelon I've heard about recently) so I think they could do a good job. Korean media also handles silence well and that's pretty critical for this one; they could also do some interesting things to illustrate the changes in the main character's hearing.

Japanese adaptation of Love Sick

I am envisioning a reverse Cherry Magic scenario, in which the foreign adaptation follows the written source material better than the domestic adaptation did, and then adds their own flair. Now take this with a grain of salt because I haven't read the novel, but my understanding is that the original Thai novel is about Pun and Noh as the main characters with the music club all there but the dramatic side heterosexual storylines are not nearly as front and center, and they were added to pad out the show because folks weren't sure how a BL series would land. I know there is already a Thai remake but let's pretend that's not happening. Japan handles earnest and sweet school-aged first loves well, and can handle the goofiness required of the Noh character, and deeply understands and portrays found family core friendships well, and I bet a Japanese production would do a great job with that core storyline. We don't get a lot of larger friend groups in Japanese BL and I want to see a Japanese production handle that. The one thing that gave me hesitation about this was the importance of the busking subplot and I don't think busking is a big thing in Japan the way it is in Thailand and Korea but that could be another opportunity for making it feel more grounded in the adapting country so I'm keeping it as-is.

Thai adaptation of Boyband Love

I'm going to steal the idea that I've seen @lurkingshan @bengiyo and @shortpplfedup mention before and riff of it to say that Daou and Offroad should be in a boyband BL; this is a main reason why I want a Thai remake of the Filipino series Boyband Love [which I don't actually recommend but, fun fact, had an out gay couple starring in it but they were not paired together in the show--Gus, who plays the lead Danny, has 2 kids with Louie who plays the side character Rico]. Thailand is clearly desperate to do a boyband BL so that they can make money off the concerts; Boyband Love as a story is already calibrated to be cheap to make because it's about a band getting ready to debut, and Thailand can scale it up from the original show. It's also no longer a period of COVID restrictions so crowds can be brought in. The storyline is pretty much what I would want of a Boyband BL: rivals within a band to lovers, pining amongst band members, underwater kiss, industry drama, and (spoilers for a 2020 series) the decision to essentially do BGP but keep their relationship secret. Thailand would have fun with that, I think. And they can add a little more heat, it's very important to me that something happens in the practice room pls and thank you.

Japanese adaptation of Middleman's Love

Japan gets two because they can do this type of comedy so well, and I really liked the bones of the Thai version so I'd love to see it done again. Japan can also handle trauma narratives so if they wanted to do both Bed Friend and Middleman Love they would be able to handle it. Korea is really good at balancing humour and trauma, but Japan is so good at losers who don't think they deserve love, and also excellent at pining, so I'm giving this one to Japan.

Korean adaptation of Triage

We're getting Korea twice because I haven't seen Korea do much in the way of genre BL yet, and while I admit this may be slightly influenced by me watching Hospital Playlist right now, Korea can handle the fast-paced ER scenes that are throughout this show, as well as the mix of drama and comedy. I'd love to see a more highly produced version of this show, and I know Korea can handle this kind of time loop shenanigans and heavenly spirits helping the protagonist along from kdramas. I liked the original a lot but I'd love to see it done again a little more tightly!

Bonus nonsense one: Taiwanese version of Calculating Love

This one is literally just for me. Ok listen I know I'm the only one who likes this show, and that's fine, it doesn't actually deserve attention. And it's so small that it would never be adapted. But I loved this dorky little short about nerds flirting with calculus and I want more. Taiwan is fantastic at dorks falling in love narratives, and so many of the HIStory series were short school BL, so I think they'd do an excellent job tightening up the story in the back half which got a bit meander-y and keeping the heat that's already there.

Thank you again for the really fun ask, Rose! 💕

#thank you for the ask!#ask game #typed so that i can stop thinking it #do i tag these shows? I think I won't #bl meta #multi bl #undescribed #each of the gifs in this post are a gif of the show that I've suggested for adaptation; the scene choice isn't relevant to the post #long post

36 notes · View notes

melonteee · 4 months

Note

I think what hurts the most about how Nami was handled in OPLA is how thoroughly her character themes and trajectory were screwed up. Nami is one of the first representatives we see fake smiles hiding genuine suffering as an overarching motif, to the point that it’s engrained deeply to her backstory and the final note Arlong Park ends on, and it just… isn’t there. At all. To the point that the one time Nami smiling/laughing *is* brought up in the show, it feels backhanded. Like the narrative equivalent of telling her she should really smile more. Then, because Netflix/Tomorrow Studios are cowards, the show did everything in its power to downplay Nami’s financial insecurities and decided Nami stealing should be framed in a worse light than Zoro killing people for money. Which meant Nami’s arc became her needing to overcome a “fuck you, got mine” attitude, which led to Arlong Park being thematically (and somewhat narratively) incoherent once they got to her deal with Arlong. But the worst of this was the choice to give Nami all of Sanji’s parts in Baratie. Because, really, what does Nami thinking Luffy should stop Zoro’s fight have to do with her problems with Arlong? The whole reason she didn’t see Zoro’s fight in the original was because that wasn’t a lesson she needed to learn. She was already risking her life for her goals, and she still believed she could achieve her dreams once she paid off Arlong. It was the hope that Arlong *could* be bought, and that she had no other options when compared to Arlong’s strength, that was holding her back in the original. Nami trying to convince Luffy also felt so nonsensical because it’s the one place that doesn’t have heaps of over explaining (while also removing Luffy *and* Zoro’s explanations from the original scenes) so it’s like… what do you expect him to do, Nami? What could Luffy possibly say or do to stop Zoro that doesn’t either lead to Zoro responding “okay then I quit” or require some massive violation of Zoro’s autonomy? And, again, what does Luffy not doing so have to do with Nami’s conflict with Arlong??? Is the implication supposed to be that Nami thinks Arlong is *right* to use force to make people do what he wants???? But then you get to the episode 6 and Zoro’s second unnecessary pledge to Luffy (that’s already ruined Thriller Bark) and it was like… Oh. I see. Nami was given all of Sanji’s parts so she could be an easy straw man for Luffy to knock down. She *can’t* explain why she thinks Luffy is wrong (nor can anyone else) outside of vague repeated phrases, because if she did Luffy would have to actually defend his stance the way he did in the original. Instead of having Zoro tell him that he was right all along and doesn’t need to self-reflect about anything. Because Luffy’s true arc in the live action is that he Wants loyalty, and Needs other people’s validation. Hence why Luffy spends very little time actually interacting with his supposed crew most episodes, why storylines that were originally about Luffy proving himself worthy are now reframed to be about the others proving their loyalty to Luffy, and why the show’s ending reframes his first bounty as him *finally* achieving the recognition he felt entitled to at the beginning. And Nami’s sadly the one most effected because the East Blue is her saga. Cool.

(I realize you must get a lot of these, so thank you. It’s been very cathartic to hear your thoughts)

Anon you are doing exactly what I'm doing, which is thinking further ahead in One Piece's story and going "Wait, but if THAT happens, these scenes in future arcs are going to be totally ruined and make no sense?"

Hence why I'm saying, ALL these changes, ALL these characters being uprooted from their original writing, is going to cause MORE changes down the line if this keeps going. To the point the series is going to be completely incomprehensible and won't be One Piece at all. They already failed multiple scenes by just ADDING them in while changing EVERYTHING around them so they made zero sense and had no impact, but it's virtually impossible to fix this show without totally redoing everything. They ruined the introductions, they ruined the original motivations and original personalities, these characters are simply not the same at all.

And with these story changes, as you pointed out, it has ruined future character development AND future scenes.

Also the "Nami stealing is more immoral than Zoro killing for money" is so fucking funny, makes just as much sense as a WHOLE town genuinely hating a LITTLE GIRL 😭😭

#ask #melonask #oplatalks

31 notes · View notes

sea-blue-heart · 3 days

Note

hi i came across your elliot nightray is a lesbian post and i know that that post is like. almost a year old would it be possible to explain what you meant about it being a joke about elliot's place in the narrative? no pressure ofc i just also had the same hc and i wanted to see why someone else thought that way

of course!!

basically: in my interpretation of pandora hearts, elliot isn't really a character who exists outside of the thematic role he plays in the story (even in the in-story world of the manga, because...the world is a story!) namely, he's a guy who is there to further along the themes of self-sacrifice, particularly to challenge the conceit that self-sacrifice is an inherently selfish act that places the blame of suicide onto the person committing it as opposed to the structural oppression and action that drove them to that point (which is one of the reasons why it's so important that ELLIOT is the character that does this, because he's one of the main people who champions the idea of suicide as personal selfishness.) elliot is one of the first characters to realize the story that he's in and the role he is supposed to play within it.

ADDITIONALLY AND RELATEDLY, elliot is very much a deliberate parallel to lacie. they share similar roles in the the lives of their corresponding glens (leo doesn't have a coio he has to 'kill,' but in every way elliot fills that role in his life). they both have the same final sentiments (im sorry, forgive me) that are both messages for their glen. both elliot and lacie are ultimately trapped in a structure that forces them to die as the "best" way out, *even if they expressly do not actually want to kill themselves.* and well. lacie baskerville is a lesbian. to me.

all of this analysis aside (im sorry i tried to keep this short and then failed bc im abnormal about pandora hearts) what it boiled down to is a series of messages with my friend @rheineorshine that were a combination of "well elliot is lacie so by transitive property he must also be a lesbian" and "elliot isn't an actual person in the narrative of pandora hearts so he can literally just be whatever you want" and "elliot is lesbian-coded because he's dead."

and then she embroidered "elliot nightray was a lesbian, actually" and it's on my wall forever and ever.

#pandora hearts #elliot nightray the plot device ever #rain rambles #not for you asker but if anyone else sees this #i am a lesbian and my friend is a lesbian this is two lesbians making a joke

13 notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 2 years

Note

Could you write something where Eddie comforts a reader with PTSD? Mines been going brrr lately and I just need the comfort.

Also, I found your blog pretty recently and omg ilysm, everything's so beautifully written :') <3

come celebrate 5.7k with me!

i'm sorry your ptsd is acting up, baby! i hope this helps, and i'm so so so glad you enjoy my writing :) i love you too <33

Your room is stuffy, the curtains draped over the window and gathering dust while you keep them closed. There's nothing outside that interests you, but there's really nothing inside that interests you either. Your room is boring, but there's nothing better to do than to lay down, sleep having escaped you for days.

You wish you were capable of functioning normally. But anytime you try to engage with people it's like your eyes glaze over, and your brain shuts itself in and refuses to contribute to your life.

So you're left motionless in bed, despair weighing heavy on your heart.

That is, until someone knocks at your window.

You panic. You're scrambling off of the bed in seconds, the sheets tangled around your legs and coming with you. Whoever it is hears the telltale thump of your body hitting the floor and curses, but the voice is familiar enough that the panic in your chest dies down.

"Eddie..?" You realize he can't hear your breathless whisper from outside, so you rush to the window, throwing the curtains open. Thankfully, it is the boy you'd met only weeks prior, his hair frizzy and slicked to his face with sweat.

He looks relieved to see you and pries helplessly at the edge of the window. You tug it open for him, tucking an arm underneath his own and helping haul him into your room.

"Eddie," You repeat, this time to him, "What.. what are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Eddie deflects your question, brushing a stray leaf out of his hair from the tree he'd climbed, "You're supposed to be in school."

"I haven't been in a week." You groan, burying your face in your hands, "Why would I go today?"

"Yeah let's talk about that," Eddie perches on the end of your bed, his eyes drifting over an array of crumpled up tissues on the floor by your trash can, "You sick or something?"

"Or something." You sigh, sitting beside him on the bed. There's space between you, but only as much as your small mattress allows, so not much.

Eddie isn't sure what to say, and you hate that he's glancing around your room, probably noticing the cups stacked on your nightstand and the dirty socks strewn about.

You deflect his attention, "Again, what are you doing here?"

"When someone's missing in action for one out of the four weeks you've known them, it's a little freaky." He levels you with a stern glance, "No one knew where you went, man!"

"I haven't been sleeping well." It's not a lie, it's just not the full story, "I don't really feel up to a day at school.

Eddie hums sympathetically, "You take melatonin? That shit knocks you out if you take enough."

"Anything will," You scoff, "But yeah. No luck."

You hesitate to tell him that it runs deeper than simple insomnia. That sleeping scares you, both the images you see while your eyes are closed, and the possibility of them becoming a reality again if you let your guard down like that.

He seems to put the pieces together, though, from the disarray your room is in. You're well aware that you look like sadness personified, a t-shirt you haven't changed in four days wrinkled against your chest and loose shorts hanging low on your hips.

"Have you tried, like, listening to music?"

"And rain, and ocean sounds, and birds chirping, and a heartbeat." You list off the white noise you'd enlisted for help, each one of them failing miserably.

"A heartbeat?" He looks intrigued, glancing at you from the side of his eye.

"Yeah, it's supposed to, like, remind you of being inside the womb." You explain, your hands shifting to accentuate your point, "It's comforting, I guess. Just not comforting enough."

"Right." He nods, trailing off into thought. You're not sure what you're supposed to do, because being upright for longer than two minutes to use the bathroom is now foreign to you, and you kindly prompt him to make a move.

"Well I'm fine, so you don't need to worry." You offer him a careful smile, and he surveys you with the same disbelieving look that he'd given you before.

"You're crazy if you think I'm leaving you here." He scoffs, cautiously glancing at you again before he swallows. You watch his adam's apple bounce, but your eyes flick back to his own as he finally speaks.

"That.. that heartbeat stuff. That really works?"

"Well it didn't for me," You remind him, "But I dunno. Maybe it's better on babies or something."

"Or like.. with a real person?"

"I guess?" You shrug, "I'm not, like, an expert on white noise. There could be some weird specification for- what are you doing?"

Eddie's arm curls around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him across the mattress. You stiffen in his grip and your eyes widen, your hands pinned at your sides as he crushes you to his chest.

"Shut up," He mumbles, "Put your ear on my chest."

"Eddie I don't think-"

"Just do it," He huffs, "I'm trying to do a nice thing for you."

You can't argue with that. You press against his chest first, slipping out of his awkward grip and readjusting yourself so that you're leaning comfortably over his lap. He settles against the wall behind him, the window still open on his other side, and your head comes to rest just above his heart.

You have to admit, the warmth that he radiates is much more soothing when paired with his natural heartbeat than your cold pillow is with a simulated one. Cold against your skin doesn't bother you as much, though, when it's the metal bands of Eddie's rings pressing into your back, just beneath the hem of your shirt that's ridden up. You hear the light thunk of his head against the closed portion of your window, letting out a deep sigh as you both decompress.

"Did I miss anything at school?" You ask idly, your eyes fixed on the frayed strings on the knees of his jeans.

"Uh, yeah. Like, a week's worth of work." He teases you, his fingernails digging into your skin lightly. You would be panicked, but you know he hasn't done it either, so you brush off his condescension.

"That's not what I meant," You berate him, "Like, anything interesting!"

"Some cheerleader got into a fight with her boyfriend in the cafeteria yesterday." He recalls, "And we all dared Dustin to eat one of the fries she threw at him 'cause it landed on the floor."

"Did he do it?" You feel bad for the poor boy, but the image of him succumbing to a stupid dare does make you giggle.

"Of course he did," Eddie laughs, "It was gross. There was, like, hair on it."

"Ew!" Your face wrinkles into a sour frown at the information and Eddie's chuckle reverberates through his chest, his hand pressing tighter into your back, "You guys are so mean to him."

"Hey, you were laughing too!" He reminds you, "Hypocrite."

You fall silent after his biting remark, but not out of hurt. It's more out of a sense of serenity, the first genuine bit of happiness you'd felt in days. You're reluctant to admit that his heartbeat is soothing you, but you're certain it wouldn't work if it was anyone else. It's not his heartbeat that's soothing you, it's his heartbeat that's soothing you, and you don't know how to tell him that without sounding like you like him.

And maybe you do, you realize, as your eyes flutter shut slowly against his chest, maybe you do like him. But you'll have to ponder that later, because he's murmuring a soft, 'Sleep for a bit, babe, then we'll get you some food.' and you're following his instructions to the letter.

606 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

simon007

Gay men's world

juicetraders

Juice Traders

lefawumiweh

Untitled

yourdarkartist

Your Personal Dark Artist

shonesurfphoto

shone_surf_photo