bella-1-4-1

[bella-1-4-1]

thinking about being simon's link even though he's your superior because he needs a way to let off some steam that isn't him handing you your arse on a silver platter during spars and at first it's only after some real stressful missions.

he's rougher then, his hips snapping with a ferocity that makes your teeth clack together but it gets him to be civil by morning and you get one too many body wracking orgasms too.

win win.

he doesn't interact with you any more differently than before, eyes flat as you walk past even though you've got a bit of an awkward gait thanks to him and that works just as well because the last thing you need is soap giving you a hard time for fucking the one guy you complained about the most while you were still breaking in your boots.

and then you find yourself unable to keep him out of your pants during an op; bent over a table in a safe house, his hands curled around the strap of your vest, on your gloved hands and padded knees while waiting for price's next orders, a quick romp against the wall right before having to sit pretty and make eye contact with gaz in the helo. (he pulls out during these times, can't have you running after someone with his spend still dripping warm between your legs.)

things were fine for a while. your arse was safe from any unnecessary bruising, your toy sat retired in your nightstand drawer and you had no nosy men in your business, although it is strange that no one's mentioned anything. both you and simon have gone missing and later walk into a room together enough times to arouse suspicion but no. nothing. not a peep out of soap, a side eye from price or a raunchy joke from gaz.

good. great, even.

until soap stomps your way one crispy morning, grumbling under his breath before swiping the mug from your hands to take a sip of your coffee. "ye get in a fight er somethin'?"

what does he mean?

"ghost is in a mood today. not to be crass, bonnie, but if ye could, uh, fuck 'im in tranquility- we 'ave somewhere t'be today."

he finishes the rest of your drink, giving it a 3 out of 5 stars then shoots you a smile. "thanks, hen."

oaf. that'd been the last of the coffee.

it's only after you're left thoroughly worn out, thighs slick with cum, that you quietly bring up that johnny knows.

(he'd been right, though. you'd barely stepped a foot through the door before simon had you writhing beneath him, fucking you like he hated you)

"knows about wha'?" he mutters, smoke furling and twisting around his bare face.

this.

simon hums, unbothered. "so he does." he turns back go his gun, the familiar sound of the metal clicking and sliding filling the silence.

(kyle is the one that tells you that simon had been the one to out the two of you. he was markin' his territory, doll. nothin' out o' the ordinary, yeah?)

[bella-1-4-1]

Thinking about husband Simon who's always late to events but makes sure to pick you up when nearly everybody's gone. Simon who just can't make time for you in his schedule but makes sure at least one of his mates pick you up from the hangout you went to he's glad when you make friends with the johns.

Simon whose schedule only gets worse after he's married. The guilt of leaving his spouse home alone making his lungs overwork when he chokes on his second pack. He gets clingier and clingier everytime you return, trying to compromise for his absence when he turns desperately emotional.

Simon decides it's enough after 4 years of back and forth and puts you first. Resigning at the ripe age of 40, one of the youngest in his team to resign. Too many flashbangs and grenades for his eyes and ears, he decides. Now how does he get rid of his nicotine addiction...

[bella-1-4-1]

Gaz loving hours n4!

Laswell - words of affirmation

[bella-1-4-1]

getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.

he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.

he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.

now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.

although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.

the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.

well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.

it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.

you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.

you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.

it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.

(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.

"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.

yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)

[bella-1-4-1]

thank you @samuelroukin for your vision 🙏

[bella-1-4-1]

it's so funny that you can hit all these buttons on a keyboard to make words appear on a screen. i will use this power to write about gay sex

[bella-1-4-1]

Trying so hard to fit in and be normal but I’m lowk constantly fantasising and planning how I will kms (pills probs) autism core

[bella-1-4-1]

Ruined

CW: extremely dubious consent, assault and p3d0phillia (not romanticised), self-victimisation blaming, sui attempt. Be safe, be kind.

Tim’s parents mainly had a child for the financial gain as well as popularity.

As soon as Tim was born he was a beautiful and cute little thing that made all conversations at Galas and even and meetings start and flow with ease. People always complimented the bright young boy who could speak as well as a three year old after just turning two and had the cutest little walk in his tiny suit.

When he gets older, Tim understands this and knows that his role is to get deals and funding for his parents.

It’s never out right said, but they always treat him kinda and praise him when he scores them a deal of any kind.

So, he masters it. He learns what people prefer the sweet, endearing little boy and who prefers to see an upcoming business man. He figured out when to talk to a wife over a husband, when to not bother trying or when to be upfront with what he wants so he can get it.

It’s when he’s almost ten, wearing a new suit from a new designer his mother had started to prefer, that one of the older men give him a compliment that just sits wrong to Tim.

It takes him a while to figure it out, and when he does research on it and ends up finding a wiki article on how to tell if someone is attracted to you, he assumes that it’s completely normal. He guess the man thought he was cute like everyone else, but then he reads more.

It’s, quite unsurprisingly, a Reddit post about seduction that tips him off to what the man really wanted from him.

Tim, ever the researcher that he is at heart, properly learns everything he can about sex and seduction and tells himself it’s completely fine for him to do this both because it’s for the family business and he won’t actually have sex. He’s a kid, so they won’t really want him, right?

Of course this is the nativity of the child that he is talking and his still solid trust in humanity keeping him from seeing people for what they really are.

Tim meets Dr Hinders at the next Gala, the man who looked at him like a piece of candy, and gives him a charming little smile and casually touches his forearm like the articles suggested. He plays it off as nothing special outwardly, though he makes sure to leave his eyes lingering on the man’s mouth.

He doesn’t remember much of what actually happened, only entering a car and feeling warm caresses turn harsh and painful.

Tim lays in the man’s bed that night and finds that he hates himself more than the man who used him even as Tim started to push back. He blames himself for not being smarter, for not realising that if he could look at Tim that way, he could do far worse.

But then the man says to Tim, “I think I will endorse your parents, Timothy. You are… quite convincing.”

Tim hears the man’s sickening laugh and hates how success stirs in his gut. Dr Hinders in the lead researching of a project his father had been practically begging to be apart of and now he will.

Jack will be so happy with Tim.

As he is dropped off at home, he runs a icey bath and sobs to himself as he enters. His ass burns as much as his shame, his shoulders ach from where his arms were forced back, yet somehow worst of all is his hip. The hand shaped bruise is giant compared to his own, a brand of sorts to remind him that he handed himself over like a whore.

Yet Tim respects whores, because they need to do it to survive more often than not.

The next day his father picks him up and actually hugs him. Its the first time since he was three that it’s happened and Tim can’t even be in pain from the contact to his aches as he hears his father rant about how proud he is of his son, how he did so well and deserves to go out shopping for a camera.

Tim frowns at the mention of Dr Hinders asking if he could continue to have chats with Tim every now and again yet says yes just to make his father proud.

Janet stared at him all the while with a knowing look, one that screams years of painful experience and burden that she seems to recognise in him.

He pointedly ignores it and goes upstairs.

If Tim this is the result, his father’s love, Tim is going to have to keep doing this.

He just… needs to find a way where it won’t be as painful.

By the time Tim becomes Robin, he’s well known in the elite Gotham circle as ‘bunny’. Find him at an event and play your card right and he’ll come home with you and give you a night you’ll never forget, all you have to do is promise to send some money to his parents or pay for a trip for them.

Most of them pay for trips when they realise that Tim can stay for while nights if they’re away.

He’s eleven when he first goes to a man’s house, already crying silently as he prepped himself, and there’s three others waiting.

He doesn’t even try to back out and upon returning home the next day finds himself holding his head under the iced water a little longer than safe.

Tim doesn’t go through with it and instead goes bat watching.

He tells himself that he’s the one consenting, that it’s okay because he’s doing the seducing, and shoves down the voice that tells him that no amount of temptation should allow anyone older than him to give in to violating a child. He lies to himself about how he prefers it when they are rough and cruel so he can feel better shouting hating them, because the kind touches and longing looks he gets from the ones who let him take the lead make him feel like he is in control, like it could actually be okay, and he knows that it’s not.

It took him a while and soon it will be too late, he’ll be eighteen soon, but he does know that it’s fucked up.

He just ignores that because it makes his dad happy, even after he goes into a coma and remarries.

Somehow he managed to keep it hidden from Bruce for almost five years, but as usual, he finds out.

Tim doesn’t tell him, no he’d never be able to do that.

It’s none other than Dr Hinders.

Bruce host a Gala at the end of summer and winter every year, which is both she he stays relevant and so he doesn’t have to do multiple and not have as much time for Batman.

It’s at one of these Galas that he’s talking with a few men and Dr Hinders says, “You’re a lucky man Bruce, to have Tim with you all the time.”

Bruce smiles proudly as the other two men give each other looks, both knowing full well that Bruce Wayne doesn’t like their kind and probably doesn’t know what Hinders is referring to.

“I am indeed. He’s a smart lad, my Tim. Single handedly raised my company from the ground after my ah, relaxed nature.”

The two men laugh heartily and one manages to make an excuse, abandoning his friend who’s about to shit tears as Hinders leans forward and says, “I’d kill to have him all the time. You know I was his first?”

Bruce is a master of poker faces, he has to be with all the masks he owns in both a literal and metaphorical sense. But his expression still falters for a moment, eyes narrowing as a sick feeling build in his gut.

“What ever do you mean?”

The man besides them stares at the ground in pure fear, knowing that Bruce is one of the most powerful men and he’s been included in the many who took from his financial heir.

Hinders grins a sadistic thing and gives Bruce a look to say ‘oh come on’, “Now, Bruce. Someone had to break him in, teach him the ropes. How else would Jack and Janet get any funding if not for whoring out their son?”

Bruce feels the glass in his hand strain from his tight grip.

“I mean, he definitely had a lot of practice by the time I got to him a second time, but an ass like that comes naturally. Hey, was it you who bought him that red lace? Me and the boys at work still have a photo of him in it up in the lunch room-“

Dr Hinders isn’t ready for the punch Bruce lands on his face, square on his nose with a loud crunch.

A few people turn around and soon everyone is, only to be met with an image of Bruce Wayne that or a cult shows the rage boiling off of him and raining the air with a dangerous aura.

The way he growls is enough to shake the room, somehow worse than Batman’s voice, “everybody get the fuck out of my house.”

Some people get their things calmly and leave, but most hurry like the buildings on fire.

Dick and Damian, the only ones attending that night other than Tim, rush up to him and ask what happened but Bruce is too busy staring at his son across the room.

Tim is frozen, hands cupped to his chest and Bruce knows he heard everything just by the tears in his eyes and how he immediately starts repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over and over.

Bruce approaches him quickly but waits for Tim to move into his arms. He wraps his boy up and squeezes him tight, “it’s okay, my sweet. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. This isn’t your fault. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice.”

Dick is getting frustrated now, wanting to know what happened to his baby brother, yet when he hears Tim’s response his heart is too busy shattering apart.

“It is! I go to them, I let them fuck me so dad can get his deals! It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have done it in the first place but even then I kept going all for a dad who doesn’t love me. I hate it, I hate it so much but it’s what I’m good for!”

Bruce lets out a sob and moves to look at Tim, “No. No, don’t you dare say that. You are so much more, worth so much more than your body. You are my son, you are Red Robin, you are a brother and a grandson and you are so fucking special. I’m so sorry Tim, I’m sorry you feel that way but it’s okay, I’ll help you. Those men will never touch you again, I swear it.”

Tim breaks down and collapses into his father’s arms, sobbing and wailing years of abuse out.

Dick sobs too but manages to get through it enough to remove Damian from the situation even as the young boys eyes are filled with rage and concern for his brother.

It takes a while, mainly for Tim to chose that he will take the pity and blame from the masses if it means the men who hurt him will pay.

He gives a list to Bruce and cries when he sees that Alfred himself is crying.

If some of the men on that list end up dead in prison and Jason seems a proud of himself, that’s no one’s worry.

Damian refuses to leave Tim’s side for a long time, going with him every where when out in public and not giving up his sword even when the mall security insist he has to.

The photo’s taken of Tim, most of which he wasn’t aware of, only manage to circulate for a few hours before Oracle manages to systematically remove each and every single one with the help of a few hackers and Cyborg.

Duke may also leak to a few of his friends that some of the men are trying to bail out of prison and shouldn’t be welcome in Gotham, and if one of those friends is Cass with a wood plank with nails in it, Kate defiantly didn’t see and help her make it.

[bella-1-4-1]

cw: dubcon humping. gn reader. he’s just a little pent up guys.

gaz is absolutely the type to squeeze you into a hug that lasts a bit too long.

idk, maybe you’re his best friend or something. someone he instantly clicked with at uni and who’s stuck around despite everyone else in his life falling away like pastry crumbs. devotion that isn’t romantic nor entirely platonic in a sense, but a secret third thing that has you inviting him to stay the night when he returns home and his flat is too far a drive for someone so tired.

you greet him at your door when he arrives. he’s bulkier than when he left for deployment, fills up the arms of his t-shirt and the thighs of his pants. smells like sweat and the faint traces of his cologne (Y by yves saint laurent. you’d gotten it for his birthday.) so sexy you might as well abandon your propriety and slip a hand down the course hairs of his happy trail. but you don’t. instead, you go in for one of your patented this-isn’t-more-than-a-friendship half hugs.

which he does not take. as your one arm hooks around his neck, both of his wrap around your waist and force you to embrace him fully. it’s crushing. so tight you have to lift your head to breathe properly. he lifts you off your feet and sways you back and forth as he whispers little complaints; things about stubborn CO’s or unnecessary bloodshed. you allow it because it sounds like he needs it, this small comfort.

except it verges on longer than a few seconds. longer than proper for a pair of good uni friends. his hand kneads the flesh of your back, and his hips grind against your groin. is he hard, or is that a gun he has yet to unarm? you can’t tell, but it seems to work for him when the hard mass in his jeans catches the canyon of yours. he groans quietly, stuttered, as his thrusts gain pace. as he tightens himself like a cobra around its prey. as he plants his lips onto your neck and starts inhaling the scent of your freshly washed skin.

“…kyle?” you whisper, awkward hands flailing about behind him. your voice comes out in a strained way, vocal chords crushed against his shoulder.

“jus… give- fuck. give me a moment, mate.”

so you do. it doesn’t last much longer after that, anyway. his grinding grows brutal, knocks the little air left out of your lungs. it hurts to a degree. he’s hitting the tendon between your leg and crotch – and you’re sure it’ll be tender in the upcoming days – but you don’t voice your troubles to the man around you, who unravels at such a startling pace you know he’s too far gone to pay proper attention regardless. how else would he be bold enough to grope the plush curve of your ass? two hands latch onto it like dough, anchoring you up so the angle hits just right.

and then he starts to get sloppy. his rhythm loses pace. his stance widens and he fucking whines into your ear as a wet spot spreads across the front of his pants. you’re so dizzy that, when he lets go of you, you have to hold onto his forearm to steady yourself, blinking owlishly at the grin that stretches across his face. as if he didn’t just hump you and cream in his clothes. why are you the one caught off guard?

“thanks for that.” he winks, then pets the flyaways off your temple.

[bella-1-4-1]

Give me a chance

[bella-1-4-1]

I’m tired of weak pathetic 141-reader who can’t do anything, let’s talk about 141-reader who’s doing her best and then some. Spending all her spare time training - she knows she’s good, she’s in the 14-fucking-1, but she wants to be better. Reader who silently fumes when Price or Gaz grab her bag, trying to be nice. Reader who snatches it back with a “I can carry my own shit,” because yeah, she’s smaller and weaker than them but not for fucking long, and if she comes across as rude, who cares? Reader who’s so desperate to be the best she isolates herself, her jealousy turning into resentment. Reader who can knock grown men on their asses but it isn’t enough because she can’t beat Price, Simon, Kyle and Johnny all at once. Reader who’s considered a flight risk because she won’t follow orders. Reader who takes unnecessary risks and gets pissed off when she’s reprimanded because “I did what needed to be done!” And takes everything as an insult, refusing to think maybe the 141 aren’t out to get her. “You’re eating less, are you okay?” “I’m cutting, fuck you!” Or “that’s a big plate!” Joked about by the friendly Scot after you take all the bacon left over only to be greeted with a “fuck you, Johnny.” Uncooperative bitchy reader who hates that she’s at her physical best because she should be better.

[bella-1-4-1]

something something kate laswell cupping your chin so she can tilt your head to meet her eyes and going "you gonna be good for Daddy, sweetheart?" something something

[bella-1-4-1]

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.

[bella-1-4-1]

The Adventures of Old man!Price with an Erectile Dysfunction and his Pathetic Birdie 💞

“Go on birdie, you can touch it.” John encourages tenderly, guiding your hand to rest it on top of his cock.

Trying in push your hand away from embarrassment, John guides toys hand back to his crotch. You look up at unable to watch your own actions, John simply nods allowing your hands to explore him freely without restraint.

Biting your bottom lip, you look back down to inspect his cock. The tip angry and leaking with a prominent vein running along it. You rub the slit, feeling the sticky substance. Curiosity gets the best of you as you decide of lick your finger clean of the pre-cum. Your face scrunches at the taste, earning a deep chuckle from John.

“Guess I need to smoke less to make it taste a bit better, doll face”

You listen to his remark without much thought as you grab his cock and rub his tip on your lips, smearing the pungent pre-cum all over before leaving a kiss on his head. His eyes light up with a glint of mirth, taking in the sight.

One hand wraps around the girth of his cock with the other rest on top of his thighs for support. Your tongue probes his slit, an inquisitive nature brewing inside of you. John hums softly as your actions are taken over by the sweet kitten licks you give his cock head. You pepper his length in fleeting kisses.

“So soft, darling.” You mumble.

John hums as acknowledgment, agreeing with your statement. “That’s what happens when your old, birdie”

“You’re not old…”

“Hm, but my body says otherwise, sweetheart.”

“Is it bad that I like it this way?” You ask innocently.

John chuckles, his voice harbouring a hint of skepticism. “You like it like this, do you?”

You nod, kissing the tip. “It doesn’t look as crazy when it’s all soft and limp like this.”

He smiles, caressing you hair. “Then this is all for you, Birdie.”

You smile softly, continuing your ministrations. Kissing and licking every surface of his cock. Forgetting about your once pleasure, you suckle the tip of his cock filling you with longing for his release. As you continue your assault of lust on him, you see a string of hot, milking liquid dribbling out of his slit like beads.

Deciding you not like it go to waste, you lick it up in its entirety. The smell and taste even more pungent and foul tasting than his pre-cum. However, you’ve realised how precious his seed is akin to the likeness of liquid gold.

You look up with big doe eyes brimming with wonder and affection.

“Can I make you cum again, please?”

[bella-1-4-1]

One night stand with ghost that turns out to be a husband ghost in disguise. Hooking up with your lieutenant was supposed to be a haha funny thing. A good stress relief to maybe build morale. Not for you to have an overbearing husband on duty 24/7. Forcing you into his office during work hours just to have you sit on his lap. Pulling you closer just enough so your back presses to his chest.

Doesn't even complain when you get bored and roll your hips against his, just pulls you closer and let's you use his body while he works. Sure his dick's hard but who's going to do all this paperwork???

Don't even think about sleeping alone. He's bringing you along on missions too, with the help of price of course. Lunch? You're eating with him, dinner too. No fighting it, especially when he's feeding you personally in his office with a gentle hand squishing your cheeks and a steady hand with your spoon.

Doesn't even let you workout alone, he's always on standby. Blonde hair catching your attention in the gym mirror because he's always nearby after the one night. Going to the pub? He's joining. Following behind like some guard dog that pays for all your drinks and drives away sleazy guys. Don't you think he's doing his job well as a husband?

Tell him he's doing good. He's doing his best to be there for you. And be yours. Forever. But tell him he's doing well please?