#GUARDS! feminize this man

[tentacleteapot]

holy shit, can this be part of the writing prompt now actually?

At the age of 16 all witches are assigned a familiar. You are excited for yours as you see your friends turn 16 and get theirs. Cats, Crows, spiders. You are devastated to find out that out your 16th birthday, your familiar is a 27 year old hipster named Frank.

[dykealloy]

whatever. fem law be upon ye

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Audience Participation

Kinktober Day 8: Hypnotism

Three Yandere Vampire Men x Feminized Male Reader CW: Noncon, vampires, vampirism, biting, blood drinking, praise kink, mind control, hypnotism, feminization, polycule, public sex, exhibitionism, public masturbation, praise, oral sex, anal sex, death of a side character, kidnapping, general yandere behavior Word Count: 3.2k

(The EXTREMELY long awaited rewrite of audience participation is here. Not beta read so please forgive any mistakes. REALLY hope this gets a good reception! Don't forget to comment <3)

You were but the humble servant of the wealthiest merchant in your city, Rorik. And he did not accrue such wealth by being kind or generous to the lowly peasants that cleaned his shops or grew the produce that he sold. No, he got his fortune by exploiting the labor of the poor. With rampant poverty in the city it was very easy to do. You were exceedingly replaceable and you had nowhere else to go. When you weren't sweeping floors, stocking shelves, or tending to the fresh produce grown out back you were in the overstuffed shack where the other male employees were stuffed. Of course it wasn't free, Rorik charged each of you a large portion of your income for this "kindness". But there was nowhere else you could afford.

Poor living conditions and low pay were certainly not the end of the abuses you had to endure at the hands of your employer either. It was not at all uncommon for Rorik to fly off the handle and get physically violent towards whichever servant was nearest.

And if all that wasn't bad enough you only got one day off every other week.

Still... it was better than being homeless and mercilessly beaten by the town guards and not having even the smallest crumb of food...

It was one of your rare days off and there just so happened to be a traveling actor's troupe in the city for the week. You had heard their performance was pretty interesting, and best of all they were doing a free performance for nothing but tips today and tomorrow. It would be set up in the town square and anyone would be able to attend. You walked into the square and stood at the edge of the crowd that had already assembled. There was a raised platform so you would be able to see okay, though hearing every detail might be an issue, but that was your fault for sleeping in a bit.

Not long after you had arrived the actors stepped onto their stage and introduced themselves. There were three of them, all men. A large muscular man named Viktor who appeared to be in his forties. He seemed gruff and grizzled, not the type you would typically expect in the theatrical arts. In stark contrast to him there was a somewhat flamboyant skinny man named Oliver who seemed to be in his mid 20s with long red hair. And the third man had an average build and medium length black hair and seemed more cold compared to the other two and looked to be around the same age as Oliver, his name was Sebastian.

The first thing they performed were some small skits that the rest of the audience really enjoyed, they didn't get such a strong reaction out of you but you still liked them. After that as a warm up they did a short play, completely with cool fire effects. It was pretty impressive how only three people managed to play such a large array of characters. And even though they had appeared gruff and cold respectively Viktor and Sebastian were very convincing in each role they played. And the costumes were simply perfect.

It was hard not to imagine being in their shoes. Traveling from city to city, trying new foods, meeting new people, getting to pretend to be someone else, always having enough money. After a few moments of fantasizing, you shook yourself out of your silly pondering and focused on enjoying the performance.

Unbeknownst to you, while you were watching the play, one of the actors was watching you. Oliver. Something about you seemed familiar, as if he had known you all his life. You captivated him, perhaps it was the rags you wore in place of shoes or your tattered clothing that reminded him of his own humble beginnings. He could tell you were daydreaming about what your life would be like if you were like them. It was plain on your face. But you really didn't know how life would be with them. The thirst for blood, skulking the shadows for a quick feed, never being able to set down roots for fear of suspicion.

They were vampires.

And if what happened next had never happened you wouldn't have had to find that out.

As you were thoroughly enjoying the performance, and Oliver was equally enjoying your eyes on him, you were suddenly smacked hard in the head. It was Rorik. And he was even less happy than usual. You cupped your head and grunted in pain.

"Why the fuck are you slacking off here!? You cannot just take your day off when one of the other peasants is sick! Take off next month, if I even fucking let you after this!!"

The shouting had caused a scene and all eyes were on you as Rorik roughly grabbed you by the arm and dragged you away. Tears streamed down your face from a combination of pain, humiliation, and frustration. You couldn't even have one day, just one, to forget your troubles.

Seeing the abuse you suffered cemented Oliver's decision. The troupe would have soon moved on for another location, but because of his previous infatuation with you now combined with seeing you abused as he once was guaranteed that he had to do something. He was sure he could convince Seb and Viktor to go along with what needed to be done. If he couldn't he would just have to push onward and do it himself.

Rorik took you to the general store, the largest of his several establishments, and shoved you in the door before leaving in a huff. You donned the uniform that you kept in the back and began another relentless shift. When it finally ended you hobbled your way to the shared shack, sobbing silently on your way. All the while being watched by three sets of eyes in the darkness. When you got to what passed for your home you washed up and went to the lump of straw you used as a bed to let the sweet void of sleep take you.

Oliver wanted to be the one to fetch you, but he also had other... "preparations" to make. He wanted to get you a little gift that he was just sure you would love. So instead it was Sebastian who was sent to get you. His ability to put people under a trance was as good as Oliver's. But it had just never been Viktor's forte. After leaving your shitty shack you began to shamble off to your job but a handsome man with cold eyes bumped into you.

"Oh hey, sorry about that."

You were going to respond but upon meeting his gaze you found yourself unable to speak. Instead you just let him take your hand and lead you towards the town square and into the outfitted wagon they used as a mobile home. It contained many props and costumes and a long cushioned bench on each side to be used as beds while traveling. Sebastian sat you down and immediately began stripping you and applying makeup before Viktor swapped in and started dressing you up in a beautiful dress. Sebastian spoke.

"We are sorry about your situation."

He brushed your cheek gently before applying a bit of blush.

"We watched you a bit and we agreed. You're going to join us. We were a bit reluctant but... Ollie convinced us..."

You could hear and understand the words but were powerless to protest under his trance. You didn't even want to. The hypnotic spell you were under muted negative emotions, so you just smiled and nodded at the nice man.

"Oliver is going to literally squeal with how pretty you look."

You smiled dumbly at that, you weren't sure why. You were a man and men did not typically wear dresses but it was nice to be thought of as pretty.

Viktor chimed in.

"Heh, yeah, he always had a thing for princesses."

"She just needs her crown."

Sebastian placed a beautiful ruby and silver tiara on you. You were still confused why they were treating you like a lady, but not enough confusion to break the spell, you just accepted it instead. Viktor explained your role.

"Hey girlypop, you're going to be in our play and your part is the princess. Don't worry, you don't have any lines to memorize."

"Yeah, just be good and act scared of the vampire and then happy when the knights come to rescue you. You can do that for us, right?"

You just smiled and nodded slightly.

"I will be playing the vampire, Ollie and Seb will be the knights."

Now that you were adorned in your princess costume Viktor and Sebastian began getting dressed in theirs.

"Oh, Vik! You remembered to tell the guards today's show was adult only right?"

Under the trance your mind vaguely wondered what was so adult about the show, but you easily pushed the thought away.

"Of course."

When Oliver came back to the others, with a box that contained the gift he had gone to get for you, he was already in his outfit. Shining plate mail that really looked authentic.

"Oh wow! She looks just so perfect, I want to take her here!"

Viktor stopped him from practically pouncing on you.

"Not yet, it'll ruin the make up! Besides, the show is about to start..."

//////////////////////

For the most part the show was a normal affair. Though quite a bit longer than the shorter plays from the day before. It started with you playing the part of a quiet melancholic princess who's somber beauty attracted the eye of a vampire lord that wanted to add you to his manor. Everything went normally until the vampire had absconded with you.

The scene after that entailed the vampire fucking the princess. And he did just that, right in front of the audience. He hitched up your dress, slathered your hole in lube and took some time to stretch you out with a couple of fingers, and then slid his cock right up into you for everyone in the crowd to see. As you were instructed you acted scared of the vampire, some of your real confusion and fear bubbling up to the surface. The audience loved your "performance", they could almost believe that you were really being held against your will and ravaged by the big bad vampire. Many of them openly masturbated at the lewd display before them, jerking their cocks or slipping fingers into their cunts as you cried and struggled and pleaded for help, not knowing or caring that you weren't a willing participant.

Though you were frightened and disoriented you weren't completely under your own will and Viktor's cock also fit into you perfectly and you couldn't help but to begin whimpering in pleasure and arching your back in need, pressing your ass back against him with each of his thrusts into you. It didn't take very much of this for your cock to twitch as you came, and it didn't take him very long after to fill you with his seed. You were in a complete daze now, barely aware of what was going on.

After showing your leaking hole to the audience your knights in shining armor showed up to rescue you from the foul blood-sucker. Sebastian "slayed" him by "stabbing" him with his mighty "sword". He fucked Viktor's face hard, to much cheering by the audience.

Now the two valiant knights carried you away from his lair. Oliver was the first to speak to you.

"Fair princess, we have rescued you! Wouldn't you like to show us a token of your appreciation?"

He looked into your eyes and pulled you further into the hypnosis. You really believed you were a princess that had been saved by a violent monster. He kissed you passionately and you returned the gesture. He removed the bottom half of his costume and guided your head to his throbbing cock, the slight musk hitting your nose before you engulfed his entire length in your warm and eager mouth.

As you were bent over sucking Oliver, Sebastian lifted up your dress and slowly pressed his cock into you, using Viktor's left over load as lube. He said some cheesy line about the princess' royal hole being very tight. You weren't really paying much attention, you were more focused on the distracting sensation of Sebastian fucking into you as Oliver gently thrust in and out of your perfect wet mouth as you continued to suck his cock. Oliver felt as though he must be in heaven, he didn't last too terribly long. How could he possibly last while you looked up at him with your lips around his dick while he felt every little murmur and twitch of pleasure being caused by Sebastian?

Sebastian lasted longer since he had already fucked Viktor's face, you came before he did while Oliver praised you for taking it so well and peppered you with kisses. Your cock throbbed and dribbled semen as he did so. When Sebastian finally finished inside of you the "knights" cleaned you up and the play wrapped up with the implication that you'd be taken back to the castle and all was well. The audience clapped, those who weren't still one handed due to masturbating. 

The vampires took you back to their spacious wagon, they had you seated comfortably before Sebastian ended the spell he had you under.

"Wh-what the hell!? Why did I do all that stuff? Why am I here? How'd you make me do all that?"

You were understandably confused and disoriented. You had a somewhat fuzzy memory of everything they had you do. All the sex in the play. Having you here alone. Just what were they and what were they after? The door to the wagon was being blocked by the muscular one, Viktor. So you couldn't just run off. Oliver was excited to talk to you.

"We saved you! You were a damsel in distress so we heroically rescued you from that vile man! Now you can be treated like a proper princess~"

The weirdo kept talking as if you were a woman. It may have made you blush if you hadn't been so traumatized by what they did to you on stage. The whole town would know within hours. It was the most humiliating violation that you had ever endured.

"Y-you drugged me somehow! Or used witchcraft! You're disgusting rapists, just let me go!"

Oliver looked dejected. It looked like Sebastian was about to yell at you but Oliver started talking again. He held out a large box that was all wrapped up for you. He stuttered and stammered, in denial about the words you had for him.

"Y-you're just shy... maybe I should have taken things slower for such a reserved l-lady. I'm sorry. B-but you'll love us, okay? I promise! We will take good care of you, I even got you a gift to commemorate our new relationship..."

You took it and began unwrapping it, not really seeing any other option.

"I'm not a girl! Stop calling me th-"

You were shocked into silence when you saw what was in the box. The bloody decapitated head of Rorik... You reeled back in shock and rolled to the floor. Oliver looked at you like a proud pet cat that was presenting you with its kill. Viktor looked away at the scene and Sebastian had his face in his palm.

"You like it right? I punished him and made him hurt a bunch for you~ Y-you like me now right?"

Sebastian placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Ollie, I told you, most people don't like dead things as gifts... they like flowers and shit like that..."

Oliver sniffled and looked as if he might cry after considering Sebastian's words and seeing the terror on your face.

"Please just let me go, I promise not to tell anyone..." You barely managed to squeak the words out.

Oliver began crying at your insistence to be released while the other two ignored you and tried to cheer up their partner. Oliver grabbed you and pulled you into his lap while you struggled. His grip was like iron. He kept muttering something about being sorry and how he'd get you flowers and make you the happiest lady ever while nuzzling you. You were only getting ever more panicked so Sebastian calmed you down with another dose of hypnotism. It was strong enough to make you enjoy Oliver's touches and reciprocate by leaning into his chest.

"We... may have have messed up by having sex with her so soon... not everyone enjoys being on stage I guess... should have gone slower. Let's just keep them enthralled while she gets to know us! See Ollie? She already stopped struggling."

"Yeah Oliver, just give your little doll time to adjust. Moving in with her new boyfriends is a big step in a relationship. Once you turn her she'll probably be so grateful that she'll be obsessed with us!"

Oliver was convinced. He would just be patient. You could be turned by morning.

"Yeah, you'll love being a vampire! It isn't so fun not being able to stay in one place for very long, and of course blood takes some getting used to... but it's so much better than what you were dealing with and you have us with you too! You'll see we are your heroes and then we'll make love allllll day, it'll be amazing."

Vampires? That should have set alarm bells off in your head, but it didn't. Probably because you were "enthralled" as Sebastian mentioned. Vampires were considered very rare, is that really what they were...? As if on cue, Oliver sank his fangs into your neck. You flinched but then moaned softly. All Oliver had to do was drain you nearly to death then feed you some of his own blood. If he sired you it would give the two of you a special bond and you'd be much more likely to love him.

You clung to him as you faded into unconsciousness, he laid you down carefully and bit his wrist, he allowed a few drops of blood to drip into your mouth. To say he was excited would have been an understatement. He finally had a pretty girlfriend he could dress up like a living doll and bounce on his cock. And he sired you, so not only would you share a soul bond, but you would also still be susceptible to his hypnotism, should he ever need it.

If you ever resisted him he would just subtly change your outlook on things and overtime you would genuinely fall for all three of them. Oliver and Sebastian watched you rest as the vampirism took hold while Viktor went to the front of the wagon to begin the journey to the next town, you would never see your hometown again.

[yanderestarangel]

HEADCANONS JKK | STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO

TW: ftm reader, praise, degradation, oc nanami (I think), manipulation, step!incest, sub!reader, dom!nanami, recorded!sex, threats, blowjob, v!sex, afab anatomy, forced feminization, use of lingerie, degradation, dark!smut, breeding, creampie, daddykink.

smut confectionery event ┆ SUNDAE ┆ forced feminization, record sex, headcanons. ˖⁺ ⊹୨ "stepfather + stepson" ୧⊹ ⁺˖

˖⁺ ⊹୨ 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝔀. 𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 ୧⊹ ⁺˖

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪

𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮<3

♡ 𝐒𝐅𝐖 ♡

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who started dating your mother because it was convenient for him to have company, he didn't really love her, but he was already forty years old and needed meaning in life. But he didn't expect that he would meet the new obsession of his life in an unconventional way... You, the son of his future wife.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who was astonished by your beauty and beauty, he asked your mother everything about you ─ what college you went to, what you liked or didn't like and even more intrusive details, in this case if you had a boyfriend or girlfriend. Your mother answered some questions and he diverted her focus by saying "They were questions to try to be a good enough stepfather." You on the other hand didn't like his intrusion into your life and home... He noticed that and soon thought of a way to try to turn things around in his favor.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who knew you didn't like the idea, initially your instinct said internally that there was something wrong there, but you couldn't get in the way of your mother's happiness, and he would use everything to his advantage. He started complaining to your mother that you didn't accept him as a father figure, making your mother give you an hour-long lecture talking about how his co-worker and now boyfriend was good to you and tried to be your father even if you didn't let him. Kento smirked when he saw your angry face, he knew that now you would have to let your guard down with him and finally he could act according to his initial plan.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who deliberately goes shirtless and has sweatpants hanging loosely around his hips every morning in the kitchen. He smiles at you while the blonde hair falls on his face and the purple circles under his eyes and the woody perfume that leaves his skin, a happy path of hair would shyly follow to his crotch, giving an extra touch to his muscular appearance, especially the thick veins that they continued from his arms to his biceps. He would smirk at you as he would ask you if you slept well and if you were hungry ─ he would still see the reluctance in your eyes and would approach you, kissing the back of your hand lightly. "I'm not your enemy pretty boy... I just want to be the best for you, you know that right?" The blonde man's voice was husky and seductive, like a balm, as if he was bringing you into a tempting trap.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who makes you feel sorry for him, manipulating you, saying that your mother didn't pay as much attention to him as she did at the beginning of the relationship and how he needed to work extra hard to make up for your household bills, saying that you were the only person who still paid for him staying in that house and putting up with your mother... ( Which was a lie, Nanami did everything he lied that your mother did, he ignored her and preferred to spend his money to buy you gifts or even buy you a car go to your college. ) he would look at you with his brown eyes eyes and place a hand on your thigh. "You'll never leave my side... Right my dear son?"

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who gradually manipulates you into staying on his side every time your mother fights with him. Saying that you can't sleep in his room because she doesn't want him there and asking if he can sleep on the floor in your room ── mentally he will be praying for you to accept that he stays in the room and offer your bed to him. If you do the second option, the blonde's heartbeat will accelerate to the point where you can hear the sound of his heartbeat. He couldn't sleep that night, controlling himself as much as possible not to touch you and make you his even in your sleepy state. Nonetheless Kento couldn't, he wanted you to want him equally as he wanted you.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who encouraged your mother to accept the company promotion and go traveling with her bosses for days to be alone with you. He calculated exactly when she was going to leave and called the company to say that he was sick and couldn't make it, returning home to be with his sweet stepson and finally putting his final plan into practice. Make you his little toy.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who waits for you to arrive from your appointment while happily cooking a meal for you; He saw you notice his effort and place an innocent kiss on his face. As he resumed preparing the dinner, his fingers trembled slightly over the stove. He couldn't help but think about how your kiss felt on his cheek, the warmth and tenderness that radiated through him. His mind raced with thoughts of you, imagining the future they could have together. He didn't just want to be your father figure, but your lover, to adore every inch of your body just for him.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who listened intently to you and your day out at college, with his eyes always trying to find yours. "That's wonderful, darling," he praised, his voice velvety smooth. "You truly are such a good boy, always taking your responsibilities seriously." He came closer, running his thumb over your lower lip and feeling like it was the perfect opportunity ─ Then Nanami couldn't resist any longer. Leaning in, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his hand sliding up your thigh beneath the table. His tongue probed your mouth eagerly, tasting the sweet essence of your youth. "I want you so badly, lad." he growled, his voice hoarse with desire. "I've wanted you since the first day I laid eyes on you."

♡ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 ♡

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who soon made you submit to him with dominance and words of affection, bending you over the table and sticking his thick, veiny hand into your underwear ─ finding your clit easily and applying the necessary pressure to make you moan and whimper beautifully. "Such a good boy, submitting to your stepfather," Nanami purred, his fingers expertly stroking your clit through the fabric of your underpants. He savored the way you responded to him, your moans filling the room like music to his ears. He slipped his finger into your damp entrance, coating it with your arousal before pulling away. "Is that what you want, my prince? To be touched by me? To be owned by me?" He asked, his voice husky with lust. "Tell me, and I promise to give you everything your heart desires." With a satisfied hum, he stood up abruptly, all traces of gentleness gone. Kento had finally trapped you in his trap, and you fell like a needy bunny.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who forced you to wear expensive lingerie that he bought for you. The silk and lace fabric was short and hugged your curves, practically not even covering your breasts ─ your cunt wet your panties while you saw your stepfather's hands wander to your cell phone and press the record button, starting the perverse and forbidden little show of you two. "You're so eager for me, aren't you, my pretty little boy... You're such a slut for me." He circled around you, the camera capturing every angle of your shapely body adorned in the delicate lingerie. His fingers trailed along the lace, teasingly grazing your sensitive skin. "Spread your legs wider, boy," he commanded, his voice low and commanding. "I want to see that wet pussy of yours, ready and waiting for me."

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who saw you obediently followed his instructions, your arousal evident through the soaked fabric of your panties, Nanami couldn't resist a chuckle. "Look at you, my dumb, pretty boy..." He mocked as he pinched one of your nipples behind the thin silk fabric of your bra, making you moan like you were in heat. "Now, keep being a good boy and suck daddy's cock, can you do it right?"

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who forced you to suck his cock, pulling your hair while you felt the tip of his dick massage your soft cheeks. His camera clicked steadily, capturing your submission, sealing your fate as his willing pawn. Though he had no intention of betraying you, the threat hung heavy in the air, a tool to keep you obedient and submissive. "You know what happens if you disobey, don't you?" He warned softly, thrusting into your mouth rhythmically. "Your mother will see exactly what her little boy has become." Nanami threatened between moans, as he took his dick out of your oral cavity and slammed the hard shaft into your warm and wet tongue.

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who dragged your panties to the side and rubbed the hot tip of his fat cock across your swollen clit, seeing the quivering mess you were. Slowly, methodically, he began to pump into you, your moans filling the room like a symphony of surrender. Each thrust drove him further into your core, claiming you as his own possession. "Such a good boy, taking it like a whore for his stepfather.... Beg for more, prince," He commanded, leaning down to kiss your neck. "Beg for my release, for the chance to carry my child, You want daddy to make you daddy too, don't you? You're going to be a beautiful father baby boy...Carrying my children around like the beautiful man you are." His fingers would find your clit, rubbing it in firm circles, intensifying your pleasure. Your moans grew louder, filling the room without caring if the neighbors would hear or not. "That's it, my sweet boy," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "You're doing so well, taking me so obediently."

STEP!FATHER NANAMI KENTO - Who fills you to the brim with his hot, thick seed, the tip of his cock rhythmically hitting your sweet spot even as you tremble and feel completely filled by him. He takes his cock out of your sensitive hole while sticking three fingers inside, He would soon look into your eyes and smile. "You're going to be a daddy's boy and save all my seed right?" With a quick pat on your head, he turned off the camera and pocketed his phone. "Good boy," he muttered, already planning the next encounter. "Don't disappoint me." Though the threat still loomed, it was clear that Nanami found satisfaction in his domination. After all, what better way to ensnare someone than through their deepest desires? And you, dear boy, were caught in his web.

𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂'𝓻𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮....𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓽𝓸𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓫𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼 🍰

[callmerainman]

First Man on the Earth still couldn't hit this | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

pairing. sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

themes. enemies to lovers, Adam reincarnates as a sinner, Reader is a royal guard.

spoilers! for Hazbin Hotel S1 finale

tw! mentions of sex, suggestive themes in general, the feminism leaving my body as I write for Adam

When Adam came back as a sinner and asked to be redeemed at the Hotel, no one was having that shit lmao.

But, as always, Charlie believes in second chances and it didn't feel right to her to just not let him in.

At only one condition: he would always have to be supervised by you, Lucifer's royal guard.

You were skilfully trained to become a guard at the royal family's services, and Lucifer had just the right mission for you in mind.

You accepted gladly, finally a task that wasn't guarding his rubber ducks.

But then you meet Adam, and you start immediately regretting the ducks.

You both find each other totally INSUFFERABLE.

He hates the idea of someone watching over him, so he lashes at you multiple times a day, as you talk back to him.

"Can't you just not stick your fucking angelic spear in my cereals?"

Despite your hatred for him, you took the mission very seriously and watched over him to check all his moves, just in case he had bad intentions.

But if you could, oh you would have ran away from his repellent presence the second you saw him at the Hotel.

He despises you so much that he doesn't even dare to flirt with you. You heard right. ADAM.

It takes some next level skill to get on his nerves to the point where he doesn't even want to sleep with you. And he remarks it a lot.

You do the same honestly.

"An old hag like you can only DREAM of having a piece of the original dick!"

Your face distorts in disgust "I would rather swallow all of Lucifer's rubber ducks than even think about it!"

At least you agree on something.

So your dynamic mainly consists of fighting, shouting at each other, name calling, pointing at his throat with your spear, Charlie separating you two as soon as you start throwing hands.

Speaking of Charlie, she had some special classes to make you two get along but they made things worse if anything.

One of them lead to the biggest fight you and Adam ever had.

As soon as you both get up to go to your respective rooms, still shouting insults at each other, Angel Dust raises one of his hands.

"Is it me or I sense some unspoken sexual tension?"

Everybody groans in disapproval, but immediately starts placing bets. Angel Dust is the only one who bets that you two will end up fucking.

In your room, you try to cool down but Adam is just making your job impossible. You're in fact fuming just by thinking about him and his stupid pretty face and his way of talking back to you.

Exasperated, you knock at his door, face already hot in anger. You want to set things straight.

As soon as he opens the door and sees you, he's already annoyed.

"You're making my job fucking impossible, you know?! If you really want to redeem yourself maybe you can start collaborating instead of being the most fucking annoying being to ever land in Hell!" you scream, pointing a finger at him.

Adam gets close to your face, towering over you "I'm not the one who asked to have someone fucking glued to my ass, you know?!"

Neither of you noticed your proximity, not until your foreheads were touching and you were breathing heavily against each other's faces, both hot. From anger, or...you know.

And then, something happens.

You both just lean in and kiss.

Oh boy Angel Dust may be onto something.

The moment you and Adam start to make out is the one you realize that all that fighting was your way of denying something that is now obvious.

The magnetic, undeniable sexual tension that wasn't just some weird figment of imagination.

In a matter of seconds you're all over each other and Adam drags you inside his room. You shut the door, just in case.

After you're done you find something else to agree on! 1. Best sex ever 2. No one has to know 3. Never again

You end up having sex again that very same day. And everybody knows because they heard you downstairs. A very lucky day for Angel Dust's finances!

Neither of you knew that the others at the Hotel were aware so you two would try to sneak out to have sex discreetly.

"We'll go upstairs to...uh...FIGHT! You know? Because we always fight! And we're totally not going upstairs to have sex...'cause we would never have sex with each other!"

Except none of that is discreet, you two go absolutely wild at it.

Meanwhile, you and Adam start to open up to each other more, mainly during pillow talk. You find out that you have a common music taste, and humor. Conversations flow so naturally, something that you would have never guessed.

Something blossoms, and you and Adam realize that you are head over heels for each other.

In the end, Charlie brings up to you two that everybody at the Hotel knows that you have been hooking up. On one side, because she's genuinely happy that you two get along in one way or another. Second, Alastor threatened to obliterate you both if you don't stop exposing him to your obscenities.

So you and Adam decide to stop keeping it a secret, to both yourselves and the gang, and officially become a couple.

Let's say that you still are all over him but in a very different way.

The other guests at the Hotel start regretting the times when you two would just shout at each other incoherently.

Lots of PDA, that's the point.

Not in front of Alastor though, you don't want to risk anything.

But what's more redeeming than a really, really, really stupid love?

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part I)

Summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 1,536.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Notes: As soon as I saw him my feminism left my body immediately and my inner voice agreed that I'd let him take away my human rights with no question. He's an absolute idiot, would sleep with him 100%.

Heads up as English is not my native language sooo, yeah you know what follows. Lord pls give me inspo to finish this fic, amen.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part I: For The Common Good

Two months.

Two months ago Grace Mallory decided to put the former greatest supe into sleep. Somehow, you managed to get in her head, explaining your new project to her and finding a new use for Soldier Boy, who had enough rest for 40 years.

You knew what happened at the Seven Tower, how Soldier Boy and Butcher's team ended up there to finally kill Homelander. Grace tried doing some shit against Vought before, but she never managed to win. It wasn't different this time. What was better then, that to develop a cure for supes like you, who didn't ask for it? People who never used their powers in public, nor seeked fame and money.

As a doctor in Chemistry, you were developing a cure for Compound V with a secret team. Suitable for you, you were in the same CIA tower Colonel Mallory decided to encapsulate Soldier Boy to, initially, spend the rest of his days in. You had luck Grace gave green light to the project, even though your team was already working on it without her approval anyway. But it was so much better if she found out properly.

Making your way to the super secured wing where Soldier Boy was held out of his sleep, you gripped the folder in your hands. You were scanned thoroughly before going inside a cold space, where two different crystal windows and metal doors separated the place. The armed guard guided you to the first room to check first through the window. You sighed, seeing a man sitting down, hands cuffed to a harsh steel table, gaze lost. It was him.

"The keys," you requested the guard by your side.

"Doctor-"

"I said, keys. He doesn't need to be cuffed."

He complied to your order, clearly annoyed but with a straight face and you walked to the closed door.

"If something happens, I can take care of myself. Don't let anyone inside understand?" you said.

He gave a nod. With that, he let you inside the room, the doors closing behind your back.

The prisoner observed you carefully as soon as you entered. His gaze was tired, but he seemed ready to attack, and it was completely hard to ignore his rough stare on you as you made your way to your seat in front of him. Soldier Boy observed you, placing the folder on the surface, and you held his gaze, not flinching for a second. Until you decided to talk first.

"I am glad you're awake. My name is Y/N, I am a doctor at the facility. Just wanna know how you're doing today," you spoke in a calm and soft way, so he could see you were not a threat.

He saw you roaming through the pages of the file, which he recognized as a copy of his file, and you took a pen from your lab coat to make some anotations.

"Not a smart move to let a fucking doctor here," he said with a deep voice, lips forming a straight line. "What do you want?"

"I want to help you."

"Cut the bullshit."

"I want to talk. If you let me, I will uncuff you so we can have a chat, like civilized people. Just don't try to escape, you won't go too far."

He raised an eyebrow as you reached his wrists and carefully, you set him free from the metal grip.

"I know what happened with Butcher and his boys," you said, confident that he would not try anything else. "About Homelander and your relationship with him."

"What the fuck do you know?" Soldier Boy tensed visibly hearing the name of the bastard. Still, he remained on his seat. "Want some info? You can lick Grace's pussy for that."

"She is, actually, the one who approved me to be here right now," you answered, brushing off his vocabulary. You used to deal with assholes like him all the time.

He scoffed. "Why?"

"Ben," you called his real name softly. "You've been sleeping for four decades. You deserve a second chance, I am offering you that. In some sort of way."

"I'm not going to be part of that freakshow-"

"This has nothing to do with Vought," you cut his words, his tone rising and you knew perfectly why. "You just need to be here in the facility, awake, in a dignified place we will give you so you can learn everything you missed. We can give you therapy, a comfy room, anything you want that's legal, of course..."

His jaw clenched, feeling you would ask for something more. "In exchange of what?"

"I know it's hard, unfortunately you won't be able to get out, but you don't deserve to sleep forever again," you sighed. "I will pay you visits and follow your improvements because you're human, after all. That's all I ask from you," you gave him a smile for the first time.

For a few moments, he said nothing, as if making up his mind about it. "Alright, anything but coming back to that shit hole. I need reefer though."

"Lucky you, that's legal now. We can certainly make it happen."

He looked around the room as you let him go inside first. Not the fanciest, not the shittiest. It had the basics: a bed, a sofa, a TV, a closet, a bookshelf with different books, magazines and newspapers he wasn't sure would read any time, a separate door for a bathroom, enough privacy, and no windows though. It wasn't really a cell, but he did look and felt somehow like a hostage. Just a little less if he could say.

"This is what we have for now, I am all ears if you request something else to have in here," you began as he paced around and tested the bed, sitting down on the mattress.

Ben still wasn't convinced on why you offered this to him. Sceptic, he gave a good look at you, roaming his eyes at your standing figure in a fucking lab coat. Christ, he hated those. Too pretty for a doctor, but too dumb to be locked with a supe like him. He was so tired that he didn't try and hit on you like he normally would with any walking pussy that appeared in plain sight. He was too exhausted to even give a shit.

"Lemme think about it, doctor."

"Of course, take your time," you replied as he walked toward the bookshelf, scanning through the titles there were. He recognized only half of them.

"So, I will be imprisoned here instead of a fucking eggshell," Ben said, turning around to meet you. "Charming," he smirked, dragging the words out of his mouth. "Doing charity."

He watched your face drop as you shook your head. "It's not like that-"

"Then why keep me awake?" Ben insisted as he gave steps to get close to you. "I can't die, it's much easier to force my sleep in a capsule your boss made specially for me."

He stopped mere inches in front of you, your eyes never turned away from him. He thought you were fucking brave just by keeping his dark gaze.

"Ben, I told you I will be watching your progress. You can grow from all of this with our help-"

"What kind of doctor are you?"

"A psychiatrist. That's why I'm here."

Ben scoffed with a grin showing on his lips. He didn't believe in that kind of shit, but oh, well. What was he gonna do about it? He was tired of sleeping, Mallory captured him, and you were here, giving him a shelter for no cost, but his freedom. In his mind, that was temporary of course. With time, a plan would come. Right now, he just needed to keep up with the fucked up things of the modern world.

"I guess you would come and babysit me then," he said, going back to take a sit on the bed.

"Wouldn't use 'babysit you' but I will come to see you, that's for sure."

He nodded. Silence was his answer, so you continued.

"Just general rules. Our people will bring you three meals a day, if you're missing something that you need then just push the button by the door, there will be guards outside to assist you on that. Also, there are clothes your size on the closet and personal products so you can change and take a shower," he stayed silent again, just taking in your words. "If you don't need anything then I leave you to get comfortable," you said, about to leave.

"Wait. I do need something," he hesitated for a moment, but he continued anyway. "Don't use those lab coats when you come in."

Your eyes widened, he quickly realised you already knew why he was requesting that when you started to take off the coat, revealing your formal attire. You wrapped the coat on your arm and cleaned your throat.

"I totally understand, I will keep that in mind when I come tomorrow. And I will ask for your reefer too."

You flashed a final polite smile and left him to get settled. Ben breathed out. Fuck, he really needed a shower.

[doberbutts]

It's astonishing to see people say "All fear of men is reasonable and okay, but you shouldn't be afraid of black people obviously" and you having to reply, "Hey, question? Aren't black men people?" Everyone clinging to their fear of men while never examining their actions which could harm men of color, in this case, black men who have historically been killed and lynched in great numbers by white women weaponizing this fear to end their lives. Read the Will to Change! bell hooks talks about this! She talks about how white people, especially white men, have distracted from their own patriarchal masculinity by portraying violent women-haters as aberrant and abnormal (So, clearly Black men are more likely to be dangerous because they're already aberrant and abnormal in our white supremacist society). PLEASE understand your fear isn't fucking value-neutral and can be inherently be trusted!!!

Also, on the topic of patriarchal masculinity, I think that term really encompasses what we're talking about when we say male privilege is highly conditional. It's also what makes this uncritical man-hating so devious. Like, bell hooks says, contemporary feminism has provided a place for some women to construct a sense of self outside of sexist expectations, but the same can't be said about men. So by distrusting trans men, telling them they should accept feeling unwelcome in queer spaces because "your identity as a man means you have to earn other's trust (even if you haven't done anything other than exist), you're conflating transmasculinity with patriarchal masculinity. Which is so fucking damaging? Not to mention how people love to destroy and hurt transmasc's emotional selves, the same rituals that bell hooks talks about which so severely damage cis men (who were the book's main topic), and we're doing this to a marginalized, queer group who face immense systemic oppression.

Just--I hate how we mutilate trans men's emotional selves, demonize them because we assume all men possess patriarchal masculinity. I hate how we can't talk about marginalized men because apparently, that means we believe in misandry, when in reality, we're trying to talk about how men of color are portrayed as the worst of masculinity to deflect from white men's violence.

Disclaimer: Sorry for this big ass ask. Just seeing you have to respond to people with a basic lack of understanding of intersectionality and who weren't subtle about their racism--gosh.

And the biggest issue is that I understand why the kneejerk reflex happens- there's a lot of men who have engaged in the most bad faith of bad faith discussions about men's issues and somehow have turned it all onto "so it's WOMEN'S fault things are like this" rather than "so how do we work together with everyone in society to break free", and so a lot of people have their guard up from the start and don't care to listen to the last bit because they think it's more of the same.

Unfortunately, all this will do is continue to make us spin our wheels. We are always stronger together.

[ftmwifey]

thinking about what would happen if an old conservative misogynistic man came up to me and started grabbing my ass in public~ i would be so caught off guard and i’d tell him to stop and that i’m a guy… but with my obvious massive milk bags and jiggling ass he’d get mad that i even told him that 😵‍💫

then he’d follow me into the parking lot and start yelling at me about my biological sex and how women are supposed to be submissive good tradwives… id start arguing with him and he’d immediately shut me up by slapping my ass hard and grabbing me by the wrist, pulling me to his truck. he’d easily throw me into the passenger side and drive me back to his home in the middle of nowhere.

he carries me into his house and immediately gets to work pounding my wet pussy with his conservative cock. then he’d keep me ball gagged and chained, making sure he dumps his load in me three times a day. after a while i’m completely domesticated and trained to be a good tradwife for him. he’d force me to cook him all his meals, clean his house, and take care of our growing number of children.

after a year i’m completely feminized to the point i could never look like a guy ever again! he gave me all boys, twins on my first pregnancy and triplets on my second. they would all grow up to be just like his father and look like him too ☺️💕

[ohbo-ohno]

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.

[bucknastysbabe]

No Conviction - Ser Criston Cole x Aegon II

For the mother of our brainchild, SMOOCHIELINI @aemondsbabe

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW//Degradation, Criston is taking out his frustrations and prior guilt, fat shaming, dub-con, Criston is mean, unreliable narrator, manipulation. Angst, M/M, rare pair, Bondage (light), anal fingering, dildo use, there is prep!, bratting, feminization, Aegon’s a slut at the end of the day, Criss priss takes the idea of an order and skews it, chubby!Aegon, prostate orgasm, nipple play

A/N: THIS IS NASTY DIRTY we will be back to our usual content soon, I put the usual taglist but heed the pairing!

Taglist: @arcielee @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @valeskafics @lovelykhaleesiii @fairysluna @starogeorgina @targaryen-madness @sugarpoppss2 @aemonds-holy-milk @dr-aegon

Ao3: Updated later

Alicent’s big doe eyes were watery, her hair wild. She seemed to become increasingly fraught by the day— it pained Ser Criston to know why she was so wracked with nerves. They both were aware of the plans for the future. Very big plans as Viserys continued to decay. He noted the Queen’s nails were bleeding again.

Criston grabbed her shaking palms, soothing her with a murmur, “My Queen, breathe, what is the issue?”

The Knight was grateful he had gloves on or Alicent’s ripped nails might have drawn blood. The redhead took a deep inhale and exhaled. She begged him, a frantic edge to her tone, “Aegon. He’s uncontrollable. I don’t know what to do. He brought whores into the Keep Sept! Ser Darklyn caught..my son..defiling the place.”

She spat ‘my son’ as if it was bile in her mouth. Criston clenched his teeth, anger beginning to rise up from the pit of his stomach. He was utterly revolted. They were going to thrust this wanton, deviant, gluttonous Prince onto the throne.

They had no other choice.

The green queen’s tone grew hard as she ordered, “Pay him a visit. Make him understand the castle is not his playground. Use any means possible. Your queen demands it.”

Criston squeezed her palms and nodded. He rumbled, “Prince Aegon’s heresy will not go unpunished, you have my promise.” Alicent turned away with a thanks, nails back to her lips. The white knight had an order to execute, striding off to the Prince’s quarters.

He stopped to raise a brow at Ser Arryk standing guard. The twin grumbled, “Princeling’s sleeping off his revels, by all means, go ahead.” He gave a wry smile, Criston not returning the look. Criston dismissed Cargyll, “The Queen requires you to take my place at her side. I’ve been sent to deal with Aegon.”

The other Kingsguard nodded, rolling his eyes at Criston’s serious demeanor. Cole watched him descend down the hallway, turning a corner before opening Aegon’s door. The knight wrinkled his nose at the smell of wine and musk— Aegon sprawled out in his bed, naked.

A bottle of wine sat on the side table. Criston’s eyes jerked to the foot of the grand bed. His lips twisted downwards at the ropes, leather, the collection of ivory to ebony carved cocks. The marcher was stunned. The open display of debauchery. An outwardly sinful collection. He swallowed reflexively, deciding on what to do.

Dark eyes roved up to the Prince. He’d grown rather fleshy with drink and overindulgence at the table. For a young man of twenty, a dragon rider, Aegon had the soft curves of a plump maid. Criston could almost laugh— Aegon probably spent too much time on his back to get a sweat working even with all the fucking he did.

He stalked over toward the side of the bed, leering down at Aegon. Criston had an idea pop in his head— a nasty one. Beating Aegon served no gain. The princeling would just snivel and cry, delving deeper into his cups. The knight’s cock stirred at the image of wide eyes and tears falling down fat cheeks.

Aegon was pretty enough, soft enough, tits grown much bigger than Rhaenyra had at the time he coveted her, sullied his cloak for her. His white hair was rumpled, lips, and cheeks feminine and plump. Criston was well acquainted with wide violet eyes and long lashes. He reminded Cole too much of Ali with that look.

Criston barked, “Aegon!”

The prince stirred and whined, rolling onto his soft tummy, exposing more plush thigh and a round ass. Criston rolled his eyes, ignoring his stirring cock. Aegon’s pallid fleshy hips had jagged pink marks, a sign of the glutton gaining too much for his skin to keep up. The marcher couldn't understand how the buffoon had no shame in his naked body, especially in a state such as this.

Criston’s eyes jerked back to the foot of the bed. Aegon was ruled by his extreme hedonism. His nasty thought blossomed into a plan. The knight sighed in annoyance. He’d remain chaste, but Aegon would get some sense fucked into him.

Criston undid his gauntlets in quick snaps, eyes blown and focused on the prince. Next came his pauldrons, dropping to the floor in a loud clank. Aegon snuffled and stirred, groaning, “Fuck off Cargyll, m’alive.”

Finally, the heavy cuirass was off. The marcher remained in his white garb. He took off his boots before snatching the phials of oil and the biggest carved cock available. The cloak was neatly placed out of sight— Criston would deal with his guilt later. This was for the crown, for his queen, for the future of Westeros.

He placed the heavy cock down on the bedside table, placing a knee on the plush bed. Aegon finally jerked and squawked, reddened eyes wide. His puffy lips opened and closed like a fish. The prince questioned “Cole? What in the seven hells are you doing here? I’m trying to rest! Did you not hear me tell Cargyll to fuck off?”

Criston wanted to snarl and jerk the brat around. He remained quiet, face placid, staring Aegon down. After taking a breath, he spoke, “I came to check on you. I don’t appreciate the attitude, my prince. You’ve been more withdrawn than usual.”

Aegon’s face softened, eyes gleaming from the attention Criston was lathering upon his minuscule ego. He murmured, “This isn’t some scheme from Mother, is it? You merely care for Aemond.” The blonde’s mouth pouted, face eager for a smidgeon of praise.

“No. I care for all of you. What’s going on Aegon? You surround yourself in Flea Bottom, but you seem lonely around the Keep. I notice more than you think.” Criston was not lying when he said his piece. Aegon irked him but he held affection for all of Alicent’s children. He also knew Aegon sought touch and affirmation in the lowest of places.

Aegon’s face softened, his body still bared to Criston’s sight. He mumbled, cheeks flushing, “I am already an idiot fool, I can’t fight, nor will I be as smart as Aemond. What is the saying? The black sheep.”

Criston placed a knee on the plush bed, leaning to cup a full cheek. He replied, “The black sheep of the family, yes. Although I believe that title is for the bitch on Dragonstone. You don’t trust yourself enough, hm? You never gave yourself a chance.”

Aegon nuzzled into his palm, eyes growing teary and cheeks flushing. He inhaled a bit, body shifting. The prince complained, “Why are you here? To make me feel worse? It’s too late. This is what I am. I’d rather be drunk than try and be laughed at more.”

Criston put his other knee on the bed, climbing towards Aegon. He purred, “So you’d rather spread your legs like a two stag whore and guzzle wine, feast and fuck your life away?” Aegon whimpered softly as Criston jerked the prince underneath him, pulling him up by thick hips.

“Ah- what are you doing?”

“Maybe you’ll learn some worth if I fuck it into you, pretty princeling,” He quipped back, fingertips digging into pliant flesh. He felt good. Too good. Aegon squirmed but Criston had him pinned under his toned frame. The prince whined, “Why, don’t, this is...no!”

“Your wanton pussy says no to me then? How strange,” Criston hummed, “Aemond would never defile a sept like you have. Disgusting.” The pale body under him struggled, tears pouring from the blonde’s eyes. Criston reached around to grab at a rock-hard cock, laughing meanly as he gave tentative pumps.

“Truly are a deviant. You probably dreamed of this,” he groped Aegon’s fat belly, “A glutton too. You were so slim. What happened? Aemond had a pudgy face. You’ve got tits now.”

Aegon mewled pathetically, bucking back into Criston’s hips. He whined, “Stop it, stop it, s’not that bad!” Criston snorted, grabbing a handful of chubby tits, Aegon sobbing and shivering. The knight pinched at the stretched nipple and swore, “Plump little princess. Content to laze around and get her pussy fucked all day. You have no conviction. No ambition to rule your kingdom.”

Criston reached over to grab the oil, Aegon’s sniveling music to the marcher’s ears. The prince tried to sneer, “Y-you swore to be chaste, you already fucked that up! Picking another Valyrian again?”

“No, no, simpleton. As much as I disgustingly lusted for a Targaryen princess on my cock, I have doubled over my faith. This is merely a lesson for you. Smart girl, wish you used your bigger head more, it is a scheme from your mother,” his gloved hand cracked across Aegon’s peachy ass, “As I pondered, figured you’d be apt to listen with a cock up your cunt.”

Teary doll eyes and trembling lips stared over a pale shoulder. Aegon’s white hair hung limp in his face. He tried to squirm again, pissed off, by his swears and leg kicking out. Criston shoved the softling by his neck, Aegon crying out in frustration.

The knight reached back for that discarded rope, yanking Aegon’s skinny wrists up and trying them. Criston hissed, “Goddamn brat. That’s what you are. You’re going to listen and maybe I’ll make your needy pussy feel good.” He was disgusted with himself— Aegon’s strangled moans were delicious.

The headboard clattered as Criston tested the ties. He took a moment to murmur, “Too tight?” Aegon rasped, heaving a sob, “N-no! Fuck me already! Make your point!” Criston’s lips quirked up, sliding a calloused thumb over Aegon’s twitching entrance, drawing a pitiful whine.

He poured oil over the twitching pucker, slicking his gloved fingers up. Criston had no experience with this but he knew an ass had no lubrication. Therefore, it was his job to open Aegon up. The prince squirmed impatiently, blotchy red cheeks ripe with embarrassment.

Criston could be gentle. But the leather whip told him otherwise. He pressed two fingers against the tight ring, trying to work himself in with circular movements. Aegon mewled, chubby thighs trembling, arching his back into a thick crease. Dark eyes hungrily watched Aegon's softened body fold and shake, idly worried why he thought it to be so fetching to the gaze.

“You’ve let yourself go to seed. No better than some lord's fat spoilt daughter. You’ve seen Aemond,” his other hand pinched Aegon’s back roll meanly, grinning at the prince’s whimpery pleads, “He’s lean and talented, even with one eye. You could’ve built yourself up in the yard.”

Aegon cried out as Criston’s oily fingers dipped inside the ring of muscle, the knight roughtly shoving them in deep. Aegon thrashed at the burn, cock bobbing against his drooping gut. The elder continued, “You might’ve been decent with a sword. Maybe you could read up and try to be smart? Aemond studies for hours.”

Criston cruelly jabbed his fingers in short thrusts as Aegon whined and babbled, “I- I can speak Valyrian! Stop talking about him now!” Aemond made Aegon’s hackles raise easily— the dutiful brother, the better son, the beloved. Alicent had eyes for the special son and his monstrous dragon.

Criston’s fingers curled against a nub that make the softling jolt in his ropes, throwing his wild hair back. The knight raised a brow— he’d heard Aegon talking about a spot that made the male whores squeal once. This must be it.

“I’m merely giving you some advice, Aemond excels. I could get you into fighting shape, hm?” He drug padded tips against the little spot, Aegon breathily moaning, “Ser Criston, Ser, please! No more about him!”

“Should’ve been born with a cunt. Let him breed you up with pretty Valyrian babies. You’re close enough anyways, always crying and needing your achy cunt pleased. Tits and hips made for babes. Greedy, greedy, greedy,” he tutted. Criston eagerly thrust his fingers, a grin plastered on his handsome face, eyes feral. The squelching added to Aegon's embarrassment, desire, and needs.

Aegon made a desperate noise, shivering all over. Criston flipped Aegon onto his back, seeing the fuss. The prince whined as his wrists twisted, eyes turned away, pouty lips swollen from biting. Criston eyed the milky cum decorating Aegon’s striped lower belly.

“Whore. Is that what we have to do to keep you in line? Keep you fucked out, drunk, and fed?” He snarled, face dangerously close. Aegon spread his thick thighs, tears leaking down his fat cheeks. The prince moaned “Fuck meeee, fuck meee, please just fuck me! I’ll be good!”

Criston groped at a tender breast, demanding, “You’ll be a good what?”

Aegon sulked as he huffed, eyes finally on Criston’s dark gaze. The knight slapped his fatty thigh, the prince wailing, “Your good little princess! The princess! Yes! I’ll listen!”

The brunette cooed, “Good girl, you’ll get your pussy fucked again. Such a lustful sort. Gorgeous whore. Look’it you.” His soiled gloves took their time squeezing Aegon’s curves. He hooked his fingers into a deep belly button, and the blonde began to whine again. His once-softened cock was already straining against his stomach.

“What? Gods. Surely all this blubber doesn’t turn you on? You need a corset, my Princess,” he laughed again.

Aegon stammered, “N-no, all this touching. S'sensitive.”

“Mhm, sure Aegon, you think I don’t see you at supper? Never miss supper do you? Ruled by your own greed. How will you be king? We’ll be penniless! Easy for your uncle and sister to take over.”

"I'll listen, you can be my hand, keep me in line," Aegon wetly cried, "Please, please, Serrr, need it."

Criston hummed in contentment, stretching black gloves against ivory thighs, spreading Aegon wide open. He smirked at the way Aegon's belly bunched into two thick rolls, forcing his little tits up. The knight swallowed down drool, he mustn't lap or suckle. He had to break his prince down some more.

The dark haired knight reluctantly leg go of a thigh, eyes drifting from Aegon's used hole. He grabbed that carved cock from earlier, slathering the earlier discarded oil onto it, something floral scenting the pungent air. The prince mewled and spread his legs, puffy lips swollen and spit-slick. Criston muttered, "Where the fuck do you even get these things...this one is lumped.."

Aegon panted, "S'for that spot."

"The spot that makes the spoilt princess squeal?"

Violet eyes watered some more, Aegon swallowing down a whine, softly pleading Criston- promising his utmost attention, duty, and service. Only if the Kingsguard would just use the toy! Criston smiled darkly, shoving the bulbous tip of the ebony cock into Aegon's stretched hole. The younger cried out, back arching again, almost sobbing with pleasure.

The marcher focused on settling it deep inside, pleased with the knowledge it would rub Aegon's tiny sweet spot raw. His hands were still gloved, he might fuck around with Aegon's small pink cock. Criston began to pump it in and out, watching tied wrists struggle as Aegon whimpered and moaned.

He shifted further forward, white garments rubbing against sensitive skin. It was as if Criston was practically fucking Aegon now, hand holding the toy being pistoned by his hips. His other hand groped its way up Aegon's flushed body, thumbing and pulling at a puffy nipple. Criston shook his head, commenting, "Your tits are growing princess, look how eager you are, shoving them into my palm."

He pinched harder, Aegon crying out in pleasure-pain. Criston leaned forward to hiss "We need to do something about your teat before they're bigger than your wife's. I expect some riding and training, yes?" Aegon babbled and sniffled, nodding along, slurred promising. The elder smiled down, easing his grip, patting Aegon's cheek.

"S-Ser, harder, I beg of you, m'close, I'll be sosososo good!"

"If you continue to be good after this, then you'll be rewarded every time. I think that's a good plan," Cole remarked, hand drawing dangerously close to Aegon's flushed prick, "I always have to handle you brats anyways. You're just a brattier princess who needs special treatment. Like your fucking bitch sister."

Aegon's thighs and ass clenched down on the thick cock, hitching on a warbling sob. The Kingsguard licked his lips, suddenly aware he was biting at them. He leered as he gripped the handful of cock, thumbing at the leaking tip. Cole reminisced with a frown, "Rhaenyra was more pliant after I played with her clit too, I guess you two are more similar than I thought. Deceptively pretty."

The prince's breathing had grown so thin it was as if he was breathing through a straw, eyes wide and lolling around, mewling and carrying on. Criston kept ranting, raising himself into a tizzy, "Luckily your hungry cunt will be attended to. Only in the keep. Until you can prove yourself to be competent! Can you respond to that?"

Aegon babbled, squirming from the pressure on his oversensitive cockhead, the Kingsguard fucking the carved toy into his ass, dragging across that little gland. Criston hummed, "There we go, the princess can behave when her clit's being rubbed hm? S'too much? You're leaking all over me, messy girl." He was having absolute joy with this, Aegon wailing and painting his soft tummy repeatedly, pearly seed shining on his pallid skin.

He'd roughened his touches, drove that ebony cock harder, lost in Aegon's cries. The poor thing busted again, begging for mercy, red-faced and spent. Criston felt that was enough, easing the toy out. He scooped up the copious seed and fed it into Aegon's slobbery lips, the whore lapping it up dutifully, hazy eyes the picture of a sweet royal. A good, well-behaved Targaryen.

Criston patted his cheek again, humming, "Good. I expect to see you at dinner. Then we shall discuss further plans. Whore."

He crawled off the bed, taking off his messy gloves and tucking them away with a shiver. Disgust crawled up the knight's spine. He turned toward the window as he put his armor back on. Aegon whined, "W-where are you going? Can we not talk about the plans here?"

He glared at the sot, scoffing, "Not like that we will. Get yourself cleaned up, I'll be taking my leave. Listen to as I have told you, Aegon. Criston donned his cloak, inwardly counting how many flogs he would receive for his sin. For the wetness in his breeches. For his hardened cock and desire for Aegon's wanton nature.

Aegon arrived at dinner well-behaved, quiet, and sipping his wine. He cast uneasy looks between Ser Criston and Alicent. The queen smiled, "I know you would help, Ser Cole, he looks better already." Criston watched those pouty lips tremble. Perhaps it soothed the scarred tissue of his heart caused by another. His lips quirked up as he bowed his head, "No issue, my queen, Aegon needs a firmer hand."

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Could I request Helaena and Aegon in a ploy relationship with more femine male reader who helps around the castle, the relationship starting while helping Hel out when she’s pregnant with the twins and showing that he’s not afraid to stand up to Aegon despite his reputation? Can be headcanon/fic format

The dragon couple and the servant

Heleagon x male!reader

warning : fluff, comfort, kiss, cuddling, alcohol consumption, reader has longer hair

info : thank you dear anon for the request always happy to write for hotd and liked your words very much. Heleagon really needs something good. Enjoy reading and have a good day :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~

The king and queen of the greens were destined to wear the crown one day since Aegon and Helaena were born so it had to happen according to the council of the greens.

This is how and no other way the royal green Hightower Targaryen family was meant to continue, and to help the young couple they had not only their own family to help them but also numerous servants and ladies in waiting as well as the Kingsguard.

People who accepted the orders and helped the couple from the outside without a second thought…but despite everything, there was hardly a knight, nor even a servant.

A small house of knights from a very small country came to the king's court to swear allegiance to Aegon, who first found Helaena's company when he caught her butterfly that had landed on the tip of his nose. ,,A shield will come to help” she had said then, not knowing that these words were to become wharer than anything else when she took the butterfly back and he saw it as his duty to bring her back to her mate, for apparently the queen had no guards or they were off looking for the king again.

He walked beside her at a certain distance knowing her preference to keep to herself but it was too dangerous without protection. “What kind of butterfly is it my Queen?” he had dared to ask as he looked at the insect's greenish golden wings, seeing the Targaryen Hightower gently stroking the animal and giving him a soft smile, seeming happy as she began to tell and tell and tell.

The conversation continued in her room, she offered him a place on the floor where she had more animals and maybe he smiled more often because he liked the young queen, maybe he smiled when she put some animals on his hand and maybe he smiled when he looked into her pretty violet eyes because she was the most beautiful thing he knew.

°Heleana and his relationship because of his long hair she loved to braid it as a distraction special kinds of braids that kings and queens had worn. It reassured him when she was so close to him he could protect her in return Aegon who usually looked in front of him also got a few small braids as best he could and the three of them spent their time like this when they all needed some rest.

Aegon the king was the king's first son with his second wife, a young man with a reputation for being hot-headed, unhinged and drunk, as well as for whoring in the streets of Silk.

Opinions that everyone had, even he himself knew of the king's deeds and had once even accompanied him to keep an eye on him, sneaking out of the brothels more than once for his own goodness' sake.

He had been insulted by Aegon in his drunken stupor, he said that a woman's appearance in a man was the best way to start working in a brothel and even when he was angry with his king, sometimes even wanting to hit him at the end of the day when night fell and he saw this figure stumbling towards the castle wall, he sighed and went down. “I-I deeoon't neeaad you,” Aegon muttered and fell down again if he hadn't been supported, at the end of the day he felt sorry for the king.

Yet there was something handsome about the Targaryen Hightower king the bright pretty hair, violet eyes and something inside that he wants to do good but doesn't know how. ,,You'll feel better in a moment, my king,” he agreed and carried him over to the bed and felt Aegon holding him, not wanting him to leave…and he didn't.

He stayed all night giving him water and a little bread until the king fell asleep again, receiving quiet thanks and even a brief hug while Aegon found the fine soft hands soothing on his. Until in the morning he found a sober Aegon who gave him an ashamed look, Heleana came to them some time later with a cup of tea and food and the three of them ate, sometimes quietly, sometimes talking, but most of all the royal couple seemed glad that there was someone who took them both as they were.

°Aegon then apologized for his bad jokes and misdeeds would give his new friend and maybe even more in this three-way relationship a sword and armor a small land for the future. It would be the small deeds of a king trying to mend his ways. Aegon on Sunfyre with their shared lover and Helaena on Dreamfyre taking flights together. Such intimate moments that Ageon actually only did alone and Helena had a better relationship with her dragon were shared with the only person they were close to.

But even the moons that passed became more stressful and darker and the three shared the bed at some point, even if it was Aegon's prerogative to take care of his wife.

The first signs of nausea and pain were always guarded at first by Aegon, who eventually withdrew and then by her lover, Heleana offered his hand or arm everywhere, helped her climb Dreamyfre, brought her food and thought like teas and tinctures. ,,A new insect a bug for good luck” he had said and showed her the pink beetle a gift he had ridden into the forest for knowing she was interested in it ,,An animal of love and blood thank you" she replied and grabbed his hand for a moment in thanks before turning to her new friend.

But another shadow soon settled over the three of them the good time they were having was disrupted after the birth of the twins where Aegon and the immediately in the room were the only ones holding the two besides the queen herself the king shirked his duties more and more as the shadow of war began to settle over the land, ,,My king, your deeds must make you escape punishment and take the crown, take your advice and do what you must,” he admonished again as he met the green king sitting drunk on the throne at night.

He was sympathetic to the situation of Heleana and his children, Rhaenyra on Dragonstone and his own brother full of ambition for the throne. But on the contrary, all he heard were slurred words and insults, which resulted in him grabbing the king by the collar and dragging him behind him, ignoring his shouts and commands with a heavy heartbeat before opening the door to Heleana's room softly.

The queen lay in her bed in her arms the twins a soft smile on her lips while a beetle sat on her head, ,,There Aegon there lies our heart, this throne ascend it and win the war for your will for the will of your children. I am your loyal shield but without you I can protect no one” he said and let it go hearing the sniffling as Aegon wiped away the tears before a soft smile formed on his lips. He pulled his friend, his heart into a hug, hugged him, thanked him and pressed a big kiss on his head as Heleana had once done after the birth of the twins.

°Not only did Aegon make him part of the Kingsguard, he used him as a guard for himself and his sister. The three of them kept repeating the words of courage to each other, trying to come up with plans and advice to help Aegon in the green council. It was their cohesion of dragon dreams, the king and the sworn shield that the first battles of the war, the victories went to the greens while all three enjoyed the twins who saw the three as their three-headed dragon parents.

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

[kingdeath000]

Guards! Feminize that man!

[hauntedestheart]

The Ghost Of Hartford Manor (Male Possession)

"Frederick, what on Earth are you doing?!" Lady Priscilla shrieked to her son. "Get out of the water this instant!"

"Oh but it's such a hot day and the water feels so lovely!" Frederick called back to her, and then he turned his eyes to the other genteel folk attending the garden party. "Won't you all join me?"

He placed his hands on his hips, as if to draw attention to his nether regions, and everyone at the garden party gasped at the sight of the pendulous manhood swinging freely between his legs for all to see. Frederick beamed at the crowd without a stitch of shame (or pants) and waved his arms, beckoning them towards him, and the party erupted into whispers.

Frederick Hammlebutton, heir to the Hammlebutton fortune, behaving so shamelessly at a high society function? It was the scandal of the year! And if the women folk peeked at him over their fans, eyes drawn to the way the water made his tight shirt cling to his musculature, and a few gentlemen gazed at his cock for a few more seconds than was strictly appropriate... well, it was simply because they wanted to get the latest gossip, that's all. This was a big story.

Only one woman seemed immune to Frederick's charms,

"What a brute!" Lady Catherine Hartfort harrumphed, giving the unclothed man a stare icy enough to freeze the lake around him. "And to think, I almost considered marrying my daughter off to this man! This simply will not do." Catherine turned her eyes to her daughter, the lovely young Dahlia Hartfort, and sighed. "I'm sorry my dear, but the engagement is off."

"Is it?" Dahlia mustered up a forlorn sigh and a small shake of the head. "Oh, darn. And I was so looking forward to marriage."

Truth be told, Dahlia wasn't the least bit disappointed that her potential beau was making an ass of himself with his ass out- on the contrary, his behavior was her doing.

You see, Dahlia had no intention of getting married. She had gotten involved in this newfangled feminism movement, which had opened her eyes to the injustices facing women in their modern society. True. wasn't opposed to the idea of having a man beside her, but the laws surrounding marriage in the modern era were so draconian- the second a man put a ring on her finger, she would become his property. And Dahlia was not about to become someone's property! Besides, she quite liked running the family estate by herself and intended to do so for as long as she could.

Her mother, however, had other ideas. An old fashioned "proper" noble of the old guard, she was a stickler for tradition and stubbornly insisted that her daughter's husband be (quote) "a respectable man of means." And, thanks to the law, if Lady Catherine arranged a marriage with an eligible bachelor, her daughter was bound to follow through.

So since Dahlia couldn't change her mother's mind, and she couldn't say no, she had to find another method of getting her way.

That was when Norman came into the picture. Dear, sweet Norman.

Norman was a dead man, and Dahlia's secret weapon.

The same friends who had introduced Dahlia to feminism had also introduced her to spiritualism, and on one stormy evening she had invited a genuine psychic over to hold a seance. She and her friends had held hands, shrieked and laughed as the lights flickered, and then bid each other goodnight- however once everyone departed, Dahlia found that she was not alone.

A foggy shape hung heavily in one of the mirrors, and when she placed her fingers upon it, a face that was not her own filled the glass. It was the round face of a pudgy young man, with wild untamed hair and a brutal looking bruise around his neck, and most surprising of all- he bowed to Dahlia politely.

Shock held her tongue and prevented her from screaming, but the man in the mirror assured her that he meant her no harm. He introduced himself by the name of Norman, and he waited very politely while Dahlia gathered her wits about her enough to question the spirit.

Norman's story was a sad one: a faithful servant of the family since he was but a boy, he'd confessed his affections towards one of the butlers who had rejected him and in turn gotten him fired from his position with the family. Disgraced and with nowhere else to go, Norman had taken his own life in the study and his spirit had roamed the halls ever since. His existence had been vague and foggy until that very evening when Dahlia's seance had ripped the veil from his eyes and brought him back to the side of the living.

What stood out most to Dahlia about Norman's tale was her family's involvement in the poor man's death. She apologized profusely to the deceased gentleman, who politely accepted, but pointed out that it was probably a bit late for that. Still, Dahlia insisted, to chase someone out simply for who they loved... that was the true disgrace!

But Dahlia was shocked by the notion of two men engaging in amorous congress- how would that even work, she inquired? So Norman guided her to his well-hidden stash of erotic novels, and a quick skim of literature did wonders to change Dahlia's mind. In fact, upon thorough examination, she found the image of two men thrusting their bodies together rather appealing.

(Better they take that aggression out on each other than a woman, she rationalized. And the drawings in some of Norman's books made her mouth water,)

Despite their incompatible orientations the two found themselves to be kindred spirits, both individuals trapped out of time in a society that wouldn't allow them to be who they wanted, and Norman quickly became Dahlia's closest confidant. She was careful to keep their friendship a secret (because if her family knew she was "talking to ghosts" they'd have her institutionalized) but every evening, without fail, she would report to the study and give Norman the latest gossip, or share the newest chapbook she'd acquired.

And when she'd come to Norman one night, sobbing about how her mother intended to marry her off, he proposed a plan to her. Since the seance, his spirit had been growing stronger- strongest of all when he was around Dahlia -and one of the spiritualist texts she'd brought for them to read had contained an interesting idea.

"What if," he proposed to her. "I could superimpose my spirit into the body of another man? That way I could call the engagement off for you. Could be a good way to solve your problem!"

"And be a bit of fun for you," she teased, knowing full well that her friend often lamented his lack of a physical form, and Norman gave a lopsided grin.

She'd agreed, of course.

She still remembers the first man that the two of them had teamed up to take down. Lord Orson was a stunning statue of a man, so painfully gorgeous that Dahlia had briefly considered sacrificing her morals and becoming a dutiful wife if it meant she could be wed to such a prince of a man- until he'd opened his mouth and begun to complain about everything.

What an arrogant ass! Dahlia thought to herself, though she was all smiles on the outside.

His spoiled, sour attitude meant she'd felt little guilt about pulling him aside in the study for a "private chat" beside the old mirror. She watched with mild horror as his eyes rolled back into his head and his body pulsed, groans of agony issuing forth from his handsome lips, and for a moment she was afraid that she had made a mistake and the innocent man was dying- but then he straightened his back and gave her a lopsided grin.

That was her Norman alright.

Norman's first steps as Lord Orson had been strange- he stumbled about like a newborn colt, decades out of practice with having legs, and he complained to Dahlia that he was unused to being so tall. On the whole Lord Orson's physique was a far cry from the one he'd inhabited before his passing, which came as quite a delight to him. His hands pressed into his chest and squeezed at Orson's powerful chest- and when he lifted his shirt, Dahlia understood why the man had struck her as so arrogant.

Norman had been so excited to be amongst the living again that he'd immediately divested himself of his clothes, eager to explore Lord Orson's chiseled musculature, and while Dahlia had enjoyed the sight of the gorgeous man examining his body in the mirror, she had to beg him to remain decent at least until dinner. Norman begrudgingly agreed, but if anyone noticed that Lord Orson seemed strangely preoccupied with readjusting his britches all afternoon, they wisely kept their mouths shut.

Getting to spend the afternoon cavorting about with Norman had been delightful, and even her mother had been surprised by how well Dahlia and "Lord Orson" were getting along. She'd puffed herself up like a smug peacock thinking she'd found her daughter the perfect match- right up until she walked in on him buried balls deep in the stable boy.

And to think, her poor daughter had been struck frozen with shock at the sight and had helplessly borne witness to the whole thing!

Needless to say, Lord Orson was quickly dismissed after such a shocking display, and Dahlia was free to maintain her status as an unmarried woman. As for Lord Orson, the second he crossed the property line of the estate he claimed to have no memory of the events at all- though most people took these claims to be a shoddy attempt to save face.

The rest of Dahlia's suitors had met similarly strange fates:

The Duke of Chustlewitt was a slender thing, barely even of marrying age, but he threw himself at every man in his path with the appetite of a man twice his years and made eyes at them like he was a cheap whore. Lady Catherine had been horrified, but Dahlia insisted they give the man a chance- one that ended in the storeroom with the chef's assistant making very inappropriate usage of some butter.

The Earl of Trackspont, a great big bear of a man, had been dismissed after a few short hours when Lady Catherine realized he didn't plan to stop lifting his shirt up and shaking his own hairy belly at the slightest excuse to do so. He'd slapped at his stomach and called Lady Catherine a prude, and still managed to snag one of the serving boys on the way out.

Sir Timone had been a promising suitor, a dashing musician employed by the royal court, but when the guests at the afternoon get-together had begged him to play piano for them the song he'd sung had been shockingly lewd and concluded with him whipping out his hard cock and plunking it upon the keys.

Count Ludovich was an educated man with degrees from several universities, but he proudly informed everyone at breakfast that his proudest achievement was how many candlesticks he could fit into his buttocks. He'd made it up to four before he was forcibly removed from the premises.

Sir Barstew had made it all the way to dinner before stripping his pants and depositing his genitals into the stew- and then offering Lord Heckleston cousin a taste. (Dahlia had scolded Norman for that one- it had been too funny, she said, and she had almost burst out laughing at the table.)

And so on.

Unfortunately for Dahlia (but fortunately for Norman) each failure only seemed to increase Lady Catherine's determination to find a match for her daughter, and thanks to the estate's considerable means she found no short supply of suitors ready to take her up on the offer despite the unsavory rumors beginning to swirl around the Hartford estate.

Funnily enough, Dahlia had noticed that since she and Norman had begun their escapades, invitations to Lady Catherine's parties had become some of the most sought after social items in town.

Dahlia roused herself from her musings and returned her attention to the table, where the matchmaker was apologizing profusely to her mother.

"I swear, I don't know what's gotten into him!" The poor woman protested, eyeing the throbbing vein on Dahlia's mother's forehead. "He's always been such a polite boy."

"I'll tell you what's gotten into him-" Lady Catherine huffed, giving a haughty toss of the head. "He has the table manners of a horse!"

"And that's not all he has from a horse," muttered one of Dahlia's friends, drawing a snicker from the other girls at the table.

"And what is it that you lot are whispering about?" Catherine sniped, fixing her withering gaze upon the younger women, who all busied themselves with the tea and cakes.

"Merely remarking what a shame it is that such a remarkably gifted young man should go astray like this," one of them said quickly.

"Yes, such a shame," Damonia echoed, hiding her smile behind a sip of tea.

"How peculiar that this should happen to every single suitable bachelor that we have brought for you," Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes and glared at her daughter, and one eyebrow raised in an unspoken challenge.

"How peculiar indeed," Dahlia demurred, her face the picture of innocence. "It's so hard to find a proper gentleman in this modern era- it almost makes one think that the estate would be better off in the hands of, say a woman."

"Almost," her mother said, her thin lips pressing into an unimpressed frown. "But not quite yet. I've been in contact with another matchmaker and the Earl of Windton will be arriving in a fortnight- an upstanding military man, so we should expect no tomfoolery from him."

Dahlia smiled- a soldier? Norman would be most delighted.

She just hoped that Norman wouldn't be too rough on this one- he'd done such a job on the last beau that the poor man had fled to America to escape the scandal. This Frederick fellow had been humiliated enough, she would have to get Norman release him soon.

She glanced across the party towards the lake, where Norman was still frolicking about using Frederick's face and Lady Priscilla was still desperately trying to get her son's body out of the water.

"At least cover yourself!" Lady Priscilla wailed, then she lowered her voice to heated stage whisper. "Everyone can see your buttocks!"

"Cover myself? Why?" Norman gave a cheeky grin and his hands reached down to his backside and teased at the ample flesh of Frederick's cheeks. "I've got such a lovely bum! Everyone should get a chance to see it."

Dahlia vaguely recalled the matchmaker mentioning that Frederick was a horseback riding champion of some sort, and as she watched his copious buttocks jiggle, she could believe it.

She could talk to him later, she decided. For now, she was enjoying the lovely garden view.

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

Part 13: This Heart is Haunted

18+Only, mature content, angst, reader is being stalked, mention of physical & emotional abuse, biker MC, unprotected sex, sex with someone other than reader, exes are everywhere, mention of battling cancer, home invasion, tarot reading, spiritual guidance, mention of a gun, mention of taking someone's life, hurt & comfort. wc: 8.6k

Masterlist Playlist

Summary: Reader and Eddie are very much in love as the world piles on again. Both of their exes are in town, and Craig leaves a disturbing calling card to let reader know he is watching. Steve is properly introduced to Charlene in more ways than one, Astrid tries to protect Steve in the best way she knows how, and we get a peek into what Wayne "Uncle" Munson is thinking

--------

"Wendy let me in, I wanna be your friend I want to guard your dreams and visions Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims And strap your hands across my engines."

Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen

I'm on Fire Part 13: This Heart is Haunted

--------

John Gregson sent you a generous down payment for his commissioned painting, and most of it went right to the art store with you to by a roll of canvas, new paints, and brushes. Eddie went with you, and insisted on driving your car, but not before he had to adjust the driver’s seat all the way back so that he wasn’t eating his knees. He found a paint-by-numbers color pack of a dragon for Oliver, and crept up behind you, pretending to be someone else.

“Excuse me, miss? You are so fine,” he whispered in the sketchbook aisle. “Are you single, by chance?”

You checked to each side of you, feigning to look for him. “There’s this one guy I fuck from time to time, but it’s not serious.”

“Oh, is that right?” Eddie tickled your ribs, and then picked you up off your feet, munching down on the side of your neck with his teeth. “You better take it back.”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” you wiggled free with a laugh that seemed to echo off of the store walls, shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

Eddie wouldn’t let you carry anything on the way out to the car, and you did not miss some of the feminism that left your body in that moment as he held one of the bags in his teeth. The canvas roll was almost too long for the back seat, and you had a moment of panic, but then Eddie figured it out, clapping for himself after and taking a small bow.

The big, scary biker with the tattooed hands and the War Machine insignia kindly reminded you to fasten your seat belt, just as he clicked on his own and slipped his sunglasses on.

“I don’t know, Munson,” you grinned into the sun as he backed out of the parking space. “You’ve been such a help today, there might be some roadhead on the menu.”

He slammed the brakes and snapped his head to look at you, his hair flying, making you get the giggles. “See, now you’ll have to forget I said anything. I want it to be a surprise.”

He continued backing out, checking over his shoulder. “Surprise roadhead could kill a man, baby. You gotta give me some warning.”

So far, it had been the most chill day since before you’d been fired. You were sinking into the routine of “normal” couples, doing mundane chores together, holding hands in public, being sickeningly, adoringly head over heels for each other. And it felt really good. So good, in fact, you could almost forget for a second about all of the shit that had gone wrong, and could possibly go wrong.

Much earlier that morning as you lay curled up naked next to him in bed with your leg over him and your head on his chest, listening to a song by Mother Love Bone pour out softly from the stereo in Eddie’s apartment, he asked what you were thinking.

You’d been quiet for a while, zoning out, touching your fingertips to his as he spread them out to meet yours across the menacing bat tattoo on his chest.

“It’s silly,” you mumbled, kissing his shoulder with the side of your mouth. The morning was warm with a soft breeze blowing one of the long, blue curtains out into the room, and above the sound of the music came the rumble of motorcycles rolling into the compound, and electric drill firing in the garage across the way.

“Still,” he rested his head on yours. “I want to hear it. I want to know what goes on in that quirky brain of yours.”

As comfortable as you were with Eddie at that point, you were shy about admitting some of your deep-seated insecurities.  What if you spoke them out loud and they came true? What if you started to let him know what went on in your “quirky”, anxiety riddled brain, and it scared him off?

You decided to take a chance, burying your face a bit more in the indentation of his armpit.  “In the past, whenever I've felt genuine happiness, or everything seemed to be going really well, that’s always when everything would go to shit.  So, I have this fear that—”

“---that you’re going to lose me?” Eddie interrupted softly, sliding his fingers down to intertwine with yours.  

“Well, yeah,” you admitted.  “Exactly that.  Losing you, or something happening to Katie or Steve’s family.  Anyone I care about.”

“The same shit happens to me in my head,” he promised.  “It almost won’t let me enjoy whatever good thing is happening because I’m already thinking about how it could get fucked up. I’m always anticipating the next bad thing.”

“We are a sad pair,” you snorted a laugh. 

“Hey, really though, listen to me,” he squeezed you tighter. “You’re not going to lose me, baby, fuck that.  As long as we tell each other what is going on and we don’t have any secrets, no one can fuck with us.  I won’t let anyone fuck with us.”

You propped up on your forearm to meet his eyes; they were bright brown and earnest.  You swept his bangs to the side with your fingertips. “Well, that’s good to know because I don’t think I’d survive this level of heartbreak.”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” Eddie searched your face, running his knuckle down your cheek.  “And if you break mine, I’ll probably sulk around for the rest of my life, just a shell of a man, playing songs on the street corner for loose change.”

You chuckled and scooted closer to kiss his mouth.  “What are the deal breakers for you in a relationship? Something you could never forgive?”

He squinted curiously at you.  “Are you trying to walk that line, sweetheart?”

“No,” you bit your lip through a smile, but then dropped your head back to the warm skin of his shoulder.  “My deal breaker is cheating. I can forgive a lot of things, but never that.”

Eddie took a big inhale, thinking about this, but then he swallowed hard. “Just the thought of another man touching you, past or present, makes me see red, baby.”

There was a tension in the air as Eddie considered the crushing weight of said betrayal, and you bit at a piece of skin on your thumb, thinking about the complex inner workings of Eddie Munson.

To break the heavy silence, you started crawling on top of him, kissing his neck, working your core against his stiff morning wood.  Eddie held your face and sucked at your bottom lip, running his tongue along the soft skin there, while you pressed the slick of your slit on his cock, arousal already evident.

“Would you really kill someone for me, baby?” You breathed, reminded of how he said he would kill or die for you.

“Without question,” he hissed at your wetness, reaching down to line the tip of his cock up with your entrance.

You sank down quickly, needing all of him with fluttering urgency.  “When I think of someone, I will let you know,” you hushed.  He cursed into your mouth and spanked your ass as you rode him, knowing that this was the only cock you would have inside of you for the rest of your life, and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.  

Back in the sunny parking lot outside of the art supply store, Eddie continued on behind the wheel, pausing for a group of people as they strolled into he store, hand on your leg, squeezing your knee as he waited. He angled the car down in front of a clothing store, on his way to exit onto the street, and had to wait for a couple more people to cross.

You weren’t paying attention, too absorbed at the time pawing through the bag of goodies in your lap, fingering the new pastels and linseed oil with glee. But Eddie’s fingers dug into your leg and gripped there in a way that made you glance over at him.

Waiting at the crosswalk, Eddie’s skin drained of color as he watched the people pass in front of the car. You followed his attention: there was an older woman, perhaps 50, two younger girls maybe ages 7 or 8, a pretty blonde girl around 30, and a woman who could have been a supermodel with long, auburn hair, a short denim skirt, and a dragon tattoo on her thigh.

Your attention rose to Eddie and his nostrils flared, blinking a few times, teeth grinding.

For whatever reason, the tension made you nervous. “Baby, what is it? What’s wrong? Do you know them?”

Eddie swallowed, patting your leg a few times, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “It’s nothing sweetheart. I just remembered something I had to do later on, that’s all.”

Not even a full day had passed since you’d both agreed to never to keep anything from each other, and there he was, lying already. He knew that you could tell he was withholding something, which made it even worse. His hope at the time was, if he ignored it, maybe it would go away.

Somehow, Melanie coming into town had almost slipped his mind, until he saw her there with his very own eyes walking with Chrissy, her mom, and her twin daughters. She looked different, but also exactly the same. The difference was that he no longer found her attractive; she might as well of had rotting flesh rolling off her bones for how repulsed he was to see her there in the street. He wasn’t afraid to tell you, he just didn’t want it to be real, he wanted to ignore her until she left town, and you could live in the bliss of never being able to put a face to her.

First of all, Eddie was a horrible liar. It was not hard for you to put the pieces together and realize that he did know one of the women in that group, if not all of them. But, you took one last look at his profile, told him you loved him, and decided to let it go. For now.

----------

A few days earlier, after the incident with Inky, Steve rolled up to the house at dawn to find Robin waiting up at the kitchen table. She was having a cigarette with her coffee, and Robin never smoked. He watched her bite into her thumbnail, chew it off, and then spit it on the floor as he stepped into the room.

“What’s up?” Steve shut the sliding door behind him and locked it. “Where’s Oliver?”

Robin put her finger to her lips to ask him to ask him to keep it down. She saw how he was favoring his freshly bandaged hand, but chose not to ask questions. “Katie is asleep,” she flicked the end of her cig over the ashtray. “Oliver spent the night with Wayne.”

Cautiously, Steve clapped down into the seat across from her, wallet chain hitting first, motioning for her to slide the pack of bargain basement knockoff cigarettes over. He had his own lighter, but she shot the box of matches over to him as well. Striking the match to light his smoke, Steve bucked his chin at the manila envelope she had next to her. “What’s in there?”

Robin brushed her hair off of her face and hunched forward. “Oh it’s just a little something. Might cheer you up.”

She pushed the envelope toward him with the pads of her fingers, both sets of eyes on it as it traveled across the faux wood surface. Now Steve knew exactly what it was when he saw the label on the front but even then, he was riddled with confusion.

“How did you--?”

A part of Steve knew, even though there’s no way he could’ve had any idea where Robin went that night or what she’d said to Tina to get her to sign her rights to Oliver away. Or the gun she’d pointed loaded and proud, letting them know there were only two ways the night could end, and both involved her walking away with those signatures. The saddest part was how quickly Tina had agreed to take the money in exchange for Oliver; there hadn’t even been a glimmer of internal struggle. Robin told herself it was for the best though, and once Oliver was old enough to ask questions, he would never know about that night, or how quickly he’d been given up.

Now, they really were broke, even more than before, and without any safety net to fall back on. But, no one would ever show up and try to take their son away again without facing legal ramifications, and Robin might’ve also let her know that she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her throat if she ever tried to get sneaky. “If you take Oliver, Steve and I will have nothing to lose. You know what they say about not wanting to fuck with someone who has nothing to lose.”

Steve peeked inside, exhaling a long, hot breath. After sucking on his lip for a few seconds, he raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “You’re telling me you got her to sign these and you got them notarized?”

“Katie,” Robin squinted and took another drag. The sleeve of her flannel fell down to expose the vine of an ivy tattoo on her forearm.

“She’s a notary? No shit?” he said the last part under his breath, chuckling a bit to himself.

Katie’s old job status as a notary public was a small detail that Robin had been fascinated to discover. Meeting up at a seedy motel in the middle of the night in her pajamas did not put Katie in a particularly compliant mood, but she offered her official services without too much of a fight. In fact, she had to admit later how much it had turned her on to find her girlfriend holding two people at gunpoint like that. It made her feel like she was in an episode of 21 Jump Street.

Steve rubbed one eye with the palm of his hand. The other hand, the one Astrid had cleaned and put a fresh bandage on for good measure, had just been used as a deadly weapon and pummeled a guy to the brink of death just the day before. He’d do it again in a heartbeat because no one threatened his family and got away with it. “Jesus, fuck, Rob. You know I love you, right?”

“Oh, you better,” she snorted a laugh, and then, softly,“I’d do anything for Ollie. And you. You know this,” and then she smashed the cigarette out in the ashtray. She couldn’t look him in the eye for fear the floodgates would open.

A sob hitched in his chest and he had to clear his throat. He really was on some real emotional bullshit lately and he made a fist with his good hand and banged it on the table, trying to collect himself. “Ditto.”

Robin got up and stretched her arms back with a yawn. “I’m going back to bed for an hour. You at the shop this afternoon?”

“Until late, yeah,” Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of the envelope. “I’m working on that chest piece for Thor.” Thor was one of the other Coffin Kings, a huge, beastly blonde dude with a long, braided beard.

Robin braced her hands on the back of the chair. “You thought anymore about going to Scott’s wedding this weekend?”

“Scott, you mean Daphne’s Scott?” Steve shook his head. “I haven’t thought about it at all, actually. There’s no way I’m going to that.”

Steve had only met Scott once at one of their barbecues, and Daphne knew Robin because her daughter and Oliver were the same age, but the last place Steve wanted to be stuck at was a wedding for two people he barely knew, or any wedding at all for that matter.

“You sure?” Robin craned her neck. “There’s going to be an open bar at the reception.”

“Nah, I got a thing on Saturday,” Steve waved his hand. “Take Katie, why don’t you?”

“I’ll think about it,” Robin worked her neck from side to side. “What do you have on Saturday?”

For some reason, a voice inside of Steve whispered that he should keep his plans vague. “Body guard gig,” he offered in a bored tone. He didn’t have to ask to know that Robin must’ve had to have paid off Tina somehow, and now they’d need some extra cash more than ever. What he wanted to do was change the subject. “Any word from Susie or Dustin?”

“Now that you mention it,” Robin scratched her cheek. “She’s due any day now and no, I haven’t heard a word. I should’ve checked in, I’ve just been out of my mind lately.”

“Dustin knows we’re in the thick of it,” Steve assured her. “We’re the first ones on the call list when she does go into labor, but I’ll give him a ring this afternoon to say hey.” He yawned, blinking his tired eyes a few times. “Should I take Ollie to the shop with me?”

“No, after Wayne drops him off, I got him,” Robin stole a curious look at Steve, knowing full well that there was something he wasn’t telling her. She was too exhausted in that moment to ask any questions as she turned to head down the hall. “Take a shower, dingus. You look like death warmed over.”

-----------

Wayne always kept his shotgun up high in a locked closet whenever the kid came to stay, but when he returned from dropping Ollie off with his parents, he stood there at the open closet looking around for a minute. He fingered through the flannels and old jackets, skidding the wire hangers along the wooden dowel, until he found the frayed denim edge he was looking for. He yanked back the line of clothes so he could pull the article of clothing out and take a look at it.

It was his original denim with the sleeves cut off, known as a cut, or Kutte, with the Coffin Kings MC insignia on the back. The matching insignia among club members were all “cut” from the same cloth. He held it up and wiped his hand down it a few times, as if to dust it off, looking over the worn and road weary patches, including the one with his nickname “Uncle” over the pocket, because he’d been an honorary uncle to so many, including Steve and Astrid.

He took it over to the mirror on the back wall of his bedroom, set the hanger on the chair and pulled the denim on over his white tee, adjusting the collar, working his shoulders through. Chemo had taken a lot of his size, and so it hung a bit loose, but the shoulder muscles were still there, and he flexed his hands, knowing they could still deftly maneuver a blade or a gun, just like the old days.

Sticking out of the side of the mirror was was a black and white photo that had been bent in half and wrinkled over time. A photo of a much younger Wayne, Astrid’s mother Evelyn with her jet black hair over her shoulder in a braid, and Steve and Eddie as little kids; not much older than Oliver. The boys wanted to be a part of the life so bad, even then, that Evie made them their own vests, complete with Munson and Harrington patches and the Coffin Kings skull on the back. Evie had her hand on Wayne’s chest in the photo, gazing up at him, and Wayne’s arm was around her shoulders, but his eyes were on Steve, his mouth open about to say something. Steve was making a face, his mouth in a grimace to expose two missing front teeth, both of his arms up, flexing to pretend he had muscles. Eddie was more stoic, his expression set without emotion as he stared into the camera, hands in fists at his sides, feet braced wide. Off to the side was young Astrid. She was a few years older than the boys, but still a baby. Wayne remembered she didn’t want to be in the photo, but Steve started acting out to get her to come over, and there she was, face slightly blurred as she tried to move away, but a smile on her face nonetheless.

Wayne met his eyes in the mirror; windows to a soul that was familiar but set in a face he no longer recognized. He thought about his panhead motorcycle collecting dust at the storage unit across town. He thought about how badly he wanted to protect Oliver from the horrors of this world, from the MC life. The boy liked to paint and draw and bake things, and Wayne didn’t understand that either, but he didn’t see the lust for danger in his eyes like he had with Steve and Eddie; Steve, especially. Like he wanted to turn the world on its head and dump it out to see how it worked. Maybe he had the love of a good mom for that, the kind of mom that stuck around. He thought about all of the things this disease had already taken from him, but it wouldn’t take this. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

-----------

You’d stayed at Eddie’s for the past two nights in a row, and even though he would have you there with him every night if he had his way, you needed to set up your art room and take advantage of one of your afternoon off to work on John’s commission before you went back to the Hammer. You needed to stretch and frame the large canvas first, a meticulous process that took place in the garage, and then put up painters plastic around the art room so you wouldn’t flick paint around on the walls of the rental.

Eddie had brought you to work and picked you up the night before, and he took you home that next day in the tow truck so he could head to a job after. He popped in at the diner on the way to grab two coffee’s to go in tall white, Styrofoam cups. The older, married waitress there named Donna had a crush on both him and Wayne, and always gave him free stuff, for which they tipped handsomely. He came out of the diner holding the two cups up, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Things with Donna and I are getting serious, just so you know,” Eddie climbed up into the cab and passed your coffee to you, and then leaned over for a kiss once he was behind the wheel. “Black with two sugars for my lady.”

“Well, I don’t blame her one bit,” you clicked your tongue, leaning over to smell the fresh brew through the mouth opening in the lid and feel the steam on your skin, snuggling down into one of Eddie’s hooded sweatshirts. “Now I need to find an older, married boyfriend, and we’ll be even.”

What was meant to be a joke hit a little different because of the whole John Gregson situation, but Eddie snorted a chuckle as he put his cup in the holder on the dash. “You’re gonna turn me into a homicidal maniac if you’re not careful, sweetheart.”

As he got back on the main road toward your place, a glimmer caught your eye. The guitar pic on the ball chain hanging from the rear view mirror had always been there, but now there was a little, silver worry ring on the chain too, hanging flush with the red pick. It was the worry ring you usually wore on your thumb that you’d thought you had lost weeks ago. You reached up to take a better look and make sure.

“Baby, what is my ring doing here?”

Eddie took a wide turn, sucking his cheek, realizing he was properly caught red handed. “You left it on the nightstand that first time you came over,” he answered.

Your mouth fell open to goad him. “Why didn’t you tell me you found it?”

Eddie’s eyes found the ring in question where it swayed with the movement of he vehicle. “I don’t know, I think I meant to, but then I kinda liked having it in here with me. Whenever I look at it, I think about you. Something stupid like that.”

Your heart rushed, sending waves of heat through your veins. You were staring at his profile now, unable to look away, absolutely, wholly filled to the brim with love for this man.

“You really got it bad for me, don’t cha Munson?”

He offered a small nod and a shrug, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

--------------

It was almost 9am by the time Eddie dropped you off at the duplex. Katie was already at the school, and your orange tabby cat Charlie was in a mood, so you sat on the couch with him for a bit while you finished your coffee. Although Charlie loved affection, he was normally such a chill dude, but that morning he didn’t want to leave your side even after you put his favorite gravy bits breakfast in his food dish. You had been gone for a couple nights in a row, but you always came by during the day to check on him, so it wasn’t as if he’ been abandoned. It was almost as if he was trying to tell you something.

You stroked his ears back and kissed the top of his head. “Tell me, my boy, what’s on your mind?” But he only meowed, nuzzling closer, massaging his claws into your leg.

You ate some granola and dropped your bag on the floor at the end of your bed without turning the light on, heading straight into the bathroom for a much needed shower. You let the water get as hot as you could handle it, noticing the bruises on your hips for the first time from the way Eddie man-handled you during sex. You smiled against the stream of water at the memory.

Charlie was sitting on the sink with his tail curled around his feet when you opened the shower curtain, staring you down. “Close your eyes,” you told the cat as you clutched in the air for the green bath towel that was hooked over the metal dowel.

At least, you thought it was hanging there, but now you were grabbing at air because it was on the floor. You wiped water from your eyes and snapped another look at Charlie before you bent down to pick it up. “Did you do this?”

You were mumbling to yourself, wrapping the towel around your body and stepped out onto the mat. You remembered closing the bathroom door, but now it was open and you imagined that Charlie had pushed it open with his brute strength. You paused to put some moisturizer on your face, and then turned to open the door the rest of the way and face the bed, and that was when you realized there was something terribly wrong.

The bed was made; everything neatly tucked, comforter folded back at an angle, as an invitation. Had it been that way before you went into the shower? You wouldn’t know because you hadn’t turned the light on to look. The pile of clean laundry you’d thrown on the messy bed just the day before were nowhere to be found. You weren’t freaking out yet, not when you knew that Katie went into turbo cleaning fits when she was stressed, and there had been a lot going on with Robin lately. But it wasn’t like her to come into your space while you were gone and mess with your things.

A fear began to bubble inside of you as you clutched the towel tighter around your body, senses heightened as you inched over to check down the hall and in the closet. You were starting to feel so afraid that your hands got cold as shock began to set in preemptively.

With trembling fingers, you took hold of the wood knob and pulled open the top drawer of your dresser, only to jump back, covering your mouth to try and trap the scream that erupted.

Your underwear and socks were neatly folded into color coded rows. You yanked out the drawer under that and the next, only to find the same symmetry of tediously folded clothing. The second drawer fell all the way out and crashed to the carpet. In a frenzy, you dove forward and started scooping all of the clothing out of the drawers, yanking them all to the floor, making them a mess, throwing them around the room, tears running hot down your cheeks. You didn’t stop until the bottom drawer was empty; the drawer that had a few pieces of lingerie and silky pajama sets, all of it had been sorted and folded in the exact same way.

You covered your nose and mouth with your hands and sat down on the bed, taking sharp inhales, adrenaline preparing you for some kind of fight, flight, or fawn: whichever would keep you from eminent danger. There was and ocean in your ears.

You did not do this.

Katie would not do this.

The only person in the world who would ever do this

was your maniacal, neat freak ex fiance Craig.

Now you could hear a footstep creak on the wood planks in the hall just outside your bedroom and from behind you on the bed, Charlie hissed.

------------

Eddie didn’t have to take the long way back by your street with the old Chrysler on the back of the tow, but he did anyway, just because he liked being in your vicinity. Much like the “old days” when he would ride by your work, back when he thought you wouldn’t give him the time of day.

As he turned onto the street, he could see the front of your duplex on the corner, but his smile faded when he saw the front door was open. Not open just a crack, but open all the way, exposing the interior or the house, and you didn’t have a screen door, so he wouldn’t imagine you’d leave it that way on purpose. What if your cat got loose? He took a sharper turn than he should have to line the truck and pull along the opposite side of the street to park it, doing his best not to crush your neighbors garbage can, all the while keeping his eyes on the entrance, thinking maybe you’d appear and there would be some explanation.

He paused before crossing the street as a guy in a hunter green utility vehicle inched its way to the stop sign. The driver stared Eddie down as he went at a crawl, and Eddie was taken aback to be aggressively eyeballed by a stranger, but he returned the heated glare, bucking his chin. “Fuck’s your problem, man?” Eddied shouted, shrugging his hands in the air. The guy gave an open mouth smile, and made a motion of dragging his fingers across his throat, just before he stomped on the gas and flew through the stop sign, taking a right. Normally, Eddie would’ve taken more notice of the details of the license plate and whatnot, but his attention quickly returned to your open door, taking long strides to the opposite sidewalk.

Eddie looked around before he stepped inside, hand on the hilt of his knife. “Baby? Are you in here?” He asked it softly so it wouldn’t scare you. “It’s Eddie. Your door is wide open.”

His ears followed the sound of things being tossed around, and something heavy hitting the ground with a wooden crack. But then you screamed and his heart tightened as he bolted down the hall.

“Baby?” He entered your bedroom to find all of your dressers drawers open, and two on the ground, clothes scattered everywhere. You jumped when you saw him, scrambling back with a shriek, clutching a towel to the front of your body so that you wouldn’t be exposed.

You were afraid of him, or whoever you thought he was. Cheeks wet with tears, eyes wild like a feral animal caught in a trap. You backed all the way to the wall with your hand out, palm up, before you realized who it was.

“Eddie?” Relief flooded through you, and you dropped the towel, stark naked, to run into his arms, a sob choking in your throat. The feel of his denim and cool of his belt bucket against your skin helped to soothe your nerves, taking a deep inhale of the woodsy spice scent of his aftershave.

Eddie’s mind was reeling as he held you tight; one hand cupped behind your neck and the other at your back rubbing in slow circles. “It’s me, baby. It’s just me.”

You blinked hard, wishing he’d never had to see you like this, wishing you’d never have to tell him about Craig and why you were so afraid of him. You had no proof that your ex had actually been in your house, but also---you had all the proof you needed. This kind of sick fuck head game was right up Craig’s alley. But how had he found you? How would you ever get rid of him now? You didn’t want Eddie to have to get involved with this mess. Sure, Eddie was tough, but Craig was certifiable, and you were well aware that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you in his life.

You buried your face in Eddie’s chest and wrapped your arms as tight as possible, wishing you could both run away and disappear and not have to deal with any of this.

“Talk to me, baby,” Eddie said in a lower octave than normal, his blood boiling. “Who did this to you?”

-----------

That afternoon on Friday, Steve went to meet the woman he’d be doing security for the next day. He gave a low whistle as he rolled up to the main gates, “holy shit,” he mumbled, pinching a smoke between his lips, lighting it while his bike idled and he pushed the buzzer to announce himself. He combed his fingers through his hair as he rode in over a blood stain that was embedded in the cement, shooting a look to the 10 car garage, wondering what kind of beauties were in there and hoping he’d get to drive one.

“Be careful,” Astrid had warned a few nights ago when he stayed at her place. She shuffled her Tarot deck and did a quick reading for him. She tapped her finger on one of the cards. “I don’t like the look of this. I think someone with a dark heart has their evil eye on you.” Without looking up at him, she continued. “I need to do a protection spell before you go.”

“Does that protection spell include you riding my face?” Steve scooted his chair forward, lunging to kiss her temple, but she shrugged him off, trying to concentrate.

Her eyes were sweeping over the cards she’d just pulled for him with a tense bundle of lines between her thick, dark eyebrows. “I’m serious Steve. It’s someone with power who wants to own you, and I think the offer will be very tempting. Think Satan in a Sunday hat.”

She pulled two more cards. Her eyes flicked from Steve to the table several times. “Are you going to some kind of formal event this weekend?”

Steve winced. “Not if I can help it, why?”

This gift that Astrid had was much deeper than deciphering the magic in a deck; she had always been able to see beyond the veil of the known world. It was her gift that kept her lonely, and more often than not, she saw it as a curse.

She sat back in her seat to look the cards over again for an unnerving amount of time. Her intuition was foggy, and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what would go wrong yet, but there were multiple threats on the horizon and her gut told her it was time to circle the wagons.

Steve’s tongue flicked out to lick the corner of his mouth. “Don’t leave me hangin’ here, darlin’. Do I get kidnapped by a bunch of circus clowns, or what?”

Her eyes locked onto his, letting him know she was serious. “Watch your back this weekend, Stevie.”

He took her hand. “Don’t I always, sweetheart?”

He thought about Astrid’s words as he wound the bike around to park at the front door, exhaling smoke as he flicked the cigarette to the side. He slid his sunglasses up on top of his head, taking in the expanse of the entryway, heavy boots plodding up the steps. At his wrist on a thin leather band was the tiny charm and gemstone Astrid had made him wear after she dowsed him in sage smoke and said a bunch of words he didn’t understand.

Charlene greeted him in nothing but the tiniest of bikinis, a straw sun hat, and a blue and red kimono, and Steve couldn’t help but adjust himself in his jeans at the way her breasts were almost spilling out of the tiny yellow top.

She offered him a drink out by the pool under one of the umbrellas, and Steve accepted a beer.

“I should thank you again for bailing me out,” Steve took a drink, glad that his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses because he couldn’t’ take them off her heaving rack; the way the sweat trickled down her tan cleavage. A pool boy in tight, cut off jean shorts was cleaning debris from the surface of the crystal clear pool with a net at the end of a long handle.

“Anytime,” Charlene was so very charming when she wanted to be. “A friend of Eddie’s is a friend of mine.”

Steve took a generous gulp and put his forearms on the table. “Yeah? You know my buddy Eddie?”

Charlene flipped her blonde hair off of her shoulder. “Has he never mentioned me? We go way back.”

“Never,” Steve said without hesitation, making Charlene frown. “Not that I remember anyway. But Eddie and I don’t talk as much anymore. We’ve been too fucking busy.”

That seemed to lighten her expression, but the thought did occur to Steve to wonder how Eddie got word to her that he was in jail? He was pretty sure he didn’t even know about what happened until the next day. But, fuck it. Who cares how she found out? He just wanted to get this bodyguard gig over with and get his cash.

They agreed on a price for an evening of Steve’s services, and then Charlene led him inside to guide him up the big, lavish staircase to a guest bedroom where she had a gray and white suit waiting for him. She unzipped the black Armani sleeve it was in and Steve gulped. His mind immediately raced thinking about how much he could pawn it for on Sunday if she let him keep it.

“My cousin is getting married tomorrow,” she perched at the end of the floral bedspread, watching him pick the suit up to admire it. “I guessed at your size, but I can have a tailor meet us here before we leave if it needs fixing.”

Sure, Steve had been a bouncer forever, and had worked as an extra bodyguard a few times for visiting celebrities, but a personal bodyguard and escort for a woman like Charlene? Never. He wasn’t even sure why she needed protection for a wedding; looking down at the suit, he felt more like a gigolo than hired muscle.

“Nah, I’m sure it’s perfect,” and then he eyeballed the wedding photo on the vanity of a much younger Charlene with some other dude. “Where is your husband these days? Why can’t he take you?”

Charlene stretched back so that she was spread out on the bed, the nipple of one breast poking out from under the thin material. Her body was toned and supple and not at all what he expected a woman in her mid 40’s to look like. “My husband leaves town a lot for work. He doesn’t ask what I do, and I don’t ask what he does.”

“Fair enough,” Steve flicked his tongue over his gold tooth, watching the way she arched her back, exposing herself to him, making him palm his erection through his denim.

“For instance,” Charlene reached behind her neck to undo the tie for her bikini top, pulling it down, letting him see the expensive titties in all their glory. “He left yesterday and won’t be home until next week.”

So, of course Steve fucked her. He came between her tits and gave her a pearl necklace made of his cum, liking the way it dripped down her throat. He fucked her ass because she begged him to, using only spit for lube, her face pressed into the mattress, until she came, and then Steve milked a few more bursts of cum onto her backside with a grunt.

He liked getting paid and getting laid at the same time. He felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for a perfect situation like this to fall into his lap.

---------

Eddie paced at the doorway, flexing his hands into fists, “so this Craig fucker came here to what? Terrorize you? Try and get you back? I will put a bullet in his skull.”

You gave Eddie the cliff notes version of your relationship with Craig while you got dressed. How you thought he was fun and charming at first, but once you moved in with him, things got scary. He wouldn’t let you talk to your friends or go anywhere without him. When you first got the courage to leave, he broke into the house you were staying at in the middle of the night and put a knife to your throat. He’d been honorably discharged from the military and used his connections in the police force to bypass the protection order you filed on him. He was emotionally and physically abusive and stalked you for two years before you were able to make it to Hawkins without much more than the clothes on your back, and Eddie was reeling with how bad he wanted to get his hands on this guy. It made him want to start going up and down every street looking for him, which was not totally out of the question.

He had to go outside on the back patio for a smoke and you followed him. You sat down in one of the camp chairs on the concrete slab facing a patch of lawn that was maintained by the owner of the duplex, but Eddie stayed on his feet. You watched the muscles in his jaw flex as he frowned into his cigarette, his thoughts going to dark and dangerous places.

From what you told him about what the guy looked like and the description of his car, that was the dude who had stared Eddie down earlier. He didn’t want to alarm you anymore than you already were by telling you that he saw him, that the fucker had probably been in your house while you were taking a shower. He couldn’t have you staying at the duplex anymore until he could make sure that creep was long gone, and by long gone, he meant he was ready to put him in the dirt. If anyone could find him, Eddie could. He had family of the Kings who worked at police dispatch, and he had eyes all over town, from other tow truck drivers to every member of several MC’s. If this guy thought he was so sneaky, Eddie could do him one better.

Eddie was in a bad mood, cracking his knuckles, thinking about how much he would enjoy hurting this guy, when he heard a sniffle and realized you were crying.

“Hey, hey,” he snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray Katie had there for the smoking she did when she was buzzed, and got down on his knees in front of you. He wiped a single tear off your cheek with his thumb, holding your jaw with gentle force so you would look at him. “This guy, he’s not gonna get near you again, alright? You’re gonna stay with me until I know you’re safe.” He cupped his hand around your neck and pulled your forehead to his. “Hey, I love you. You trust me when I say I’ll protect you, right?”

“It’s not that,” your eyes went to the Munson’s Garage patch on the front of his light blue work shirt. You kept your forehead pressed to his because you couldn’t look him in the eye. “Craig is dangerous, baby. I mean, he’s really crazy. I don’t want you getting hurt or---”

Eddie sat back on his heels, tilting his head to meet you eyes. “And you don’t think I’m crazy? Baby. I know you get the fluffy side of Eddie but I can do dangerous and crazy with the best of them. Okay? That’s all I’ve ever done. No one is going to fuck with my girl.”

His chocolate eyes searched you, needing to know that you believed you were safe.

You gnawed at your lip, eyes dewy and bloodshot. “I just wish this wasn’t happening,” you dropped your head again, mouth jerking down with impending sobs. “I wish we could run away.”

“Sorry baby but, fuck that,” Eddie stood. “You had to run from this guy once, he’s not gonna get the satisfaction of scaring you off this time. You’ve got me now.”

He squatted again, motioning for you to give him your hand and then he held it tight, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “And Steve and Robin and Wayne, and the whole Coffin Kings MC, baby. I want you to trust me. This fucker will be sorry he ever stepped foot in Hawkins.”

You slotted your hands on either side of his neck at his jawline, pulling him in, and the salt of your tears mingled in the kiss, your mouth opening wide to take him deeper. Unexpected moans of desperation escaped both of you, hands greedy for purchase on each other’s parts. You made it back inside the house just in time for Eddie to dive his hand down the waistband of your shorts.

“You’re mine,” he breathed, fucking two fingers up inside you, stifling your cry of pleasure with his mouth.

You scrambled to undo his jeans, pushing them down his hips. “I need you so bad, baby. Fuck me.”

There was no time to make it to the bedroom, you broke the kiss only long enough to bend over the kitchen island, shorts down, arching your ass up. Eddie swiped his cock along your glistening core only once before burying it inside of you groaning at the sensation. “Holy fuck, I love you,” Eddie murmured, proceeding to fuck his entire length inside, pulling your slit apart with his thumbs so that he could watch himself enter you.

You bucked back against him, meeting his urgency, biting your lip through hungry whimpers. Eddie shoveled his hand around the front of your throat and pulled you back, choking you with soft pressure while he other hand braced at your hip and he fucked you hard. He preferred to look at you when he was about to cum, but the two of you were frantic, and he was already close. Clinging to the counter, the wet slapping sounds of Eddie stretching you out were about to throw you over the edge. His hand moved from your throat to your mouth, dipping inside for you to suck them.

Eddie’s hips locked onto you as he came, and the sensation made your walls flutter, gripping him in a way that extended his orgasm, cursing, both of you crying out, able to forget about the worries of the world if only for those precious moments as you rode the high.

---------

At a decent chain Motel by a truck stop near the highway, Craig Ludlow paid for a week in advance and sat in the dark puffing a cigar by the window with the curtain tightly closed. An episode of The Twilight Zone was on the TV, and it was the only light but for the golden glow from the bathroom in the hall. On the table next to him was a razor blade on a mirror with white powder residue, a shot glass empty of its Jim Beam, and a handgun.

There had been an ugly landscape painting on the opposite wall, but he took it down to make room for his work. There was a big cork board there now, a place for all of the information he had on you and your little biker friends. Steve’s mugshot was up there, along with one of Eddie from 10 years earlier. Information on Wayne, Katie, the Velvet Hammer, every person or place you’d touched since you’d been to town. Somehow you’d slipped through his fingertips, and oh god, how he had missed you. Being a part of your life and knowing what you were up to was a part of who he was now, and he’d been feeling lost without it.

He planned use his connections to get in with Chief Hopper and make sure your new biker boyfriend had the law down his throat around every turn. Why was it so much to ask for you to let him love you? Your house was a mess, your bed not even made. Nothing in your drawers had been folded. It was obvious that you needed him and missed him and just didn’t know how to ask. You had always been such a prideful, silly goose.

A girl named Shari was working the night shift at the motel when she noticed, not for the first time, how odd the guy who checked into room 11 was. Shari happened to be the old lady of a Coffin Kings member named Jester, and she would tell him all about it, including the make and color of the SUV he drove, over the phone when he called to check up on her that evening. Coincidentally, War Machine had just let everyone know to keep an eye out for a creep of the same description who was stalking his girl. Jester headed over to make sure Shari was okay and waited in the shadows near the truck stop on his chopper, watching the lights from the TV flicker in room 11, keeping an eye on this guy so he could follow if he took off. Keeping him in his crosshairs to see if he should take care of this guy himself before he passed the word on to Eddie.

PART 14

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[nthspecialll]

Rockstar's realism slip

Red Dead Redemption is known for being extremely realistic and historically accurate in every aspect from characters, environment, speech and so on which is also why it is loved by so many, however there is one place where they have messed up quite massively and it is in one of the most well loved characters.

Sadie Adler.

Sadie Adler is loved for being a badass independent woman in a man's world doing her own thing after her life was ruined over and over, a trope loved by many and thus excused for being not so well executed and unrealistic.

While women could absolutely make a living as outlaws in the Wild West the Sadie kind was not seen often, instead, we often saw the badass woman leaning into femininity such as Karen or Black Belle.

Real life examples of women outlaws are Pearl Hart who robbed stagecoaches and stole worth 16.226,21 (modern) dollars from a single one and lefr each passenger with one (past) dollars so they could afford food. Belle Starr (inspiref Black Belle) who was known for helping outlaws by hiding them on her farm and later robbing horses, getting known for the quote "next to a fine gun, I love a fine horse." Etta Place who ran with Butch Cassidy, whom Dutch is based on, and is essentially the real life Bessie.

These women leaned into their feminity, even if it wasn't always, but the culture during that time did not allow for people like Sadie, even Arthur takes stabs at her while completely accepting Karen. Another major thing is the background, there is a massive difference between Sadie shooting warning shots at wolves on her farm with zero animals and jumping trains.

The idea of Sadie is great and implausible, even if possible, but the execution is poor, you don't suddenly gain those skills.

But now let's talk about 1907 where she could have had the time to gain these skills, we meet another problem, there were zero female bounty hunters, nish.

"But she could be the first!" Yeah, it isn't impossible, but it is implausible considering culture and a poor choice on Rockstars side considering that there were many badass women at the time living law abiding in ways Sadie could easily have been able to.

Stagecoach Mary was a stagecoach guard, an absolute badass killing or arresting anyone getting near the goods she protected.

Annie Oakley, a sharpshooter, known for shooting ciggerets out her husband's mouth and even the prince of France's mouth!

Calamity Jane, another sharpshooter and frontierwoman who ended up in show-biz because of her masculine attire, it simply wasn't seen that often. (That said she still sometimes wore dresses)

And the thing is, she does talk about working with transport, saying she is considering it, and that she would have been able to, just like Mary, so why Rockstar didn't do that in the beginning is weird to me.

And now to the big slip up that Rockstar made that cannot be defied. She talks about starting her own business, sorry love, you can't, because women couldn't make one before 1980 or so without a man's signature.

I love Sadie, she is great and the idea of her character is great too, but the execution is poor and that is generally why I prefer Karen over her and I wish she had been a bit different and drawn more off real life women.

Belle Starr (Inspired Black Belle)

Pearl Hart

Annie Oatley

Stagecoach Mary

[rodolfoparras]

Woke up and thought: I need TF141+Rudy to be my princesses!! But then my brain went to Price as my princess!! (I tend to be one of those people who is kind of like mom friend, but also guard dog??? Protective as hell but absolutely remembers small details about you and somehow just knows your emotional state??? So I guess my brain was like: GIVE THEM THE PRINCESS TREATMENT!! ☠️🤧)

He’s older and has always been this gruff masculine man. Every partner he’s had has always been his princess, and while he did love it, something in him tugged and tugged until he realized it was wanting and jealousy.

So of course when you join and despite the profession you’re in, you’re so kind. Not in the sweet bbg way, but in the “I will take care of and protect you no matter what” sir yes sir way. And it throws him for a loop!

But he sees the positive affect, how around base the tension the TF used to carry despite being safe is ebbing away. And that tug of want absolutely starts to burn inside of him.

You’re not even this hulking beast of a man, but something about you just screams safety and protection. And the way you take care of them all, has a wave of heat flashing through him. The way you subtly check on Ghost because anything too overt feels patronizing to him, the way you make sure Soap can calm his anger properly and give him you to vent to, making sure Gaz is truly alright after a difficult choice and making sure he feels settled. But the way you check on him is just… more.

Hand at the small of his back, to let him know you’re there. Somehow you figured out physical touch grounds him. Giving him water and even bringing him food when he’s been too focused on paperwork. Somehow noticing all his little quirks and tells, and always being there when he needs it despite the fact he can do this by himself. Hell you’re the only one to figure out that he gets hangry… well more so grumpy hungry and always get him his favorite.

So of course he has to ask, granted he’s nervous but he does. And somehow it just leads to you giving him the full blown princess treatment he’s always wanted. Hell, that pool of arousal in his gut becomes ever so present when you actually call him princess! (Not forcible feminization, just princess title ☺️)

Idk I just want Price to be my princess, Gaz to be my princess, Soap to be my princess, Ghost to be my princess, and Rudy to be my princess. 🤧🤧 I want to love and dote on those idiots so much!

(If anything made you uncomfortable pls let me know! I will apologize! <33)

🐻‍❄️-

Hear me out sugar..

1.

It first started when you bought a new bucket hat for him. He’d jokingly complained that one more rough landing to the ground and his bucket hat would fall apart.

You had stepped up offered to buy him a new, being fully serious about it too

He had accepted the offer, even jokingly said he’d buy the most expensive one to make a whole in you wallet

But he found himself frozen in place when you picked out the most high end store for outdoor clothes.

He didn’t even know what to say when you walked ahead of him over to where the hats were displayed, searching high and low for the perfect bucket hat.

You hadn’t even asked for his size but instead put different types of hats on him, standing so close he could feel your knees knocking together, calloused fingers grazing his skin as you felt the material under your fingertips, feeling heat creep his cheeks as your eyes stayed glued to him.

For the first time he feels an unfamiliar sort of feeling bubbling up inside of him.

2.

Undercover missions were his least favorite type of missions. It involved a lot of play and pretended and visiting place he usually wouldn’t be in, like a bar full of people half his age, drunk out of their minds and barely able to stand upright.

Price enjoyed a pint or two but this was way too much for his taste, had a grimace painting his face, something you quickly noticed.

“Not a fan?” You say, chuckling at the man’s obvious distaste.

“Never been” Price responds, carefully weaving his way through the floor of dancing bodies, with you following swift behind.

“How about I buy you a drink?” You don’t even turn to him to see the look on his face, already signaling for the bartender.

You hadn’t turned around to ask him his prefered drink already knowing it by heart for whatever reason, and once again he finds himself frozen in place, from utter confusion.

The bar was full of people but somehow you had managed to snag a chair for him, signaling for him to take a seat while you’d be left standing and once again he found himself speechless but sat downin anyway. As he takes a sip of his drink he notices your eyes on him.

“Good?” You ask, carefully gauging his face and once again he feels heat creep up his ears neck and cheeks, only managing a nod to your question.

“I’m just going to the bathroom real quick,” you say with a sheepish smile on your face and maybe he’d chid you for picking the worst moments to do your needs but he couldn’t focus on anything else but your hand on his elbow, your hot breath caressing his face and the way your cologne assaulted his senses as you leaned into him.

All he can do is nod in response before he continues to sip his drink, praying the liquor will keep him from saying something stupid.

It’s only been a couple of minutes that you’ve been gone before someone’s approaching him and attempting at making small talk.

Although he politely answers the stranger’s questions, it’s visible that Price is uncomfortable, shoulders rigid, smile forced and fingers fiddling with a napkin forgotten at the bar.

Suddenly there’s an arm around his waist, and he stiffens further before your cologne hits his sense and he feels himself relax in your embrace.

He doesn’t know what you had said to the other man all he could focus on is the warm palm on his back, fingers tattically brushing against the silver of his skin peeking through the shirt he’s wearing. But whatever you had said made the stranger nod his head, glass raising in the air before he walks away.

“Thank you” Price says, turning to you with a soft smile on his face

“Just doing my duty captain” you say with a smile on your face as you pull your hand away from his waist.

Another unfamiliar feeling bubbles up in his gut, this one he doesn’t like so much.

3. He once again finds himself in a bar, this time by his own choice, a place he’d picked to celebrate a successful mission.

He’d maybe had one two or three too many drinks when the world had started to spin around him, and someone, maybe soap? Maybe ghost? Had asked you to take him home.

Maybe if he’d been in his right mind he’d turn red at the fact that you were seeing him in such state, maybe if he’d been in his right mind he’d be able to feel the jolts coursing through his body from where your skin touched his. Maybe if he’d been in his right mind he realized how close you were to him, as you slung an arm around his waist, easily supporting him with your weight before taking him back to base.

Next thing he knows he’s waking up in his own room, a bit more sober than before, two bottles of water laying on his nightstand along with painkillers.

There’s even a washcloth on his bed and somehow he’s managed to strip himself down to his boxer and undershirt.

However before he could try decipher how he’d manage to do that in his drunken state, he hears his bathroom door squeak open and immediately flies out of bed, grabbing the first thing in his hand to defend himself which just happens to be-

"Painkillers? Really captain? I’d never guess that would be your weapon of choice”

There’s a brief moment of confusion, before it’s replaced with relazation and only then is he able to respond to your comment “oh piss of” he grunts out, throwing the bottle to the ground before he sits back down in his bed, hand clutching his throbbing head.

He hears you chuckle in response before the bed dips beside him.

“Here” you say, handing him the bottle he’d just thrown away.

He looks between the bottle and your face, heat creeping up his own face before he takes the pills in his hand.

Before he can even ask, you hand him a bottle of water and he does his best to ignore the jolts coursing through his fingertips as your hands briefly touch.

“Thanks” he says before he throws back the pills, swallowing them down with the water you gave him, and only then does he notice how thirst he is, quickly emptying the bottle in a matter of seconds.

“Want more?” You say, offering another bottle laying on the nightstand.

“No” he grunts out before he turns to look at you. “What are you doing here?” He says before he abruptly cuts himself off “I mean this is my room- not that you’re not allowed I mean-“ he continues to run his mouth only ever shutting up once he hears you laugh.

“It’s okay” you say waving away his worries “you got drunk and I helped you get back home, you wouldn’t let me leave though” his eyes widen at that, mouth ready to run again before you’re waving off his words with the flick of your hand “i helped you get in bed and by the time I brought you water and pain killers you had passed out, I kind of made a mess of the bathroom looking for painkillers so I thought I should fix that before I left “ you say with a sheepish look on your face.

It’s only now he realizes that you’ve been the one to strip the clothes off of him, you’ve seen every scar every mark he’d kept hidden under his clothing and once again he feels heat creeping up his cheeks.

He shouldn’t be this comfortable being touched by a stranger while unconscious but you aren’t a stranger and you’d only ever touched him with care and consideration like now as your hand is hovering over his in case he doesn’t want you touching him.

“If I made you feel uncomfortable-“

“No!” He says a bit too hasty before he corrects himself “I mean it’s alright, thank you for taking care of me”

It seems like that’s all you need to hear for the worry to trickle out of your bones, shoulders slumping and hand caressing his own.

“Alright, good” you say with a soft smile on your face hand resting atop of his own before you pull away “well it’s late and I need to go to bed or else you won’t see me bright and early in the morning” you say as you get up.

Although you probably meant the training sessions you were supposed to have in the morning he couldn’t help the unfamiliar feeling from bubbling up inside, maybe he should call it familiar since he’s felt it a couple of times now.

“Sleep well captain” you say sending him a playful salute before walking through the door.

And as the door shuts close Price realizes one thing.

He’s fucked.