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

[moralesmilesanhour]

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

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

[yourmidnightlover]

the sun

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 2.6k

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

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

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

6 weeks ago, the avengers lost. everything.

half of the world, gone in a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

a positive pregnancy test.

you were having bucky's baby.

without bucky.

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

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

god, it hadn't even been two months.

how were you supposed to do this alone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

you knew you were around eight weeks along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and within the week, you were having your baby.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

crawling, first words, first steps...

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

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

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

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

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

you never took off his dog tags, either.

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

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

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

then, you got a call from tony and banner.

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

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

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

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

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

then, you felt a buzz in your hand.

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

shocker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"daddy?" suddenly, it all clicked.

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

meeting you. falling in love. dying?

his son.

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

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

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

[smuutboxx]

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

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

"Hide And Seek."

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

Genre: Smut (18+)

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

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

“We’re doing what?”

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

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

Now it was dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a silly rabbit.

[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.

[spidernuggets]

heyyyy, 👋🏻

first of all, i hope you're doing well. second of all, i see you asked for requests so i decided to send one. this is actually the first time i've actually requested a story ever 🫣

anyways, i was thinking something with roommate!jason. i personally don't care if the reader knows or doesn't know about him being the red hood. don't care if you make her them (i'm a girl but i don't mind a gn!reader, why not let everyone feel included) a vigilante or a civilian. what i do care about is there being tons of mutual pining, a typical idiots in love situation iykwim 😂 and then something happens and they realize they love each other? i'd love for it to be fluffy but you can also make it as spicy as you want i won't mind 😜 i just looooooove the 'and they were roommates!!' trope.

or if you want, i'm a sucker for any sort of meet-cute scenario

love yaaa 💝

🌳 (do anons still use emojis as signatures?)

Absolutely thank you thank you 🌳anon for this request!! Notes at the end vv.

Jason Todd x Reader

"Why- WHY did it have to be a man! Why not a female- Or, or a girly pop man at the very least- That's not a girly pop man!"

You probably made the most embarrassing and awkward first impression ever when you first moved into your new apartment.

You moved into Gotham, unaware of the insane villains and masked heroes that filled the city. But you soon found out about that later.

But when you unlocked the door to your new apartment, there was a big man sitting on the couch. And your eye twitched. You gave a lopsided smile while carrying two boxes, placing them beside the door.

"Uhm. Sorry, I think I'm supposed to be your roommate," you say quietly, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Oh. Okay, do you.. need any help?" He offers, and you quickly deny.

"No- no, thanks. I'll be quick anyway," you say, picking up the two boxes. "Uhm.."

"Second door to the left," Jason says, his eyes glued to a novel, pointing towards where the empty room was as you replied with a quiet thanks.

You made three trips when bringing in all your boxes, avoiding as much communication with Jason as possible. You shut your room door and started whisper-yelling at yourself.

"Why- WHY did it have to be a man! Why not a female- Or, or a girly pop man at the very least- That's not a girly pop man!" You cried to yourself. The last roommate you had was at your old university, who was a guy, too. Let's just say he wasn't the... most hygenic person. Or the most polite. Or couldn't even bother to put a sock on the door knob before you came back from a lecture!

"The walls are real thin, by the way!" Jason shouts from outside your room. Then you stopped yourself.

That's how you created the most embarrassing and awkward first impression with Jason Todd. But the more time the two of you lived together, the less bad he seemed. Well. He never seemed bad in the first place. One day, you just explained to him your awful encounters with your last roommate, and Jason couldn't help but laugh at your experience.

So by then, you and Jason became best friends.

He told you that his job always involved him working the night shift, which never bothered you. It just reminded you to stock up on coffee and energy drinks.

But one night during his night off, the two of you were on the couch. Jason was reading "Midnight's Children," which he found in a charity shop and was ranting how someone could donate such a good book. You had your head lying on his lap, flicking through channels whole Jason commented on certain points in the book.

You stopped at the news channel, a certain red masked vigilante in action. This caught Jason's eye.

"Why are you watching the news?" He asks.

"You know, I never knew there were a bunch of heroes and villains when I moved into Gotham," you stated.

"What, really? I thought you were a crazy person when you moved here. Especially when you started complaining that I wasn't... What was it you said again? A 'girly pop man?'" Jason snickers as you smack his chest.

"Shut up! But nah, I didn't. But that Red Hood guy is making me think that moving here isn't all that bad."

Jason moves the book away from his face, looking down at you. "What do you mean?" Now he's curious. The news continues to play, showing Red Hood taking down multiple criminals on his own.

"He's hot," you say nonchalantly. Jason freezes. "Like, look, watch, watch," Red Hood blows a punch to one of the men's faces while skillfully avoiding the bullets and strikes from the others. Both your hands cover your face. "Ughhh!! He's so fineeee!!!" You groan.

Jason doesn't know how to react. There's no doubt that he's found you attractive. But he enjoyed you as a friend and didn't want to ruin what the two of you had. Unfortunately, your comment didn't help with his undying attraction towards you and shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"Alright, move," he tries to say casually. "Need to go bathroom." You move your head off of him as he rushes towards the bathroom.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Was all that Jason was thinking as he paced around the room.

He looked into the mirror and saw his face coloured a deep red. What the fuck was happening? He mever felt like this before. He groaned, burying his face in his hands, his elbows leaning on the counter. But when he looks through his fingers, he sees a tent growing in his pants.

SHIT.

No, no, no. He can't feel this way. Fuck! He quickly turns on the shower, stripping away his clothes, suddenly feeling a lot cooler, and steps into the shower.

He made sure the water was cool, hoping to bring his libido down.

"Jay! Hurry it up in there!" You yell from the outside, still sitting on the couch. Fuck, what the hell was he supposed to do??

Fuck it.

He wrapped his hand around his length and started pumping. He tried muffling his moans, hoping the sound of water splashing against the tiled floor would cover up his sounds, too.

His hand strokes the length of his cock faster. "Fuck, Y/n. Just like that," he whispers to himself. He never felt more guilty. You were his friend, and there he was, in the shower, jerking off to the thought of you.

He let out a stifled groan as the white, sticky liquid was released all over his hand. At the same time, you came knocking at the door.

Jason's eyes widened as he quickly rinsed off, stepping out of the shower.

"Jason? You okay in there?" You ask. He opens the door, looking down at you. He doesn't think he can look at you the same way ever again.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he tries playing it cool. "Your big-ass head just gave my leg a cramp," he teases, quickly disappearing into his room as you flipped him off from behind.

When Jason enters his room, he presses a pillow against his face. He promises himself never to let that happen ever again. Well. Unless he grows a pair and actually asks you out.

The next evening, you walk through his door. You see him packing his duffle bag for his late night patrol of the city. Or as he told you: Late night security at Gotham's National Museum.

You go give Jason your daily goodnight and bye hug. You wrap your arms around his neck, his expensive cologne absolutely intoxicating you, wishing you can continue to spend the night with him.

"Don't die on me," you say to him, as per usual. Jason scoffs, telling you to stop doubting his security skills.

You never doubted Jason. But you were always worried for him. Gotham really isn't the best place to be a civilian in, especially being night security at a place with a target on its roof. The museum would be crawling with villains trying to steal precious and expensive artefacts.

You couldn't deny it. Even when you first met Jason, you found him insanely attractive. Like, who wouldn't swoon for those bulging thighs and thick arms? And you hate to admit it, but there have been some nights where Jason was out, and you took the opportunity to have some of your own... late night activities while shamefully thinking about your roommate.

But you also wondered when he was going to tell you that he was Red Hood.

You found out his little secret before Jason found out you watched the news. One night, you stumbled across Red Hood and Nightwing, taking down a bunch of goons that worked for Lex Luthor. You saw that Red Hood got shot in the shoulder. And the mext morning, you saw Jason walking around shirtless in his room. And as much as you were tranced by his abs, you noticed his bandaged shoulder.

When asked what happened, he said he crossed paths with a mugger going to the museum. You tried to brush off the theory that he could be Red Hood, but the thought always lingered in your head. He is always going out at night. And with this theory, you grew more and more worried for you best friend.

You were reading Jason's annotated book of Pride & Prejudice when strong knocks on the door made you flinch from your seat. You rushed to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing Jason with a beat-up and bloody face. You yelp, quickly opening the door.

Jason was hunched over, grabbing his side, blood still spilling from his hip. You rushed to his side, going under his arm, supporting him as you dragged him to the couch. You notice he was still in his Red Hood gear as you went to quickly find your first aid kit.

"Fuck- Jason! What happened?!" You exclaim, kneeling in front of him. "You need to take your armour off!"

He lets you peel his chest plate off while he explains that he went off to complete a mission on his own. You strip him of his compression shirt, ignoring how pretty his muscles looked and went to clean his wound.

"I'm sorry," he groans, his wound stinging from the disinfectant wipe. "I never meant for you to find out like this."

"I already knew," you say quietly. Jason looks down at you in confusion. You look like you were about to cry. "I already knew you were Red Hood. I- I wanted to tell you that I knew but.. It just seemed like a sensitive topic," you explained. "So I wanted to wait for you to tell me yourself. And.. I thought if I just mentioned or complimented Red Hood often while you were around, you'd tell me sooner." You say as you wrap the gauze around his wound.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya," he said, avoiding your gaze.

"Well, you did! You'd go out every night, and I'd have to stay here, watch the live news to make sure you were okay!" You raise your voice. "I don't know what I would've done if I lost you.." You say more quietly.

Jason's eyes are wide, but they slowly soften, guilt ridden as his hand comes down to caress your face.

"I'm so sorry, N/n," he repeats. "I just wanted to keep you safe. You've no idea how much you mean to me." You lean into his touch, lightly smiffling as your hand ghosts over his.

"Wait," Jason speaks up. "So, did you only say Red Hood was hot so that I'd tell you I was Red Hood?" He deadpans, looking at you.

You stare back at him dumbfounded. "Is that your only concern right now??"

"Well, did you?"

You roll your eyes, getting up from your position, leaning closer to Jason's face and using the back of the couch as support. "Course I didn't," you say, staring into his eyes, your gaze flickering down to his lips.

Jason took the close proximity as an opportunity to grab your waist, bringing you down and forcing you to sit on his lap. "So you think I'm hot?"

You scoff. "You really need to get your ego checked," you say as he smiles. His large hand reaching up to the back of your neck, pulling you down to finally plant his lips against yours, his fantasies coming true.

And some of his other fantasies might just come true later on. Besides, Jason being Red Hood wasn't the only secret of his that you knew about. To be fair, he was the one who told you the walls were real thin. ;)

hmm, yeah, there wasn't as much fluff and pining as I intended.

Hopefully, this short fic doesn't let you regret your first story request for me.

Speaking of which, your first story request was for me?!??! 😱😱 I'm absolutely honoured, tysm, and i hope you've enjoyed the fic🙏🙏

Also, i'm sure a lot of anons sign off with emojis!! 🐀🐀

[xoxochb]

can u possibly do jason with a reader who just returned from a quest that took months longer than it should've because they got stuck in the lotus casino? sorry if this is too specific

⋆·˚ ༘ * all my mornings are mondays stuck in an endless february

warnings: none

pairing: jason grace x gn reader

A/N: this is so simple I’m sorry 😭

you heard the stories about the lotus casino many times, especially from people who had actually been there themselves, and you did believe them, you did, but being there yourself felt different from the stories

you were sent on a quest by your godly parent, and part of this quest included entering the casino, and that’s what you did. you told yourself you would only be there for five minutes, but you couldn’t find what you were looking for which made this harder than it had to be

you guessed you were in there about an hour, mainly because you kept checking your watch to see what time it was, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary when you looked at it, the time went by normally, so you thought that you would be fine

once you found what you were looking for you hurriedly made your way out, and everything seemed normal when you stepped outside

maybe the rumors had been false, you thought to yourself

after a few days you successfully completed your quest and headed back to camp jupiter

but when you got there people were acting like you rose from the dead, a few people even said that you did rise from the dead, but you assured them that this was false

you suppose that news traveled fast because as you sit in the infirmary, only minutes after your arrival, your boyfriend is rushing to your side, engulfing you in a large hug, tears streaming down his face into your shirt, soaking it

you allowed him to stay like that for as long as he needed. he cried into your shoulder for what seemed like forever until he finally spoke “I thought you were gone”

“I was only gone for a week” you say

“six months” he says between sobs

you think for a second, pondering the reasons for what could have happened, but then you realize “oh my gods, the casino”

he pulls away quickly with a horrified look, hands tightly gripping yours, it hurts to say the least, but you let him do it anyways

“I got stuck in the lotus casino for six months” you say calmly, but internally you feel like you could throw up any moment now

“we all thought you died” he cries

“I made sure to only be there a minute, I couldn’t find the item I was looking for, I thought it was only an hour” now your starting to cry, “I’m sorry”

jason is quick to stop you, “no, it’s not your fault” he pulls you back in for another hug, “are you alright?”

“yes- no, I’m not sure. physically I’m okay, mentally…” you trail off, not eager to finish that sentence, in truth your mental state was not the greatest at the moment

“if you want to talk, I’m here” he says softly

“I know” you mutter, holding back the rest of your tears

for the rest of the day you lay like that, wrapped up in each others arms. you make a mental note never to go on a quest by yourself- and also to never go back to the casino even if it means your life is on the line

[artfulacrostic]

had my second high definition viewing of atsv in the theater today and here are my favorite details that i missed due to being overwhelmed on my first viewing:

LONG AF POST:

-gwen is literally wearing a rainbow shaped trans pride pin on her jacket with her prom outfit. she's soooo so canon trans <3

-captain stacy HAS A TRANS FLAG PATCH ON HIS POLICE UNIFORM JACKET?????? when i'm telling u my eyes popped out of my head 😳 SHES SO CANON TRANS!!!

-poster outside miles's guidance counselor's office reads: "visions sciences: telling you your story".

-parallel of miles's and gwen's dad kicking things out of general exasperation towards the beginning and end of the movie respectively

-when miles as spidey is talking to his dad and giving him advice (for himself) there's a reference to miles possibly reading vonnegut? (maybe in class??) "if this isn't nice what is" is a collection of kurt vonnegut's commencement speeches. (literally subtitled "advice to the young". the writers were extremely clever for this reference. if not reading it in class, miles has been searching up life advice on his own)

-i barely caught this but i'm PRETTY sure that in miles' room near his door there's a MICHELLE OBAMA presidential race sticker??? was president obama in the earth-1610 dimension michelle obama?? iconic if so

-fedex on earth-1610 is REDEX

-gayatri seems like they took elements of both gwen (police dad) and mj (young model) for her background as i believe i caught her visible on a "zomato" ad billboard (which appears to be the earth-50101 version of ubereats)

-i spent all of hobie's scenes trying to pick up the details of his many pins; but the only one that i could really make out with the quick shot changes besides the union jack pin was the one right above it, which is a three-leaf clover. i wondered if maybe it had some kind of significance to maybe irish independence or smth but i couldn't find anything online that backed that up so not sure what it means. if u know pls drop it in the replies.

-hobie's boots are definitely NOT ladder laced. i KNOW there is concept art and poster art of him with ladder laces but in the actual movie they are 100% crossed. also unlike the poster art, both boots have blue laces, not one blue, one yellow/orange. i wanted to be all on board the ladder lace code train but i'm pretty sure they just made his laces blue so that they could contrast against the red boots and be spidey colors. they probably abandoned the ladder lace part of the visual when someone realized what blue ladder laces meant in lace code. "HAS hobie killed a cop," you ask? given his comic backstory i'd say the odds are HIGH. but i would bet they didn't want people to think that since he's gone through canon event asm-90 ("a police captain close to spider-man is killed by falling rubble during a battle with a nemesis") that there's any possibility THAT was the cop he killed and he's proud of it (since it's supposed to be all abt character development from the ✨trauma✨ of the event)

-during the whole "intervention" scene, while all the other spider-people are facing directly in towards miles and miguel from wherever they are standing in the circle, hobie is the only one whose back is turned. he watches most of the scene over his shoulder. also, during a couple shots facing miles before the entire society of spiders show up, hobie is separated in the shot from all the other main spiders (Peter B, Gwen, Jess, etc) BY MILES. he is visible over one shoulder and everybody else is visible over the other. these two details are great signals of hobie having already MORALLY turned his back on miguel's authoritarianism, as well as giving a nice inverted "devil/angel on the shoulders" nod.

-peter b asks miguel to take a picture of him and mayday since it's her first chase; miguel brushes him off but mayday understands and uses her webshooter to click the camera button on peter b's phone and take a selfie without him noticing 😂😂😂 shes everything to me

-when miguel is pinning miles to the train, after gwen and peter b have caught up, there is a very fast moment when miles calls for help ("PETER!!") and peter doesn't reply to him, but calls out to miguel to calm down (smth like that) instead 🥲 peter for the love of god step up your mentor game and look out for this kid i can't handle it anymore

-when gwen takes the watch hobie made her out of the box, the screen is briefly visible and reads "project botleg". bootleg -> bot -> "botleg"; I SEE YOU HOBIE. people think he's so cool (and he is!!) but he's also just as much of a dork as all the other spiders. what a goofball

-in miles-42's room, a speed bag/speed ball/maize ball is attached to his wall near the door. there are other substantial differences to their rooms, but i think this is clearly a reference to uncle aaron-42's large presence in miles-42's life, given the association from both movies of aaron with the punching bag and miles getting guidance from him/looking to him for support.

-in addition to all the miles-1610 vs miles-42 prowler vs spidey reflection imagery in the end credits, guess who else has several moments of flashing from spider-man colors (red and black at least) to prowler colors (purple and green)?? miguel, that's who. miguel and miles-42/uncle aaron-42 team-up in beyond the spiderverse? or just an extra parallel for the antagonists sharing goals/possibly methods?

OKAY ANYWAY if ppl want i can try and dig up images of some of these but i figured that would make this post long af so that's all for now folks!! go see across the spider verse again and marvel at how much more fine detail you find like me 🕸🕸🕸

[holdmytesseract]

Greetings Bestie, I am here with a Magnus blurb request

How about a piece where Magnus realizes he's in love with his partner, and it's at a funny & inappropriate time and place? Like they're in an interrogation or maybe undercover?

Perfectly Bad Timing

Warnings: fluff, police things, more fluff

Word Count: blurb

a/n: Bestiiie, thank you so much for this! I really hope you're going to like this lil' story! 🥹💖

Magnus's eyes were glued to you. Something you didn't seem to notice. If the young man across from you and him noticed? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Anyways, the policeman wouldn't care. He always had just eyes for the wonderful woman he gad the honour to call his girlfriend, but today... Today was one of these days on which he got reminded by himself how freaking much he actually loved you.

During an interrogation in the first case Kurt allowed you and Magnus to be leading inspectors was admittedly not exactly the right moment, but what was he supposed to do?

You two worked at the Ystad police station for almost five years together now and he had never... Never seen you interrogate a person. This time was a first - and to Magnus, it was stunning. You were stunning. The way you talked. How you always found the right words to say against the snappy, arrogant and pubescent teenager. Your smart and witty nature...

Magnus would even go as far and say it was dominant, and he couldn't deny that he found that to be pretty hot.

The palm of your hand slamming down on the wooden table everybody sat at, caused the young policeman to snap out of his daydream. At least a little.

"Stop lying to us, Nils. We knew you were at the boathouse. We found your goddamn fingerprints!" You accused the eighteen-year-old across from you. By now you were utterly frustrated and kind of angry. Not just because the disrespectful young man just wouldn't cooperate, no... You were also angry because you already sat inside this constricting, small room for almost an hour and your colleague/boyfriend hadn't said a single word!

You gritted your teeth and slowly turned to face the curly haired man. "Magnus?" He shortly blinked and looked up; oceanic blues meeting your Y/E/C ones. "Yes?" You nodded at the door. "For a word..."

Magnus nodded in agreement; noticed immediately that you weren’t in a good mood. His chair scratched over the polished floor as he stood up and followed you outside in the hallway wordlessly.

You had crossed your arms and waited for him to close the door shut. "Magnus..." You started and took a deep breath; trying not to snap at him right away. Perhaps he had a reason why he didn't say something yet. "We are in there for almost an hour and after five minutes you kind of zoned out completely. Baby, you are absolutely no help! That's shitty. If you're just sitting beside me and staring holes into the wall, I might as well do this alone."

Magnus swallowed hard. You could see his Adam's apple bobbing. And he was blushing. "I-I know, I-" "Then why are you doing it?" You interrupted him. "This isn't working without you! Nils might be the key to solve this case! We can't let this opportunity sl-"

The policeman had heard enough. He knew what this was about. His head told him that repeatedly. But his heart... His heart just wanted one thing... For his lips to kiss you. So, he did.

Magnus interrupted you with his mouth on yours; hands on your hips and pulling you against his body.

You were shocked at first - like frozen, but then you couldn't help but to melt against his touch. Against his sinful kiss.

"Mags..." You panted, once he broke the kiss to get some fresh air into his lungs. "W-What... What was that about?" A boyish smile grazed the curly haired man's face; cheeks reddening. "Me, realising how much I love you, min älskling. I'm sorry for not doing my job, but... All I could focus on, was you."

Your expression softened. He was so cute and kind. How could you possibly be mad at him?

"Aww..." You hugged your boyfriend tightly; burying your hands in his wild, blond curls. "I love you so so much as well." You kissed him again and again and again; the ongoing integration forgotten... At least for a few minutes.

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @huntedmusicgardenn @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @loz-3 @javagirl328 @icytrickster17 @jaidenhawke @eleniblue @lou12346789 @lady-rose-moon @km-ffluv @herdetectivetheorist @lokiforever @crimson25 @simping-for-marvel @cakesandtom @vanilla-daydreaming @kimanne723 @glitchquake @lulubelle814 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @buttercupcookies-blog @november-rayne @mandywholock1980 @lokidbadguy @smolvenger

[luneariaa]

this really took me some time to decide on how to actually write the story lmaoo;; ngl the plot got somehow lost 😭

contains angst but comforting ending; not much proofread.

also tagging @sody-toast !!

. dividers by @/cafekitsune !! 💜🌻

"So, the usual, Mike?"

The girl behind the cash register machine asks for confirmation, along with a friendly smile plastered upon her face. Mike is spaced out-- as per usual, so when hearing those words, it's enough to bring him back to reality.

"Oh, yes." He gave his own quick reply, before seemingly becoming a bit lost in his own thoughts of the past once again.

"Got it!"

While the girl has her back facing him, he simply waits there silently. But that is, until he sees someone rather familiar from the distance.

He sees you, waving at him while grinning happily from afar outside the bakery he was currently in.

Your sudden appearance sends him into a temporary state of shock, clearly not expecting this. Without wasting any time, he reaches for the door and goes out, the food he ordered being left forgotten as he chases you out while you run someplace.

As his feet hit the hard ground below onto the pavement outside, he eventually caught up to you pretty quickly.

"Hey!"

Slowing down a bit, he grabs your wrist and prevents you from running away any further. "Where do you think you're going, huh?"

He wasn't even realizing that he's been smiling a bit all the while, though it didn't last when he finally realizes that it's not you that he's been chasing. It's just a total stranger who happens to pass by the streets, now looking at him weirdly.

That's not you, never was. He's just trying to convince himself that you were the one who just waved at him. Smiling, laughing at him..

By this point, he just feels pathetic and ashamed of himself.

But was it truly his fault, when all he's trying is to cling to the thin thread that he created upon himself? To come to terms with you being truly gone, but it's a hard process for him despite it happened a few years ago; he lost count.

Just great.

Working at Freddy's once again, and it's already quite exhausting for him. But he needed the job for the cash; for him and Abby.

So far, nothing really interesting has happened, so this leads to him deciding to take a quick nap at his security desk. What could go wrong, right? But the second he closes his eyes, his thoughts immediately drift back to you, replaying old memories that have passed through time.

Mike could remember the days when you both would spend time with each other even with limited time possible. Your eyes would meet his own every so often, a soft smile playing on your lips that's reserved for him.

The look of pure adoration and love in your eyes that he would never get tired of. And you're wearing the outfit that he bought for you during your first date with him.

How could he ever look away whenever you decided to wear it? It looks so perfect on you, he couldn't stop staring for hours shamelessly.

But nothing lasts forever. That's what he keeps trying to remind himself with.

You were supposed to buy something from the store while Mike was away at work around that time of day, but that fateful day has also marked your forever end as well.

You never came back.

The day you died-- it was a hit-and-run accident. Blood was everywhere, even staining your own clothes. Your head was being hit hard on the road, which caused you to go unconscious almost instantly. The phone you previously were holding has flung elsewhere; the screen cracked badly.

Maybe he shouldn't let you out that day. Maybe he should've stayed at home. Maybe, just maybe..

He would've changed the past if he could, but alas, there's nothing that he can do. He's just a human, after all.

A series of painful images flash through his mind while he's still asleep-- one of them being the day he found out that you're being involved in the said accident. He could never forget no matter how hard he tried to.

"No, no, no, no.."

"Not again. Damn it." He covers his face with his own hands out of frustration. He just wants the nightmares to stop.

But at the same moment, he could've sworn he could feel your touch; hugging him from behind. The soft caress of your hand on his back is unmistakable. He could feel it.

Mike takes a few deep breaths, as if to try to compose himself. His attempts to reach back to return your mere touch are futile, nonetheless, only grabbing at the nothingness in the air.

It's a harsh reality, and you are not coming back.

Mike was starting to give up once more, but stopped from doing so when he felt your mere touch on his cheeks. It feels so tender, loving, warm.. He could see you standing in front of him; placing a needed kiss on his forehead affectionately, before a warm smile was plastered on your features.

No words were needed at the moment. He doesn't really care if he's going insane due to the whole situation; he just needed you.

Even when you're not coming back alive-- to him, his memory of you will live on forever.

"Stay." His voice sounded quiet and hoarse, almost begging. "Please.."

You didn't respond, however. But the smile on your face is enough to reassure him that you're there with him at that exact moment.

But it's enough for him. He knows that you'll be with him for as long as he's alive when you start to embrace him ever so tightly and lovingly.

And that's all he needs.

© 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚜.

[deafsignifcantother]

if music be the food of love, chapter 8

♥ here you go lovies, it’s series time | chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter nine ♥ summary: uhm yeah he confronts you and goes all demon on you but you're like "babe it's just us babe look at me". reader getting ready to jump off a bridge at any moment because this is the worst confrontation she's been through (but she's having a stone face to not let him win). ♥ relationships: aroace Alastor x deaf female reader (queerplatonic to romance) ♥ word count: 3.7k ♥ pinterest board ♥ notes: she's on artfight, and once again i'm getting catholic on you guys. she also is speaking more often. this story is NOT going to get nsfw but i like a lot of mildly sensual things bc I feel like alastor would do crazy shit and not realize how sensual it is. i wrote this while high (it's 3am) ♥ no tag list rn :3

And so you walk, head tilted downwards, back to the hotel. Chatter silences, and people eye you. Instead of sprinting away, they just back up, not knowing your next move. You watch every crack on the street as you step on them, crushing the gravel and tiny bits of concrete.

Zestial had walked you to the door, basically saying his form of "gg" and leaving you alone.

You think of the place where Alastor found you. Leaving Zestial's little study within Carmilla's professional ownership meant walking through that area and that memory.

Just two overlords find an interest in each other, sparing each other's life in a plan to corrupt the other. That's not exactly humorous.

You suppose it's possible that you'd both somehow taken a form of emotional poison, and it had only taken effect just now, but that's only an excuse for corrupt passion. But at the same time, it's not hard to imagine how this physically attractive person, who's been touchy since the day you met, could have lured you in.

The cars coming up the road don't crash like you expect; they only speed up. You're not angry anymore, that's good.

The demonic deer died without a clue of what would happen, the woman died from drowning. It's a bit reminiscent, isn't it?

The hotel is a cemetery now. Each person inside could be tumbling out the moment the doors open. This is both a suspension of your imagination and the sudden thought that you made Alastor angry. He would have come for you first, right?

The two-door entrance, where you can't lock the doors with the key still inside, felt like introducing your doom. He'd know you're back. Are his ears twitching to the sound of your music? It's hard to imagine that any force outside his heart can penetrate his robust interior. You're special to me because I happen to love you quite a lot.

What kind of expression do you have? Do you look scared shitless, as you feel?

You open the doors, peaking your head in before anything else. You pause to catch your breath. Husk is looking off into a distance, and from this angle you can't tell if his eyes are locked into something or if it's a drunken stare.

When he notices you, he smirks, shrugs, a drunken stare. How dare he have the audacity to smirk at you?

If it hadn't been for the disaster of under an hour ago, Alastor might have given you the usual space. And if he had, you wouldn't have the sense that Alastor was just around the corner. Unless you're delusional with paranoia, it looks like he's on the verge of blurting it out.

You face your fears and walk closer to the foyer, letting the door close behind you. Your eyes dart to the couches, but there is no sign of him.

Even though two demons can sneak up at each other simultaneously, you remain across the hotel from each other.

Husk throws a bottle your way, and it crashes against the wall. You don't jump; you just turn your head slowly.

"His tower." He points upwards.

Good, because you're not going up there. You have space until Alastor decides to come down. He'll likely intrude in your space if you attempt to walk to your room. Should you stay here with Husk? Is that going to summon him quicker?

"Husk."

He rolls his eyes, internally begging for you to leave him alone.

You approach, feet echoing through the silent room. A chill runs up your spine from his hard stare. Was he offended from earlier? It doesn't matter; he's going to indulge.

"When was the last time we saw each other, before all of this?" You suddenly ask.

"At a bar, probably. You'd think you were smarter than me and I'd win every time," he laughs at the memory. "Why? Wanna try again?"

You shake your head. "Was I by chance with Alastor?"

"No."

"In other words, we spent time alone, without Alastor."

"What the hell is your point?"

"Nothing," you give him a smile, "I'm just wondering."

He smiled at the memory, what a cute sentiment.

He growls. "I can tell when you're acting stupid. Stop this little act, it's not going anywhere."

Your smile grows more. "When was the last time you thought about me since then? Before you saw me?"

His eyes squint. "What?"

"Am I not allowed to ask questions?"

"No." He signs again.

You lean further on the desk, nodding with a faux understanding expression. "What if we make an unofficial deal?"

"No."

"So," you continue anyway. "You tell me something I want to know, and in return, I tell Alastor to leave you alone when I'm around. You know he'd listen to me. How does that sound?"

"You could have just bought me beer."

"Will that work?"

His hand goes to his forehead, trying to rub the drunkness from his brain.

"If you don't forget your promise."

You put a hand out, getting his attention again. "And we can gamble again, like old times."

"Sure." He places his hand on the table, staring at them, flexing his claws to prepare for his following words. "What's the question?"

"Did you know Alastor was going to bring me here?"

As he hit his fist on the table, it vibrated, a bottle on the wood shaking a bit. He hadn't touched the drink since you walked over.

His hands lift before dropping again. He wants to sign another why, but that won't satisfy you at this point.

"I think so."

"You think so?"

"He said old friend. I didn't think about it too hard. He said you could help us."

Your spine straightens. Your shoulders raise, your eyebrows furrowing. "That I could help, that's what he said?"

And not that he wanted to be near you again?

"Don't let it get to your head," it's a strange comfort. "He's... Hey, just be cautious."

And then his ears flicker, eyes looking behind you, and you embrace the inevitable. If you could predict the future, you imagine Alastor's hands gripping your shoulders and instantly throwing you to the floor before eating you alive.

Warm breath brushes against your neck, the bangs of a familiar friend hitting your head. Husk turns away. You try to do the same, but a hand wraps around you and pulls you around.

"May I walk you to your chambers?"

"Always such a gentleman."

"Yes, I'm afraid that's true."

What does that mean? Ugh, he's the worst.

His grip doesn't leave you as he forces you to his side, the other hand holding his cane behind him, neither available for communication. This is better than getting his constant teasing.

But he's definitely been planning this since the moment you left. The more you reflect, the more genuine he seems. He hugged you after the meeting and invited you into the kitchen just to rest with you.

As the two traveled, nothing happened for a while. You just try to match his steps while getting comfortable in his rough grip.

And your room approaches. The optimistic part of you wants him to drop you off and leave you alone for the night. But, of course, that wasn't his plan. He stood in front of your door. Did he expect you to open it?

He just stared at it, smile dark, expecting, ready. His grip on your releases.

You reach a hand towards the door knob.

And then the door of his room slams open. A tentacle wraps around your waist, pulling you into the room and lifting you from your feet. It only lets go when Alastor closes the door from behind him.

You don't back away when he strides long and stands before you. He growls, showing his gums and his eyes showing nothing but resentment. He looks at every part of your calm face. His hands lift to grab you but then drop, once again expecting you to move.

After a few seconds of motionless stares, he lifts a hand, touching your speaker, the fast heartbeat pulsating against his fingers. He digs his fingers in the tight space between your skin and the metal. And then he slowly removes it, revealing the strong muscle layer beneath it. You sigh.

You often used to do that, placing your speaker somewhere to sneak up on a victim.

The music goes silent. Alastor kindly holds it in his hand, not letting his claws pierce it. You hate it when your speaker isn't a part of you. It feels as if your heart has been ripped out, and though it causes no pain, the emptiness is a physical and mental anguish.

And then he walks past you, placing the stereo on the table between two lounge chairs. The fireplace ignites. You look at him while he motions to the chair across from him, buttoning down his overcoat and laying it on the head of the chair.

Something horrible is advancing, slowly but surely the situation will only get worse. You try to have a normal stride as you sit on the opposite chair, pushing your dress under you more comfortably, trying not to fidget with your lace, red sleeves.

Whatever passion he shared for you only exists to show signs of warning, his smile more threatening than ever. If you end up dying, you'll die with a look of astonishment on your face.

"Dearest, how do you feel?" He asks. What a pointless question. Does he really expect you to answer? What a sensitive, compassionate question. You almost run away once again.

"Did I betray you?" You ask. "Do I need to apologize?"

His smile widens. Your tone is almost non-caring.

"I'd appreciate an apology, yes."

"Well, I'm sorry for doubting you. I still don't know if you were just joking or not, but judging by this reaction, I, uhm... I'm sorry."

"It's not just anger," he reads your mind.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Jealousy? Aggravation? Hatred?

He continues before you have the chance to lift your hands. "I am fearful, too."

He crosses his legs, soothing his suit. His fingers interlock and rest on his knees, looking at you expectantly, waiting for your response to his rare sensitivity. But then he changes his mind, suddenly raising his hands, signing faster than usual. "Think about it. I presume you've grown to consider me some beast that comes from out the woods. And at the same time, you're just a girl who has clung to me. What does that make you? You melt into my touch while trying to get as far away from me as you can."

"You do the same thing."

And in an instant, his claws sharpen, his hair goes into spikes, and he grips onto the chair. You fight the urge to react in fear. This is just his emotive wall, you remind yourself. At least he's trying.

He isn't giving you room to respond; he hasn't been. "How insensitive. You're trying to dissect me but it won't work, I can see through you."

A stiff shrug is your only response. You squeeze your hands to soothe the shaking before you respond. "You're a trendsetter."

His body grows, contorting, and he lifts himself from his chair, both hands reaching to grab you. Even this smiling shadow circles you. The lights flicker before shutting off completely. The only light is the fireplace and the glow of his eyes, not including the green aura his anger lets off.

"You think this is a joke?"

Not at all. Acting like a scared little girl will only feed his ego; knowing his words messed with you will satisfy him.

This reaction is what you wanted. You stand, hands nearing his face, leaning close, straining your own life by swooping his bangs out of the way, pressing a kiss to the target on his forehead. You force your forehead on his. His hands immediately claw into your skin, a threat, a warning that he's going to break you in half.

But you speak to him, a low whisper. "Your love is not a joke to me."

His hands touch your stomach as he shoves you away. You fall to the floor, body having missed the chair behind you.

"Enough," he signs. "Do not touch me lest I'll take your soul."

You don't even try to sit up, head on his carpet. Your hair falls on either side of your face, and you keep your eyes on Alastor as he crawls just barely over you. You keep a straight face. "You wouldn't hurt me."

One of his hands raises while the other plants by your side, wrist brushing against your ankle. His bowtie is crooked, his collar half up and half down. The disordered fashion is unlike him, you've never seen it before.

"Physically."

And that hand presses on your stomach, clawing at it until the fabric of your dress rips. The warm air hits you. His threatening nature doesn't cause the usual butterflies.

He sits up. "I hate this dress."

When you tilt your head, he continues. "I hate the good memories, I hate cherishing you."

You raise to your elbows, but he slams you back down.

He finally crawls over you, knees cradling your thighs, his hands on either side of you. Your fingers brush against his. He leans down, putting his forehead against yours. His breathing is heavy, his smile is closed, and his lips threatening to open in a snarl. You keep your eyes open; his are calmly closed. Around a minute pasts, the longest minute of your life. His breathing slows, and his body returns to normal. His head remains in front of yours, almost shielding your eyes from his transformation. He tilts his head, not leaning in but changing the angle of his access.

And as quick as he can, he leans back, arms stiff and straight, eyes expansive with fascination. You try to calm your eyes and remain stoic, but your lips part, and your eyes shine in response. He runs his eyes through your upper body, with no sense of salaciousness, staring at the hole in your chest and your hands, relaxing against the floor.

If you're ever in danger, he thinks, it will be the end of me.

"That."

"That."

"Yes, that."

Like the rest of this conversation, you wait for him to interrupt you, but his arms relax. He can't stop staring at you, unblinking. Finally, you shift uncomfortably under his stare.

"What?" You pinch your fingers together.

His smile widens. He looks so attractive when he looks down at you like that, attempting to calm his breath, his red button-up wrinkled with violent movements. You log this memory into your brain to hold onto forever.

"The forehead touch, the first time we did that you were wearing this."

His hands slide down your waist, and you try to jolt away. His hands move back. "Apologies."

"I didn't know you liked the forehead thing so much."

"My darling, can't you remember that I initiated it first? But you refuse to remember, silly girl, while I can never forget. There was a swirl of love in your eyes, I had never seen somebody look at me like that. You had lost your mind."

You smile, lips lifting unintentionally. "Didn't you run away?"

His smile drops only a bit. He shakes his head, hands not lifting anymore, and he stands, offering a hand to you. As if you weigh nothing, he lifts you to your feet with one motion.

You change the topic, intending to save yourself. "May I touch your collar?"

He tilts his head up, still remaining silent but smiling, the corner of his mouth returning high on his cheeks at your touch. Your fingers fold his collar back, straightening his bowtie and tightening it. "There you go."

He grabs your wrists, puts them to his lips, and kisses them softly. Instead of dropping them immediately, he leans into your knuckles, holding himself there until you grab both cheeks. His eyes close, and he smiles small.

Can't wait to tell Zestial about this.

This embrace has only ever been in your imagination. You never pictured how warm Alastor was, how he admitted to liking (loving? still difficult to process) you, the way he held your speaker as if it was a newborn kitten, his claws never drawing blood on your skin no matter how much he wanted to, and you'd definitely never imagine his small smiles.

Is this what he has been wanting all along? Was Husk just seeing the worst in him?

Alastor's hands hold your shoulder blades as he pulls you in enough for your hands to still touch his cheeks. His hair rests against the top of your head, making you smile.

But with a twitch of his hands, you both realize something. You have yet to say it back. You bite your lip, leaning away, still not removing your hands from his face. His eyes peek at you, red eyes glowing. Your hands remain in their place.

Think of Zestial's advice, think of Zestial's advice, think of Zestial's advice.

A deep breath leaves you. He straightens his body, your hands falling from him. All you do is lift up your fingers, ily, not sign the sentence, and put it against his chest. He doesn't look at your hand. He stares at you.

Your other hand signs a soft "Please."

For now, he'll accept your hesitation. But he won't again.

You return your hands to yourself. "Let love be without dissimulation." His ears press to the back of his head. He tries to grab your hands, but you don't stop, so you take a big step back. "Abhor that which is evil and cleave to that which is good."

"Those verses mean nothing." His claws bump into each other as he signs, his precise angles long gone.

"They do to me, let love be genuine, Alastor. Mutual affection, don't you understand?"

Another argument approaches: "Do not bring those verses into my life, any of them. You challenged me once, and I will not let you challenge me again."

He points his finger at you, and you stare at it. "Is your love genuine?"

"You're letting words play in your head," he points to his temple, doing the crazy motion. "You're doubting me again."

"You didn't answer."

He reaches forward, fingers curved to emphasize his claws, but he stops his grasp only centimeters away from your shoulders. "My dear, you're driving me crazy."

"You ruined my dress."

"You're always so good at changing the subject."

You can't help but smile. Alastor's anger becomes less threatening the longer it lasts; his sharpened hair and strong shoulders just make you want to caress him into normalcy.

The lights flicker back on. You look around, eyeing the environment you didn't get the chance to see before. "So this is your room?"

His hands drop dramatically.

You sign, "I'm a bit disappointed there's no huge portraits of me, how dare you."

When you're eyeing the bones on his wall, he puts his overcoat back on, pulls the sleeves down, and buttons his waist. The rip around your stomach is the most visible part of your appearance, he snaps it away, glancing off to the side nervously. He needs to control himself more. He needs to stop acting like such a baby around you. But how you look at him draws him in more than anything; he's truly never been around someone who has treasured him as much as you do. Your eyes light up whenever he touches you, and you sulk when he pulls away. Do you live off of the contact? Sometimes it feels like it.

So when you turn to face him again, hands rubbing against the place on your stomach where the rip was, his eyes twitch a bit and watch your hands.

"Ah, my dear, put those hands to better use."

You squint, tilting your head before he wraps his arms around your thighs and lifts you up. You let out a loud woah, hands gripping his neck, his face plush against your collarbone. He feels the dip of the empty space where your speaker once was.

He spins around, gaining laughs from you, his main goal. He wants this night to be a good memory. Your hands roam upwards to the back of his head, your nails digging into his skull, pulling on his hair. He groans, vibrating against your skin, tightening his hands on your thighs. When your hands run up his hair, puffing it up with your touches, he feels a chill down his spine. So that's what that feels like. It's thrilling.

Before you can even process the lack of contact, he throws you onto his bed. You bounce in place, the pillows moving alongside you, and a shadow pulls you higher up, wrapping a blanket around you.

Alastor swipes his hands together, almost clapping. "Get some rest, darling!"

And traveling with his shadow, he looms over you, standing, holding your speaker in one hand. He slips it in place, the music pulsating before starting off again. How exquisite, you must love him.

"Alastor." You try and sit up.

"No, no, darling, put your little head to rest." He pushes you down. "We have to make sure you don't start sulking again, I don't want my residents being tortured by your dear melodies," he snaps his fingers and puts you in your nightly clothes, the red dress draped over the same chair, his coat was, "I'll always be here if you need me."

"I know." You stare at him through your eyelashes. He definitely wants you to try to sleep so you don't go roaming around flustered. What time is it even? Considering his little meltdown, you won't try to test him on it.

"Well," he stands, and you realize how tall he is from this angle. "Try and have good dreams."

You just scoff, turning to your side, capturing a second pillow in your grasp, and cuddling with it. Alastor definitely doesn't use this bed, it smells like nothing at all. Disappointing. You need to change that soon.

[ilikekidsshows]

Usually I like a character with a red flag, that's why my list of favorite characters is mostly villain or dark hero because there's something intriguing about that type of character. For some times I've been wondering why Marinette just turned me off despite having the personality trait that I usually like and reading your responses to your asks just make me realize why.

She just has no interesting background story to back her red flagness. ._.

It just like you said, Naofumi has a reason why he choose to abandoned his heart and compassion. And it's not just Naofumi. Most if not all the fallen hero or villain characters has something, a reason, why they become a villain or fallen hero. Marinette has none.

She's. Just. Being. Spoiled. Rotten.

Even as a hero she also has nothing that make her as interesting character, she's literally a normal girl with a normal life who happen to part time as a hero just because a magical jewel happened to appear on her room.

I've seen people said Adrien has no motivation to be a hero, but I'd say it's Marinette who has none. Because if she has motivation to be a hero then she won't be as passive as she is.

Also, lately I've seen news about some DEI companies hiring that happened overseas and of there's DEI hiring in miraculous, Marinette would definitely be it. Because there's nothing bout her that screamed a hero, she just doesn't has it in her. I mean this is a girl who would wither away in almost every little inconvenience possible, she doesn't have that conviction to be a hero or even protecting anyone. If your hero need external validation for every inconvenience then maybe they're not a hero and shouldn't be one.

---

Exactly. Also, just like a lot of people are saying, Marinette’s descent into villainy could be interesting if that was what the writers were intending to do. If the point was that Marinette’s past of being coddled, excused and validated at every turn has led her to consider others as nothing more than existing for her benefit, that could be interesting in how the story chooses to tackle and resolve that. But that’s very much not what is happening. We’re supposed to side with her or at least be ready to forgive her the instant her lip wobbles and she cries about what a terrible person she is again. We’re supposed to think she’s justified or just stressed out. All of our sympathy should go to her instead of her victims just because she is Marinette, the greatest Ladybug ever.

Shows with villain or fallen hero protagonists acknowledge that what their protagonist is doing is morally wrong, so they put effort into making that protagonist someone you want to root for in other ways. They make the villainy over the top and entertaining, they give the protagonist an understandable reason to act the way they do so that the viewer can get into their head, or they make the opposition of the protagonist even worse and therefore deserving of comeuppance. I very much enjoyed Death Note in my youth while fully realizing Light was a villain protagonist, because the story does all of these things at some point during the manga's run.

Episodes like ‘Derision’, ‘Adoration’ and ‘Confrontation’ make it seem like the writers were, on some level, aware of Marinette’s lack of rootability, but they couldn’t bring themselves to cause her enough hardships to bring her to the level of characters like Naofumi. Chloé traumatized Marinette a year before the show, but in a way that it doesn’t really affect her at all except to excuse the way she acts around Adrien. Chloé and Lila try to frame Marinette for theft but fail immediately. Chloé and Lila mess with everyone’s school forms and something that should be resolved with everyone in class complaining instead requires Marinette to break the law to “expose” Lila and Chloé, but even that was a single-episode plot.

Despite all these efforts, the problem of rootability still persists, however, in that, outside of these two very specific characters, everyone is constantly showering Marinette or Ladybug in adoration. She isn’t entitled to the things she claims she is, like Adrien, and she isn’t enough of an underdog to justify her stepping on others to get to what she wants. But she still does it. She only hangs out with her friends to order them around to help her accomplish her goals and she constantly requires emotional support from the people around her for her nonexistent or self-caused problems while offering none in return.

[lady-of-endless]

“I stand with you” (Ramattra x Reader)

Author’s Note: So I found another muse and I’m obsessed. Here is a nice little angsty fic (with a happy end). As usual, please excuse any grammar mistake, I’m not a native speaker.

Word count: 1743

Edit: here’s a new fic that can be read separately https://www.tumblr.com/lady-of-endless/710235615367692288/flashbacks-and-height-differences-ramattra-x?source=share

What should be done when someone despises you for who you are?

Your answer was to leave that individual alone and try not to bother him as much as possible, minding your business. It was supposed to be simple, not the complicated task it turned out to be.

Even if you went on with your daily duties at the peaceful monastery in Nepal, he kept on testing you. Slowing you down with his ravenous vortex, blocking your way with his void barrier, whatever it took to reveal your true colors and prove to his brother the hideous truth about human nature. It become a routine whenever he visited.

It all started when Zenyatta announced his brother's first visit to Nepal. Despite your excitement to meet him, your mentor had to briefly explain Ramattra's principles. Before even trying to find a solution, he already arrived.

You could recall how shivers ran down your spine when your chin was lifted by his staff to look up at him.

"Your name, human."

His voice was a shadow compared to the light of Zenyatta's tone. Ramattra spoke harshly, demanding. He could have ended you then and there but instead he gifted you mercy.

So, since then, there were only two kinds of days in Nepal. Calm days and days in which Ramattra visited and interfered with whatever you tried to do. However, with each of the latter, you started to learn more about the vengeful omnic and his devastating story. Unconsciously, Ramattra also discovered more about you. As sickening as it was initially to watch you get along with every omnic from the monastery, he started to get more curious. As trust does not blossom overnight, his visits started to get more frequent. Gradually, his daily torments stopped but even so, you still felt his gaze on you.

One day, Zenyatta decided to visit another monastery in Nepal with Genji. He left you and his dear brother responsible for the sacred place, much to Ramattra's displeasure who was not supposed to be there.

The night was so quiet, a serene snowing night, that could not anticipate such an unfortunate event.

Pacing aimlessly in your room with a late-night cup of tea, you accidentally saw from the window the terrible image of an omnic trapped under a fallen statue that decorated the court of the monastery. Gasping, you dropped the cup instantly, leaving your room in a desperate hurry but knowing exactly who could help.

His name echoed through the halls as you ran barefoot and called for him.

Arriving at his door, you started to bash your fists against the wood repeatedly, not caring about his recharging state at that late hour.

He heard your voice from the first call and sighed deeply, looking at the door but not moving yet.

"Ramattra, please! It's an emergency! An omnic!" You explained in a breathless voice. "Is injured, please, help."

Finally, the door was opened swiftly, his tall figure towering over you.

"Take me there."

You nodded and started running again, with him by your side this time.

"If you have anything to do with this, human, I will not hesitate to-"

"A statue fell over because of the weather." You stated hastily.

It was only then he realized it was indeed horrible weather outside, and even worse for something so weak as a human. Yet, there you were, running in a flimsy impractical outfit. He could not throw a remark because you both arrived at the scene.

A broken and incredibly heavy statue kept the poor monk injured and trapped in place. His pleas to help him panicked you even more. Ramattra wasted no time changing to his nemesis form to lift the stone from the omnic.

After that, when he reversed his transformation to his omnic form, you felt that it was your turn to act. Almost bumping into Ramattra who also wanted to look at the injuries, you both analyzed the damage fast.

It was critical. Ramattra got solemnly quiet and you were quick to notice it.

"No, don't even think about it, there must be something we can do."

He slowly shook his head, he has seen too many injured omics not to predict the outcome.

"I think...I can try to heal him." You continued in a small unsure voice.

Ramattra froze in place remembering that his brother explained how you were studying ways to use your healing ability the first time he saw you at the monastery.

"You think? Are you this unsure of your abilities?" He asked more sharply than he intended.

"I have never done this before... Healing an omnic." You explained in a whisper so that the one in pain could not hear.

Ramattra was speechless once again. Before he could demand explanations, you already started.

"Just describe to me how those components look when they're in perfect shape."

After voicing your idea, you pleaded to the injured omnic to stay with you, cupping his face gently. That gesture of human warmth should have infuriated Ramattra but not this time. "Please hurry, let us do it, Ramattra." You said daring to grip his hand tightly.

He was baffled by everything and especially by the hope in your eyes when looking at him. Why were you this motivated to save an omnic? How dare you care for one of his people when you were just a human? Leaving his wonder behind, Ramattra cleared his throat and started to help you.

Now, with your hands on the cold metal of those broken components you were trying to focus while Ramattra explained how each circuit should be in a stern voice. As you took in his words and concentrated, the damage started to slowly reverse under your touch. He looked in wonder at the omnic and then closely at your face.

After what seemed to be so many moments of an intense healing process, the injured omnic could finally get up from the ground alone. Happiness flowed in his tone when he thanked both you and Ramattra for saving his life. You were smiling weakly in return, something still felt off.

"Thank you for your crucial explanations. You saved another one." You said to Ramattra while both of you looked at the omnic who was walking back to his room in safety.

Ramattra only shook his head and started walking away from you already. This event got him too confused. He had to encounter the joy of keeping another omnic safe with caution and also sort his thoughts alone.

"Maybe you should study more since you are even staying at a place full of us omnics, don't you think?" He commented preparing for one of your comebacks.

However, no answer was heard from you this time, no response, no calm voice.

If Ramattra could have frowned, he would do it right then. Instead, he stopped and dared to be curious about your condition, taking a look over his shoulder. He saw you crashed on the ground, in the thin layer of cold snow.

...He stopped in place.

This is probably a false alarm, he thought. But he convinced himself that you had no intention of testing him.

...He took a step closer.

Maybe you wanted to pay him back for all of his torments. But you never seemed that upset or bitter about it.

...He walked closer to your static figure.

"Get up, human." His voice was as sharp as the wind.

A thought of using his staff to touch you flashed across his circuits but he kneeled next to your body instead. You were still breathing but shivering. Unintentionally, he remembered his brother's explanations again. What you also tried to learn from Zenyatta was how to handle energy loss after healing someone. You needed to rest, but logically not outside in that freezing weather.

Ramattra called your name. For the first time, he did not call you "human", "human pet", or "nuisance", he called the name that tormented his thoughts for days.

Hearing it, made you weakly open your eyes just to close them back.

"Get up now, or your vitals will drop!" He repeated, slightly nervous.

No reaction.

You knew that healing an omnic was different from what you knew you could do and something probably draining, yet you did it with no hesitation.

What was the reason?

Defeated, Ramattra looked around for any other omnic in sight but there was none. He sighed and embraced your body clumsily.

For years, he only knew how to harm a human, not protect it. He had no idea how to hold a body like yours, how to keep it close, safe. Yet, he had to do it. No, he started to want to do it. He did not care how fast the color from the human faces can drain because of low temperatures before, now, it started to worry him.

With the help of his nemesis form, he could put his scarf around your shoulders without letting your body out of his unfamiliar embrace.

"You forgot what I am?" You whispered in a shiver, feeling what he was doing.

There was never a moment in which he would forget what you were. A human that got on his nerves with your affection and care for the ones of his kind (without being a deception, he discovered). A human, different from those oppressors who took away the ones close to him and he killed in return. How could he forget when your face haunted him in his tries to meditate or make plans lately?

"Shut it or I will leave you where I found you." He said instead of everything else. "Save your energy and hold onto me."

So, yes, he knew what you were and who you were. The one that saved an omnic, the one that likes to interact all the time with ones of his kind, the one that wants to learn more.

Your name did not sound like a bad omen anymore.  

Was this what Mondatta preached about? Was this what Zenyatta tried to explain about you? A flashback of his lectures at Shambali made Ramattra feel a pressure in his chest, right where he thought he had a blade instead of a heart.

Suddenly, a cold gust of wind hit. Still advancing through it, Ramattra looked down at your peaceful expression and carefully placed a hand on the side of your face to shield you.

"You are safe with me."

[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. A known swordsman makes a brief appearance in this. Buggy is jealous and a bit insecure in this chapter. A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. Also I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who reads, reblogs, and replies on this story. I love everyone of you and it makes my day brighter knowing there are people enjoying this! So thank you thank you thank you! <3

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness @uhnanix Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 7

Buggy woke up to a bucket beside his bed, a glass of water on the nightstand, and a note telling him you were in the kitchen. He was confused as to why you left him a note because he didn’t know why you were there at first. He had fuzzy memories from the previous night: going to the shop, walking back to the ship, a drink, a marriage proposal, sharing his bed-

Oh shit. He fell out of bed, horrified by how he acted towards you. That was the last thing he wanted and he scrambled to find some clothes to put on. He found his shirt from the previous night and threw it on, ignoring the stains and smell of beer coming off it. Maybe you were still on the ship and he could explain everything, unless you left and never wanted to see him again. That was entirely possible.

You were in the kitchen when he came crashing in, eating a banana as you looked at the photos he showed you last night. He froze when he saw them and you looked up with a smile.

“Good morning, Buggy.”

“Where did you get those?!”

“You showed them to me last night.” You chuckled before taking a sip of your tea. “After you asked me to marry you.”

His hand shot off to grab them but you were quicker, moving them out of his way. You then pointed to the floating hand.

“Also, can you explain this?” You asked. “Miss Pins mentioned something about Devil Fruits but I didn't get it. and last night your body… was a part for a moment and it was…interesting to see.”

How were you talking so casually about all this? It was like discussing the weather, you were asking if it was cloudy outside. Others would have been horrified, thinking he was some kind of freak for what his body could do, but you were just eating a banana as you waited for an answer.

“I… have Devil Fruit powers.” He mumbled as he sat himself in a chair across from you. “I ate the Chop Chop fruit, so my body can split apart.” He scratched his head and looked at you. “Well? Aren't you disgusted or scared of me now?”

“Am I supposed to be?” You frowned as you finished your banana. “It's not like you bleed everywhere when it happens, right? If anything it's probably useful. You took your bottle back from me last night when we were walking, which was, admittedly, a little weird, but I had already seen it before. Just after you laid down last night I realized I wanted to ask you.”

“So…you're not disgusted that my body does this?”

“Buggy, I don't find your body disgusting.” You assured him as you sipped your tea. “Okay?”

He blushed and looked away. “Really? Even my nose?”

“I think it's cute.” You smiled. 

“Sh-shut up! Don't lie to me!” He shot back as he glared at you. 

“I'm not, promise.” You assured him as you looked back at the photos. “You were so cute as a kid.”

Buggy sat back in his seat, still glaring at you as you set the pictures down and got up to pour him some tea. Did you really think his nose was cute or were you just saying that? So far you'd never been mean to him, only occasionally teasing him, but he still was wary when it came to his nose. 

When his tea was ready you brought the cup back to him and pushed the plate of fruit over to him. “I figured fruit would be a good post-birthday hangover meal. You need to hydrate.”

He crossed his arms and eyed the plate before looking back at you. “Why are you still here? I figured you would have left.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” You told him as you picked up an apple and cut into it, separating it into slices. “You said stuff about me making you happy if I married you, and… I got worried.”

“I'm fine.” He grumbled as he looked down at his lap. “I was drunk, ignore what I was saying.”

You put the apple slices down on the plate before getting back up to find something with protein for him. He picked up one of the slices and shoved it in his mouth as he turned to watch you. He acted like a damn idiot last night but you stuck around to make sure he was okay. Did you want something from him or did you genuinely care about him? This wasn’t something he was used to or expected, so it was a little hard for him to understand. You found a jar of peanut butter in a cupboard and grabbed it.

“Here, have this.” You opened it, noting that it still seemed edible before finding a spoon to scoop some out for him onto the plate. He watched you suspiciously before he helped himself to the peanut butter. 

“You don't have to stay.” He said with his mouth full of food. “Your boss is gonna come looking for you.”

You shrugged as you sat back down in your chair. “I'll leave in a bit, but only if you walk me back.”

He glanced up at you with a frown, but you said nothing as you grabbed a towel and wiped his face for him. He grumbled and tried to pull away from you but you didn't let him, making sure his face was clean before you sat back down. He glared at you, face flushed as he finished his plate.

“Ignore everything I said last night.” He said again as he looked down at the plate. “I was drunk.”

“So you don't think I'm nice?” You asked with wide eyes, feigning surprise. “Or soft? You don't want to marry me then?”

“I-I do!” He said before slapping his hand over his mouth. You grinned at him and leaned back in your chair. He glared at you. “You're cruel.”

“I thought I was nice.” You teased as you sipped your tea. He crossed his arms and huffed in annoyance as you grinned at him. “Let's finish up, I need to head back. I have a customer returning today and I need to make sure he gets his order.”

He just grumbled as he drank his own tea. You got up and tidied up the kitchen, making sure to wash the dishes and dry them. He watched you as you moved about, enjoying how you already felt comfortable on the ship, that you seemed to know where everything was already in the kitchen. It was a sight he could get used to, he decided, but he didn't know if it was something you'd want.

“Let's head out, okay?” You said with a smile.

Buggy just nodded, but instead of leaving the ship you led him back to his room to put the pictures back while he pulled his boots back on. You found him a clean(er) shirt to wear and held it out to him, turning you back so he could change. He didn't know why, you obviously saw him shirtless (and he had a brief flashback to what he thought was going to happen last night and he momentarily died of embarrassment before straightening back up), but once he was ready he reached to put his bandana back on when you stopped him.

“Can you leave it down?” You asked, your own cheeks pink as you reached out to touch a lock of his hair. “It's um, just so pretty. I’d like to see it.”

He stared at you, wondering if you were teasing him again, but you weren't. A lock of his hair was entwined in your fingers as you ran your thumb over it, and when you realized what you were doing you let go and put your hands behind your back. 

“Sorry.” 

“No, it's…fine.” Buggy said as he tossed the bandana aside. He always put his hair up, finding it to be a nuisance as it got longer. His Devil Fruit made it difficult to get a haircut, it just reattached itself whenever he tried to cut it, so he gave up and let it get long. He didn't think it was a feature someone would care about, like his nose.

You smiled at him, he felt his face heating up and he looked away as he held his arm out to you. When you linked your arm with his he straightened up before he marched out of his room with you on his arm, thinking today would be a good day.

~

When he saw your customer he was horrified by how handsome he was. Dark hair, cheekbones, sharp, yellow eyes. And you were nice, helping your customer into his coat, explaining what you did with his request, and when you touched his shoulders Buggy couldn't help but feel jealous because you did that for him too, you always made sure his coat fit him, but it was obvious now that you did it for everyone. Buggy had no reason to feel special. 

When you finished up, your customer kissed your hand before leaving. Buggy was seething. You just shook your head before grabbing Buggy by the hand and leading him to the backroom.

“I have a present for you, Buggy.”

He tried to ignore Benji saying how cool that guy looked or Miss Pins commenting how that customer was so handsome because he knew they wouldn't think that way about him, so why would you? He said nothing as you let go of his hand and retrieved a small white box from a pile of other ones. He crossed his arms, glaring at his feet as you walked back over to him and held it out.

“Happy birthday.” You said, but he wouldn't take it from you. “Buggy?”

“You didn't know it was my birthday until last night.” He mumbled. “How do you have a gift for me already?”

You shrugged as you opened the box for him. He still wouldn't look at you. “I thought of it this morning. I did some hand stitching on this for a customer who never came back for it, but thankfully he prepaid for it.” You pulled out a square of silk, a light purple color, and held it out to him. He finally looked up, reaching out to touch it with his fingers carefully. “I thought it would look better on you than in some box.”

He hesitated and pulled his hand back. He didn't deserve a gift like this from you, especially considering on your own birthday he was an asshole to you. You said nothing as you rolled the fabric loosely before draping it over his neck. You pulled his hair out from under it before you looped it into a knot and tightened it just a bit. 

You smiled as you tugged on the front of it gently. “It looks good on you, Buggy.”

Buggy swallowed heavily and nodded. You were so close to him right then. His heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty. If he didn't do what he wanted to do right then he would regret it. You'd get romanced by someone else, some more handsome pirate, and he had to make it up to you for what he did on your birthday.

Without a word he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, nose bumping and-

Honk!

Buggy froze and pulled back from you, a look of horror on his face at what just happened. You stared at him, but before he could bolt you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him back, tilting your head just enough to avoid bumping his nose. He kept his arms at his sides, unsure where to put them. 

It felt like it went by too quickly when you pulled back from him, smiling brightly as you pecked him on the cheek.

“Is this a belated birthday gift, Buggy?” You teased as you let go of his shirt. He was red in the face but he grinned, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to be smooth.

“D’you want it to be?” He asked. You touched the silk around his neck and leaned into him, but he leaned back, expecting some kind of surface to support him, but instead he fell backwards and crashed onto the floor. 

You immediately knelt down and helped him sit up, checking him for injury. He seemed fine, just embarrassed, so you kissed him on the cheek.

“It could be, but I wouldn't say no to flowers.”

[yanderes-galore]

Hello! Happy Fazbear Birthday (again)!

Can I request a fluffy AU Mangle x reader? Maybe the Mangle has escaped and broke into the readers house one night. Imagine how horrifying it would be to hear a drip… drip… drip… sound, waking up and seeing a fluffy AU Mangle staring at you as it hangs off the ceiling, dripping blood in your floor!

Sure! Here's a short story I came up with what you gave me!

Breach

Yandere! Fluffy AU! Mangle Short

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Breaking and entering, Biting, Blood, Gore/Graphic descriptions, Clingy behavior, Forced companionship.

You aren't sure what woke you up first. All you know is when you turned over in your bed you realized something was wrong. The smell in your room was like if an animal brought in roadkill. You assumed it was outside your window.

That is until you hear the noises. The sounds of breathing and scratching. The sound of dripping liquid spilling onto a floor, carpeted or not. You open your eyes slightly.

Not fully conscious you feel something wet and warm drip onto your blankets. The dripping sound is muffled… you find yourself trying to sit up. It looks like something is dripping from your ceiling.

You look up… and see something you thought would never follow you home.

Your line of work was in the Afton Facility. A base of secret experiments on living mascots. This one… Mangle… was a failed one. You were only ever meant to feed them then leave.

You weren't at work when the breach happened. You had no idea Golden Freddy was so powerful he was able to escape and leave the facility in chaos. You had no idea of the carnage left behind.

You would never have expected Mangle, Toy Foxy 1.0, to break containment and look for you. How did they remember you? How did they get here? How did no one see it leave?

You wonder if they smelled you. It's a possibility… could they also find your file in the electronics? You weren't sure if you were impressed… or downright terrified.

This creature found comfort in your presence. Comfort to the point they made an effort to follow you home. Through bushes and in the shadows… the mess of flesh managed to find your home…

Then they made themselves at home on your ceiling.

You stare silently at the furred fox amalgamation, the white and pink fur stained red. Two eyes stare at you… from two different heads. The fox's snout is in a grin as they stare at you. It looks straight out of your nightmares.

For a long while, they don't do a thing. They seem to be admiring you. The fox is careful not to move much except to swivel their neck around to watch you. You're locked in a staring match.

You can't seem to say anything. Your mouth hangs open in shock. You feel the urge to retch occur when you realize there's a puddle of blood on your lap.

“Hey there, doc…” They growl playfully, both heads leaning closer. “Hope you missed me as much as I missed you, when you were gone things got quite intense!”

The fox still sticks to your ceiling as their long neck allows their main head to meet yours eye to eye. The grin never goes away. You feel paralyzed with fear, they're too damn close.

“I suppose it was a good thing… I never considered that place home.” The fox scoffs, looking away momentarily to see their other head before snapping back to you. “But with you? Anywhere is considered home!”

You don't hide the squeal that comes from your throat as they release from the ceiling and plop onto your bed. The sound is a disturbing splat and you try to roll off your bed. Unfortunately, the skeletal head they have chomps onto your clothes/skin before pulling you back. What's worse is it doesn't let go… even as the other head continues to speak.

“Where's the warm welcome…?” Mangle sighs, turning your head to meet their main one again.

“You aren't getting rid of me… so why not embrace me?”

[lover-of-mine]

Lady Whistledown.... OK on the parenting front. We all need to step into Narnia for a moment and forget he ever did cameos. Everything we know simply exists in the 911 universe as Canon. So you must understand that in this universe (thanks to Lous head canons he was paid for) he lost his mother at a young age and his father was a bully he ran from. And also the bachelor party was a way of showing Tommy as the mature one and carefully crafted to show that Eddie and Buck are just like play mates.

Tommy because he lost said mother so young will be the one to identify with Christopher and coax the young boy home. And if Christopher runs again because Eddie does something terrible. Well, our savior, Tommy will be the one to think you know maybe he went to Shannon's grave stone. He shall arrive and talk to the boy again. Because see clearly Buck and Eddie do not have the emotional capacity to accomplish this.

Also yes secretly Eddie is probably a little mad and jealous of Buck. You see, he did not realize when Tommy was courting him it was actually and option he could say yes, and now Buck stole him. But never fear Tommy will confess to Buck he was like 50th choice and because Buck loves Eddie so much he accepts being Eddies second choice to keep his family..

And your question on them realizing? Yes, after the hospital kiss, we were supposed to get more friend time of Eddie and Tommy. Tommy and Chris. All four at dinner together bonding. We got literally 2 scenes! Also, yes, they desperately wanted that dinner scene to contain the word boyfriend or love confession, so they didn't have to worry all summer.

Also deeply disappointed that the Hen Karen and Tommy scene was cut because that is probably where Hen on screen declares for the GA stop being mad at Tommy. See, I'm black and queer and my beautiful smart wife even loves Tommy. When I said "finally " to Karen, it was about both Tommy and Buck!!! Duh!!!!

So hopefully, that explains the "Christopher had three dads" PR department.

But also, when they were really, really mad at us, because we were so evil smart we were able to hack Lous personal Twitter and set him up as a racist. Maybe they should find a way of making sure they unmask us like the Scooby Doo villains we are to Oliver. Then Oliver would understand how toxic we really are.

But stepping out of Narnia. My impression on the Eddie front is that it's turning desperate in ways to make Tommy more relevant than he actually is to the story because it's the only way to get him more screen time than Karen. We all know that's never happening. They can't stand he will only exist in scenes with Buck if back and not on the forefront of the firefam. A family he definitely isn't a part of.

Hey, baby 🩷🩷 laughter doesn't begin to cover the sounds I was making while reading this. I will say I did not keep up with his cameos so this is all news to me so I'm loving it. The level of delusion. I'm speechless. So Tommy is the mature one and Buck is just there. Eddie being above Buck in the poli version is hysterical. Boy can't get a single win, huh? So they were expecting the Hen seal of approval and a place in Eddie's life and they got... That. That's nice. I feel better for the chaos reading this, ngl, I see you and feel the urge to pop some popcorn.

I mean, Taylor got a dinner with Eddie and Chris, even I thought the dude was gonna get something after 706. But I agree with your assessment, everyone knows the only way a love interest is gonna have a fighting chance is if they exist outside of Buck. And Tommy has possible threads that the show deliberately didn't pick because, hello, hello, he is not part of the family. God, I'm BEGGING for the show to give us something that explicitly contradicts as many of Lou's cameos as possible. (Does anyone have a bullet points list of those, because I legit lost track and I'm curious)

I maintain what I said when the hacking drama was happening tho, as your local buddie shipper computer scientist, I speak for all of us that if we were going to hack something, it would be the abc servers to get the karaoke scene. And, also, being a bad person never made a love interest leave the show, why would anyone bother making him look bad?

I'm still giggling at the Tommy/Eddie of it all. Like, if Tommy wanted Eddie and Eddie wanted Tommy and Buck is just a means to an end, and Tommy is a better parent, then what's the purpose of Buck in their heads? Does he just look pretty and gets fucked? This is madness. MADNESS.

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

Story Synopsis: In the aftermath of the Tokyo Civil War Era, three gangs rose to the top: Kanto Manji, Rokuhara Tandai, and Brahman. These powerhouses have been locked in a stalemate, which only serves as temporary peace. In order to truly control Tokyo, one gang has to obtain all the money, power, and status. You’re a runner for a gang affiliated with Brahman, trying to claw your way out of debt that was never yours. The deals you make turn a significant profit, but your string of luck is starting to fray. When a deal goes south, you have no choice but to work with the infamous Haitani brothers. In exchange, you were promised freedom, but as you work the jobs with them, you begin to realize that the shadows hold something larger at play.

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ m.list ❃ ao3

pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: Enemy territory is a perfect, totally acceptable place to do business, right? The Haitani brothers don't think so, even if you do. word count: 1.4k chapter cw(s): swearing, physical violence, drug mention, death mention a/n: okay so, this is... loosely attached to the three deities arc. canon is just a suggestion, but because it's a stupid ass suggestion, i have elected to ignore it. i also threw in a ton of OCs, more than i was expecting too, oops. was not beta read & minimally edited. beware possible ooc

Being on enemy territory wasn’t on your to-do list for a Friday night, but the deal was important and the man you were supposed to be meeting said it had to be done here. Your boss said to do whatever you could to make it happen because it would make a huge profit. So here you are, decorated by neon pink and purple lights. The floor of the club was filled with moving bodies and reeked of sweat and alcohol. The thumping bass of the music vibrated the ice in your drink. Goddamn, if you weren’t annoyed. It was already nearing midnight and you hadn’t seen a lick of the man you were meeting. You couldn’t leave, but you also didn’t want to be seen here. You tried to stay in the shadows as much as possible, but you had already shooed away a few men that tried to hit on you, offer you a drink, or try to get you on the dancefloor.

You glanced down at your phone with a frown. There were no messages to be seen. Taking another sip of your drink, you scanned the sea of people writhing in the black lights. Maybe you should just go outside.

“What’s a pretty thing like you sittin’ all lonely?” A heavyset man plopped into the booth across from you. He smelled like a liquor cabinet.

You put on your best smile. “I’m just waiting on someone.” You stared over the man’s head and immediately saw the mule you were looking for. “Actually, he just got here. Sorry, got to go!”

Cursing men under your breath, you got up and weaved your way to him. His tattoos and piercings lined up with what you were told. You didn’t know his name, just an alias. But if you were being honest, you didn’t give him your real name either. The music made it almost impossible to speak without yelling, but when you came into his field of vision, he stared intently. You held up four fingers. He nodded and jerked his head towards the door.

Outside was far colder than the inside of the club. Your leather jacket did little for you. Both of you were in a narrow alleyway, underneath a flickering streetlight. Neither of you spoke, but you broke the silence. “Yon?” you asked.

A smirk, followed by, “Ah, so you’re Suzaku’s little Lotus.”

“Has your boss considered our offer?”

“Straight to the chase, I like that in a woman.”

If you were going to start a fight, you would inevitably lose. This monster of a man probably had a good eight or nine inches on you and at least a hundred pounds more muscle. You settled for a slight tick in your jaw. “You know that we’re experts at trafficking all sorts of things,” you said. “Running your drugs and dirty money would be a simple task.”

“Don’t you think Wuxing is getting a little greedy? You aren’t even a big name, just a subsection of Brahman. You have no negotiating power,” Yon scoffed. “Boss says he would consider it if you dropped your fees, then we could make something work.”

“Our rates are considerably lower, especially considering your gang isn’t well known either. You wanna get footing around here? You work with us.”

“Ambitious, aren’t we?”

“You know just as well as I do that money is power. Imagine how much money we could make you by running your goods through Shinjuku.”

“We’re not sure that profit will outweigh the costs. We’d rather run it ourselves in that case.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Brahman would never let you. They’d wipe you out in a second. But if you work with us, Brahman doesn’t know what we’re up to. We cover our tracks and we turn enough profit that the higher ups are willing to turn a blind eye.”

“Tell you what, we’ll think about it some more. Let Suzaku know he needs to send someone else other than his prized Lotus.”

With that, Yon turned and left. You knew this was something that could go south, but you figured the temptation of money would be enough. No, Yon was too smart for his own good. You should’ve met with someone dumber, but Yon’s boss started strong out the gate. Dammit. What were you going to tell Suzaku? Your string of luck with deals was running out, and it wouldn’t be long before he decided he was through with you.

You punched the brick wall next to you hard, ignoring the pain that seared down your arm. How had everything in your pitiful life come down to this? You could be at a university now. You could be on the path to an honest living, but no. That was never going to happen. There was blood on your hands that would never come off. It wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to in order to survive, but you couldn’t stay afloat much longer.

Damn your brother for getting tangled up in business with Wuxing. You could’ve had a normal life, but he had to go and fuck everything up for you. His debts were suddenly your debts when the leader of Wuxing decided your brother was worthless. Not only that, but your brother had tried to sell you like some kind of broodmare. At that moment, you realized that the older brother who was supposed to protect you didn’t care about you at all. You didn’t flinch or look away when the bullet went between his eyes. You didn’t feel anything except white hot rage.

You could have had a normal life. Instead you were making back alley deals and running money, drugs, and weapons. All to pay off a debt that would never truly go away.

Hefting a sigh, you glanced at your skinned knuckles. Yeah, that was gonna sting later. Well, you’d deal with everything tomorrow. You had a meeting with Suzaku. You’d tell him you weren’t successful, get the shit kicked out of you, and try again later.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A little mouse straying into enemy territory?” A deep voice behind you startled you, but before you could make a run for it a rough hand grabbed the collar of your jacket. You were lifted slightly off the ground and you couldn’t kick at your attacker.

Shit. You knew better than to panic and instead shucked off your jacket as quickly as possible. You hit the pavement with an unceremonious thud before sprinting away. You can’t say you didn’t try, but you really should have anticipated the person that tackled you. Before you could even process what was happening you were on the ground, your right arm prisoner and your upper body pinned by a pair of legs. Goddammit. You really were in trouble now.

“She’s fast, bro,” a voice said, you could almost hear the shit-eating grin.

You couldn’t struggle, but you heard the nonchalant footsteps. There was a painful tug on your arm, but you refused to scream. You didn’t want to meet in Minato ward for this exact reason, but Yon insisted or else the deal was off completely. Why, for the love of any deities that existed, would he want to do business where Rokuhara Tandai ruled? Especially when the gang had the S62 generation among them. Getting caught would basically be a death sentence, though, you supposed it was your fault for lingering too long.

You tilted your head up to see a tall, lanky silhouette outlined by the streetlights. A baton twirled in one of his twin braids. You were familiar with your captors. In your line of work, you’d be stupid to not recognize the Haitani brothers. There was Ran who loved beating anyone senseless by any means necessary, and then there was Rindou, who would trap you and break any limb he caught.

Another jerk of your arm had you gritting your teeth, but you wouldn’t give in. You’d had worse. They wouldn’t get the pleasure of your fear.

The tip of the baton touched your face as Ran leaned down to get a closer look at you. It trailed down your cheek almost sensually before it went underneath your chin. “I would really hate to mar such a pretty face,” he cooed.

You heard something crack as Rindou pulled harder. Tears welled in your eyes, but your lips stayed sealed.

“Wow, you’re tough,” Ran remarked, sounding rather impressed. His boot came down on your face with a sickening crunch. Stars danced in your vision and blood gushed from your nose. You still didn’t make a sound. You’d had worse beatings, and you didn’t want them to have any satisfaction. So you spit your blood at the older Haitani, and that’s the last thing you remember before blacking out.

Thanks for checking out my self-indulgent little story! I hope you enjoyed. Have a great day <3 I had wanted to post this earlier, but life got in the way and then i wanted to make a fancy banner, but i didn't have the skills so i asked a friend to do it (she did awesome). the concept was mine, but the art is hers lol

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me!

Can't wait? Ao3 has more chapters posted!

Banner Credit: @/cafekitsune