#i hav so many tags man

[fluffydragonchips]

OC ANIMATION!! OC ANIMATION!!!!

[violentdevotion]

if u see me watchmen oc posting no u didnt

my eyes are closed. so long as you can forgive me in 2 days when i stop posting about watchmen and start incessantly posting about something else

[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.

[bleach-your-panties]

victory ride - jean kirchstein x black!fem!reader

⚽️:soccer player!jean x black!fem reader

💎:inspired minimally by a real life encounter I had and because y'all know jean will have y'all in the hospital with that thang between his legs

⚽warnings: university au, smut, consensual recording, oral (m! receiving), switch!jean

💎: banner: made by me on pic collage, image from pinterest, animated on canva

⚽:tagging @chrollohearttags because they not finna play with long dick jean silver's

💎: divider: @/firefly-graphics

⚽: 2.1k words

▶️: rodeo(remix)- lah pat ft. flo milli

—

He love how I ride it

Hop on the dick, I made him get excited 

This pussy off limits for lame niggas

Yeah, fuck me like you got some pain in you

—-

You sat idly scrolling through your cell phone while Jean was getting dressed in his uniform for the game that was to start in a couple of hours. 

The first away game of the season and the Island Devils would be going up against some preppy university one state over. 

While you had been studying this team extensively, Jean had opted not to do so as much, mainly because his nerves wouldn't let him.

"I'm ready, babe. It's time for me to board the bus." He said, looking at the silver, black-bezel Seiko watch that you'd bought him for his birthday.

Your family believed in that old ass superstition that you should never buy a man a watch as a gift, because it would mean the time in your relationship would run out.

Which is why it was just that - a superstition. You and Jean had been together since your freshman year of college and now graduation is right around the corner.

"Okay baby. Sasha, Connie, and I will be right behind y'all." You grabbed your bag and he leaned down to give you a soft kiss on the lips.

"Lead the way, baby." He smiled that handsome and devious smile of his, making you roll your eyes.

"Don't think I'm not on to you, Kirchstein!" You pointed at him and began walking out of his apartment door and into the hallway to get to the elevator.

"What did I do?" He asked innocently all the while his hazel eyes were trailing all over your body: from your pastel pink manicured toes, up your toned legs and calf muscles, stopping at your plump, juicy ass that wiggled in the beige romper that you had on. "Damn."

"Uh huh, I knew it." You laughed and pushed your hand into his lower back, making him stumble into a corner of the elevator.

"You're mean." He fake-pouted.

"Uh huh," You said while typing something on your phone. "Better get used to it, buttercup, if you wanna win against the Freedomfighters tonight."

"Freedomfighters, what a stupid ass name." He scoffed. "We'll kick their asses for sure, don't you worry, baby."

When the team bus pulled into the hotel where you all would be staying, Connie parked the car in a space not too far from it and you all got out.

Apparently, the opposing team was staying at this exact same hotel because another bus, similar to your team's but decorated in green and red with a large design of two red roses on either side of a stone wall with a cannon blasting right through it, was parked right next to the guys'. 

A petulant-looking ginger was the first off of the bus, and Connie nudged you to get you to look. The tall, lean man was conversing with an equally-as-tall brunette with deep, emerald green eyes and his hair pulled back in a man-bun.

"He looks like an asshole." 

You chuckled, "He does and probably is. Come on, let's get inside."

The trio (you, Sasha, and Connie) walked into the hotel lobby and met up with Jean again.

His teammates were used to him running off to hang with the three of you and didn't really mind since he was the captain anyway.

"Ready to head up to the room, dollface?" He asked while heaving his backpack and duffle bag over his shoulders. His face came down to press a kiss against your hair, which made you giggle.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"No getting your dick wet before the game, Jean-y boy. Can't have you making us lose."

"Who the fuck is us? How many goals have you scored for this team? Oh right, zero." 

The two of them started bickering back and forth while you walked ahead with Sasha, who'd started chatting in your ear about a popular restaurant in the area.

Shiny metal doors parted for you all and Sasha hit the button for the doors to close until a tan, veiny hand stopped them. A group of very tall athletes sauntered in, laughing and chattering amongst themselves. 

The space inside the elevator soon became very crowded, almost squishing the four of you against the elevator's back wall.

'Damn, excuse you then, big ass niggas'  You thought while rolling your eyes.

"Verzeihen Sie uns. Platz für ein paar mehr?" (Pardon us. Room for a couple more?)

The ginger and brunette from before, obviously all of them are players on the team Jean is about to go up against us.

Said ginger rolled his eyes as they both stepped into the elevator and stood right next to you, finally letting the doors close.

"Eren, not everyone speaks German, cut it out." 

The brunette chuckled deeply. 

"My apologies."

His eyes then met yours, jaded hues traveling slowly over your frame, drinking you in.

"Meine Güte, was für eine schöne Frau." (My, what a beautiful woman.)"

You just raised an eyebrow, not understanding a lick of German, but Jean did.

He was between you and Eren in an instant, only having to take one long step forward with those strong, muscular legs.

While he was sizing Eren up, you were doing the same to Jean: your brown eyes roamed over all 6'4" inches of him.

How those black socks covered his legs up to just under his knees and how the silky white and blue shorts formed around the thick, muscled curvature of his ass just right.

Here you were drooling over him while he was about to murder Eren with his honeyed glare.

"Ja, das ist sie, und sie ist bereits vergeben." (Yes she is, and she's already spoken for)

Eren gave Jean a cocky smirk and held his hands up in a mock surrender.

"My apologies, again."

The elevator stopped on their floor and they got out, Eren still with his grin and Floch behind him with the look of a pure dumbass who would support his friend hitting on another man's girlfriend. 

"Who were those pricks, anyway?" Jean grumbled looking down at the three of you as you all walked out into the hallway of the fifth floor.

"The brunette was Eren Yeager from Germany, #5. The ginger, Floch Forster from Ireland, #7."  You informed the group.

"So you knew who he was this entire time?" Jean asked with an eyebrow raised and a teeny bit of jealousy threaded in throughout his usually calm and deep baritone.

"It's not that big of a deal, it's not like I'm his best friend. I just studied him a bit."

"Studied him?" 

Jean's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his forehead wrinkled significantly. His face portrayed a pretense of self-restraint, like he was attempting to prevent himself from making a scene in the middle of the hallway.

"Anddddd that's our cue to go. Come on, Sasha." Connie quickly grabbed the dark-auburn-haired woman's hand and pulled her down the hallway in the direction of their room.

Awkwardly, you stood with Jean in the middle of the hallway for a few seconds until he turned and stalked off towards your shared room.

His long, spindly fingers held the hotel keycard in a death grip; the veins in his forearms protruded and you could feel your panties getting wet. 

"Um, are you mad?" 

They lost.

The Freedomfighters actually beat the Island Devils, 3-0.

If you thought Jean was mad before, oh baby, now he was enraged.

Not at you, but more so himself.

That damned Eren Yeager turned out to be a pretty decent soccer player and it only irritated Jean even more when he saw you standing on the sidelines with your video camera.

It wasn't unusual for you to record his games so he and the team could watch the playback later to see what needed to be improved upon, but tonight it only irritated him everytime he looked up to see you with the damned contraption pointed right at him.

Capturing all of his failures of the night live and in 4K resolution.

What made it even worse was that he saw you pointing the camera towards Eren quite a bit as he ran up and down the field.

Jean was only irritated further when you both had returned to the room after the game and he came out of the shower to see you curled up on the bed, already watching the newly acquired video footage. 

"Will you put that goddamned thing down already?" 

You leaned up from your reclining position on the pillow to acknowledge him.

"Come again?"

"You heard me, or better yet-" 

—-

I wanna fuck you right now

Reverse that cowgirl, I'm bucking right now

Climb on this standardbred, hope you can handle it

Beat that cat up when this dog put it down 

Let's make a movie, girl, I'll do the shootin'

Camera in my left with your hair in my right 

—-

"Yeah, just like that, baby….fuckkkk, hold that angle right there, don't you move."

Jean shivered, but kept his hazel eyes focused on the  image of you in the viewfinder swallowing his dick.

His right hand held a tight grip on your hair while he thrust his hips rhythmically back and forth, making you gag on his fat length.

Long and thick, his dick touched the very back of your throat, the outline of it making the skin of your neck bulge in the most grotesque fashion.

"You look so good like this, baby, practically inhaling my dick. Wonder what Yeager would think if he saw you like this, yeah?"

As soon as he mentioned the German man, his eyes crinkled with anger again and his thrusts grew in both force and speed.

Knowing Jean, he'd probably started recording over the footage you'd taken of the game, that which he could honestly give a damn about right now.

"Fuck, I think I like this view much better." He smirked and then let out a deep groan as he emptied his balls in your searing, placable mouth.

"Shit…" He made sure to capture the image of you swallowing his nut and then wiping the excess from around your mouth with those pretty acrylic-tipped fingers.

"Come here; come ride me, baby."

—-

No time to make love, yeah 

Keep screamin' you want it

Girl you lookin' lovely 

When you ride this pony 

We can do this to the morning 

So please come and ride me

Love it when I'm deep inside you

You goin' crazy, yeah

—-

Jean's muffled moans seeped through your hand as you now held the camera pointed at him while bouncing up and down on his thick length.

Years of being together and still you felt the stretch of your pussy every time he was inside of you. 

Your hand moved from his mouth and tangled in his ash-brown hair and pulled his head back and forth in time with your movements. He could be very loud in bed, which you loved because you revered a man that would let you know that you're making him feel good as well.

"Shit, Jean, baby, you look so fucking good on camera, just as good as you do when you're on the field." You mewled in heightened pleasure, wanting to throw your own head back but also not wanting to miss a single second of his gorgeous face gazing up at you.

His chest and forehead glistening with sweat, those honey-gray eyes shining with unshed tears as his body soon began to tremble with his impending orgasm. Yeah, you had that much of an effect on him. 

Just looking at you could make him hard in an instant, but looking up at you while you took his dick like you owned it (and you do) had him more swollen and readier than ever to shoot off inside you like the cannon depicted on the side of the Freedomfighters' bus.

Yeah, after the ride you were giving him tonight he was bound to forget all about Eren, the team, the game - hell, he might even forget his own name for a couple of hours.

That is, if he didn't have you screaming it through the thin walls of this hotel room in those next hours.

Eren might have won the game, but he was the one taking a victory ride tonight.

—-

(If you're horny)

I wanna feel your body on top of mine 

(Let's do it)

Right now, we ain't gone waste no time, baby (ride it)

Like a Harley in the wind 

Got you bragging to your friends the way you ride (my pony)

Like a rodeo, ride like a rodeo, babe

*ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ!

[nadianova]

if im an artist with no following + want to make games for $ (i want to do game dev for work) shld i release games for free at first so ppl have a Taste (idk if ppl will buy even if it looks good n idk hiw to advertise. i hav no monies or job rip

idk really if your games look good and are good then ask for money but if you havent made games before and will be doing amateur work youre probably gonna get better results releasing free stuff for your first things.

if youre going to make eroges like me i thikn itch io is a good place if your game has a good look and you tag it with all the nsfw tags i use like porn and adult and if you relaly wanna be bold tag your transgirl game as futanari for free tourist traffic.. it should help with building audience

ultimately i dont think its about if its paid or free when getting started its more like.. dont spend 5 years working on your first project. aim to do small ones like jam games that take a month or two to make. then you can release a pay what you want free game and a paid game and see how it compares and then use that experience as your information going forwards

also if you're doing free games i thikn pay.what-you-want option with some bonus stuff like for example an artbook like how i do it is a pretty good way to approach free games as well. i dont see it as often as id expect given how nice it is

if you end up making money from your games eventually i think the best thing to invest in terms of games is to pay a good artist to make you nice looking sprites it helps with people taking your game more seriously be it a paid game or a free one

maqrketing is kindof annoying but I'm terminally online and cant stop posting so the tried and true method of posting porn and shitposts about my game on social media is what i do

but seriously IMO the most important thing is just that dont spend years making some bbig project in the dark and start with something small first to get more familiar with your skills and audience and what you even want to do first. even if your big project ends up being amazing its a huge risk and time investment.. it works for some peopel but theres many people who it wont work for

finishign games is hard so imo the most valuable skill is to just finish something like put aside some time in your life for 2 months for a jam and complete a game. if you can do that then it means you can do games and experiment what is the right play to do if your goal is to make money

idk how much money here truly is to be made with tiny indie games but itch io is good for porn and if you wanna sell out make some koikatsu waifu game for cis man audience and release a 0.1b version and put up a patreon looool <3 remember, no ntr. men are afraid of ntr

[omgkalyppso]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @littleplasticrat. ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ Thank you!

I'm going to grab a bit from a bunch of ideas. Some of which I may have shared before, but I think it's fine. I have some new followers. 👋

I'll tag @recurringwriter, @razrogue, @ghostwise, @bladesandstars, @allycryz, @lucius-the-sinful, @sevarix-blogs, @bosspigeon, @bhaalbaaby, @tadpole-apocalypse, @the-eldritch-it-gay and YOU. And I encourage you to reshare old wip's regardless of progress if there's nothing new you want to share. <3

Different stuff from the swtor imperial agent oc x Vector Hyllus wip than I shared last time:

“Vector,” she beckoned, “what emotions do you see in my face?” And he blinked, opening his mouth to answer before she added, “What colors do you read in my aura?” He closed his mouth again, swallowing, taking more time to consider. Politely, he moved his hand from her thigh to the side of the bed, and saw instantly in her expression and aura that this was the wrong decision. Quickly, he moved to answer before making another mistake, “You appear … relaxed. Non-judgmental, as you have ever been in the privacy between us. Content and comfortable,” he shifted his legs up onto the bed, bending them beneath himself as he sat closer, “but contrasted by bright red and gold: love and joy. Soft pinks and purples,” he released her hand to slide his fingers up to her elbow again, risking more skin contact, more arm contact, “like a resting nebula. Gentle blue.” He wondered if he should describe her physically next. He rarely did. She never asked. The speckles of black on her lip were as alluring to him as the brightest fruits tempted the sweetest tongues, the jagged shapes of her markings were as lightning and veins of precious metals in the heart of a nest, the curve of her chin, the set of her brow — she was beautiful, and capable of falsehoods, and diplomacy, and destruction, and love. So much love. He lowered his gaze as he finished his answer to her question, “It leads us to conclude that you are happy with how things are, if slightly distracted by—” “By your worrying, Vector,” Cipher Nine chastised, and his gaze found hers again easily, a blush growing on his cheeks. She squeezed the high part of his forearm, pressing her thumb into the soft flesh at the inside of his elbow as she’d once learned to do an age ago, and their shared smile filled Vector’s chest with such aching relief. “I may not see all of it, as you do,” Cipher Nine allowed, “but that doesn’t mean your subtleties escape me.”

Concepts for Astarion's parents: Antoinelle and Rasileth (ray-sill-eth):

Blocked dialogue between Étoile and Astarion for after my amended The Pale Elf climax where Astarion becomes a vampire, in place of either remaining a spawn or rising as the vampire ascendent. At his grave:

Étoile: Is the burial part of the transformation? Or did he just do that to you too? Astarion: No, it just … made me weak. Made me grateful to see him. To see anyone, I suppose. He may have thought it was funny, or maybe he just didn't have a discreet way to haul my corpse around at the time. Étoile: Who would have arranged for the tombstone? Did you have an estate? Was it Cazador, or someone you knew? Astarion: My … my parents. Étoile: Are they alive? Astarion: (as a warning) Étoile. Étoile: (imagining the disaster of encountering them without warning in the street) It's important. Astarion: They cannot see me. There's almost nothing left of the man I was. Certainly their son is long dead, buried here, while I stalked the streets like a ghost. Étoile: You can reinvent yourself. You can choose a new name and a new direction. And still I will cherish you, and your many incarnations. But you were stolen from them. If we survive this, I would like to meet them with you. To give yourself closure, if nothing else. Astarion: I have closure. They're as dead to me as much as I am to them. I'm here. I'm here! I survived. I won. They didn't even know I was missing. It would shame them to have even a fraction's worth of context for what I survived. And I… I don't want their pity, their grief. [a pause, hysterical] Their relief?! Should they have any, would only be burdensome. I can't carry it.

Possible scene concept for Upper City award ceremony involving Astarion's mother:

Astarion's Mother is a clerk / archivist in Baldur's Gate's Parliament, and they are there to receive some award / recognition / payment for their part in saving the city. And recognizing him, she reaches out to him in the crowded official venue where the Watch and important players are present -- she calls his name, she holds his arm; and his expression reveals in an instant he knows her, that this is his name, but his companions are scattered (because he doesn't actually (yet?) want to be recognized in high society while the future of the vampire spawn and himself are still contentious) and so he is free to deny her: she's mistaken. He uses some magic to make the lie take, but there are failsafes for this sort of thing in this kind of venue. [An important character (probably Florrick)] has charge of the guards, all pointed on him now, bringing more attention to the moment than it might've had otherwise. And it perhaps mirrors something he made a ruling on. Maybe he condemned a g/ur for improper use of magic on forbidden grounds against a family member, when the g/ur people insisted repeatedly that the law had no business over familial disputes. They were so often condemned by society, they did not mean to condemn one another. Let them sort out their own business, they pleaded, and he refused. In the "present" Étoile asks if there isn't a fine they can pay, and the important character says if Astarion releases the spell, then a fine can be discussed. His mother is glassy-eyed as the magic fades, but addresses him no more, and says to [the important figure] there should be no charges, and leaves.

Sharing two more wips more blocked dialogue (between Wyll and an oc (Zavorys)) and a few sentences as a sexual scene concept (between Étoile and Raphael) below the cut.

Years post-canon. Maybe seven, maybe more than ten. Wyll and Zavorys are married with three children (of which two are adopted):

After a long day, Wyll holds a book, staring into space instead of reading, while Zavorys half-sleeps at his side. They can hear him thinking. Zavorys: Wyll? Wyll: Yes, my sweet? Zavorys: You seem distracted, is everything alright? Wyll: I want to ask you something. Zavorys: Something serious? Wyll: Something important, but not serious. Zavorys: Then can it wait until the morning? I'm tired. Wyll: Yes, it can wait until morning.

Sunrises on the bedroom. Zavorys rises first, they make a mockery of his name and press a cold nose into his neck. He has some humor about it, and pulls them into tired kisses. Zavorys: Wyllace? Wyll: Mm. Mmm? Hm-hmm. Zavorys: You had something important you wanted to talk about? Wyll: I did, I— Do you want to eat first? Be with the children? Zavorys: We have some time. Whatever you prefer, it's your concern. Wyll: I love you. (more kisses) My beautiful, considerate wife. Zavorys: (more kisses) My handsome, deflecting husband. Wyll: (handsy) No one could blame me for my distraction when your lips are so soft, when your body is so lush, when my heart and yours dance with such passionate familiarity. Zavorys: (good-spirited warning) Wyll. Wyll: (a sigh as he drops his hands) I want to talk about our relationship. I want to talk about exclusivity. Zavorys: Go on. Wyll: I … love what we have. What we share. I don't want to upset your trust in me if this subject is too difficult. Zavorys: I can handle a conversation, Wyll. Wyll: In my early adventures as the Blade of Frontiers, you know that I took lovers. A sweet maiden's kiss, a gentleman's tryst, a lover under the stars. And some of them were sad partings, but most of them were not … and they didn't feel … like love, or even like possibility. From this, and the stories of my youth, and from my father's loneliness … I used to think that romance, for me, would only take one shape: a single partner, a traditional, dedicated, all-consuming love that could move the heavens in its purity and devotion. Zavorys: And now? Wyll: And now that I have that, you mean? Zavorys: Don't be smart. Wyll: (agreeing) And now. (sincere) I would either hesitate to call any love pure, or I would not hesitate to call all love pure. I've seen the ease with which Halsin's joy infects his partners, the work Étoile puts in to ensure their lovers feel appreciated, the care Shadowheart takes in maintaining boundaries, with her lovers, and her religion, and her children — and it doesn't look so different to the loves I've come to know, with you, with our family, or our friends. And so it emboldens me to ask, if you would want to — consider, at your own pace, in your own time — inviting Étoile and Astarion, to … being part of our relationship. They might be frustrated with me in this because of years ago, but they would be gentle with you, and I would be willing — and interested in putting in the work to see if this could agree with us, to find and feel love in this way. Zavorys: (gentle mockery) You're so delicate. Wyll: Hardly.

Zavorys: Has this been on your mind since we saw them necking Zevlor in that alleyway? Wyll: Since before, but … it didn't help. Zavorys: (more teasing) It did help. Wyll: Or yeah, it did. Zavorys: (considerate) With forewarning, I can't imagine myself feeling angry about you kissing another, but I don't know… What if they didn't want me? Would you still want to pursue them alone? Wyll: I think they'd reject us both rather than only one of us if it came to that, but … I don't know. I don't think I could be comfortable without you there at first, even if I had your support, but if we did take a lover or a partner, and then wanted to try individual relationships … No, I don't know. I don't know if I'd be secure enough for that. It would depend too much on the person or couple you chose. Zavorys: (a little sad, kneeling over his waist) That's about me again, Wyll. I asked about you. Not initially then, but eventually. Could you see yourself courting couples without me? (insistent) Because I could. I could see us working, as we always have — as we always will, even if your relationships took a different shape than mine. (considerate) You get this guilty set of your shoulders, this frown, when you worry … but there's nothing to worry about. It's okay. Wyll: (vulnerable) I love you. Zavorys: As I love you. (kisses) Invite them to dinner some day before a weekend, and give me at least three days warning. Wyll: There's five days until this coming weekend. Zavorys: There's no rush. I don't know how long it's been on your mind before asking me, but I know you rush yourself. When you're ready. When you want. Wyll: And you? Have you been wanting this without telling me? Zavorys: No, but— I love love, and we know Étoile and Astarion well. If they would want to take me to dinner and kiss you silly — there's a lot they'd do as just our friends, help with the children, with decisions about our lives — it might just be because they are both nosy as all get out, but I do need less thought for them than if you'd have suggested ... Lady Jannath. Wyll: (laughing) Not Lady Jannath. Zavorys: (laughing) Be kind, she's just a woman. Wyll: Sorry. (clearing his throat) You're right though. I understand what you're saying. Zavorys: Good. Now get dressed, we can still be on time for breakfast.

Whether modern setting or canon-setting-AU situation where Étoile and Raphael hate fuck. I just have these sentences on my phone to inject into a project whenever I have a whole scene or setting that suits:

“You'll have to blindfold me so I can cum, because just the sight of you—” Étoile slapped Raphael across the face to silence his insult, and Raphael made to laugh victoriously, but then their large, determined hand gripped around his throat, and Raphael couldn't even be bothered with a cursory display of offense, his lips twisting instantly into a bitten hiss that was half challenge and all relief.

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

social media’s in a nutshell, but the people who actually use them.

Twitter: So did I you know your an awful person?

also twitter: Racism, racism, racism, sexism, your best friend talking about a dog they saw, sexism, sexism, homophobia, homophobia, homophobia, transphobia, NSFW art from a mutual, transphobia, transphobia, and then the worst take in the history of worst takes by some 13 year old or maybe it was actually 30 something you can’t tell.

YouTube: “why YouTube has become a capitalist hellhole for anyone who dares speak about anything not consumer friendly: A video essay” 4 hours and 50 minutes long, 40,895 views.

also YouTube: “me and my friend are mermaids btw here’s how to do the mermaid spell! Easy in 1 step!” 26 minutes long.

also also YouTube: “I COMMITED TAX FRAUD AND TRIED TO OUTRUN THE AUTHORITIES CHALLENGE 24 HOUR CHALLENGE PART 1 OF 279” 10 minutes long and has almost a billion views.

also also also YouTube: “beheading” 13 minutes long, with 1,600 views.

ALSO ALSO ALSO ALSO YouTube: “HUGGY WUGGY TOILET NAKED VORE?” 20 minutes long, 8 million views.

4chan: be me> sexless loser> finds amazing wonderful woman who loves me for me> she’s fat> keep her until someone else comes> me and her do exercise and eat better> she becomes 100/10> gets married> has kids> love of my life>

also 4chan: ROBOTS, /B/ WE MUST UNITE THIS FUCKER BLENDERED A CAT WE MUST KILL HIM>

THAT (insert string of slurs) WILL GET WHAT’S COMING TO HIM>

FOUND HIS ADDRESS AT 404 CATBLENDER MAN STREET>

AUTHORITIES CALLED I GOT THE RSPCA AT THE HOUSE LETS GO /B/ FUCK YEAH THIS IS A WIN FOR ALL THE ROBOTS LETS GO>

also also 4chan: *the most graphic picture you have ever seen that haunts your soul and your life you will never be the same* hey /b/ look what I found>

also also also 4chan: guys, *insert the most out of pocket slur filled green post you hav ever seen* and that’s why I think (insert minority) are degenerates>

tiktok: *video of hatsune miku dancing with the caption* it’s not okay to encourage ED$ instead be kind and respectful and not be f@tphobic and @blei$t

also TikTok: *a video plays before quickly cutting out replaced with a new one* YOU ARE MAKING PEOPLE UNALIVE THEMSELVES WITH THIS TIKTOK GET HELP TRANS PEOPLE AREN’T GŘOÖMËRS AND PDFILES YOU ARE AWFUL!

also also TikTok: *a video plays of a montage of red and black text* you never saw me as real, you never saw me. I’m going to k1ll myself soon, life is too hard my parents have taken away my ps5 and my phones I am making this on my friends phone. Good bye cruel world.

also also also TikTok: *dangerous things happen in quick succession* “so that’s how you do a deep clean of your home!” comments : girly😭 NO you can’t use 🔥 on wooden floorboards 😰

comments: 💀💀💀 bro’s using chemical weapons to clean her sink💀💀💀

Comments: BLEACH IN YOUR FISHTANK? GIRL ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOUR BF’S DISCUS😬

comments: okay you did so many things wrong here and genuinely I’m surprised your are still alive-1

Cleangirly: no it was pretty safe idk what you mean🤷‍♀️

Comments:WHAT DO YOU MEAN SAFE? YOU SET A FIRE TO CLEAN THE FLOORBOARDS?-2

Also also also ALSO TikTok: *a video explaining why if you hate the color blue your a narcissist* yeah anyone who hates blue is a big red flag girlies

Tumblr: “guys penis” 1 million notes

also tumblr: *a long post explaining the intricacies of sexuality, sexism, the queer identity, toxic masculinity, and how colonialism and racism plays into it.* so yeah long post whoops.

reblog: *the most loaded toxic reblog you have ever seen* woman should all be killed.

reblog: *starts out making some form of sense then devolves* ALL MEN ARE RAPISTS AND SHOULD BE PUT TO DEATH NOW

reblog: *a story relating heavily to the post, which makes the original post better by its addition* so yeah some other re blogs are missing the point but you really put my experience into words thank you <3

reblog: *a picture of the tags filled with the weirdest take you have ever seen* Uhh who are you and can you leave tumblr? Thanks?

also also tumblr: gifly the gif, share gifly the gif because look at him *mindbogglingly fast images flash*

Quora: “why is the sky blue?”

answer 1: because god made it that way in his infinite wisdom

answer 2: because *long winded but concise explanation on how it works* I have a doctorate in this subject.

awnser 3: Long story short, it’s not blue it’s the ozone or something.

Facebook: “meemaw want to add you as a friend” *presses yes, anyone you have ever known tangentially appears in the Facebook friends page*

Also Facebook: “Gerald is my husband who I love”

Comments: that’s nice Geraldine, happy anniversary

Comments: *long winded conspiracy theory* that’s why the illegals want to rule the world and destroy us all

also also also Facebook: *random 5minute crafts video* TOP TEN LIFE HACKS FOR COOKING!

comments: oh what an amazing video! -Geraldine

comments: YOU CAN MAKE THE POPPED CORN WITH A COKA COLA CAN?

comments: I am showing this to my dear wife Geraldine. -Gerald

omegle: *video starts live-streaming and you see an older man’s cock* “…” “…” “you 13?” “…” *ends chat*

also Omegle: *you and a guy talk for ages* that was awesome here’s my socials! See you soon friend!

reddit: “why the Reddit mods are power hungry” *it is a screenshot of a screenshot talking about mod abuse.* “REDDIT WANTS US SILENT WE MUST FIGHT!” *deleted post*

also Reddit: “top ten anime wifus in (PEDO BAIT SHOW) and why I’d fuck them”

also also Reddit: “how do you fix a bolted screw valve on a pressure cooker…”

Vine: *5 seconds of comedy*

[marq-lynch]

hi! thanks for the amazing bingo event. i have a question: what’s the strickpage forgotten first meeting?

Hi! Thank you, my god it is feeling TIMELY tonight, especially the vampire lore cards!

All prompts are based on TV Tropes, and I tried to pick ones that were open for interpretation, so for example if that one sparked a prompt or AU in your head go for it!

If you want to be a bit more canonical though, eight years to the day of the promo that kicked off this feud, Swerve must have spent two weeks in a coffin remembering a little eight man tag he did in an indie with a golden haired southern boy who liked to make some very dirty sounding promos:

[padfootagain]

A quick update, friends!

Just wanted to share a quick update after posting my first fic in a while, and discuss what I'm planning to do, and also ask for your opinion on a few things (a pole is under the cut if you're interested). I'm going to put everything under the cut to avoid bothering people who would not care about this post.

But before that, I would simply like to thank everyone who has read my new fic! I wasn't expecting to do so well on my come back, I've already received requests again... It really feels like I'm fully back, and I'm very grateful. So thank you so much to everyone!

Now, the rest is under the cut :

First thing first, again, thank you so much for the very positive feedback I got for my Sirius fic! It's very encouraging to me, and shows that I can still write good (or at least okayish) fics, despite being gone for so long! So thank you all again!

I've received two similar requests for some Ben Barnes fic (I don't know if it's the same person going on and off anon or just two separate ones that are just oddly similar...), requesting some shenanigans with the Shadow and Bone cast, the request is accepted and already written!

Concerning requests, I just wanted to remind you all that I do not write smut or nsfw content. If you make a request that could include smut, I will thus keep your idea but without any nsfw scene.

Quick update on where we're at! Here is my little list of all my fics that I have been working on or am currently working on :

You will recognize the first five fics as being the ones already included in my posting schedule that I shared last week (it's still my pinned post, in case you need to check it out again). But as you can see I've been pretty productive this week! Wrote a long one-shot that I will split into two parts cause it's too long, and the request I received this week. Also already working on a chapter for a series.

I am thus seriously thinking about posting more often than what I had originally planned... I don't want to overwork myself, so I don't think I'll go as far as posting twice a week on a regular basis, but I might do an intermediate rhythm... like once every five days or something like that. I don't know yet, I'm still thinking about it. But it's a bit silly that I have so many stuff ready at this point, I reckon. So might let myself post more often in the coming days.

Also, as you might have noticed in this list, there is an awful lot of Ben Barnes content coming (I do not blame myself for it, I love this man with all my heart, have been doing so for way too long to still be counting now, it's really not my fault...). But I am aware that some of you might be interested in other characters ! So, if you have a minute, you can answer this little pole here in order to decide who I should focus next for another one-shot!

I am also thinking about planning an event in the coming month, if things go well, if you're still enjoying my writings and if I'm still productive :) I think it could be a nice way to mark my come back, make you all involved in the creative process again, and it also would be a way to help me focus my energy. Because rn I have so much motivation to write fics, it's a bit overwhelming tbh cause I have lots of ideas and have a tendency to be a bit all over the place. So, organising on an event could help me focus all this energy. It would probably be an event using dialogue prompts or AUs/tropes. I will give myself a few more days to think about it, and will probably ask your opinion again about it through some poles :)

Anyway, end of this very long post, a pat on the shoulder to anyone who's managed to read this post all the way through, and I will keep you updated again next week :)

Feel free to drop by to discuss everything I'm discussing in this post, or if you just want to have a chat about whatever you want :)

Thank you all again, have a nice Sunday!

[womansound]

𝒈𝒆𝒕  𝒕𝒐  𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒎𝒖𝒏  ♡

tagged  by: @gatekepts  !  i'll  smooch  u  full  on  the  mouth  actually

tagging:  like  anyone  !  do  what  u  gotta  do  babe  !

𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇  𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

what’s  your  phone’s  wallpaper  ?  it's  my  partner  and  i  at  a  self  shoot  photo  studio  we  did  while  on  vacation  in  sg  <3  my  lockscreen  is  jake  from  enhypen  bc  im  pathetic  JRKBRRB

the  last  song  you  listened  to  ?  syncopate  by  michelle  !  

last  movie  you  saw  ?  spider-man:  across  the  spider-verse  .  i  have  three  (3)  spidermuses  in  the  works  .  it  is  all  this  movie’s  fault

last  show  you  watched  ?  ummmm  i’ve  been  watching  the  gentlemen’s  league  !!  it’s  a  show  about  professional/retired  korean  athletes  from  diff  sports  who  come  together  to  form  a  football  team.  it’s  got  a  really  fun  premise  nd  has  run  for  a  long  time  so  a  lot’s  gone  down  and  you  get  to  see  each  player’s  improvement  which  is  rly  cool  :”)  im  in  my  football  fan  phase.  this  is  ted  lasso’s  fault  RJKHRJBRJG

what  are  you  wearing  right  now  ?  omg  r  u  flirting  with  me  !

how  tall  are  you  ?  5’1  like  no  questions  at  this  time  please  thank  u

piercings  /  tattoos  ?  the  standard  lobe  piercings  and  three  tattoos  !  more  soon  tho  hehehehee

glasses  /  contacts  ?  so  heres  the  thing  im  actually  legally  blind  RJKBLANFAKNSA  like  my  grade  is  so  high  im  considered  a  pwd  due  to  it  .  so  to  answer  the  question  yeah  i  think  i’ve  worn  glasses  since  i  was  5  ..  ?  then  wore  contacts  regularly  when  i  started  at  uni  !

last  thing  you  ate  ?  fries  and  kewpie  mayo  with  some  truffle  cheese  bits  ..  got  the  munchies  fr  ..

favorite  color(s)  ?  sage  green  and  amethyst  ?  nice  shades  of  purple  lilac  .  i  also  like  cream  /  pearl  type  colors  hehe  ..

current  obsession  ?  tattoos  !  i  hav  so  many  plans  for  more  that  i  hope  to  get  done  by  this  year  .

do  you  have  a  crush  right  now  ?  the  person  reading  this  x  RJKBVRVRNGR  UMMM  actually  maybe  daniel  kaluuya  that  man  truly  speaks  to  me  hehehehe

favorite  fictional  character  ?  me,  the  jamie  tartt  fanclub  president  !

last  place  you  visited  ?  like  ordinary  meaning  ?  work  (  im  here  rn  ..  ).  but  on  vacation  i  went  up  to  the  mountains  a  few  weeks  back  n  it  was  nice  n  cold  hehe.  am  going  to  the  beach  this  weekend  too  !!

[succubusphan]

Two Man Team - Chapter 7

Summary: This is the story of two struggling friends who after many trials and tribulations find their way back to each other and build the life they've always dreamed of.

Or how Phil changed his life by talking to random strangers on the internet.

Rating: E

Tags/warnings: Friends to lovers, Friends with benefits, mental health issues (mainly anxiety), Slow burn, Dan is a psych student. Canon divergence (the timeline is altered and some things never happened), Slutty Phil, Angst with a happy ending. The fic spans many years.

Author's Note: Written for the OSPBB 2023 @oldschoolpbb. Thank you @effingmeteors for being my life saviour and beta as usual and to my artist Lin @anironsidh.

Edits and the art will be added at some point, we are busy bees.

POSTING EVERY DAY UNTIL IT'S COMPLETED.

Total Word Count: 75k ish

Read on Ao3

CHAPTER 7: Somebody I used to know

2013 was like a fresh start for Phil, not that he had ever wanted one. Returning to his packed-up Manchester flat after spending New Year with his parents was nothing short of devastating. He looked around the sea of boxes and the happy memories and let out a choked sob, starting to hyperventilate as he thought about Dan. He was supposed to be there to help him, bring his things so they could move to London - together.

He walked around the flat and cried until his stomach hurt. He could see Dan everywhere. The sleepovers, the nights cooking together, the laundry crises. Finding Dan’s Manchester hoodie was the last straw; Phil’s world was falling apart around him like a house of cards and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He heard the keys turning at the door and covered his face with both hands, trying to calm himself down, but he felt faint. He slid to the floor slowly and felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around him.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked.

Phil tried to speak but only managed to sob loudly. At least that meant that he could breathe a bit better. 

“Is it Dan?” Mark asked and Phil nodded against his chest. “Don’t worry, love. I’m coming with you.”

Phil looked up at him in confusion. “What?” he said shakily. 

“Did you think I would let you go alone when you’re like this?” Mark smiled sadly.

Phil shook his head. “Your job-”

“I quit. I have a few interviews set up already,” Mark said. “You are more important.”

Pulling Mark into a tight hug, Phil continued to cry. He was fucking pathetic but at least he had good friends. “T-thank you.”

“It’s ok. Who wants to work retail anyway?” Mark laughed. “This will push me to find a job in my field.”

Phil smiled through the tears despite everything and looked around the flat again. He had been so immersed in his pain that he hadn’t noticed Mark’s things packed as well. He couldn’t go on like this, he needed help.

---

The train ride to London was quiet, too quiet, but he knew that Mark understood, and apparently kept himself busy texting someone all the while. Even as they walked into their London flat, Phil just stood by the door and thought of what to say, but he had nothing at all. Mark pressed a kiss to his forehead and went exploring.

He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do before going after Mark. “Which bedroom do you like?” Phil asked in a monotone voice and Mark gave him a sad look.

“I don’t know, which one do you want?” Mark tried.

Phil shrugged.

“Maybe the bigger one would be good for filming,” Mark said, trying to get a single emotion out of Phil.

That was true, but if he was honest with himself, he had pictured Dan filming in that bedroom. “I want the small one, it has better lighting,” he lied.

Mark smiled at him and rubbed Phil’s arm gently. “Deal,” he said. “Come on, I’ll make you a coffee before the movers get here.”

“We don’t have the kettle here yet.” 

“I brought it just for you, what do you take me for?” Mark said.

That finally stole a smile from Phil. 

He sat on the grey sofa that came with the flat and felt himself sink into it. It was almost too soft, but it would have to do. Mark joined him a little while later, or so Phil thought, but the worried look he gave him let him know that maybe it had been longer.

“I’m going to need you to keep living,” Mark said, handing him a cup of coffee.

“I am,” said Phil flatly. 

“You’re not,” Mark countered. “We’re going to order pizza, you’re going to eat at least half and then get a shower.”

Phil frowned. “Do I stink that badly?”

“No, of course not. You know I would tell you,” Mark snorted. “But it will help you to… I don’t know, get into your routine again and it’s self-care.”

“Hmm,” Phil said. “I was thinking of finding a therapist.” He paused and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I think I need help.”

“Admitting it is the first step. I’m glad that you decided to get help.” Mark took a sip from his mug and winced. “Too hot. What made you finally think of therapy? You have been very resistant.”

Phil considered telling Mark what he had been thinking about recently but pursed his lips.

“I can tell that you’re keeping something from me.”

“I don’t think we should have sex anymore,” he mumbled.

“We haven’t done it in ages, love. I assumed as much, but I understand the need to set a boundary. And don’t think that I’m buying that, that’s not what’s bothering you. Please, just…” He trailed off.

“I’m exhausted,” Phil finally said, nursing his drink. 

“Go on.”

Phil pulled on a loose thread sticking out of his T-shirt. “And… sometimes I just want to sleep.”

“I’m going to need you to finish that thought.”

“I want to just sleep and not wake up… sometimes,” he shut his eyes, not wanting to see Mark’s face when he said it. “Just sleep forever. Rest. I want to rest.” He dared look up into Mark’s eyes.

“Phil!” Mark said, his eyes filling with tears. He took their mugs and set them on the coffee table before pulling him into a tight hug. “Phil, shhhhhhh. Don’t say that!”

“I’m sorry,” Phil said, the only emotion coming to the surface being shame for making Mark cry. Mark never cried. “I’ll get help.”

“I’m here,” he said shakily, rubbing Phil’s back.

Phil remembered to hug Mark back. “I’ll eat. ¨Promise”

“Good,” Mark whispered.

That night, Phil did eat and shower and lay awake all night thinking. It was completely stupid but he still hoped that Dan would reach out, notice that Phil had stopped trying to communicate and suddenly remember that he’d had a friend, but that didn’t happen. 

Slowly, life got busy again. Mark took care of him for the entire first month of their London adventure, but as he started a trial period as an accountant at a Tesco, Phil had to get his shit together. Life was going to continue with or without him and it was time that he actually did something for himself. It took him two tries to find a therapist that he liked and that he felt comfortable enough to discuss Dan with.

She agreed that his diagnosis was anxiety, not depression, but the frown on her face when he mentioned the natural sedatives let him know that she didn’t approve of Dan’s suggestion. Each session left him depleted, causing him to take a taxi home and get into bed immediately. Still, Mark had no mercy for him and woke him up to eat dinner every single time. It took a few months to give her a full rundown of his life and what he was going through at the moment but she seemed optimistic about his future. Wednesdays soon became the days he looked forward to, and sometimes, it even seemed too long between sessions but he held on to his sanity as hard as he could and didn’t ask to go twice a week.

Coincidentally, as his mental health improved, so did his career. AmazingPhil hit 1 Million subscribers, and his monthly radio show got quite popular and usually went smoothly, except for the time he switched the show off the air and nearly got himself fired. He’d been charming enough that the producers decided to have a sit down with him and explain what every button did 20 times instead of giving him the boot. He was on the cover of many teen magazines, had to do photoshoots here and there, both of which he hated, and started to be able to actually save money. Well, eventually; at first he didn’t even have the money to get a haircut so his mane looked ridiculous and he ate ramen for quite a while, but then things got somewhere. 

Still, Dan’s absence was like a shadow cast over his life. Not a day went by when Phil didn’t wonder what he was up to, or where he was. It was inevitable since it was still affecting his life: when Dan had pulled from every project he hadn’t signed by December of the previous year, Phil had had to let go of some things that just didn’t make sense without him. They had book deals lined up among other things that he didn’t feel confident enough to do on his own. The idea of the book was a tribute to their joint content, their friendship and their fans. Project X, the gaming channel, was also dropped. Phil couldn’t even imagine playing MarioKart, Halo, or any of the other games they’d played together. 

By the end of the year, Mark had met Noah, his boyfriend and moved in with him. It had been a welcome change for both of them. Mark deserved to be happy and not be Phil’s carer and Phil needed to be an adult and take care of himself. It was ok, he felt ready to do it and he knew Mark would have never left if Phil wasn’t actually doing better. He’d even started to feel that he didn’t even need weekly therapy appointments anymore.

That is, until Christmas. Phil had gotten it into his head that he would be ok with spending Christmas home alone instead of going up North. Family gatherings had not been great on his anxiety, especially the previous holiday season with all the questions about Dan and what he would do now that he didn’t have a collab partner, but it turned out that being alone with no plans was also not good for his mental health either.

He had held off putting the tree up until the 24th because it reminded him of the time he and Dan had decorated his parents’ house for Christmas that week in December. At first, putting on music and singing along was keeping his mind on the right track, but when he got to the ornaments, he found a small brown bear with a red ribbon around its tiny neck. He could hear the memory of the first time he’d seen it even to this day.

“Do you like it?” Dan said.

“Aw, it’s so cute!”

“It’s for you. My family used to call me Bear when I was little so I wanted to give you something to remember me by when we’re not together.”

“I wish you could stay,” Phil regretted.

“Me too!” Dan said. “I better give you your New Year’s kiss now, since I won’t be here…”

Phil smiled widely, his stomach full of butterflies as Dan pressed their lips together for a sweet kiss.

He blinked, his mind returning to the present. He looked down at the tiny bear and saw a tear fall on its head. Pausing, he considered putting the ornament in the trash, but he didn’t have the heart to do it. He couldn’t display it either. 

He cleared his throat, reached for the star, put it at the top of the tree and closed the box. The tree looked a bit silly with lights and only the star but there was no one around to pester him about it. He put the box away and made himself a drink or five before going out to a club to find someone new to have sex with.

---

2014 and 2015 only brought Phil more success, more subscribers and more work. He got his own request show on Radio 1 and even hosted the Brit Awards. He was so proud of himself and the fact that he always managed to convince extremely famous people to play his silly games, wear masks and answer his random questions. Phil found that he had a talent to come up with things on the spot so he was never caught with his pants down, so to speak. His pants were often down though, but for very different reasons. He might not have been the hottest guy around but he was confident enough that he could pull nearly any guy he wanted and so he treated himself quite often, allowing himself to feed his ego in what he knew was the wrong way, but it kept him afloat.

Feeling better about himself, Phil finally decided to give mixed therapy a go to finish resolving what he had been carrying with him for so long and the new day to day things that added to his anxiety and random bouts of insomnia. At least, he’d capitalised on that with the Sleepless Night With Phil videos. His new therapist wasn’t amused by that.

It took him nearly a full year to feel like he was getting anywhere near to being stable but it was worth it. In 2016 he also continued experimenting with meditation after remembering how it had helped in the past, and found a method that suited him better than just clearing his mind. His mind was never empty, on the contrary, it was always chaotic and colourful, so he used that in his favour. 

He had officially dated 3 guys, all of them good people, but he didn’t feel for them like he had for Dan; they weren’t nearly as funny, or as compatible with him. He couldn’t help but compare them to Dan and, honestly, being closeted to his fans didn’t help matters either. Whatever relationship he wanted to embark on, it was doomed to fail because he didn’t want it out in the magazines and as a public person, he had nearly no privacy at all.

A curious yet helpful side effect of his lack of private life was that Phil got to address his hypersexuality in therapy because if he continued to hook up with random strangers, it was bound to come out and he didn’t feel like it was worth it. He did a complete 180 and decided that he didn’t want to do relationships or situationships anymore. Granted, his newfound lack of a sex life worried his therapist a bit, but she was supportive of him no longer channelling any failure or aspect in his life that he found lacking through sleeping around with anyone who caught his eye. It was partly due to her pointing out that Phil was using hypersexuality as a way of self-harm and as a way to boost his own self-esteem when he felt low. The first part was shocking, the other one not so much. It was hard to feel low when he felt wanted. She did call Phil out for his reticence to commit in relationships but he pretended that he didn’t hear her. That was a problem for future Phil.

At last, Phil found his self-worth within himself, his good heart and how he carried himself in his life, professionally and in his interpersonal relations. He prided himself in being a good son, brother, and friend. He made those special relationships a priority in his life and took great care of them, reaching out, having honest conversations and just saying I love you. In time, he’d realised that no matter how much you loved someone, sometimes it was necessary to say it out loud instead of letting people make an assumption.

What solidified the change had started to make on his own was his grandmother’s death. Phil wished he’d had the chance to say goodbye to her in person, that he had taken a trip up North, but she was gone in a blink. Instead, he tried to find comfort in the conversations they’d had in the last few months.

[finniestoncrane]

Hi!!! I know I sent in a bunch of requests already so let me know if it's too many!! I know R asked for no.9 already too so feel free to ignore this but, obviously I know who I like to see myself with but im super curious as to who you'd choose for me??

So request for no.9 from me as well ♡♡♡ like R ill say a bit about myself too!!

Hi!! I'm latina, an artist and dancer in a very jack-of-all-trades amateur kinda way. It's very hard dedicating myself to any one craft!! Whether it's stripping, doll-making or embroidery I'm always trying something new. I love reading as well, fantastique is my genre of choice ♡ I love to cook and bake (mostly bake). I love being active!! I try to go to the gym whenever I can, if I can find time for it I like rollerskating, beach volleyball and swimming are my favorites. I like samurai movies and anything with a sad story, it feels v good to cry. I like soft music mostly, things like oldies or shoegaze, lots of indie pop. I like a lot of traditional romantic gestures like getting roses and things like that. I'm a big girl and I like it, I really want a partner to not just accept me """"even though""""" I'm fat, I want them to love my body and show it love ^^♡ nnnnd I like feeling like I can take care of my partner!! Make their life a little easier, vocal reassurances go a long way with me.

Again I know we technically already asked but yeah ><

- E.F.

🎀 No.9: Ever Fallen In Love With Someone 🎀

tell me a little bit about yourself and i'll give you a rogue pairing a/n: lmao as if you didn't know AS IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW EFFY but i am about to drop all my reasons anyway 💚 1k milestone info! 🔞minors dni🔞 • kofi • tag: finnie1k

ok come on you knew this was coming, but get on board with it

i absolutely know that he deserves someone as soft and beautiful as you

he's got a bit of a frenetic mind, similar to you! he'll try his hand at everything, puzzles, detective work, engineering... murder traps, bomb... making, sniper... practice... ok maybe his hobbies are a bit darker than yours but my god would he love to watch you strip for him while he plans his next target or sit beside you, writing in his journals while you do some embroidery. it would make him feel so normal and domestic, which is nice because he's never really had a domestic life or a family

i've hc'd this for the longest time, but man is weak for baked goods and would find that to be the most sincere gesture of love. filling someone up with a homecooked meal, made perfectly, with flavours added that you know he'll enjoy? it's so personal and so loving

he's not really a sporty guy, but he'd be more than happy to chum you to the gym, even if he's just watching you swimming, or supporting you in a game of volleyball. and if you get him in the right mood, he'd find something so freeing about night swimming at the beach, maybe even skinnydipping...

he loves wallowing in sorrow and melancholy, it's the emotion he's most used to, so a sad movie that lets him cry in a controlled way, while he snuggles up to someone for comfort, would be a really good way for him to healthily express those feelings

when it comes to bodies, he has a mommy!kink and needs someone soft and warm and squishy to hold on to, and it might border on fetishisation sometimes, though he wouldn't ever mean it to, it's just that he'd go hard on the body worship when the time came to it and he'd be so grateful to have yours next to him

romantic gestures are his forte. albeit slightly creepy, which isn't the intention, it's just that he's very intense in his love and adoration. he'll bombard you with love, like love bombing but not in a manipulative way, he just doesn't know how to stop telling the person he loves how much he loves them because he's desperate not to lose that kind of connection again

so a slow dance to some old music while you two try and cook something together, or kissing your hand when he leaves you in the morning or evening, those are all traits he'd love to have appreciated by someone

[skeetlebeetle]

long ass bg3 rant ahead (daily remindr that i hav nevr playd this game im j gay)

ykw wat yer getting in2 when yr fav characters from bg3 r halsin n astarion n u like seein em smooch so u go on tumblr search the tag n start scrolling. i mean. pale vampire twunk + big tan guy u can predict how that goes on the internet. u can c the yaoi art template in yr mind. but NE 1 WHO THINX SUCH THINGZ IS WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i am so sick of the twinkification. therez a scale of disappointment n probability n u’d think if the probability is high then the disappointment wud b correspondingly low. n sumtimez this IS the case. 4 xample: i am disappointed when i c halsin being drawn as a twink or even as a skinner twunk type but itz 2 b xpectd esp from moar inxperiencd artists so i cant b 2 mad. i j hav 2 hope that 1 day the young grasshopper learnz 2 draw muscle (n maybe itz 2 much 2 ask 4 fat but a man can dream). in contrast howevr i get inxplicably pissd off when i c astarion b twinkified even tho DUH ofc ppl r gunna do that hez (once again) a pale vampire n when u c astarion nxt 2 a huge bear (not in the gay sense…. canonically) man he lookz way tiny!! maybe itz bcuz i feel liek we shud hav moved past this “which 1 of them iz the girl” mindset when it comez 2 gay men n also the tumblr sexyman toothpick body ideal when it comez 2….. sexy men. but NOOOO‼️‼️ AND . I THINK HALSIN SHUD GET A CHANCE 2 TAKE IT UP THE ASS OK .

many such cases……. (almost all pairings i like r like this. bcuz. i like 2 torture myself perhaps)

[ciaossu-imagines]

Of course and sure thing. Oh damn, that’s so horrible. I was actually kind of spoiled about the events as well, not in what happened exactly but that it did happen since at the time of the chapter’s release I was away on holiday with my mum’s side of the family and I usually don’t bother to block the tag since most spoilers are something I can scroll past and they’re usually not too big since I read it every week but yeah, I saw something referring to what happened in that chapter and gods that hurt so we both unfortunately had to deal with it being spoiled, though with you it’s obviously much worse. And yay. Looking forward to hearing all your thoughts on everything that happened if you want to share it all. Oh, there really aren’t many chapters of Persona 3. I see. I also hope you don’t have to stay late and I’m glad to hear that you have another day off tomorrow. I see. Can imagine that being quit annoying. You calling caffeine god is amazing. And wow. How long does it take you to get through a pot? If you don’t mind answering. I managed to write a few points about the things that stood out luckily so yay to that. Oh damn, he really does look like Lavi from D. Gray-Man. And I see. That’s nice to know. Sure thing. I finished the last season of Demon Slayer that’s out now so I’ll probably be getting to it soon. Yeah, which is really understandable since A:TLA is just such an amazing series in so many ways. Of course and glad to hear you adored Zuko and true to his redemption arc. And I can’t blame you for Sokka being your first initial favourite since I also really like him and like every time he tells one of his silly jokes, I laughed so he’s definitely someone fun to have around.

Yeah, the Demon Slayer manga is just 205 chapters long. And the fact that it’s so short and still tells such an amazing story is yet another reason as to why I love it so much. Yeah. Like the final arc consists of two mini-arcs, one of 47 chapters and the last one is 22 chapters long, so it would entirely be possible to split it up since the last arcs that they adapted were like 30 chapters long, but I actually do presume that they won’t since the first season of Demon Slayer put all of the mini arcs of the first main arc into the season. And I honestly don’t mind what they do since I’ll always be looking forward to whatever there is of it. So I presume we’ll probably just have a longish last season, but I’m up for anything, as long as it’s adapted well. Okay. Cool. And I did and I was just like constantly fangirling and at times I couldn’t tell whether it’s because I was enjoying the sound of his voice or because what his character, Genya, was doing because he’s just such a precious boy. Thank you for saying that. He actually has a small first appearance in the fifth episode of the first season and then he’s gone and doesn’t properly appear until The Swordsmith Village Arc.

Thank you. It’s wild since I usually don’t forget things entirely so it’s a whole new experience for me. But the fact that it happened so early does help it make sense. Yeah. Though later on, there is this arc in Fairy Tail called ‘Key of the Starry Heavens arc’ and it is entirely filler but it’s still really enjoyable to watch. Gods, that’s me with Lawless’s song. And I see. I’m not sure about the Beyblade that you watched, but the Metal Saga series does have the opening song translated like that as well. The fact that Iruma is very musical does sound very nice. Of course it’s adorable. And now I’m looking even more forward to seeing it but I’ll still wait until I’m done with everything else I have to do and watch.

Yeah, true. Like I think the movie does but from what I’ve heard / seen, the movie concentrates more on the characters themselves than the actual match which makes no sense because both are really important. And yeah, it definitely did. Like this match that was adapted is 34 chapters long and when the movie was first announced, people were talking about how it’d have to be a 5 hour long movie for all of that to be properly adapted. And the thing is, the saddest thing of all is that we’re not even sure we’ll be getting another season. There were two movies set to be released, so this one and another one that will come out who knows when, and the initial poster to advertise it was ‘Haikyū!! Final’ which just does not sound great so now me and other Haikyuu!! fans are hoping that the studio will use all the money they got from the ticket sales and other stuff to make a proper fifth season. Sure thing 💕 Hell yeah and Hinata has such an amazing moment at the beginning of the second season that people still referrer to to this day. I see. That makes sense. But yeah, none of the Haikyuu!! babies are one-note and that’s just another great thing about the series. And yes to all those things of you describing him.

Me too but it’s really difficult because she’s not very good at seeing the wrong in her ways. Like say if I were to tell her about it, she’d get so offended and she thinks she’s in the right for saying what she did. Yes, the fighting style really is. Like it is hinted at in the opening, but it’s nothing compared to seeing it in action and it’s just so cool 😭 And yes, be excited about him. I love the Shinazugawa brothers, what more can I say. Oooh. That sounds like such a  lovely flavour. And that makes perfect sense. I hope you and your friend had a wonderful time together. Oh and that does sound like a good idea since then it’s all nicely together.

C

I’m so sorry to hear you got spoiled on that as well! I can definitely get not blocking the tag – I just did it because I know that if I see a spoiler, I’m going to read it instead of scrolling past, just because I can’t resist that temptation, haha! It sucks though that you got spoiled like that on such a big reveal, because I can imagine how much impact it would have had for people who didn’t know it was coming! And you know, it’s funny, because I’m as caught up as my manga app had (up to Chapter 254), but I don’t really have a lot of thoughts on it. I feel like the story is an absolutely brilliant one, the author is an insanely gifted technical writer because his use of things like foreshadowing and visual storytelling is gorgeous. I feel like I have solid grasps on the characters enough to write them; I know quite a few people excited to have me write them, so I’m going to. Overall, I very much enjoy the story and am excited to see how the rest of the story plays out to it’s ending, which is very close obviously. The writer’s storytelling has been well-paced for the most part, there’s little unnecessary drag or tangents, I’m going to be surprised if the series is still going active in even December of this year. I figure by early fall, absolutely latest, it’s ending with it being weekly. However, I can’t say I’ve fallen in love with this one like I have some of the other fandoms. Comparing my love for say, Servamp, K Project, or KHR and my love for Jujutsu Kaisen – my love for Jujutsu Kaisen is the little, tiny plastic cup you get to take your medicine with and the love for those other series is the big bottle of medicine. Again, the creator is absolutely a gifted storyteller. I fully believe they’ve known a least a full half an arc to a full arc ahead of where the story was currently what was going to happen, and I have zero doubts whatsoever that they’ve had at least a couple ideas as to an ending since the beginning and have a full, clear view of how everything’s ending now. Their world is well-built and constructed, their power-sets well figured out. They’re a tight writer with great focus and there are parts of their writing and visual storytelling that I wish I was even 1/10th as good at as a writer. However, I always kind of feel like JJK is very much a case of the story driving the characters and not the characters driving the story. When it comes to the JJK characters, I very much do feel like they were all created because the creator needed a character to advance the story or to fill an essential role in the story and that when it came to creating them, their characters were built around what role they needed to play and what they needed to accomplish so they feel less to me like real, actual people like some characters from other media and more like…just characters. Don’t get me wrong here, because both types of storytelling and character creation are entirely valid and both can be exceptionally well-done. JJK is a prime example of story-driven media done exceptionally well, if not completely brilliantly (because let’s remember, at the bottom of story-driven media, we have things like Twilight, which is that type of storytelling done exceptionally poorly). But I feel like most people are drawn more to one type of story-telling process than the other and I’m just more overall compelled by character-driven storytelling so JJK is in that ‘technically brilliant, I really enjoy it, but can’t get obsessed with it like some others can’ field.

Anyway, now that I’ve probably infuriated or offended some of the JJK fans, onto the rest of the message, haha! There really aren’t that many chapters of any of the Persona manga that I’ve found, so I’m kind of hoping that they’re all just really sort manga and that I’m not reading incomplete ones! And thank you for the well-wishes for the day off. Unfortunately, I had impromptu plans sprung on me that day that ate up most of my day, which made me a little cranky, not going to lie. I’m doing all I can to keep with commission timelines though, even with Etsy and real life…might require some burning of the midnight oil, but I’m holding up and doing well 😊 Yeah, caffeine is the god I worship, haha, as someone who isn’t overly religious. I don’t usually go through a pot that quickly though. Most mornings, I make the standard 12-cup pot around 6:30 and keep it on warm until I finish it around noonish. That day though, gone in about three hours, give or take. It’s not even keeping me awake so much anymore, thanks to having such a high caffeine tolerance, it’s more to keep away the migraines and because I find coffee soothing and sometimes, all I need is a short break to make a cup of coffee, just move and have a moment away from the computer to get the next burst of inspiration for what to write next. I’m excited to read those then! And I’m glad I’m not the only one who saw the resemblance then, even if it’s been a dog’s age since I actually watched or read D. Gray-Man. I wonder if that series ever wrapped up…things for later Dee to look up, I think! Speaking of Demon Slayer though, I paused everything else I was watching because I got in the mood to watch that. So I’m done the first season and the Mugen Train movie. However, when I go to the next season, it’s a really short season that just looks like the movie? I need to figure out if Crunchyroll just screwed up and put the movie into episodes or if those Mugen Train episodes are actually episodes or not, so I need to Google that too. Just every time I sit down at the computer, I get to working on creating playlists and storyboards for all the commissions instead of googling that, haha. I’m really enjoying it so far, though I’m pissed at the movies ending, because I thought I finally found a character that would be my favourite and then it was like the anime decided to just be laugh and be like ‘ha, fuck you’ lmao. I’m excited to continue it, just need to clear that up first! And Avatar is just incredible. I hope everyone has at least given it a try, and if any of my readers haven’t, please go check it out. You won’t be disappointed you did, I promise 😊 Sokka was definitely my initial favourite because of the comic relief, though I remember really liking Toph after her introduction too!

It still amazes me that the author was able to tell a complete and full story of the magnitude that Demon Slayer seems to be setting it’s story up in that few of chapters. It must have been very well-paced and without any extras then! I wish I could find the manga to read, though I am very much enjoying the anime (and to answer before the question is asking, I am watching the dub because it makes it so much quicker to watch). Thank you for explaining that and it’s really neat that the final arc was divided like that! I wonder if they’ll do a season for the first mini-arc then and a final movie to end it all, because that might be interesting if they do. I really enjoyed the first movie, felt it moved along well and was mostly well done (my biggest complaint about Demon Slayer so far is that sometimes the CGI is super noticeable and visually jarring and fuck me, were those CGI train tentacles something else and entirely unpleasant visually in that movie). I haven’t got to see much more of Genya other than Selection, where obviously you weren’t seeing the best of him. In fact, he was pretty damn easy to hate in that episode but still interested me, so I’m looking forward to re-encountering him in The Swordsmith Village Arc.

No problem, of course 😊 And I feel like a lot of the Bleach filler arcs were very forgettable, so I wouldn’t worry any! I definitely haven’t seen that particular filler arc of Fairy Tail, or if I have, I forgot it entirely, but I will check it out when I do a Fairy Tail reread! Thanks for the heads up on that! You know, I hadn’t thought about that, but I’m pretty sure the Beyblade I watched had an English opening song too, come to think of it! It’s been a real long time since I watched it, though it’s in my rewatch list (along with Digimon Adventures and Yu-Gi-Oh!, like the child I am, haha!). Yay, I’m excited for when you eventually get around to it 😊 And that sounds like a movie that I would absolutely adore, since I do love me some character focus, but if that was the only adaption the match got and it was an important match, then it also should have been shown and focused on in its entirety as well, so I can get the frustration. And it definitely sounds like it was a very important match, to have stretched across that many chapters, so I am so sorry the movie was such a let down. It also sucks to hear there might not be another season! It doesn’t make sense for them to wrap everything up in just two movies! Especially since a movie can’t realistically cover more than 20 decent-length chapters without rushing! I’m excited to get to that Hinata moment then 😊 And yeah, I’m noticing that about the Haikyuu characters and am appreciating the characterization in it, especially compared to some other sports manga I’ve watched or read. I’m sorry to hear that. I know people like that and do know how hard they can be to deal with, so I wish you luck and peace! I am very excited, actually, to see all the Hashira’s fighting styles, now that I’ve met them and seen at least one of theirs (somewhat…the Hashira did really little fighting in comparison to the others but we won’t get into my feelings on that.) And thank you 😊 We had had a lovely time! I hope you’re doing amazing, my dear!

[floralbfs]

yknow it sure sucks that u know ur body might give in and fuck up at any moment but it also sucks that people will walk on eggshells around you 99% of the time

[writingstoraes]

hard liquor, hard launch 🥃

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine/social media au

notes: not proofread and not revised so please expect errors hehehe please lmk what u think by replying or messaging and if u wanna be part of my taglist! <3

about: charles goes out drinking with friends and he "accidentally" reveals you, when you were supposed to be lowkey

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, isahernaez, and 1,056,333 others

charles_leclerc I miss my baby so muxh plsaee come pick me up i should not have drsnk tonight yourusername pick me uppp now plsease!

arthurleclerc I guess we're done with the soft-launches now?

pascale_leclerc Why are you joking at a time like this go help your brother!

charlitoferrari IS CHARLES DRUNK AND DOING A GIRLFRIEND REVEAL????

cl16f1 girllll i knowwww all this time mans has been hiding his girl from us 😭

pierregasly I know I should be a good friend and take away his phone but he's giggling while typing it is a sight to see

landonorris Help him??? Give him another shot!!!

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, lilymhe, carlossainz55, and 1,773,450 others

charles_leclerc YES OKAY! I hav a girlffiend. Weve been togehrer for about a year now so the whiskey whispered to me tonigjt to introduce her to you guys ❤️❤️❤️ Je taime babyyyy yourusername

yourusername charles i am on my way give someone else your phone amour :)

lilymhe Props to you for acting so cool when we all know you're sprinting towards the door while on a call with us

yourusername idk maybe tell your boyfriend to confiscate my boyfriend's phone!!!!!

sainzmyhero AWWW SHE SAID MY BOYFRIEND

danielricciardo Dont know what's about to go down the paddock in the next few days but I'm sure the PR team of Ferrari is going to have a field day 🤣

charles_leclerc

liked by alex_albon, lewishamilton, sebastian_vettel, and 997,005 others

charles_leclerc My red girl ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ PS. Shes mine and if anyone tries anyjthing funny, I will race you 🏎

ferrarilover this is so amusing bye

charleschampion Who knew drunk Charles was very affectionate

carlossainz55 Oh he is

isahernaez And how do you know that???

pierregasly You do not wanna know, Isa

yourusername

liked by arthurleclerc, yukitsunoda0511, mickshumacher, and 305,456 others

yourusername package secured, charles is at home and asleep after all the ruckus he caused tonight 🤦‍♀️ anyway now that the jig is up, i guess no more being lowkey for us then hahaha let's all wait for him to wake up tomorrow with a headache and vow to never drink again 🫶 for what it's worth, i love you too, charles_leclerc! forever & always 🤍

also thanks to pierre for taking this picture, charles has lost his balance halfway home! he was so heavyyyy lol

carlossainz55 I am really going to miss the "Take a picture of me but don't show my face!" era 😔

landonorris I have so many videos of Charles you can use to blackmail him, Y/N

yourusername such a tempting offer

landonorris Im serious I have it from all angles

ilpredestinato How does it feel to have Charles as a boyfriend

yourusername very eventful :')

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tagging: @slytherheign pls watch f1 this is ur sign

notes: how do you guys like it so far? lmk what u think! tysm for reading ♡