Oz Imagines

Fan of HBO’s Oz? Me too! But it was too short to delve into every character’s background. So this is a blog for all things Oz. Requests are open and I will be reblogging other talented creators. 🩷💛💙She/Her 🏳️‍🌈 Some of the gifs are mine; if they are they’re free to use. You don’t need to ask. :)

[ozimagines]

Miguel Alvarez Birth Chart

November 27, 1971 17:55 Brooklyn, New York

Sun: Sagittarius ♐️ 6th House

Sun: Core Identity

He is idealistic, passionate, and generally warm hearted, with a curious mind and a taste for freedom and travel. He has a disdain for routines and small spaces and a has always had a need for escape. As a fire sign, he has a quicker temper, and a brutal honesty.

6th House: Duties and Skills

His work and purpose is integral to his identity. To feel good, he has to be busy. He is starved for affection and positive reinforcement. How others view him is important to his ideas about himself.

Moon: Aries ♈️ 10th House

Moon: How you handle emotions

He has an inherent impatience for things to work out. Often acts on a whim or impulsively to make something happen when things get stale or frustrating. Miguel’s moon is a fire sign and therefore has a wild and inflamed passion. No matter what he feels, he feels it deeply. He is independent and almost searches for confrontation. Needs and wants are almost indistinguishable for him. He is extremely honest about what he wants.

10th House: Professions

He is worried about the past and future, often losing the present. He has a need to be liked by others even if he won’t admit to it. How others view him shapes how he views himself. Changes professions and purpose quickly to keep life dynamic and interesting.

Ascendant: Gemini ♊️ 1st House

Rising Sign: How other people perceive you

Presents as a Gemini to others, meaning he comes across as quick witted and interesting, though often inconsistent. Generally switches things up and keeps people guessing.

1st House: Personality

Very possessive when they believe in something or someone. He is clever and adaptable to any situation. He is built for survival.

Mercury: Sagittarius ♐️ 6th House

Mercury: The way you communicate

Has strong opinions he is eager to share and doesn’t sugar coat something when he believes in it. Has the mind and tongue of a philosopher.

6th House: Duties and Skills

Serviceable nature with attention to details and an always alert mind. He is rarely caught off guard.

Venus: Sagittarius ♐️ 7th House

Venus: How you love

He is an idealistic lover, caring deeply and learning every possible fact, opinion, preference, and angle of his partner. Confusing mix of light hearted and intense. Restless lover.

7th House: Intimacy

Believes how his partner feels is how he should feel so he becomes controlling of his partner to control himself. Gets extremely attached and needs contact with his lover at all times.

Mars: Pisces ♓️ 10th House

Mars: The way you cope

Prone to guilt and anger when something by doesn’t go his way or when he feels he has messed up in some way. Without an outlet, he can be restless and stormy.

10th House: Professions

Dedicated worker attempting to rise above his work conditions. Easily excitable and often very critical of the work he does.

Jupiter: Sagittarius ♐️ 6th House

Jupiter: Your Fortune

Inspirational in his words, often valuing his freedom as his main goal in life. Jupiter’s sign is Sagittarius, therefore giving him immense power to control his own luck.

6th House: Duties and Skills

Tendencies towards burnout and overextending himself in his work and purpose. This becomes an obsession with controlling his fortune.

Saturn: Gemini ♊️ 12th House

Saturn: Your responsibility

Self conscious person with a serious mind and yet a longing to be more breezy and easygoing than he normally is.

12th House: Troubles and Release

Believes in quiet and solitude when things get rough, often curling into himself and self isolating.

Uranus: Libra ♎️ 5th House

Uranus: Genius and Gifts

Artistic and creative, often questioning traditional approaches to things and believes in change as a part of growing.

5th House: Self Expression

Extremely creative with a strong sense of humor. With good communication his love can be all encompassing, for himself and for others.

Neptune: Sagittarius ♐️ 6th House

Neptune: Creativity and Imagination

He is extremely philosophical and spiritual, believing in reasons and signs. He is altruistic at the end of the day.

6th House: Duties and Skills

Prone to addictions both of substances, sensations, habits, and people. He has a hard time quitting what feels good.

Pluto: Libra ♎️ 4th House

Pluto: Empowering Transformation

Always tries to relate to others, even if unsuccessful. He is magnetic and reasonable but indecisive due to too many stimuli. When he decides what he wants, however, he is unstoppable.

4th House: Inner Self

He has a strong will and can pout and brood for long periods of time when he’s convinced he’s been wronged or that he fucked yo in some way.

Lilith: Libra ♎️ 5th House

Lilith: Hidden Emotions

Independent by nature and yet longs for true companionship and love. Cycles between intense neediness and total independence.

5th House: Self Expression

Has trouble accepting that he might need others in his life and ends up pushing them away when stressed.

North Node: Aquarius ♒️ 8th House

North Node: Life’s Purpose

He takes things seriously and personally, which can cause problems overall. His life goal is to develop detachment from expectations and develop humility.

8th House: Death and Taboo

He should try to develop his sharing with others, and accept that trying to control everything will lead him to lose everything. Detachment is key.

[ozimagines]

Well, hi! So, I've been having severe Peter Schibetta brainrot and sadly there is not enough content of him and it drives me insane. So, perhaps you're open to grace us with some headcanons of dear Petey. Maybe about how he was as a teen and young adult. Or what his ambitions would have been if his father had not pushed him into the mobster lifestyle. Also, I've seen that you intepret him as a heavily repressed bisexual. On that note. how do you think he found out. How does he coped with this knowledge about himself before Oz an after his incarceration? Thank you so much in advance :)

Ayyyyy thank you for requesting this. I wanted to write something about Peter. I’ve been rewatching Oz lately and enjoying the hell out of it. I had this idea for a fic and am literally writing it at work rn. This was meant to be a quick, one off fic but it’s turning into something longer as fics often do lmao. Thanks for being patient with me. I’m trying to get back in to this page.

Peter Schibetta in…

The Path Is A Spiral (Ch.1)

Peter awoke to a hand on his face, caressing softly. His eyes fluttered open. His mother was sitting next to his bed, smiling at her son with painted pink lips. He couldn’t help his peaceful smile. His father must have already been at work. He never approved of Angie waking their teenage son this way. Thought it would make him soft. Maybe it had. It was a well known fact that Peter was a mama’s boy through and through.

“Good morning, Peter, my dear.”

“Good morning, ma.” He shifted out of his bed, still smiling. She touched his face one last time.

“Breakfast is in the dining room. I got your favorite.”

“Thanks, ma.”

Peter got himself dressed in his track suit, planning on heading to the gym after breakfast. His mother had laid out a beautiful spread. Cornetti and sfogliatelle. Espresso coffee freshly brewed. Peter even had a little dollop of ice cream in his cup. His mother knew he loved it affogato. That’s something else his father hated. Nino took his coffee ‘like a man’, meaning black. Peter had more of a sweet tooth. His mother knew that about him. Knew everything the world couldn’t.

“Your father told me to tell you to go to Gino’s pizza today and meet Dino. That little Zanghi boy will be there too.” She waved her hands dismissively.

“Don?” Peter asked, his stomach clenching. Peter and Zanghi were both being groomed into the family. Zanghi was learning to be his muscle. What Dino was to Nino. Gino’s meant he had a pickup that day. “Yeah, can do.”

Peter’s stomach was turning backflips. He tried to grin and bear it. Look more confident than he was. Peter had fucked up the first two pickups he was meant to do. Luckily, Dino stayed close by and always cleaned his messes up. Peter was lucky to have a cousin like that, even if his faces at the time made no secret that he thought Peter didn’t have the stones for this business. No one in the family thought he did. Peter knew that much. He spent every hour of every day trying to convince people he was every drop the man his father was. He was almost eighteen. At sixteen, his father was captain of his own block, the neighborhood kids, serving Don Rossi. At seventeen, he proposed to Angie and went off to war. At nineteen, he was home and married, becoming a made man by the time he was twenty two. Nino ate, slept, and breathed their thing. The cosa nostra. Peter was seventeen and a half and was still loving down the embarrassment of being caught auditioning for Romeo and Juliet at school. He thought he would have done fine. Nothing said that because he wanted to be Romeo that he was a fag. He’ll, if anything, it would have helped him snag a lot more strange, right? Pretty macho when you think about it that way, Peter pleaded with his father at the time. Bad for business, he said. Not a good look, he said.

Peter finished his breakfast and got up to kiss his mom on the cheek. He went outside, dapping up a few of his fellow vitellone on the street corner. He said hi to everyone who greeted him first, and ignored those who didn’t. That big guy from across the street called out for him, giving him fresh tomatoes for his mother from his own grandfather’s cart.

“You tell your old man they’re on the house.” He winked, clapping Peter on the back.

Chucky Pancamo could be such a suck up. Peter knew he’d never be more than mindless muscle.

He got to the gym, waving at the guy by the door and going to find the elliptical second in from the left. That was his. He enjoyed that it was always free when he came it. He started his warm up, setting up his audiobook in his headphones and zoning out.

He couldn’t tell you how long he’d been going. Some figure moved to the one next to him. Asshole. There were like twenty machines to his right. He didn’t have to choose the one right next to Peter. Whatever. He kept peddling and listening to his book, when he saw a little hand wave to his side. He plucked out an earphone, and looked over, annoyed. A young Latino was on the elliptical to his side, hair shaggy, face pulled into a friendly smile. Peter tried to fix his face but he was visibly miffed.

“Can I make a suggestion?” The boy asked, pointing to the elliptical. Peter didn’t say anything. “For every five minutes you go forward on the elliptical, you should do two going back. It helps strengthen the knee muscles.”

Peter nodded, and went to put his earbud back in. The kid held his hand out, though, so Peter sighed and took it back out again, shaking the man’s hand.

“I’m Diego. I work here, it’s my tio’s gym. Well, not today. I’m off. I just, y’know, like the gym. It’s peaceful here.”

“Usually.” Peter griped. The boy didn’t react with anything expected, just chuckling and holding his hands up.

“You’re right. Sorry. You get back to your music.” He ran fingers through his brown hair, still grinning charmingly. Peter blushed.

“I wasn’t trying to be a dick. Sorry. And I was listening to an audiobook.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I interrupted. Mind if I ask what book it is? I’m somewhat of an audiobook guy too. Mostly when I’m driving.”

“Siddhartha by Herman Hesse.”

“I’m not familiar.” Diego said with a smile. “Siddhartha? Like the Buddha?” The boy guessed, and Peter was a little impressed that someone his age knew what he was talking about. His dad often quoted the Buddha. His father was a philosopher who missed his calling. Peter always admired that about his old man. The care in all of his actions.

“Yeah. Story mirrors his life a little. It’s about a guy who leaves his father’s home in search of inner peace.” Peter said the last part a little bitterly. Inner peace, was there such a thing? The guy grimaced a little as well.

“Yeah, good luck with that, guy.”

Peter barked out a laugh. Diego smiled at him. It was a genuinely pleasant smile. Real. Deliberate.

“You didn’t tell me your name.” Diego’s eyes were completely enrapturing, and Peter found he had a hard time looking away.

“I’m Peter.” He relented, trying to tear his eyes away from Diego’s. His stomach wasn’t aching anymore, but his chest felt like butterflies were trapped in it. Fuck.

“Good to meet you, Peter. Hey, if I’m working out in here, don’t be a stranger. I’m always in the market for a spotter.” Diego went to hop off the machine and leave, reaching his hand out to shake Peter’s again. Peter accepted, his face burning a little when Diego’s calloused hand made contact with his. If he noticed, Diego didn’t make it known. He should have let it be. He was Latino. His father didn’t despise the Latinos, but he didn’t keep them any closer than business. Still, Diego was being kind, Peter knew that. And it’s not like he had many friends his own age.

“I’m… um…” Peter tripped over his words, sputtering like a kid giving a presentation he wasn’t prepared for. “I need to do a little lifting here. My cousin… he’s usually here but I think he’s busy today. Maybe… maybe you spot me now?”

Peter gulped nervously when Diego snickered a little, feeling like he was being made fun of, but Diego just grinned good naturedly after and guided Peter by throwing an arm over his shoulder.

“I know all the good lifts man, my tio taught me all the best ways to get shredded.”

Diego was fun. He had a good sense of humor, a goofy smile, and did, true to his word, know all the best way to get shredded. He gave Peter tips as they went, interspersed with talking about their lives.

“So, your uncle owns the gym. What does your Dad do?” Peter asked in between sets. Diego visibly bristled. “Sorry… is that a sore spot?”

“Nah, man. My papi’s a professor. Behavioral psych. Made it… a little tense growing up.” He went to fix Peter’s form, hands going flat against Peter’s bicep. He suppressed a shiver. “He always expects me to follow in his footsteps. Like because he’s into this science shit, I gotta be. He thinks my tio’s a failure for owning a gym, but I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like the worst life.”

He shrugged, going to grab a towel and wipe off his glistening chest. Peter felt his ears go red.

“I don’t know if any of that makes sense. I guess it’s not the worst to have a parent be invested in your success. I just don’t think our versions of success are the same thing.”

“I get it.” He breathed. “Really I do. My father… he’s… he’s management where he works. The big boss. I’m supposed to take over the business after him.”

“But you don’t want to, right?”

“I…” Peter balked. He was always told to keep things in the family. Not to bring outsiders in. He decided to change the subject, saying something about the Yankees. Diego took the hint and pivoted.

When they were done, they shook hands again and exchanged information. It was the most pleasant time Peter had in a while. He noticed the time and rushed off to Gino’s, legs going as fast as thy could carry him. He saw Don and Dino outside the shop.

“Cuttin’ it kinda close there, Petey.” Dino chastised, pointing to his watch like some disappointed father. Peter nodded and caught his breath.

“Sorry. Got caught up at the gym.”

“Hope you didn’t lift without a spotter.” Dino remarked, knowing how impatient Peter could be. He was tasked with keeping the boy safe as he learned his new position. Dino didn’t tell his father, but Peter had to be the most unlucky kid he’d ever met. Dino was seriously worried he might get final-destinationed, as he called it, when he went to the fucking bathroom. Peter’s cheeks reddened a little.

“I did lift but I actually had a spotter. Some kid whose tio… I mean, whose uncle owns the gym.”

“That skinny twink sp*c kid Damien?” Spat an unimpressed Dino. Peter’s ears burned again.

“Diego.” Peter corrected defensively, before adding; “twink? Why do you say that?”

Dino shrugged dismissively.

“Kid’s got that goofy faggy smile going on at all times. I don’t think there’s much harm to him, he’s just a loser, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Was all Peter could think to say. He fixed his mop of curly hair and went in to make the collection his father asked of him. Dino stopped him at the door.

“Remember, Petey, this guy’s a deadbeat. He’s been making bum payments for weeks now. We’ll follow your lead, but don’t let him weasel out of this if his payment is light.”

They entered the store, Peter in front and his two wingmen flanking him.

“Ay, Gino.” Dino called out, and an old man waddled out from the back of the shop.

“Dino! Good to see you, my boy. Don.” He acknowledged both boys before finally setting his eyes on Peter. A knowing smile crossed his features. “And this is the well known Peter Schibetta. Good to see you too, young man. Your father and I go way back.”

“Really?” Peter said with a smile, before noticing Dino give him a scolding look. Dino told him never to smile when it wasn’t necessary. Peter fixed his face. “You got the stuff for us?”

“Of course.” The old man reached into his pocked and pulled out an envelop. Peter took it and went to put it in his pocket when Dino cleared his throat. Peter was supposed to count it. So he did.

“You’re a grand short.” Peter raised a brow. The man paled.

“It’s been a slow week.”

“And last week?” Dino chimed in, starting to walk circles around the old man, who gulped and started wringing his hands. Peter knew it wasn’t him the old man was afraid of, it was Dino, whose ruthless reputation preceded him. Peter felt a little emasculated by his cousin’s presence, so he leaned against the counter like he’d seen Robert DeNiro do in Goodfellas.

“Look at me. Do I look like a fool to you?”

“No, son, not at all-“

“Mr. Schibetta.” Peter corrected. It was a piss ant move, Peter was still legally a child, and the old man had forty years on him, but it sounded good, so Peter doubled down on it. “Don’t try an’ fuck me. First time, we let it slide. You an’ my father go back. But that’s as far as that good will extends. You’re tryin’ ta ride because you grew up in the neighborhood. No go. Get me that green right now, capisc’?”

“I don’t have it, son-“

Peter made a hand motion and Don stepped forward and grabbed the man by his lapels.

“Listen, you old fuck; you don’t got the dough, you better have some fuckin’ collateral.” Donny threw him against the wall, and Dino watched approvingly. Donny was coming along nicely as muscle. Peter’s gut instinct was to tell Don to stop as he saw the blood trickle from the side of the man’s head. His stomach got queasy. Peter was never much good with blood. Peter powered through and picked up a sugar caddy, throwing it on the ground and sending little granules of salt, sugar, and pepper everywhere. The old man pleaded for him to stop, whimpering as Peter started stripping each table of its wares.

“Please, Mr. Schibetta, I’ll pay, just give me a few days-“ Dino grabbed the old man and dragged him by his collar to the cutting board in the back, snagging the butcher’s knife off the counter and waving it menacingly. Peter’s mind was on fire. Destroy a little property, sure, but Dino was about to take his pound of flesh right then and there. “Please just give me some time!”

“You’ve had enough time-“

“Okay!” Peter shouted over his cousin. Dino’s eyes flashed angrily to Peter. Peter tried posturing, shrugging his shoulders like this was part of the plan. “You can have three days to get the money. After three days, we come back, and I’m not holding my men back anymore, capisc’?”

“Ho capito, Signore Schibetta. Grazie mille! Thank you!” Gino threw himself down at Peter’s feet in gratitude. It would have felt good, except for Dino’s searing scowl. Dino knew he couldn’t go against Peter; kid was training to be the boss. But this was a fuck up, they both knew it.

The guys exited, and Donny, feeling the tension, excused himself. Peter walked quickly to keep up with his cousin, who was walking away muttering to himself.

“Dino, I’m sorry, okay, but the guy wasn’t gonna suddenly have the money because you chopped his fingers off. He got the message-“

Dino turned on his heel.

“The message he got was that he can skimp on payments and walk away. That we’re not serious. That we let people slide. And he’s gonna tell his buddies we let him slide. And no one’s gonna take us seriously, including our enemies. That’s the big picture, Petey; it wasn’t about this one guy. It’s never about the one guy.” Dino snarled at him as Peter hung his head in shame. “You’re not thinking like a capo, you’re thinking like a chicken shit kid who’s gonna run to mommy at the sight of blood!”

Peter blinked his stinging eyes. That one hurt. Dino sighed, rubbing his temples. He knew the kid was sensitive about his relationship with his mother.

“I’m sorry, Dino.” Peter whispered, and Dino rolled his eyes and threw his arm around Peter, tousling his hair slightly.

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but I’ll deal with it. I always do.”

“I just panicked. Were you…?” Peter had to think of a second before he spoke. “Were you really gonna use the knife?”

“I’ve learned not to make threats, Petey. I make promises. If you pick up a weapon you’d better be ready to use it. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Peter made a mental note of this. His stomach felt queasy again.

“You gonna tell Pop?”

“He’s gonna figure it out. If Don Zanghi knows, it might as well be written on a billboard. But I’ll do damage control.”

“Thanks, Dino.”

The boys spent the rest of the day together. They hung out on the street corner, played a little ghetto baseball, as they called it, and catcalled a few chicks. Peter was enamored with his cousin. Closest thing he had to a brother. Dino was prickly towards others, but to Peter, he was a guardian angel. Dino never let him fall too far.

At the end of the day, they headed home, seeing Peter’s mom in the garden. She waved.

“Dino, good to see you, bello.” She grabbed him and kissed his forehead. Dino acted like he dint care, but Peter knew Dino’s mom was a bit of a hard-ass, so he knew his cousin appreciated the gentle touch. “Wash up for dinner, it’s almost ready.”

Peter looked towards the driveway and saw his Dad was home. His stomach turned again, but Dino put a reassuring arm around him.

“Take it like a man and get it over with.” He instructed. Peter nodded. He walked with heavy feet towards his father’s study, knocking on the door once he got there.

“Peter.” His father acknowledged, tersely. “Dino, go help Angie with the table.”

Dino agreed, sending Peter one last look before he left.

“Tell me about today, son.” His father asked calmly and venomously. Peter swallowed thickly.

“I… I didn’t want Dino to do something we couldn’t take back.” Peter tried defending his decision.

“Tell the truth, Peter.” His father commanded. Peter hung his head.

“I couldn’t watch it, Pop. Dino grabbed the meat cleaver and I… I just couldn’t.” He put his head in his hand and sniffed, ready to cry. His father immediately said;

“Men don’t cry, Peter. You’re not a boy anymore. Be a man.” He instructed, again calmly but not without bite to his tone. “You fucked up. It happens. But on God, you will accept the consequences.”

“Yes, sir.” Peter fought his stinging eyes. He’d fucked up yet again.

“He’s got the time you gave him. He doesn’t pay in that time, you handle it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Peter trudged sadly to his room. He needed a minute before joining the family. He plopped himself on his bed and shoved his face in the pillow, still fighting back tears.

His phone pinged, and he raised his head to look at it.

Diego: what do you call a Christian gym?

Peter furrowed his brow as he tried to ponder the meaning, before the next text sent.

Diego: CrossFit

Besides himself, Peter snorted a laugh.

Peter: that’s bad lmao

Diego: lol you get what you pay for

Diego: gonna see you at the gym tomorrow? I’ll spot again.

Peter: shit kinda hit the fan at home so maybe

Diego: oof. Rough shit. Everything ok?

Peter: as ok as it can be

Diego: you ever finish that book?

Peter: almost. It’s good. Really good.

Diego: maybe you’d write a good book

Peter: yeah sure

Diego: no, I’m serious. You got a lot of good thoughts in that head of yours.

Diego: maybe you could like change the way things are

Peter let that message sit for a minute. It was bullshit, of course, but it was nice to be thought of that way by someone.

Peter: thanks Diego

Diego: anytime babe

Diego: *Peter!

Diego: lol shit sorry it was supposed to say Peter

Peter’s cheeks burned, and those little butterflies flew back into his stomach. It was a horrible feeling, but he almost wished Diego had purposefully typed ‘babe’. It excited him. Peter was never sure how to deal with feelings of any sort. He felt them all the time. He just wasn’t sure where to put them.

Peter: all good, man

Peter: gotta go set the table for dinner

Diego: k I’ll see you later

Diego: stay strong. Family shit sucks but you can handle it

Something about that last message gave Peter the courage to go downstairs and help with dinner. At least one person thought he could handle it.

[wawamouse]

i’m very very patiently awaiting new chapters i love your fic so much!!

Aw thanks!! I’m assuming you mean Misery 💖 it’s on a mini pause right now while I try to finish the other wip I started which was supposed to be short but then I got really busy last week

once I post that fic, it’ll be right back to Misery ch16! I’ve written about 4.5k of it so far, which I think is about half…. Or maybe 1/3 of the chapter…? 😆 idk, but I’m excited to write this one. I think it’ll be a good one.

Pre-Wednesday snippet on the cut, as a treat 🫡

—

“You’re gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack, you keep this up, man,” Chico retorts. “I’m fine, Miguel.”

“Carmen.” He’s stopped mopping—has straightened up, looking at Chico with that same concern he’d had from across the cafeteria table.

It puts a weird flutter in Chico’s stomach. “Shit, you’re really worried,” he says slowly, pausing and leaning against the stick of his mop, tilting his head.

Why?

Miguel shrugs. “Be just my fuckin’ luck, you dropping dead, man,” he says.

“Your luck?” Chico snorts, pushing down his surprise. What’s he supposed to say to that? “Yo, what about my luck?”

“Chico.”

He takes a step closer, keeping his mop handle between them as he meets Miguel’s frown with a broad smirk.

“You’d miss me, huh?” he says, quieter than he’d meant to.

Miguel blinks, gazing flicking off into a middle distance. For a second, Chico figures Miguel’s avoiding his eyes—he does that sometimes—goes off thinking about things and doesn’t look at who he’s talking to. But his eyes come back to Chico’s a moment later, gaze steady.

A lump forms in Chico’s throat.

“Yeah, I’d miss you, man,” Miguel replies.

[consciouslogic]

[ozimagines]

Hello! How are you?

If you celebrate, have you had a good Christmas?

Also, happy new year!

I was just wondering if you have any updates about the next chapter of the Chris Keller x f reader fic, maybe a sneak peak?

I’m very excited for it ❤️❤️

Sorry, my love. It’s taken me a second. Working about 60hrs a week and it’s gotten me so tired. Buuuut I did have a dream about killer Keller last night so I’m gonna see if I can write the next chapter in one go! Honestly, probably the most explicit smut I've ever written. So... hope you wanted that XP

!!!!SEXUALLY EXPLICIT CONTENT!!!!

DL;DR

Chris Keller x Fem!Reader in...

I Know What You Need Because You're Mine

“Y/N, get on your knees, now.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. The urge to fuck around and find out was far, far too strong. You kept making eye contact with him as you sunk to your knees. He smiled predatorily, placing a hand under your chin and squeezing your cheeks in.

“Y/N, Y/N. What am I ever going to do with you?” He released his hand to pat your head, tousling your hair. “I’ve been pretty clear in my orders for you. Glass fucking transparent, and you still talk back to me, like a spoiled child. Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you some manners.”

You’re quiet, shaking in your anticipation. Your heart was pounding in your ears. What if a guard walked in? Would they take you away from Chris? Would you be on your own?

He pressed his crotch to your face, and you felt his dick twitch underneath. You go along with it, nuzzling and lightly kissing the fabric of his pants. He stifles a groan, unzipping his trousers slowly, trying to make your mouth water with anticipation, finally dropping them so you could see the unmissable, colossal bulge in his shorts. He pulled away suddenly. walking across the storage room and finding a folding chair, setting up while making shiveringly intense eye contact with you.

"C'mere, miss thing." he husked and your body obeyed before your brain had a chance to tell it not to. You get up to walk over, but Chris shakes his head and tuts.

"All fours." His command was short and sweet but damn did it get the point across. Again, your first instinct was to obey, so you do so, crawling over to him, eyes searching his face for any indication he was about to hurt you. You saw a terrifying sadism, and yet not a coldness or indifference. No, his eyes, deep and brown as they were, were alive; flickering flames behind them, his mind tinkering and working the whole time.

You get over to him, and stop, kneeling at his feet.

"Pull your pants down." he commanded, gesturing lazily with his hand. You hesitated for a microsecond and he raised a brow to see if you were gonna play his game. You do, hooking your fingers around your belt loop and tugging your pants down until it was just you in your pink, floral briefs. His mouth twitched into a wide smile, hungrily looking you over. He twirled his finger around in the air, and you get the hint, so you turn your whole body around, showing him your backside, where he audibly sighed. You turn back around, not sure whether or not you were supposed to look him in the eye or avert your gaze in submission. "My god, i could just eat you up."

You can't stop the small squeal in the back of your throat at that proposition and he chuckles darkly to himself. He pats his lap slowly. You go to sit down, but he pushes you away and tuts again. Then, he said four words that changed the chemical compound of your brain chemistry forever;

"Face down. Ass up."

Your eyes widen in understanding at your current situation. You could barely hear your own breath over the sound of pounding in your ears. Do you do it? He's a big guy. He could really hurt you, even if it wasn't on purpose. Chris reacts as if he would see through your head like a fish bowl.

"What? You don't trust me, baby?" He grinned and winked at you. "I made a promise, Y/N. I ain't gonna hurt you... much."

You take a step forward. Then back. Then forward again, lowering your self on his lap, belly first, handing your head off the sides of his legs. He placed his hand flat on your back, tracing his middle finger in small circles on your spine. You feel an involuntary shiver rip through your body, and this time he responds with a full laugh.

"Goddamn, Y/N. I mean just god-motherfucking-damn." he placed his hand flat on your back, and you feel the weight and roughness warm you to your core. He rubs the hand up and down your back, going higher and lower every time, until his hand ventured low again, cupping a fistful of your ass. "Now this, I could get used to. I told you, I don't prag people, but they end up bent over for me all the same."

"I... please..."

"Hmm? What exactly are you asking for, kitten?" He asked, playfully, now running his finger under the hem of your underwear. "Or do you even know?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"No," you swallow, trying to make your voice anything else but a moan. "I don't know what I want."

"Not what I meant, baby girl." His whole hand was under your panties, squeezing the swell of your behind. "Yes, what?"

You think about what he could possibly mean, his fingers still dancing around your lady bits, his fingers edging closer and closer to your pussy lips.

"Yes... sir?" you venture, and he surprises you with a light smack to your ass.

"Good girl." He started letting his other hand finger your hair, twirling and pulling slightly. "You're behaving so well now, but that doesn't change the fact that you were disobedient before. That you acted like a petulant child when I gave you an order. I'll repeat myself; you stay away from Beecher. You listen to everything I say. You absolutely do not go anywhere alone under any circumstances. I'm here to keep you safe, the least you could do is not take unnecessary risks. Yes sir?"

"Yes, sir." you agree enthusiastically.

"Atta girl." he commended, taking his hand out of your panties as soon a they grazed the lips, and you were more than a little disappointed. "That said, good behavior now doesn't take away your punishment. Hell, that's what prison is about. Not just penitence. No. Reformation through retribution. I wouldn't be doing my job here if I didn't make the rules clear."

Without warning, he tore your panties off your rear with, forcing them down your legs and off your feet. You squeak again and look up only to feel his hand push your head down. He presses your panties to your mouth.

"Open."

You do, and he forces the underwear into your mouth, effectively gagging you.

"Take your punishment like a big girl and I promise a little reward after, okay sweet cheeks?"

You vigorously nod your head, clamping your teeth down on the underwear as he lined up his shot.

His hand came cracking down on your butt, blushing your cheeks red.

A little sound dies in your throat, unable to escape your lips, so he comes down again, and again. He spanked your ass over and over, increasing the intensity and therefore the stinging on your flesh. You try not to struggle; to take the blows, as he so aptly put it, like a big girl. But it's hard. Painfully hard. You end up squirming in his lap as he abused your rear end mercilessly, eyes lolling in your head as you enjoyed taking every single second of your so called punishment.

"When I talk, you listen. Yes sir?"

"Mhm hrrr..." you mumble into your own panties. He snorted a laugh and came down again, harder. You really start to squirm, eyes watering a little.

"You belong to me, got it? Hmm? Yes, sir?"

"Mhm hrrrrrr...!"

"I say jump, you say 'how fucking high, Daddy?', yes sir?"

The spanks are starting to make a cracking nose in the air like a whip in those old westerns you used to watch. Your panic starts to bubble, a tightness building in your core and tears well in your eyes.

"MHM HRRR!!!"

The spanks stop suddenly, and you feel yourself being lifted off of his body, into the air like you weigh nothing. He supports your stomach, but lowers your head, until your hands reach the floor. He spreads your legs around him, lining himself up like a pool cue to get the exact right angle. You hear him unzip his pants, some shuffling, then you feel burning hot flesh touch your thigh. He's out of his underwear. He doesn't thrust in though, just hovers there, picking up your ankle with one hand and kissing it, sloppily.

"Last chance. Make a noise if you want me to stop. Any noise. Do it."

You surprise yourself with your own silence. Fuck, you don't even squirm. You just hold still and wait for the inevitable.

He tears into you, and you realize your dream of him did no justice to just how big he would be. He doesn't waste any time before starting to jackhammer into you, battering your hole with an incredible speed supported by an even more incredible stamina. He's able to keep the speed steady and even. The blood is flooding your brain, being upside down starting to make you lightheaded and dizzy. Your body stops fighting back as the knot in your core gets tighter and tighter. He can feel it too, your woman walls starting to squeeze around him as your orgasm built in your belly. You're both sweating now, your eyes struggling to stay open, and him breathing heavily as his arms stay flexed to keep you half suspended.

Your body teeters on the edge like you're walking a tightrope, walking this delicate line between your orgasm and exhaustion. When you just can't take it anymore; when you feel like you're falling off of that tightrope, the knot in your stomach snaps and you clench around him. He can feel the immediate shift, like you're trying to tie his dick into a knot with your pussy. He tenses up, fingers leaving black and blue marks on your hips as he grunts and thrusts twice more into you before plunging into his own orgasm, filling you up.

You two keep in position without the thrusting, both breathing heavily. He flips you over, blood rushing away from your head again. Chris picks you up, sits down with you on his knee like a ventriloquist dummy, and starts kissing your neck softly. You lean your head limply against him.

"Was it something like that?" he asked, reaching a finger in your mouth to remove the gag.

"Hmm?"

"Your dream." He clarified, nipping at the section where your jaw met your neck. "Was it anything like that?"

"No. This... this was better." You're rasping at this point with how dry your throat was. You're face burns a little. You'd been in prison for less than a week and already you were fucking your cellmate. You throw your face in your hands.

"Don't do that." Chris tsked, removing your hands from your face. "don't ruin the afterglow of a great orgasm with your moral posturing." He kisses your neck again, hand on your hip, rubbing reassuring circles into your hip bone with his thumb.

"I can't believe I got fucked already is all." was all you could think to say.

"Saying you didn't enjoy it?"

"Oh, I definitely enjoyed it. That's part of the dilemma. I can't believe I got fucked in prison and enjoyed it. What's wrong with me?"

"Fuck you."

His response surprises you, so you jerk away and look down at him. He's not frowning, though. Smiling, actually.

"No, I mean it. Fuck you." He put a hand on the side of your face. "See, people got this narrative that women aren't allowed to enjoy sex. If they like anything other than goddamn dull missionary, they're sluts and loose and immoral. You got fucked in prison, yeah, what the hell else is there to do here? You got fucked but you got fucked on your own terms. I didn't force you. You got off too. In fact, I made sure of it. Don't overthink this. Moral purity doesn't exist here. Not in Oz. You wanted sex, you got sex. You don't wanna fuck anymore, fine, but don't start devolving into moral righteousness and drive yourself nuts."

"I... y'know what... that's actually a really great point." You're somewhat surprised at the succinct, coherent argument from this criminal who just fucked your brains in. He made a face.

"What's with this 'actually' shit? I'm a fucking genius."

A laugh escapes you, and you're shaking a little by the end of it. He's just staring at you with a broad grin.

"You got a pretty laugh."

"Thank you... for everything, I mean."

"Not a problem, lover." he kissed your neck again before standing you up and handing you your underwear. You go to take it, but he doesn't let go of it for a second, smirking at you. You chuckle.

"You're such a dick."

"Ouch." he touched his hand to his heart.

You go to put your pants on, and wince a little. Chris looks behind you.

"Looks like I got a little overzealous there."

"How bad is it?"

"Very pink. We'll see if it turns black and blue. Fuck. I didn't want to leave a mark."

You smile sweetly and he rolls his eyes.

"I meant I didn't want to leave evidence. I'd mark you up black, blue, red, and fucking green if you were mine outside of here."

You pause, pulling up your pants.

"And am I?"

He raised a brow.

"Am I yours?"

"You tell me, kitten."

You're blushy and smiley but you still find the coyness to go up to him and peck him on the lips. He caught you with his arm and pulled you back into a longer, more passionate kiss.

You're bright when you get back to Em City. Chris called it your post-nut glow. You smiled, genuinely smiled. You sat down at the table where the Others were, asking if you could be dealt into their next game of canasta with Bob and Nikolai. Busmalis was playing too but he was barely hanging in there. Bob noticed your smile and returned it.

"You're certainly chipper." he remarked, but not unkindly.

You think for a second, before smirking.

"They're real."

"What are?" Nikolai asked, redealing.

"Miss Sally's tits. That bounce-back don't lie."

Busmalis choked on his gum.

[ozimagines]

this is about the dumbest/most cursed/historically hilarious request's I've ever asked, but when I tell you I legit CACKLED at the epiphany of the idea's, I mean it sincerely

First one being an idea that came from you writing about pancamo and saying the head cannon of him shirtless cooking, so that made me think of a prompt of him accidentally becoming the next, or a form of "donut daddy" if you will, already a hysterical idea

The other and far more "cursed humor" prompt being either just Miguel and chico, or being the whole entire collective of OZ, of somebody getting a Bluetooth speaker, and an ENTIRE PLAYLIST of cupcakke remix songs/sound effects, and letting utter chaos reign with it by just playing it at the absolute best/worst times

Anyway those were just some hilarious prompts that I had buzzing in my brain, your an incredible writer and I cannot wait to see what you might do with this insane goofiness

Hey! Trying to get back into writing for this page more. Life has taken another left turn but I’m alright! I figure this is a good way to start my return to Oz-dom. These are VERY cursed but I’m so here for it! 😂 like tremendously. I’m going to do the Pancamo TikTok one first and while I’m at it, I’m gonna tag @mloo because Chucky is kinda their thing so I submit before the council… (the biggest brainrot I’ve ever had)

Chucky Pancamo, Don Zanghi, and Peter Schibetta in…

Pasta Papa

“Hey, everyone.” Chucky said with a smirk, running his thick fingers through his jet black hair. He smirked, flicking his eyes up and down seductively. “Your Uncle Chucky’s here to take care of you, baby. I’m gonna introduce you to the oiliest, most flavorful pesto of your life. First off, lots of people forget the integral ingredient in pesto… nuts… Don… Donny!”

Chucky slammed his hands on the counter, rolling his eyes. Don Zanghi snapped to attention and shrugged.

“What, Chuck? I’m filming!” He defended immediately. Chucky huffed at him.

“When I say nuts, you’re supposed to pan the camera down.” He gestured towards his crotch where, on the counter before them, there was a handful of pine nuts. Zanghi scrunched up his face.

“Dude, that’s gay.”

“It’s not for you, shithead, it’s for the millions of women watching and drooling over me.” Chucky said as if it were the simplest concept in the world. Don shook his head.

“Still fucking gay to stare at my paisan’s cock and balls.”

“Again, you don’t have to stare, just aim the fucking camera.”

“I have to look to see where I’m aiming.” Don reasoned, featuring with his hands to Peter Schibetta, who was rubbing his temples. Chucky was still fuming.

“You ruined a fucking great take.”

“Chucky, this dialogue…” Peter furrowed his brow. “It’s like a bad fucking porno.”

“Chicks eat this shit up.” Miffed an increasingly offended Chucky. Peter nodded as if to say ‘yeah okay’, and he reached for the script on the table.

“‘First’” he read aloud. “‘You have to get your mortar and pestle so you can grind the ingredients real hard’. Really, Chucky?”

“You do!” He argued back, face burning a little at the criticism of his writing.

“Madonn’, man, even the concept of paying the pizza guy with sex is better than whatever this is.” Peter tossed the script onto the counter. He didn’t know how he got roped into this.

“Ooh!” Don pointed at Chucky to get his attention. “You should do that one next.”

“My whole schtick is pasta! I’m the-“

“Please don’t say it.” Peter pleaded.

“-Pasta Papa.”

“Fuck.” Peter put his head in his hands, pulling on his curly hair.

“I think the Donut Daddy might sue.” Zanghi pointed out, ignoring the strange nature of their conversation. Chucky threw his arms up.

“He doesn’t own sex or food and certainly not the combination of the two.” He leaned on the counter, arm out to Peter in appeal. “Why the fuck can’t I cash in on that horny-and-hungry-lady market?”

“Even his stuff is cringy. The women are just so horned up they don’t notice.”

“The fuck is wrong with horny women? I like horny women, don’t you?” Chucky defended with a zeal. Don nodded.

“Yeah, man, let a bitch be horned up.” He cheered, fiddling with the camera and playing with the different filters. Peter couldn’t believe he owned the only two brain cells in the room.

“The… ugh…” he choked on the words. “Donut Daddy… Jesus… he’s making sweets. Baking. He works with creams and doughs and juices. Baking and cooking aren’t the same kind of sexy.”

“You should make a pizza.” Donny offered, and Peter clarified;

“Not what I meant.”

“I make pasta. Pasta’s sexy.”

Don and Peter shared a look.

“It is!”

“The Donut… goddamnit… the other guy sticks his face in and licks shit. How does that even work with pasta?” Peter said, more concerned with the do-ability of Chucky’s dream of sexy food content than the general insanity of the idea.

“Yeah, man, you should make like Alfredo or something and lick the cream.” Don suggested excitedly, figuring he’d solved the problem.

“There is no cream in real Alfredo.” Chucky responded, and Peter cried incredulously;

“That you have a problem with?!”

“My shit’s authentic. Always has been.” Said Chucky with great pride. He got an idea. “I can make puttanesca. Geddit? Puttan-esca.”

“Whore pasta.” Don Zanghi giggled. Chucky clapped and agreed.

“I can even lick the spoon real slow. Shit writes itself!”

“Chucky,” Peter spoke carefully and gently. “The ten likes you’re gonna get on this isn’t worth the dignity spent performing cunnilingus on kitchen tools.”

Chucky batted the air around him.

“Ah, what do you know about anything? My shit’s gonna be famous.”

“Best of luck, Chucky, but this is where I tap out.” Peter went to walk away when he saw something on the phone Zanghi was filming on. “Don?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re live.”

“Yup.” He replied, cheerfully. Chucky’s blood ran cold. Peter raised a brow.

“Do you know what TikTok Live is?”

“Yeah, it films constantly so you can edit all the footage together later.”

“…” Peter legitimately had no words. He looked back and forth between Donny, who had a blissfully vacant smile on his face and Chucky, who was giving the deadliest glare he’d ever mustered up.

Peter walked out of the room as all the pesto ingredients were being thrown at Zanghi, and a string of curses followed him out.

The Live had come to be known as Wop Watergate.

[ozimagines]

I’m making buttons because I can never wear enough shit in the south that will make old MAGAs not talk to me. Black Lives Matter, You Are Safe With Me, Fuck I.C.E., that kind of stuff. Just made this one. No one will get it but it fits the vibe.

[gatogotica]

Oz fandom lets have a serious discussion. Who in the show is making it out of a Saw trap and who’s dying

[9cbffs]

assorted Saw AU thoughts:

Schillinger completely smashing the Saw 3 maze

Toby and Chris in the trap with the arrows where Toby has to pull them out to save himself and kill Chris

Saw 5 with the prison staff, ending with Gloria and somebody (Sister Pete? Wittlesey?)

Schillinger in the Saw 6 maze and it goes more or less the same as it does in the movie, at the end it's Toby and Chris in the acid cage and Beecher wavers over pressing the button but Keller slams his hand down on it

Miguel in Hoffman's reverse bear trap shoving his face in the door window thing as the trap half-opens, saving himself but ripping open his face

the Saw 3D opening trap featuring either Cyril and Gloria with Ryan above the spinning blade OR Ryan and McManus with Howell

[ozimagines]

Real asf. I want the Saw 6 Carousel with the Dog Pit insurance guys to be all the people on death row in the show and Glynn is watching. Keane gets the honors of saying “when you’re killing me you look at me!”

[ozimagines]

@mloo

Re: our discussion in the comments of my last post

TW; Obsession, Toxicity, Physical Threats

Chucky Pancamo x Reader in…

Did You Think You’d Get Away?

Even though you knew the breakup was for the best, it still hurt knowing you weren’t with Chucky anymore. Fuck, it hurt that you weren’t even in the city anymore. It’s not like breaking up with a mob muscle man left you many choices to stay local. You’d pretty much have to move on to a different mafioso at that point to secure protection, and even in that scenario it was unlikely. You thought about this daily. Every angle. You didn’t want to leave your coworkers and friends and family in the area but you didn’t want to explain the fact that you were dating a man on America’s most wanted either.

The technicality of it was that he never confirmed that he worked for the local mafia. He worked very hard, in fact, to keep you in the dark. But you’re not stupid. You knew by the way he talked and walked what kind of a man he was. He ran his mouth too often to be someone not protected, and in return you were protected. No one wanted to fuck with a man of Chucky Pancamo’s legendary status. Fuck, Luca Brasi in the Godfather had a cuddlier reputation than the man you’d bedded for three years.

The worst part about it was how much you genuinely loved him. You always felt guilty about that. Maybe if there was no love there you could have just written it off as an apex predator protecting something smaller and more dependent. Then it would have just been a transaction. No, the horrible, rotten, awful truth was you genuinely loved the bastard. You got excited when you saw his face. Felt little sparks when he held your hand. Fuck, that literal murderer knew how you liked your eggs in the morning. It was your most shameful secret, how much you loved him.

But the two of you were toxic fucking waste together. He became your whole world, shutting out friends and family and even your work at times. Your whole life became about Chucky. What he was doing, how he was feeling. You lost yourself in his presence. Besides that there was the jealousy. You weren’t allowed to associate with anyone. If you did, he’d fly into a paranoid and possessive rage. You two argued about it often. Towards the end, you two had been fighting every day. If you were honest with yourself, you banded him into fights just to feel something. Just to get him to leave you so you didn’t have to leave him. But he never left you. He’d get big and bad and bold, dismissive and defiant and despicable, but you knew when you looked into his eyes that he truly loved you. He loved you more than anything in his life. He loved you as much as he was able to love someone that wasn’t himself.

No, when it came down to it, you’d left him in the middle of the night, with a hotel room waiting just outside of town, and a note in the kitchen saying;

I’m sorry. I love you.

Now, you’re sitting in your hotel room, mindlessly flipping through channels, trying not to let your mind wander to what Chucky was doing right about now. You had to remind yourself not to care. To detach, as your therapist would say.

A knock to the door broke your concentration. You went to the eyehole to inspect who it was, when you saw the slight frame of the cleaning man. You sigh out of relief and open the door, and it strikes you as odd that he parks the cart between the door and the frame, and then walks away. It strikes you as odd, until you see him walk down the hallway and accept money from a figure you knew all too well.

Chucky had found you.

You knew he had his ways. You didn’t expect to stay hidden for long but this was even sooner than you’d expected. You try to push the cart out of the way and shut the door, but he flashes over to you, putting his massive hand on the door and pushing it open with ease. You fall backwards and slide yourself along the floor away from him. He slams the door behind him and stands towering above you. You don’t even scream for help. You know it wouldn’t do any good. Not in the long run anyway. You sit there, heart pounding, waiting for him to say something.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

“That fucking note ripped my heart out, Y/N.” He states honestly but still threateningly. You see the note crumbled in his hand.

“I said I was sorry.” You offer weakly, not knowing what else to say.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. In the note. It was one of two things I said. I also said I loved you.” You’re trying to soften whatever blow is coming. His eyes turn razor sharp and tear through you. He takes a step forward, large boots clomping.

“You didn’t say two things in the note. You wrote one sentence. One period, not two.” He tossed the crumpled note at you. You open the paper up, and see what he’s talking about.

You hadn’t written “I’m sorry. I love you.” You’d in fact written “I’m sorry I love you.”

Fucking Freudian slip.

“Chucky… I… you have to know-“

“No, Y/N, I don’t know. Fuckin’ explain it to me.” He leaned on the wall, mock expression of concern curdling your guts. You flounder for anything.

“I didn’t mean… it’s just… I need some time to work on myself-“

He made a buzzer sound, drawing an X with his fingers in the air.

“Strike one.” Was all he said. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“Please, Chucky, I thought you wanted a break-“

Buzzer sound again followed by the X sign.

“Strike two.”

“I love you so much, and I hate myself because of it.” You’re honest, and it shocks both of you for a minute. “You’re a monster, Chucky. A real life monster. I don’t know how many people you’ve hurt, how many people you’ve killed. I just know the number is more than one on both accounts and it frightens me.”

“I’d never hurt you.” He insists, and you’re not sure whether or not you believe him.

“It doesn’t matter if you would hurt me or not. You hurt others.”

“Why do you care?”

“I have this weird thing called empathy, Chucky.” You snap, getting yourself off the ground, his earlier comment emboldening you. “I give a shit about people. You don’t. People are just objects to you. I’m just an object to you. An accessory for your image.”

He reached down and tore you by your shirt, pressing you against the wall, hand on your throat, but not squeezing. Just holding you in place. He tugged your hair a little from the back and exposed your neck to him.

“I can get any cooze/salsicc’ I want. I don’t keep you because I can’t get it elsewhere. I keep you because you’re mine. You’ve belonged to me since we met. The fuck kind of image you think I’m cultivating here?” He growled, increasing the intensity of his eyes. You can’t lie, feeling his hands on you again gets your engine running. You didn’t leave him because his charms didn’t work on you, but rather because they did.

“I’m just a trophy for you.”

“A trophy? You’re so humble.” He sneered, hand still around your throat, not pressing more than necessary to hold you to the wall, his other hand touching your chin and around your mouth.

“You’re a monster. A killer. I’m not. I’m no saint but I’m a good person. And having me on your arm means a good person sees something worthwhile in you. That’s the trophy. The fact you got a regular, decent hearted person to love you.”

You try to push him away, and at first, it works, your words cutting him deep. He faltered because he knew you were right. You were so different from the rest of his world. Having you, a slice of heart in his otherwise heartless life, meant there was something good in him. You take advantage of the moment.

“I do love you, Chucky, but we’re absolute toxic sewage together. We made each other miserable. If you love me, I mean really, truly love me, then you'll let me leave and be myself again." You figure you were pretty convincing, considering how he paused, those intense brown eyes you'd come to know being awash in thought, and, possibly, emotion that wasn't rage, at least, not entirely.

That introspection lasted all of thirty seconds, when those brown globes flashed to anger again. You knew you had just lost out the fight. He pressed your body flush to the wall, lowering himself into your ear, growling;

"Strike three."

He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, opening the door and carrying you out, rolling your suitcase behind him. You don't struggle; you know any good it would do would be temporary. He loads you into his car, strapping you in. You do your best to make eye contact with him, and, once you're successful, he pauses. He presses his forehead to yours, keeping that strained eye contact.

"I know I fucking suck at it, but I really do love you." He runs his hand over your cheek, a pang in his heart when he sees you flinch. His voice hardens a little but remains more than somewhat, and all too human. "There's only one future for us, and it's together. I'd get used to the idea, and if you're able, make the best of it."

"How can you feel secure in a love that's so fragile?" You counter, and he slams your door shut and walks to his side. You, out of habit, go an unlock the door for him. That surprises him. Genuinely surprises him. The little gesture from when you two were together damn near got him emotional. Nearly. He buried those emotions down deep and got in the car. You try again at persuasion. "If you know I want to leave so bad, how can you even enjoy us together? How can you be okay knowing it's false?"

"Because," He stated, gruffly, not making eye contact. "I know it's not fake. I know you love me. You may be not like that you love me, but you do. And I love you. What else would you need?"

"It helps to like each other."

"I like pistachio ice cream. I love you. Big difference."

"You do love me, I'll give you that, but you don't like me."

"Don't tell me what I do and don't like." He snapped. You kept talking. He was already doing his worst.

"I don't like you."

"Ooh, burn." he said, deadpanned, flipping the turn signal on and getting onto the main highway.

"I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm being honest. For me to actually like you, you'd have to change fundamental parts of who you are. By the time I liked you, I might not even love you anymore."

"I hope you're having fun with the mental gymnastics because you're not getting any closer to talking your way out of this."

You touch his elbow, and initially he pulls away, but your touch always has a calming effect on him. It always had. It had become a joke in your circles of mob friends. Whenever he'd get pissed, they'd say something to the effect of 'gotta call Y/N'. So he let you touch his arm, you placing your hand around his bicep and squeezing softly.

"How many people have you killed?" You find yourself asking, and he starts white knuckling the steering wheel, but doesn't say anything. "I know you have, Chucky. I'd venture a guess most of them weren't self defense either. How can I be happy with you knowing how many innocent people you've ruined?"

"I don't know what kind of 'innocent' people you think I associate with. And who's fucking innocent these days?"

"Are you confirming-?"

"I didn't say that, Y/N, nice try."

"Oh." you sighed, staring out the car window and watching the city whisk by. He joined you in the sigh.

"If you believe what you think about me, you have to admit, I've done a fairly good job keeping you out of it. This is the first conversation we're having about it in three years."

"I'm not dumb."

"Didn't say you were."

Longer period of silence.

"I've always known, I think."

"You're pretty convinced that you know." He turned off the highway, getting closer to the two of your apartment. He shifted gears and you feel him reach for your hand after. You give it to him, figuring the rest of your attempts to resist have been useless. "I'm guessing that you have an assumption that you're going on and using it as an excuse since you're scared of commitment."

"Oh, fuck off." You roll your eyes but keep holding his hands. You didn't like being psychoanalyzed by a prick that barely passed the eighth grade. "Afraid of commitment? What is this, an early 2000s rom com? You kill people for a living!"

"I think," he convicted, barreling past your accusations, "that you're shitting yourself that you have what you've always wanted, and it's not some fucking high powered business man or pussy poet college boy, but a guy from the neighborhood doing what he has to do to get by. I never pretended I worked for the fucking peace corps, Y/N. You knew what this was and you stayed for three goddamn motherfucking years, and I could see it in your eyes every day how much you loved it. I couldn't take you on trips to the Bahamas but I treated you with everything I had. You never went without when you had me. I didn't write you love notes or serenade you, but you always had a home. I think that's what's got you shaking in your boots. The fact that you saw a forever with me and you pussied out."

"I always saw a forever with you." You said defensively. "I looked forward to it."

The cold air outside was starting to fog the windows. He pulled in front of yours and his apartment, putting on the parking break and furrowing his brow.

"Then what's the problem, Y/N?" He ran his hand under your chin and forced you to look at him. You did. Fuck, you could never get over how that face made you feel. There was a time you wanted to wake up to his face forever. To go to sleep to it. To kiss it when you two got home. You held his hand, kissing the knuckles, eyes soft and concentrated.

"I'm addicted to you. I've been overdosing on you for three years now. I just keep wondering if the same face I see in the morning was the last face someone else saw." your expression was somber, and Chucky got the feeling again that you were trying to say 'goodbye'. "I love you, Chucky. And it's the worst part about me."

Oh fuck. There was that sharp pain in his heart again. It felt like he was dying. He almost wished he was. You think you've gotten through to him; that he finally understands what needs to be. He gets out of the car, and walks to you to open the door, helping you out. You follow him to the door. He opens it and guides you in. He pulls you into a hug, nestling your face in his neck, kissing the top of your head and breathing heavily on you. After a moment, he said;

"I know in the movie in your head, this would be the part where I give you a kiss and send you on your way, riding off into the sunset." His grip on you tightened, and you suddenly felt very aware of how little mobility that was leaving you. "But did you honestly think you could get away from me?"

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you try desperately to move in his grasp.

"Y/N, this thing we have, this cosa nostra, it's until death do we part. As long as I have breath in my lungs, you'll be mine. You wanna get away, you're the one who's gonna have to get real comfortable with the idea of being a killer." He placed a hand on either hip and pulled you back from him to bring you into a rough kiss. You tried to pull away but you made no dent to his sizeable strength. "I love you, Y/N. You love me. Try to get away from me again and-"

"What?" You snap. "you'll kill me too?"

"Not you, no."

"Oh." The sickening realization hits you. The next time you try to leave him and someone else would feel his wrath. Staying with him now was an act of charity to the world around you. You had opened up to him about your ethical concerns, and he was using your humanity to keep you there, with him. You shut your mouth after you realized what he was implying, not wanting to make the situation worse. He turned you to your guys bedroom, walking you past the threshold like you two had just gotten back from your honeymoon. You went with him without a fuss. You sat on the bed lifelessly as he closed the door behind you.

"You're mine, Y/N. Don't you fucking forget it."

[ssevenliessx7]

People are allowed to their own opinions of course. But I genuinely think that if you dislike Miguel because of how often he screwed himself over you not only don’t understand the significance of his character, you dont understand the significance of Oz at all.

The entire premise of the show is to display the faults of the US penitentiary system. Of which is meant to lock people up and keep them there. It is not to rehabilitate. Leaving people in harsh conditions and trying to force them to better themselves by stripping them of their rights, their sense of self, their humanity has never worked and it never will. You genuinely see most of these characters do things to try and better themselves they all go through some sort of path of redemption which always fails, it always fails. Why does it fail? Because you can lead a horse to water but you will never be able to make it drink.

The entire point of the US prison system is to instill fear in every individual in there. There is no trust and even if there is it is not strong. The only people in all of Oz that most of the prisoners considered trust worthy were Mukada and Peter Marie, why? Because they have an oath of confidentiality to uphold, and they are almost never working against any of the prisoners at least not both of them at the same time and not for good reason. Shit even Gloria is far more trusted than any guard in that whole prison. However they can only do so much, the real failure comes in when we talk about McManus. He is the biggest fucking failure (pardon my french) that I have ever seen. I could write several novels about why I hate McManus and I always will. I hate Glynn aswell but never EVER as much as I hate McAnus.

But he is a prime example of just how the system can instill this false hope/sense of rehabilitation into the incarcerated. I use Omar and Miguel alot as examples because I genuinely want to rip my head off when I think about their stories but anyways. For example they both had their issues but time and time again you see them both try their absolute hardest to do better at managing their own violent tendencies (arguably they worked harder at that than any person in there). Both of which had done really good at it but nobody was able to recognize it when it mattered most.

The parole board did not give a single shit about all of Miguels efforts to make amends with Rivera. But Beecher was no different , he too was an extremely violent person who, too, tried to make amends with all the people he’d wronged. But the difference between him and Miguel was, he was able to get mounds of help on the outside. He had his family still, and he had the money. Same thing with Omar, we see him actively try to better himself, not just to please McManus but because the violence is actively messing with him. Each time he accidentally harms someone beyond his control we see remorse, but McManus doesn’t see this because no matter what Omar does he cannot understand that violence is one of the only ways to survive inside of EmCity aside from being a prag but nobody wants that really. McManus and Glynn want to crack down on the violence issue but they can’t understand that the way to do it is not to take away personal effects, not a cage in the middle of the cell block, not solitary confinement. Its proper rehabilitation.

Anyways Miguel and Julie 😊

[ozimagines]

THIS!!!!

[ozrewritesitself]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Oz (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller, Tobias Beecher/Original Male Character(s), Chris Keller (Oz)/Original Male Character(s) Characters: Chris Keller (Oz), Tobias Beecher Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Real World, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Characters React to Fandom, Fluff and Angst, Character Analysis, OCs - Freeform, Fish out of Water, Reacting to Oz, Season 2 Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel Summary:

Chris Keller has just arrived in Oz and Tobias Beecher escorts him to their pod. However, once they enter, they are transported nearly 30 years into the future, and to a world that knows exactly who they are.

[ozimagines]

Still reading this but wanted to boost it on my page! It’s such a fun concept I’m having a ball reading it. I’m getting more and more into Keller x Beecher❤️

[ozimagines]

@mloo

Chucky Pancamo x Short!Reader in…

One of the Greats

Chucky had many, many front businesses. His favorite was Gino’s Pizza. Not because it made the most money or anything. He just really fucking liked Pizza.

His nephew ran Gino’s, along with a few faggy clubs, but Chucky never frequented those. He did hit the pizzeria every week for a slice or two. That’s why he was so shocked to see a new face.

You chewed on the end of your pen as you filled in the crossword in your paper, looking up only when you thought he was a new customer. He towered over you, your slight build ending at 5’2”.

“Hey, welcome to Gino’s!”

“Thanks, kid, but I’ve been here before. I’m Angelo’s uncle.” He reached his hand out to shake yours.

“Then I suppose you already know what you want.”

“Yeah, extra large sausage to go.” He popped a wink your way. “You can also take an extra large sausage to go if ya like.”

You snicker a little at the joke, politely writing up his ticket. You talk to him while getting his pizza ready.

“You’re not in the pizza business too, are you?” You ask, handing him his slice. His big hand engulfed yours. He shook his head.

“Waste management.” Was a he said, and you gave an appropriately suspicious ‘oh’. You’d learned that when the Italians that frequented this place said ‘waste management’, it was best not to ask questions. He stared at you an extra moment when you gave him his slice, trying to make you blush with the intensity of his eyes. It worked.

“You gonna be working here regular, sweetheart?”

“Unless you know something I don’t.”

“Good.” He said with a wink and left.

You get used to seeing Chucky on a regular basis, always with flirty interactions. You couldn’t tell if he really had a thing for you or if he was just the flirty type. You convinced yourself it was more the second than the first.

It was a busy day at the pizza shop, customers flying in left and right. Chucky made his way in, seeing you and winking. You smile at him weakly and go to filling orders. One grizzly man up front has seen to had enough with waiting.

“Jesus Christ, bitch, I’m not waiting for you to invent the pizza, just make one!” He called, standing at your counter with his receipt clutched in hand. Chucky pushed his way up front and put a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder.

“Hey, asshole, you don’t talk to him/her/them that way. It’s fuckin’ busy in here. You got a fuckin’ problem with how things are run, you can take ‘em up with me, alright?”

The man pipes down, and Chucky nods at you, and you smile appreciatively back at him.

He waits until the rush dies down, then tells his nephew that you need a break. So he guides you outside and sits you down at one of the tables.

“Thanks for watching out for me, Mr. Pancamo.”

“Ehh, enough with that Mr. Pancamo shit. We’re friendly. I’m Chucky to you.”

“Chucky?” You repeated back with incredulity.

“Charles if you’re my mom.” He grins and leans back in his seat. You smile too and start to relax.

“Well, Chucky then, thank you for your help tonight. You’re a good guy.”

He snorted a laugh.

“First time I’ve ever heard that.” He remarked, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and offering you one.

“I don’t know how. You’re nice to me every time you come in. You don’t really have to be with your nephew running everything. I don’t know really how to thank you.” You tuck some hair behind your ear. He grins. You’re cute when you act all small.

“I got an idea. Let me take you out.”

“Like, on a date?” You feel a slight blush creep onto your cheeks.

“Yeah, like on a date.” He repeats, staring at you with an intensity.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer.” You said with a self aware shrug. “I’m not super wealthy or anything I mean. I work as many shifts here as he’ll allow just to make ends meet. I can’t show up in fancy clothes or jewelry and I can’t afford super nice restaurants.”

“Then let me treat ya a little bit. Cute thing like you deserves to be spoiled.” He replied matter of factly, blowing his smoke into the air. You consider for a second, then nod your head.

“I think that would be nice, Chucky.”

You iron out the details together, and he goes to get out the next night. He drives up outside your place in a Maserati, causing you to second guess whether or not you looked nice enough to go with him. You open the door, and his facial expressions give you all the confidence to go on with the evening.

“Damn, Y/N, you look beautiful. Really, I mean it. I’m gonna have to stop jagoffs around here from ogling you all night.” He grinned in that crooked, self assured way of his. He takes your small hand in his big one, guiding you to his car and opening the door for you, closing it and going around to the other side. You pop the door open for him from your side and he’s beaming when he gets in the car.

“You passed.”

“Passed what?”

“The door test.” He started to drive off, the engine roaring to life and causing you to hold onto the passenger’s arm. You still look confused, so he explains. “It’s from a Palmiteri movie. If you let your date in the car, and they don’t pop your door for you, they’re a selfish cunt, and you leave ‘em.”

“So I passed?” You asked, and he placed a staggeringly large hand on your upper thigh, squeezing.

“With flying colors, cara/o.”

He drives you to the fanciest spot in Little Italy. The inside looked like a scene straight out of a movie. A mafia movie, but a movie nonetheless. It’s packed so you expect to wait a little bit, but after Chucky talks to the host, you’re sat immediately. Chucky’s old fashioned, so he lets you sit in the booth first, holding your bag while you moved inward.

“It’s so nice in here." You say, not really knowing what else to say. It was nice. Nicer than you were use to and not what you were expecting him to bring you to. "Trying to impress me?"

"Depends, am I succeeding?" he asks, half jokingly, half serious. You giggle and inform him whatever he's trying here is working. He was really a clumsy kind of lover, bull-in-a-china-shop type vibes, but there was something fun about him. Something reckless. You knew what line of work he was most likely in, and that should have turned you the other way, but while he was many things, there was no lying in the way he looked at you. He looked at you like you were something special, and maybe you were a little conceited but it was nice to be looked at that way. Despite that he was quite attractive, having that Sylvester Stallone charm. You blushed at the image of him in just boxing trunks shouting your name over a stadium like Rocky. He asks what you were thinking about and all you can work out is;

"Do you do any boxing?"

"Yeah, why?"

"...no reason." you felt that blush go stronger, and Chucky knew what you were most likely thinking. He touched your foot under the table.

"I got a sparring session tomorrow if you wanna come watch."

"I mean... its not like... I wouldn't hate... I..." you stumble over your words at the idea of that fantasy coming true. He smirks and chuckles, placing a hand on yours from across the table, his massive palm engulfing your entire hand.

"I think you would like to see that."

You open and shut your mouth several times like a fish out of water.

"Why... why would you say that?" You tug at your collar a little with your free hand, trying to pull your eyes from his, but his brown eyes got evermore intense as he reduces you to an anxious, horny mess. Say what you will about the man, he knew how to make someone blush.

"Because I think seeing me half naked and sweaty is the whole reason you went out with me tonight."

Your eyes bug out of your head as he scooted next to you in the booth, running a hand up your thigh. You shiver and Chucky knows he's got you, still sitting taller than you were, leaning over you. You could feel your heart beating in your ears. You couldn't believe you were really being seduced by an old-fashioned gangster. Like Cagney or some shit. He put his absolutely jacked arm around you, you being able to feel his muscles relax and contact under his pinstripe suit.

The waiter came over and after a pointed glare from Chucky, he apologized for interrupting.

"Mind if I order for us, kid?"

"I don't really know what's good, so sure."

He orders in half Italian, half English.

"For aperitivo, two Aperol spritzes and a melon and prosciutto antipasto, dopo for primo piatto, cappellini alla puttanesca, secondo piatto gaddu al limoni, and for contorni capunata e cucuzz'. Oh, and a bottle of white pantelleria moscato for the table. Keep the glasses full and the tip'll be worth it." He popped a wink at you and motioned the man away. You were in awe. Both by his sexy Italian american accent and the fact that he seemed to order enough food for a small town. You ask him what all of that meant.

"Lottsa southern Italian food. Best kind of Italian food. The nothern shit is all French, Austrian, and Swiss. Southern Italian is the best. Salty like the sea, sour like the lemon. Speaking of, I'll get you some limoncello and cannoli for dessert."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk, Mr. Pancamo." You tease, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes that made him absolutely weak for you. He grinned.

"I'd say you'd get to see me drunk too but it'd take a lot to get me plastered. I got that Italian stomach; I can drink wine like it's water."

"Awe, no fair." You laugh, reaching over and putting your hand in his again. "It's not even if I'm the only one getting tipsy."

He snorted and lowered his head, pressing his lips to your ear, whispering;

"Then how 'bout I make it up to you later, princess?"

Fuck if that didn't get your engine going. You felt an involuntary quiver rip through your body. He chuckled lowly and continued whispering to you.

"You're gonna be so easy to make scream later."

You squeaked in your seat, eyes going wide as you felt a tightness build in your lower belly. You were no match for the ol' Sicilian charm, so it would seem. He was a clumsy, big, dumb fucker but he had your number down pat. You knew he had the confidence of a man who knew what he was doing in the bedroom.

When the waiter got back with your drinks and appetizer, he was necking you in the seat. He apologized again for interrupting, but you barely heard him over the sound of your ears ringing.

You two eat an exorbitant amount of food and he was right, it was all fucking delicious. You are more than a little tipsy at the end though, between the mixed drink you started with, the four glasses of wine you had with the meal, and the shot of limoncello paired with a shot of grappa -he insisted you try it-, you were stumbling out of there. It didn't affect him, or if it did, he didn't let it show.

You almost twisted an ankle on the curb outside, so you asked to sit down for a minute, the world spinning.

"I got a better idea." he got you standing up, you being still a fraction of his size, and put a hand under your rear and the other on your back and lifted you up bridal style. He carried you through the neighborhood, heading back to the car. People looked but everyone had the horse sense not to say anything. You loll your head from side to side, staring up at the sky, seeing the yellow glowing lights all around.

"You're strong." you drone, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. "Strong like bull..."

"Man, you're absolutely zonked." he snorted. "Note to self; Y/N can't hold his/her/their liquor."

"In fairness, you gave me enough liquor to tranq a rhino."

"You blamin' me?" He teased, making a spin with you in his arms so you curl into him for support. It works. "Careful pointin' fingers there, Y/N, there might be consequences."

"Yeah, don't wanna fuck with a guy who works in 'waste management'." You giggle. He quickly ducks into an ally with you and stands you up against the wall, hand under your chin to force you to look at him.

"The fuck did you just say?" He asked sternly, and you bob your head back and forth, unable to keep it straight. You're a little confused, and more than a little drunk still so his arms keep you standing.

"C'mon, Chucky, you're an Italian man who works in 'waste management' but can afford to go to classy places like that. Plus, I never see you at work or anything."

"I don't know what you think you know but-"

"Are you in the mafia?" You ask, stupidly, head still swimming. He freezes, staring at you and trying to assess the breach in information. "Because you're like Pacino or Pesci sometimes-"

He placed his hand over your mouth, clamping any sound out of your throat.

"Y/N." He starts, his voice as serious as he's capable of making it. "You gotta shut up, now. Look, I like you. I like you a lot. You're cute and you got balls. I ain't gonna do anything now. I know you, and I know you don't mean no harm, but one of my paisans hears you talking like this, and then I gotta do something, got me?"

You nod timidly, his hand still on your mouth. He strokes the side of your face with his other hand.

"You're a good kid, and on God I'll do right by you, but you gotta fucking shut up about this, especially in public. Understand?"

You nod again, and he takes his hand off your mouth slowly. You wait a second before saying anything, working out in a really small voice;

"Sorry, Chucky, I'm just drunk. I didn't mean anything by it." You're lying. Lying your alcohol soaked ass off, and he knows it too, but you caught he drift and let the subject go. You both knew what was what, and you believed him when he said he'd do right by you.

There's a silence that passes between the two of you, you still swaying in the breeze of the night, your head swimming in the alcohol he'd given to you. He cups your cheek in his hand, bringing your lips up to his, and enticing you into a kiss.

He presses his full body weight against you, his chest holding you to the wall. You’re about a foot shorter than he is, so his neck hurts craning down like that. He gets another idea and warns you to brace yourself. He picks you up and wraps your legs on either side of him, forcing his tongue in your mouth and pressing his hot erection to your crotch. You go from shaking in fear to shivering in enjoyment. He liked you, that much was clear. You tangle your hands in thick strands of dark and healthy hair, giving a slight tug and hearing him moan into the kiss. He growls under his breath, grabbing the back of your head and forcing it back so he could kiss your neck, right down the front of your throat. Your eyes roll back in your head as he starts to send a hand down to your pants/skirt, playing around the waistband and sending testing little fingers underneath.

“You’re one of the greats.” He husks into your skin. You ask what he means. “It’s also from that Palmiteri movie. He said you get about three great ones in your lifetime. I can tell, you’re one of the greats.”

“Fuck, Chucky… can we…?”

“Can we what?”

“Jesus fuck, fucking fuck me you fuck!” You slur out. He chokes on a laugh and nods his head. Tearing down your pants/skirt and underwear, he starts teasing you with his large fingers, seeming to play you like he knew you. For having the intelligence of a late blooming 11th grader, he sure knew his way around. You got the feeling he’d been fooling around in the backseat of cars since he was about fifteen or so and so got a habit of inconveniently placed seduction. He could schmooze it up in cars, school bathrooms, and, apparently, alleyways.

He used one hand to hold you up, and the other to undo his suit pants, dropping it enough he could take out his cock. True to your first interaction, it was, indeed, thick like a sausage. The realization made you cackle into his kisses.

He battered into you, a divine roughness sparking through your blissful, inebriated state in fireworks of sensation. As he came inside of you, you could hear his huffing and puffing.

“One of the greats…”

[ozimagines]

Hi, me again, keep doing what you do so well!

i definetley feel like in this third chapter, after litteraly breaking the boundaries of the physical and spiritual worlds JUST FOR miguel, and letting him see and speak to his passed on son and get closure, our Y/N bassicly de-thrones el norte as a whole in terms of loyalty and respect for him, and dude clings on harder to her then gorilla glue sticks to scalps

And i feel like for the relationship (if we go romantic.....or fiery lust, either or with miggy) i really feel like the song "beauty and the beast" by stevie nicks would encapsulate it perfectly, its such a gorgeous song, (plus i feel like it would be such a romantic/passionate thing for her to tell miguel "je'taime ma bette" or "i love you, my beast" in french, im an old world romantic, i know)

And because i feel like yapping, i bless you with another quick theatrical take, its such a stinkin shame nobody ever thought to have kirk play an incubus, or a vampire, or any supernatural seducer in his earlier, late 90s acting prime, that boy oozes and reeks incubus energy, for proof of claim, i present exibit A

Ok you slay with the hot takes every single time he so gives incubus especially in that gif.

Miguel Alvarez x Witch!Reader…

Bringing Up Baphomet (Ch. 3)

Papi?

Miguel froze. His heart felt like it was going to give. He turned his head to you, knowing in his heart you couldn’t be so cruel as to fake this.

He stared back at the mullein candles, the smoke over them taking on an abstract face type form.

“Jaziel?”

I’m sorry I couldn’t stay

Miguel felt tears well into his eyes. You have the kindness to turn your head so he didn’t feel he had to hide it.

“Don’t apologize, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t do right by you when I could.”

You did what you knew

“I know. I just wish I knew better.” He wiped at his eyes. “I’d give anything to have you back.”

I know but you can’t

That hurt. Hurt worse than anything.

“Miguel, the veil is replacing.” You remind softly, as the candles started to burn down to nubs and the flames started to flicker.

“Just know I love you baby. I love you more than life itself. I wish you knew how much I would love you. I wish I knew how much I would love you.”

The candles started to dim, the flames dancing down and darker and darker.

I love you too Papi

The hallway went quiet. Miguel just stared at the candles, wishing that moment could have lasted longer. He knew forever wouldn’t have been long enough though.

You stay a respectful distance away, not sure if you should interact with him. He’s got tears in his eyes, starting to roll down his face.

You stand in an awkward silence for a solid minute or two, before trying to speak.

“Miguel, you probably want to be alone right now-“

He rushes you, and you flinch a little but you realize he’s only shoving himself in your arms, crying against your neck.

“Thank you.”

“Always, Miguel.”

He holds you, and in his head he’s vowing never to let anyone touch you. You gave him a chance to talk to his Jaziel. You press something to his abdomen. He pulls back.

“It’s an anti-nightmare bag. These things tend to take a toll on people. It’s lazulite, mullein, star anise, thyme oil and chamomile.”

“How did… I mean… I guess you would know.” Miguel was starting to get used to you just knowing things. You get serious and touch the side of his face.

“Don’t hurt Rivera, Miguel. Everything will fall to shit if you do. I pulled the Ten of Swords for you last night. It’s bad. Really bad.”

Miguel thought a moment.

“I won’t. Not anymore. But I need to figure out what to do about El Cid. He’s gonna tear me apart.”

It was your turn to think.

“I’ll summon a kitsune to visit him in his sleep. He probably won’t let you back into el Norte but he won’t kill you if the kitsune can show him destruction if he does. I’ll also call upon the trimurti for you.”

He looks at you as though you’re speaking a different language.

You explain the kitsune is a Japanese nine tailed fox responsible for illusions in dreams so convincing people proceed as if they were real.

The trimurti are Hindu gods, the big three as you call them, Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. They focus on balance of the universe.

“Thank you, Y/N. I have… I guess… I wanted to ask-“

“What kind of a presence I am. What I am.” You finish. “Like I said, there’s many names for what I do. Strega, Obeah, Hexe, Hag, Baba Yaga, Sahira, Drabarni, Curandera. In the U.S. of A., we’re called witches. We work in natural elemental magick long since forgotten or stigmatized. We convene with spirits and collect artifacts. Most people are capable of this, it’s just a forgotten language in today’s world.”

“But what are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you… are you malevolent?”

“I’d like to think not.” You reply, clearing your altar. “Do I seem malevolent?”

“No…” he’s looking at you new eyes… admiring eyes. It was like O’Reily and Nathan. You saved his life, and he felt his heart open to you. You could sense this.

“You don’t love me, Miguel. You’re grateful to me. There’s a difference.”

“I could love you.” He said defensively. You touch his arm.

“Then let it be on a day where you can say that with assurance, and not out of gratitude or fear.”

You walk him back to his cell, talking of small things on the way.

“Oh, coño, Miguelito, you making friends with hacks?” Raoul called across the common area. Miguel goes red.

You turn your hand under your waistline, brandishing a piece of hematite in your palm.

El Cid was suddenly taken over by a violent cough.

Miguel looks at you.

“Not malevolent, huh?” He teases.

“Well… not always.”

“Adios, Y/N. Gracias de nuevo.”

“De nada, Miguel.”

“So this witchy thing helps you learn languages too?”

“Used right and it gives you the means to communicate in ways people need to hear, yes.”

“So Italian, Nigerian, Spanish, and every other language? You just understand it all?”

“There was a Buddhist monk called Wondrous Sound who was able to communicate in any way people would hear. Any language or medium.”

“Medium?”

“Some say he could communicate through music.”

“Do you speak through music?”

You shrug.

“When I need to.”

“What music do you like?”

The mundaneness of the question takes you a little off guard. He’d been asking about the metaphysical for so long, that the general question was out of place.

“Lots. All over the board too.”

“Witchy music?”

“Lots of music can be witchy, Miguel.”

“Such as?”

“Karliene, Blood on the Dance Floor, Beethoven, Mika, Caparezza, Cab Calloway, Yemi Alade, Rose Betts, Ashnikko, Stevie Nicks-“

“Stevie Nicks?” He repeats incredulously.

“I often do ritual cleanings to Beauty and the Beast.” You confess.

You stop off at his cell.

“Well, thanks, again.” He goes to leave, stopping, and adding; “I love you. I’ll always love you now.”

You grin small and don’t let him go in for the kiss.

“Je’taime ma bette.” You whisper, and then walk away.

Miguel spends the whole night thinking of you. Thinking of your face. Your spirit. Your mind. His heart ached. You were such a comforting presence. He made a promise to himself that night;

You would always have a home with him.

The next day, he hung out at the library for a little. You were talking to Cyril.

“Thank you for the pretty rock.” Cyril handed you a card he made.

“This is going on my fridge, Cyril.” You kiss his hands. He thanks you and leaves with his brother. Miguel walks over to you.

“You’re good with him.”

“He’s a true Leo, I love powerful horoscopes like that. Just like you.”

He asks what you mean.

“Leos are ruled by the Sun, and his Sun sign is Leo. Sagittarius is ruled by Jupiter, and your Jupiter is in Sagittarius.” You clarify. “You’re November 27th, 1971, right? Brooklyn heights?”

“How… I guess I should stop asking that by now.” He laughs to himself. “What does all that mean?”

“Your power is pretty much unbeatable. You’re the most Sagittarius you could be.”

“Which means?”

“You’re philosophical and fun in a freeing way. Adventurous and courageous. Very physical.” You blush a little; “your Venus is Sagittarius too.”

He asks what that means.

“You’re all those things when it comes to love too.”

“I still love you.” He says with a genuine earnestness.

“I want you to be sure. Not just say that because I helped you.”

“I am sure. No one’s ever cared for me enough to do what you did. I’ve never known anyone like you, Y/N.”

He puts his hand on yours.

“There’s a lot of people like me.” You reason. He shakes his head.

“There’s no one like you.”

You smile.

“You used the nightmare bag, right?”

“Yeah. Before it, I had bad dreams all the time.”

“He told me.”

“…?”

“Donald Groves. He’s your sleep paralysis monster. He said it’s nothing personal.”

“Well… I… what?!”

You laugh and laugh and laugh your head off.

“I met Jefferson Keane too.”

“You can just talk to anyone dead?”

“Depends on what form they take, but sure, essentially.”

Interesting. Miguel would make a note of that. He goes to leave, squeezing your hand before he does.

You know he loves you, but you want to make sure it’s for the right reasons. You’d heard about Ryan and Gloria. You didn’t want him to love you out of obligation.

“Yo, librarian lady/guy!”

You turn around to see the prisoner Robson standing there. He winks at you and saunters up.

You smile politely but turn your head.

You feel his hand under your chin, forcing you to look back at him.

“Little rude to look away from me, precious. But I’ll forgive it.”

“Robson, back off.” The hack calls from the side. Robson holds both his hands in the air.

“Can’t help it if some people don’t have taste.” His voice gets low and he leans in. “You’ll be sucking my cock soon enough.”

The next part was a blur.

You saw something fly in from the side and take Robson down, pounding on him as hard as he could.

It was Miguel, fighting as recklessly and hard as he’d ever fought in his life.

At first it confused you. He knew there was a hack nearby. He knew Robson posed no real physical threat because you were more than equipped to take care of yourself.

But then it hit you. It was the disrespect that got Miguel riled up. The cock sucking comment.

Robson was only off guard for a second. He started to fight back, but Miguel was just too infuriated. He pounded and pounded on Robson, attempting to turn his face into pulp.

“Miguel! Stop!”

The guards started to pull Miguel off of Robson, but he fought them back too.

You’d never seen Miguel in action. He was fast. Viperish. Quick. It was a little frightening.

The hacks peeled them apart, shouting insults at the other, Robson mostly hurling slurs Miguel’s way.

They threw both men in the hole, and you could just stand there, horrified.

Later, you make your way to the hole, tapping lightly on the door.

“Fuck you.” Miguel called out, and you open the door, waving the hack off.

“Oh… sorry, Y/N.”

You wave the hack off again to get him to leave you two alone. He rolls his eyes but obliges.

You turn back to Miguel and blush.

He was completely nude.

He only half covers his cock, standing there to try not to look as bashful as he was. He was a smoke show and he knows it.

“I’m trying to convince them to release you.”

“Good luck.” Miguel said, not much hope in his heart for that outcome. “You couldn’t just wave your wand and make it happen?”

“Well, I made a water jar to help things along, but I only work with energies. I can goose things along but working against the flow can prove difficult to impossible.”

“So… no, then?” He raised a brow at you and you smiled.

“Not right now, no. I do have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why?” You lean against the Hole wall. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“I told you. I love you. He disrespected you, so he got a beating. It’s as simple as that.”

You smile kindly but a little sadly

“You don’t love me, Miguel, you’re grateful to me. I don’t want you to bind your soul to mine just because I did right by you. You deserve good things. You don’t have to love the person giving them to you.”

“I haven’t got shit my whole life. I mean, most of it’s probably my fault, but it’s not like I was born with so many advantages…” he thought a moment, eyes brightening. “Teach me.”

You open your mouth and close it. You know what he’s asking you. He wants to learn magick. You scrunch up your nose.

“I don’t know about all that, Miguel.”

“Why not? Then, if I’m as powerful as you, there wont be a power imbalance and you’ll know I love you.”

“I’m trying to find a nice way to say ‘no’ Miguel.”

“Well why the hell-“

“Because Magick is dangerous when not practiced correctly. I’m not talking about adding cinnamon when you should have used cloves, I’m talking about intentions. You almost blinded a CO the other day because Hernandez bullied you into it. If you act without care in magick, things go to shit. If you act brashly, things go to shit. I don’t want you making a choice out of fear that you can’t take back. You’re too volatile right now, Miguel. You’ve got amazing energy but it’s thrashing around inside of you, and Sekhmet help us all if you call on dangerous forces, your spells will be unstoppable but they’ll take from you tenfold.”

He’s listening patiently, understandingly. You were acting with love as well, protecting him from the powers that be.

“I’ve had a lifetime of practice with this, Miguel, and even I fuck up. I won’t teach it to you.”

“There’s nothing in witchcraft you can teach me that’s safer?” He asked, feeling vulnerable. “Please, I just need a little control in my life.”

You sigh, thinking.

“I can teach you herbs for right now. Most witchcraft is just ancient herbology. But I won’t teach you any of the more complex spell jars or potions. Just some herbs that might bring good favor on you.” You say, sternly. “I wasn’t kidding, Miguel. I know there are ways to learn this without my help but I’m telling you that it’s dangerous. I want you to stay safe.”

“Because you love me too, right?” He asked, a small smile playing across his lips. You blush slightly.

“In a way, Miguel, sure.”

“Kiss me.”

“Miguel there are guards outside.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“No, it’s not. I want you to be sure.”

“I’m sure. Kiss me.”

You giggle a little and touch his hands.

"Give me a moon cycle to think it over. Let me convene with my protectors. Love is also a type of magick Miguel. It’s two energies combining into one, and it’s powerful.”

“I’ll wait. As long as it takes. Shit, I ain’t got nothing but time.” he gave you as genuine and vulnerable a smile as a man who'd been warring with people and himself his whole life was able.

You let The Hole, giving him one last look over your shoulder before the door shut.

You're walking back to Em City, when you feel a terrible and strong energy around you. It's unmeasurable sorrow. You can feel the horrendous fear and regret. You know who it is before you see him. You'd heard about Adebisi in the cafeteria.

"Peter?" you ask around the corner, seeing his small form there, head in his knees, sobbing. You wonder what he's doing alone, though you knew he wasn't exactly beloved amongst the staff. so they put less effort into taking care of him.

Peter flinched and snapped his head up, cowering again when he saw you.

"I'll get back to the ward. Sorry." He wiped his eyes and got up. You touch his arm gently.

"No, you don't have to. I... I just want to know if you're okay."

"Okay?" He repeated, a little shocked and then a little angry. "Okay? Why on earth would I be okay?"

"That's not what I meant, Peter."

"Oh, I know what you meant. You meant since you did fuck all to protect me despite my keeping your secret. You been so busy watching out for your boy toy Miguel to use your godly powers for any sort of good."

You're taken aback, and guilt washes over you. You didn't do anything to protect him. You didn't pay enough mind to him to know that he needed protection. You had lost yourself in Miguel.

"I'm sorry, Peter-"

"Fuckin' save it. At the end of the day, nobody picks me. My Dad picked Dino. The other Italians picked Pancamo. No one in my life has ever picked me to save when it's come down to a choice between me and someone else." Peter bites down on his tongue to stop from crying again, the voice of his father telling him men don't cry echoing in his head.

You feel terrible. All you want to do is reach out and hug him, when he says something else.

"Even the Gods turned their backs on me."

Your blood runs cold.

"What do you mean, Peter?"

"I figured since you were useless as fuck helping me that I would try some of that stregheria shit. I called out, and got a resounding fuck you from the universe."

"How did you call out?" You ask with a little panic. He raises a brow.

"The way my mother in law did. I made an altar, called on my gods of choice, and made spell jar to carry with me. Worked like shit, obviously."

"Who did you call to?"

"The Furiae."

"The Furies..." you whisper in awe. You couldn't believe he'd called out to such vengeful spirits. Their whole purposes was relentless pursuers of justice and avenging the wronged by haunting and violating the wrongdoers.

You try to steady yourself but you were distraught.

"What did you offer them?"

He looks at you, questioningly.

"Peter, what did you give them in return for doing what you wanted."

"Nothing. They're bringers of justice who were going to destroy the men who murdered my father."

"Oh fuck."

"What?"

"Peter, you always, always offer something to your deities of choice. You give or they take tenfold. You're telling me you didn't offer them shit and called them to enact a violent revenge. They're taking what you didn't offer."

He was silent, pale, realizing the error of his ways.

"I... but..."

His eyes started to well up, throat swelling shut.

You surprise him. You snatch him into a tight hug, placing his head in the nape of your neck. He unloads his tears on you, gasping and hiccoughing, not believing how badly he'd fucked up.

"Peter, I'm sorry I hadn't taken you seriously. I didn't believe you'd ever attempt this work yourself. I've studied it for most of my life, working with spirits and Gods and forces of nature, but even I fuck up. You're not perfect, but you're loved. Let me try to help you now."

"How? How can you help me now? I was... I was..." He broke down again. He was violated. Beaten. Raped. Everyone he'd ever know turned their back on him. He lived in the psych ward. Everything he knew to be one way turned into another.

"Let me try to figure this out, Peter. Please. Go back to the ward tonight. Sleep. Don't do anything. Let me go home and put something together. I was focused on Miguel. He was in trouble too. There are so many of you here in trouble. So many of you hurting. I want to save you all, but I'm not that strong. I chose Miguel, and you're right I forgot about you, but I promise I won't again. Peter, just hold on. Don't try to fix anything. Stay out of trouble. Keep your head down. I'll figure this out. I have to figure this out."

He agrees, not really expecting you to do anything to help him. What could you possibly do? What could you do to undo what he'd gone through?

You wonder this the whole way home.

You're not sure what to do, but you have to do something. A spell jar or charm wouldn't do the trick. Neither would a jinx on his enemies like you'd done with Hernandez. No, this was venturing into different territory. Something you didn't often do.

See, you knew you wanted to cause some benevolence in his otherwise shitty life, but you had to get rid of the energy he'd brought on himself, as well as defend him in the future.

You had to do a blessing, a banishing, and a binding. Three types of complex magick.

But you couldn't shake this feeling of culpability in his misfortune. You knew what he wanted to do, and you weren't there to protect him from himself.

You get home and immediately get to work, going in front of your altar decorated for the current Sabbat, Mabon. You go through your desk that it was situated on, bringing out all of your oils and syrups you had made. A blessing syrup; mugwort, cherry juice, garlic, and cane sugar. You use your black salt to make a pentacle on the ground and start using your dragon's blood incense and sage smudge to cleanse the area. You had to be sure you were doing this right.

You find your Jade offering bowl, setting it in the middle of the pentacle and dripping some of that bloody red syrup in the center. spherical moonstone, raw hematite, tower obsidian, clustered smoky quartz, and pyramid bloodstone at each of the five points.

You search through your God statues/markers, reaching for your dog-marker for Gula the Healer, a Mesopotamian goddess. You also go for the moon bearing woman Mawu, the afro-caribbean goddess of forgiveness. Finally, for Guanyin's statue,. the Chinese bodhisattva of mercy, recalling the legend of how he could cry for the world.

Peter could use a spirit that would cry for him.

You set them up in position on the altar, replacing your statues of Xochiquetzal and Chang'e that you'd already had up.

You grab a thick, white candle and your ulu and start to carve sigils into it for protection, forgiveness, mercy, purification, and prosperity.

Sitting at the topmost point of the pentacle, you place the white candle before you and start to pray, taking the ulu and slicing the palms of your hand so the deep red blood ran down your arms, tripping it onto the pure white candle, pledging your allegiance to those powers that be if only they would bless Peter, banish those hateful spirits that seems to follow him, and bind him in their loving protection for the foreseeable future. Your head's down, praying as hard and as earnestly as you could, tears forming in your eyes with the strength of your desires to help him, when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up and see an unfamiliar face; it's world weary and tough, yet vulnerable and thoughtful. There's a taller man standing next to him with kinder eyes and an expression trying to appear as tough as the other. He holds out his hand and stands you up, the world going wispy with smoke around you as the pentacle lit white.

"Y/N?"

"Yes. Are you benevolent spirits?"

"We're spirits who cares very much about Peter Schibetta. There's a lot of names for us but in Petey and our corner of the world, we're called Lares Familiare."

"You're Peter's spirit guardians?"

"Are now that you called."

"We saw what happened to Petey." The taller spirit informed. "He's always had it rough. His Pops always expected so much of him and didn't budge an inch when everyone could see the kid didn't have the aptitude for this."

"Yeah, he was always a little soft. He was a mama's boy."

"I'm sorry." You shake your head and bow it in reverence for what you were about to ask. "But who were you two to Peter? In life, I mean."

"I'm Dino. Dino Ortolani. This is Joey D'Angelo. We were both killed in Oz."

"Well," Joey went to explain. "I got beaten, went into a coma, was pronounced brain dead, and had the plug pulled."

"Yeah, that's such an important nuance." Dino said with an eye roll.

"You two were assigned to Peter now." You start to vocalize. "Wil Peter be able to see you all, or will you communicate through me?"

"Through you, in a way, but when you give him the hag stone and hold the Ace of Cups in your left hand and Strength in your right, we'll be able to talk to him directly. If you dont do those things, only you will be able to see and hear us. We'll go to Oz and watch out for Petey from beyond. We'll have his back with all those fuckers-"

A blinding white light came from behind Dino and whispered something to him. He sighed.

"Fine, fine, we won't go crazy or anything. Sorry." He apologized to the force that sent him. You smile. This would be tremendous help, especially once Petey knew he had some family who wouldn't abandon him. That would protect him the way the Italians should have been doing.

You bow your head and thank them profusely.

"And what can I possibly offer as payment? I'll give you whatever I have to give."

"The powers know you have helped Miguel Alvarez, and now Petey, but they want you to undertake saving one more soul."

"Anyone."

"Miguel's former right hand man turned traitor; Carmen 'Chico' Guerra."

"He betrayed Miguel, my helping him would be another betrayal." You balk, not believing that the spirits could care about someone like him. The blinding white light appeared again and whispered something to Joey.

"He's under the same thumb that rejected Miguel. He's been so absorbed by gang activity his whole life that he's as much a prisoner to the system as Miguel was. Save him, get Miguel to forgive him, and your debt will be cleansed."

"I... of course. Anything. Thy will be done."

The light disappeared but the two spirits stayed, now becoming spiritually attached to you. You sigh.

You really had your work cut out for you.

[ozimagines]

Hey, so awesome to find someone who does Oz stories! Do you do girl reader fics? If so could you make one with Chris? I know it’s a bit outlandish and unrealistic but I’m picturing like a woman (maybe a Russian spy or smth idk someone who the government know American people wouldn’t care about) who was sentenced for a crime for a long time and offered to do an experiment in which their sentence would be reduced (like the age pill testing) where they get sent to Oz. The woman takes it and is like oh shit when she gets there because it’s men prison and she’s a very beautiful woman. But she gets roomed with Chris. I wanna see them smash. Call me toxic but all of Chris’ psychotic tendencies just charm me so much. If we could see his possessive side like the way he gets with Beecher when he was fucking other men and rough smut smut smut!

Literally why do you all come up with the best ideas? Because this HITS! I absolutely do girl inserts, I just do them less often due to the nature of the show. But you laid out a pretty cool scenario I’d like to give a try! Hey, nothing’s too outlandish for Oz. Think of the aging pill storyline, the basketball storyline, and like every interaction where prisoners were allowed to be alone lol so no I don’t think it’s too far out there to have a woman in the prison. Plus I respect the kink. There are things that are hot on paper that would be alarming in real life. But if there was ever a harmless place to indulge them, it’s Tumblr. So this will be very VERY toxic and psycho killer sexy. Oz is more like a thought experiment than a realistic television show. This will be a long post.

SUPER SEXUAL; READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Chris Keller x Fem!Reader in…

I Know What You Need Because You’re Mine (1/?)

Your breath shook. You tried to look tougher than you were. You knew you’d done morally ambiguous things your whole life, but really and truly, you were just trying to get by. Just trying to take care of yourself and your family. You had one moment of blind rage. One moment of pure anguish that exploded out of you, and because of that a man was dead. By all accounts, a shitty man, but a rich and powerful man nonetheless.

The death penalty was on the table. They called you a terrorist. Really, it wasn’t political on your end, but when someone powerful bites the dust it’s always political you figured. You were given an offer; death row, or an experimental study in which one man is put in a women’s prison, and one woman is put in a man’s prison, and the effects are observed. Seemed terrifying to you, but what was your option? Death? Possibly reprieve by appeal to life? But if you yielded the necessary results for this study, you could go free in a matter of years. That is, if you weren’t murdered. Still, a chance is a chance.

You sat in the office of Tim McManus, with Sister Peter Marie and Ray Mukada on either side, Murphy hidden in the back. They were trying to find a cell mate for you. Someone who wouldn’t try to ‘prag’ you, although you weren’t quite sure what that meant.

“Kareem Said?” Suggested Sister Pete.

“That puts her in danger from the other Muslims. Remember… well… literally every non Muslim Kareem got close to?” McManus reasoned back.

“Tobias Beecher?” Mukada asked, before justifying. “He was abused. It’s not likely he’ll become the abuser.”

“No.” McManus said dismissively. “The aryan’s will be all over her. He doesn’t have the firepower to keep her safe.”

“So we need someone who won’t try something, but also has the clout to stop other people from pulling shit?” Murphy asked the air. After no one said anything he sighed and shook his head. “I have an idea but you’re not going to like it, Sister.”

“Who?” Sister Pete asked tersely, already having an idea who he meant.

“Keller. Chris Keller. He’s been pragged before so it’s unlikely he’ll reduce himself to Schillinger’s level, but he’s also dieseled enough to put up a fight for her. He’s not a perfect answer, no, but let’s be honest, who else is there?”

The room was silent, before Sister Pete offered weakly;

“Fiona?”

“Yeah, right.” McManus scoffed. “Then I gotta do paperwork for two prisoner’s deaths.”

“Tim.” Sister Pete scolded like a mother whose patience was wearing thin. He apologized but insisted that Keller was the only option.

You were terrified to meet this ‘Keller’. Dead terrified. What if he didn’t take to you? What if he, against all expectations, decided to abuse you? You didn’t consider yourself proud, but you knew you had a certain charm about you, and these med had been away from women for so long. They called Keller to the office, and when he walked in, your breath hitched.

He was stunning. Incredibly masculine and beautiful. Something they made statues about. His eyes quickly took you in, devouring and deflowering you in their intensity. His mouth instantly curled into a smile, but not a genial one. It was conniving, purposeful, and almost mocking. He winked at you and your face blushed red.

“All this for me? Christmas came early this year?”

“Easy, Keller.” Murphy chastised. They explained the experiment to him, and his smile only grew larger.

“She’s rooming with me?” He asked, eyes raking over you ravenously, licking his lips at the thought. Sister Pete put a hand on your thigh.

“Chris, we’re leveling a certain amount of trust here with you. Y/N is as vulnerable now as you were in Lardner, when Schillinger took advantage.”

Something shifted in Chris’ eyes. It wasn’t much, his smile didn’t disappear, but something rippled, like a stone being thrown on a glassy clear lake. You all knew she’d struck a nerve.

“Y/N?” He repeated your name at you. You give a half wave in acknowledgment. “Nice name. I had a neighbor named ‘Y/N’ as a kid.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Whacked it to her regular.” He bared his teeth at you, grinning. He turned to the administration. “Y/N’s safe with me. I got her. Believe me.”

“You’d better.” McManus threatened, but it fell on deaf ears. See, Chris was already enamored with you. He wouldn’t force himself on you, that’s for certain, but after a little while, you’d be begging for him. McManus had just handed him his new toy, and Chris Keller knew how to take good care of his things. He stood up, and held out his hand for you, helping you to your feet. He felt giddy when he felt your little hand shake in his. Chris made devastating eye contact with you, melting you in the intensity of his gaze.

“This way, Y/N.”

You followed him, going to grab your sheets and toiletries, before he snatched them from your hand.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you tote your own shit around?”

“I gotta learn to take care of myself at some point.” You said meekly. He chuckled.

“Not when you got me, kid.”

You walked behind him to your cell. The jeers came as expected, everyone’s eyes drawn to the only pussy not toting a nightstick, a needle, or Bible in a five mile area. Chris’ chest puffed out protectively, putting an arm around your shoulders. The message wasn’t missed by the men. He’d just laid claim to you in front of everyone.

“‘Course Killer Keller gets the only good bitch in prison.” Junior chided, elbowing Wangler in the ribs.

“Only bitch here is you, Junior.” Keller shot back, opening the cell door with the arm that was around you and holding it so you could enter on your own. You waited for the door to close, then sucked a sharp breath inward and felt your eyes start to water. You wouldn’t last a week in this experiment. Keller gave you a minute, before placing a large hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, this ain’t gonna be easy. You got a fucked deal. Why would you choose a hellhole like this?”

“It was this or death.”

“Fuck did you do?” He scoffed. “Burn down the capitol building?”

“I killed the head of Freedom Life Insurance Company.”

His brows raised and he whistled.

“I’m assuming not by accident.”

“No.” You said sadly. “My brother/sister got real sick. Terminal kind of sick. Because of an undisclosed oral surgery he/she had when he/she was five years old, they terminated coverage under the basis that the scar tissue was a contributing factor to his/her heart condition. He/she was going to die, unmedicated, untreated, and penniless. It was cold blooded l, premeditated murder on his part. I saw red. I followed him home and stabbed him to death.”

He was more than a little impressed. You didn’t seem the type. You wiped away a tear.

“I’d say I feel bad but I truly don’t. Think of how many people he made die that way, by denying coverage. How many lives he’d ruined. But he was a rich and powerful man, and what I did was seen as political, so I was labeled a domestic terrorist. It was commuted life in Oz or death.”

“That’s fucked.” He lamented, looking outside and seeing how everyone was leering at you. It seemed like it was death either way. He was almost jealous about how much you seemed to love your sibling to do something like that. He wanted someone to fight for him that way. Chris towered over you, placing a hand on your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. You weren’t a bad guy. Not really anyways. These fucks were the wolves.

“We’ll get you through this.” There was something sincere in his voice.

“Through? I’m in for life.”

“Then it’s until death do us part.” He rebutted, rubbing a thumb across your chin. “I’m in for life too. 88 years, but it’s the same shit, different name. Anyone who has a problem with you, has a problem with me, and I’m no first time killer like you. I got a body count in the double digits, and I’m not afraid of that number going up.”

“Am…” you start to ask, then stop yourself. He raised his brow in question. “What’re you gonna want to protect me?”

“That comes gratis with the free room and board.” He did smirk at the last part. “Now, as for what you’re gonna do for me to thank me is all up to you. It ain’t payment, it’s a tip.”

You blush. It’s not like your brain didn’t go there. He was ungodly handsome.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to give.”

“Pleasure of your company’s good for me.” Keller smiled, turning to help you make your bed. An alarm rang and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Chris chuckled again. “Dinner.”

He held out an elbow, waiting for you to take it.

“M’lady.”

You hesitated.

“You gotta leave the pod at some point. I’d recommend it be with me.”

You figured he was right, and so started to walk behind him to the cafeteria.

The food looked atrocious, but you supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. Every eye was on you and it mostly spoiled your appetite.

“Easier to go to bed on a full stomach.” Keller said nonchalantly, peeling an orange. “Put a little something in ya.”

You shook your head, just staring white faced at your food. He introduced you to the men sitting next to you; Bob Rebadow, Agamemnon Busmalis, Augustus Hill, and Nikolai Stanislavsky.

“We’re the Others.” Bob introduced. “Everyone who doesn’t belong anywhere belongs here, so you’re in good company, so to speak anyway.”

You liked Bob. He seemed kind.

“I wish I could say I was happy to meet you all. Considering the circumstances though, I’d be fibbing.” You start to eat a little, the kindness of the others bringing a little of your personality out.

The guys start to give you advice they ‘wished they had known’ when they got incarcerated.

“My my, aren’t you a pretty young thing.”

Your head turned on a swivel. Chris didn’t react outwardly but only because he knew this was coming. There was a bald man with several other bald men around him. It didn’t take a genius to know this was the Aryan brotherhood.

“And what can I help you with, Schillinger?” He asked, turning around slowly. Schillinger smiled and extended a hand to you, which you go to accept, naively, until Chris pulled your hand back. “That’s enough of that.”

“Oh, Keller, where’s your sense of fun?” He switched his gaze back to you. “You really gonna tell me you’re not gonna share your new toy.”

Keller put an arm around your shoulders, other hand on your knee, massaging gently. You go to pull away, before you feel his grip on you tighten.

“You know me, Vern, baby, I’ve never been too good at sharing my things.” He pulled you into him, his body heat overtaking you. One of the other men took a step forward, and Chris’ grip tightened.

“Now now, don’t be selfish. Sharing is caring, after all.” He flicked his tongue at you.

“Robson, if you were the last man on the planet she wouldn’t let your gnawed off stumpy cock near her perfect pussy.” Chris stated dismissively. Your face burned and Robson took a menacing step forward before Schillinger’s hand stopped him. “Get lost, both of you, you’re spoiling her appetite.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to make it up to her later.” Schillinger snarled. Your heart was racing, the threatening nature of this conversation wracking your nerves. Chris took his arm from around you and stood up.

“You fuck with my property, I’m gonna burn your world down. And I’m not mincing words here, she is my property.” He sat back down, pulling you towards him again, you looking far too terrified to do anything. He growled; “You’re dismissed.”

Vern kept smiling but you could see the instant hardening of his eyes. He motioned for the other Aryans to walk away. Your heart was still beating out of your chest, so you go to get up and leave, but Chris’ hands stopped you, forcing you roughly back to your seat. He leaned into your ear.

“You run now, they know they got to you.” He motioned to your food to tell you to keep eating. “Besides, you don’t go anywhere without me.”

When dinner was over, you two walked back into your pod to be locked in for the night. You walk to the corner, turn your back to him, and try not to cry. You feel his shadow engulf you.

“Why… I don’t… I’m not your-“

“Kiss me.” He commanded, and you felt a shiver down your spine, turning to him with fear in your eyes. You go to slap him but he catches your hand.

“Are you going to rape me now?”

“No. Never.” He said quickly, back still towards the pod door. “But there are certain realities here. If you belong to me, no one’s gonna touch you, otherwise they risk warring with me. There are eyes on us now. People are watching. They want to see if you give yourself to me or if I take you. You reject me now, they got every reason to think I won’t protect you.”

You relax your hand so he lets you lower it. Your eyes were welling up. You couldn’t believe this was your life now.

“Y/N, you gotta grow the fuck up right here, right now. Life in here is a battlefield. Believe me, I’ve been living in it since I was seventeen. I got a far shittier deal than you’re getting now.” His eyes were stony and hard, his words almost hissing, but there was still a level of sincerity to them. “I promise, on my life, that I’ll never hurt you. But as far as these fucks know, you belong to me. When we’re outside this pod, you do what I say, when I say. You treat me like your master. You don’t go anywhere if I’m not there. You gotta take a shit, I know about it before the toilet does, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The words escape your mouth before you knew what you were saying. He smirked, taking his palm and putting it half on your chin, half on your neck.

“They’re watching.” He said, forcing your head back when you went to look. “Don’t look. Just kiss me, and make a show of it. It’s gotta be you initiating.”

He stays still, hand running up your jaw and into your hair, smiling sharkishly at you. You pause, but figure he’s right, leaning up, hand on his chest, pressing your lips flush to his. You replay his words in your head and try to make a show of it, running your hands on the back of his head. He puts his arms around your waist, moving his head in a sensual rhythm, sucking your bottom lip. You couldn’t stop the moan that followed, feeling him smile into the kiss. There was a sharp rap on the door, a CO telling you to break it up.

You pull away, a little embarrassed. He chuckled.

“Don’t worry, him breaking us up just drew more attention. Everyone knows what’s what now.” He turned to get ready for bed, fishing off his wifebeater. Your eyes widen and you’re a little happy he’s not looking at you. He really was a gorgeous specimen of a man.

The alarm went off and the lights went out. You crawl onto the bottom bunk, burying yourself under the covers.

“G’night Y/N.” He called from the top bunk.

“Goodnight, Mr. Keller.”

“Chris, baby.”

“Goodnight, Chris.”

The next morning, you awoke with a start as the morning alarm sounded. It was a crazy way to be woken up. You crawl out of bed and inspect yourself in the mirror, washing your face. You didn’t have any of your makeup or skincare products, but you knew even in your careless state, you were going to turn heads. You felt a pair of eyes on you, turning to see Chris sitting upright on the bed, smiling at you.

“Please, by all means, continue.” He slid off the bunk. “I was married before. Four times. It’s been a minute though since I’ve seen a woman get herself ready in the morning. It’s nice.”

“Old habits.” You say, heading towards the door, pausing for a second to make sure Chris was following you. He caught your wrist.

“Remember, most important rule; you don’t go anywhere without me. I wasn’t kidding about that toilet business. Crapping in privacy is a luxury you don’t have. Second most important rule; you treat me like God almighty. Ask before you do anything, do whatever I tell you to do, that kinda shit. Look happy about it, look sad about it, whatever, but I expect complete and total obedience for the foreseeable future. People need to think you’re mine.” He shrugged. “Which for all intents and purposes, you are.”

“Got it.” You reply, a little nervous for your first full day in prison. He puts an arm around you.

“It’s showtime.”

You walk together to breakfast, sitting down together with the Others. There was a newer face there you didn’t recognize. He introduced himself as Tobias Beecher. There was a little tension between him and Keller that was noticeable, but they kept things pleasant. All in all, the Others was a pleasant group. They largely stayed out of the political drama of Oz. Bob and Busmalis flew under the radar for the most part. Stanislavsky knew how to keep alive. Augustus had the most sense out of everyone. You still felt uneasy, but whenever you started to look over your shoulder too much, Keller would place a hand on your thigh, letting you know he was always watching.

“So what is there to do in Em City?”

They explained jobs and classes to you, and said besides that there was reading and television and Poet.

“And of course, Miss Sally.” Busmalis said, dreamily. You ask who that was and Busmalis’ eyes lit up.

When you get back to Em City, he guides you immediately to the television, asking them to put on the Schoolyard. You saw a balloon breasted blonde jumping up and down and teaching lessons about kindness and the letter D.

Keller pulled over a seat for you. You try to focus on the television, but your eyes were torn away every time you felt eyes on your body. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and you had Keller to thank for that. He stole glances at you from time to time. Lingering stares that revved your engine and somehow still settled your nerves.

Chris starts a conversation with Busmalis, debating the genuineness of his Miss Sally signed baseball cap. You forget the rules and feel nature start to call, getting up and going to your pod to use the restroom. You get halfway there, when you feel an open hand on your backside, squeezing. It was a shorter man, covered in tattoos. One of the bikers. You slap his hand away out of habit, only to have him grab your hand and tug you swiftly out of the view of the hacks. You go to scream but he places a thick fingered hand on your mouth. You were backed up against the wall, feeling his arousal pressing against your leg.

“Man, don’t tell me Killer Keller let you out of his sight already. Either he’s gotten slow, or you’re just not worth the trouble. Either way, more for me.” He pressed the sharp end of a shank against your belly to stop you from squirming. You feel his hands shift on your body and you couldn’t believe something like this was happening this soon.

That was until the biker was tackled to the ground, taking you with him, his hand releasing you so you could gasp loudly. Keller wrestled him to the ground, hardly even breaking a sweat in his technique.

He was barely even registering what he was doing on his face, fighting and winning becoming as natural to him as breathing in and out.

The fight was broken up quickly. The Hacks grabbed indiscriminately at both men, but you lay a shaky hand on Murphy’s arm.

“He was protecting me; please don’t punish him!” You basically beg him not to take your protector away with wide and pleading eyes. Murphy weighed out the options of leaving you completely unprotected, but he, in his heart, was not a cruel man, so he instructed the other COs to let Keller go.

You feel your heart glow after this, knowing you’d be safe. That he, Keller, would keep you safe. You looked at Keller with an admiration filled smile. He didn’t smile back though, baby blue eyes narrowing as he motioned for you to follow him.

“Mr. Keller- shit, sorry- Chris, thank you for everything… that could have been bad.” You chuckle nervously. He didn’t say anything, just leading you back to your pod.

He slammed the door, backing you into a corner.

“Chris…” you squeak, your back hitting the wall. He places a large hand in either side of you, leaning in.

“My two goddamn rules too hard for you? Shit, the second is just an addendum to the first. Should I have written them on your hand like a child?” He sneered, and you felt your blood run cold. He leaned in even closer. “Rule one was listening to everything I say, and rule two was don’t go anywhere alone. How on God’s green fucking earth did you manage to break both exceedingly simple rules in the span of ten minutes?”

“I’m sorry.” You whimper, pitifully, painfully aware of how secluded the two of you were. “I had to go to the bathroom.”

“I think I made my position on that scenario very clear. You come tell me, and I take you. Unless you wanna be raped on your way to the shitter.” He hissed. “This place isn’t summer camp, Y/N. It’s a fucking alligator pit. I gotta a risk my ass for you, all day, every day, I expect -no, demand- that you don’t so incredibly stupid things. That okay? Is that too goddam much to ask?”

“No, sir.” You reply. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Damn skippy, baby.” He growled, placing a hand on the side of your head, eyes softening a little. “How far did he get?”

It took a second for you to realize what he was asking.

“Not far. You came just in time, actually.” You expressed again how grateful you were. He stroked the side of your face with his thumb.

“I know it’s hard to see now, but this is a good thing.”

“How?”

“News will spread through Oz. That as kicking will reinforce you as my girl, and since he didn’t get far, no one will be gossiping about how good a lay you are. It discourages temptation. At least it was a pussy ass biker and not Robson or God forbid, Schillinger. They’d be much harder to stop once they got a taste.” He started to grin again, lowering his face down by you with white sharp teeth showing. “You gonna be a good girl and behave yourself?”

Your whole body shut down, feeling your knees go weak and your heart race furiously inside your chest. Against your better judgment but along with your instincts, you nod your head feverishly. He chuckled loving the mix of terrified and aroused expressions on your face.

“Excellent. Follow Daddy’s rules and he won’t have to punish you. I can be very generous, but I can also be a vindictive fuck when I really put my mind to it.”

“Got it Dadd- I mean sir- I mean…” you struggled for the right words, not entirely sure there were any. His dimples popped as he grinned ear to ear.

The rest of the day goes semi easily. People still stare from time to time, but nobody makes a move, the message from earlier having been sent effectively.

You make friends with The Others. Bob is especially cordial to you, and Augustus appreciates your mind, ever the gentleman. Nikolai was the epitome of class in a place like this. Busmalis put his foot in his mouth while talking to you a lot, but he seemed harmless. Only Other you hadn’t met yet was a Tobias Beecher, who spent a lot of time hanging out around the Muslims. You ask Bob why he didn’t hang out with The Others, and you watch all of them see Keller flinch. It shocked you, that someone could get to the all great Keller that way, but you let it go, deciding that you’d already pissed Keller off enough for one day.

Count came before you knew it, and you trailed behind Keller like a lost puppy, the most at ease you’d been since going to Oz.

“Chris?” You asked, sitting on the bottom bunk, swirling your hair on one finger.

“Yeah, muffin?” He was doing pushups on the floor, half for your benefit. You watch his back muscles flex as he did so. You considered not asking what you wanted to, but knew he had somewhat of a soft spot for you, and figured you were as safe as one could be in Oz.

“I don’t quite understand about Beecher.”

He stopped his pushups, hovering mid air before leaning on his knees and looking up at you.

“What’s to understand?”

“He’s an Other, but he doesn’t hang out with the Others. He’s with the Muslims, Kareem Said and them. I don’t know. It’s not odd to you?”

“Beecher’s a big boy, he can decide who he wants to hang with or not.” He replied, face impassive. You try to push the subject.

“Why do the Muslims accept him?”

“They don’t, Kareem Said does. Big difference.”

“But why-?”

“Y/N” Keller instructed, and you shut your mouth. “The politics of Oz will become clear to you soon enough. All you gotta know is that you’re on the menu and I won’t let anyone fuck with you. Keep your mind on those two facts.”

“Menu.” You repeat, a sinking feeling in your stomach when he said that.

“Yeah. Menu. You’re Oz’s new dinner special.” He stood up, walking toward the mirror. “You’re temptation itself. Everyone Prags everyone in here just trying to recreate what it is you got. I ain’t been with a woman in years. Some for half or full decades. And here you come along, wiggling your cute ass for everyone to see. Whoever offered you this ‘deal’ must want you to suffer, because I can see it on every fucker’s face in here when they see you. How delicious a fuck you must be. Gotta admit. I’ve wondered myself.”

“Why don’t you rape me?” You ask, hating the question as soon as it came out of your mouth. He smirked and continued to towel off, muscles rippling every time he flexed.

“I don’t roll like that, sugar. I like my conquests to throw themselves at me. Ain’t hard. You’ve seen what I got, and I’m like an iceberg; everything you think I got going for me is ten percent of what I have to offer. I’ve had women, men, and some who don’t identify as either all practically kissing my feet, begging me to rail ‘em.” He turned to you, leaning on the sink. “I ain’t ever dealt in anything but satisfied customers. It’s not even the sex for me. It’s the chase. The game.”

“I see.” You say quietly. You hate how aroused you are by him. He sparked a fire in your body. As much as he said you were, he was total temptation to you. “So you don’t take what you want, people give it to you willingly?”

“Bingo, baby.” He gestured for you to stand up, so you do. “Now, we ain’t gotta do much to keep the charade going. Oz discourages fucking among its inmates. But you gotta flirt with me a little. I’ll leave it up to your comfort. When we’re in public or in the Pod, people are watching. So every now and then, do something to show them I’ve won you.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, far be it from me to tell someone how to do their job. You don’t gotta suck my cock or anything but little gestures here and there will sell the story. I get a little possessive over what’s mine, so if people think that I’ve got you fawning all over me, they’ll know not to touch. Geddit?”

“Yes, I think I do.” You shift from foot to foot, trying not to look at those supposed eyes on you.

“Doesn’t have to be now. Just do it when it feels-“

You lean into his chest, nuzzling his neck, and place several soft, warm kisses on his clavicle. He places his hands on the small of your back, holding you close to him so that other people could clearly see you kissing him. You move up to his neck, nipping gently. Chris let out a heavy sigh, pulling your hair back instinctively to reveal your neck, pressing his tongue flat and dragging it across your skin. A deep, throaty moan escaped you, face burning red.

You pull away, all blushes and sighs, and go to get in your bottom bunk. You feel a pinch on your backside. You smile to yourself.

Being in Oz was a roller coaster of emotions. You were terrified, sure, but you found yourself more at ease and, dare you say it, enamored with Chris every moment. He was ravishingly handsome. He had that kind of sexy psycho killer charm.

You turned over on your bunk, feeling the weight of Chris shake the top bunk.

You had a hard time falling asleep in these walls, but the locked door on the pod provided some comfort. You felt your eyelids go heavy, blinking until you couldn’t take the weight of it anymore. You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep for, when more shaking from the top bunk roused you awake. Your eyes blinked open slowly, brow furrowing as you look to see if Chris was up, having been facing the wall. You go to turn around when suddenly you feel full body weight on you.

“Chris?” You go to ask, before you feel a hand clamped on your mouth. You muffle a sound for a second, but then you feel his teeth taking across your neck, causing you to freeze, indulging a shiver here or there. You wait for an explanation, which he seems to see, chuckling darkly into your skin.

“Goddamn, Y/N, you look positively delicious, wriggling for me like that.” He nipped at your jaw, grinning to himself the whole time. “Why, little miss thing, I’d say you even look good enough to eat.”

You squirm, but not out of fear, but the worst kind of deplorable horniness. You were embarrassed by how turned on you are, face glowing red in the dark.

“See, I was going to go to bed today, before I realized I didn’t really punish your disobedience today.” You feel his hand run up your thighs, between your legs. “Daddy made the rules very clear. But, this is partially my fault for not being firm enough with you. I fear I’ve spoiled you. Spoiled you rotten.”

He pressed a kiss you your chest, ripping your shirt off your body like it was nothing. He popped your breast into his mouth, growling as he thoughtfully bit your nipple. You squirmed and squealed with delight in his arms. His big hands felt so foreign to you. He seemed to know all the ways to work your body, like he’d been there before, playing you like a marionette.

“Fuck me, baby girl, you’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” He rolled himself on top of you, grinding his hard prick into your belly. “Show Daddy what a good little slut you can be.”

He too his hand off your mouth, grabbing at the hollow of your hips and spreading your legs for him. You squeak but don’t say anything else, knowing better than to cause a scene. No ‘stop’s ever left your lips. You didn’t want him to stop. You were positively enthralled with what his marble carved body could do to you.

“Y/N, sweet pea, I’m gonna fuck you now, and I want you to moan and squeak and writhe to your heart’s content, but don’t scream, even if I push you over ecstasy’s edge. Get wet for me, ‘cause I’m sliding into home plate now, and I ain’t getting out until we both get off. Okay? Sound alright to you, cupcake?”

You nod your head vigorously. He chuckled to himself before lining his massive cock up with your pussy, plunging in. You go to scream, before his hand cups over your mouth again, killing your shriek in your throat.

“Disobedient again, huh? You just can’t seem to follow the rules.” He started stirring himself inside of you, and you buck your hips instinctively. “Shit, good thing I came when I did. You needed this bad.”

He started thrusting, as softly at first as he was capable while still hitting your cervix. Then, he picked up speed and strength, you face twisting in pleasure. He plummeted into you, and your body starts to fight back, hitting at him and squirming around as he battered your body. He took his hand off your mouth angina, stealing your chest and hips.

“I swear to God, Y/N, if you scream I’ll break you in two.” He threatened, stroking the side of your face with one hand, the other pressing your tummy to feel himself inside of you. “Now, be a good girl and say my name.”

“C-ch-Chris…” you groan, as he stirred his curved dick in your guts. “Oh… God… Chris…”

“That’s right, gorgeous, say the name of the man who fucks you so good.”

“Ohhhh, Chris!” You say with increasing urgency, as you felt your orgasm start to build in your body. You felt like your vag was about to snap. “Chris… please… fuck me…”

“Y/N…” he droned your name, his dick starting to hurt with how hard it was.

“Chris-“

“Y/N!”

“Chris!”

“Y/N, wake up!” You feel your body shake and your eyes fly open, seeing Chris leaning over you in bed. Your face instantly goes red, crossing your legs to cover your arousal.

“I… I was having a bad dream.” You managed to say, eyes darting all over to see that your dream wasn’t real. He raised a brow at you.

“Must have been some bad dream. You’re sweating.” He dragged a finger across your shoulder, the sensation of hot perspiration all over your body.

“Yeah… it was a doozy.” You lie, going to sit up, your stomach turning. He stood up, going to the sink to drench a towel for you, wringing it out.

“What was it about?” He asked, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Just… like… Oz stuff.”

“Oz stuff?”

“Yeah… that biker and all that.” You turn your head down to look at your hands. The silence dragged on a little too long, so you went to look at him again, only now he was grinning predatorily.

“You’re a shit fucking liar.”

Your heart goes cold in your chest, skipping several beats.

“What?”

“Nah, I mean it was a good try. Nightmare. Oz stuff. That biker. You took a shot, and I admire that.” He walked over to you and handed you the towel. Your throat went dry. “All that might have worked but you’re forgetting that you were asleep, I wasn’t.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Y’know I could hear you moaning my name right?”

Fuck, if you were red before your whole face, body, and soul were crimson now, the blood rushing back to your heart and making you feel woozy. That sharkish grin returned.

“I gotta say, I’m pretty flattered. Seemed like I was doing a good job in that dream of yours.” He sat on the edge of the bed, taking the towel from to and dabbing you off. “How’d I do it?”

“How’d you do what?”

“How’d I take you?” He asked, eyes boring into your soul. “Let me guess, we were in a classroom and I was your teacher promising you and A if you ‘worked for it’, right?”

“Chris.” You pleaded.

“Yeah, it sounded a little something like that. Breathier, though.” Teased a still smiling Chris.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” Your eyes are serious, a panic in them.

“C’mon, Y/N, who the fuck would I tell? You may have noticed I’m not the most social guy.” He smirked and ran a hand over your forehead. “Im just intrigued. I happen to think you’d be a tremendous fuck, and based on the state of you when you woke up, you have a similar opinion of me.”

“I’m only human, Chris.”

“Meaning?”

“I mean, you’re you. You have to know you’re an attractive man.”

“I know it all too well, baby. You’re not so bad yourself.” He winked at you, leaning in. “What was it like?”

“What was…?” You think for a second about what he meant. His eyes looked ravenous. Like he would take you right now for real.

“What was it like to fuck me? I want to see how accurate you got it.”

“Chris, please, I just want to go back to sleep, I’m humiliated enough.” You turn over to go to sleep. His hand reached out and turned you back to him.

“Don’t be embarrassed, honey, like you said, you’re only human. I am pretty gorgeous.”

You laugh, the shame leaving your body.

“And you’re so humble too.”

You both share a laugh. He gets up to go back to bed, calling out from the top bunk;

“If there’s a benevolent God in this world, I’ll get to have a sex dream about you now.”

It’s the next morning and you only need to look into Chris’s eyes to see that everything was going to be alright. He wasn’t going to hold the dream you had about him over your head. But you could also see that he saw you differently. That even though it had just been a dream, there was a part of him that felt like he’d already had you. And in a way, he had. He had your mind. You put together that dream about him because he occupied a space in your head now. Chris loved owning people’s minds. That’s part of the reason he didn’t force himself on you. See, for someone his size it was easy to take someone physically. But the real game was getting to fuck with someone’s head. To really own a part of their consciousness. When he looked at you now, he could see in your eyes that you were his. Now and forever.

You’re in the lunch room with him the next day, carrying your tray to the table, trailing behind Keller, when your red barrel juice tumbles off your tray onto the ground. You reach down to pick it up when you see another hand. Looking up, you identify him as Beecher, the Other you’d never officially met.

“Thank you, Beecher.”

“Heard of me, huh?” He smiles.

“Hard to take a shit on a Nazi’s face and fly under the radar.” You joke and he barks out a quick laugh.

“I just figured with your roommate being Keller and all that I didn’t get talked about a lot.”

You agree and ask him why that is. He shrugs.

“He gets a little possessive with his conquests, even after they break up.” He explains and you look at him inquisitively. “He didn’t mention we used to fuck?”

“No, I’m sorry. But he does get quiet whenever you’re brought up.” You turn to find where Keller is sitting, when you lock eyes with him. Those eyes were as terrifying and intense as you’d ever seen them, a burning passion. He was grimacing. If looks could kill you couldn’t tell which one of you would be dead. Possibly both. Beecher noticed too.

“You’d better get back. I’m sorry if I fucked things up for you.” He hurries away, nodding in Keller’s direction. You go to sit down with him. All the Others regard the situation warily but continue on their conversation over which woman in Oz was more fuckable. You were one of the honorable mentions, but no one seemed to linger on it for too long, watching Keller with a kind of caution. You realized that no one wanted to admit to wanting to fuck you, the unspoken threat of Keller’s rage speaking loud enough to everyone.

Keller was silent, stabbing at his chicken gruffly, ignoring you. You elbow him a little and when he looked at you, you smiled at him. He couldn’t lie, it softened him a little. You hadn’t intended to antagonize him by talking to Beecher. He knew that. Still, Beecher knew what he was doing. Now Keller was in the uncomfortable position of threatening an old lover for a new lover. You follow him out of the lunch room, turning to go back to Em City, when he tugged at your arm, having you turn the other way.

“Let’s go to the library.” He phrased it more as a command than a suggestion. You agree and follow him. Before you hit the library, however, he opens a storage closet and pulls you in.

“What’s wrong, Chris?”

“New rule. You don’t ever interact with Beecher. He talks to you, you go deaf and walk the other way.” He turns to you, eyes furious. You were taken aback. He was so friendly this morning that you’d gotten whiplash with this latest interaction.

“Is that because you two used to be together?” You ask, not registering what a loaded question you’d just thrown at him. His eyes went completely cold. He took a menacing step towards you. For the first time since you’d met him, you were legitimately a little afraid.

“That didn’t sound like a ‘yes, sir’ to me.”

“You said-“

“You got no fucking survival instincts, Y/N, that’s part of the reason they put you with me. So if you want to survive, you listen to what I say. Beecher’s trouble. You talk to him, if he doesn’t pull something, the Aryan’s will. This isn’t advice, it’s a fucking order.” He walked up to you and slammed his hand on the shelving unit behind you, making you jump. You worked up a little courage, not liking this new attitude towards you.

“You’re supposed to help me survive, not become my new warden. Or am I just some prag to you?”

“Y’know what, Y/N, for all intents and purposes, you are my prag. Prags also know when to shut up and listen.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” You flounder, a little fire building in your chest. He caught your chin and forced you to look at him.

“I think that’s exactly what you need, Y/N. I think you need some fucking boundaries. Or have I fucking spoiled your bratty ass already?”

You froze, what he was saying hardening to the dream from last night. Your eyes went wide and your heart skipped a beat, a redness bleeding onto your cheeks. Chris smirked unkindly, getting about an inch from your face.

“Maybe that’s what you want too. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve been waiting your whole life to be told what to do. To ‘yes sir’ ‘no sir’ to your little heart’s content, and get rewarded for coming into submission.” He pressed your noses together. Your whole body trembled, unable to look away from his eyes like a bird stuck in a cobra’s gaze. “Is that what you want, Y/N? To submit?”

You open and close your mouth several times, eyes darting around the closet, heart beating out of your chest. Your brain goes fuzzy. He laughs softly to himself.

“Sounds like a resounding yes to me. So, Y/N, get on your fucking knees, now.”

To be continued…

[sludge-wizard]

[ozimagines]

Literally that period where Keller and O’Reily are working together.

[9cbffs]

writing my shower scene fic but they just keep talking business instead of getting weird with it. Get Weird With It Lads I Command You

[9cbffs]

update: they're getting weird, but it's devolved into comedy now, which was not the intention. Fml

[ozimagines]

Damn too real too real😂😂 why don’t the lads ever just get weird with it without making it funny?

[ozimagines]

So I’m dating a man right now and when I tell you motherfucker is modern day Kareem Said. 🤤 Like your man may have a rolly on the wrist but mine knows the quickest way to find a needle is to burn the haystack😅❤️