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moody-alcoholic · 4 months ago

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These Violent Delights

Chapter 9 - Nothing Stays the Same

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 8.2k words. Why can things never stay the same, the omega just wants to be happy.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting), use of weapons, Non-consensual drugging, blood, descriptions of wounds, horrible military inaccuracies, angst, nightmares, memory blackouts, gaslighting.

AN: This story arc is definitely one of the most fun I have ever written. Chapter's might come out a little quicker since I'm having so much fun writing. (No promises check HERE for updates)

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Enjoy <3

You wake before the sun is up. You would have to get used to early mornings again after you spent the last week getting as much rest as possible. The sun is just peeking through the clouds as you finish dressing and tiptoe through the barracks. As soon as you make it outside you take in a deep breath of pine filled air as you cross the green over to the lab. As you expected, Dr. Miller is the only one here this early. His head pops up from the desk as soon as you walk in.

“Good morning.” He smiles as you walk over to him.

“Good morning.” You smile at him sitting down on a stool next to him as he types something on a laptop.

“What are we doing today?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Nothing too serious. Drink this,” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with what looks like water.

“What is it?” you ask. He looks up at you quickly, you can smell his alpha now.

“If I tell you it could change the results. I’ll tell you after you’ve drunk it.” He smiles. You smile at him, swallowing your nerves. You bring it to your lips and drink it down as he watches you. It doesn’t taste of anything. Maybe it’s just water. You think you can taste salt but maybe that’s just your mind trying too hard. You put the empty cup down on the table. He smiles again, turning back to the laptop.

“So John is your alpha now?” he asks. Your mouth suddenly goes dry.

“Yeah,” you say, smacking your lips together.

“What about Professor Hale?”

You’re hit with a wave of dizziness. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You cough, looking at Dr. Miller. He turns looking at you. Your body feels heavy. Adrenaline kicks in and you stand up off the stool.

What’s happening?

He gets up off his stool too as your vision goes blurry. Your body collapses to the ground.

“It’s a mild sedative, you won’t remember any of this,” he says as he bends down in front of you, his words echoing in your ears.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” he sighs. Then everything goes black.

You jump awake. You’re laid in the bed in the exam room. Your head is spinning, and you don’t remember what happened. There’s a pain at the back of your neck. Your hand goes to feel the familiar indent of John’s mark. You’re alone, the pale yellow walls being lit up with shades of red.

What happened?

You came here to see Dr. Miller.

What happened?

You get up making your way to the door. When it opens and you head to the stairs. You can only smell alpha in the air. It has to be Dr. Miller. You grip the banister as you walk down the steps. You can see the top of his head as you reach the bottom and he turns to look at you.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he calls, smiling at you. “I went to take some blood and you passed out.”

You look at him, confused, as you make it to the bottom.

“I’ve never seen you drop so fast. Have you been eating properly?” he asks as he comes over to you. You try to remember the last meal you had.

“Pork something,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck.

“The canteen hasn't had the nicest food lately,” he says smiling. You look up at him. He was taking your blood and you passed out. He's looking at you with a concerned look on his face.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You can lay down for a few more minutes if you want?”

You shake your head. You need to get back to the barracks before anyone notices you’re gone.

“Take it easy,” he calls after you as you leave the lab. Your hand drops from your neck as you see the sun rising over the top of the trees. You take in a deep breath, and the cool morning air fills your lungs. You can smell the pine, the wet ground. Your head feels fuzzy.

What the hell happened?

Dr. Piper wakes you up by shaking your shoulder. She's smiling at you as you blink awake.

“It’s almost noon, thought you might want to eat.”

You nod, swinging your legs out the bed.

“What’s that?” you ask, looking at a pile of something on your desk. Dr. Piper looks around.

“Simon got you some books. He and John managed to pull some strings so you would have something to do while they’re away.”

“While they’re away?” you ask standing up.

“Yes, I’ll let John explain,” she says, leading you out of the room. You make it into the common room. John is sitting at the table but you can’t see anyone else.

“‘Afternoon,” he says, smiling as you sit next to him at the table.

“Tea?” Dr. Piper asks. You shake your head, and John already has a mug in his hands. You both look up at her and she seems to take that as her cue to leave. John puts his hand on your thigh under the table as he waits until the door closes and he’s sure the doctor is gone before talking.

“We have to go away. For a mission. It shouldn’t take us long, a few days at the most,” he says. You look up at him.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says

“You’re a soldier,” you say, swallowing away the lump in your throat.

“Yeah, but it’s better if you don’t know.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” You feel sick again. The thought of John or anyone in your pack getting hurt makes a knot form in your stomach. You want John to say something. You want him to tell you it’s all going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything though, and it feels like the seconds are dragging on.

“We may be soldiers but we’re special forces. Counter-terrorism. We stop the worst of the worst people,” he says. You look up at him waiting for him to continue. You remember what Dr. Miller said that one time: ‘They will kill for you, they have killed for you.’

“You kill the bad guys,” you say, forcing a smile.

“Exactly, you don’t need to worry. We’re experts,” he says.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“A few days. 2 at the most.”

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me where,” you say, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. You want him to know you’re okay with this. It’s just a part of their life you need to accept.

“California. That’s all I can tell you,” he says, and you smile. You get the feeling he wasn’t supposed to tell you even that. Who would you tell though, Dr. Piper? She probably already knows. Dr. Miller? What’s he going to do?

“Bring me a souvenir?” You smile at him, trying to keep the mood light. He smiles.

“Thank you for the books,” you say. He squeezes your thigh.

“It was Simon who suggested it actually, made the boys take a trip to a charity shop. I’m sorry if you’ve read some of them already.

“It’s fine honestly, thank you.” You’re grateful for something to do other than watching TV.

“When we come back would you be interested in helping with some more training?” he asks. You nod. You like being helpful, especially if you can help them. His hand leaves your leg, and he gets up.

“Lunch?” he asks. You nod, following him out.

Ghost walks towards the top of the hill backing up on the house they were due to raid. Soap was by his side. Price and Gaz were on the other side of the building with SWAT.

“Hill’s a pain in the ass,” Soap pants as they make it to the overview point.

“You need to workout more,” Ghost sighs, getting into position laying down and setting up his sniper. Soap lays next to him pulling out some binoculars.

“Nice house, could you imagine something like that LT?”

Ghost sighs looking down at the massive house with the immaculately mowed garden. There’s a pool and gazebo. Why have a pool when you live less than a kilometer from the beach.

“Bravo-2 in position,” Ghost says over the radio, ignoring Soap’s comments.

“A mansion with a pool, a nice big lawn, surrounded by greenery,” Soap says. The light is low in the sky. It’s still early morning. The best time to catch this guy.

“Get in position, Soap,” he says without looking over at him. He hears Soap sigh shuffling down the hill to drop behind the wall surrounding the garden. Ghost’s watching the house for signs of life. His job is to watch their backs to make sure there are no surprises.

“Bravo-1 in position. Any movement?” Price’s voice comes in Ghost’s ear. He looks through his scope checking the windows again.

“Negative,” he responds as he sees Soap jump the wall.

“Remember boys, as soon as the place is clear we’ll send in the locals,” Laswell’s voice states over the comms. They didn’t need to be here for this. Ghost and Price knew that. This could have easily been done by the local constabulary. Or even Shadow Company. Shepherd is doing this on purpose to get them off the base.

It felt wrong leaving the omega alone with the threat of Professor Hale hanging over them. Price had spoken with Dr. Montgomery though. She wasn’t a soldier but she was willing to protect the omega with her life and that’s all they needed. The sound of dogs barking pulls Ghost’s attention to the backdoor.

“Shite, no one said anything about a dog,” Soap says, moving away from the back door. There are lights coming on in the house now.

“Got movement, upstairs,” Ghost relays. Shit, they’ve been caught.

“Watcher, call in the troops we’re going in hot,” Price says as Ghost starts to put his rifle away. “Ghost, Soap, take the back door.”

Ghost’s not even paying attention as he puts the rifle down, sliding down the hill and jumping the wall to meet with Soap. The dogs are barking again as downstairs lights are being turned on.

“Bravo-2, we’ve got movement here.”

“Remember, there are civilians inside with the mark,” Price says.

“The mark is a male, 40, is to be considered armed and dangerous,” Laswell says.

“Copy,” Ghost replies as he stacks up on the door with Soap. Price starts a countdown as Ghost can hear the man inside trying to wrangle the dogs. The countdown stops and on zero Soap kicks the door in.

Everything happens fast: there’s shouting, banging, voices of people from different parts of the house. Soap has a man in the kitchen on his stomach, hands behind his back in zipties. As Ghost makes it through the massive kitchen and dining room to a door, he spies Price and the rest of the officers fanning out. Soap comes up beside him.

“Where do you reckon the dogs are?” he asks as Ghost scans the adjoining room.

“Garage by the sound of it,” he replies. That's good that they’re out of the way for now.

“We’ve got one civilian in the kitchen,” Soap relays over the radio. There's a steady stream of information coming through the radio now. Price and Gaz finish securing the ground floor before meeting with Ghost and Soap in the living room. Police and SWAT were moving around the house securing the civilians. No sign of their main man though.

“LT wanna clear the garage?” Soap shouts. Ghost turns to nod at him. He walks back through the kitchen and SWAT are talking to the man Soap tied up earlier. Ghost gets a good look at him as he passes, following Soap to a door. Definitely not the mark, too young, not tall enough.

Soap stacks up on one side of the door while Ghost takes the other, moving his weapon to fit more comfortably in his hands.

“I hate shooting dogs,” Soap says.

“Don’t. I'll do it then,” Ghost says.

“You’re a cold bastard sometimes you know,” Soap says, tipping his head. Ghost rolls his eyes pressing down on the door handle as he pushes it open. He scans with his weapon and there are 2 cars in the massive garage. He walks in with Soap behind him, there very well could be someone in here.

They still haven't found the mark and there are no signs of the dogs. Ghost and Soap split, with Ghost walking behind the cars and Soap walking in front of them. They walk in sync, slow as they scan each corner.

It’s when they’re standing between the cars that someone springs out. Ghost doesn’t have much time to determine if it’s a threat or not. He sees the weapon in his hands. Soap is shouting at him over the hood of the car. Shots ring out, and the man drops.

“Contact, garage,” Ghost shouts as he hears people rushing in. He looks over at Soap. He can smell the blood in the air, he can smell pain.

“Johnny!” Simon calls for his attention as they walk round to check the body. Ghost watches him looking for where Soap is injured. There’s the body of the man, blood pooling from his head.

“Watcher, target eliminated,” Ghost says as he watches Soap lower his weapon, his hand pressing on his shoulder. Now he can see the blood.

“Good job boys, sending exfil, we’ll leave the clean up to the locals,” Laswell says in his ear.

“Ghost what’s the sitrep?” Price asks.

“Mark down, Soap’s hit,” Ghost says, letting his weapon swing down going over to him.

“I’m good LT, it’s just a scratch.”

“Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that,” Ghost says, half dragging him out of the garage and back into the building. He pushes him down on the first available seat. Soap is still protesting when Gaz comes round the corner.

“What’d ya do Soap?” he asks as Ghost pulls his sleeve up. He’s been shot through the shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks.

“I’m fine LT, don’t need you fussing,” Soap says as he looks up at Ghost. A shoulder shot could take him out the field for weeks. Ghost starts pressing bandages into the wound as Soap winces.

“Holy shit,” Gaz says looking at the back of his shoulder where the exit wound should be. “It was through and through right?” Gaz looks up at Ghost who looks confused, he moves to see what Gaz is looking at. It’s definitely through and through but the bleeding has stopped. The exit wounds indicate the bullet shattered but the smaller wounds are healing up before their very eyes. Ghost takes the bandage off the entrance wound. It’s stopped bleeding already.

“What is it?” Soap asks, trying to look, but Ghost grabs his arms, keeping him in place.

“It’s healing already,” Gaz says.

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks him. Soap stands up moving his shoulder.

“Fine, we’re super soldiers, remember,” Soap says playfully, nudging Ghost. Price walks round the corner taking the scene in for a second.

“You solid?” he asks Soap who nods at him. “Gaz, Soap go help SWAT out front. Try not to piss them off before exfil gets here.” He sighs watching Soap pull the skin around his wound.

“Don’t play with it, it’ll get infected,” Gaz says, swatting his hand away and placing a bandage over it.

“We’re fucking super soldiers mate, a little infection isn’t going to slow me,” Soap says. Ghost shakes his head. He must still have adrenaline running through his system. Price looks up at Ghost moving so Gaz and Soap can leave. Price nods him back to the garage which has been opened out to the garden now. He can see officers and SWAT doing their thing, a tent has been set up with a table and a laptop. Vans are being driven into the driveway.

Price walks down the steps to look over at the body while Ghost follows him, but something catches his eyes and before he reaches Price, he picks up a piece of paper. His stomach sinks. Now that Soap is not in the room, he can smell the familiar smell of blood and death. There’s something else there too. Beta.

“Look at this,” Ghost says, taking a step and handing the paper to Price. He reads the same thing Ghost read a few seconds earlier.

“Omega initiative. Shit.” He looks back at the body, they both do. Ghost killed him. He had a weapon in his hand, and he shot Soap.

“Whoever doesn’t go back to work for Hale has a death sentence,” Ghost says as a matter of fact putting the pieces together.

“Not necessarily, our orders were to take him alive,” Price corrects him. “Back to Graves.”

“Back to Hale,” Ghost says. Price sighs, turning to him he folds the paper up putting it in one of his vest pockets.

“Seems like Hale’s doing a bit of a recruitment drive.”

“What are you reading?” Dr. Miller asks as you sit on the stool reading the last few pages of the chapter.

“Moby-Dick.” You show him the cover, smiling.

“Here, smell this one,” he says, pressing a q-tip under your nose. You wince at the strong smell.

“Smells like chemicals,” you say, turning the page. He sighs writing something down.

“Try this one,” he says with a new q-tip and a new smell. You breathe it in. It’s not as strong.

“Smells like beta,” you say. He sighs again and writes something else down.

“Stronger or weaker than the last one?”

“Weaker,” you say, unsure.

“How’s it going?” you ask. He seems frustrated about something.

“The scents are either too strong or not strong enough to mask anything.” You watch as he dips a clean q-tip in another clear liquid. He sniffs it then holds it under your nose.

“Smells sweet, like apple pie,” you say. It’s the smell of your mother. Or at least the smell you used to think was what your mother smelt like. You put the book down, marking your page. It makes you sad. Your head is starting to spin after smelling so many different things.

“Smells like sadness.” You sigh.

“I’m sure your pack will be back soon. It’s been 2 days,” he says. You nod, standing up. You don’t want to do this anymore.

“One more, come on,” he says, reaching out and lightly pulling your arm. You sigh, turning back to him, letting him push the q-tip under your nose. You breathe it in.

“Alpha,” you say. He nods, smiling.

“You should get some rest. You did good today,” he says. You nod, gripping the book and heading back to the barracks. You hate being in the barracks when your pack’s not around. It just feels empty. You walk in to see Dr. Piper making coffee. Almost as soon as they had left, she had moved a coffee machine in.

“Hey, where have you been so early?” she asks, stirring a cup of something.

“Dr. Miller needed my help for the scent blocker.” She looks confused for a second as she sits at the table.

“Do you help him a lot?” she asks. You shrug. You’re tired now.

“Not really, I just wish it wasn’t so early,” you say, sitting down opposite her.

“I’ll have a word with him. You should get a good night's rest,” she says, sipping on her coffee. “How have you been sleeping? Have the nightmares been getting better?”

You nod. They haven’t been as bad. It feels like everything gets worse when your pack’s not around though. You miss them.

“When do you think they’ll be back?” you ask.

“Well, actually Kate told me they should be back tonight. I didn't want to tell you because they still might get held up,” she says. You look up at her smiling. It makes you feel warm thinking about the fact they could be back tonight.

You’re too excited to take a nap now. You smile at her, almost skipping down to your room. You look at the sun rising over the trees, the pile of books and the scent of nature in the air makes you happy. Happier than you’ve been in years.

You curl up in your nest, feeling the warm bubble inside you get stronger. You end up in your nest with a stack of books. You manage to make it through Moby-Dick before you start feeling sleepy. Your mind wanders to your pack wondering what they’re doing as you find yourself dozing off a few pages into your next book.

You’re back in the lab. You’re laying in a bed. It’s a hospital bed. You can’t smell anything in the air, but you know where you are. You’re back in the bunker, the horrible dark place. The door opens and you expect the Professor to walk in. Instead it’s Dr. Miller. You don’t relax though.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you try to move but you can't. You're tied down. He doesn’t say anything, going over to a table and picking something up. You try to move and as you can’t, panic rises in you. You feel sick as you see him turn round. He’s holding a scalpel in his hand. The door opens again and it is Graves, the man who went into your personal space, who ordered your nest destroyed. You stare at him wide eyes, confused as you look back over at Dr. Miller.

“What’s happening?” you ask, panic rising in your voice as you try to move but you can’t. You’re pinned down too tightly.

“It didn't have to be like this,” Dr. Miller says, pulling a surgical mask over his face.

“No, please,” you plead as he nods at Graves whose hands land on your face, pulling your head to the side uncomfortably. The back of your neck is exposed as you can feel Dr. Miller touch your mark. You plead for him to stop, but he doesn’t say anything. You scream as his scalpel makes contact with your skin. Everything goes blurry as tears stream down your face. You’re fighting with Graves’ grip as best as you can, trying to move your head. There’s more pain now, another cut and everything goes black.

You wake screaming. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You can feel your mark, the indents John’s teeth left. You’re shaking, panting, it feels like you can’t breathe, your nails digging into your hand. You hear commotion as your door is flung open. Dr. Piper is there. She rushes over, her cool hands finding your face forcing you to look at her as you rub the back of your neck.

“You’re okay, it’s just a dream,” she says. You’re not listening to her. You smell alpha in the air, and looking behind her you can see Johnny in the doorway. They’re back. You look down at Dr. Piper, trying to take deep breaths but it just comes out as sobs.

She pulls you into her arms as you let your hand drop from the back of your neck. You close your eyes breathing in her calming scent. She’s shushing you, rubbing your back. You open your eyes, blinking the tears away looking over at the doorway. John is there now, standing in the doorway outside the threshold of your space.

“John,” you breathe. Dr. Piper lets you go as John steps into the room. She turns to look and gets up.

“Hey,” he says, kneeling down by you. Your nest is a mess. You must have been thrashing around in your sleep. You don’t wait, throwing yourself in his arms almost knocking him over. You see Dr. Piper leave, pulling the door closed and shooing the others away. You need this time now with your alpha. You close your eyes breathing in his scent, letting it fill your lungs. He’s back and he’s safe.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, gripping him tighter like this is a dream too and he’s going to vanish at any second.

“We’ve only been gone 2 days, not even 48 hours.” You can hear the smile in his voice as his hands run over you. You break away from the hug.

“What was the dream about?” he asks.

“The bunker, Graves was there,” the memory is fading. There was someone else too, but you can’t remember who. The Professor, probably.

“You’re never going back there. We destroyed it, remember,” he says, smiling at you. You nod. You know the place is gone. It’s not gone in your mind though.

“Want to lie down in my bed?” he asks, and you nod. You do, you want to be near him. You support yourself on him as he helps you off the floor. He holds his hand out and you take it letting him wrap his arm around you.

“You know Graves is never going to be coming in here again. You’re safe here,” he says. You can see in the common room. Johnny and Kyle poke their heads round the corner and you smile at them. John presses you into his room, and the place is messier than you’ve ever seen it. A bag half unpacked is in the middle of the room, and there’s an open laptop and weapons on the desk. They make your breath catch in your throat. You walk over and sit on the bed.

“Did you kill anyone?” you ask as he pulls your chin up to look at him. He shakes his head. You can smell the lie in the air.

“You don’t have to lie,” you say, swallowing. He looks at you like he’s deciding what to do, letting out a sigh and coming to sit next to you on the bed.

“You told me you wouldn’t worry,” he says.

“I didn’t worry. I just missed you,” you say as he strokes your thigh.

“Lay down,” he instructs. You follow his instructions, laying on the side of the bed pressed up against the wall. He lays next to you and you turn your body to the side so you can look at him.

“So, we have this mission. One guy, suspected to be smuggling and selling large quantities of pharmaceuticals to private buyers. We work with the local police and SWAT but Commander Graves wants him brought in alive. Unfortunately, he managed to get a weapon and took a shot at John-”

“Johnny got shot?” you gasp, propping yourself up in the bad. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you. Someone in your pack got hurt.

“He’s fine,” John says, his hand resting on your shoulder pushing you back down on the bed. Your eyes dart to the door. You saw him in your room, and he did look fine. Maybe he is fine. Your heart still aches for him though, the image of him being injured is swimming around in your head.

“John’s fine but Simon shot the guy and unfortunately he died. The police secured the house and found the evidence they needed to arrest the other members of the family then we came back,” he finishes explaining. You swallow hard. You knew they were doing horrible things, they’re soldiers.

“Does that happen a lot? Getting shot?” you ask scooting closer to him.

“No, we don’t make a habit out of it.” He smiles, his fingers coming to brush hair out of your face. You close your eyes relaxing into the pillow.

“Dr. Montgomery told me you’ve been helping Dr. Miller?” You nod. “You should get some rest. I’ll wake you up for dinner?” he asks, you nod again. You still feel tired, all the scenting this morning must have really taken it out of you. He leans over and kisses you on the forehead as you get under the covers. He gets up, takes his laptop and leaves the room. You smile rolling over to his side of the bed. His pillows have his scent. You relax, breathing it in, closing your eyes. They’re back and they’re safe. It’s not getting easier though, each time they go away.

You wake to shouting. John isn’t in the bed, and something is going on in the common room. Your body feels stiff, and you can already tell you’ve been asleep for way more than a few hours.

“Fuck off!” That’s Johnny, you can hear his accent cutting thick through the air.

“Shepherd wanted me to deliver the message personally.” It’s Graves. You swallow, opening the door to the hall. You can see John and Simon standing there both with their arms crossed. Johnny is the one who looks back and sees you. He walks up stopping in front of you. You try to look around him, his hand lands on your shoulder.

“What's going on?” you ask.

“‘Hey sleepyhead, how ‘bout you go back to bed for a bit,” he says smiling at you. You can see it’s getting dark out. You must have slept for a good few hours.

“Is that her?” you hear Graves call. You freeze, reaching out and gripping Johnny’s arm. John said he would never be back.

“Time to go Graves. Don’t you have a base to take care of?” John says.

“You have until the morning,” he says. You swallow hard looking up at Johnny. You can smell him projecting a calming scent. You wonder if he and Kyle have had time to practice. Or maybe they are just naturals. You hear a door close and let go of Johnny’s arm. He smiles, putting his arm around your shoulders, and you stop, nudging it off.

“You were shot Johnny,” you say. He smiles, putting it back round you and continuing to walk you into the common room.

“Super soldier remember, thanks to that drug of yours.” Simon is still standing with his arms crossed watching Graves walk across the green back towards the main building. John is sitting down at the table with Kyle sipping tea.

“Sorry we woke you,” Kyle says looking at you sympathetically. You look at John. He looks tired. You feel sad all of a sudden, like you want to reach out and hug him. He looks up at you and meets your eye-line for a second. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Did you get into trouble?” you ask

“No,” it’s Simon’s voice that speaks up. So harsh in the air you almost jump. John pushes his chair out getting up with his cup of tea. You feel bad, like you’ve done something wrong. You watch as he disappears into his office without saying a word.

“Sit down, lass,” Johnny says, placing a cup of tea down in front of you. For someone who doesn't drink it, Johnny somehow manages to make the best tea. You nod, sitting down. Simon finally moves. He walks behind you knocking on John’s office. He doesn’t wait for a response though before going in.

“What did Graves want?” you ask. Johnny and Kyle look at each other then back at you.

“‘Nothing you need to worry about,” Johnny smiles. You try to ignore the yearning to know more. You wish they wouldn’t be so secretive. You wish they would tell you what they were doing. No, you don’t deserve that information , you remind yourself. You’re not a soldier, just an omega . It only feels like it’s been a few seconds of awkward silence before John and Simon walk back out into the common room. You sip your tea as John sits at the table opposite you.

“Professor Hale has requested to have contact with you.” You freeze at his words. The tea suddenly tastes horrible in your mouth. You want to spit it out instead you swallow it down letting it burn your throat.

“You can say no, but he wants you to know the option is there.” It feels like John is looking into your soul, his eyes harsh as he tries to read your reaction. The Professor has always been such a constant in your life. You think back to what Dr. Miller said. Maybe he did love you? Maybe this was his way of saying sorry? Or maybe he’ll let you stay with your pack, watch you from a distance, and then spring when you least expect it. It makes you feel sick.

“I—” You start but the words catch in your throat. What if this was a test, some weird fucked up experiment. You look up at John. Simon is standing behind him with his arms crossed. You trust them, there’s no way this is a test. Does Dr. Piper know? What would she say? She worked with him for years. Maybe she would like to communicate with him again. You close your eyes, sighing.

“I don’t want to see him,” you say, looking down at your tea, gripping it harder like you’re about to be told you don’t have a choice. You feel guilty. It doesn’t feel real. It’s like it’s the end of a massive part of your life. If you never see him again, will you ever forgive yourself? A hand rests on the top of your back, and you look up seeing Kyle smile down at you. You look over at John. He’s watching you, and you can’t tell if he looks disappointed or not. Simon’s still standing behind him with his arms crossed. You can never tell what he’s thinking.

“If you ever change your mind.”

You shake your head.

“He’s been the only other constant in my life. He did love me. I feel like I should give him the benefit of the doubt.” You look back down.

“You don’t owe him anything,” John says. You don’t know if you believe him or not. The last time you saw the Professor, he was breaking your ankle for trying to leave. Kyle's hand runs across your back.

“He tortured you. You spent your whole life being hurt. He doesn’t deserve the right to even ask. You never have to see him again. You shouldn’t see him again,” Simon says, his voice is sharp in the air. You look up at him. You’ve come to learn that Simon’s not the most talkative person but he means everything he says.

“He’s right,” Kyle says. “You have no reason to talk to him.”

You look down at your mug. You feel the tears coming, your eyes welling up as you try to stop them, squeezing your eyes shut. You have to be strong, you don’t get to cry for him. Simon’s right and Kyle is right. You never have to see him again. When you open your eyes everything is blurry. You swallow the lump in your throat away.

You don’t know what happens but the next thing you know Kyle’s hand has left your back and everyone is walking out of the building. John stays seated. You bring your sleeve up to wipe your eyes. You try to hide it but you’re not doing the best job. John waits until the building is empty before getting up and sitting in the seat next to you. He turns your chair to face him slightly. You let go of your cup, as you turn to look at him. His hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him. He leans down and kisses your forehead.

“Simon’s right, Professor Hale doesn’t deserve the right to even ask you. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t even be asking,” he says, his thumb stroking your cheek. He brushes one of your tears away.

“I feel guilty,” you admit. You want to look down but John’s hand on your face won’t let you. John nods.

“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.” His thumb brushes your cheek. You nod. He stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and he leads you to the sofa. You sit down and you sit next to him. He spreads his arm over the back of the sofa and you smile at him as you lean up against him. He reaches over to pick up the remote.

“More of the screaming women?” he asks, flicking through the channel as smile.

“You pick,” you say, snuggling up against him more.

“John?” He hums rubbing your arm. “Are you going to kill the Professor?” There’s silence. You don’t know why you were expecting a quick answer. You don’t know if you’re going to like the answer.

“I would kill him. If I had to.” You look up at him. He smiles at you.

“Do you ever regret it? Killing anyone?”

“From time to time, sometimes people get mixed up in all sorts of things.”

“How do you do it?”

“The good outweighs the bad.” He squeezes you tighter. “You don’t need to worry about that kind of stuff.” You sigh, stretching your arm across his stomach. You let yourself relax. You don’t know how you would feel if the Professor was to die. Maybe you would feel relief, or maybe you would feel even more guilty.

John starts talking about what’s happening on the TV but you’re only half paying attention, your mind preoccupied with the Professor. It doesn’t feel like you’ve been laid there for very long when the door to the building opens. John turns and you sit up to see who’s walked in.

“Johnny’s shoulder’s playing up. Si’s taken him to see the doc,” Kyle says as he sticks his head in the door.

“Dr. Piper?” you ask as you sit up, a lump forming in your stomach. John said he was fine. Kyle nods and John gets up off the sofa. You follow him as he walks out of the building. All of you take a quick walk across the green to the lab. When you get in, a few scientists look over at you all. You see Dr. Miller who smiles at you.

“She’s upstairs if you’re looking for her,” he says. John thanks him and you make your way up to the medical room. When you walk in, Simon is leaned up against the wall on the far side of the room, his arms crossed. Johnny is sat on the edge of the bed with his shirt off. Dr. Piper’s taking the bandage off his shoulder. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you see him topless. He’s fitter than John is, and hairier too which you didn’t expect. He winks as you and you look away trying not to feel embarrassed.

“It’s healed fine. You say it’s still painful?” she asks, pressing down on and around where the scar is.

“It healed that quickly?” John asks, shocked crossing his arms as he leans in to look.

“Yeah, one of the wonders of the drug,” she says, smiling. “If it still hurts tomorrow we’ll do an x-ray but it’s most likely your bones just taking a little longer to heal. I’ll get you a sling.” She heads through the door in the room. You peek your head in seeing a bed and some storage.

“Physical wounds and broken bones will repair themselves relatively quickly, most of the time within 24-48 hours, as long as you’re in good health. Blood is a big factor too. Lose too much of it and you will not be able to repair yourself,” Dr. Piper says as she hands Johnny his shirt back. He pulls it on.

“What about getting sick?” Kyle asks.

“You have a stronger immune system but you can still get sick, also of course the healthier you are the better it works,” Dr. Piper says.

“Okay so we don’t have to worry about getting shot in the field,” Johnny chuckles.

“Well if you get shot in the head or the heart, you’ll still probably be dead. Trauma is still trauma,” Dr. Piper says, helping him secure the sling.

“I can show you,” you say looking round the room. They look at you confused for a few seconds. You walk over to a tray and pick up a scalpel.

“Woah, wait!” They all start to protest as you bring the blade to your lower arm.

“It’s okay, the Professor used to make me do it all the time,” you say, shrugging.

“Stop!” John’s voice is harsh in the air as you look at him waiting for what he will say next. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to show us.” You look up at Dr. Piper who shrugs. You move putting the scalpel back down. You feel the collective sigh in the room as you look around them.

“Okay, so we still need to continue to treat injuries seriously,” John says to everyone. Johnny jumps down off the bed.

“If you want I can look into maybe making something that can speed up the wound healing process? Professor Hale was pretty close to a breakthrough before you rescued the omega,” Dr. Piper says as she walks around everyone, opening the door to back out to the lab.

“Sure, if you think you can,” John says as everyone piles out. You smile at Dr. Piper as you pass her.

“You should all get some food before the mess closes,” John says, stopping at the top of the steps.

“What about you?” you ask him. Now that you think of it, when does he ever get time to eat? You’ve only seen him eat a few times.

“I’ll catch up, just have to have a word with Dr. Montgomery first,” he says, placing his hand on the small of your back and gently pressing you to the steps. You sigh following Kyle down the steps. The lab is empty. Most of the scientists will have gone for breaks since it is almost midday. Kyle waits for you, holding the door open as you all exit.

“So did Professor Hale make you hurt yourself a lot?” he asks as you walk next to Kyle across the grass.

“It’s the best way to prove to people it works. He would have people come and I got to show off for them.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well like, he would have these people called ‘investors’ I think, and I would get to dress nice and get out of my room for the day. He would show them around the lab and they would meet all the scientists, and then they would meet me. I would show them the ‘miracles’ of the formula,” you explain as you make it to the mess.

“Do you remember any of them?” It’s Simon ahead of you who asks the question. You shake your head.

“They were always men, always in such nice clothes. I never knew their names. He would always just call them ‘investor,’” you say, picking up a tray. Simon hums and you follow him and Johnny piling your plate with food and two pudding cups.

“Dr. Piper might know,” you say. Simon nods. You want to be helpful, but a lot of the time when it comes to what happened in the bunker, it can get blurry. You’re never quite sure where the real memories start. Besides, thinking about them upsets you. It’s enough that you have nightmares, you don’t need to worry about it during the day too. You follow Kyle to a table sitting down in front of Simon. You’re so caught up in your thoughts you don’t even realise Simon has pulled the bottom of his mask up.

You think back to a few days ago when you saw the top of his head and his blonde hair. You’re trying to piece the two together to imagine what his whole face might look like. You’re staring at him, gawking at him as he chews on his food. His head tips to the side as he looks at you, and you watch him swallow as his fork comes back up to his mouth.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says. You immediately feel heat come to your cheeks, looking back down at your tray. Your hands fiddle with the lid on your pudding cup as you let the wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“Be nice LT,” Johnny hisses under his breath, nudging him. You feel like you’ve invaded his privacy. Maybe you should apologize. You look back up at him as you pick up your spoon. You don’t know what to say, so you just spoon some pudding in your mouth. As soon as it hits your tongue it tastes bitter. You almost want to spit it out but you swallow it, frowning as you look at the cup.

“Not good?” Johnny asks. You look at the flavor, butterscotch. You don’t think you’ve ever tried that one before.

“I don’t think I like butterscotch,” you say, putting your spoon down. Johnny reaches over picking up the unopened one.

“That’s not possible.” Johnny smiles at you. You smile back picking up your fork. Guess it serves you right for skipping straight to dessert. You eat your food listening to Johnny and Kyle talk, but you can’t help your eyes wondering to Simon every now and then. You really want to see him smile. You wish you could see him without the mask. Maybe you will, if he’s getting more comfortable around you. At one point he turns and your eyes meet his, you smile at him but instead he ignores you, turning back to listen into the conversation between Johnny and Kyle.

You spend most of the meal just pushing food around the plate. You’re distracted by something you can’t quite put your finger on. You’re not hungry, just tired. You want to crawl into your nest with a book and sleep. You’ve been sleeping in there more than in your bed. It’s not comfortable sleeping on the floor but you feel like that you have less nightmares when you’re safe in your nest compared to in your bed.

You excuse yourself from the table, ignoring Kyle’s comments that you’ve hardly eaten anything. When you make it outside, the dark clouds make the air feel electric. Maybe there’s a storm coming. You can hear the distant rumbles as you make your way across the green to the barracks. The lights are off. John must not be back yet. You turn the one in the common room on then walk to your room.

Your nest is still a mess from earlier. You pull the duvet and pillows off your bed and bend down fixing it. You stack all the pillows back up, laying blankets over them as you arrange everything around. You keep going till it feels right again. You go over to the books on the table. You don’t know what you want to read. You pick up ‘ The Secret Garden’ if not just for the pretty cover. You take it over to your nest climbing in and leaning up against the wall.

You hear Johnny, Kyle and Simon coming back from the mess a few pages into the book. You hear their voices in the common room, the sound of doors opening and closing. You smile, letting yourself relax, and you read until you fall asleep.

When John makes it back to the barracks Johnny and Kyle are laid out on the sofa. Simon is sat at the table with a mug in his hand. John stands in the doorway as everyone turns to look at him. Simon meets his eye line, John tips his head gesturing outside.

‘Follow me.’

Simon gets up immediately leaving the table as John steps back outside. He walks away from the building to the wall round the edge of the base. He waits a few seconds before speaking.

“The labs have been bugged,” John says.

“Think it’s Graves?” Simon asks. John sighs.

“Don’t know, she only found it yesterday.”

“Mic? Camera?”

“Microphone,” he replies.

“Think there's more?” Simon asks.

“Think so, why only plant one.”

“What do you want to do?”

“If it is Graves, I don’t want him to know we’re on to him. It could be something else though.” John sighs scratching his chin.

“Who? Shepherd?”

“I don’t know. If the lab is bugged though there’s a chance the barracks are too.”

“Want to search it?”

“I want to do it without raising suspicion, from Graves, Shepherd, anyone.”

“What about Soap and Gaz?” Simon asks as they make it back towards the barracks.

“No, let's keep it between us, until we have proof or know who’s doing it. Dr. Montgomery is going to keep an eye out. She’ll let me know if she finds anything,” John says, stopping at the door to the barracks. Kyle and Johnny are still sitting on the sofa as they both walk in.

“Hey LT, Kyle found the football!” Johnny says enthusiastically.

“Manchester United, that's the good one right?” Johnny smiles. Simon sighs going back over to the table to get his cup of tea.

“Just keep it down,” John says, going to his office.

“It’s the first match of the league Cap, wanna watch?” Kyle calls. He does but he shakes his head, he has work to do. He watches Simon take his tea over to the sofa chair. He looks down the hall seeing your bedroom door closed, and he takes in a long breath. He can smell you in the air, strawberries. He smiles and walks into his office.

next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

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eyelambspider · 5 days ago

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♡ Let Me Worship || Soap & Ghost

⤷ summary : soap and ghost will show you how good they think you look & make you feel even better

┊pairing : john "soap" mactavish x gn!chubby!reader x simon "ghost" riley ┊content warning : nsfw (like pure smut), fluff, nipple play, hair pulling, marking/biting, threesome, body worship, (light?) spanking ┊a/n : this is written with no gender in mind (hopefully it works for any gender reader), if not, plz lmk and i will write for different gender versions! love ya & happy valentines

Soap had just happened to be walking by your room one day. Casting an idle glance to the side at your open door before he paused, stopping dead in his tracks to look back again with wide eyes.

"Steamin' jesus."

You were standing in front of the mirror, eyes trailing down your form, wearing the new outfit you had picked for yourself. Fingers smoothing over your thighs in a way that made Soap's breath hitch. His baby blue eyes drinking in the sight like a man starved.

So enraptured, in fact, that he hardly registered the fact that Ghost was wandering over, his brows furrowed suspiciously as he approached. Wondering what had the man slack-jawed and practically drooling like a puppy.

"Soap, the fuck are yo-" Ghost peeked his head into your doorframe, following the sergeants gaze and immediately going stiff. His brown eyes widening and following the hypnotic vision of you pinching your hips, an unsure frown dancing across your lips.

"Fucking hell."

It led to where you were now: smooshed lovingly between the two of them, unable to feel anything but their greedy hands sliding and groping your body reverently.

"Fuckk me," Soap groaned beneath you, sweat beading against his forehead as he moved your hips up and down on his cock, urging you to rest all your weight on his thighs. To let him feel every inch of you pressed against the hard planes of his body. Bouncing you up and down, the rough skin of his hands gripping into your plush hips hungrily. Meeting yours with a buck of his hips, sinking over and over again into your sweet heat with wanton groans. "Ye feel so good," he panted, unable to hold back the urge to lap and suck at your pulse point. His teeth raking over the sensitive skin, fighting the urge to bite and leave a love bite.

"You look even better," Ghost grumbled, voice noticeably huskier than usual under the fabric of his balaclava. His brown eyes were glued to the erotic sight below him. Gaze traveling over the scarred, hardened expanse of his chest and belly... watching in a hypnotic daze as the thick ridge of his cock plunged in and out. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen: His hips slamming gently into yours, the worn pads of his fingertips searing into the thick flesh of your waist. Holding you down against Soap while he watched your ass bounce back onto him.

Soap groaned against your throat, lapping up the taste of your salted skin, rolling his hips up to fuck you even an inch deeper.

You little whimpers and moans only spurred them both on, and Ghost grinned lazily at the sight in front of him.

He moved his hands slowly, unable to help a caress and a pinch along the way, sliding his rough palms around and up to your belly. Holding you tight and squeezing. God, he couldn't help but lean over you a little to feel just how soft you were against his strong arm. He stole a moment, panting against your ear and breathing you in... before he stood up straight again, carding his fingers through your hair and tugging gently. "Come on love, arch that back baby," he coaxed, able to fuck you harder.

It gave Soap the prettiest view. Your throat and chest glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, eyes teary and rolled in bliss as the two of them fucked you.

"Jesus, weel, look at that..." Soap leaned his face forward, given the opportunity to capture one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. Suckling and biting gently on the nub in a way that made you clench and cry so fucking sweetly. He didn't stop-fuck-he couldn't.

The sergeant wrapped his hands over the expanse of your ass, giving a dirty squeeze before he spread you for Ghost. A little 'thank you'.

Ghost groaned, feeling a deep shudder wrack through the base of his spine. He couldn't take it anymore either. His cock throbbing and weeping already from the stimulation... and how fucking tight you were.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," he growled, tugging your hair a little harder to hear you whine, "Your body just feels too fucking good," Ghost praised lowly, panting hotly under the balaclava that was now sticking to his face like a second skin from all the sweat.

The two of them were close, gripping and growling like men possessed. Squeezing and groping your body in the best possible way, marveling and worshipping how soft you were against them. How fucking sexy you were taking their cocks so perfectly. Your hips, your thighs, your waist, your stomach, your ass. All of it.

"FUCK!"

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itsnobodysproblem · 5 months ago

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I WAS WRONG, FALSE ALARM

(now i wanna strangle a fictional character bc the tone was really concerning like what was he thinking)

[possible SHERLOCK &CO spoilers from something we got on patreon]

[I mean a big one]

[figured i should add this before hitting post]

NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO-

ITS- THEY HAVEN'T- THERE ARE STILL CHARACTERS TO BE INTRODUCED IT CAN'T- NOT YET

...but it's. It's. Well i thought how i would handle it and this is- its too close.

No wait no this can't be it i can't take it i thought i could but i cant

BUT IT HAS TO?? WHAT ELSE COULD IT BE

I'm gonna be sick actually.

#not mad at the real people who are in charge of what john says #bc one of these people did say that you know what is a long time away #but writers and directors and actors are liers #i mean they have to be #so yeah i took it with a grain of salt #and after the “no mailbag.....” thing i took it with a cart of salt #but I AM MAD AT JOHN #TONE?? TONE!!! YOU GUYS ARE IN DANGER EVERY DAY OF COURSE WE WERE GONNA THINK SOMETHING REALLY BAD HAPPENED #PUT A DAMN EXCLAMATION MARK IN THERE #or cut back from the ellipses jfc #John Watson when i get you..

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dutiful-wildcraft · 1 year ago

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Pack 141 - Fae!Soap Headcanons

Tags: monster au, Fae!Soap, poly 141, sfw, fluff, general lore, Soap's mom? for a minute at least, fae lore I roughly researched.

-Soap's mother was a stubborn and superstitious woman. When her baby boy was born with a caul over his face, her heart seized with dread. She had been told stories, how it was lucky to have a child able to see beyond the veil. How the caul signified a great power, coveted by the people of the forest. Her only babe, marked as Fae.

-They would come for her child, steal him in the night and replace him with another. And it would be a cold day in hell before Jill Mactavish let anything touch her son.

-She slept with the bundle clutched tightly in her arms, refusing to sleep until she left the hospital. Left him wrapped snugly to her front as she hammered iron railroad spikes into the corners of her property; hung horseshoes above her doors, sprinkled fine lines of salt around every doorway and window of her home.

-She thought it had worked. At least for a while. But the Fae are persistent if nothing else. Jill began to notice strange flowers pop up around the foundation of her home, odd tapping rhythms heard in the night. Would she know? Would she know if the lamb in her arms was replaced with another?

-She was so exhausted, worn thin from paranoia. Yet Jill Mactavish was no quitter. Under the light of a pale full moon she marched to the edge of her property. Her blue eyed bundle cooing and gumming happily at his fingers as he wriggled against her chest. With a final look to the boy she faced the forest with a stern resolve, “You won't take him! But I'll share him! Leave us be or help me raise him right!”

-The winds rustled, branches creaking ominously. Leaves gathered and spun into a tornado of color in the chill autumn air. Jill would freeze in place as the leaves fell away, revealing an ethereally beautiful creature before her. All high cheekbones and sharp eyes surrounded by inky black sclera.

-Ordinarily the Fae would swap out changelings, snag the babe once it was the right size and replace it with one of their own. Considering the wee one was already Touched….perhaps a swap would be unnecessary. Human mother's were coveted. The milk of human kindness and all that, and the babe was truly beautiful, destined to be strong. The fae had looked Jill up and down with a calculating look. Yes. A deal could be struck. They would raise the baby together.

-And thus Soap spent his time in equal parts amongst the Fae and humans, learning to socialize with both, though he didn't completely fitting in with either. Soap was hell on wheels. Rambunctious and equally curious, constantly nosing or getting into things he ought not have. Not that he was ostracized by either group he was just..*odd.* Unable to find his footing or close friends.

-You could say that Soap has many siblings, though this term is used liberally. By human technicalities Soap is an only child (his mum's baby boy). His mother, through the nature of her bargain, was brought into the fold with young John. Helping to raise and nurse her own gaggle of fae children of differing bloods. Other children Soap would call family.

-Fae don't have strict family dynamics, it's certainly a community effort to rear little ones. Fae children can be produced in a myriad of ways, with no one way being seen above another, p in v? that works. Born from a flower? Sure why not. Throw some herbs and intent together until a wailing babe sounds from the cauldron? That works too.

-Soap naturally inquired about this, as any kid would. “Ma? Did I come from a flower?” “You came from my belly wee one” Soap had squinted at her, eyeing her belly incredulously, "but how?”

-It took several conversations to get the toddler to understand that the other children in his human primary school were not in fact his brothers and sisters.

-As humans are fascinated with the Fae, the Fae are equally as fascinated by humans. As John grew into a young man he would see the differences. The Fae courts had long fallen into a peaceful rhythm. The humans? Hardly. With a powerful knack for chaos, among other abilities. Soap threw himself into the army. Keen to help as many as he could, and perhaps even find his own way.

-Soap is a marked child. He is more resilient on average than most Fae, and shows no obvious limitations in what disciplines he can learn. However, as marked he does have particular dispositions toward the following.

-Tongues, the ability to speak any language at will. Sometimes without thinking about it. For Soap this isn't automatic, but after a few days of listening or studying he's fluent. (Albeit with the accent). This gives Soap a peculiar edge when working with varying communities, elements, and other critters/creatures.

-Glamour, a sophisticated illusion, these may allow for invisibility or changes to appearance for a brief time (upwards to an hour but possibly longer depending on the severity of the change). Living amongst the Fae made permanent changes to his body. The sclera of his eyes had shifted inky black. His teeth and nails razor sharp. There is an ethereal beauty to all Fae as well. Naturally Soap uses this ability to cover some of the obvious issues.

-Soap knows he's distracting. He's a proud thing, and rarely bothers shifting that. He's damn good at what he does and looks damn good doing it. Hshows off his muscles/skills/looks without shame.

-Shapeshifting, self explanatory, but only works proportionally give or take a few inches. He may take on the appearance of another person or creature, briefly. But once again, only appearance. Mimicking voices is another skill.

-Sight or Clairvoyance, this ability's range depends on the court or bloodline. In Soap's case, his visions will occasionally come to him in dreams, these being more sophisticated visions or events far in the future. These visions are generally more detailed. He is typically privy to smaller prophecies, glimpses of events happening minutes before him. These are typically vague, but have consistently been enough to save his and his teammates asses numerous times in the field. The Infamous Mactavish Intuition ;)

-Soap is one hell of an alchemist, and can make due with most natural items at his disposal. Poisons, potions, explosives, you name it, Soap can make it. He excelled remarkably in the maths and sciences in school, and it’s why he was also quickly assigned to demolitions so long ago.

-Soap has a very noticeable smell. One that isn't exclusively detected by other supernatural beings. Any human standing beside him would notice it. Lemon and shortbread, with a warm curl of rose. Clean, green and vaguely sweet. People wonder if his callsign was from this fact rather than his prowess on the field.

-Nudity has no taboo with the Fae. Raised as such, the man has literally no shame. Soap Mactavish has been naked since he was a child in the woods, and will continue to proudly do so. Does not understand why everyone else is so uptight about it. Will bust in on someone in the shower without a second thought. “Stop screamin’ it’s just me”

-Fae are very partial to music, and Soap is no exception. He is so easily captivated by the sound, swaying slightly, almost as if hypnotized. Soap isn’t as in tune with artists and genres as Gaz is, but he keeps a hoard of songs on his phone. Gaz is his main contributor, keeps him well fed with playlists he makes. Playing new records for Soap as they bop around the kitchen together, playfully dancing or headbanging together. Soap was once pretty proficient with piano and guitar at his mam’s encouragement. His singing however, nearly got him killed in basic.

-Many animals are the watchdogs of the Fae. Soap has been seen having conversations with himself, unknowing to onlookers that a little frog or squirrel was sitting beside him. Someone swears they saw a mouse crawl out of his tac vest once. He whistles with the birds, scoops up bugs and plops them back into the weeds. He unfortunately doesn’t know the language of the shower spider. He doesn't bother to learn, he thinks he prefers the silence in this instance.

-Soap can be attracted with a myriad of things just like any other fae. Music as mentioned above is one. He is also partial to pretty chimes and bells, running water, shiny and/or colorful displays, as well as anything sweet, candies or sweet creams/milks/liquors.

- Too much contact with iron on his bare skin will poison him. Fortunately most weaponry constructed now is made of more synthetic material. It can be noticed that Soap is very particular about his gloves, and is rarely seen without them on. Iron on properties or above doors won’t exactly stop him, but it is incredibly uncomfortable and will lead to sickness if he is trapped within such a ward for too long.

-Fae, like crows, are enamored with jewels and other shiny objects, less of a weakness really and more of a distraction. Soap, prior to his enlistment had several piercings, such as his ears, and brow…among other things. He was very fond of the adornments, and easily captivated by the shiny displays on others. (This also extends to his intense love of blowing shit up and watching the sparks fly, big ole hearts in his eyes as the colors dance) In the event the team goes out for something special Soap will throw on a few pieces for fun~

-Soap can not lie, at least not directly, however Soap is a very sharp lad, and has learned to cleverly navigate around this by either not telling the whole truth, letting others assume, or simply not correcting misconceptions. He is a Fae afterall, being clever is his specialty.

-Customs of love and marriage vary among the Fae. Many Fae interpret strong love as variations of servitude, especially towards human mates. Soap has gotten himself tangled between both of these versions of love. For Soap love is servitude. Not something to be expected of his lovers, but from him. Soap gives himself to his lovers willingly, He wants to be good, give them anything they want and let them take what they need. Love is worship, and Soap is a very devoted man.

-Soap and Gaz had bro’d up as soon as they spotted each other. Having seen through each other's glamours, they became fast friends. Two oddballs fighting side by side. Which would turn into playful banter, and kips on the helo leaning against one another. Then to wandering hands and desperate kisses, having found comfort and fondness in each other after years of hiding themselves among humans. Soap and Gaz are the most cuddly. Johnny likes to lay sprawled in his Sphinx’s nest, his arms curled around his middle, face buried against Gaz's stomach. Both of them absolutely hate to sleep alone.

- Soap had a knack for getting into trouble. Disregarding orders to do what needed to be done. Had nearly been kicked out had his skills not saved his skin (and countless others). It was Price who sniffed him out, offered to take the man on loan for a bit. Soap's former CO was happy to be rid of him and hopeful that the notoriously stern Captain would knock some sense into him. Price, however had no such plans, he cut Soap loose, full authority, and watched the man bloom. Price did not anger at Soap’s decisions, didn’t flinch at his savagery in the field. In fact, Price had looked upon him with fondness (and a fair amount of exasperation). He kept Soap warm with lovely praises and a regular morning coffee, plus a heavy splash of sweet cream, for good measure.

-Simon had been more difficult, adamant on giving the Fae a hard time. Having seemingly been put off by Soap ever since he bounded off the truck and fist-bumped his arm on the tarmac. But Soap was determined, chatting and teasing, unphased by the lieutenants' icey behavior. They fell together in no time. Soap nestled to his chest, lips brushing over Simon's slow beating heart. Soap would never admit it. Never admit that he knew it would be like this all along. That Soap had seen him in his dreams.

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goatcheesecak3 · 1 year ago

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What I think saw characters eat for breakfast

I'm not sure why but all these make perfect sense to me

John

I feel like John likes to keep it simple with egg and soldiers, not too much salt but a lot of pepper. If he wants to treat himself though, he'll make himself scrambled eggs on toast and a little salad. (He is my peepaw and I love him)

Amanda

She's an omelette girly <3 if she's got any vegetables knocking about she'll put them in, if not it's all just very plain. She prefers something more exciting, but can only really have something convenient and quick, considering how busy she is.

Lawrence

This man loves, and I mean LOVES, avocado on toast. He probably gets fancy bread from some market, and if he knew what the hell an Instagram was, he would post a picture of it with some corny caption like "what a way to start my day!🤗☀️🥑"

Adam

He doesn't eat breakfast most days, and when he does it's usually unbuttered toast. But in an ideal world, if he had the time and the money, he'd have pancakes with chocolate sauce every day. What can I say? I think he's got a sweet tooth.

Hoffman

I think Mark had a full English ONCE and never looked back. He doesn't have time to make one every day, but he'll be damned if he doesn't at least make himself a bacon sandwich with LOTS of brown sauce

Strahm

I think strahm is big fan of porridge with some jam in it. He makes a big deal of it being "healthy, yet tasty!"

Lynn

Lynn is a busy gal, her job means early mornings and a sporadic schedule, so there's no time to make a real breakfast. I think she's big into fruit smoothies for a quick breakfast that she can drink on her way to work.

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spooky-pomegranate · 1 year ago

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Price's Scars

Price’s breath was steady and warm on your neck. The bristles of his beard moved ever so slightly up and down against your skin with each inhale and exhale.

You turned and faced him. Watching him sleep he looked peaceful, his strong jawline relaxed, and his lips slightly parted. You reached out and traced your fingers along his stubble, feeling the soft salt and pepper bristles beneath your fingertips.

He looked different.

He felt different.

Things had changed.

Each scar on Price’s body had been like a page from his private diary and earlier he had finally let you in. He had let you read his story. He had spent hours laying himself bare, letting you flip through his pages, and inviting you to study his text. And you had reveled in it. You had soaked in each detail like he was a sacred script, that the gods had blessed you with from on high. And you had memorized every line and stroke of ink like a preacher, devoted to his scripture.

He was still Price, a man whose heart was harder to get to know than most, but now you had a better understanding of him. He had dealt with more pain than you had ever imagined, and that knowledge made you handle him differently. You touched him more delicately and looked at him with a deeper understanding.

He was strong. Physically you had always known that, but now you knew he was a fighter down to his core. And he had promised to fight for you.

Your finger trailed over a small silver scar on Price’s jaw. Training accident when he was 18. Your hand moved to his chest. A bullet wound just below his shoulder. Kastovia, 2014 op gone sideways. You touched a tiny mark behind his ear. This one made you smile. A game of cops and robbers with the boys in his neighborhood. He’d been nicked with a plastic baton a little too hard. He was 8.

As you brushed his hair away from the scar there, you imagined a tiny John Price riding around his childhood neighborhood somewhere in England, doling out prop justice with a bicycle and a vivid imagination. You bet he was cute then. Shaggy brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He probably gave his parents hell too with the trouble he got into. If he never sat still now, he must have been on another level then.

You couldn’t help but smile.

God, you loved this man. This scarred but perfect man.

#call of duty #captain price #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader

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louthesawgirl · 6 months ago

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What each Saw character would get as a Tesco meal deal (scientifically accurate)

Hello everyone, I decided as my debut long Saw shitpost, I thought I would decide what meal deals different Saw characters would opt for if they stumbled into a Tesco and were a bit peckish after setting up a few traps.

If you’re not from the U.K. or Ireland and are not familiar with the British & Irish institutions of a meal deal, it’s basically a packaged sandwich, pasta pot, salad, bit of sushi maybe alongside a snack item and a drink for a fixed price (it used to be around £3/ €4 but the shops are taking the piss now). Meal deals are considered a treasured institution here and are an indication of your personality. People judge your character based on what you get between two slices of cheap bread.

Here’s what different Saw characters would get for a Tesco meal deal:

Adam (Faulkner) Stanheight

1. Southern fried chicken chipotle mayo sub

2. Doritos cheese flavour

3. Vimto still drink

Judging on how we know Adam is quite an unorganised adult struggling to adult most days, I would assume he opts for high energy foods to keep his tastebuds happy. Cheese, spiced chicken and fruity drinks seem up his street. Plus, Vimto is a very Mancunian thing and if Saw was set in the U.K., there’s no way Adam would not be from Manchester.

Dr Lawrence (Larry) Gordon

1. Eat Your Greens Feta Salad

2. Apple & Grape snack pot

3. Chilled Iced Latte

I feel like because Larry is a doctor, he prioritises convenience but also eats healthily. I also imagine him to be meat free/ vegetarian so that explains the feta & greens salad (I don’t think he’d be vegan though, he seems like he loves proper cheese too much). Larry seems like he’d always be carrying breath mints or tictacs to minimise the cheese or coffee breath- nobody needs a waft of that when being told they’ve got 6 months left to live.

Amanda Young

1. BLT sandwich

2. Walkers Thai Sweet Chilli Sensations Crisps

3. Monster Energy drink (chosen based on packaging colours to match mood)

Amanda is a busy lady planning traps and building contraptions designed to almost certainly kill people. She seems like she enjoys a bit of spice along with classic comfort combinations.

John Kramer

- Chicken & bacon sandwich

- Egg snack pot

- Green smoothie

John seems like he’s mindful of what he puts into his body considering he’s consistently a salt & vinegar crisp away from death with the cancer and all. He’s also a very smart man so he would know the best value for money combination with a meal deal is getting an overpriced fruit smoothie for a drink.

Mark Hoffman

- All Day Breakfast sandwich (triple)

- Walkers Max Salt & Vinegar crisps

- Red Bull

Mark seems like he can’t get enough of bacon & sausage, even though it’s cold and not exactly very fresh. Maybe he’d even have a bit of HP brown sauce with it. Mark would also probably make immature jibes towards vegans and vegetarians because he’s that kind of man. Considering Mark works overtime setting up traps and evading capture, all he’d be drinking by the events of Saw 7 would be energy drinks.

Jill Tuck

- Egg & Cress sandwich

- Arla strawberry protein yogurt

- Bottle of water

Jill is a bit… bland. I’m sorry but I just have to say it. Egg & cress perfectly summarises Jill’s personality as seen in movies 4-7 between two pieces of bread.

Peter Strahm

- Deli style cheese & pickle sandwich

- Smoked salmon sushi pack

- Pepsi Max

Strahm made some good decisions, some regrettable ones and one very very dumb decision during his time in the Saw universe. Just like his track record with making poor decisions, I’d guess Peter would get some supermarket sushi as a snack with his meal deal- not very fresh nor authentic and will leave you wondering why you couldn’t have got a pack of reliable crisps or a chocolate bar instead.

Lindsey Perez

- Feta & sundried tomato pasta

- Propercorn sweet & salty popcorn

- Fanta orange

Perez is a great character and so she would get a meal deal to reflect that. Why do I also imagine Lindsey being veggie?

Eric Matthews

- Meatball marinara sub

- Walkers Monster Munch Pickled Onion crisps

- Red Bull

I feel like this choice accurately reflects Eric. It’s a combination that’s maybe reflective of an immature palette, maybe even a sort of guilty pleasure combination. I wonder if he’d put the monster munch hands (or feet) on his fingers and eat them like that.

Hope you enjoyed my incredibly British saw shitpost x

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msklassickilla · 12 days ago

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Delirious | J. Uso|R. Reigns One

Summary: When Titania buys an old typewriter from a closing thrift store, she thinks it’s just a vintage gem—until the words she types start coming true. However, the typewriter doesn’t just bring fantasies to life—it twists them. Giving Titania way more than she bargained for.

Pairing: Titania Marshall (Black OC) x Jey Uso x Roman Reigns

Author’s Note: This story is another AU thing. So, it might align, or it might not. I will try my best to keep it current enough. Nonetheless, it’s mash up of a few things: That one episode of Goosebumps. That one episode of the Twilight Zone. And that movie by the same title, Delirious featuring John Candy. I’ma make it work. Plus, I like mystical spooky shit with a bit of Jerry Springer type mess.

Warning(s): Will be updated each chapter. None for this.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

One

The bell above the door let out a hollow chime as Titania stepped into the thrift store, shaking off the drizzle from her jacket. The air inside smelled faintly of old books, wood polish, and something vaguely metallic. She glanced around, taking in the cluttered aisles crammed with mismatched furniture, vintage knick-knacks, and dusty stacks of records. A handwritten sign taped to the counter read, “CLOSING FOR GOOD: EVERYTHING MUST GO!” in uneven black marker.

Titania wasn’t here for anything in particular. She’d wandered in out of curiosity after spotting the sign while driving home. Something about the words closing for good always tugged at her—like it was her duty to give a dying shop one last sale.

Her sneakers squeaked softly against the scuffed linoleum floor as she moved through the aisles. Worn lampshades leaned at odd angles, mismatched chairs huddled together like forgotten party guests, and a collection of porcelain cats stared at her from a shelf with chipped paint and blank eyes. It was the kind of place that felt haunted, not by ghosts, but by the lives of the people who had once owned these items.

Titania turned a corner and froze. There, on a small table near the back of the store, sat an old-school typewriter. It was a deep, glossy black with silver trim that gleamed faintly even under the dim fluorescent lights. The keys were round, their letters engraved in bold white, and a sheet of yellowed paper was still tucked into the roller.

“Wow,” she murmured, stepping closer. She ran her fingers along the edge of the typewriter’s cool metal frame. It was in remarkable condition, almost too perfect for a place like this.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said, startling her.

Titania turned to see the store’s owner standing behind her. He was an older man with sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back neatly. He wore a faded sweater that hung loosely on his wiry frame, and his hands were tucked into the pockets of his khakis.

“Sorry,” Titania said with a small laugh. “Didn’t hear you sneak up on me.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That one caught your eye, huh? Not surprised. She’s got a certain… charm.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Titania admitted, brushing her fingertips over the keys. “Does it still work?”

“Better than you’d think,” he said. Then, after a beat, he added, “Careful with that one. It brings stories to life—but not always the way you expect.”

Titania blinked, caught off guard by the comment. “Excuse me?”

The man shrugged, his gaze fixed on the typewriter like it was an old friend—or maybe an enemy. “Just saying, some things have a way of leaving their mark. Especially when they’ve been around as long as this one.”

She laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking or just eccentric. “Well, I don’t know about all that, but I’ve been looking for something to kickstart my writing. This might be just the thing.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, there was something unsettling in his expression—something too knowing. But then the look was gone, replaced by a pleasant smile.

“Let me know if you want it,” he said, turning to shuffle back toward the counter. “I’ll give you a good price. It’s not the kind of thing we sell every day.”

Titania hesitated, then glanced back at the typewriter. The keys seemed to glint at her, almost beckoning. It was ridiculous, of course, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man’s cryptic words carried some weight.

“Alright,” she said, half to herself. “Why not?”

A few minutes later, she left the store with the typewriter carefully cradled in her arms, her wallet twenty dollars lighter and her mind buzzing with ideas. She didn’t notice the way the old man watched her go, his hands folded on the counter and a faint, unreadable smile on his face.

As the rain picked up outside, Titania loaded the typewriter into her car and drove home, unaware of the storm she had just invited into her life.

---

Titania set the typewriter on her desk, stepping back to admire her new addition. Her bedroom was cozy but cramped, with books stacked precariously in every corner and her laptop perpetually charging on the nightstand. The typewriter added a vintage charm, standing out like a polished relic among her modern clutter.

She wiped it down with a soft cloth, though there was hardly any dust on it to begin with. The black metal practically shone, and the keys were smooth beneath her fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used a typewriter—probably not since high school when she’d taken a creative writing elective on a whim.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself, pulling the yellowed piece of paper from the roller. She held it up to the light, squinting at the faint, uneven typewritten letters. Most of the words were faded beyond recognition, but the last line stood out:

What you write is what you live.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Okay, creepy.” Titania tossed the paper into the small trash can by her desk, chalking it up to someone’s idea of an artsy tagline.

The typewriter sat there for the next few days, a silent observer in her room. She meant to use it—she really did—but life got in the way. Her freelance writing gig had her swamped with deadlines, and by the time she finished her work for the day, all she wanted to do was binge her favorite wrestling matches and scroll through Twitter.

Still, the typewriter was never far from her mind. Every time she glanced at it, a little spark of excitement flickered in her chest. She imagined herself sitting there, typing away like some old-school novelist, the clacking of the keys drowning out the world.

Sometimes, though, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the typewriter was watching her. Not literally, of course—that was absurd—but there was something about the way it sat so perfectly on her desk. It never seemed to collect dust, and the metal caught the light in a way that made it look alive.

Late one night, as she was lying in bed with her laptop propped on her knees, she thought she heard something—a faint clicking sound, like the typewriter’s keys being pressed.

She froze, the glow of the laptop casting long shadows on the walls. The sound stopped as quickly as it had started, leaving only the hum of her heater and the faint creak of the house settling.

“It’s just the wind,” she muttered, closing her laptop and pulling the covers over her head. Still, her dreams that night were filled with the rhythmic clatter of typewriter keys.

The next morning, as sunlight streamed through the window, Titania glanced at the typewriter and made herself a promise. “I’ll use it soon,” she said aloud. “Maybe tonight. No more excuses.”

She didn’t realize how soon that promise would be tested.

---

By late evening, the storm had arrived in full force. Rain lashed against the windows, thunder grumbled low in the distance, and occasional flashes of lightning lit up the room. Titania sat curled up on her couch with a mug of tea, trying to focus on a book, but the restless energy in the air made it impossible to concentrate.

The weather report had warned of severe storms rolling through the area, and the power had already flickered twice. Titania set her book down with a sigh, her gaze drifting toward the stairs that led to her bedroom. The typewriter sat up there, quiet and untouched since she’d brought it home.

She rubbed the back of her neck, her thoughts already spiraling. Maybe tonight was the night to finally put it to use. The storm gave the perfect excuse—it was moody and dramatic, and, honestly, she had nothing better to do.

Setting her mug on the coffee table, Titania headed upstairs. The house creaked beneath her feet as the wind howled outside, rattling the windows. In her bedroom, the typewriter seemed to gleam in the dim light, waiting for her like it had known she’d come.

Titania pulled out the chair at her desk and sat down. She ran her hands over the keys, hesitating. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” she murmured, cracking her knuckles.

She rolled a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter and adjusted it until it was snug. The satisfying ding as the roller clicked into place made her smile. The storm raged outside, the clatter of rain against the roof creating a backdrop of white noise.

Titania began to type, her fingers flying over the keys as words spilled onto the page:

The front door creaked open as Jey stepped inside, the scent of rain clinging to him. He carried his luggage in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other, his face tired but softened by a warm smile. He was home—finally.

The scene played vividly in her mind. She imagined Jey, the dark curls of his hair damp from the rain, his confident stride easing into something gentler as he stepped into the house.

Titania rushed down the stairs, her heart racing as she saw him standing there. She couldn’t help but smile, her voice breaking with emotion as she said, “You’re home.”

She paused, her fingers hovering over the keys. A clap of thunder rumbled overhead, louder this time, shaking the walls. The power flickered once, twice—then went out, plunging the room into darkness.

“Seriously?” Titania groaned, fumbling around her desk for her phone. The storm wasn’t letting up, and the house suddenly felt colder without the hum of the heater.

A moment later, the lights snapped back on, almost startling in their brightness. Titania let out a relieved breath, but her stomach twisted when she noticed something.

The room felt different.

It wasn’t the mess of books on her shelves or the faint smell of burnt-out candles lingering in the air. It was something deeper, a weight pressing against her senses.

Then she heard it—the sound of someone fiddling with the front door.

Titania froze, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. It wasn’t the wind; it was deliberate, like someone was trying to open the lock.

Adrenaline surged through her as she jumped out of her chair. Her eyes darted to the corner of her closet, where she kept the old aluminum baseball bat from her high school softball days. She grabbed it without hesitation, clutching it tightly in her hands.

Moving as quietly as she could, Titania made her way downstairs, each step creaking underfoot. The sound at the door had stopped, but the faint hum of the storm seemed louder now, like it was seeping into the house itself.

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the bat, bracing herself. She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the door, her breath catching in her throat.

The door clicked open.

The door creaked open slowly, the hinges letting out a low groan as the wind pushed it wider. Titania tightened her grip on the bat, her pulse hammering so loudly in her ears that it nearly drowned out the sound of the storm.

For a second, nothing happened. The doorway was a black void, rain falling in sheets behind it. Then, a figure stepped into the light.

Titania’s breath caught in her throat.

Standing in her doorway, soaked from the rain, was Jey Uso.

He looked exactly as she had imagined him. His dark curls were damp and clung to his face, beads of water running down his sharp jawline. He wore a hoodie zipped halfway up, the fabric sticking to his broad chest, and his luggage hung from one hand. In the other hand was a bouquet of red roses, the petals trembling slightly from the wind.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and familiar, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry for scaring you, baby.”

Titania’s heart stopped for a beat, then kicked into overdrive. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be real.

Jey shifted his weight, looking slightly nervous. “I tried to call, but I think the storm’s messing with the signal.” He gestured vaguely behind him toward the driveway, where his car was parked. “I wrapped up early on the road and thought I’d surprise you. Didn’t want to wait ‘til morning to see you.”

Titania blinked, her grip on the bat loosening as her arms dropped to her sides. “What—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard and tried again. “What are you doing here?”

Jey tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean? I live here, babe.” He let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and easy. “You okay? Did I scare you that bad?.”

Titania’s mind raced, her thoughts colliding in a chaotic jumble. This had to be some kind of prank, right? But no one she knew could have pulled off something this elaborate. And the way he was looking at her, the familiarity in his voice and his expression—it wasn’t the look of a stranger.

“I…” She hesitated, her mouth dry. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting you. At all.”

Jey stepped inside, setting his luggage down carefully by the door. The bouquet of roses shifted in his grip as he reached up to push his hood back, revealing the full mess of damp curls laying on the top of his head. He held the flowers out to her with an apologetic smile.

“Here. They’re probably a little worse for wear thanks to the rain, but I thought you’d like ‘em.”

Titania stared at the roses, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to take them. The petals were soft and cool against her skin, the faint scent of them mingling with the rain and Jey’s cologne—a scent so familiar it made her knees weak.

“Thanks,” she said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He gave her a small grin. “You sure you’re good? You look… I don’t know. Stressed.” He took a step closer, concern softening his features. “Did something happen?”

Titania’s mind screamed for her to say something, anything, but she was completely out of her depth. This was Jey Uso—standing in her living room, acting like they’d been together for years. And the worst part was, he sounded so sincere.

Her eyes darted to the stairs, where the typewriter sat in her bedroom. The scene she’d written, the exact words she’d typed—they were unfolding right in front of her, down to the smallest detail.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

Jey’s brow furrowed as he reached out to gently touch her arm. “Tee, talk to me. What’s going on?”

The nickname hit her like a bolt of lightning, breaking her out of her daze. “I—I’m good,” she stammered, forcing a shaky smile. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all. You’re soaked—let me get you a towel.”

Jey hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but he nodded. “Alright. Thanks, babe.”

Titania turned and hurried up the stairs, clutching the roses to her chest as her mind raced. She could feel his eyes on her back, the weight of his presence grounding her in a moment that felt anything but real.

As soon as she reached her bedroom, she set the roses on her desk and stared at the typewriter. It sat there, silent and unassuming, as though it hadn’t just rewritten the fabric of her reality.

“What the hell did I just do?” she whispered.

Downstairs, she heard Jey moving around, his voice faint as he called out, “Hey, do we still have that beer I like in the fridge?”

Titania groaned, running a hand down her face. She had no idea how to answer him—or what she was supposed to do next.

----

Titania took her time coming back down the stairs, her mind racing in circles as she gripped the towel she’d grabbed for Jey. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of what had just happened—or what was still happening—was pressing down on her.

When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she found Jey standing in the entryway, casually tugging off his damp hoodie. Beneath it, he wore a fitted black T-shirt that clung to his rain-soaked skin, and his tattoos gleamed faintly in the dim light. He looked so at home it made her stomach twist.

“Here,” she said, holding the towel out toward him with a forced smile.

“Thanks,” Jey said, flashing her that easy, crooked grin that always made her heart skip a beat—even before tonight, when she only knew him through a screen. He took the towel and started drying his hair, his damp curls springing back to life as he ruffled them.

Titania stood there, clutching the banister for support, her mind still trying to process what was happening. He was here. He was real. And worse, he thought he belonged here.

Jey noticed her staring and paused, lowering the towel. “You sure you’re okay, Tee? You’re acting... different.”

There it was again—Tee. The way he said it was so familiar, so natural, as if he’d called her that a thousand times before. Titania’s mouth went dry.

“I’m okay,” she said quickly, her voice higher than usual. She cleared her throat and forced herself to relax, leaning against the banister like it was no big deal that Jey Uso was dripping rainwater onto her rug. “Just didn’t expect you to get home tonight, that’s all. I thought you’d still be... on the road.”

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, but I finished up early,” he said, tossing the towel over his shoulder and reaching for his luggage. He rolled it over to the edge of the living room, parking it by the couch.

Titania watched him move around like he knew the house—like it was his house. He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at her.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

“What?” she said, blinking.

“Did you eat?” Jey repeated, his brows knitting together slightly. “You get like this when you forget to eat, you know.”

“I—” Titania clamped her mouth shut, unsure how to respond. It was true that she often got scatterbrained when she skipped meals, but how the hell did he know that? She hadn’t written that detail into the story.

Her silence seemed to worry him. Jey stepped closer, his dark eyes scanning her face. He reached out and gently cupped her chin, tilting her head up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Talk to me,” he said softly. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

The warmth of his hand on her skin sent a shiver down her spine. Titania pulled back instinctively, her heart racing. “No,” she blurted. “No, I’m fine. Really. It’s just... the storm. It’s been messing with my head all night.”

Jey studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, stepping back and letting his hand drop to his side. “Alright,” he said, his tone laced with gentle skepticism. “If you say so.”

He glanced toward the kitchen again and smiled faintly. “You still got that wine you like, or do I need to run out and grab some?”

Titania couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her, though it sounded more like a gasp of disbelief. “Wine?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning now. “Figured we could have a little date night. Unless you’re too tired?”

Date night. He was acting like this was just another ordinary evening for them, like this was some normal relationship where he came home and they hung out like any other couple.

The sheer absurdity of it all nearly made her dizzy. She forced another smile and shook her head. “No, I’m not too tired. Wine sounds... great.”

Jey’s grin widened. “Bet. Let me unpack and get cleaned up, and we’ll chill for a bit.”

He grabbed his luggage and headed upstairs, whistling softly as he disappeared down the hall.

Titania stood frozen in place, the room suddenly feeling too quiet without him in it. She slowly sank onto the couch, staring at the towel he’d left draped over the armrest.

Her gaze drifted toward the stairs, her chest tightening. Upstairs, on her desk, was the typewriter that had brought him here. She could still hear the rhythmic clacking of its keys in her head, the words she’d written playing out exactly as she’d imagined.

This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some weird coincidence.

She had written Jey Uso into her life.

And now, she had no idea how to undo it.

----

Read Chapter Two ...click here

Wanna join the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @yana3sworld

#black fanfic writer #black oc #original character #the bloodline #wwe au #jey uso x oc #jey uso #wwe fanfiction #jey uso x black oc #jey uso fanfiction #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns #roman reigns x black oc

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milliesfishes · 7 months ago

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When The Tide Changes 𓇼 ⋆˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆𓇼

request by @stardustandseashells [fem reader] contains: storm, injury, prejudice pairing: merman billy the kid x fishergirl reader summary: you get caught in a storm and billy saves you author’s note: thank you anon for leaving this request!!! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The sea itself is not dangerous, but everything in it is.

As a child, when storm tossed nights when the rain beat at the windows and you hid under your covers in fear, that was what your father had always told you.

"She only acts as she should," he would say soothingly, bringing you over to the window to watch the waves lap at the shore. "But with time you learn to love and trust her just as intended."

Looking back, you were unsure the sentiment was entirely correct, having seen typhoons and hurricanes that didn't have anything to do with what laid beneath the waters. But your father had long since passed, and you weren't about to correct the dead.

He hadn't left you much in terms of wealth, but he had passed the knowledge of his craft to you. Fishing was a man's world, but you navigated it well, your compass your father's voice in your head.

Because it was so male dominated, you had to work twice as hard, bring in double the bounty, in order to even slightly be taken seriously. But it made a decent living, enough for you to keep shelter and food in your belly.

Maybe it was dangerous for you, a woman all by her lonesome milking what she could from the ocean. There were whisperings of the creatures who could cause you danger; krakens that had tentacles lined with teeth, men with tails and a vengeance for human blood.

It wasn't like you had a choice, though. You weren't about to marry one of the sunburnt fishermen who occupied the pubs late at night. And nobody respectable would possibly entertain the thought of someone like you.

No, this was what you had. The long, lonely nights by the fire, smelling the salt air.

As you untied your boat one day, you heard a group of men talking near you on the dock, their faces tight with fear.

"He barely made it t' shore," one said in hushed tones. "Had scratches 'n marks all over 'im. Was scared half to death, talkin' 'bout a creature that almost killed 'im."

"'Nother fella on the north shore said somethin' just 'bout the same," a different man said, tipping his hat up to block the sun. "There's somethin' in the water, t' be sure. Somethin' after us."

Fishermen were a superstitious bunch, and so you paid no mind to their worries. It was more than likely the men they spoke of had a little too much sun and salt and fell offboard, maybe hitting a few rocks or patches of coral. When you'd first started, you'd been afraid of the supposed creatures within, but survival instincts had overpowered it.

It would be silly to think that the waters only contained fish and sharks. You knew there was more down there, and your father had told tales of it. His favorite was of people with tails like a fish, who lived in underwater kingdoms. He claimed to have seen them once or twice, bobbing their heads above the water.

The underlying warning in his story, however, was that they were ruthless, terrible beings who would hurt you as quick as the tide changes. So, you stayed wary.

Dark clouds on the horizon told you there would be a storm, but you ignored it. Rain and creatures aside, you needed a good day on the water. It was sure to be a lovely day for the net.

Nature, as always, had other plans.

The waves were like mountains, threatening to swallow anything in its wake. You pulled at the sails, trying to bat down the hatches, but the wind was furious, the rain beating steadily against you. You cursed your choice in clothing, your skirt tangling around your legs. Usually you wore men's clothes, but today of all days you'd let the comments of nosy townspeople get to you.

Frantically rocking, your little boat threatened to tip, knocking you from side to side. You squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to the mast and sending a prayer to the gods of the sea, reciting an old sailor's verse to the sky and begging for mercy.

Opening your eyes, the first thing you saw was a never ending wall of water hurtling toward you. Nails digging into the mast, skirt soaked and sticking to your legs, hair in your eyes, your heart threatened to fly out of your chest.

Is this how it feels to die?

Sun.

That was the first thing you were aware of. The warmth.

Sand.

Your fingers twitched, the grainy substance scrubbing against you.

There was a light straining against your eyes, and you squined as you opened them, blinded by the hot ball in the sky. Turning your head to the side, you tried to sit up.

"Careful," a voice said gently. "Don't be movin' so much."

"What happened?" Your voice was like sandpaper, your memory hazy.

"You were sailin' in a storm," the voice soothed, and you felt a hand settle on your arm comfortingly. "Real nasty one. Got tossed overboard. I pulled ya out."

"Thank you," you murmured, blinking and opening your eyes blearily.

There was a bare-chested man sitting beside you. He looked concerned, but his head was blocking the sun at your angle, and it gave him a halo. It didn't hurt that he was terribly handsome as well, rugged and chiseled in all the right places. You tilted your head, sure you must be imagining him. "Is this real?"

"If anyone's dreamin', it's me," he reached out and tucked some of your salt-tangled hair behind your ear. "Ain't often I get to rescue someone so pretty."

The compliment made you smile, and you sat up more, wanting a better vantage point. His chest was tanned, no doubt from long hours on the water. Your eyes trailed downward, to his stomach and catching on his...tail.

Eyes snapping back up to his, you opened your mouth, and he blurted out, "Don't scream!"

You froze, and the panicked look on his face caused a laugh to bubble up inside you, escaping your mouth and causing your head to sink back to its sandy pillow. Oh, maybe you should have been horrified. And if yesterday someone had told you you'd meet a man with a fish tail one sunup later, you probably would have expected yourself to be.

But looking at him now, seeing his worry and realizing he must've waited hours for you to wake up instead of leaving you stranded on the beach, you felt anything but.

"I'm sorry," you smiled, sitting back up with a little giggle. "You just looked terrified."

He looked at you in disbelief, then a smile broke across his face as well. "You're a strange lass, ain'tcha?"

"That's what everyone says," you shrugged, leaning back on your hands. "Maybe you're not so different from them after all."

The man seemed surprised by how casually you were talking to him, but he didn't comment on it. "Maybe not."

Tilting your head, you asked, "Gotta name?"

"Billy," he answered, sitting up with you.

You told him your name too, and then looked down, realizing your dress was in rags. "Knew I should've chosen something sturdier."

"Brave of ya to venture out into a storm," he remarked, the ends of his tail swaying lazily.

"Or stupid," you shrugged.

"Brave," he insisted. Billy reached over and moved some of your long hair over your shoulder, so it was covering a spot on your chest, conserving your modesty. Your heart fluttered.

Something shifted in your mind as you looked at him, your eyes curious. "Why did you save me, Billy?"

There was a beat of silence. The squawking of seagulls hovering over the shore could be heard, and the wind whistled lightly, sending a few of your dry baby hairs into your eyes.

"I've seen ya 'round before," he said quietly, looking out at the horizon. "Watched ya workin'."

A hint of a smile found your lips. "You live around here?"

"Close," he nodded, his tail bending where his knees would be if he had any. "I hang around."

Frowning slightly in thought, you tilted your head, studying him. Then it dawned on you. "You're the creature they speak of. The one who's been hurting-"

Billy cut you off with a firm shake of his head. "Never hurt anybody."

"But the fishermen-" you brought your knees to your chest, suddenly aware of how little was covering your body. "-they came back with injuries. They described a ruthless creature, it...it couldn't have been you. You just saved me."

"I'm the only one 'f my kind 'round these parts," Billy nodded, his arms resting on the bent part of his tail. "'nd I have come across a few men. They were tryin' to capture me. Fell overboard 'nd caught against the rocks when I swam away. It was bad, sure, but they made it to shore alright. Wouldn'ta let 'em die."

"Oh," you breathed, eyes brightening with new realization. Honestly, you should have known the afflicted men had practically done it to themselves. But he still hadn't answered your question. Moving a little closer to him, you set your hand on his, causing him to turn his head.

"What made me different?" you asked softly. "You didn't just leave me at shore or watch me float and make sure my heart was beating. Why?"

Billy had a quiet look in his eyes. "You're different from the others."

"How so?" You were intrigued by him, by the moral code he seemed to possess.

Cautiously, Billy lifted a hand, lightly tracing your cheek with a singular finger. You let him, leaning ever so slightly into it. "Most men I see out here try and dredge the ocean for its contents. They demand things from 'er, and get hurt when she defends herself." His fingers were now in the hair at the nape of your neck. "You treat the sea like a sister, demanding nothin' and takin' what she decides to give to ya. And so she gives you more."

The sentiment made your heart beat faster, and you found yourself saying, "I didn't ever think of it that way."

Billy looked at you intently. "Someone like that doesn't deserve to die."

On the sandy banks next to the one they called a monster, you felt as if you were coming to life for the very first time. Because now you knew nothing was what anyone said it was, not entirely.And suddenly, your father's sentiment seemed wrong.

Not everything in the ocean was dangerous.

Once you were steadier, Billy insisted on swimming you back to your little home on the coast, pulling you into the water and instructing you to wrap yourself around him.

He swam gently but swiftly, and you felt as though you were gliding through the water. It felt so safe here in his arms, and you couldn't help but lean against him.

When he arrived at the sandy banks in front of your house, you shifted against him, not ready to be parted from him so soon. But you were also tired, battered from the storm with a dress torn to shreds.

So, with a soft smile, you muttered, "Thank you Billy. For everything."

His expression was light, his eyes not seeming to be able to leave your face. Billy's smile was a little bit crooked, and that only made it more endearing. "It was my pleasure, darlin'."

The little nickname made your heart jump. Billy pulled you up onto the shore, sitting on the surf and making sure you were steady on your feet. He grinned. "You'll be alright?"

"I'm sure of it," you said, kneeling beside him. He did it again, smoothed your hair so softly that it made you smile wider. It was almost like he was fascinated by it, even though it was a tangled mess.

He removed his hand. "I hope to see ya 'gain. Maybe under better circumstances."

"Me too," you smiled in a quiet way.

Then, you leaned in and kissed his cheek shyly, getting up afterward and walking toward your home, sparing one glance back at him. He was still sitting on the shore, a dazed, lazy smile on his face.

As you made your way inside, you were already looking forward to the next time you'd see him. Maybe while you were out fishing, or even right back here.

All through the night you dreamt of him. Of the once-thought monster who'd saved your life.

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