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hollowmem · 3 days ago

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A Night Just for You Two

GN!Reader x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

I decided to take on a 2 week challange that may or may not extent to a month, we will see. I will be posting everyday, a new story with a prompt I will get for that day

Day 4: Date night with Soap

Getting leave was damn near impossible. Between back-to-back missions, emergency deployments, and last-minute changes in plans, free time was a rare luxury—one neither of you had seen in far too long. The job always came first, no matter how much you both needed a break. But somehow, by some stroke of luck, or maybe just Price getting tired of watching you and Soap run on fumes, you both finally got a few days off.

You half-expected Soap to suggest something wild—a trip somewhere, a pub crawl, maybe even an adrenaline rush to make up for the lull in action. But instead, his request had been simple.

"Come over to mine. Let me cook for you."

You had laughed at first, thinking it was just another one of his jokes. But he had been serious. No distractions, no outside world—just the two of you, a proper night together for once.

And now, standing outside his door, you could already tell he had gone all out. The scent of something warm and rich lingered in the air, seeping through the doorframe. It was nothing like the usual barracks food or the rushed meals you both barely had time to finish on base. No, this was different. It smelled like patience, like home.

Before you could knock, the door swung open, and there he was—Johnny, wearing a grin that could light up any battlefield. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the strong forearms you had seen wrapped around a rifle more times than you could count. A kitchen towel was slung over his shoulder, and you swore you caught a smudge of flour near his collarbone.

“There’s my favorite sight,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. His voice was lighter than usual, softer somehow—like even he knew this night meant something.

The moment you stepped inside, warmth wrapped around you, so different from the cold, impersonal walls of base housing. The lighting was dim, but not in a calculated way—just enough to make the space feel comfortable. A playlist hummed low in the background, something easy, something that fit the moment.

And then, there was the table. A bottle of wine standing between them. There was an effort here, a thoughtfulness in every detail.

"You really went all out, huh?" you murmured, glancing between the table and him.

Soap chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Aye, well… figured if I got you here, I better make it worth your while." He gestured toward the kitchen. "Just about done, so sit tight. Unless you wanna come supervise, make sure I don’t burn anything last second."

The way he looked at you—soft but teasing, excited but just a little nervous—made it clear this wasn’t just dinner. This was him giving you something he didn’t get to offer often: a piece of his world, his space, undivided and just for you.

And you knew, no matter how good the food was, this night was already perfect.

You didn’t sit. Instead, you wandered toward the kitchen, curiosity getting the better of you. Soap raised a brow as you leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him.

“Oh, so you are here to supervise?” he teased, smirking as he stirred something in a pan. “Didn’t take you for the micromanaging type.”

You tilted your head, feigning deep thought. “Well, considering the last meal I saw you eat was an expired protein bar and a questionable cup of instant noodles… yeah, I think I’ve got reason to be concerned.”

Soap let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Harsh. But fair.” He grabbed a wooden spoon, scooped up a bit of the sauce simmering in the pan, and held it out to you. “Go on, then. Let’s see if my cooking skills pass inspection.”

You leaned in, lips brushing the edge of the spoon as you tasted the sauce. It was rich, a little smoky, with just the right amount of spice. You raised your brows, impressed.

“Damn, Johnny,” you said, licking a stray drop from your lip. “That’s actually really good.”

His smirk deepened. “Actually good? Love, that’s an insult. I’ll have you know I’m a master in the kitchen.”

You glanced at the counter, where a dusting of flour and a very suspiciously charred bit of food told a different story. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

He rolled his eyes, but you could see the way his ears tinged pink. He liked having you here, watching him, sharing this moment. He turned back to the stove, rolling up his sleeves a little more as he reached for another pan.

You watched his hands—strong, calloused from years of handling weapons, yet so precise as he worked. He moved with a quiet confidence, flipping ingredients with ease, adding just a little more seasoning, adjusting the heat without hesitation.

“So, is this a secret family recipe?” you asked, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

Soap huffed a laugh. “Nah, just something I picked up over the years. You eat enough shite food on deployments, you either learn to cook or suffer.”

You smirked. “And who suffered while you were still learning?”

He winced dramatically. “Gaz. Poor bastard still doesn’t trust me near a stove.”

You laughed, and for a moment, it was easy to forget everything else—the missions, the dangers, the never-ending chaos of your lives. Here, in this tiny kitchen, with the warmth of good food and the quiet sound of a song playing in the background, it was just you and him.

“Alright, if you’re gonna hover, at least make yourself useful,” Soap said suddenly, nudging you toward a cutting board. “Think you can handle chopping some parsley, or is that above your pay grade?”

You scoffed. “I’ll have you know, I am excellent at chopping.”

“Mhmm. We’ll see about that.”

And so you did—standing side by side, shoulders brushing as you worked. Soap kept sneaking glances at you, making comments about your knife skills, and you threw them right back at him. It was easy. It was warm. It was something that neither of you got often enough.

And when the food was finally done, and he plated everything with a surprising amount of care, he turned to you with that boyish grin.

"Hope you're hungry, love. ‘Cause this? This is the best damn meal you’ll ever have."

And looking at him—eyes bright, a soft flush on his cheeks, clearly proud of what he had made—you already knew: no matter how good the food was, the company made it even better. The plates were set, the food was hot, and the wine was already poured. The moment Soap placed the last dish on the table, he let out an exaggerated sigh, wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Right, that’s us sorted,” he said, nodding toward the chair across from his. “Go on, take a seat before I start thinking I should’ve added more seasoning.”

You chuckled, settling into your chair while he did the same. The table wasn’t fancy, but it was… homey. The candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow over the meal, and the scent of the rich, savory food filled the small space.

Soap watched you carefully as you picked up your fork. You could tell he was waiting—hovering on the edge of anticipation, hoping you liked what he made.

So, with a slow and deliberate move, you took a bite.

It was good.

Really good.

You let out a pleased hum, chewing thoughtfully just to keep him on edge for a moment longer. Then, finally, you nodded. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You might actually know what you’re doing in the kitchen.”

Soap barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Might? Might? After all that effort?” He pointed his fork at you, feigning offense. “That’s it. No dessert for you.”

You gasped dramatically. “You made dessert?”

His grin turned mischievous. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you took another bite. “You know,” Soap said after a few bites, “this is kinda nice. Not having to rush. Not eating out of a plastic container or shoveling food down before the next briefing.”

You glanced up at him, catching the way his expression softened. The usual energy and teasing were still there, but underneath, there was something else. Something quieter.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It is nice.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he looked down at his plate, a small smile playing at his lips. “We should do this more often.”

You smirked. “You offering to cook for me again?”

Soap chuckled. “If it means getting to see you like this? Relaxed, actually enjoying a meal?” He shrugged. “Aye. I’d cook for you every damn day.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten—warm and full. You reached for your wine glass, hiding a small smile behind the rim as you took a sip.

“I might just take you up on that, MacTavish.”

His grin widened. “Good.”

And just like that, the night continued—filled with warm food, quiet laughter, and the kind of peace neither of you got nearly enough of. But tonight? Tonight, you had it. And for now, that was enough.

#call of duty #cod #tf 141 #y/n #cod soap #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #date night #creative writing #soap x y/n #soap x you

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lologoinsolo · 2 months ago

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In The Shadows

Main Masterlist, In The Shadows Masterlist, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Triggers: mentions of cult but there’s none, briefly describing a body torn, anxiety, cussing, and if I missed any tell me!! MDNI

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How long has it been now since you’ve been stuck in this town? Too long it seems since the days have started to blur together. The tally lines you’ve etched onto your wall next to the window marks at least over 20. You stopped etching the lines when you realized it wouldn’t matter if you marked a year or a decade. You’re not leaving, none of the people are leaving unless you die a natural death or you kill yourself.

There’s a third option though.

The third option is something you took a couple days to fully grasp. The day you arrived to this godforsaken town on your bike with no intention of a destination was the day things no longer made sense.

A town lost to time? A town with no end and no outs? A town full of people raving about the monsters that wait outside your windows and doors. Enticing you to open, charming you to let them in. Doing so leads to death but not one that’s easy. No, no, they hunt you down if given the chance. The thrill is what gets their blood pumping in their veins and the screams of their victims are heavenly to their ears. They’ll rip you apart and eat your whole if given a chance.

You originally thought the town was full of psychos, crazy people in a cult with how they spoke about these creatures. Whispered about them in the day and muttered prayers at night to a god that no longer listens in this pocketed town surrounded by heavy trees. The woods seem endless and boundless, stretching farther than you’ll ever be able to escape it. God isn’t here and hasn’t been here in a long, long time.

“Faces like men.”

“They only come out at night.”

“They’re animals.”

“Don’t open your doors to them.”

It was hard to understand at first, hard to grasp what the town’s sheriff was telling you. You didn’t take the man seriously at all the day you came. Didn’t understand the reasons as to why the windows are boarded up and nailed down in every house and store. Confused as to why the doors have more locks and chains than needed. Why the need for this little black rock to hang next to the front door to every house and business. It supposedly wards you from those beasts. Keeps you safe when something comes—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The day you came was a pure accident. You never intended to go anywhere, never had a place in mind. You were going to ride your bike as far as gas and money would take you. Maybe years from now when you manage to leave this place you’ll look back and laugh. You don’t know if that day will ever come.

The self proclaimed sheriff of the town saved your life, though at the time you thought he was just an asshole pig. Forced you off your bike when the day started to bleed into the night and dragged you to a rundown police department. The first thing you noticed was how outdated everything looked. Like those LARP groups bought a town just to pretend to be back in the 1950’s with how everything looked. Course you yelled and screamed and hollered at the sheriff. Spitting at him when he handcuffed you to a chair, his right hand man blanching a bit from how they were “cutting it close” but you didn’t give a damn about that.

They seemed intent on ignoring the knocking noise at the front of the door. You asked if they were gonna get it. Someone probably in need of talking to their sheriff but… the sheriff looked visibly worried. When the knocking finally stopped his right hand man let out a long breath. That’s when the sheriff started speaking to you when he felt it appropriate to do so.

You laughed loudly and kept laughing when the sheriff explained what’s going on in the town. “Listen, kid, you’re trapped here. No one leaves. Ever.” You didn’t listen to him or his right hand man either when they stressed about how damning this place is. You thought maybe he was the leader of a cult, some fucked up man that lead his followers to blindly believe the tale he told.

“How can you be trapped here?” Letting out a loud scoff as you waved your uncuffed hand around. “Motherfucker, just take a car and drive!” But the looks those two men gave you told you that they’ve tried that. Your eyes widen just a bit, “this is insane. You’re both insane.” Just as you’re about to start ranting the other one comes near you.

“Did you see a downed tree when you were driving up here?”

That question halts you. Visibly stiffening as you give a confused, short nod. The right hand man, George from the name tag he’s wearing, lets out a short breath before continuing. “I saw it too.” He makes a motion with his hand to point out. “I was driving up in Northville, Michigan. I was taking a little road trip, a bit of me time.” He laughs bitterly, “and that’s when I saw a downed tree. Instead of calling for someone to come move it I just… Well, I just went around it.” Your head shakes at his tale because that’s what it has to be. A tall tale.

“That’s not possible.” You say, there’s no way. You were driving pass Conroe. As in Conroe, Texas. “That’s not— there’s no way.” Looking from him to the sheriff for him to get a load of the bullshit his right hand is saying.

The sheriff only gives you a solemn look, “I was driving pass Ferndale, California.” His arms cross over his chest as he leans back against his desk. “I saw the tree too.” A map is nailed to the sheriff’s wall, color coded pins tack the cities that the other towners must’ve come from. All from different parts of the US, all saw a downed tree and drove post it which led them here. At least that’s what he told you when you gave him the chance to.

The whole night you debated them. Tried to make sense out of what they were saying. None of them knows where this town is exactly, there’s no name or sign that indicates where. The sheriff tried to pinpoint it from where some of the people came from but it’s all sporadic. All happenstance, a luck of the draw that you saw a downed tree on the road. You didn’t believe in luck, didn’t believe in the “everything happens for a reason” ideology. You’ve made your own luck before and you’ll do it again.

The morning of, once the sun was fully out, the sheriff uncuffed you and you grabbed your bike that was left unceremoniously on the street. Thankfully no bad scratches on it. Once on, you flipped him the middle finger and drove and drove down the roads. It seemed endless and you almost believed you’d be far from their little cult by now till you started driving on a familiar road. You won’t lie when you say you started feeling crazy after the fourth time you drove through the town.

Every single time, without fail, you’d be right back where you started. Driving right past the underdeveloped police station like clockwork. You took different roads, took a left where originally you took a right. Took a right where you used to go left and every single time. You came back. Right to the start with no way out in sight. An infinite loop with no way out.

After the seventh time you called it quits. Your stomach’s been growling up a storm, you’re tired and exhausted. Damn near kicked your bike in anger when you parked in this diner’s parking lot. The sheriff merely shook his head when you waltzed into the dinner with a defeated look. “Told you,” is all he said before he got you a plate. Ordered a simple breakfast and a coffee for you. It’s probably the afternoon with how the sun was beating down your back but you’ll take what you can get.

“Ready to listen now?” He asked when the sweet old lady gave you a warm plate of breakfast for lunch. A sad look in her eyes when she passed you the ketchup. A Debbie’s Diner hand stitched into her apron and you think she might be the owner with how she’s the only one serving and cooking.

You send her a smile but she doesn’t return it when she goes to leave. “What’s up with this goddamn town? Why can’t I leave?” You fire off rapidly, barely picking at your over easy eggs and semi burnt toast. You’re hungry but you're more confused and angry than anything else. “I took different roads and still landed back here. I can’t find that stupid fucking tree.” Maybe this is a prank, a really elaborate prank.

“No one can, kid.” He says as he sips his black coffee. His plate long since finished and pushed to the side. “Once you go past it, you never see it again.” His elbows sit on the table while his fingers interlock. “You can drive till you run out of gas but you’ll get no closer to the exit.” The man reluctantly shakes his head like he himself has done that. Who else has tried before you? “This town… you won’t be able to scratch its surface.”

“I don’t want to scratch the surface. I want out.”

“We all do.” His tone just as forceful as yours is. “You think any one of us wants to be here?” Looking and nodding off to the other people that are eating at the 1950’s themed dinner. The others seem to tense up, their shoulders tight as even some of the kids stop talking now. “You’re stuck here.” He leans forward. “Whether you like it or not.”

You swallow thickly, picking at your eggs and eating the toast. The sheriff doesn’t stop staring till he mutters something you can’t hear. Running his hand through his graying hair and then downs the rest of his coffee. “You got questions but I don’t have all the answers to’em. Been here 2 years and I still don’t know a damn thing about this town.” He pauses a little, mentally thinking over what he’ll say next. “I’ll answer what I can but there are rules. Rules that you have to abide by.” He probably would’ve gotten to them when you were cuffed but he doubts you would’ve listened.

“What rules?”

“For starters,” he clears his throat. “Never go outside at night.” Waving his finger side to side for emphasis. “No matter what you hear or think you hear. Don’t ever go outside.”

The knocking on the door from last night comes to mind. The way they acted, scared and tensed. It makes you wonder, “why?”

“There are things out there, kid.” He looks a bit towards the window. The wind breezes by making the trees and some of the signs on the shops sway along with it. There were other noises when you were in the sheriff’s office last night but it could’ve been rats. “There are things that’ll hunt you down and tear you apart.” Some of the people that are still in the dinner nod wordlessly to what he’s saying. “Next rule,” he sits up a bit, “when night comes around keep all doors and windows shut. Things will come knocking.” Looking back to you, “ignore it all.”

“Don’t go outside, don’t open the doors. Let me guess, don’t talk to strangers at night as well?” You roll your eyes. This is what parents tell their young kids, this isn’t something new to you. So why is he drilling it Into your head so much? “What is this? Is there a boogeyman that’ll come to steal me away or something.”

He huffs a laugh, he remembers when he didn’t believe it either. “Yeah… something.” Moving out of the booth. He taps his knuckle on the table and motions for you to come. “Come on, I’m gonna give you the tour.” Sarcasm hangs off his words, “a real lovely town. So much to see and so little time.”

The sheriff takes you down all the main spots. Infirmary, farm, produce store, houses that begin to line the streets. You meet a good amount of people, some old and some young. All look tired and exhausted but smile still. The kids, the few that are there, seem blissfully unaware of what’s going on around them. Kudos to the parents for guarding their innocence. There’s a small school for the kids, even a neat little playground that the parents take them too.

Everyone greets the sheriff warmly and they all give you sad looks. No one’s happy to see a newcomer it seems. After a good hour of walking, the sheriff leads you back to the police department. He opens the door and you walk in. His right hand, George, waves to you from where he sits reclined with his legs on his desk. He seems bored till he spots you. “Welcome back, had fun joyriding?” He remarks with a knowing look.

“Fuck you,” hissing at him, not in the mood at all for jokes but he just laughs. He takes no offense to it, has probably heard it so many times beforehand.

“I miss that,” George sighs.

You snark immediately, “what? Getting fucked?”

“No,” he shakes his head with a smirk. “No, well… yeah… but, I just miss having that fire.” He tugs his legs off and then stands. “I’m gonna make my rounds, sir. Check to make sure the animals are all safe and in their pens for the rest of the day.” He and the sheriff bump elbows when they pass by each other. A little greeting that seems like a little ritual of theirs. “I’ll check in with the infirmary too. I know Doc’s been needing some extra help.”

“You do that, George. I’m gonna get our newest resident set up.” Nodding to you to come follow him back to the chair he had cuffed you to last night. You look wearily at it and to his credit he notices your slight discomfort. “You aren’t getting cuffed again, you can sit.” He smiles when he takes his own seat behind his desk.

Taking your seat, you yawn loudly. Been up all night and almost all day, every new information stacks on top of your shoulders creating boulders of stress that you can’t shake off. You lean back, kicking your legs out once you do. “What’s really out there when night comes?” A serious question he hasn’t really answered. Your head falls back, looking up at the ceiling like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. You sit and wait until he speaks, he seems to be mentally putting a speech together.

He then speaks once he’s ready. “Monsters that look human,” ‘look’ being the keyword that he stresses. “They talk like us, dress like us, but they aren’t us.” You tilt your head just a little to stare at the sheriff that looks like he’s aged another year just talking about these ‘humans’. “They can’t come in when you have this,” he pulls from his pocket a black rock. A foreign insignia carved into the rock like a rune. “Place this rock over a door, make sure all other doors and windows are shut and they can’t get in.”

“That's it?” Looking incredulously at the rock. “A rock?” It’s comical and you laugh. “A rock keeps me from becoming these things— what? Their dinner?”

“Dinner? I don’t know about that but this rock will keep you safe.” He simply says, “this one’s the police’s department. Took it off to show you.” He swings a bit side to side in his chair. His index finger dragging over the jagged marks that deface the rock. “It’s why they didn’t come in last night.”

“But—“

“Even with the doors and windows shut.” He looks serious now, “no rock means there’s no safety. Means that they will get inside and find you no matter where you hide and they will kill you.” His eyes hold a certainty that’s hard to not notice. You wonder what he’s seen, what he must’ve gone through to look like this.

“Can’t I just carry it?” You ask after you put some thought to it.

“… no,” his old eyes flicker down. “Last person to try that… we only found her chest that was ripped open.” No head, no arms, no legs, just a chest that had deep claw marks embedded into her skin. “The rock was placed where her heart was supposed to be.” He told her to not risk it but she did it anyways. She wanted to play hero and see what the rock could do if she walked out with it… Sometimes he wonders what the monsters took off first. Maybe the arms? Maybe the legs? He doubts her head went first, those fuckers find joy in causing immense pain and misery.

You sit up now. Your head no longer looking mindlessly at the ceiling or at the rock. “Jesus Christ.” Murmuring softly, the severity of your situation starting to sink in.

“He’s not here,” the sheriff laughs bitterly. He stands and walks to the front entrance. Leaving you alone for a bit as he places the rock back on the little pedestal above the door. “Hasn’t been here in who knows how long.” You barely hear the muttered words that he speaks. You might’ve missed it if you weren’t so focused on him. He eventually comes back to you in his office. “It’s my job to keep everyone here safe. I take that seriously but some people will try their luck.” His hands land on his hip. “This place,” he sighs and you can only assume that he’s looking at the map that hangs on the wall instead of the faraway look he has. “This place’ll chew you up and spit you out if you let it.”

He turns to you now, “don’t let it.” He says for your sake and for his. “We’ve got two places for you to stay.” His voice sounds lighter now. Ready to get you situated so you’ll not be another thing to worry about. Falling back into his seat as he takes out a makeshift map of the town. Houses drawn just as crudely as the storefronts. “I got a house that’s a bit on a hill and we got the Townhouse. Well… it’s not really a townhouse but it holds a good chunk of our community in it.” He grabs a pencil to erase a name, a woman’s name, from the house drawn on the hill. “No pressure on where you want to live but… if you decide to live in the townhouse then you gotta be roommates with 15 people.”

“The house then.” You say quickly but he raises his hand. If all of this bullshit is true then you want your own place.

“But,” he starts, “you stay in a house by yourself you might be more susceptible to being enticed to open your doors.” The bit of worry throws you off slightly. “It might be best if you stay with people in the beginning. It’ll help you acclimate bet—“

“I ain’t gonna open any doors.” You huff softly after you cut him off, “I don’t really like people anyways.” Assuring him as best as you can, “I’ll be fine. Promise.” Sharing a room or a bunk with 15 people that you don’t even know? Yeah, that ain’t gonna fly. You’ll take your chances on your own. Besides, “last thing I need is to be in this Townhouse and someone stupidly opens a door or window.” You know yourself, you don’t know them. The sheriff merely nods.

“I doubt someone would open anything but,” he sighs, it’s not exactly rare though. Some people like to think they’re invincible with all the bravado they have. “I can understand why you wouldn't want to be with people you don’t know.” Safety isn’t always in numbers after all. “I’ll get the keys so you can get situated in your new home.” Rummaging through the cabinet in his desk. Pushing away some papers till he hears a jingle and he lets out a victorious “ah hah!” Tossing the keys up and then snatching them. “Now for the rest of the rules.”

“There’s more?” Quirking a brow as your fingers tap on your knees. You can’t believe this. The suddenness, the whiplash of it all. Here’s a town that you can never leave, oh, and here’s these keys to your new home and also, there’s monsters that’ll kill you for sport. Enjoy! Try not to lose your mind while you’re at it too!

Rubbing your hands over your eyes, you would’ve thought you were dreaming but this is too extensive for a dream. “Alright, lay it on me.” Popping your knuckles as you give him your attention.

He nods his head up and down, tossing the keys up every now and then. “Everyone chips in,” he stops tossing them for a second, “everyone helps out. Do your part and don’t cause trouble. That’s all I— that we,” he stresses, “ask. No one’s ever been bad but we’ve had some arguments and some in fighting. It all got resolved easily, mind you.” He says as if to toot his own horn, “it’s gonna be hard to adjust here. Most people take about a week so if you need anything, anything at all…” giving you a kind smile, “come to me. I’ll help out however I can.”

Finally he tosses the keys to you. You catch them quickly and he stands up to come around to help you up. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” Moving to the door and opening it for you. “We’ll get you a weeks worth of food and clothes. We’ll try to find things that’ll fit you, if not then we got some elderly here that knows how to sow.” You don’t know if he’s taking a dig at you but he sounds genuinely sincere. “We tend to dole out the food rations every 7th day. Everything is equal so long as you’re not elderly, sick, or pregnant.” Walking beside you once your feet take you down the road you walked on earlier when he gave you the tour. “We try to give more food to the ones that need it most, you know?” He says it as if he was expecting an argument, you wonder how many have argued before about it.

The house on the hill starts to come into view. A two story home with a wrap around porch, the windows to the first floor are boarded up but the ones on the second floor are not. You don’t say much as the sheriff chats, making remarks about rules to follow and what he expects from you. Even making mention of little get togethers and book clubs. How quaint that even though there’s a chance of death you can still go gossip with the neighbors. You just keep looking ahead as the house comes closer to you. “… bring your bike around tomorrow, okay?”

You shake your head a bit. You blink a bit when you realize that you’re standing at the front door of the house… your house now. How long were you out of it? “I uh… sorry, what?” You say a bit slowly.

He sighs, first days are always rough so he cuts you some slack. “I said I’ll bring your bike around tomorrow along with your food.” He waits patiently before you get the hint to unlock the door. “Hope you don’t mind about that. I’ll need to get with Debbie about the food. Want to make sure you’ll have enough for the week to come.” He steps in first and you take a breath in. The house looks like someone really loved it. Painstakingly took time to knit soft blankets for the couch and have some forest lil paintings that line perfectly on the walls that lead up to the second story. The furniture and decorations are pretty old, very 1950’s but they have an air of expert craftsmanship. The paint on the walls is a little faded but the character is there. Just needs some polishing up.

“The water and electricity work, don’t ask me how.” He says when you give him a questionable look. “One of those things that I don’t know how to answer, kid. All the appliances work perfectly save for the landline. You can dial any number but you’ll get nothing save for the dial tone.” He points to the useless thing before waving it off. “Internet seems to be the main thing that doesn’t work around here and,” he nudges you to turn to your front door. A black rock is placed firmly over it with the same runes you saw from the one at the police station. “I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this but,” staring into your eyes directly, “don’t ever take that off at night. Keep it over the door, okay?”

You nod to him, “and don’t open said door or any window either, right?” You say without really needing an answer.

“You catch on quickly.” He looks proud, albeit it’s a little condescending but you’ll take it. “Night shouldn’t be coming for another two hours. I suggest you look about your home and then try to get some sleep, okay?” He starts to move towards the front door to leave. “Oh and,” he pauses. “Remember. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see. Close your eyes and ears and ignore it.” He leaves without another word.

All alone now. You shut the door. Locking it and then shoving the couch against it. You go to the back door of the house and push the kitchen table against it. You only begin to settle in when you’ve triple checked everything before looking around your new home. Trying to get a feel of where you’ll be staying for the remainder of your days it seems. There’s dish sets meant for at least a family of four. A sponge in the sink, used prior since it’s a bit wet still. There’s some dishes in the dish rack that you try not to worry about. Wood cabinets that have glass doors so you can peek inside. Little bits of character that make the home feel less suffocating.

You leave the kitchen area to go upstairs. Having passed the living room and you’re not that interested in the dining area. There’s three rooms and two full baths upstairs. The first two rooms are bare with only a mattress and some suitcases in either room. One of the rooms has no windows, might’ve been a study once upon a time. The windows that are in the other room and restrooms are nailed completely shut and won’t budge no matter how hard you try. Good.

The master bedroom though… someone lived here beforehand for sure. The bed’s blankets been tussled a bit. The dressers have stickers on it and some names etched into the side of it. Those names were crossed out and a new one had been written under it… a woman’s name that you remember the sheriff had erased earlier. You’re tempted to cross out her name on there to write your own but you just can’t do it. It feels like an omen to do so. You don’t believe omens but with the way your life is now going… you might just start.

The closet has some board games, a good amount of books surprisingly. Notebooks too and journals. Some are written in, some aren’t. You found only one picture with a name on it when you were looking through some books… the same name that matches the very first one at the top of the dresser. You leave the picture where you found it.

There’s not much clothing in there that looks like it’ll fit you. A varying degree of mens to womens to even childrens clothing in it. Some shoes as well. You can probably mix and match the mens and womens clothing to fit you in the coming days.

The two hours seem to go by faster than you thought it would from all your exploring. There’s not a single clock in the house so you’re relying on your internal one. Just before the sun starts going down you hear a hand bell ringing faintly. You poke a head out your window, you press your hands around your eyes as you look hard enough to see the sheriff’s the one ringing it. A warning for everyone to get home and stay home.

You’re glad that the master bedroom has a window that leaves a perfect view of the town. You can see damn near everything and if it weren’t for the warnings, and the fact that the window is nailed completely down. You probably would’ve sat on the roof to look out.

You keep the curtain back once night really comes. It gets dark, incredibly dark even with the little street lamps flickering to life. You wait and wait for something to come. Anything at all but you see nothing. You hear nothing and you're glad that you had triple checked all the locks and windows before you had went upstairs. Your anxiety starts to bubble up so you shut the curtains and leave it be. Going to sleep on the bed feels wrong so you sit on the floor near the window. Maybe you shouldn’t have but you used to do this when you were younger on the nights you couldn’t sleep.

Owls seem to hoot along outside and there’s some noises but probably just animals scampering about. You’re reminded of your grandfather’s home in Conroe by the sounds. A nice trailer with a good amount of land and trees. You remember how he’d take you outside to look up at the stars when you struggled to sleep. You wish you could do that but… you don’t want to risk it. Can’t risk it, you don’t want to be another name to the list of ones on the dresser.

Everything is quiet in the house save for the gentle hum of the fridge downstairs. You wished the room had a ceiling fan, you’d kill for some white noise right now. That for sure would help you fall asleep but every time you’re ready to do so you hear something. Some creaking here and there but nothing you can’t find a reason for. You don’t want to jump in that deep end yet. So, you start to list off what it could be that’s making the walls creak a bit. Could be rats since this is an old home or maybe mice scurrying into the kitchen. You haven’t seen a cat nor dog when you were with the—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Something’s knocking at your front door. You know it’s the front door because there’s a bit of fencing to the back. If the house wasn’t so quiet then you wouldn’t have heard it. To your credit, you don’t speak, don’t say anything save for the short breath you take. A fluke maybe? The sheriff coming to check up on you? It’s night though? Why would he risk it if he believes wholeheartedly in this shit? No, no… your instincts are warring inside you. One part wants you to go downstairs and tell whoever it is to fuck off while the other wants you to hide in your closet.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Again you hear it. You huddle closer to the corner now. Pulling your legs up to your chest as you count your breathing. Focusing on that instead of whatever is outside knocking. They seem more insistent now, the knocking sounds louder. A heavier hand getting impatient.

“Go away, go away, go away.” You say quietly to yourself like a mantra. Willing whoever is outside to just leave you alone. Even going so far as to mutter a tiny prayer, you haven’t done that in a long time but everybody prays in the end.

After a bit you strain your ears to listen. Even going so far as to lean a bit forward as you do. As if sitting up will make you listen better.

You wait… and wait… and wait.

Nothing… nothing knocks again. “Maybe it left?” You ask yourself. Taking a deep, long breath in and exhaling slowly out. Relaxing as your heart rate, which was beating fast, starts to calm after some time. “Maybe the asshole got bored.” Or maybe this town is full of idiots and the sheriff is playing the biggest joke on you. You’ll demand an apology from him tomorrow for fucking with you tonight. But, right now you’re really sleepy and you’re ready to just go the fuck asleep. “Been up all day and all—“

Tap. Tap. Tap

Your blood freezes in your veins as your heart comes to a stand still.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your head slowly turns to the side as your eyes flicker to your window. A shadow begins overcasting it. The shape is vaguely human as it taps at your window. Each tap stays longer than the last. You didn’t even hear anything move on your roof, nothing made a noise to warn you that something was there. Your hands have pressed hard against your mouth as you try to force yourself to control your breathing. Keeping impossibly still as you have no choice but to wait it out. The shadow moves every now and then, swaying side to side like one would when restless. Sometimes it’ll tap three times or just once but it remains there. Tapping in intervals to keep your attention.

It remains there for what feels like an eternity before it probably gets bored again and goes away. The shadow of the human slowly disappears from view. Only now, you can hear the roof shuddering under your night visitor's weight.

You don’t get up immediately. You wait some more, wait longer than you think maybe you should before you move. Curiosity begs you to look but something deep in your gut tells you “not yet.” A prey instinct that’s buried deep in your DNA tells you to not stay near the window anymore. You take to crawling to the other side of the bed. There’s only one window in this room anyways… at least you won’t have to worry about another shadow coming to haunt the space.

You toss and turn a bit as you try to get comfortable on the floor. Your back aches but you won’t allow yourself the bed just yet. Don’t want to sleep where someone once had laid. You feel sleepy enough despite how you flinch at every noise. Your body pleading for rest and you are not able to forgo it any longer. Unable to hold out anymore when your eyes have no more strength to open and look.

You dreamed of nothing on your first night. Nothing had come to terrorize you, no monsters taking root to tear you apart. All you heard in your dreamless sleep was the sound of a small, soft

Tap. Tap. Tap.

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scramratz · 9 months ago

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Most favorite commission for my most favorite mutual ♥️ 😘

#do NOT give me creative control you WILL be POSED TF UP

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kayak-mayak · 1 month ago

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I love Elita-1 being the color of energon (when it's pink) as much as the next person, but you can do some pretty cool stuff with blue energon too. Like... What if Starscream's color scheme hadn't always had blue in it? >:]

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bibliophilesince2003 · 5 months ago

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Oplita Oneshot

This is based off of Transformers One. I've been itching to write something wholesome, and I absolutely adore Optimus and Elita as a couple. Normally, I put my writing on Wattpad. Then again, those are usually full-length stories. It just made sense to do this particular oneshot here. Perhaps I'll do more oneshots of my favorite fandoms in the future.

So, yeah, this is for my fellow die-hard Oplita fans.

Also... this takes place after the ending of Transformers One, maybe a few months or so after the ending. Sorry, I'm not sure what a month is in cybertronian terms; Google was unhelpful. If you have not seen Transformers One in its entirety, this one shot may not be as impactful as it could be.

Optimus ducked as he walked past the door frame, mumbling to himself. His eyes were glued to the data disks in his hands; he had grabbed far too many. A few dropped to the ground. He bent to pick them up, but only lost more in the process. Optimus shook his head and resorted to sitting on the ground, spreading out the data. Now he could read them better, though some of the works and markings were faded and illegible. He grunted, his legs getting in the way. Being taller and bulkier had its advantages in battle, but he couldn't exactly crawl through vents like he used to. Bee had joked that perhaps the Matrix of Leadership had a "switch" for shrinking, but Elita said that size didn't matter. Then, she promptly added, stupidity was sure to remain.

He was glad he didn't intimidate her, even after becoming a prime. Her suggestion to "adapt" to sudden change was both firm and helpful, though harsh. Now, it settled deep in his spark, and he began to overthink. What if he didn't adapt? Would she think less of him?

A memory flashed through his mind, eliminating his worries about Eilta. He may have been dying, but he remembered catching a glimpse of Elita leaning towards the edge of the well when he fell. It was both shocking and endearing, but he was glad Bee yanked her back. It warmed his heart before pain overtook it, pain so great that it rendered him unconscious. He hadn't mentioned it to her, and he didn't think he ever would. It would be a secret to hold on to, at least for the time being.

Optimus was so engrossed in his work he didn't hear the automatic doors open. When footfalls finally reached his ears, Optimus scrambled and gathered up the data disks to the best of his ability. Elita and a few of her soldiers in training turned the corner and walked down the hall. Elita put her hands on her hips.

"And here is our leader, on the ground and sorting through old data disks like a desperate scavenger. Don't worry; he's tougher than he looks."

"That's reassuring," said one of the trainees; a pink and white female cybertronian.

Optimus cleared his throat, gave a lop-sided grin, and backed up. He dumped the data disks on a table and apologized, though it was mostly for Elita's sake. When he returned to the group, Elita gave him an amused look, but waved a hand in front of the trainees.

"This is Arcee, Smoke, and Cliffjumper. It's part of their training to visit the archives. A tactical warrior is just as powerful as a physically strong one."

"Wheeljack was part of your training program, wasn't he?" Optimus asked.

Elita rolled her eyes, and Cliffjumper answered for her, holding back a laugh. "He got bored."

"He joked about starting his own group; a group that didn't mind going the extreme," Smoke said.

He paused, then added to his statement. "Maybe it wasn't a joke."

"It definitely wasn't a joke," Arcee said.

"I'll have a talk with him later," Elita said, and Optimus nodded.

He stared at the wall just above their heads, lost in thought. Elita straightened.

"You ok?" she asked.

"What?" Optimus snapped out of it. "Oh, I'm fine."

Elita turned to address her trainees. "Meal break. Get your energon and look over some of the data this place has to offer that you think will benefit you. I want you at the station in a couple of hours; no sooner, no later. Got it?"

They nodded and obeyed; heading down the hall and turning the corner. Silence fell as their chattering grew distant.

"I said I was fine," Optimus said, attempting a laugh.

It sounded hollow.

"What's wrong, Pax?"

Optimus' shoulders dropped in surrender. When she called him that, he always felt inclined to answer, as if he were a miner under her command again. "Pax" or "Orion" would only come from her, though, and she never used it in front of others. He was to be Optimus Prime to everyone else; a title that carried authority and a great deal of weight. All cybertronian citizens were aware that their life could never be the same; many were expected to train. Really, he wasn't the only one experiencing change.

"I don't know if I can do this," Optimus blurted, clenching his fists.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Elita said.

"I'm a prime, but I've never led. I'm expected to fight in a war that hasn't begun but haunts the future. I think we both know Megatron will be back; he will want to take my place. Maybe he should."

Elita sighed and took Optimus' hand. "Come on."

Dazed, Optimus nodded. They walked down the hall and through various rooms. Neither of them let go, fingers tightly intertwined.

"Find a place where we can talk, Pax. I haven't broken in here like you have."

"Commander's orders," Optimus said, picking up the pace.

They entered a dimly lit, musky room. Elita coughed, letting go of Optimus' hand to wave her hand in front of her face. "Couldn't you have picked a better place?"

"The worst places are often the best places," Optimus said.

"Is this vagueness going to be regular thing, now? I hate it."

Optimus braced his back against a shelving unit, though it didn't contain very many data disks. With a grunt he gave a few hard shoves, and the shelving unit moved to reveal a broken door that led to a precarious platform overlooking Iacon.

"Is this how you would get in?" Elita asked, coming closer to observe.

"No; there were more dangerous entry points with small ventilation systems. I got stuck for a full twenty minutes, once."

"And to think... if you had just stayed there, we could have avoided all this chaos."

"What... and have Cybertron miss this charm?" Optimus motioned to himself.

Elita rolled her eyes, but Optimus caught a small smile. He backed up, letting her go first, and Elita stepped onto the platform and approached the edge. She leaned forward, and Optimus sucked in an inward breath, squeezing past the door frame. She sat at the edge, legs dangling. As soon as Optimus sat beside her, she spoke.

"You won't know how to lead."

Great. Another one of her "encouraging" pep talks. Elita turned her head and waited until Optimus locked eyes with her.

"What I mean is... leading can never be mastered," Elita said. "So, you need to act like you have it all figured out. Voice your fears with the ones you trust, but don't put them on public display. You're right; Megatron is out there somewhere, plotting your demise."

"I don't like the thought of preparing citizens for war," Optimus said.

"It has to be done. The few already capable fighters we have don't stand a chance."

"I know."

"We have to win," Elita said.

Silence fell. They could both agree on that. Elita put a hand on his shoulder.

"You are nothing like Megatron."

"I... try to envision him as he was. He was my greatest friend, Elita. And yet, anyone is capable of betrayal."

"You may doubt yourself, but I would never betray you. Even when I seemed your enemy, yelled at you, and -"

"Punched me in the face?" Optimus offered.

"Yes, even then, I never hated you. You were just... too ambitious and eager for my taste."

"Interesting," Optimus said, looking upwards in thought.

Elita laughed and knocked him in the shoulder, and Optimus gasped dramatically and fell, rolling closer to the edge of the platform.

"I thought you would stop punching me," Optimus groaned, finally sitting up when Elita's eyes widened, no doubt worried he might fall, or perhaps having PTSD of when he had, in fact, fallen.

"Oh, come on! That wasn't a punch," Elita said.

Optimus laughed and stood up, offering a hand. Elita took it, and he helped her up.

"What were you doing rifling through the data disks, anyway?"

"I'm trying to find what remains of Alpha Trion's wisdom. The Matrix of Leadership offers many surprises, but I'm without a mentor. I wish he were here."

"You have everything and everyone you need," Elita said.

Optimus dipped his head, and Elita placed her hands on either side of his face, lifting it back up. "I expect you to be on the training grounds this afternoon. Maybe you can convince Wheeljack to join the group."

"Would they listen to me?"

"You have an axe for a hand. How could they not?"

Optimus laughed, and Elita lowered her hands, nodding in satisfaction.

"Thanks, Elita."

"Any time, Pax."

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