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ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

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hear me out: ghoap x reader (noncon) in an abandoned factory. Reader only has an unreasonably short amount of time to escape before they get to keep her and do whatever they want to her

1k game here - no more please! im trying to get through these but they're slow going because im incapable of writing anything less than a thousand words apparently

1.8k of ghoap (mostly ghost) x reader chasing very scared reader through a factory :/ this is very similar to everything else i've ever written so nothing new here folks. (aka noncon!!!) btw this one is just pwp, nothin else much here to see

Your breaths heave out of you in pants, almost violent in their intensity. You feel like you can hardly breathe, but it doesn't matter. all that matters is running, getting away from the monsters chasing you.

You can hear them. Or, one of them at least. Johnny - the Scottish one, the one you'd been stupid enough to follow out of the bar in the first place. His partner - either Ghost or Simon, Johnny had called him both - your sure is silent as he moves. He'd blended into the shadows for so long when you first woke up, and you know he's doing it again.

You can't think about them. If you think about them for too long you'll spiral, and that is the last thing you need.

No, you have to run.

The old factory is a creepy place, cobwebs and dust covering everything, random creaking noises from machines, lights flickering on and off with no rhyme or reason. It takes all of your willpower not to scream when you feel a roach crawl across the toe of your heels.

The shoes are something you're still not sure if you made the right choice on - you can't walk silently in them, but you have absolutely no idea what you could possibly step on. The last thing you need is to somehow give yourself tetanus while running from your possible killers.

Still, the way you click-clack along the concrete floors makes you wince with every step.

"Where are you, bonnie?" Johnny echoes nearby. You've been trying to track him by listening to how many times his voice echoes, and he sounds very close now.

You duck into the first room you see, shoving yourself along a dark wall and fumbling around in the pitch black. The room must be windowless because there isn't even a hint of light, nothing that lets you see even vague shapes in the room.

Still, it's silent. You hear loud footsteps approach the door, and breathe out a large sigh of relief when they keep walking. Johnny shouts something indiscernible, and his voice fades into the distance.

You go limp against what you're sure is a wall, letting yourself breathe as heavily as you want now that you're sure there's no chance of being found.

The adrenaline makes your hands shake. Your lungs ache from the strain you've put them under, and you feel a little lightheaded from fear. But you try to shove all of that away - all that matters is that you stay away from your pursuers until morning.

The door opens.

Any peace you'd managed to find disappears in the blink of an eye, and you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your whimper. The door opens inwards, and whoever steps in can't see from around it. You're safe until he lets it fall closed behind him, plunging the room into darkness.

It's got to be Ghost. Even without knowing them all that well, you know Johnny wouldn't be able to resist taunting you. You hadn't seen much more than a silhouette, but you're sure this is Simon.

You can't try and move. Your shoes are too loud, and trying to kick them off would be just as loud as walking. Your only option is to stand still and pray he doesn't find you.

He's silent as he moves. You can't hear breathing, or footsteps, or even if he brushes over something. The room is as quiet as it was before he found it. But you can't relax. Your legs are tensed in preparation to run, and your heart beats so loudly you're sure he could hear it if he came close enough.

But he doesn't. The room is silent, and he doesn't find you.

There's a point where you're nearly convinced that he never came into the room at all. Is it possible that you hallucinated him? That your exhausted and terrified brain conjured up a threat that isn't real?

It takes a long, long time, but eventually you start to relax against the wall. It must've been nearly ten minutes of dead silence now, surely you've just started seeing things. No man could stand that still, stay so quiet, for so long.

You let your arm fall from your face, puffing breaths into the slightly musty air. Another few minutes, and you'll move again.

"Boo," a voice whispers in your ear, from directly next to you.

You scream, leaping away from the sudden wall of heat at your side. It doesn't let you, a hand snapping out and grabbing you by your upper arm before you can fall. You scream again as he pulls you closer, don't stop screaming as he turns you around and pins you by the chest to the wall.

He's all man and heat as he presses himself to your back, lips hovering by your ear, breaths ghosting over the sensitive shell.

"Got you," he whispers, nipping at your ear. "Stop your wailin', you're alright."

You do not, in fact, stop wailing. It feels impossible to swallow the sobs spilling from your throat, like if you close your mouth they'll choke you. So you stand pinned to the wall, tears already spilling down your cheeks as you blubber mindlessly.

Ghost laughs over your shoulder. "Little crybaby, aren't ya? That's alright, doll, I don't mind a few tears."

You can feel him undoing his belt behind you, and that only makes you more panicked. You throw yourself back against him, desperate to get him off, but you're nowhere near strong enough to do anything.

Ghost grunts over your shoulder, using one hand to force you flush with the wall again.

"Stay," he grunts, naked hips brushing against your ass as he flips your skirt up. "Unless you want me to get a little rougher? That what you want, love? Want me to throw you down and fuck you until you bleed?"

You keen loudly, shaking your head as best you can with your face forced into the wall. "No, no, nonono, please, please, you can't- oh God, please don't-"

He laughs lowly, rocking his hard cock between your thighs. "Just Ghost will do, love. Now, let's stretch you out a bit, hm? No need for blood when you're good for me."

You're bone dry between your thighs, no room for anything but fear in your head. Simon doesn't seem to mind, slowly stroking over your clit until your body betrays you.

"There we go," he murmurs as you first start to leak onto his fingers. "Little more for me, love, c'mon."

You've got no choice but to obey. It's like Ghost has a manual on how to make you feel best, stroking over all the parts that make your cunt drool, using just enough pleasure to keep things feeling horribly good.

You sob against the wall, pressing your forehead so hard into the rough surface that it hurts. All you can do is stand still and take what he gives you, forced to bear witness to your own destruction.

He's silent as he slips one finger, than another, inside of you. You whine against the intrusion, the slight sting a horrible pleasure.

"Hush, love," he soothes, rutting himself against your leg. "You're almost ready, won't be much longer now."

That only makes you more distressed, and you sob into the wall.

He's true to his word and doesn't spend much longer fingering you, his own intent seeming to be to spread you out enough to take him. You hope the fact that he only used two fingers means he isn't too large, but the size of each finger tells you otherwise.

You can't help but cry out when you feel his warm head rest against your entrance. Your hands fist against the wall as you fight back every urge to lash out, knowing that'll only make everything worse.

Ghost laughs over your shoulder, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"Still for me now, good girl. Won't make you do any of the work, just gotta stand there and take it for me." He speaks as he pushes slowly into you, raising his voice enough to be heard over your sounds of pain and pleasure.

He's thick, so much thicker than the two fingers he stretched you with, and there's a moment where you think he really has made you bleed. The pain isn't sharp enough for that though, just a never ending push into the clutch of your body.

"There you go," he moans when his hips meet the meat of your ass, as deep inside of you as he can get at this angle. "You feel like heaven, doll, never felt a cunt this tight, fuck."

"Pl-please," you splutter, breath shaky. "Please don't, it hurts..."

"Oh yeah? It hurts?" He coos, hands stroking faux-comfortingly over your hip. "Poor thing, 'm just too big for your little hole, huh? You'll just have to relax, then, I'll make you feel good once I'm finished."

A little heartbroken noise slips from your throat, but you do your best to listen. There isn't much else to do but bear whatever he chooses to give, so you try to relax your muscles, letting the wall take your weight.

"Good girl, good girl for me," he breaths, grinding his hips deep into you.

You feel him inhale deeply against you and try to mimic the pace of his breathing, bracing yourself as he pulls out.

Mercifully, he's silent as he fucks you. He seems to be lost in your body, shoving his face into your neck and running his teeth over the thin skin over your pulse.

It feels almost dream-like, to be taken like this. You can't move with how closely he has you crowded, and the room remains the absolute pitch black - you can't even see the outline of Simon's form over your shoulder. It's like what's happening is stuck in only this room, and you tell yourself that when it's over, when you leave, you'll be able to pretend this never happened.

That illusion is ruined when the door opens, flooding the room with light.

You get another look at Ghost as he pulls his head away from your neck to look over - he's sweat-slicked and flushed, eyes narrowed as he looks to see the intruder.

"Aw, you started without me?" Johnny whines, leaving the door wide-open as he trots over to where you're pinned.

Ghost huffs a laugh over your shoulder, continuing to fuck you at his same pace, leaving you wracked with pleasure. "First come, first serve, Johnny - shoulda been faster if you wanted to play with her first."

Through teary eyes you can see that Johnny doesn't look all that upset as he leans on the wall next to you. He plants a hand in the center of your chest, pushing you back into Ghost to make just enough room for him to squeeze between him and the wall.

You're left using his body to hold yourself up, instinctually gripping his arms to keep from collapsing.

He nudges your chin up with one hand as Ghost starts to really pound into you, leaving you drooling onto his thumb.

"Don't worry, bonnie," he winks. "I don't mind sloppy seconds."

#sorry for that horrible last line LMFAO #ghoap x reader #bo writes #1k celebration

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harleehazbinfics · 6 months ago

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Learn more about you Cannibal chef! reader m.list | Author profile

Word Count: 512 A/N: Hello, lovies! Been so long since I updated. But hey! I came back to also say I graduated woohoo! Nothing permanent yet, I don't want to get your hopes up with daily updates like I used to since I'll be looking for a job now, omg. But, I'd love to hear requests from you. I honestly don't know what more I should add to Cannibal Chef!Reader. I'm out of creativity lmao. THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR HOLDING OUT THIS LONG! MWAH!

"Good morning, Miss Rosie!~"

"Y/n! Sweetheart! Here to take your order?"

"Yup!"

"Here ya go. Looks like a big order. Did something happen?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. So, Sir Alastor was in a good mood, and we went to eat at a restaurant in the circle, but the food was so inedible that Sir Alastor had to spit it out in public. Something, I've never seen him do honestly. Then after we bumped into the Vees and got into a bit of a scuffle with them. After making it back to the hotel, Sir got splashed with alcohol right in the face," you mutter, awkwardly laughing.

"Well, that's one hard day he had there. You gonna make him something then?" she asks flashing you her sharp teeth.

"Mhm! I was thinking of making hotpot or a casserole. He must be famished after such a tiring day," you smile.

You then hear the bell tower chiming then whipping your head to see the time.

"Well, that's my cue. I'll see you around Miss Rosie!" you called before leaping from building to building.

"Take care, dear!"

You arrive at Alastor's room where you hear the bathroom door close and hear the rushing water after. You nodded to yourself as you walked to the kitchen he conjured just for you and tied your hair back to prep your meal.

After leaving it on the stove with a timer on. You strolled back into the living room and picked up Alastor's drenched clothes into the laundry chute for you to deal later. Of course, not before you took his handkerchief and took a whiff of it. Eyes drawing into hearts that in delight.

Amidst your happiness, the handkerchief got tugged away and thrown into the chute along with the rest of them. Alastor stands behind you, still dripping with water from the bath. Chest bare-naked and red shorts around his waist, and his towel on top of his head as his hair stuck on his forehead.

"Come on now, if you wanted one you could have just asked, sweetheart," he says with a smirk before pinching your pouting face.

He turns away from you and sinks into his favorite chair with a drawled sigh. You compose yourself and slowly walked beside him after.

You pursed your lips and pouted, "You just don't understand the smell fresh from the source, Sir Alastor."

"Oh, believe me. I know the feeling," he chuckles, waving his hand as shadows appear under you and lifted you onto his lap. He embraces you and sniffs from your collar, as you stared at him with shaky heart filled eyes as he stares back with his half-lidded ones.

"I-I never knew you were this cheeky, Sir," you stutter under your breath nervously. Your hands on his chest while he purrs under you snuzzling closer and closer.

"There are many things you don't know yet," he mutters as he grazes your neck with his teeth then his eyes flicker from your neck to your eyes and asks, "Would you like to learn?"

"I'd love to." <3

Cannibal Chef! Reader Taglist 🍴:

@bonnie-02 @marxo5 @whaatttlaufey @froggybich @rybunnie @midorichoco @lucifers-silhouette @kimmis-stuff @bontensbabygirl @janey @akiqvq @wonderlandangelsposts @spoiled-slutt @roboticsuccubus83 @atlas-rin @yuriohoe04 @azullynxx @milk-bulb @hahalame @aria-tempest @speedycoffeedelight @0strawberrysorbet0 @amitiel-truth @corvid007 @kaminarithebest @enby-goblin @whydosnakesnotdance @wtvbabes @willow404 @psychoanalyze0 @sweetadonisbutbetter @manachpo @dionysusismypatrongod @obessivlyonline @idkwhy5000 @izzieg3987 @nishayuro @gabile18 @skyeliteratures @nanaloverz @bonbontastical @saccharine-nectarine @pastelpinkhobbies @sooha-neul @purplerose291 @parasite-bubble @futureittomainn @galaxyreader260 @sappire904

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iamjacksragingboner · 11 months ago

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Overbearing Soap 3

Overprotective Soap gets sick, and is hellbent on making you do things for him: feed him, wash him, jerk him off, all the regular things people do for you when you're sick.

Part 2

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Smut, hand fucking, jerking Soap off, dub con, you know the deal

A/N: Gonna be real with you, I've never actually written smut before. Shits difficult when you don't know what the fuck goes on. YOU'RE TELLIN ME THE PEENER GOES WHERE? Anyways go easy on me shawties.

You weren’t entirely sure when you got used to Johnny living with you, but you had kind of just accepted your joint occupancy at that point. You’d spied on Johnny’s laptop—apart from the various open porn tabs which you didn’t dare click on—his emails to the landlord, moving out of his apartment and putting his name on your lease as well. He hadn’t exactly discussed this with you, but then again, you figured Johnny never really tended to discuss any of his decisions with you; they just sort of happened, and you were just along for the ride.

There was a time where Johnny woke up with a fever, all sniffly and hot, yet shivering in bed next to you. “I swear, if you get me sick, Johnny, I will have your guts for garters,” you moaned, dragging yourself out of bed and away from the blubbering snot machine.

You were surprised and equally concerned to find that he didn’t have the strength to retort at all, instead settling for a groaning, almost whimpering noise, which wasn’t good in the slightest. You pressed the back of your palm to his forehead, and grimaced as it came away burning hot. “Alright,” you sighed, “let’s get you on the mend, big guy. I’m thinking a cold washer, some soup, and lots of water for you.”

You, of course, held true to your promise. You felt that you were obligated to—he’d practically bent over backwards to accompany you through your own healing process, whether you liked it or not. It would be cruel of you not to return the favour.

Johnny was not, by any means of the phrase,ba willing patient. He seemed to be outright adamant that he was a) not sick and b) able to take care of not only himself, but you at the same time. Of course, he had said this to you with his head in the toilet and you kneeling next to him, rubbing his back as he hurled once more.

“Honestly, Johnny, it’s fine,” you said, running your fingers through his now shaggy mohawk, as he rested his head against the seat of the toilet, eyes half closed. “You did the exact same for me, if not more; I’d feel bad just leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Johnny hummed, his eyes slipping closed as you scratched the back of his head. “Don’ want ye ta get sick, bonnie,” he murmured, “I’d feel worse than I do now if I did.”

You couldn’t help but sympathise with the man; he clearly cared a great deal for you, which at one point in your time spent together, confused you greatly. Why had this great big soldier that you didn't actually know all too well insisted on taking care of you, to the almost obsessive degree of moving into your home and following you around like a shadow, or guard dog?

You had to practically drag the man out of your kitchen and back to bed when you came home to him attempting to cook. You say attempting, because his eyes were half open, and he kept putting the knife down he was using to cut garlic to go blow his nose. He hadn't gotten very far in his cooking adventures.

"Lass!" he called, his voice pinched and nasally. "Go put yer feet up, 'm makin' soup for us!" His enthusiasm was punctuated by a rather loud, honking sneeze, and you grimaced at the thought of how much food he'd likely already contaminated.

"I'm good, thanks, John," you said, gently, reaching around him to grab the knife from his hand and put it down. Placing your hands on his shoulders—ignoring the way he seemed to lean affectionately into your touch—you guided him over to the couch. He would still be able to see you at work in the kitchen, which would satisfy his guard dog tendencies, and would be off his feet and relaxing, satisfying your own anxieties about the cleanliness of your kitchen. "You stay here and just chill out, I'll handle the cooking, honestly."

Johnny, a little affronted at being kicked out of the kitchen, and probably delirious, went to stand up. Within an instant, he was hit with a wave of light headedness, and stumbled into you. You were quite frankly amazed that you didn't crumble under his weight, as you guided him back down to the couch. You left your hands pressed against his chest for just a moment—in your mind it was a preventative measure to refrain Johnny from getting up again, feeling his pectorals was merely a side effect—before straightening up. "Stay," you said authoritatively, pointing at the sickly man before you for good measure.

You made the soup to the comforting sounds of the TV on low volume and Johnny's grunting little snores, tasting it every so often so that it was to your liking, but making sure to cut the onion up small—Johnny didn't like onions, the big baby. You left a bowl to cool on the counter for a bit as you tiptoed over to Johnny's sleeping form on the couch.

He looked so peaceful; curled around a cushion, one arm under his head, his lips parted just so, curls from his overgrown mohawk trickling down his face, eyelashes pressed against freckled cheeks, stubble covering those scars on his chin that you always thought about tracing with your fingers as you lay awake at night, listening to his snores.

You reached out longingly, a finger just barely brushing his chin before Johnny's eyes shot open, and he grabbed your wrist with a speed and force that made you cry out in shock. His eyes softened as he realised it was you in front of him, and he cooed, bringing your hand up to your mouth to kiss your knuckles.

"Ye scared me, bonnie," he whispered, and fuck if that groggy whisper didn't make your cheeks heat up. Maybe you'd caught his fever.

"Soup," you said simply, pointing to the dish on the counter. There was no way you were flustered. Absolutely none.

"Soup's ready, is it?" he asked gently, the words muffled by your knuckles still pressed against his lips. "Yer gonna have ta feed me, lass; I cannae feed myself, my arms are too weak, I'm too frail ‘n weak."

If you were in any right mind you would have called his bluff, given the speed at which he grabbed your wrist, but unfortunately you were too busy turning beet red at his lips still brushing against your skin. They were so soft. You had definitely caught his fever.

Feeding Johnny soup was surprisingly more difficult than you initially expected. This was mostly because while he kept saying he was too weak to possibly feed himself, he kept trying to grab the spoon from you to feed you.

"Johnny, don't!" you had cried out for what felt like the umpteenth time that evening. "You're sick and you've eaten off that spoon, that's so gross."

Johnny, seemingly unconcerned with possibly spreading his germs, shrugged and continued to try to force feed you soup, even adding plane noises to further entice you. It was, in fact, not working. "Ye need sustenance, let me feed ye, bonnie."

"What happened to not wanting me to get sick too, hmm?"

"Changed my mind—we die together like men."

Once you had finally managed to feed the sickly goblin of a man, it was time to put him to bed. This also meant breaking the news to him that you would not be sharing the bed that night.

"Whaddya mean?" Johnny asked, incredulously. "Who am I supposed to hold when I sleep?"

You sighed, hands on your hips like a tired mother. "A pillow or something? Look, Johnny, it's just one or two nights, I'm sure you'll survive."

Somehow you managed to get Johnny to agree, and you went and slept on your lumpy little couch. It was a little colder without having the living radiator sleeping next to you, but you managed.

You woke up the next morning with your arm hanging off the couch, with someone holding it. Peeking over the edge of the couch to look, you were greeted with Johnny's sleeping face once again, your hand held in his, pressed to his mouth. You had to physically restrain yourself from crawling down there and wrapping yourself in his arms, instead choosing to gently release your hand from his grip.

"Johnny, I'm sorry, but you reek—you need to step like three more steps away from me or have a shower, like pronto." Johnny had pressed himself against your back as you worked in the kitchen, having no real concept of personal space even when ill.

Johnny huffed and puffed like a petulant child, refusing to step back from you. "Been so weak though, bonnie, cannae wash myself. Might need ye ta wash me."

"I am not going to wash you."

How you ended up in the shower with Johnny, both of you more naked than you'd like, you'd never know. All you knew at that current moment was Johnny asking you to wash his dick.

"It's not gonna bite ye, lass, ye dinnae need ta worry."

"That's actually not what I'm worried about, Johnny."

You had already washed the rest of him, his skin covered in soap suds, and you were absolutely not enjoying the view. Definitely not.

'Just do it, it's for a good cause, I'm sure. He helped you, just return the favour! It definitely isn't weird, and is very normal actually. Nurses do it all the time!'

Mustering up what little courage you had, you reached down with a sponge and began to wash his lower stomach, gradually working your way down bit by bit. You made it your mission to not look at it or Johnny, keeping your eyes trained instead on the wall beside you.

"What good are ye gonna do starin' at the wall? Gotta look where yer scrubbin, lass." With a heavy hand on the back of your head, Johnny guided you to look down, directly at his dick. This definitely wasn’t doing anything for you. What was worse, was that it was pointed directly at you, twitching any time the sponge got just a little too close to it.

"You're hard."

'Nice going, captain obvious; got any other astute observations up your sleeve?'

"Well, it's a very normal bodily function, lass, nothin' ta be afraid of. Though the view I've got certainly isn't helpin' things."

If you weren't uncomfortable with the situation before, you most certainly were now. It didn't help that you were definitely going to have to dig through your drawers for your vibrator after this. For unrelated reasons that definitely weren't related to Johnny's dick.

"Fine, fine, fine, let's just get this over with." You ran the sponge across his length, stopping immediately when he grabbed your wrist and hissed.

"Not with the sponge, lass! Steamin' bloody Jesus, are ye tryin' ta kill me? Use somethin' softer!"

Unless you counted the toilet scrubber, you didn't really have any other cleaning implements in the bathroom at your disposal. Johnny seemed to notice your hesitation and grabbed the sponge with his other hand, dropping it on the floor of the shower.

"Ye can just use yer hands, love; nothin' wrong with that."

Plenty wrong with it, actually, according to you, especially with that sweet tone his voice had adopted to guide you. But, it wasn't like he was going to let up any time soon. You held your breath as Johnny steered your hand along his dick, not bothering to question the fact that he could suddenly use his hands again, instead keeping your attention glued to your hands. He guided your hand to its base, and you ran your fingers through the curls in some sort of attempt to keep this strictly professional. You were here to clean. Nothing else.

Of course, you could only do so much to the hair at the base of his dick, there was still the elephant (dick) in the room to consider: would washing his dick for him essentially be like jerking him off?

You got your answer pretty quickly in the form of the grunt he made as you finally began to properly wash his dick, your hand, covered in soap suds, gliding up and down its length. In all fairness, there wasn't really any way to wash his erection that didn't bring him any pleasure. It was just incredibly awkward.

You huffed. "I'm not washing your dick if you're going to make sounds while I do it. It's clean enough." You let go, letting it twitch and throb at the absence of touch, and Johnny whined.

"I cannae leave the shower all pent up like this, bonnie," he groaned, taking a step towards you, his dick moving with him. You tore your eyes away in exchange for looking him in the eye. Horrific mistake on your part, the combination of wet curls and those kicked puppy blue eyes was a double whammy—you'd do anything those eyes told you to. "I cannae deal with it myself..."

"There's no way I'm doing that."

"Please, lass, ye cannae leave a poor, sick man hangin' like this."

"I can and I will."

"Please..."

"... Fine."

You knelt before the man, a little uncertain about the position, but eager to get it over with—Johnny seemed eager too. It seemed that the minute your hand even grazed his aching dick, he was buckling in the knees and holding the walls of your shower for support. The tip of his dick wept petulantly, beads of precum dribbling from the slit, only to be wiped away by your thumb.

You weren't a prude, you'd slept with people before and you knew what you were doing, it was just... a little weird to do this with someone who was essentially your roommate. Who slept, pressed against your back in the same bed as you. Who held you hand any chance he got. Who grew jealous of any man who spoke to you. You were starting to think it was a bit of a stretch to call him your roommate.

"Come on," Johnny whined, wrapping his hand over yours and thrusting into it, impatient as ever. It was mesmerising, the way the head of his cock, pink and weeping, glistening in the shower lights, would peek through your closed fist and retract again, Johnny grunting above you, his eyes closed and head thrown to the ceiling. "Fuck, been waitin' for this, bonnie. Yer hand's so soft."

You didn't respond, stuck between feeling turned on and horrified. Johnny was fucking into your hand with unbridled enthusiasm, and you were there for moral support, you supposed.

"Ye look so good on yer knees for me, lass, so pretty for me."

At least he was nice about it. You didn't mind all that much, you’d decided. It wasn't like you had a particularly bad view either, staring up at Johnny's naked form, water trickling down his hairy chest, down his stomach and into his happy trail. Big blue eyes stared down at you longingly, raking across your body as if you were his and his only.

With a grunting moan, Johnny came, white hot ropes dribbling down your forearm as he thrust into your closed fist, his hand tightening around yours. With a shuddering sigh, he sank to his knees in front of you, and laced his fingers around yours. Bringing your hand up to his lips, you were met with the familiar sensation of Johnny kissing your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. You were left in silence.

"Thank ye, bonnie," he murmured against your hand, staring at you through his lashes. "I'll pay ye back, I promise. Let's get ye cleaned up, aye?"

#john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x you #johnny mactavish

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

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undercover with undiscovered feelings

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summary: Your codename is Belladonna and one thing is clear you have a mood more sour than Ghost's. You hated the limelight, the shock and awe of it all, preferring to take your enemies out discreetly and quietly. Suddenly Laswell throws you to the wolves along with Soap, your fake French American fiancé. As if that wasn't bad enough, you have one secret. You're in love with him but you won't let him see past your hard exterior.

pairing: Soap x fem!Reader, sunshine x grumpy trope

warnings: SWEARING, violence, depiction of wounds, feelings being brought to the surface

a/n: thought it was time my scottish boy deserves some love

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Belladonna, the infamous 141's specialist in stealth and toxicology. Price took you on board due to your decorated resume and ability to discreetly take out your target. From day one, a certain mohawk soldier would not let you live down that your code name was also one shared with a porn star. God you hated him. Although maybe not hate, more like "unwillingly attracted to." You were polar opposites. While Johnny always was one for the theatrics, you were not one for shock and awe. You preferred to blend in the crowd, a grey man if you will. But stealth wouldn't help you here as Laswell planned to put you on in the limelight.

God, you should've known that breaking a mirror with your stray bullet would have its consequences. Now, you were sitting in this debrief in a safehouse in Italy wishing you had taken that bullet instead. Your legs bounced with nervousness as Laswell went through the planned covert op.

"I see you looking at me, Bell. I'm sorry but this mission is going to require you to get more intimate and not hide in the shadows," she said as you tried to silence your rapid heartbeat. All eyes were on you as Laswell continued, the mission was a simple one. One team would enter through the vents and gain access to a museum's records, a front for child trafficking. Another team would work undercover and make sure no one noticed the information extraction. What was your role? Oh Laswell made sure to painful describe how you would pose as a wealthy art collector accompanied by your body guard and your fiancé to be. "And who would those be?" you asked, fearing the worst. "Soap will be your dutiful boyfriend of 5 years while Ghost chaperones you through the night." You couldn't believe what you were hearing, out of all people why did they pick the Scottish idiot who you secretly liked. "What about Price and Gaz?" you wondered as Laswell had not reached the end of her debrief. "We'll be doing the hard work, you're just the distraction, Sweetheart," Price said and soon you would realize what he meant as a distraction.

"Stop shaking, Y/N," Price said as Ghost delicately tried a ring on your finger. "First, you all expect me to go undercover. Next, you make me act all cozy with this sweaty idiot. And now, you're having me try on rings to be fake proposed too?" you shouted as Soap held your hand to stabilize it. "Not just any ring, bonnie. A ring hand picked by me with the finest Japanese saltwater pearl and a band of 3 ct of diamonds set in pink gold. Now let me put it on your finger and you can go." You huffed as he and Price examined the fit of the ring, ensuring it was perfect for the planned engagement.

To your dismay, the night had finally arrived. You nervously checked the mirror as your hair lay loose around your shoulders. It was parted to one side, covertly hiding a comm in your left ear. Earlier, the boys had been relentless as you applied your makeup and curled your hair. Soap almost gained a black eye when he joked, "Well, our wee Bell actually cleaned up for once." The mission might end up being the death of you and your heart.

You felt nauseous looking at your self, examining how the dress flowed from one shoulder and ended with a waterfall of restricting pink tulle. The only thing you liked about this dress were the navy blue pearls adorning the layers of fabric, a subtle nod to your code name. "Lass, it's time," you heard Soap knock. You bunched up your skirt as you made your way to answer him. You were thankful Laswell had graciously gifted you with a knife tucked in a garter along with a set of Clostridium botulinum syringes. You opened the door to see him finely dressed in a midnight blue cashmere wool, silk blend suit. You couldn't deny he was handsome. Your pulse quickened as you examined him further, he had been asked to shave his famous mohawk and instead had a simple haircut. To him, you were also a sight to behold. Your cynical demeanor had endeared him, he loved making fun of you until he noticed a slight reaction. But now you looked even more gorgeous, he felt his breath hitch as he saw how the dress fit your curves perfectly and showed off your frame wonderfully. "Soap, let's go," you said breaking the silence and ending his trance. "You look breath-taking, Lass. Couldn't help but stare." You were glad he walked behind you as your face was bright red.

You exited the safe house marveling at the black Aston Martin Laswell had obtained for the op. As you got in the car, you noted Laswell driving along with Ghost in a black suit fixing his cufflinks in the passenger seat. "We're bringing you out of the shadows tonight, Bell" Ghost began, "don't worry we got you covered" he said and flashed his inner coat to show a gun tucked in its lining. Laswell, ever the observer, could feel your nerves. "Bell, there's some tequila in the console for you," she said and you quickly leaned over Soap's lap to grab it. Bless this woman, she knew your favorite. After taking many sips from the bottle, you tried to offer it to Soap but he disgustingly replied, "that shite tastes like dog piss." More for you, you guessed. You nursed the bottle as Laswell drove over the rolling hills of the coast. You tried to calm your nerves reminding yourself this was just another mission, something that you could add to your resume. You kept mentally telling yourself, "keep it professional".

Finally you felt the car come to a stop as Soap lightly tapped your shoulder indicating your arrival. "Let's go, my pearl," he said in a surprisingly convincing American accent. In this narrative, you were from a wealthy Portuguese home while Soap was your new money, New York City-transplant French American. He held out his hand as he helped you out of the vehicle. As you felt the cold coastal chill on your shoulders, you made your way to the entrance.

You made your way to check-in, Ghost silently following behind. You forcefully smiled, introducing yourself as Elaine de Rosales and your date as Renoir Cretin (dumbass in French). The host stifled a laugh at Soap's fake last name and allowed you three to enter.

As you entered the large gallery, you noted some familiar faces from the endless files Laswell had "gifted" you with. "Fucking bastards," you said under you breath and Simon whispered behind you, "that's no language for a lady." He was definitely getting his ass kicked next time you had a training exercise.

When Soap went for your hand, you could feel your heart jump. You should've downed that entire tequila bottle. He held your hand, gracefully leading you around the gallery as you made painful conversation about each piece. You were never one for arts and your horrible comments made that clear. "This looks nice," you said with a questioning tone and you heard Price laugh at your comment. He remarked, "Kid, you're so dry. Just try to act like you don't want to inject yourself with botulism right now." Every one was seriously out to get you today.

"You look more breathtaking than this painting, darling," Soap said aloud as you admired The Birth of Venus. He was laying on this whole couple thing, hard. You hoped he couldn't feel the heat radiating from your face as he planned a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "My love, you're too kind. You're practically carved from marble," you replied back, catching a glimpse of a pink blush on his cheeks.

After you examined yet another painting, Price notified you that they had gained access into the main server room. You gave Soap a subtle set of three taps with your thumb. He knew it was time as he lead you over to the main attraction. You lifted your eyes, gazing upon the large rendition of Eros and Psyche in front of you. Soap let go of your hand as he set himself on one knee.

Weeks before, Soap attempted to relieve your nerves as he described the masterful speech he would deliver to you. There were many revisions as he practiced the fateful moment to you. "You know, Soap, if I were a dumb, I'd say you're in love with me" you joked, "that speech was disgustingly romantic from the likes of you." "Oh fuck off, Bell. The first nice thing you say about me ends with an insult," he shot back. To anyone watching, the tension was clear but you remained your grumpy self, hiding your emotions.

Brought back into the moment, you could hear the crowd hush, eyes focused on you and him. "Elaine, ever since I saw you lost in the streets of Versailles, you have captivated me with your beauty and elegance. Your vast knowledge of art has shown me that there's more to a painting than a canvas with paint. I love you and will forever be there to listen to your musings about Monet and Degas," he began and you waited for the fateful words to fall out of mouth. However, to your surprise he continued, "I have never met anyone who entertained my antics quite like you have. You challenge me constantly with your fiery words and quips. This little dance of ours makes me a more humble, more loving man. Looking at you tonight, I realize that you are the woman who inspires me to surmount all obstacles. Will you make make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?" You were shocked, that was definitely not part of the script. Your face flushed at his kind words and he looked deep into your eyes.

"Oh yes, Renoir!" you whispered as tears fell from your eyes. He triumphantly picked you up, spinning you in his arms. He set you down and held your chin gently in his hand. He raised your face to his and placed a long kiss on your mouth. Your lips moved in sync as he held you tightly with his other arm. You were lost in each other, ignoring the full attention of the crowd. As you parted, the crowd loudly clapped at the spectacle. You took this moment to lean over to your new fiancé and whispered, "You went off script." He gently kissed your cheek and whispered back, "meant every word, Bell." Ghost returned to your side as older couples gathered, congratulating the "new couple." Your smile was genuine as you showed off the expensive ring, giddily detailing how your mothers would be so proud you bagged a good one.

You walked around the gallery more, now linking arms with Soap. You hadn't acknowledged the speech since your whisperings and went about downing numerous offered glasses of champagne. You made your way to a private gallery adored with more opulent paintings of historic love stories. Ghost positioned himself next to the security guard, allowing you both to sit on a bench and admire the artwork. After what seemed like forever, you in your tipsy state, broke the silence.

"My love, I appreciated your kind words. I never thought you felt that way about me," you said quietly, eyes trained on a depiction of. "Well El, you never gave me the chance. When we first met in France, I thought you disdained me," he replied, moving to hold your waist.

"I never disdained you, just ran away from my feelings," you whispered back. As you finished your sentence, he again placed his hand on your chin to lift your face. Just as you were about to kiss again, you heard through the comm, "Bell, Soap, we've been compromised. Gaz jammed their signals but security is heading to our location as we speak," Price said in a rushed tone.

Immediately, you feigned a dizzy spell as Ghost and the museum security guard rushed to help you. As they helped to carry you to a private room, you mumbled incoherently about how you were drunk on love. Once the security guard set you down, Soap shut the door and you discreetly injected the man with one of your toxins. As he lay on the velvet couch, Ghost replied to Gaz and Price that you were on the way.

Exiting the room, Ghost stopped a patrolling security guard and said, "There's a young woman in that room. Try not to disturb her, I believe she may have had one too many drinks and her father doesn't want a fiasco for the family."

With that, you made your way through the various guests, loudly whispering to your fiancé that you desperately wanted some alone time. No one questioned you as Ghost made his way to the stairwell and you both split into the elevator.

Descending to the ground floor, you could hear gunshots echoing through the elevator doors. As it opened, a guard yelled that you both shouldn't be down there before becoming distracted by another gunshot. You took this time to pull out another syringe and injected it into his neck.

"Nice work, Elaine," Soap said and armed himself with a hidden pistol from his suit pocket. Ghost joined you both soon after as you made your way to the other team's location. You three worked in unison as the boys provided a pleasant distraction with their gunfire. You were able to sneak you way and subdue the guards with your knife as they were distracted by the noise of falling bodies and shots fired. You finally made it to the room, notifying your presence with a coded series of knocks. Price heaved the door open as you noticed Gaz behind him, drive in hand but with a bleeding arm. You quickly tore the layers of fabric from your dress and provided a makeshift tourniquet.

"How are we getting out of here, Captain? They're gonna have this place on lockdown," Gaz asked. "There's a delivery area on this floor, we'll have to hurry," Ghost said and navigated you all through the winding corridors.

You finally snuck you way to the area but noticed 5 guards standing watch. "Gobshite, they must've already put this place on lockdown," Soap swore quietly. With the adrenaline rushing to your ears, you had an idea, "follow my lead, Renoir. Danger close, boys. Just listen for my signal" you whispered. You quickly took some blood from Gaz's leaking wound and applied it to your dress and ripped skirt. You rubbed your hands on Soap's pristine white shirt and pooled it around his stomach. You then motioned for him to cover his hands with Gaz's blood. "Thanks, mate," Soap whispered to Gaz and you quickly rushed into the large delivery room.

"Please help us!" you shrieked, you held on desperately to Ghost. "My fiancé and I were attacked by some crazed gunsman, I think he's been shot," you cried as the men rushed over to help. Your loud wailing and statements saying how you couldn't lose your love distracted them and allowed for you 5 to take them out. The minute you took one of the men closest to you out with your last syringe, you shrieked, "MY GOD, Kate's been shot!" That was the queue as the boys knew Laswell was nowhere near the museum. Soap quickly took out the two men trying to find the source of his bleeding while Price and Ghost handled the other two.

With the men down and the area cleared, you loaded into an armored van, presumably one that transported all the expensive art. With Price at the wheel, Ghost provided cover as you raced into the night.

Finally away from danger, you all breathed a sigh of relief. Gaz lay in the middle of Ghost and Price, tending to his wound while you and Soap lay in the back amongst the plastic wrappings of paintings.

"You were a great actress, lass. Who knew you had it in ya," Soap said as you sat next to him. You both were propped against the steel interior of the van, experiencing every bump Price hit. "You as well, that proposal was something else," you replied back. "Like I said in the gallery, Bell, I meant every word." With that, you finally were able to share your second kiss and Price smiled looking in the rearview mirror. "Be careful with that one Sgt, if you mess up she'll slip some ricin in your mouth." he joked as you and Soap rested against one another, you'd deal with the repercussions later.

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mctavish #soap mctavish x you #mw2 #izzie is writing

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training4theapocalypse · 10 months ago

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a fine wee lass, a bonnie wee lass ch.1

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 2k

Warnings / Tags: Smut, infidelity, size difference, references to previous underage romance (when they were both teens).

Summary: You're the bridesmaid at your brother’s wedding and his best man, John MacTavish is back in town. You just hope he doesn't remember when you last saw him, when you tried with all your might to stop him from joining the army.

A/N: I've not played COD since like 2012 but I keep seeing clips of Soap on TikTok and my wee Scottish heart just fancies the pants off him. This is inspired by a Scottish folk song called 'Bonnie Wee Jeannie McCall'. The dialogue is written in Scots - I hope you can follow along.

ALSO I just found out about @glitterypirateduck’s challenge by a happy accident the day after I wrote this and this fits nicely into:

Prompt 28: They don't need to know

Masterlist (there’s no other COD stuff here sorry)

Chapter 1: The first night I met her she was awfy, awfy shy

You pull your shawl around you as you stand outside the old castle. Rain lashes down across the sprawling Falkirk countryside while revellers laugh from the wedding inside. The music hasn’t started yet - you think that you’re safe to have a breather before you need to go inside for the first dance.

You stand as close to the wall as you can, taking cover from the rain. Your pink satin shoes are getting soaked. Not that it matters. The shoes your brother’s new wife chose for her bridesmaids are so ugly it’s unlikely you’d have worn them again anyway. But she’ll be fuming when she sees the state of them.

The door to the castle opens behind you and you move over, dodging a puddle to let the newcomer seek the shelter of the castle wall too.

“Awryt, darlin?” asks a voice and you look up from the puddle at your feet to see John MacTavish, your brother’s best man, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “I didnae think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say, putting your vape to your lips and raising your eyebrows once.

He pulls a sour face. “Them? They’re fulla chemicals and like, mercury, and that.”

“Oh aye? What’s in these? Vitamins?” you ask, flicking the pack of cigarettes in his hand with a forefinger. “You didnae smoke afore joinin’ the army.”

“Aye, well, I was sixteen when you last saw me. And you were, whit, twelve?”

“Fifteen, John.”

There’s only a year between you and your big brother, Tam. But the way he and John treated you, you’d have thought there was a decade between you. Acting like you were an annoying wee tag-along. You just wanted to be included from time to time.

But that was ten years ago. Last time you saw John, he was just a boy, and you, just a lass. But now he’s older, with a scar on his chin that’s only highlighted by his coarse, dark stubble. The scar cuts across the hair there like white lightning. He’s taller, and broader than when you last saw him and his hair is shaved much shorter and neater than the teenage John you remember.

“Aw, aye. I mind now. You and your pals had wangled your way intae the sixth-year leavers’ gaff. As usual.”

“Did I? Any excuse for a drink back then, I s’pose.”

“Aye, but I remember ‘cause I wis leavin’ in a few days for the army. And you were -” He cuts himself off suddenly.

“I was whit?” a smile cracks across your face, waiting to hear his description of how you looked that night. Beautiful? Stunning? Mesmerising? You see yourself as you had been - your hair perfectly straightened, your Oh Polly bandage dress hugging your form in all the right places. In your memory, you were the embodiment of a siren. You had dolled up that night to impress the older boys. Or, if you were honest, one particular older boy.

“Well, I mean,” he says putting a cigarette between his lips and flicking his lighter. The orange glow briefly illuminates his face, casting shadows that seem to momentarily harden his features, making you remember he’s no longer a boy of sixteen but a man of twenty-six. “You were absolutely gantin’ for it.”

Your mouth falls open and you hit his arm.

Mortifying.

“Whit? Fae you? Aye, right !” you say, sarcastically but your face flushes bright red, immediately giving you away. You might have been drunk but John MacTavish rejecting your drunken advances as a teenager was probably the defining moment of your formative years.

As your words, brushing off his teasing, hang in the air, the jolt of embarrassment reminds you of a different party.

On that fateful night, ten years ago, the music was much louder. The floor was littered with empty cans and bottles and you’d ‘accidentally on purpose’ bumped into John in the hallway before pulling him into someone’s parents’ bedroom. You’d recklessly thrown your arms around him.

“Woah, woah, woah. What you daen?” he’d whispered in a panic.

“Please, Johnny,” you’d slurred drunkenly. “I dunno when I’ll see you again. Somethin’ tae remember me by.”

You had leaned in to kiss him but he turned his head. You were so drunk you didn’t care. You sucked on his neck, feeling that dark stubble under your sloppy tongue as your hand found his cock in his jeans.

But he’d stopped you in your tracks. Pinned your arms to the side. He was stronger than you, even as a teenager.

“Naw, look, I cannae,” he had said. And even though your eyes could barely focus on his, you could tell he was annoyed at you. But you didn’t care. You just wanted him so badly.

“Aw, come on, John. Please? I’ll show you my tits,” you had said. “I’ll - I’ll go the full way. I’ll do anythin’. Just - just don’t leave, awryt?”

The sound of cheers from the reception hall cuts through your memory and snaps you back to your current, rainy surroundings.

“Aye, well, I was probably just dreamin’,” says present-day John. “It probably never happened.”

It’s considerate of him, to pretend that it never happened.

But no matter how hard you try to pretend, there’s no denying that you made a fool of yourself, plain and simple.

Sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, the memory makes you cringe as you replay that embarrassing moment. You try and cut yourself some slack, remind yourself that you were just a desperate, heartbroken teenager who’d drunk half a bottle of vodka working up the courage to make the move she’d always thought about. Begging John not to join the army. Begging John to fuck her.

He had declined both requests.

But that doesn’t matter because you’re a fully grown woman now. One that hasn’t spent more than a second thinking about John MacTavish coming home for her brother’s wedding. No, sir. Not one second. Definitely not.

You exhale a laugh like it’s a funny memory. “Maybe it did happen. I cannae really remember, I must have been steamin’ drunk,” you say. But you know what happened. He knows what happened. And he knows you know.

John's response comes with a delay, his chuckle soft and tinged with a hint of meaningful self-deprecation, to try and frame some of the embarrassment back onto himself. “You must’ve been steamin' to have tried it on wae the likes of me. You were always far too good for me,” he laughs, but this time his smile doesn’t quite reach those bright blue eyes.

There’s a long silence as you say nothing. With a deliberate motion, you bring the vape to your lips, inhaling deeply, the action grounding you back to the here and now as the artificial kiwi-passionfruit-guava fills your lungs with something that you know must be bad for them. As you exhale, your gaze drifts down to your soaked shoes, the pink satin darkened by the rain. They’ve changed beyond recognition.

“Woah,” he coughs his own puff of smoke. “Now just whit is that ?” asks John, his eyes clocking your left hand.

You tilt your hand subtly, letting the diamond catch the cloudy daylight. “Did Tam no mention it?” The words linger between you, almost casual. “I’m engaged, John.”

For a moment, John just stares at your hand, his face unreadable. Then, a low whistle escapes him, a mix of surprise and something unspoken. He glances up at you, his eyes searching yours for the answer to a question that he doesn’t voice. “Engaged, eh? Tam never said a word.” His gaze shifts away, a frown creasing his forehead. “Where’s the lucky man the night?”

“He’s offshore the now - he works on the rigs.”

“Christ, I’ll say,” says John, taking your hand and examining your ring. “He’d need tae be workin’ in oil for a big rock like this wan.”

Your hand feels small in his. His thick brows soften from a frown when he pulls his gaze up from your engagement ring to meet your eyes. His eyes are blue and full of a warmth that you wouldn’t expect from someone who, from Tam’s account, is a hardened soldier.

Your heart thuds in your chest when you realise that he’s been holding your hand for too long. But you don’t retract it.

“Aww the best tae the happy couple, then,” he says softly. “I suppose Tam never telt me ‘cause he had a lot to be dealing wae his own wedding and that.” John lets go of your hand. “Dae you no miss your fella, wae him being offshore?”

“Four weeks on, two weeks off. I see him plenty… More than your missus sees you, I expect. How often d’you come home? Once or twice a year?”

“I’ve no got a missus so I don’t need tae worry about that.”

The raucous laughter from inside the wedding venue dies down suddenly. And you hear the master of ceremonies announcing the entrance of the bride and groom.

“Gads,” says John, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette.

“If we miss the first dance, we’re fucked,” you say. “I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.”

You try to carefully step over the puddle - John takes your arm and holds on to you so you don’t fall. He opens the oak door for you but as you’re about to pass, he grips you tighter, stopping your movement.

“Listen, darlin’, there are some things that are just off-limits,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in your ear as he leans close. He smells like cigarettes - normally that smell would turn your stomach but there’s something sweet in his aftershave, like vanilla, that makes the tobacco smell musky and warm.

“Meanin’?” You look up at him, confused.

“The last time I saw you,” he murmurs. “You were mad wae it. I couldnae, in good conscience, take you up on that offer when you were that drunk. And you’re my best pal’s wee sister tae boot. I couldnae dae that tae Tam.”

“John, that was - that was a long time ago. It was nothin’.”

“And now,” he continues. “Now you’re engaged. Which means you’re even more off-limits.”

Off-limits?

He’s talking like you’re in that bedroom again, begging for his attention. Except you’re not. You’re not begging for John again. He’s just assuming that you’re about to.

That presumptuous bastard.

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, John MacTavish. Who are you tae try and let me down gently? It’s been ten years and I’m no even slightly interested in you anymore.”

“Naw, I know,” he says, refusing to match your volume or tone of indignation. “I’m just tellin’ you out loud why I won’t be trying it on with the most beautiful lassie in the room. And why I said no back then, as well.”

“Haul! You two!” You and John spring apart to see your tiny, furious wee auntie storming down the hallway. “You’re missing your brother’s first dance with his new wife and you’re both supposed to be on the dancefloor.”

“We - we are?” you stammer.

“Aye, did you no hear the emcee telling the wedding party to join the bride and groom? That means bridesmaids and groomsmen, ya pair of glaikit idiots. Your maw’s fuckin’ ragin’”

And with that, John lets the door behind you swing shut and you both leg it past your auntie to the reception room, with you leaving wet footprints in your wake as you go. The music from the room swells into clarity as you burst through the doors and skid inelegantly onto the dancefloor.

Your brother and his wife are too absorbed in their own happiness to have noticed your late entry and you breathe a sigh of relief. But it’s short-lived. You immediately stiffen again when John takes your waist and you realise that he’s your dance partner.

As the two of you begin swaying to the music, your mind races. You’re no longer that sad, rejected teenager, yet here, in John's reassuring grasp, you feel the ghost of her stirring. His gaze is careful, and guarded, but there's still that question in his eyes that he’s forbidden to ask.

And behind your own eyes, you can’t help the stream of curses going off inside your head.

You curse your nerves for being the reason you got so drunk at that party.

You curse John for being Tam’s best man.

But most of all, you curse yourself as you watch your left hand rest on John’s shoulder as you dance, the giant diamond ring glittering like a heavy disco ball.

#scotland forever #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #smut #soap cod #soap mw2 #john mactavish x reader #burns night #cod fic #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #soapitup

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artsandstoriesandstuff · 5 months ago

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The pain of fixating on a character not on art fight that no one will be drawing until they get up there... :,)

Anyway. Crappy artist rendition of the two from earlier!

These are Walt Peters (or Pete Waters or. Idk.) and Bonnibel!

Walt is a detective from maybe the 20s-50s that, out of curiosity, powered on a time machine project from a high schooler and wound up in the 21st century. He's a cold -too cold, sometimes- and calculating guy. Over the course of the series he does learn to have a heart... but the emotions sometimes get in way of his work, in his opinion.

Bonnie (or Bo. Or Bon) is a seemingly ditzy woman from a big city that is one of the first people Walt comes across. However, as previously mentioned she may not be as stupid as she often comes across and this more intelligent side shows further in the series. She has a '60s aesthetic. While at the beginning it's unknown if she traveled from the past too, she may have a deeper connection to one of Walt's cases...

Walt meets Bonnibel at some sort of important building. I know that they become detective partners at some point but I don't know how yet. I do know that Walt is often fed up with Bon's work ethic, but doesn't necessarily hate her, and Bo just really likes working with him. Eventually the big important case shows up but it becomes really hard to work on due to Walt's newly developed feelings for Bonnie. (not specifically that the romance gets in the way! Also speaking of romance though I do ship them I don't think the romance is a main plot point this time. Sorry.)

Design tidbits!

Walt

Walt has arms. And hands! I just find it fun drawing him without 'em. When he's in his detective suit he has black gloves on, nothing fancy.

His coat is supposed to have 3 buttons on it.

His hat is also a taller rendition of the deerstalker (the Holmes hat... look it up!)

Unless he's at home or in a generally comfortable place, Walt doesn't tend to take off his coat. He will, though, add accessories such as a tie or a scarf if the situation calls for it. I always draw him with the hat though.

His face in always in shadow (probably even without the hat). One of his eyes is generally squinted at all times, and his eyes can become more or less stretched depending on the emotion (this means he has NO EYELIDS unless his eyes are fully closed. His eyes show the emotions, not the eyelids or brows.)

The smaller eye generally is the opposite of the direction he's facing. Not necessary if he's looking forward.

Bonnibel

Bonnie has big hair! It isn't overtly big like a beehive, but it isn't really flat like Bel's either.

Oh and freckles. I decided to add them to make her a little more distinct!

She tends to have jewelry on! Mostly bracelets and earrings, though. She doesn't tend to wear necklaces.

She also likes to switch out these jewelries!

She is a very expressive woman! (Close to Enid levels of expressive) Feel free to stretch her emotions more!

Fitting with her accessories she also likes to have many outfits! They're generally 60s too but she has a few modern items in there. (she's kinda like enid but a little psychotic wait what who said that

So why the heck do I include all this information? Well:

Currently I can't get a good laptop photo for the life of me and

I really really want someone to draw them on art fight

That's all I have of them for now. I'm still thinking of a name but I feel like this would work well as an adult swim and/or cartoon network thing, or a webcomic. Both?

Also as much as I want them to get along I feel like these two would have serious beef with the Robo Sleuths.

If you read all this please let me know what you think of them!!! :)

#art #sketch #story idea #artsstoryideas #character design #original series #detective #time travel #whimsical girls with horrible trauma my beloved #also should I spill the beans on what the deal is with Bonnie? Cuz I want to wait... but I also dont #text post #series development #detective series #oc vint #oc bonnibel #vint the time traveling PI

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iamtotallyfineokay · 1 year ago

Text

Okay so people actually like my previous yandere UCN idea, surprisingly, even one of my fave writers came to comment, so I guess I’ll continue the headcanons I guess. This is just a more detailed in a nutshell version of the previous post. Also thank you for the notes from the previous one, I was really surprised when I checked it! ——————————————————————————————————

As I said before, Yandere UCN is terrifying. In the universe I’m gonna set my Yandere UCN x reader, it’s gonna involve all sorts of animatronics from the whole franchise. Basically it’s Ultimate Custom Night slowly becoming Ultra Custom Night but with only the original and fanmade models. Oh and this might be out of character, so tell me in the notes if I did something wrong!

Part 1

Let’s start with the Classics. I personally think Freddy would be the type to be a gentleman of sorts. He would be glad to sing you a little song if you like, maybe you can also join him as well! Bonnie would definitely play the guitar role for you guys in your songs, since he seems to be a person with a laidback character, where he would kinda prefer to third wheel in a relationship. He enjoys your presence though, as you routinely like to check up on him for some reason. Chica would also be delighted by your presence! She’s sometimes told off by the others for being a bit too childish but you don’t mind it and kind of like it! She’s happy with that, along with Foxy! I think he and Chica would be a common duo who like to compete with others for your attention, with Chica acting as the wingman(girl) to your little relationship with them in UCN, while Foxy is just that slightly nervous kid in the corner who absolutely wants and not want your attention at the same time. He’s just so happy to actually receive attention from you after being neglected in his previous establishment! Golden Bear watches his cohorts enjoy this moment, he’s glad he doesn’t need to constantly give them plans or constantly comfort them, and he also wants some comfort himself through compliments from you!

The Toy animatronics absolutely indulge in your presence, along with the Withereds and Shadows. They all absolutely delight themselves in your presence. For the Toy animatronics, let’s say you played as a night guard in their establishment before you went into UCN. Toy Freddy was always so lonely, sad that he didn’t seem to be as cute as his cohorts sometimes. That is when you arrive! Maybe you even accidentally introduced Toy Freddy to playing arcade games because you couldn’t ‘bear’ how lonely he seems to be sometimes. He even wishes indulge in small tea parties with you in nights when his AI is sent down to one! Toy Bonnie and Toy Chica also seem to be a common duo! They go through the vents and such in UCN. You met them both in their previous game when you may have accidentally lured them to the office through lights! However, when your night is over, you sometimes comment on them being so pretty and adorable! This may have kicked a part of their code aside, but they indulge in you secretly when your night ends, as they prepare for your next night. UCN is where they just get more violent for attention!

Balloon Boy and the Puppet also have something in common: being creepily too ‘human-looking’ to most people. Even Balloon Boy gets comments on his weirdly shaped teeth while the Puppet is commented for their tall and lanky figure. Balloon Boy mainly acts like a child to their parent with you when your friendship becomes closer! He doesn’t steal your batteries in the original game, but he’s more hungry for praise from you in UCN, whereas he would steal more batteries from you, since he was given a deal by Withered Foxy to make the night end faster. Puppet also likes your presence, finding comfort around you as if you’re a warm blanket of mental comfort. For that, they give gifts to you when nights end in UCN, though they may trap you in their box when they win the night by jumpscaring you. Mangle is kind of the same as Puppet, only instead always needing constant praises of validation from you to feel ‘beautiful’. You used to like her so now she’ll return it fully by trying to make you as pretty as her!

The Withereds are like their original counterparts but more aggressive compared to them. Their restless, now feeling upset they don’t get to be on that shining stage anymore. Withered Foxy and Bonnie are the most aggressive of the four, being the first animatronics to turn on during the FNAF 2 game, with the indigo no-faced bunny now needing approval for his hopes to be turned up, while his cohort the red fox pirate, needs attention both physically and mentally to remember his short happy days on stage in his corner. They do team up though when they don’t at least argue for 1 minute, and damn do they made a good duo. Withered Freddy is just like his Classic counterpart, but now more laidback, kind of welcoming the fact his time on stage has reached its end, though he does dream and someday returning to it, and maybe sing along with you. However, not acknowledging his presence gets his temper a bit worked up, making him storm to your office and trying to get to the door. Withered Chica and Golden Bear kind of watch this unfold. Chica watches her male cohorts while she just decides to take things more slowly while maintaining her happy yet slightly now mature personality, hanging out with you during nights when the others have their AI set to 0 or 1, just kind of hanging out like couch potatos. This also applies to Withered Golden Freddy! He’s more tired, having a higher chance to materialise even when his AI’s set to a very low place. He likes to hang out and just chill with you during other nights, sometimes appearing while wrapping an arm around your back. He’s glad your here in this purgatory meant just for you!

The Shadows stay more distant from you. You’re just here, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, at least to them. Though they start to warm up to you, with Shadow Bonnie being the more friendly one of the two, and Shadow Freddy just overall being glad you’re here! Finally someone who they get to talk with who’s not a robot! Though instead, they may trap you in abandoned rooms to spend time with you! Better be careful, these two seemingly a kind of a mind alike! Oh well, what could they say? You’re as sweet as a birthday cake, and boy do they get greedy!

#Okay this was really long #Sorry my dudes #yandere ultimate custom night #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf ucn #yandere fnaf 1 #yandere fnaf 2

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thebennettdiaries · 2 years ago

Note

Prompt: Ripper Stefan takes a liking to Bonnie and gets jealous whenever Damon is with her.

She might have noticed his hot back first but after that Bonnie really hadn't paid attention to Stefan in that way. After all, it becomes pretty clear that he has eyes for Elena and her friend deserves a bit of happiness after everything she has gone through. She and Stefan exist on the outskirts of one another, friends but not really, and they both seem okay with that.

Until a switch flips.

Literally.

Bonnie is stretching her legs to get ready to run the track circle when his shadow slides over her skin. She can already feel the death wafting off of him and braces herself before she looks up to find him smiling at her with a mouth full of teeth. It is unsettling how much he looks like himself, but not.

"Hey, Bonnie," he says and there is something so smooth about his voice that she knits the features of her face together in confusion. "Going for a run?"

"Uh," Bonnie begins, glancing down at the obvious signs that she is. "Yes."

"We'll run together," Stefan announces with an air of finality that she finds herself falling into step with him. He is a machine, capable of moving swiftly yet he ensures that she controls the pace. The moment she speeds up, so does he. "Not trying to get away from me, are you Bonnie?"

"And what if I am?" she shoots back, momentarily forgetting that his new (old) favorite pastime is ripping people into pieces.

"That would hurt my feelings," he tells her, his mouth falling into a mockery of a frown. It doesn't last long --- the next moment he is showing his teeth again.

That does it.

Bonnie pulls to a stop and his quick reflexes allow him to do the same. For a moment they stare one another down and then she asks the obvious question. "What do you want, Stefan?"

He waits a beat and then his eyes travel downward, tracing along her curves. An arm crosses over the other and by the time their eyes meet again, he is smug.

"Oh," she says, the only word she can think of as she tries to process this new turn of events. It sinks in, coming to rest in the pit of her stomach.

Oh.

From that moment on, Stefan doesn't give her much peace. He shows up on her porch, lazily pushing himself back and forth on the swing as she steps out with her backpack tucked against her body. "I'll walk you."

He leans against the fence at cheerleading practice, his gaze following her every move. It is unnerving, not just for her but for everyone else. In fact, he seems to be scaring off any potential competition. He is the only one there, clapping loudly every time she lands a toe touch.

She has a feeling he watches her sleep, although she can't prove that one yet.

She can't take it much longer.

She does something she would normally be loathed to do. She goes to Damon. The moment he opens the door, she is pushing her way past. "We have to do something about your brother."

"Well, hello to you too, Bon Bon," he drawls as he closes the door and follows her into the depths of the boarding house.

She ignores any attempt to bait her, instead getting down to business. "He is hurting people. He is causing so much damage. He is..."

"Sniffing after the town witch," Damon finishes.

Bonnie presses her lips together, annoyed that Damon has gotten to the bottom of her true intentions that quickly. This is not about the innocent people, this is about her. This is about her peace of mind. She doesn't want to be the object of Stefan's twisted form of affection.

She huffs. "He is supposed to love Elena. He is not supposed to even notice me..."

Damon raises both his eyebrows and shifts closer to her. "Really? He is supposed to just ignore a beautiful, powerful creature? I mean, he's stupid but he's not completely clueless."

Bonnie puts a hand up to stop Damon. He walks right into it and as a result she is standing there with her fingers splayed on his chest when Stefan saunters in. He stands there for a moment, watching his brother and his witch. Then he frowns.

Someone is dying tonight because of this moment.

"Hands off, brother," Stefan says evenly.

"She's touching me," Damon points out.

Bonnie jerks her hand away. She can feel the testosterone flowing. "Uh, let's get it clear. I don't want anything to do with either of you," she says, pushing each word out slowly in hopes that it sinks home for at least one of the brothers.

Damon snorts.

Stefan grins.

Bonnie realizes she is in so much trouble.

#stefonnie #bamon #bonnie bennett #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore

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elejah-verse · 6 months ago

Text

Dear Diary,

I almost got married once.

Elijah Smith held my heart.

But he was, a pianist, with no family, no background. No past, no future.

And a vampire.

And I was persuaded to give him up.' Elena wrote.

Flashback

Seven years earlier

New York

"You can not marry him - Elijah is a vampire and you are a witch. And even if the Coven allows it, he is a nobody. Quite unconnected. Oh, so very below your station. You are a Gilbert. Your family line goes back to the beginning of time." Lady Rose Salvatore said to Elena. "Also, you are leaving to the Academy in two days. Florence is waiting for you. The Salvatore Foundation paid for it. It would be very disrespectful to the Foundation if you gave it up."

Elena breathed in deep, and put her book she held in her hand aside and looked outside the window into the night. She knew that this love was impossible.

As she walked to meet him in the park, an hour later, her heart clenched with pain.

"Elena" Elijah said as he came up to her from the shadows.

"Elijah" Elena gulped, inhaling inwardly, feeling her stomach flip.

Elijah's pleasent and yet nervous posture made her heart clump. And then, there it was. The moment. Her words like dagger, cold, sharp hit him.

"I cannot marry you. I'm sorry"

"Are you ready? The wedding is in half an hour. The carriage is here" Bonnie Bennett said to her dear friend, breaking her thoughts.

"I'm ready" Elena closed her diary and took her hat that was sitting on the chair.

"I'm happy you accepted Andrea's wedding invitation." Bonnie said as they got in the carriage.

"I've always wanted to visit France. This was a wonderful excuse." Elena said adjusting her glove.

"You must stay at least a fortnight. Kol and I have plans to go to Cassis. It's a charming small fishing town. We'd love for you to come along with us." Bonnie said.

"I'd love to come. Thank you." Elena smiled appreciatively.

It was good to be with friends again. Seven long years had passed since she has last seen them. She had only exchanged letters with them. And so many things had happened since she had left her home town of Mystic Falls. She had finished her studies, becoming a doctor, opening a small practice with Stefan Salvatore in Florence, Italy.

She had dedicated herself and all her spare time to her patients, and Charity work.

Many have thought that she and Dr Salvatote would form an attachment and marry. But her heart was destroyed. It was of course self-inflicted as she couldn't forgive herself for having so cruely shut Elijah down by refusing him. The sadness in his eyes haunted her to this very day. And it would go for as long as she could hold her breath.

Watching, one of her friends, Andrea Lebonair exchange vows with her beloved Jackson, made her heart flutter achingly for the love lost.

Flashback

Two years ago

Florence, Italy

"I'm in love" Bonnie declared as she sat down on the bench at the Uffizzi Gallery next to Elena."I think he'll propose."

"What?Who?" Elena looked at her friend astonished. She had no idea her friend had a suitor.

"I'll tell you everything, but not here. Let's go for a walk." Bonnie urged her friend to get up.

"All right." Elena said and followed her friend out of the Gallery.

"His name is Kol. We met in Amsterdam. He is a witch-vampire." Bonnie said un a hush voice.

"Oh my God - how can that be? I mean -a witch and a vampire?"

"He is a hybrid. An abomination, I know. His family is from Norway. His father is the Earl of Rosendal. But that's the least important thing, as they lost the seat, the land and the title. They were persecuted as they were found out that they were hybrids. His father and mother were killed and him and his siblings were scattered around the world. His middle brother has a house in Aix-en-Provence. Klaus Mikaelson."

"Mikaelson," Elena said, remembering seeing the name in her great-uncles diary, "Nobles. Wiccans?"

"Yes. Well, their mother was an Original witch." Bonnie said. "They've been through Hell these past decade. They had to hide. One of their brother had his memory erased. Kol is working on it to restore it."

Elena had heard a little after that, as she had met Kol that the brother who had his memory erased was Elijah - her Elijah.

_to be continued

#elejah #elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson #alternative universe #the originals #tvd imagines #elena and elijah #fanfiction #quietly yours #part 1 #just playing around #au #inspired by...a song and a book...and a film

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mischievouslittlecreature · 5 months ago

Text

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Tommy and Lucy finally meet face to face with their latest adversary.

Word Count: 5,151

Notes: Warnings for depictions of smut and violence.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 6: None of You Will Survive

“What are you doing in here all on your own?”

Lucy turned from where she’d been feeding apple slices to Wraith and Sin, smiling a little at the sight of Tommy walking through the entryway, hands pulling free from his pockets.

“I’ve got these two to keep me company,” she said, the horses snorting in agreement. Tommy came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nestling his face in the crook of her neck, pressing a few kisses and nuzzles into her skin. Her eyes fluttered, leaning back into the solidness of his body with a sigh.

“I spoke with Polly.”

“Mm,” he rested his chin on her shoulder. “How did that go?”

“Could have gone worse,” she shrugged, then craned her head back to look at him. “Could have gone better, too. I’ll tell you about it later,” it had seemed that her conversation with Polly had taken up most of her remaining energy, leaving her feeling so fatigued, she was half tempted to crawl into Sin or Wraith’s stable and fall asleep beside them on the hay.

I spoke to Aberama Gold. He wants us to help his son, Bonnie, become a boxer.”

“Oh? Is he any good?”

“I think he might be. We’ll do a test later.”

She hummed, nodding and closing her eyes. Tommy chuckled at the way she leaned more of her weight back into him.

“Tired?”

“Mhm.”

“After we eat, we can go back to the house and get some rest,” keeping one arm around her, he reached out the other to give the horses a gentle pat. He then turned her in his arms so that she was facing him, cupping her face with both hands. “Eh?”

She nodded, then dropped her head forward to land heavily on the center of his chest. Tommy laughed softly, squeezing her and kissing the top of her head. One of his large fingers curled under her chin, tilting her head up until he could kiss her softly.

“Come on,” he took her hand. “Food’s ready.”

Fingers clutched in his big, warm hand, she squeezed his palm, and let him lead her from the stables.

∗ ∗ ∗

She’d heard from somewhere–she couldn’t quite remember where, maybe from one of her cousins or aunts on her yearly visit to them and their caravan in the mountains–that funerals made people want sex.

Maybe it was the need for comfort. Or maybe it was the reminder that life was fleeting, and so you might as well make the most of it while you still could.

Lucy sighed, back arching up, pushing her bare breasts harder against Tommy’s hands, his calloused skin sliding and squeezing hers and making her shiver. Her legs were hitched up around his waist, feet pressing into his lower back and urging him to go deeper. He kissed her softly, taking his time in mapping out the landscape of her mouth with his tongue.

With John gone and Arthur, Ada, and Polly all staying at their own separate houses, they’d claimed one of the empty bedrooms in the Shelby house, letting Charlie have Tommy’s old room.

Everyone had dispersed after dinner to get settled in or deal with any business–family or otherwise–that they needed to before they set hard to work the next day. They were alone, save for Charlie sleeping soundly in the other room and Asher dozing dutifully outside his door.

Tommy purred as she moaned into his mouth at a particularly deep thrust. “Can’t be too loud, love,” he warned, even as he grunted softly at the way she tightened around him when he bottomed out.

She pulled him in closer for another kiss, hands smoothing along and squeezing his strong biceps before finding purchase on his back. He growled lowly when she circled her index finger around a scar on his shoulder.

His public bone rubbed up against her sensitive clit with each thrust, his hands all over her as they kissed again, and again, and again. There was no chance of her being chilled like she had been earlier at the yard. Not with her back to the mattress and Tommy on top of her, his skin hot like there was an inferno swirling within him. He’d always ran warm. It was part of what made him so good for snuggling.

“Tommy,” her head fell back against the pillows. He’d already made her come once with his mouth tonight, and she could feel her muscles, tired but eager, preparing for another one as it continued to build, growing closer with each roll of his hips into hers.

“I know,” he was moving a little faster, cock throbbing with his own approaching release. “I know; it’s okay. What do you need?”

“Faster,” she requested, and he immediately picked up the pace. She scrabbled at his shoulders, soft moans leaving her lips. Tommy kissed her again, one strong hand sliding up to cup her face and the side of her neck. Humming, he used it to tilt her head just so, placing kisses along the expanse of her exposed pale throat.

“Close, so close…”

His hand dropped to brace by her head, keeping the bulk of his weight off of her as he started to go even faster, still hitting deep, but bucking at a more frantic pace. Lucy’s hips met his at every thrust, their skin slapping together audibly.

“Ah…” she jerked her head forward, pressing her mouth to his neck to try to stifle her moans. Tommy groaned, cock twitching inside her.

Without warning, his hand was between her legs, thumb pressing hurried circles into her clit, and she bit down roughly into his shoulder to stop what would have been a very loud cry of his name as her walls clamped down around him in release.

Tommy growled, eyes rolling in his head at the sting of her teeth in his flesh, thrusting a few more times, moaning at the tightness and the gush of her orgasm around him, before his cock twitched, then throbbed hard and he stilled, sheathed fully into her while he emptied.

Neither of them moved for a long time, choosing to remain entangled beneath the blankets. Tommy was kissing up and down the side of her face lazily, practically purring.

“You bit me.”

She smiled to herself at the mild amusement in his voice, and leaned up to press a kiss to the spot on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

He just kissed her temple, and with a somewhat overdramatic groan, pulled out and rolled over to sprawl on his side of the bed. Lucy rolled onto her side, pouting at him while he grabbed his cigarette case from the nightstand and lit one. When he noticed her expression, he chuckled, hooking an arm around her and drawing her in tight against his chest.

“C’mere.”

She made a happy little humming noise, snuggling in close, taking drags from the cigarette whenever he offered it.

“Gonna be a long day tomorrow, isn’t it?” she mumbled, voice slurry with sleep as her eyes closed.

“Yes.”

“Mm,” reaching up blindly, she took the cigarette from him and clumsily stubbed it out in the ashtray. Both arms wrapped around his ribs, hugging him like she would an oversized teddy bear. “Try to sleep, Tom.”

She felt him sigh and shift against her, getting more comfortable, his face pressed into her hair, breathing her in and relaxing. “I love you, Lucy.”

She stroked his back lazily, smiling a little. “I love you too.”

They were both asleep within five minutes.

∗ ∗ ∗

The walk to the factory was smoky and riddled with fire and clangs from the machinery they were passing, men covered in soot and sweat shot curious glances her way until they recognized the red of her hair or who she was with and quickly looked away.

All men in Small Heath knew that if they looked at her for too long, they risked losing their eyes.

“I talked to Charlie on the phone before we left,” she reported to Tommy, adjusting her grip on Asher’s lead. “He said May got in and picked up the horse with no trouble.”

“Good.”

“I still wish we could have said hello.”

“When I talked with her on the phone, she said that she might try to come back at a later date to see us.”

“That would be nice.”

“I thought so too.”

“Tommy! Lucy!”

She glanced in the direction of the voice, smiling a little at the boy jogging up to fall into step beside them. “Hello, Isiah. What have you got for us?”

“Nothing yet on Luca. The boys are still scouring.”

“Tell them to keep an eye out for his mother, too. She would have come with him from New York. Any other relatives?”

“With Vincente and Angel dead, there’s just a cousin in Birmingham. Luca came from New York to be best man at his wedding sometime between 1919 and 1920,” he handed Lucy a photograph of a group of men dressed in suits gathered around, smiling at the camera. “The boys checked his flat in what used to be the Changretta’s territory, but he’s gone.”

“Hm. Tell them to keep looking. And don’t do anything if you find him, just report back to me or Tommy. What’s his name?”

“Alessio Changretta.”

“Right. Good work. Keep it up.”

He nodded, and melted away into the smoke.

“He’s a good kid,” she commented, holding out the photograph for Tommy to have a look.

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s been helpful with running the spy network this past year. If I ever were to be out of commission for a prolonged period of time, I think he’s getting close to being able to run it without me for a little while.”

Tommy shot her a look. “Are you planning on getting horrifically injured again sometime soon?”

“No,” she chuckled, raising a hand unconsciously to rub over the scar just under her left ear. “But it’s always good to be prepared just in case.”

As they finally made their way to the factory, she spotted Arthur waiting for them near the entrance with Aberama and Bonnie Gold. They all greeted each other warmly, and followed Tommy into the factory. Sparks flew and blazed all around them, the clang of metal increasing. Asher’s ears twitched, momentarily lowering against his skull, but he settled when she stroked a hand along his head.

“I know, boy. I know. It’s loud. C’mon.”

He looked up at her with big, trusting brown eyes, tongue falling from his mouth, sticking close to her side as they moved deeper inside and to where it was a little quieter.

Devlin, the factory manager, rushed over to them. Tommy began giving him instructions to clear the area and get him some rope and a bell, then indicated for her and Bonnie to follow him deeper into the depths of the factory.

He called out to a man Lucy had found by scouring their employees' records the night before: Billy Mills, a former heavyweight champion. Tommy offered him a heaping sum of money to fight Bonnie while Lucy leaned against the wall, fighting off the curl of amusement on her lips as she watched Tommy work. As soon as Billy had agreed to the fight, Tommy was marching back up to where they’d come, the area already starting to be cleared off the way he’d asked. Rope was tied on posts to create a square for the fight to take place in, Arthur taking bets while Billy and Bonnie prepared.

Lucy linked her arms with Tommy’s, Asher sitting dutifully at their feet. Someone rang a bell, and the fight was off.

The kid had good form, but was leaning heavily on the defensive. Lucy chanced a look up at Tommy, and bit back a smile at the way his eyes were narrowed in concentration, analyzing every single second of the fight, the men around them hollering and cheering.

And then, suddenly, with a quick order from Aberama, Bonnie downed Billy Mills, the Heavyweight Champion, in but a handful of punches.

Lucy had to fight back the urge to whoop. It was always nice to see someone small and slight take down someone bigger than them.

As a card carrying member of that club herself, she approved.

“Alright boys, that’s enough sport, get back to work!” she called to the men around them, and they began to disperse.

As they spoke with Aberama, Devlin came up to them again, informing them that Jessie Eden was waiting upstairs. Tommy told him they would be there in a minute, but he hesitated.

“She’s becoming impatient.”

“Offer her tea or…something while she waits,” Lucy said.

“We already did.”

Her head snapped around, brow raising at Devlin’s tone. He immediately looked down at his shoes.

“Well, offer again,” she said slowly. Devlin’s eyes darted between her and Tommy, visibly shrinking in on himself at the coldness he was met with from both parties, nodding and shuffling off. She shared an exasperated look with lover, stepping to the side with him and Arthur to speak in low voices by the car.

“What do you think?” Tommy asked them.

“I like him,” Lucy said, looking back at where Bonnie was talking with his father. “And it would be good to have something substantial to hold the Gold’s loyalty to us. Besides, we could use some fresh blood around here.”

Once the three of them were all in agreement, they approached Bonnie and Aberama again. Tommy told them to speak with Polly regarding a deal about money, and held out a peaked cap for Bonnie to take.

“We better get upstairs. Before Devlin has a coronary,” Lucy said, angling her head towards the stairs, shooting a warm smile Bonnie’s way. “Congratulations.”

At Tommy’s heels, she followed him up the stairs and into the conference room where Jessie was waiting for him.

“You can go,” she told Devlin, and he hurried out the door. “Asher, no,” she gently chastised the dog, giving a small tug on the lead when he moved to try to sniff Jessie’s shoes, guiding him instead to follow her towards the far end of the table, hanging up her coat and plopping down in the seat to Tommy’s right at the head of the table. Asher laid down beside her, head on his paws. She reached down to stroke his huge head, scratching behind his ear before straightening and getting to work.

The conversation with Jessie did not last long, and ended with her whisking from the room, followed quickly by the shrill shriek of her whistle, initiating the beginning of a strike, echoing throughout the entire factory.

Rubbing at her face, Lucy stripped off her suit jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair. “How many meetings do we have today?”

Tommy turned his cigarette over and over between his fingers. “Several.”

She sighed, and wriggled out of her gun holster, loosening the straps and contorting slightly to get out of it. She passed it to Tommy, who took it and hung it up next to their coats and his own holster. Best not be displaying a loaded weapon around when in professional meetings.

When he went to the door, she got up and followed him, Asher in tow, to watch over the railing from the level above as the men below put down their tools and started to walk towards the door.

It was eerily quiet, once all of the men downstairs had left. Lucy felt her nerves jumping, even after they returned to the conference room. Asher sniffed around the coat tree where they’d hung their jackets and holsters, but let Lucy pull him away and coax him to lay back down at her feet. She was grateful that she didn’t have to do much more than take notes during the various meetings they had for the day. By the time Devlin came in to inform them of their last meeting, it was getting late, the light filtering in through the windows beginning to fade.

Tommy tossed his pen onto the table, rubbing at his eyes and sighing.

“Last one, right? Then we can go home,” Lucy reminded him. Beside her, Asher suddenly rose from his spot laying at her feet, back arching, legs planted firmly as he stood in front of her. “Ash?”

A deep, rumbling growl sounded from the dog’s throat, lips curling back in a snarl, dark eyes focused on the door.

Lucy’s head snapped up, suddenly on high alert. Devlin came in, followed by a tall, dark haired man. Lucy didn’t hear the name Devlin introduced him by. It didn’t matter, anyway. It wasn’t his real name.

The fingers of her left hand curled in Asher’s collar to keep him from lunging prematurely. Her right hand slipped unconsciously to her ribs, and the cold gasp of panic suddenly encircled her throat at the realization that her gun wasn’t tucked snugly against her side like it usually was, but instead was hanging in her holster dangling from the coat tree.

Her eyes darted to Tommy as Devlin left, momentarily caught frozen like a deer in headlights. She had a knife in her shoe, and her aim when throwing it was almost as good as her shot with a revolver, but bending to retrieve it risked alerting Luca to what she was planning, and in the split second it would take for her to pull the blade from her boot, he could hurt Tommy.

She could sic Asher onto him. Let the dog tear him to shreds or at the very least distract him long enough for her to get her blade out. But that approach had its risks too.

They were cornered.

Tommy’s eyes met hers, just as shocked as she was, for a second. But he recovered fast, gaze flicking to Asher, still growling at Lucy’s side. She could see him analyzing the situation just as she had, turning over every approach and possibility in his head.

Stand down, his eyes commanded silently.

Are you sure? she asked back.

Yes.

She swallowed roughly. “Asher,” it came out in a hoarse, soft rasp, then, in Romani, “stand down.”

The dog immediately stopped growling and sat back on his haunches, but continued to watch Luca with eyes as suspicious as those of his two owners, prepared to spring if given the order. She looked at Tommy again, more tense than she thought she’d ever been in her life, even as Luca moved to sit in the chair across from them. Every miniscule movement from him had her on edge, ready to give Asher the order and reach for the blade in her shoe at the first sign of aggression.

Tommy?

I want to hear what he has to say. He tries anything, you know what to do.

The calmness of his voice, even just in her head, helped to ever so slightly relax her.

Tommy pulled out his cigarettes from the pocket of his coat where it was hanging, along with their gun holsters. Good. He could get at them easily if he needed to.

Luca reminded her of a snake. Everything, from the way he smiled, to the glint in his green eyes. He spoke slowly, and she swore that a hiss undercut his every word. He placed a toothpick between his teeth, and Lucy wondered if it would be too much to hope that he choked on it.

“I am surprised how easy it was to get into a room with you,” Luca said, low, smug.

Tommy pulled his gun from his holster and cocked it. “And now?”

Luca held his hands up, sarcastically, tauntingly, and Lucy felt her blood chill as he explained how earlier, during the commotion on the factory floor, he’d sent a man up to unload their guns while they dangled unguarded from the coat hanger. He reached into his pocket, and drew out a handful of gleaming bullets. Tommy checked his gun, and Lucy could see the silent, rather colorful language flitting through his head behind his eyes as he took in the empty chambers. A sick feeling twisted in her stomach, but she forced herself not to move; to remain calm.

If Luca wanted to kill either of them here, they’d likely be dead already. But she still kept careful watch over his movements.

Luca began to list off the names of each individual Shelby while setting the bullets cupped in his hand down upright onto the table. There was one for each of them: Arthur, Polly, Michael, Ada, Tommy, and John. He flicked the one for John across the table towards Tommy with a taunt and a clatter.

“None for me, Luca?” Lucy asked. He had yet to acknowledge her at all. Hadn’t even looked at her, in fact. But his snake-like eyes were on her the moment she spoke, and she smiled widely, letting it shimmer madly in her eyes to hide the way that her heart was pounding in her chest. “I’m hurt.”

Luca looked her up and down, fingering his toothpick. “Ah…” he settled the slip of wood between his teeth and cocked his head. “The little demon. At first, I’d hoped to get a meeting with you alone, Mr. Shelby. But my mother…my mother said that that would be almost impossible. She says that wherever you go, your Red Demon is never far away,” he smiled at her in a way that sent a chill down her spine and made her stomach turn. A scoff that reminded her more of a hiss left his lips. “Lucy Winters,” he said her name with both contempt and disappointment, the final s of her surname drawing out between his lips. “She made you sound terrifying, but…” he clicked his tongue, looking her up and down. “Hard to see what there is to be so terrified of.”

“At least get to know me first before you start making assumptions,” she smiled, confidence returning slightly. He did not take her seriously. He did not believe her to be a legitimate threat, despite his mother’s warnings.

They could use that.

Luca chuckled, continuing to gnaw on that damned toothpick, grinning at her with it jammed between his teeth. “No bullet for you, little one. Though make no mistake, I will put you down the same as I do the others, if you make me,” his eyes suddenly sparked with cruel mirth, gaze darting between her and Tommy, eyeing him smugly before returning his gaze to her. “But, after your lover here is dead, if you find yourself feeling lonely…” he trailed off, grinning at the suggestion. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy could see Tommy tensing. Luca noticed it too, glee dancing in his eyes at getting under Tommy’s skin. “Since you have a taste for gangsters.”

“I’ll take the bullet to the head,” Lucy sneered back. Luca just chuckled, unbothered at her answer.

“Loyal, hm? I can respect that. Well done, Shelby,” he tipped his head to Tommy with another smirk, though his eyes still remained on her as he shrugged. “But…if you ever change your mind…”

“That’s enough,” Tommy growled out, jaw set. And Luca’s eyes were on him entirely again, all shining spark of humor abruptly snuffed out. Lucy watched him, brow lifted and unimpressed. Not for one second did she believe Luca to be legitimately interested in her. He’d written her off as of any significance the first second he laid eyes on her. The only usefulness she suspected that he saw in her was in using veiled threats against her to get under Tommy’s skin.

But in the few minutes he had been in the room with them, Luca Changretta had revealed a good many things about himself: he underestimated her–and potentially other women, too–he was cocky, gloating, and believed that this would be an easy victory for him. His suit was pressed, shoes clean. That meant that he had not had to travel far to meet them. It was likely that he was staying in or close to Birmingham somewhere. And he had come here, not to kill them, but to talk. That indicated some level of honor.

All knowledge that would be quite useful in pinpointing his weak spots.

It was like she had disappeared entirely, the hate Luca felt making itself known across his face, darkening his eyes, his focus solely on Tommy.

“None of you will survive.”

He rose from his seat, still hissing his cocky, mocking words. Promises of death to all whose names he’d just listed out. He advanced on Tommy slowly, though Tommy did not move, did not speak. Asher started growling softly as Luca drew nearer, and Lucy tightened her grip on his collar with her left hand, the fingers of her right itching for her knife.

At Luca’s suggestion that they fight the vendetta with honor, Tommy put down his empty gun–though Lucy suspected he was greatly tempted to try to bludgeon him with it.

“No civilians. No children,” he said.

Luca nodded. “No police.”

One half of Tommy’s lips pulled up in a sarcastic smile. “Welcome to Birmingham, Mr. Changretta.”

Luca’s lips pulled into something that was more grimace than smile. “Grazie,” looking between them, he smiled. “I will leave you two to your business, then,” he started for the door. “A pleasure meeting you both.”

Neither of them moved, or said a word, until the door was swinging shut behind him, the sounds of his footfalls retreating as he headed for the stairs. They were both waiting for the sound of him returning, or the crack of gunfire to explode in through the windows. When it became apparent that neither was coming, Lucy jumped from her seat, releasing her hold on Asher’s collar and scrambling for her gun in its holster. She pulled it free, the sensation of the grip in her palm soothing. When she cracked it open, she was met with the empty chambers, fumbling for the spare bullets she kept in her pockets to refill them.

Tommy was hastily closing the blinds and locking the door.

“Holy fuck,” she said, breathing suddenly more rapid now that she was allowed to show more emotion. “Tommy…”

He was pacing back and forth, rubbing at his eyes and looking like he wanted to scream and cry in equal measure. She caught him by the arms, hands flying up to touch his cheeks. He latched onto her biceps, holding onto her suddenly as if she were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. Her eyes searched his face, and for a moment, she could see plainly the fear in his eyes–fear for his family, for her, for himself. She leaned into him, thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. They’d made it out of the meeting quite well, all things considered. Especially since they’d been caught so unawares. The children were effectively all safe, thanks to the deal Tommy and Luca had struck. And it had allowed them a real glimpse of their adversary. A chance to gather information and to get to know the man they would be warring against. That type of understanding of him would be invaluable going forward.

But…

“I’m sorry,” she wetted her lips. “I should have had my gun with me…” Stupid. So fucking stupid. If she hadn’t taken off her holster, she could have ended this whole fucking mess then and there the second Luca walked through the door.

“Not your fault. I made the same mistake,” Tommy finally spoke, seeming to have somewhat come back to himself.

“We got some useful things out of that, though.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, but it’s not safe here. Grab your things.”

“Right.”

Hastily, she pulled on her holster, replacing her revolver in its proper place nestled against her side, then put on her suit jacket and coat, hat pulled securely on her head. They gathered up what papers they needed to take with them, and with Asher’s lead clutched in one hand and Tommy’s hand squeezing hers in the other, they rushed from the factory.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy sat beside Arthur, Lucy leaning into his side with her head on his shoulder, while he and his brother talked about death.

Arthur thought that John was in hell. Tommy didn’t believe that there was such a place. Not really. Nor did he think there was a heaven. When you died you were just…gone. There was nothing.

“I think it’s probably what life was like before you were born,” Lucy had said once, when he’d asked her what she thought life was like after death. “Which…I suppose, wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She was probably right. After all, every explanation humanity had tried to conjure up to explain what came after death was just a wishful fantasy. No proof in any of it.

The ache in his chest, the one he worked so hard to ignore, throbbed. He swallowed hard. While he could never fully bring himself to believe in any of the religious dogma he’d been taught as a child, it was moments like these that he understood why so many clinged to it so desperately.

The thought he would never see any of the people he’d lost over the years was almost paralyzing in the sorrow it struck him with.

He felt Lucy rub a small palm up and down his chest, as if sensing the emotions roiling with him.

Arthur stood, sobbing dryly and knocking his head lightly against the brick wall across from them. Tommy watched him for a moment, then sighed, pulling himself to his feet. Lucy rose with him, looping an arm around his waist while he spoke to Arthur. The warmth of her against him was a comforting balm against everything else.

“But it’s like with Grace, Arthur…” he said, and felt Lucy tense a little against him. They almost never spoke her name when in the company of others. It was too hard. Even now, he could feel it burn up his throat, reawakening the grief that he always felt for her where it had momentarily been slumbering. He hooked his arm around Lucy’s shoulders, thumb stroking up and down in what he hoped was a comforting movement. “They’re just gone…just fucking gone.”

Lucy tightened her arm around him. Staring out straight ahead, a roil of frustration, strong and potent as the burn of whiskey down his throat after a long day, rushed up inside of him. Seizing his gun, he took aim at a few bottles in the distance, the bullets he let loose as he pulled the trigger shattering each one.

The gunfire echoed like a clap of rageful thunder, promising to bring with it a torrential downpour, the likes of which no one had ever seen before.

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders #my ocs #my fanfiction #lucy winters #lucy winters x tommy shelby #love me where i'm most ruined

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catierambles · 5 months ago

Text

Alternate Instincts Ch.27

Stephanie blinked at him for a moment after he said it.

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked a bit dimly.

“He’s a serial killer, doll.” Sy repeated, “Six women they know about, about a dozen more with similar MO but no DNA at the scene.”

“Eighteen women.” August said, “That we know about.”

“Woulda been nineteen, but one survived.” Sy said.

“Who wants to bet she was a wolf?” Stephanie said.

“Not takin’ that bet, darlin’.” The fur at her back retreated and Geralt wrapped his arms around her waist as he sat up, pulling her against his chest.

“I haven’t heard of a serial killer Feral.” Geralt said.

“Doesn’t shock me,” Stephanie said, “If he hasn’t stayed in one place. They wouldn’t know where to send you.”

“Fuck.” Sy said, “I just had a scary thought. What makes us wolf doesn’t change our DNA, just adds somethin’ to it. Comes up as a viral infection. The matches were for cases from a while back. I wonder—”

“How many there were after the DNA started coming back wolf flavored.” Stephanie finished and he nodded. “The FBI would have notified the Council if wolf DNA was found at a crime scene, that’s the agreement they have, right?” He nodded again, “Guys, has the Council been keeping the existence of a serial killer Feral wolf secret from those that could have stopped him?”

“I sure fucking hope not.” August said, his jaw tightening.

“I have a scarier thought.” Walter said.

“Please don't.” Stephanie said.

“He probably targeted Steph as his next victim.” Walter said.

“Well, I’m not sleeping ever again.” She said. Geralt’s arms tightened around her waist and she laid her hands on them.

“But he feels what we all do, the “shadow” of her wolf, and thinks she’s his Mate.” Walter said.

“Would make sense seein’ as he’s not cuttin’ his losses and movin’ on.” Sy said, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

“Bonnie and Clyde.” Stephanie said.

“What?” Sy asked.

“He used to say we were like Bonnie and Clyde.” She said, “I hated it because they were romanticized and sensationalized by the press at the time, and even today, but they were just a couple of idiots who had a run of really good luck. I’d rather not be likened to a violent alcoholic hybristophiliac, thank you.”

“You were dating him.” August pointed out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know he was a fucking serial killer when I was.” She shot back, “Had I known, I would have called the fucking cops and turned his ass in.”

“Yeah,” Sy said, “Ya fuckin’ donkey.”

Nightmarish revelations aside, life had to continue. Her finances got easier seeing as Sy managed the buildings along with the pack, and as his Mate and the Mate of his Proxy, Stephanie no longer had to pay rent. Council may own the buildings on paper, but they still needed someone to manage the day to day. They ended up putting her old apartment as available, seeing as when Sy spent part time there, he just spent the days in the flat with her and Walter, the guys having no issues sharing a bed. Although with it being a Queen mattress, it was a bit cramped with three of them and more often than not, she ended up nearly smothered as she slept in the middle, or nearly cooked to death as they put out a lot of body heat. Might need to upgrade to a King.

Dirty clothes was starting to pile up so she collected it, Walter helping her carry the bags down to the basement laundry room.

"You hear Sy got stabbed?" She heard as they approached it and stopped Walter with a hand to his chest.

"No way!"

"Yeah, Marianne told us in the group chat. Apparently they got attacked by a Feral. Augusts' face got cut and Sy was stabbed, their "Mate" didn't get off easy either."

“Why’d you say it like that?”

“Do you honestly think she’s their actual Mate? She’s not even a wolf. Besides, have you seen her? Oof. She must let them do some freaky shit to her if they’re sticking around. They’re all gorgeous, and she’s...well...”

“Oof.”

“Yeah.” Their laughter was catty and it made her flinch, Walter grabbing her hand in his and squeezing it. He pushed into the laundry room with her following and the laughter cut off abruptly.

“Hi, Walter.”

“If I get word of anyone speaking like that of Stephanie again,” He said, “You’ll have to find yourselves a new pack.”

“That’s not up to you.”

“Do you honestly believe Sy would disagree with me?” He asked, leveling a look at her, “He loves her, same as I do, same as August, and Geralt, and Mike. She’s our Mate, it doesn’t matter that she’s not a wolf. Our wolves know her and they love her as much, if not more, than we do.”

“I love you too.” Stephanie said, her voice small and he pulled her against his chest, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

“You should consider yourselves fortunate that I overheard you talking about her that way, and not August or Geralt. They would have less...temperate in their responses.” Walter said, “Now leave.” They gathered their laundry and fled quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She asked.

“That you heard that.”

“Nothing I haven’t told myself.” She said and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “They’re right, though. Look at you all, then look at me. Makes me wonder if you would have even noticed me if your wolves’ attention hadn’t been grabbed.”

“Stephanie, you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. You’re strong, and capable. Fiercely independent, and incredibly caring and protective of those around you. You were always going to be my Mate. Always. You may not be a wolf, but you are an Alpha. You’re my Alpha, and I love you more than I can ever express with words.” Tears stung her eyes and she sniffled slightly against his chest. “Laundry can wait.”

“You’re out of clean skivvies.” She pointed out.

“I can do them later.” He said, “We’re going back up to the flat. Come on.”

“I’m sorry.” She said as he hefted the bag back onto his shoulder with minimal effort.

“For what, love?”

“Being so pathetic.”

“You’re not in the slightest.” He said and while she nodded, he got the feeling she didn’t completely believe him. August and Geralt were a little more vocal with their intentions when it came to Lewis, but Walter also wanted him dead for the pain he caused her, was still causing her with his words that had wormed into her mind and taken hold.

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #hellraiser mike #geralt of rivia #alternate instincts

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