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yuukirita · 1 month ago

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I have a question, if it’s not too much trouble, but when d-16, babybee and a part of the high guard get captured by arachnid and sentinel’s troops and then taken to sentinels tower, is babybee placed in a kids playpen with high walls to prevent him from escaping and maybe some kids toys to keep him occupied, or is he being held gently but firmly by one of sentinel’s guards?

oh. Oh dear heart.

No :D That'd be way too nice of Sentinel :D Either option just aren't evil enough-

kof kof angst under the cut

Dee gained consciousness quickly. Hands tied and forced to his knees in the traitor’s golden chamber. A quick look around let him see half of the high guard- he felt a sense of relief that he didn’t see Bee. He was still with Orion then, he hoped.

Then anger.

Anger.

Fury.

He wanted to kill. Images flashing in his head of how he’d do it. Slowly? Quickly? So many possibilities. None satisfying enough as they compared little how the real deal would feel. His blood thirst rose with each passing moment. He couldn’t wait to extinguish Sentinel’s spark.

Soon enough he heard the doors open and the fucker paraded as he talked. Dee didn’t listen. He looked at the ground, optics focused. Tension in the room was so thick he could lick it.

Only when he was closer that he bothered to listen to what he said.

“Ah, D-16 what a tragic story you’ll be” He didn’t look up Atop your leaderboard in your sector, secretly a traitor.”

His blood froze when he heard a painfully familiar voice above him. Scared and small like it should never be-

“He’s not! You’re the traitor!” Bee spoke up to defend his friend.

His helm snapped up to look and his blood boiled at seeing Sentinel holding Bee in his arms. The sparkling clearly anxious as he tried to lean away from him- but was firmly held in place.

Sentinel smiled at Bee, poking his chest a bit too hard for it to be playful “Uh-uh, they are traitors. All of them. They’ve been working with the Quintessence to sabotage my expeditions.” He looked down at Dee with a grin that made him want to rip it off with his teeth. “And not to mention stealing a precious sparkling… have you no shame?”

“N-none of that is true!” Bee exclaimed- If stares could kill, Sentinel would be reduced to ash as he wrapped his hand around Bee’s mouth and head. Hoisting him up so they could be at eye level, forcing him to look into his optics.

“Oh it is! Everyone will say so when I execute them in front of all Iacon- especially when they learn the sparkling didn’t survive.” He brought his helm closer to Bee’s, their foreheads almost touching “This is my playground, little one. The truth is what I make it.”

Dee slammed his feet to the floor and stood up. Sentinel let go of Bee’s face to look at him. Amused at getting a rise out of him. Dee’s optics stayed on Bee, his rage only growing as he saw his tiny servo reach to him. Blue optics wide and frame shaking slightly.

Sentinel casually angled his body so Bee couldn’t reach him.

He was going to kill that blue fuck.

#transformers one #digital art #bumblebee #b 127 #babybee au #sentinel prime #awsering messages #d16 and b127 #tf one d16 #tf one megatron #We all hate sentinel #tfone fanfiction #I like making him unnapologiticaly evil and bad #We all want to kill Sentinel :D #Angst

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tititilani · 7 months ago

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I can't stop thinking about if Simon had taken Edwin's offer

Like Charles finds Edwin in the hallway as ever but this time there's another boy there too, cowering against the wall next to him. Maybe the dollhead spider doesn't care about Simon, too busy focusing on its favorite target, so Charles is left standing in the hallway with Simon when Edwin is taken.

They get out of hell, but Edwin doesn't confess due to Simon hovering behind his elbow. He doesn't want to confess his emotions in front of his killer, who he probably hasn't even properly figured out how he's feeling towards yet.

The Night Nurse is pissed they came out with an extra soul but Niko's same loophole still applies and Simon stays.

"This is Simon," Edwin says when it's all said and done, finally introducing the boy that's been hiding behind him since the door closed. "He was a...classmate of mine."

"He saved me," Simon says, looking up at Edwin moony-eyed and Charles knows that look and something settles heavy in his stomach.

"Glad to have ya, mate," he tells him even though the words taste sour. This other boy knew Edwin when he was alive, the thought is slightly terrifying to him.

Simon settles in fine with the agency even if the agency feels a little crowded now with five people in it but he continues to moon over Edwin and Edwin just...never tells anyone how they actually knew each other. He reasons it just doesn't matter, that he can't find the right time, whatever.

Charles never really warms up to him, though he tries to hide it, but he sees the looks Simon gives Edwin, a soppy smitten look that is somehow worse than anything Monty or the Cat King ever tried with Edwin because of all of them, Simon arguably knows the most about like Edwardian courting. That, like Edwin, Simon has also survived hell. Charles hates the idea that someone could potentially understand Edwin more than he does.

He hates it so much that nothing further happens between him and Crystal because the idea of Edwin being left alone with Simon bothers him so much. He sees Simon adjusting Edwin's collar one (1) time and it makes him feel sick.

And then there's the fortune-teller.

They only go to her sometimes for cases because she never fails to freak Charles out but her prophecies tend to be accurate like 60% of the time which is pretty good for a fortune teller. She looks at the two of them at the end, because it is just the two of them for once, and then looks just at Edwin.

"How kind you are," she says, the words a compliment but the tone snide. "To house your killer. Pray tell it doesn't come back to you."

"What." Charles says. "The fuck."

Charles is furious, of course, and it takes Edwin a long time to talk him out of smashing Simon's face in with the new cricket bat.

"He's like me," he insists in that quiet but firm voice. Charles wants to scream that Simon is nothing like Edwin - that he doesn't have a fraction of Edwin's kindness or pissiness, that his blue eyes are not nearly as beautiful as Edwin's green - but before he can even open his mouth, Edwin continues. "He...He likes boys, Charles. He likes me."

Oh. Oh.

Charles stares at Edwin who is looking back at him, trying and failing to hide the fact he's terrified, and Charles doesn't give one shit that Edwin likes boys because he's his best mate forever. He's still pissed that Simon is apparently staying but he has to hug Edwin at that. "I'm still pissed you didn't tell me about him," is all he says, swallowing back the other words he wants to say.

Charles grows even more paranoid about Simon being around, who has to get used to the fact that Charles takes to swinging his cricket bat ominously every time he comes within ten feet of Edwin. He finds out that adjusting clothing was an Edwardian courting thing and wants to break something. The very idea the very person who killed his best mate is now trying to put the moves on said best mate pisses him off.

It also makes him think of numerous times Edwin had readjusted his collar or jacket in the past and it makes his non-existent stomach flip.

Eventually, Simon decides he's ready to move on to his after-life and Charles keeps his hands from fisting when he looks at Edwin with that same soppy look. He knows Edwin has forgiven Simon by now but Charles has always been better at holding a grudge and he knows what is going to come out of Simon's mouth before he even asks. He knows that if Edwin says yes, he won't stop him.

Charles also knows that if Edwin does, there is no way he is going to find any kind of his own afterlife.

"You could come with me," Simon says hopefully and the moment after is the longest in Charles' life.

"Thank you, Simon," Edwin says kindly and Charles has to keep himself from crying. "But I have no interest in going anywhere without Charles."

He steps back - away from Simon and back towards Charles. Ears suspiciously pink, Edwin links their hands and they watch as Simon follows the Night Nurse.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #paineland #my writing #fanfiction #i have been wanting to write this so bad #but it's like minimum 5-10k in my head and i just don't have the TIME for it #but i got hit with the idea that edwin getting courted by someone from the same era #also charles confesses first like 0.00005 seconds after simon leaves #and they smooch right after #and simon WAS actually trying to put the moves on edwin but edwin actually realizes bc he at least knows these moves #but he didn't care bc he was too busy mooning over charles and wishing he'd been able to confess on the staircase after all #dbda

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nemo-writes · 23 days ago

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𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖿 141 𝗁𝗎𝖻𝖻y 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽(𝗌) 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌 ; 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 ── .✦

masterlist

── .✦ 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 ; "𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋."

you’re in the kitchen, halfway through wiping down the counter, when the unmistakable ding-dong of the doorbell chimes through the house. not even a second later, there’s a series of sharp, almost aggressive knocks—thud thud thud—the kind that screams authority.

you don’t flinch. you know who it is.

from the living room, your son—a chubby little thing with a wobble to his steps and a belly that strains his tiny shirt. “dada! paw-paw!” he squeals with glee as he toddles to the front door like it’s the gateway to the best surprise ever.

you glance out into the hallway and, sure enough, there’s your husband looming behind the glass pane. he’s in his trademark mask, black and imposing, arms crossed as if he’s inspecting a breach. for someone knocking on a suburban door, he’s got the presence of a man leading an op.

your son, thrilled to pieces, presses his hands and face against the door, smudging the glass. “dada!”

on the other side, simon tilts his head slightly and points at the handle with a slow jab of his gloved finger.

“oi,” his mancunian drawl rumbles through the door. “open the door proper. c’mon, you know how.” he points again, voice firm but somehow patient. “handle. go on, then.”

your son grabs the door handle with all the determination of a kid on a mission. his little tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he pulls it down, and the door finally creaks open just a smidge.

and then your husband moves.

before your son can blink, simon reaches through the crack, grabs the front of the boy’s shirt—not roughly, just enough to yank—and hauls him up like he’s a piece of luggage.

“gotcha,” simon announces, his voice low but laced with just a hint of smug satisfaction. your son’s giggle erupts like a firework as he dangles in mid-air, limbs flailing with giddy excitement.

“you’re laughin’, mate?” simon asks, deadpan under the mask, holding your son just in front of his chest. “that’s not funny, you daft little thing. stranger knocks on your door, and you’re lettin’ ‘em in? what’re you thinkin’?” he gives him a little shake—not enough to scare him, just to punctuate his point—and your son’s delighted squeal fills the air.

you’re doubled over in laughter at this point, tears pricking your eyes as you lean against the wall for support. “simon, he’s two. you grabbed him like a rogue operative!”

your husband turns slightly, his masked face angled toward you. “yeah? he’ll remember next time, won’t he?” he looks back at the boy, who’s now practically vibrating with joy. “you lettin’ strangers in your house, lad? that how it works?”

“dada!” your son cries again, trying to clap his hands together despite still being held mid-air.

simon grumbles as he sets the boy down on the welcome mat with a soft thud, kneeling so they’re eye-level. “right. lesson one: don’t open the bloody door unless your mum says so. you got that?” he points a gloved finger at the boy’s chubby belly for emphasis.

your son responds by grabbing simon’s finger with both hands, his whole face lit up in pure joy. “paw-paw!”

simon freezes for half a second, caught off guard by the name before muttering under his breath, “...i’m not your paw-paw, you little menace. i'm a stranger, a bad man."

you snort so hard you nearly choke. “oh, come on, love. he’s trying his best!”

“trying? he’s a menace,” simon shoots back, though there’s no mistaking the affection under the gruff tone. he stands up, brushing his hands off like he’s just completed an important mission. “fine. lesson’s over. next time, i’m bringin’ a lock and some bricks for this door.”

“dada!” your son calls out yet again, his little voice bright and sweet, as he waves a tiny hand at him.

with a sigh so deep it seems to come from his soul, he stops just in front of you, head tilted down at the boy, eyes crinkling slightly under the mask as he studies the wiggling child. without a word, he raises a hand and hooks his fingers under the edge of his mask.

slowly, he tugs it off and shoves it into the pocket of his jacket, revealing that sharp jawline, the stubble along his chin, and—most of all—those softer eyes that never quite match the ghost everyone else knows.

“come here, then,” simon says, his accent soft, as he steps closer and reaches for his son. his large, gloved hands are careful as he takes the boy from your arms and settles him against his chest.

your son immediately tangled his pudgy fingers into simon’s hair and patted his face like he’s inspecting it.

he huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into something resembling a smile. simon lets the boy tug on him a little more, his patience seemingly endless as he cradles him securely in his arms.

you can’t help but grin as you watch the two of them—simon, all six-foot-something of intimidating soldier, holding this chubby little bundle like he’s something precious. “so much for teaching him a lesson, huh?”

your son then leans forward to smush his face against simon’s stubbly cheek, a sloppy kiss of sorts that makes him snort softly.

“oi,” simon mutters, his tone gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “you’re lucky you’re cute, lad.” he pauses, pressing his forehead softly to the boy’s. “don’t you forget—doors stay closed ‘til your me or mum says otherwise, yeah?”

your son beams at him, blissfully unaware of any “life lesson,” already prepared for the next round of ghost-approved fun.

── .✦ 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗉 ; "𝗇𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾."

you were just inside for a few minutes—just long enough to grab some snacks and a drink, trusting your husband to keep an eye on the boys. the backyard had been peaceful when you left, the twins chasing each other around while johnny sprawled out on a nearby chair, keeping a lazy but watchful eye on them.

then it happened.

the unmistakable boom of a small explosion rattled the windows, sending your heart straight into your throat. snacks forgotten, you practically flew toward the back door, skidding to a stop as you threw it open.

the sight that greeted you? absolute chaos.

johnny stood in the middle of the yard, holding both boys—one squirming under each arm—while a tiny, controlled fire smoldered on the grass nearby. bits of scorched dirt and debris dotted the area, evidence of a hasty but clearly deliberate detonation.

“right, lads!” johnny declared, his voice carrying that unmistakable scottish lilt as he adjusted the wriggling toddlers in his grip. “see that? that’s what happens when ye mess wi’ fire!” he pointed with exaggerated emphasis toward the remains of the explosion, his tone somewhere between a warning and a showman’s enthusiasm.

your sons, however, didn’t seem to be taking the lesson in stride.

instead of being appropriately terrified—or even mildly concerned—they were cackling.

the twin on johnny’s left wiggled furiously, laughing like this was the best game in the world. “boom!” he shouted gleefully, pointing toward the fire with chubby fingers.

the other one wasn’t any better. “fire!” he yelled, his high-pitched giggle ringing out as he made a valiant attempt to lunge from his father's grip toward the smoldering patch of earth.

“whoa now, none o’ that!” johnny barked, hauling the second twin back before he could escape. “what did I just say, eh? fire’s no’ for wee bairns like you!”

but his lecture fell on deaf ears. the twins, emboldened by their father’s antics and utterly thrilled by the explosion, began squirming even harder, each of them trying to wriggle free. johnny was quick, though, catching them every time they came close to slipping his grasp.

you finally found your voice, leaning against the doorframe for support as you tried to process what the hell was going on. “john mactavish! what in the world are you doing?!”

he turned to you with a sheepish grin, still clutching your wild, laughing children. “teachin’ ‘em a lesson, love!” he called, gesturing toward the charred ground with his chin. “see? controlled detonation—perfectly safe.”

“safe?” you threw your hands up, incredulous. “you just set off an explosion with toddlers watching!”

“aye, and now they know!” he argued, as if that was a perfectly logical explanation. he hoisted one of the twins higher on his hip as the boy reached for the fire again. “oi! no. look but don’t touch. lesson one o’ demolition—respect the flames, or they’ll bite ye!”

the twin let out a shriek of laughter, kicking his legs. “boom, boom!”

the other one giggled in agreement, trying again to squirm free. “again, daddy!”

“again?” you gaped at him. “johnny, they’re trying to run toward it! this isn’t a lesson—it’s a game to them!”

johnny groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back for a second before leveling a serious (well, semi-serious) look at the boys. “right, that’s it. we’re tryin’ again.” he crouched down, planting the squirming twins on the grass but keeping a firm grip on the back of their shirts.

“now listen here, you two,” he began, his voice low and serious as if speaking to a couple of recruits. “fire’s no’ somethin’ to mess about with, aye? you get too close, and poof! you’re singed. nobody wants to be singed, do they?”

both boys, completely ignoring the gravity of the situation, burst into another fit of giggles.

“no, daddy!” one of them squealed, pulling at his shirt to try and escape.

johnny growled playfully, dragging him back by his collar. “oh no ye don’t, lad. not toward the flames. away. away, i said!”

the other twin took advantage of the distraction to make his own break for it, toddling determinedly toward the still-smoldering patch of grass. johnny however was faster, swiftly catching him with one arm and hauling him up like a sack of potatoes. “caught ye, ya wee rascal! you think I wouldn’t notice?”

you couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the scene. “johnny, they’re laughing at you!”

he looked up at you with an exaggeratedly exasperated expression, one arm full of giggling toddler while the other twin dangled in his grip. “aye, well, they’ll stop laughin’ when they learn i’m bloody right!”

you crossed your arms, still grinning. “oh sure. by the time they’re teenagers, they’ll be building their own bombs.”

johnny flashed you a cheeky grin, one that was entirely too proud of itself. “and they’ll be damn good at it, too!”

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head, but you couldn’t stop the warmth spreading in your chest as you watched him wrestle with your boys. it wasn’t the lesson you would’ve chosen, but there was no denying the way their laughter lit up the yard—and how johnny seemed to soak up every second of it, chaos and all.

divider credit

#cod #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #soap x reader #soap x you #the ghost one is based on this reel i saw on insta #it got me so bad #i was like #I SEE IT

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moonyflesh · 8 months ago

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🐾 Cat Scratches - [James “Logan” Howlett x Reader]

WARNINGS: lots of fluff, brief mention of neck kisses, some suggestive comments but nothing past PG

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (Wolverine, MARVEL/X-MEN)

🐾 .*.. 🕯️

Logan laid comfortably on your stomach, his arms wrapped around your lower back and hips as he buried his face into your abdomen, the bare skin of your tummy visible just slightly underneath your sweater.

Lazily scrolling through your phone, splayed out across his bed with him on top of you, your fingers trailed over his upper shoulders, scratching the fabric of his white compression shirt, rubbing his sore muscles from a long day of training and battle practice.

As your fingers trailed upwards mindlessly on his back, your manicured nails finally reached the nape of his neck, teasing the edge of his hairline.

Scrolling down further through your instagram, you let out a soft sigh of content as your fingers finally buried into the hair on the back of his head, eliciting a low rumble from the back of his throat.

You perked up at this, glancing past the dimmed screen of your device, an eyebrow quirked upwards at his reaction.

“You alright, Lo?”

You muttered out, a small, curious smile tugging at your glossy lips, damp from your teeth gently biting at them out of unconscious habit.

“Mmmh,”

He responded in a low hum, leaning into your fingers as you smiled, a small, amused chuckle leaving your lips at his fingers that slid lower on your back, cupping the backs of your thighs with a slightly possessive grip.

You felt a soft, warm press of his chapped lips against your stomach, just above your panty line, and a small laugh left your lips as he buried his nose further into you, inhaling without hesitation. In response, your legs opened slightly underneath him, wrapping them around his broad midsection with a light squeeze.

Preferring the man in front of you opposed to the celebrities on your phone, you dropped it at your side, letting it become lost in the fluffy, unkept sheets next to your form as both your hands wrapped around his head, burying your fingers into his scalp.

A low, animalistic-like growl left his lips as you scratched through his hair, meeting the place behind his ears, where you knew he was most sensitive.

Tracing over the area where his jaw connected to his ear and neck, you let out a low hum in response, tilting your head propped up on one of his pillows to the side, your eyebrows knitting together lightly in curiosity at his pleasant reactions.

“Feels good, bub. Right- mmh. There.”

Your eyes narrowed at his borderline inappropriate hum, and you nodded, wordlessly continuing to scrape through his fluffy, unkept hair.

“I didn’t take you for a cat, Logan,” You teased quietly, a small vibration leaving your own form, similar to that of the buzz of an old stereo.

“Don’t mock me, sweetheart. Can’t help it,”

He shot back, his furry eyebrows knitting together as he finally shifted, pulling himself up further, allowing his face to move from your stomach to your collarbone, trying desperately not to go full deadweight on you, knowing he’d crush your frail form.

“Plus, ever since you got yer nails done-”

He didn’t finish his sentence as you raked through his head of hair once more, pushing his face into the warm skin of your exposed neck, muffling any protest from him.

“Stop talking, James. Sleep.”

You effectively hushed him, a small smile pulling at your face as he grumbled out something along the lines of ‘mm. Whatever,’ and ‘fine.’

You felt him pepper a few hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his teeth teasingly biting down on your exposed shoulder, before lapping at the new mark with his tongue, admiring his work with your taste.

“G’night, bub.”

You smiled at his subtle acceptance to your demand, your fingers frozen in his fluffy hair and partially in his long side shaves, nodding.

“Goodnight, kitty.”