jj-the-hobbit171

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Not sure it works that way

[jj-the-hobbit171]

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 1: The ring

Summary: The sudden appearence of certain pack on your life makes you question whether you're being watched. After meeting them, questions start to arise about who you really are and how the task force members feel about you.

Pairing: poly!141 x Reader [A/B/O Universe]

Warnings: mentions is marriage, gaz not being happy.

Words: 6K (ups...)

Previous chapter: Johnny’s Secret

Author's note: pls tell me this long or shorter chapters?

(I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)

Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!

“You mean to tell me, that you had been disappearing to see a girl?”

“Ye donae get' it! I'm tellin' ye, it’s no' just any lass!”

Price leaned against his desk chair as he looked at the scene in front of him. A loved one faced Johnny and a fuming Gaz, who had been walking from one side of the room to another. Gaz huffed when he hear Johnny’s reply. Yes, he was fuming.

“Huh! Do you hear him?” He asked Price walking closer to his desk motioning to Johnny “Looks like that much gunpowder has gotten him”

Soap’s face hardened. He steps forward, closing the gap between them, frustration bubbling over. “Agh, shut it, Gaz! This isn’t some daft wee fling! I’m no’ sneakin’ around like a bloody idiot. I love her.”

Gaz scoffs, shaking his head as if he has heard a madman, but Soap kept going. And then, his voice softens, almost like he can’t help it when he speaks about you. “When I’m wi’ her… it’s different. She makes me feel, safe? Like I can finally bloody breathe without wonderin’ when it’s all gonna fall apart.” Price could see how his eyes soften, although he kept his fists clenched.

“Johnny If I see that smile on your face one more time, Ghost is going to have to take me off you with hot water” He growled “You don’t even know her!”

"I do know her! She eats in the meds office 'cause the Mess Hall’s got too many smells an’ it overwhelms her! She likes my jokes, an’ her nose twitches when she laughs! I ken everythin’ aboot her! I-“ He signed, his shoulders slumping a bit "Listen, I’m just sayin’ ye should meet her. She’s an absolute sweetheart, an’ I know ye’ll like her. Maybe even feel the way I do. I’m tellin’ ye, she’s what we’ve been lookin’ for, our  missin’ piece."

Price analysed the atmosphere in the room. While Gaz looked heartbroken, his brows furrowed and his eyes dripping with sadness, his mouth slightly opened as if he wanted to say something, Missing? You felt like you were missing something? Aren't we enough? Aren’t I enough? But the words were too painful to fall out of his mouth. Johnny, however, was the living image of love stroked. Price had to be honest, he hadn’t seen him like that since he started meeting up with Gaz. Back in the day, he had been almost too shy to join their pack.

He was the youngest, the newest, and maybe that’s why he was so reluctant about the idea of adding someone else. Maybe it was the idea of not being the “missing piece” anymore, maybe it was the idea of not being enough. Maybe that was it. Pack 141 was incomplete until Gaz arrival, they all had said it, so why did they need another packmate? He was enough to complete the pack, they were a pack and they were happy. But the hole in his chest only grew wider each second Price stood in silence, listening to Soap talk.

Gaz looked at his Pack Alpha, while he leaned into the table, his elbows on top of it “You know that there is a possibility this doesn’t work, right? That it’s only you who feel  that connection with her” Price watched with steady eyes how Johnny nodded his head muttering a small aye. 

After a beat, Price continued, his voice unwavering.“I won’t risk the pack's stability for her… However” Johnny lit up when he pronounced that word “We’ll organize a meeting to get to know her”

Gaz felt his world turning upside down, shadows and flashing lights dancing around him as the distanced voice of Soap celebrating and laughing drilled his ears.

A forced cough caught everyone's attention.

Simon. Yess, Simon. Only Simon could stop this nonsense.

“What?”

Simon pushed himself off the wall he was leaning in, walking slowly towards the middle of the room “There's a problem in your plan” Simon spoke with a deep voice as he looked, with cold eyes, as Johnny turned towards him:

“She has a ring on her finger”

Since the day you had bump into them they had started showing up everywhere. 

You tried ignoring them, you really did. Your routine with Johnny was still the same, sometimes he would pop up randomly in the same place you were. He’ll say with his characteristic smirk and shrugging casually Oh, I was just passin’ by, an’ I saw ye… Right… Then the other two started to appear. The one you had bumped into usually watched you from afar. It didn't matter where you were, he was already there. You could feel his eyes watching you, only for you to turn around and see some aviator glasses covering his face. 

It was starting to get on your nerves, the idea of being followed everywhere. You had no idea if Johnny had talked about you or if this was some special agent protecting their pack kinda bullshit. 

You knew it was intended to be subtle, but the large hulking man in a Baklava wasn't as unnoticed as he thought. While the other one followed you like a shadow, this man stomped his way through and every soldier around slipped away as fast as they could.

You were inside one of the med offices wondering if you should speak to Johnny about what had been happening. You knew he was coming to have lunch with you, he always did. It was a really good moment to talk about this. Hey, Johnny your pack has been hmm a bit intruding? Could you tell them to back off? Sigh. Maybe it was you who was overstepping, I mean, having lunch everyday with one of their packmates was probably considered intruding.

Before you could rumble your thoughts around anymore, a loud knock stopped your frantic thinking. With big strides you reached the door in only a few steps, the blurry shadow though the textured glass only seemed to grow bigger and bigger. You took only one moment to try to make your hair look decent before yanking the door open: 

“Johnny I want to talk about- I- You…”

The words died on your tongue.

Instead of Johnny’s usual bright grin, the sudden appearance of the hulking body of the skull-balaclava man had you stuttering with wide eyes. You were met with Simon “Ghost” Riley, standing tall in your doorway, clad in his gear, his presence filled the small space, your face near his chest. 

Your fingers tightened around the door handle, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were—face near to his chest. You tried taking a deep breath trying to calm your heartbeat, he wasn't supposed to be here. 

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, “I- What are you doing here?” 

“Aren't you a nurse?”

“I- I mean, yes?” 

He hummed before bumping into you slightly as he made his way into the office, broad-shouldered, wearing his uniform, every inch of him radiating authority as sat on one of the examination tables, the metal structure screeching under his weight. His presence was overwhelming, filling the room like a storm rolling in. 

“I’m hurt” He grumbled in a deep voice “Fix me”.

Your eyes betrayed you as they run over how his legs spread when he sat, his wide thighs pressed against the mattress, the fabric of his jeans stretching, his hands flat on the mattress, his forearms stretched backwards supporting his weight, his chest silhouette under his shirt, the sharp cut of his jaw beneath the mask. He was watching you too, gaze heavy, unwavering, dark eyes locked onto yours, piercing and unreadable, but there was something in them, something that made heat rush to your cheeks.

You felt hot under his gaze. 

Turning sharply, heart hammering as you reached for the door, you caught a glimpse of him, just the barest shift behind his mask, but you were almost sure he was smiling.

Breathing deeply you walked towards him, stopping in front of him, almost between his legs. You tried figuring out if this was some kind of test; however, none of the way his eyes stayed motionless and his eyebrows furrowed indicated it.

“So, what happened… Lieutenant Riley?” You had to read his name tag sewn into his shirt.

“Ghost. Call me Ghost” His name rolled out of his mouth as he looked at you.

After clearing his throat he continued “Shoulder’s been acting up,” he muttered, rolling it back like the movement alone would emphasize his point. “Figured I’d get it checked.”

You nodded, steadying yourself, pushing away all hesitation “Right, let me take a look-”

The moment you reached for his arm, he caught your hand instead. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements. Not roughly, but firm enough to make you pause and stay gripped. 

 You looked up at him, confused, but he wasn’t watching your face anymore.

He was looking at your hand.

At your ring.

His thumb dragged lightly over the small and smooth metal, a barely-there touch, but it sent a jolt through your spine anyway.

His grip didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted.

“Didn’t know you were married,” he said, voice quieter now, deeper.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. A sharp panic started swirling inside your chest, your ribs suddenly felt too tight for your lungs, and your throat tightened making your mouth go dry. The weight of his stare pinned you in place, knowing there was no easy way out of this.

“I-...” The word barely made it past your lips, weak, uncertain, halting. You forced yourself to swallow, to steady your breath, but the heat of his fingers against your skin made it impossible to think straight.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. He still didn’t let go. And for a moment, just for a brief moment, you wondered if he even wanted to.

Then—

The door burst open.

“Bonnie! Ye ready to-?”

Johnny’s voice, loud and full of its usual warmth, disappeared the moment he took in the scene before him.

Your wrist, still in Ghost’s grasp.

You, standing between his legs, close, almost too close.

You whipped your head towards him, startled, frozen in place. Ghost, however, was slower, his head turning with measured precision, a deliberate movement. His gaze was unreadable as he met Johnny’s shocked expression.

Johnny’s usual nice eyes had vanished. However, it wasn’t just because both of you in front of him. It was Ghost’s eyes. Dark. Sharp. Fixated. Like he was found doing something he wasn’t supposed to, something he wasn’t willing to step away from. Like a predator standing over its kill, possessive, unwavering, ready to strike at anyone who dared step nearer.

Johnny’s usual easy song smile faltered, his eyes darting between the two of you. His expression darkened, you could see the confusion flickering beneath the surface, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly  “What’s going on here?”

Ghost released your hand instantly, pushing himself off the examination table with a calculated slowness. “Nothin’,” he said, voice level. “Shoulder’s fine now.”

“Wait, what about-”

He didn't even share a glance to you as he brushed past Johnny, exiting the room without uttering another word. The moment you heard the door close you released a breath you didn't even know you were holding. The skin he had touched tingled with the invisible promise of being touched again.

Johnny waited until he heard the door close to move. He walked fastly towards you, his hands grabbing your arms carefully, almost cuddling you in his warm embrace. His eyes search your face for any sign of harm. “Ye alright, lass?”

You hesitated for a moment. Were you? If you were, why did you feel like your heart was going to break through your ribs? “Yes, I think so…”

Although he nodded, the crease in his eyebrow only deepened. He tried keeping his voice soft, but there was something sharper behind, an edge of concern, maybe even jealousy. “Bonnie… what did Ghost want?” 

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. 

You wished you had an answer, you really did.

Because truthfully, you didn’t know either.

You were jolted out of your flashback when Johnny grabbed your shoulders, slightly shaking you. He was looking at you with worried eyes, again. “Ye good?”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Johnny. What could he possibly want to talk about?”

You stare back at him as you play with your hands. You had the bad habit of picking your hangnail skin when you were nervous, a habit that hadn't taken Johnny long to realise. He is good at reading people, especially people he cares about.

He grabbed your sweating hands, slowly running his thumb over your skin. He smiled at you, letting out a small chuckle “Lass, yer gonna wreck yer hands 'fore we’ve even stepped in".

His grip was steady, not tight but grounding. His thumb traced soothing circles over your knuckles. You tried focusing on the callouses of his warm hands, you reflected on how that roughness came from years of training. It was comforting. Too comforting. 

You tried swallowing, but your mouth felt like sand. Calm down.

“Listen, it’s just Price wantin’ a chat, aye? Nothin’ to worry about.” Johnny reassured you, lowering his gaze to try catch your eyes “Unless there’s somethin’ yer no’ tellin’ me, hmm?”

Your breath caught, your heart stopping for a second, but you forced out a small dismissive laugh “No, nothing like that. It’s just… I don’t know why a captain is summoning me.”

Johnny hummed, clearly seeing that you were still trembling, but he did not push anymore. Instead he squeezed your hand before offering you his charming lopsided smirk.

“Don’t worry, lass. Ye got this”

Before you could answer, the door to the office opened: 

“You can come in now”

It was almost funny. How they could see your nervous shadow through the texture glass of the office door. They had been watching how your nervous figure kept moving from one side to another as Johnny tried to keep you calm and still. Your blurred silhouette shifted, the distorted outline of your movements casting faint shadows against the dim light outside. It was funny, Ghost had to admit it. How even if you tried so hard to whisper, they could still hear your nervous rambles. Johnny knew they were hearing it, they knew it.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of Price's watches, and the air was light. Price had ordered a deep clean and for the windows to be open all morning, so the room smelt nice and clean, not deep alpha scent in sight.

Ghost stood near the window, farther away from the sofas. It wasn't a command, it was more of a suggestion so he would not intimidate you. He obeyed as he growled something about not even dreaming about being close to you. Which wasn't really true because now, with his arms crossed against his chest, as he observed yours and Johnny’s movements through the glass, he wanted nothing else to pull you inside the room. 

Price sat behind his desk, tapping a pen against his fingers. He could see how tense Ghost’s frame was. He had been studying the room for a while. Gaz leaned against the wall next to the door, one foot propped up, his hands resting on his belt, his fingest casually hooked into the loops. His posture was relaxed, effortless, with an easy confidence. At least someone is relaxed.

“Well. Johnny has been outside for quite some time now” Gaz spoke breaking the silence “Doesn’t look like she’s interested in our little meeting”

“See that?” Ghost muttered from the other side of the room “She’s nervous”

Gaz scoffed as he pulled himself off the wall “Looks like she doesn’t want to be here.” He tilted his head as the shadows shifted again “I’ve seen better acting” He let out a short, humourless laugh.

“She’s scared, she’s shaking like a leaf” Ghost barked back.

With a shrug of his shoulder Gaz replied “Doesn’t matter to me” His tone was dismissive, his gaze never stayed too long on the door.

Price's eyes narrowed slightly when he saw your form stiffed when Johnny moved closer, his shadow nearly overlapping yours through the glass. 

“She’s keeping her distance” Price said “Not too much. She doesn’t want to be rude about it”.

Ghost’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing. He wasn't particularly fond of small talk, especially when it involved things that did not concern him. However. His eyes never left you moving through the glass, his expression unreadable. He had to admit, you were an enigma and he was fascinated by you. He already knew about your little secret meetings even before Johnny's secret was revealed. You had caught his attention. 

Despite his outward nonchalance, something inside him was on edge. There was something about you, something hidden that captivated him, something that made his chest rise with anxiety. And that bothered him more than he cared to admit. He wasn’t used to feeling this unsettled, not over someone he barely knew.

Ghost’s attention moved back to Price and, for a moment, their eyes met. He could almost hear the growl starting to grow inside Simon’s chest. Ghost was protective. He couldn’t help but feel the tug of something deeper than curiosity when it came to you. Price understood it just by looking at him. Something was off, but not in the way Gaz assumed.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Ghost muttered, his voice gravelly as he moved away from the window, still not breaking his gaze from the door. “She’s… interesting.”

Gaz gave him a side-eyed glance, clearly unimpressed with Ghost’s cryptic words. “Interesting? That’s one word for it. You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Before Ghost could bite a response back, Price hushed them, the room suddenly silent. The faint sound of hurried whispers echoed in the hallway, the blurry shadow outside the door shifting once again. 

Price’s expression softened, seeing how tense Ghost figure was. He spoke with authority in his voice. “We don’t know her yet, Gaz. Give her a chance. If she’s what Johnny needs, then she deserves that much.”

Gaz held Simon’s gaze for a bit, his eyebrows frown and his jaw tight. 

“Yeah, well…” He muttered as he strode lezley “just because Johnny’s smitten doesn’t mean we all have to play along.”

He turned around, shrugging lazily. “I don’t like her. Don’t trust her either. All this ‘she’s nervous’ and ‘she’s interesting’ talk? Doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’ve seen people act sweet before screwing everything up.”

His hand closed around the door handle as he threw a glance over his shoulder, towards Simon, tone flat.

“But fine. Let’s get this over with.”

And with that, Gaz opened the door, the light from the hallway spilling into the room as he met Johnny’s waiting stare. Yours, just behind him.

“You can come in now.”

The teacup was warm in your hands, the delicate porcelain did not help calming your nerves but the soft smell of the tea reached a conforming place inside your head.

You sat straight on the armchair, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. Johnny had dragged his chair closer to yours, his knee nearly brushing your own. You had never seen him smile like this, his face was lit up like a child in front of a birthday cake. The soft clink of ceramic came from the desk as Price returned with a small milk pitcher, you saw how it had different flowers painted all over it while Price offered it to you gently. He had a soft smile on his face, it made his cheeks chubby in an adorable way you thought.

“Here you go, love” he said, with a small, reassuring smile. “How d’you take it? Sugar? Milk?”

A blush started to creep at your cheeks, for some reason the nickname made you feel fussy and with a small nod you said “Just a bit of milk, please.”

“Of course.” He poured it for you, precise and calm, like this was just another pleasant afternoon. “No need to be nervous. There’s nothing wrong, just a friendly chat.”

But it didn't feel like that. Not with the way the man with the skull baklava was looking at you, arms braced on his knees, his eyes fixed on you without blinking once. His baklava hid most of his face, the only visible thing being his eyes, they were dark, his pupils dilated. It felt like he was trying to burn you into his memory. He hadn't said anything since you entered, just murmuring a soft greeting… But now, with his gaze fixed on you, you were pretty sure he wanted to say something more.

“Ghost” Price barked with a tight smile “Ease up, mate.” 

You watched how Ghost didn’t reply, but blinked slowly as if coming out of a trance and looked away, jaw clenched tight.

“See? Told ye, they’re a decent bunch. Don’t even bite.” Johnny whispered almost in your ear, never stopping smiling as he looked at you with such a shine in his eyes. They were so pretty. You had always thought it, since the first moment you met, you could spend hours looking at him.

You could only hum taking a sip of your tea, trying to banish the heat of your cheeks with Johnny looking at you. “Nice is a way to put it…” You murmured, unable to stop yourself. Ghost’s eyes flicked back to you when you said that, head tilting the slightest bit and, even if you couldn’t see it, a small smile appeared under his mask. 

However, not everyone was happy. Across the room, Gaz cleared his throat loudly, arms still folded tightly.

Price turned sharply to look back at him, his cold eyes sent his sergeant a cold look before looking back at you. He closed his eyes for just a moment, breathing deeply before opening them again and smiling back at you. “Don’t mind him, love. Tell me, how’s the medical wing treating you?”

He was so nice. He was the nicest one, well, after Johnny. He was your Johnny after all. However, Price’s smile was so nice. The way he looked at you with such a softnest, he look so nice, so warm made your tummy flutter, a warm feeling inside your chest that made you want to roll onto his scent- 

No.  Nothing like that.

“Bonnie?” 

You snapped back into the room, you looked to your right, Johnny was looking at you with a worried face. Right. Price had asked you a question. 

“Hmm… It’s good, sometimes it gets a bit too much, but I like it” You tried giving him a smile, something to hide how nervous you were. However, it didn’t take long for it to disappear from your face. 

A small smile appeared on Price’s face “That’s nice”

His gaze dropped to your hands very subtly, but you saw the flicker of confusion before it was buried under his usual warm and nice persona.

“Married and still making time for the military wounded. Must be a hell of a man you’ve got,” he said lightly, nodding toward your left hand.

Your blood turned to ice.

Your hand instinctively curled into your lap, but it was too late. The ring, your ring, had already drawn attention. You heard Johnny shift beside you. Not a word. Just movement. Stiff and controlled.

Gaz scoffed, sharp and low. “Figures.”

You looked up sharply, but he wasn’t even looking at you anymore. Just stared hard at the opposite wall like he couldn’t be bothered to hide the sour taste in his mouth.

“I didnae think-” Johnny began, but his voice faltered.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly felt like if you were being choked. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always,” Gaz muttered under his breath.

The air thickened around you. Ghost, still as stone in his chair, had been watching you. Not your hands. Not your face. You.

Then he spoke.

“You don’t smell like him”

Silence invaded the room as Ghost's deep voice made that statement. All of them were thinking the same thing, however Ghost was the one to say it. Price didn't separate his eyes from you even after Ghost's statement, and you could feel how Johhny’s figure tensed up, his fist balled up and his shoulders tense. 

You looked back at Price, because you refuse to even share a gaze with Johnny. You knew that this topic would come up sooner and later, but as long as Johnny could ignore it, you would play along. Fantasizing about your little relationship, about your secret meetings, about how warm your hand felt inside his own, about how peaceful you were inside his arms, about the butterflies you felt when he smiled at you. 

Yes, you could play along. 

However, your little bubble had now popped, revealing the sad truth about your situation.

You tried smiling but failed when a sudden trembling breath left your body “He… He’s not usually here” You could feel Johnny's eyes burning a hole into you, his usually nice smile now gone, a slight frown on his forehead. 

Price hummed leaning backwards, a casual manspread as he got comfortable, his arms crossed against his chest “Hmm that’s quite dangerous for you”

“We are literally on a military base” You tried laughing it off, however the masked man didn’t share your sense of humour.

“That’s exactly why he’s saying it” He almost growls, a dangerous vibration coming from his throat “Lot’s of men here and you don’t even smell like your mate.”

There it was. The elephant in the room. 

You kept your eyes on Price, refusing to meet Ghost’s stare even though you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

“I told you,” you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. “He’s always deployed. Sometimes even for months”

Silence.

Price blinked slowly, clearly trying to read between your lines. He didn’t push, not yet, but the thoughtful frown now tugging at his lips told you he didn’t buy it completely.

Ghost leaned forward just slightly, arms still crossed but his eyes narrowed, sharp like a blade. “And the suppressant?”

Your blood ran cold.

“I—what?”

“You don’t smell like an omega at all,” he said, quiet but firm. “Not masked. Not faded. It’s muted. Synthetic.” He tilted his head. “Not like your mate, not like an omega. It's like someone’s trying real hard not to be noticed.”

The air felt thick again, but this time it was colder, heavier.

“I take them when he’s gone,” you murmured, not quite looking at anyone. “It’s safer that way. I don’t like drawing attention.”

It was half the truth. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Price let out a slow, long breath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice low and steady—but not unkind. “You know that’s not how a pack works, love. If your mate cared—really cared—he’d be making sure you’re safe. You wouldn’t have to cover your scent. Wouldn’t need suppressants.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your chest was too tight.

“A bond like that should be felt,” Price continued, softer now. “We should know you’re his. But you walk in here smelling like no one. That’s not only negligence. That’s abandonment.”

Your eyes stung. You fought the tears threatening to climb up your throat. You looked down at your hands. “I am with someone,” you whispered.

Simon let out a short breath, almost like a laugh. “If that’s true, then he’s already forgotten you.”

Silence. A beat too long. No one moved.

“Lieutenant” Price barks as he turns around to look at him.

You stood up, stumbling a bit as you got dizzy from the sudden movement, your chair scraped back harshly against the floor. Johnny followed your movements, trying to stabilise you “I- I think I should leave” You eyes looked around trying to find a scape, your form frigid, like a deer in headlights “I don’t feel comfortable anymore. I’m sorry,” You whispered before running outside of the office.

Johnny followed you, only stopping for a moment at the door, to turn around towards his pack, a ting of sadness and rage behind his eyes “Well done, lads. Bloody brilliant. Just fuckin’ perfect.” He fumed befores sprinting outside of the door. 

Price massaged his forehead and rubbed his face trying to keep his cool. He could only hope that in the process of losing you, they hadn’t lost Johnny.

You and Johnny walked in a comfortable silence. His hands brushed yours every step you took. His walk tried to seem relaxed, but the way his tense shoulders sway told you everything you needed to know about how he felt. 

Your tears had now dried on your cheeks, Johnny had hugged you after he chased you down, kissing your head and whispering sweet nothing into your ears to calm you down.

He even offered to walk you back to your house, and after a sincere apology and a small nod, you decided to walk in silence. You didn’t really know what to say after what had happened, you had too many things to explain. But you stayed silent. Johnny had too many things to say, his mind full of different thoughts. But he stayed silent too.

The base was quiet at this hour. Only a couple of people walking around, moving from one place to another, probably returning back to rest for the night. The path was somewhat dark, a few street lamps illuminated enough to have a “clear” visibility if someone was to enter.

You live in another compound, away from the other medical staff, from all the staff. Johnny did not question it, they had done enough digging for today. However, it was usually higher ranks or special units that had their own building. Johnny’s blood boiled thinking of you kissing with, or married to one of the higher ranks. The image of you arm in arm with one of those assholes, with Macmillan, or worse, with someone like Shepherd. Yes, it made him furious.

Johnny could’t allowed that. You were so nice, so soft, so undoubtedly uncorrupted, that the mere thought of you being laying at night with someone with blood on their hands. You have blood on your hands too, Johnny. He could almost hear Price's voice. And yes, it still made his blood boil.

Before he could realise it, you were already standing in front of your door. You were looking at him with remorse, he grabbed your hands and he gave you his usual smile; however, this time it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t gimme that look, lass. Yer eyes are far too bonnie for that.” A small laugh escaped through his sincere smile. 

“Johnny, I-”

With a shake of his head he stopped you, Not even looking at your eyes anymore, his gaze fixed to your ring, as his thumbs caressed over it.

"He’s a lucky bastard, innit…" He whispered and it sounded like a curse, like a cruel joke life was playing on him. He tried rubbing the small metal band a bit, only a bit, harder, like he wanted to erase it, but it only turned around. A cruel joke, the ring felt like a curse and your doorway made him feel like the Gods were punishing him, pulling him back to hell, like those old Greek poets stories, dragging him away from his muse.

He raised his eyes back to yours, You had never seen him so serious befores, his eyes were so blue, so many things twirling behind them, you could see it, if you could only read them. 

He pulled you slightly closer to him, your chest barely touching with every breath. His lips trembled when he tried speaking “You know, If ye ever need anythin', anythin' at all, ye call me, alright?.” He rummage through his left back pocket, taking out a small folded ripped piece of paper, putting it inside your hand "I dunno what this is, don’t care either. Somethin’ feels off, somethin’ weird happens—you call. Aye?".

Johnny shook your hands slightly before you could rebate this order “Got it?”

You nodded and Johnny signed, closing his eyes “Can I at least ask his name?” 

After a moment of doubt you answer with a meek: “Sebastian” 

He nodded, still with his eyes closed. Sebastian he thought. He had never heard that name around base, and that was for the best, because if he did, he would probably be already trying to find him. Accidents happen all the time in the army… Sign. One second later he smiled again, that warm smile you loved. 

He let the name sit on his tongue like it burned, then gave you a crooked smile, too tired and too bitter at the edges to be real.

“Sebastian, aye?” he said, nodding slowly. "Bet he drinks fancy fizz water on purpose and probably knows how to say bourgeoisie".

You snorted—barely—but it made him smile for real, even if it was small and sad.

"Let me guess—one o’ them that gels his hair for PT. What a prick."

He paused, just a second too long, before glancing back down at your hand. His voice dropped.

"Still. He’s a lucky bastard."

Johnny nodded, slowly, as if talking himself through something no one else could hear. Then, with that familiar gentleness, he reached forward and tucked a small piece of hair away from your forehead before pressing a kiss to your forehead. It lingered just a second longer than it should’ve. Just long enough to mean something.

When he stepped back, he kept your gaze for a breath, and then another, before forcing the corners of his mouth up into a smile. Tired. Lopsided. Cracked with quiet heartbreak.

He took a few steps backward, his hand brushing through his hair before he stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He tilted his head with a lopsided grin. "So… see ye tomorra? Same time at the meds office? I’ll bring lunch, you bring… no Sebastian?"He said, mock-hopeful, with a crooked smirk.

He let the silence breathe, and then he shrugged: 

"Kiddin’… unless ye aren’t."

A wink. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he turned and walked away.

And you stood in the doorway, already missing him.

The soft click of the door behind you sounded louder than usual. You leaned your back against it and let out a long, slow breath, eyes fluttering shut as the last pieces of Johnny’s presence slipped from your skin.

The house was dark. Still. The kind of stillness that pressed against your ears.

You stepped forward and kicked off your boots, the floor creaking under your weight. The silence wrapped around you tightly, until-

CRASH

Something clattered in the kitchen.

You froze.

Heart lurching, breath caught in your throat, you turned your head toward the sound. The darkness stretched before you like a threat.

Another noise — softer this time. A thump. Your mind raced.

Had someone followed you? No, impossible. You’d have known.You’d have noticed. Unless— No. No, it couldn’t be.

Slowly, your hand headed straight for the wooden small chest of drawers by the entrance. Your fingers moved without hesitation, sliding open the right drawer without making any noise and wrapping around cold steel.

The pistol was exactly where you'd left it.

You checked the magazine, thumbed off the safety, and held it low but ready as you padded across the wooden floor, every step silent and deliberate.

“…Sebastian?” you called out softly, every syllable trembling.

You stepped further inside. Still nothing. Another cautious step.

Heart hammering. Breath locked. The darkness stretched before you like a threat.

“…Sebastian,” you tried again, louder now, heart beating against your ribs like a warning drum.

You turned the corner sharply.

And there he was.

Not a soldier. Not a stranger. Just your cat.

He looked up from where he had just knocked over an empty mug, his tail flicking lazily like nothing at all had happened.

“Sebastian!” you hissed, voice caught between exasperation and relief dropping the muzzle of the gun. You clicked the safety back on, slid the weapon into the waistband of your trousers, and exhaled a tight, bitter breath.

He meowed, as if answering your earlier call with a well-earned sense of entitlement, then padded off to his food bowl like royalty expecting a feast.

You exhaled a shaky laugh, the tension didn’t drain all at once as you poured his wet food in his little plate. “You're lucky I love you, you little menace.”

You shuffled into your room, peeling off your uniform piece by piece like shedding someone else’s skin. The ring came off last — cold and hollow in your palm.

A perfect circle, forged for a lie. Not a promise. A cover. A fraud. You didn’t look at it when you set it on the dresser. You couldn’t.

The gun followed, placed carefully beside the ring, like two parts of a story no one knew. One you weren’t ready to tell.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your bare hand. The absence of the ring left a slight indentation. You pressed your fingers there. Then slowly, your hand drifted to your neck.

No mark. No claim. Nothing to hide. Noone to give explanations. And yet — so much to explain.

You crawled into bed, muscles aching, heart heavier than before. The sheets felt colder tonight. Or maybe you just noticed it more. The lack of warmth, of scent, of presence. You pulled the blanket tighter, but it didn’t help.

Sebastian jumped onto your bed with a soft thud, laying down near your stomach, settling in for the night like nothing had happened. 

You remembered Johnny’s voice when he said your name — soft, warm, like the sun through your window after a nightmare. He made everything feel easier, even now, even after everything. Like maybe you weren’t entirely alone.

And then there was Ghost. You didn’t understand it. The way your skin tightened under his gaze. Like your body recognized something your mind didn’t. Something dangerous and old and… inevitable. A strange, quiet pull.

And Price… His presence had weight. Not crushing — anchoring. Just being near him slowed everything down. Your breath. Your thoughts. A calm feeling ivaded you, your heart beating slower and your mind feeling fuzzy.

This wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t even about truth. It was about the fact that for a few moments today — just a few — you’d forgotten to lie.

And it had felt… good.

Stupid.

But good.

You shut your eyes tight and curled your knees up, facing the wall, blinking slowly into the dark.

This couldn’t happen. Not really. Not with them. Not like this. Not while you were still someone else entirely.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting it.

Even if it couldn’t be. At least… not yet.

TAGLIST: @suicidarsi @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @danielle143 @annoyingnonamesan @littlelovebug98 @hypertail @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @rainbowangel @forgetmenotsilly @mirimirionthewall

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Oh, sweet neighbour. III

Johnny Mactavish x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS: Johnny tries to be a gentleman, but god, you are so delectable.

MDNI 18+ ONLY CW: the military and inaccuracies. you're pregnant, that's a warning on its own. takes place in Scotland, AU where Johnny is forcibly retired and finds a new obsession. hints of dom/sub dynamic. Hints of child abuse/neglect. Kyle x Johnny is mentioned, if you squint. Slightly angsty. Mention of John. Pet names are used - hen, bonnie, lass. He gets a hard-on. FLUFF M'eudail means dearest/darling apparently. I hope so, at least.

Have mercy on my grammar, English is not my first language.

AUTHOR NOTE: we're getting there! some intimacy and vulnerability as you two progress in your fresh relationship(?).

PREV. MLIST

The rough knocks on your front door don’t startle you as you roam in your living room, unable to sit for long when you're on the phone. Leo barks once, the old dog wagging its fluffy tail behind him, while he raises his head toward the door.

You're not worried. You know who it is now. Johnny.

Your feet are kept warm in your slippers as you walk to the door, and you frown, listening to the employee on the phone. Your eyes flicker as you turn the key to the side before pushing the handle down to find him. That familiar twirl in your chest comes back to life, little thing, at the sight of him enveloped in his coat.

"Hey." You murmur, your phone sliding away from your mouth for a moment.

There is no thought in your head when you shift your weight onto your toes, lifting yourself enough so that your mouth can press a chaste kiss on his jaw. His beard tingles, and you fall back on your feet with a smile before turning away. Drew back by that damn phone call.

"So, you are telling me you cannot come today, yes?" You repeat, hearing the door being kicked back. You turn towards Johnny with a sigh as you listen to the older man on the phone, giving you his apologies. "No, it's alright, I - I understand. Goodbye."

Johnny's coat is resting by yours on the wall when you cut the call. It's not their fault, and you know that, but it doesn't mean it's not frustrating. A little family business was supposed to come and take a look at the electric wires going around your house, because the lights keeps flickering. But your appointment will have to be postponed. They were a strong thunderstorm yesterday, south in the county, and some roads are now flooded.

"Wha' is it, bonnie?"

"They can't come. Roads are not accessible because of the storm." You mumble, placing your phone down before pinching the arch of your nose.

Everything had been going so well for you in the last few days. Under Johnny's firm recommendation - ignored demand, really - you had someone come and check on your multiple fireplaces. Before the end of the day, they were cleaned and are now safe to use and well-maintained, and now, you know how to safely utilise them.

Then, due to Johnny's organisation and surprisingly wide knowledge, your kitchen seems anew. No squeak or screeching sounds can be heard anymore, and you even had the time to paint the doors blue while Johnny took care of the island counter, sanding and varnishing it clean.

You went, with your new shadow, to that damn slaughterhouse, and got two mares for barely anything. They were going to be slaughtered, and Mister Graham generously lended you his trailer for you to take them home. It's been three days now, and they are already growing comfortable at your presence, after long hours passed by their side.

Everything was going so well.

"Ey, ey now, lassie." Johnny hushes you at the first sound of your sniffle. It's impossible to miss it.

He had already seen the signs when you opened the door, the way your shoulders are curled forward as if to hide into yourself and disappear. That little crease in your brows, which means anxiousness. That little pinch in the right corner of your mouth, hiding your displeasure and gloom.

But he sees it. Johnny sees you. He barely makes anything sound, even though it feels like rushing through fire and swiftly comes by your side, before you can feel his hands settle on your shoulders.

"It's stupid, isn't it?"

"Nah, not stupid." He hums back to you, fingers gently kneading at your shoulder. Without another word, you're surrounded by his warmth.

You don't resist as he strokes his knuckles down your spine, making you nestle closer, deeper into him while you rest your cheek on his chest.

Your fingers curl at the edge of his jumper when he places his hand by your nape. Johnny does that often when you get overwhelmed or apprehensive. It helps in settling you, he noticed. His thumb caresses your skin, that little part right behind your ear, a soft spot, and you sigh, already feeling comforted by his simple sign of affection. You're not alone anymore. That's what he tells you.

"Let's go out, aye? Ye said ye need tae go buy some food."

"Mhm. And there's that thrift shop that I wanted to go visit."

He grunts in answer, his nose skipping over the crown of your hair. Your slippers move on the ground, settling in between his boots as you squeeze your arms around his chest, hands finding refuge on the slope of his shoulders. Eyes close, you bask in it - the security he offers you. The stability he brings into your life, someone to lean on. Someone to talk to when you worry, to share your joy with.

"Go into the car, a'right? I'll go get the bags for ye."

Johnny knows it unsettled you when you don't pipe up a word at his word. Usually, you tend to put up a fight or always think of something else to do before, so you're not simply sitting down while he does the work. Your words, not his. But you only give him a little shake of your head, accepting, and he feels his heart throb in reaction. He would rather have your banter and disapproving frown than this version of you. Dejected, and your pretty mouth curled down.

If it were up to him, you would always wear a smile. Probably nothing more, too.

"C'mon now, hen." His hand pats the end of your back, and you grasp at his shoulders one more time before moving away.

While that's inconvenient, it could be a nice change of pace for you. To go out for once, and think of yourself for a little bit. He pushes a few plastic bags into one, checking to see you putting the little yellow raincoat on, almost ready to go. His eyes find the silhouette of your handbag, and he grabs it before finding himself locking your front door.

You've finally taken up residence now. There are no more bags in your room. A few paintings on the wall of your staircase. Cooking books are well-ordered in a little library he found for you, close to your fridge and one potted plant. He can always see a novel on the low table now, in the living room. And, always, there's a pair of dark blue slippers waiting for him at the entrance. Your home finally looks like one.

It took a few words or persuasion, not that you're difficult to convince, and he even put more bolts on your front door and the back one. The 80s curtain went into the trash after you discovered some mold one morning. Not that you know, but his plan to make you change your windows is doing well. And, your stairs don't make a noise when he sneaks in.

You're sitting behind the wheel when he approaches the car, yours, and you can only laugh when he frowns at you, with his arm in a cast.

"You can't drive, Johnny, you know that."

"Dinnea need yer reminder." He grumbles, watching your joy bubble up when he circles around the car.

Before you could even roll out of the land, Johnny is fiddling with the radio. Your eyes flicker across his frame, still trying very hard to ignore how beautiful and kind he is. Your hands squeeze around the wheel when your eyes find his lap, strong thighs pushing into the jeans until it's tight. You never thought you'd end up with a lumberjack kind of neighbour, a retired military guy who grumbles, offended when you're trying to do anything by yourself.

You snort at the memory of him, almost gasping out loud when he'd seen you vacuum the kitchen three days ago. It was so dramatic how he stomped toward you and gently took your hands away before starting to do the household chores all by himself.

"Wha'?"

"Nothing. Just, for a big guy like you, you can be very - theatrical." You snicker, and he turns toward you, eyes sharp and pinched as he gazes you up and down as you accelerate.

"Wha' does tha' even mean?"

"What I just said."

"Dinnea be cheeky with me now."

Your shoulders shake as you giggle before a jolt take over you when his fingers pinch your thigh. Your eyes widen, indignant, and you gasp out his name in a whine before you strike at him, knuckles hitting into the broadness of his chest. He chuckles, catching your wrist easily and does that thing again, rubbing his thumb over your nail polish.

"Wan' tae stop and do yer pretty nails again?"

"Mhm? Oh, yeah, maybe. What will you do while I'm there?" You say, surprised by his proposition, feeling that tingle in your belly when you feel him fidget with your palm a little more.

"Wha' d'ye mean? I'll be with ye."

You blink his way, hearing the calm in his tone as if it's obvious, the only option, the only choice there is for him. To stay by your side and share the moment with you. You look forward again, shifting slightly the wheel of your car before your fingers curl around his hand. It's quiet, and none of you say anything about it when he circles his thumb across your knuckles, following the bones there.

The rest of the drive is filled with chatter, as it is usually between the two of you. He has been trying to teach you Scottish - even some Gaelic - but your pronunciation is deeply concerning, apparently. His face curls and recoils as if you've pained him each time you try to repeat the words. You find it absolutely delightful.

You barely have time to unclasp your seatbelt when he's opening your door. His palm finds your elbow, curling around it as you turn in your seat, feet finding the muddy ground. He fastens the zipper of your coat, using his casted hand under your disapproving eyes until you're warm and snug. Johnny shifts enough to cover you from the rain until you've put your hood on.

The motion is imperceptible, you don't even notice it, like a lot of other little things he does for you.

"Where d'ye want to gae first?"

"Thrift shop, maybe the library after?"

"Aye." He nods, a firm hand pushing the car door close before you lock it absentmindedly, eyes flickering around the streets.

You only came in passing before, not feeling quite like you belonged there, and barely understanding most people you'd cross paths with. You knew it would be hard, moving to another country and perfecting the language there while learning to decipher the different accents and slang words you come across. But you never thought it could make you feel so lonely.

But with Johnny by your side, it's different. First, because no one looks at you when this handsome man walks by your side, too distracted by his opalescent eyes and that swag he possesses with each step. And because you know no one will ever approach you when he glares at everyone like that. Not that they would try, anyway, with how intimidating he looks these days.

You stroll around the village quietly, Johnny taking position between the street and you. One hand lay on the roundness of your tummy, and the other grazed his own with every few steps, fingers twitching each time he traces his index along the length of your palm. It's soft, how he reminds you he's here, by your side. And he isn't planning on leaving either.

A little bell dings when Johnny pushes the door open, watching you step inside the warm place before letting it fall close. It smells a bit dusty and old, like your grandma's house when you were a kid. An employee greets you behind her desk, and you give her a little wave before disappearing between the aisles.

You didn't come to Scotland with a lot of belongings. Actually, most of your wardrobe was left behind; only keep what was necessary or items you had an attachment to. Like a majority of your possessions. Now that you're pregnant, you need some clothes, ones that you can actually wear. Your eyes flicker as you walk around, humming to yourself when you pass by the skirt aisle. There are a few that you like, either the pattern adorning it or the material, and place them in your little bag.

"Why don't ye go about, I'll hold tha' for ye."

"You sure? Don't you want to look around?" You ask, finding Johnny standing by your side as his fingers already curl around the handle, taking the bag for you.

"I am. Gae on, hen." He reassures you with a little tilt of his chin.

Your hand passes down his forearm, squeezing his wrist gratefully before you look back.

You find a few more long skirts before you move away. Each time your feet lift from the ground, Johnny copies your motion, following you around. Never allow himself to leave your side. The pants, well, that's another difficult task to complete. You place the hem by your waist and rub your fingers on the tissue, but you can't find anything you really like apart from two pairs of baggy jeans. It's probably out of style now, but that doesn't matter.

Johnny can't seem to look away for too long. He's battling between two instincts - one ordering him to stay by you and the other one prickling at his nape until he stares around, making sure the exits are free if needed. It's a habit he can not seem to shake, though he isn't trying. No one told him how alien civilian life would be when they forcefully pushed him out of the Army.

But his head always turns back to you. He feels slightly out of place as you give a once over to the dresses, but he takes a breath between his teeth and focuses on you.

You take one out of the aisle, turning it to find the back free, gently dipping down to what you assume would be your hips in a gentle curve. Another one you choose, a black little thing and a denim dress that will fall to mid-thighs at best. You consider it, lips curling in a pensive pout before deciding you'll take it.

"Wha' else d'ye need?" Johnny asks you, pushing the bag your way to discard you of the articles.

"Jumper, tee-shirt- all of it. I didn't take much with me."

His dark eyebrows curl down as he ponders your words, rolling them around in his head. You haven't spoken yet about your past, only giving information to feed his paranoid mind, but never more than what was needed. That's another intriguing piece of the puzzle that is you. One he is intent on resolving.

You don't think much of it as Johnny watches you fly around, the bag getting more and more heavy with each piece of clothing you want to take home with you. You even find a jumpsuit with a little heart on the back that you immediately fall in love with. He finds the sight of you, gushing about some clothes, very charming. But Johnny can't stop going back to it.

Why would you leave all that you know, all your friends and family, your house, your job, to come bury yourself in one little remote village in Scotland? Gods know he could barely consider the idea when he was in the hospital. And then later, when he wander around helplessly. It might be half due to his professional deformation and the other half because of his slithering fascination for you, but Johnny starts to get slightly apprehensive, not knowing.

"Did'ye left someone behin'?"

The question takes you by surprise, as you are looking into the coat section, searching for one that falls to your knees. Your hands still, as his soft voice twirls around the both of you, eyes staying right in front of you. Johnny can read you easily, of course, seeing the discomfort as your soft hands tighten and twist the garment.

"My mother." You finally give him, eyes fleeting over your shoulders to find him.

"M sorry, lass."

"It's fine. She isn't very good. Or kind." The hushed words escape your mouth almost out of your control, and you shake your head a little, thinking about it.

"Nah?"

"No."

You can see his hands tightening and let out a little sigh. Folding the jumper between your hands, then turn around until you face him. Johnny is surprised not to find any sadness or hint of resentment. Instead, you stand there, with your admission, in peace with it. With that other fragment of yourself hanging in the air that you give him. Sweet little girl, always so good to him, even in your vulnerability.

"I'll tell you more if you tell me about you." You propose, with a little glint of challenge in your eyes.

It's a well-intended proposal. One who's fair and incredibly tempting. Because, while Johnny could definitely find any, and more, information he could want in a simple phone call, that's not what he should do. Or want to do. Honest, he thought about it. There are a lot of people who owe him a favour all across the globe with interesting positions.

But today, Johnny has a plan. To show you that he's reliable, a person of trust. One you can share your pain with and your joy. A shoulder you can lean on, a hand you can reach to. Today, Johnny wants to make that step with you - and open himself.

He can not tell you all of it. There are things that, even if he wished to share, he isn't able to. Confidential. Restricted. He has knowledge that could topple an empire. Tear apart one of the most powerful countries in the world and start a revolution. The crown would fall, and the head that holds it, too.

He wishes to share. Johnny wants to talk to you, and silently warns you of what you will choose if you decide to keep him in your life. The consequences. And what he wants to - need. He never searched for a relationship, satisfied with the entertainment and the lightness of meaningless hookups. Faces that didn't matter. Arms he could disappear into.

Until, them, of course. And then, well, betrayal. Silence, not even hearing his side, without a goodbye.

But you, oh, hen.

He craves more. Johnny needs you like air. It's more devotion than love, really. Something that simmers beneath his skin and twists at his gut. And while he knows it's not right, that it isn't a good foundation for what he wishes to build with you, it's the truth. He wouldn't sit by your side when you sleep if it weren't. He wouldn't drink in the sight of you like air - unable to breathe when he's away, if it weren't true.

Therefore, today, Johnny will do it right. Show you what he has to offer, what it would be if you allow him to be more than a very nice neighbour. Today, Johnny will be a gentleman, like John taught him to be around a pretty bird like you.

The face of the old geezer flashes in his mind, and his jaw clenches for a second before he focuses back on you. They don't deserve his lamentations. Not after what they did to him.

"Dinnae think ye would want to know more 'bout me, lass." He tuts, strolling forward until the tip of his boots grazes your coloured sneakers.

"Oh, so sorry, Sir. Where are my manners?" You answer back with a grin, leaning forward like the little tease that you are.

Johnny can feel his breath halt in his throat and the groans that threaten to take its place and shatter the silence of the thrift shop you are in. You flutter your lashes at him, soft eyes glistening with mirth, and his attention leisurely hitches toward the silhouette of you, leaning closer. His eyes are dangerously tempted to stroke down the swell of your breasts. Bloody hell, you're a sight.

"Course, I want to know more about you, Johnny." The words are pronounced like a gentle confession, something precious only for him to hear. "I have the feeling you're not planning on leaving, so."

His fingers covered with calluses, come and pinch your chin at your little taunt. His eyes linger down the lines of your features, carefully memorising it, the moment you both are in where you make another careful step in your relationship. You're a little bashful, he can tell, but you're making great efforts. He'll have to reward you for it.

"Find yerself mor' clothes, hen; then we'll talk." He promises, trailing the first knuckle of his index along your chin.

He trails behind you quietly unless you ask for his impartial opinion. The bag is full long before you make your way to the cash register. Johnny gently coaxed you into choosing that skirt you looked at earlier, and you feel his approving gaze while the kind woman passes your articles.

Johnny has half the mind to pay for you, his eyes flickering from the blue card in your fingers to the lady, but reels it in the need to be a provider. He has to be patient, slowly making you lean on him. And make you think it's your idea, too, with a few words and a gentle caress of his hand. He's certain you wouldn't need much discipline on this matter, but for now, he has to make you accustomed to him first.

It's with a particularly satisfied glow on your face that you step out of the third shop. You put a bit more money into making your wardrobe substantial than you had planned, but well, you deserve a little pick-me-up after today's change of plan. And Johnny's contented grumble of approval helps in making your decision easy to accept.

"Where tae now hen?"

"Nails?" You hum, looking at him for his approbation. You still wonder how this can be interesting for him, watching you decide between clothes, change your mind, or try some new shoes on, but don't dare to speak about it.

Not with how pleased he had seemed each time you asked for his opinion.

"Aye, let's dae tha'."

Your fingers twitch at the first glide of his touch on your palm before his hand cradles yours, engulfing it in his paw. Your heart picks up slightly, but you don't fight the feeling and the gentle shift between you. Instead, you side-step closer, giving him a genuine, happy smile in response.

"What colour should I do this time?"

"Dinnae. Red suit ye." Johnny mules over it, keeping your soft fingers firmly intertwined in his grip.

"Mhm. I don't want red again. And I have to cut my nails, can't get any work done with how long they are."

"Shouldnae worry 'bout it, hen." Johhny huffs, giving you a firm stare as you continue your slow stroll back to the car.

"Yes, yes," you sigh with a little nod of your head, amused by how disturbed he always finds the thought. "Should only enjoy life, sip on tea, and look pretty."

"Aye, ye should." He grunts in affirmation, and you watch with great enjoyment how he puffs out his chest, looking like a peacock parading.

"Johnny... I came here to make a good life for myself." You gently remind him, not taking offence at his demeanour. You know he doesn't mean it in a diminishing way.

It doesn't mean you agree with it, though you find it rather lovely, how firm he is in his opinion. That you should have a good life, a life that doesn't mean waking up at the crack of dawn, blistered hands, or being faced with any troubles. You should have the opportunity to relax at any given moment and partake in your hobbies, or simply entertain yourself as you wish.

"I know, hen." He sighs, too, squeezing your hand firmly to reassure you.

Truly, he admires that about you. Your independence, how you always want to do it all on your own. You have a quick whip about you, finding alternative to every problematic situation. But Johnny is starting to think you didn't become independent because you wanted to, and leans more toward the hypothesis that you didn't have a choice. Especially after what you just revealed to him about your mother.

That greatly angers him.

You deserve to be able to rest once in a while. And understand that you're not alone. Not anymore. Not as long as you keep him by your side.

"So, not red, and short." You mumble to yourself, as you look forward.

You were still thinking about it when you both entered the salon. The hostess welcomes you, and her voice stutters once she finally raises her eyes from her laptop and finds Johnny standing behind you, in all of his glory. You try to hide it, your smile, but can't resist the giddiness it brings you, knowing Johnny wants to be near you. Even for something as insignificant as your nail appointment.

"You must be - " You have to bite down your bottom lip to avoid giggling when she utters your last name while flickering her surprised eyes once more on Johnny.

"Yes, I am."

"Well, Miss Mark will be your esthetician today."

The elegant sound of her stilettos clicking on the ground echoes as she guides you further into the little shop. You're eagerly welcomed by Miss Mark, an older woman with beautiful grey hair, and you settle down in front of her desk with a warm smile on your face. It's not long before Johnny is seated by your side, one arm resting on the back of your chair as you chat with the esthetician, going over your ideas.

"Okay, so short nails and some soft pink cherry picnic tip." Miss Mark repeats your final decision, turning slightly to the side before grasping a few boxes. "Do you want some charms?"

"I would like a few yes, flowers maybe?"

"I can do that. Here, tell me which you like most."

You take the little box she slides on the desk, and absentmindedly shift toward Johnny as you go over her collection. You feel him before you see him, his chest pressing into your side, and his hand falls on your arm as he gazes over your shoulders at all the accessories. He doesn't speak, not yet, as you purse your lips, choosing first what colour would complement the nail art best.

"What do you think, Johnny?" You ask, fluttering your pretty eyes up at him, finding him much closer than you thought. A shudder runs down your spine when your nose grazes his chin, and you stutter back a few inches.

His fingers pat your upper arm as he stares down at the charms there that you placed down on the desk after a first sorting. You try to keep your manners, really, but your lips part when you take in his scent. A warm one, smell of firewood and a cologne you don't recognise. And his full beard, which he started trimming since he moved down the river, is making you needy for a touch.

"Like tha' one."

"The orchid?"

"Suit ye."

You gaze down at the flower with a smile, strangely embarrassed at his words, before feeling his palm rest just beneath your shoulder. Johnny presses his palm there, on your flesh, until you're nestled into his side, his frame engulfing you in his embrace. A chaste adoring peck is left on your temple as you rearrange the accessories, and you feel the flames lick at your cheeks in reaction.

You know Johnny can be quite affectionate, but it never happened in a public setting before. You don't mind the attention, of course not. You simply are too conscious of his presence, is all. You're pretty certain you can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you present the charms to the esthetician.

It's with no surprise that you find Miss Mark smiling at both of you, almost swooning at the view you must make. You know how it might appear, a pregnant lady and a sturdy man by her side. After all, Johnny was called your boyfriend twice today, and one told you, you made a good choice in marrying him. You had never stumbled so harshly on your words before, hands moving as you tried to find an answer to that, but Johnny, well.

He was preening. He is too now; you can feel it in how his body straightens in his chair.

"It's a nice lad you have here."

"Yeah." You sigh, not having the energy to say anything else.

And you don't exactly want to, your eyes shifting to find him, eyes crinkling under a prideful smile as being complimented on how well he provides for you. He almost reminds you of a dog, one whose tail wags so hard his whole body sways under the motions. You move in your seat and lay a hand on his knee, attracting his attention as you give him a grateful smile.

You might have the arguments or vigour to deny it if only for your own self-esteem, but you know all that Johnny does for you. He might not be your lad or your boyfriend, but well, you are still very lucky to have him either way.

"We don't have many lads come here with their girls. It's nice for once."

A simple smile is your answer to that as Miss Mark starts working on your free hand.

Fingers start running through your hair, gently adjusting your hairstyle as you start to chat with the kind woman. It's the usual question: where do you come from, and why did you come here, but it's a nice change to your now daily routine consisting of chasing after chickens and chores that exhaust you.

Both hands now resting in the UV machine, Johnny goes back over the list of all that you wanted to do before going back home. You definitely have to pass by the store so you can have a full fridge for the next two weeks, and then, well, Johnny wants to pass by that dog breeding farm a little further in the lands.

"We should go to the store first." You decide, gently moving your fingers under the blue lights. "But didn't make a list." You add, knowing they were something that you forgot to do before leaving home this morning.

"Can dae it now, don't fret, bonnie." He shushes you, a warm hand rubbing your shoulder lazily as he tugs his phone out of his pocket.

"Okay, then, I want to cook us some chicken for tomorrow's lunch. So thyme, onions, and garlic." You start then, leaning until your chin is pressed up against his bicep, watching with doe eyes, Johnny writing it all down.

"Potatoes, veggies." He hums after you, already knowing about the recipe since you told him about it three days ago. "And pepper, aye?"

"Yes, one of each." Your voice is sugary as you confirm his words, body melting into him, seeing how effortless he makes it all to be, caring about you.

"Aye. I'll make us som' cranachan on Sunday." He grumbles, too, his thick eyebrows frowning under his concentration as he adds a few more ingredients.

It's tranquil. You exchange ideas on recipes, asking each other what they want to eat next week. Your cheek rests on his shoulders, his left hand leisurely trailing to your wrist, where his hand settles as he finds your precious pulse. Johnny, watch, when you add a few more things to the list, and you wonder why no one has ever done this with you before.

Why did no one deigned to sit by you before and storm ideas on something so simple as next week's dishes? Your eyes shine as you admire his profile, your heart squeezing half in despair that you've been neglected for so long, and half in gratitude. You never knew how it would feel to be listened to. To find someone who cares for every word you share with them. There is a little burn on the back of your eyes as you snuggle into him deeper, a bit overwhelmed by the realisation that Johnny will do it for you.

Johnny would do that for you. All of it. From giving you ideas on your nail art to helping you get your new mare comfortable in your stable. He will bake you desserts without you needing to ask and support you through every struggle and hard decision you have to make. Johnny will stroke your hair as you doze off on your couch and make sure the fire is full enough for the rest of the evening. He will massage your sore feet and remind you to drink water during the day.

And he makes it look so easy, too. Like, if listening to you doesn't bother him. As if remembering what you said is not a hassle. Johnny shows you, without trying to, how serene it is to help you achieve your lifelong dream. And he does it all without you ever asking for anything. Without making you feel stupid or small.

When you step out of the nail salon, it's you who takes his hand in yours.

With Johnny pushing the cart around, you both stroll around between the aisles of the hypermarket. You only came here a few times before, so while Johnny is telling you of the next thing you are searching for, you look around, trying to understand where to go now.

All of the vegetables have been taken, and most of the meat too - you're planning on freezing a few pieces, just in case you can not drive up here because of the weather. Johnny spent such a long time in the fish sections, chatting up the employee so well he even got a discount. Almost half a bag has been invaded by the fish, the shrimps, and other seafood.

Then, when you went to choose yourself some self-care product, Johnny disappeared. You find him easily after that, multiple products in hand, with him standing there hands on his hips while looking at the strollers. You press a hand against the cart, putting down your creams and other cosmetics before joining him quietly.

In all honesty, you will need to buy one soon. The nursery is bare, and the pretty paper wall you had chosen on the internet is dry and secured, thanks to the man who is circling your waist with a burly arm. You're missing a lot of necessities, and it would do you some good to buy a little today, so you can start somewhere at least. Before, you didn't have the courage to do it or look into the enormous list you made when you first knew you were pregnant.

Now, that you are safe and not alone, you feel ready.

"I want one where you can take the carrycot off the stroller."

"Tha's would be better, aye. And a good harness." Johnny is lost in his thoughts, comparing every stroller presented in front of him as if dealing with a bomb. It almost makes you laugh.

"Mhm. We will need a car seat, too." You sigh, raising a hand to his chest, starting to feel excited about it. "Oh, and a high chair. Little spoons."

He huffs happily, eyes finding your delighted expression and circles your hip in his hand before pointing at one stroller, which looks made of rather good materials. You leave him, not before patting his chest mindlessly and walking closer so you can look at the price and then the description of the product. It's a rather hefty price, but the explanation of all the options almost convinces you.

"Wha' d'ye think?"

"Did you try it?"

"Nah. Was waitin' for ye." He says with a gentle shake of his head, before giving you a little shift up of his chin. You know what that means now. Go on hen.

The plastic is firm in your hold, and you take a step back, testing the wheels on the ground a few times. Backwards and forward. On the left, and on the right. Then, Johnny read you the instructions as you try taking off the carrycot, and it is easier than you expected it to be. Next, you observe Johnny fold it in a few motions. It went all so smoothly, and you watch him adjust it a few times, one hand stroking down your belly.

"Let's take it?"

Your eyes are shining when he pivots to face you, still holding into the stroller to find you there, smiling. Happy. Hopeful, too.

"Aye, hen." He nods, his voice low as you take his breath away.

In a few moments, you have chosen a bed made of good, strong wood that you can adjust in height and adapt to the age of your child as well than a highchair. You're surprised to find such a good quality product in a hypermarket, but comforted, too. Now, it seems real. Now, you're in a place where you are secure enough, financially and emotionally, to welcome your child.

When, with one hand circling his wrist, you take Johnny to the child section, you have to wonder who is the one expecting. He looks everywhere, more serious than you are in the quality and all the different options there are. Even the feeder, Johnny mules over it for quite a while. You end up buying three different nursing bottles of different capacities. Though you've decided long before meeting him to breastfeed your baby, there is nothing wrong with being farsighted.

Your cart contains much more than you were planning for, but as butterflies erupt in your chest, you can't really mind it. Between the bibs, the clothes that you chose, and the rest of it, two entire bags are overflowing with baby stuff. You can find in you to care, and even less when hearing Johnny whistle so joyfully as he filled your trunk, triumph painting his face.

"Now, where to?" You ask him as you put on your seatbelt, hearing him approaching the passenger door.

"I'll get ye ther'. Just drive out of the lot." He tells you as you twist the key into the ignition.

Once more, Johnny takes responsibility for the radio. And while most of the songs that are playing are unknown to you, you must say he has good taste in music. Mostly rock and some punk here and there. You hum the melody as you follow his instruction, Johnny looking at the map on his phone in between your conversation.

"Should ask me mother if she still hav' some of my bairn goods." He says after a moment as you concentrate on the driveway, the turns becoming sharper.

"Yeah?"

"Aye. Dinnae know her number so, I'll hav' to ask around."

You blink at the information, giving him a glance to find him relaxed in the car seat, eyes staying on the road. As always, his lap is as inviting as ever, but you barely notice it as you repeat the words into your head.

"You never talk about your family."

"Nothin' to say, hen."

"You mean nothing nice to say?" You ask again, slightly pushing, seeing the dark veil taking over his beautiful blue eyes.

His hair sways when he rolls his head to gaze at you, remembering your proposition in the thrift shop. He already knows he will say yes and accept it. After all, it could only bring you closer, and that is his objective. While, too, making you think it's your idea. It will give you an impression of control, though, really, with how he bends to your every wish, you might be.

"Aye. Left home when I turn'd eighteen."

"To enrol?"

"Yeh. Tried at sixteen, but they holdnae hav' me. The base was warmer than the old hag." He grumbles, thinking back to the times when he had to buy his own food or clothes when his parents forgot about his existence. He'd rather not get into the details just yet. "Wha' about yers?"

"My mom?" You say, glancing his way to find his piercing eyes staring at you as if investigating. "Well, she raised me by herself. Got cancer when I was young, dad left us then. Breast cancer. Always blamed me for it."

"Fokin' stupid."

Your lips tremble before you let out a laugh at the very tempestuous groan he lets out at your explanation, watching him fold his arms across his chest. The subject of your childhood is never a tender one. It never brings anyone a smile or a sweet sentiment. Unless you lie, of course, which you do sometimes when you don't want to get into it, or are not ready to share that part of you with a mere stranger, or people you don't trust.

But Johnny, well, you want to tell him the truth. Little by little, sure, but still. You want to be honest and sincere, and you're ready for someone to know you and see you, just as you are. You're simply lucky it's with good-hearted Johnny that you're doing it.

"On yer right, hen. Almost ther'."

You slow down as you turn the wheel, driving into a muddy path in the forest. It only takes you two minutes to see the large house there and the rest of the place. As soon as you open the door, you can hear them. The dogs. They must be expecting you because one grey-haired man comes to salute you as you zip up your coat, Johnny sliding your hood over your hair as you shake the man's hand.

"Well, hello, lov'. And you must be Johnny. I'm Angus."

"Aye. Nice tae meit ye."

"Well, come on, then, let me show you the dogs."

Angus is very kind, you find out. You had a lot of questions, a lot of ignorance too, about what a breeding farm entails, but he answers all of them, glad that someone is asking him about it so kindly. You're not certain you agree with the fundamentals of it, but you forget about it all when you first hear the little barks of the puppies.

A gasp leaves you before you're slipping away from Johnny, uncaring about the mud getting in your shoes or the cold wind that is making your teeth shake. Your hands settle on the fence as you look at them, all the little ones there, running around, digging into the ground, looking uncaring about the harsh weather of Scotland.

"Oh my god, Johnny, look!" You squeal, fidgeting on your feet as you gather some attention from the dogs.

"Aye, lass, I'm her'." Johnny chuckles, pressing his form into your back as he feels you fidget around, almost as excited as the little one running your way.

"They're about six weeks old, right now."

"What breed are they? They're so big already." You fawn over it, giggling when some start trying to climb the fence to come to you, waving at them with a bright smile.

"Irish Wolfhound, Ma'am. Make a good hunting dog, or a fine guard dog, too. What you're lookin' for, righ'?" Angus tells you, slightly bending over the fence, to come pet the puppies as he reveals the information to you.

Johnny is already looking away when you turn to face him, his hands pressing into the fence around you. You have to tilt your chin slightly to find him, blinking away the rain as he pinches his lips. You let out an amused scoff as he badly pretends to ignore you before you slap your hand over his chest, your knuckles hitting his guts gently.

You don't know if you're feeling slightly annoyed by his overprotective nature, or melting because of how much he cares for your security and well-being. The adrenaline isn't helping your fluttering mind either.

"Bad dog, Johnny." You murmur slightly, mocking, your hands settling under his coat to shelter themselves from the cold wind.

You feel him tense, a shiver running from his tailbone up to his nape. How his muscles tense against you, curling into a thick knot ready to be torn apart, and you grin his way, leaning into your toes to nudge your nose into his jaw. Johnny doesn't find it amusing at all, feeling how tight his breeches are starting to become as you snuggle your sweet body closer.

"Bonnie." He hisses low between clenched teeth, his mind circling around as if he is lacking oxygen.

Which he could be. As he nudges you away, one trembling hand curling around your hip, you turn the other way with a smile, already focusing back on Angus. His boots slide on the ground as he grunts low in his chest, the delicious arch of your back grazing his groins, hiding his vehement attraction from unwanting eyes. Steamin' bloody Jesus, you're going to kill him. And sooner than later, it appears.

You are not angry at him. You can't be, not while looking at the awkward little puppies trying to run around, already imagining taking one home with you. You get what Johnny is trying to do anyway. You chatted about it multiple times, the both of you, in passing. Or at least you thought, because Johnny doesn't seem to forget anything you say.

Leo is old, eight years old now, and while he will probably live another few years, having a younger pup might do him some good. And for the farm, you'll need a guard dog, probably even plural. You listen intently as Angus tells you all you need to know about Irish Wolfhounds, how tall they get in a few months, what their needs are - a lot of stimulation and land to cover - and what type of education suits them best.

"Wha' d'ye thin', hen?" Johnny whispers, his mouth grazing the sheel of your ear.

"How much?" You settle on saying, turning so you can look at Angus, curling one arm to hold onto Johnny's strong shoulders.

"For you, Ma'am, one mile."

"I'll take two." You say, raising your fingers with a grin.

Angus let out a little laugh, clapping in his hands before ushering you his way. You lose your shadow, but without looking behind you, you know that Johnny is close, probably overseeing the surroundings by the fence as you enter the little puppy area.

You barely have the patience to walk as you first step towards your house. The puppies are heavy already, big babies that yap sweetly and try to lick at your mouth as you hurry inside under Johnny's gratified laughter. It's hard work to close the door of the living room while holding to pup, but you do it anyway, leaving Johnny to do the heavy lifting.

The pitter-patter of their paws on the ground provides you with great delight. When Johnny comes bringing the first two bags in one hand - such a strong one he is - he finds you running around, barefoot, with some wet strand of hair flowing with you're every movement; he cannot stop smiling. It hurt almost to see you squeal when one comes running between your legs, one barking happily as they circle around you.

He's done many great things since he enrolled, all things considered. He built himself a life that is respectable by most. He's well seen and appreciated, too, though it might be different now, with the strain of deception haunting him. He has medals to prove some of his bravest acts, and became a man he can be, and is, proud of.

But nothing, ever, brings him more pleasure than seeing you like this. You're blooming now, head thrown back under your joyful laughter, so much that breathing hurts.

As he starts tidying up the purchases in the kitchen, Johnny finds himself distracted. You took it upon yourself to rearrange the living room with Angus' advice in mind and make it a good home for your new little ones. The giant bed takes up some space, and you try a few dispositions before settling on the best one, where it actually broadens the room. Now the couch faces the fireplace too, which makes more sense to you.

"Johnny?" You call sweetly, holding the little furniture you bought for them that will hold the cups.

"Aye, m'eudail?" He answers, putting back down the bag of peppers and follows the sound of your tantalising voice.

"Where do you think is best?" You ask, turning around to find him approaching. The little furniture is placed in two different spots.

One is close to the entryway, where you definitely need to add a flap door for them. This means that you'll need to remodel a bit, maybe change the front door, actually. Put one with more personality, maybe in some dark colour? But that's a problem for another day. You flutter your lashes at him, not that you're doing it on purpose. Of course, he knows that, but it doesn't mean the consequences are any different.

You smile as he strokes a hand down your back, a bit further down than this morning, and let him think over it. Johnny doesn't take long, of course, the quick thinker that he is and points at the one by the living room.

"You think?"

"Best for 'em tae get cosy with the room before addin' the door into it, hen."

You nod, tilting your head back so it presses into his shoulder and hum. You're happy. It's been a long time since you've been this happy. Johnny comes closer, breaking the distance until he has you in his arms, the cast resting calmly under your faintly swollen belly. His fingers trail there, over your belly button, and you smile, hearing the little dogs sniffing around their new home.

His nose digs into your hair, groaning at the smell of your shampoo and how soft you are against his skin. Even Kyle, beautiful boy Kyle, wasn't as soft as you are. He remembers watching him rub oil into his skin and some in his hair, too. Ended up applying it a few times, for his own selfish delight. He wonders if you would like Kyle. He's surely the least fearsome of them.

"Ye know I'm military, aye?"

"Of course, I know." You answer, opening your eyes with slight confusion at the sudden change.

"Had a team. A good one." Johnny murmurs, his nose trailing along your temple as he presses a soft peck into your skin.

Your hand finds his hurting one, fingers holding onto him as you let yourself be swamped in his affection. There is that strange twirl again, in your chest, as his breath tickles your skin. Johnny groans your name, one palm slithering down your side as he nuzzles into your hips, finding that delicious swell of yours hidden in that traitorous pair of jeans.

You feel him, but don't comment on it. You've been rather daunting yourself and are too embarrassed to say anything about it, anyway. You don't dare to move, soft eyes following his every movement. Your nose presses into his cheekbone as you murmur his name, a soft melody that makes his heart stammer. It's reassuring how you let him take his time and gather his thoughts.

"Good lads, they are. Ye would love Garrick." He sighs before he offers you soft kisses, as much as he can muster gentleness in himself.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. He's the kind one."

You snort, remembering everything he did for you, and still do. If Garrick is the kind one, you wonder what Johnny is. You massage his fingers, passing your index on the edge of the cast as you relax into his hold. You can tell he's thinking about it. About them. There is a glint in his eyes when he does, between sadness and sorrow.

"Whatever it is, I'll be here when you're ready."

He huffs, how you always know what he needs, Johnny will never comprehend it. But you do anyway and give him what you do best, understanding and patience. His hand carefully pets your belly, finding that little expansion of flesh there that's so precious and places one last kiss on your cheek.

"Let's get som' food in ye, aye?"

"Mhm, I'm starvin'."

reblogs are appreciated!

@ archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI, is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and writing are.

line divider by cafekitsune

[jj-the-hobbit171]

(a very low-effort post abt 141 x their new hacker- you. For better immersion, click on the song link during Soap’s workout! <3)

The first time you make contact, it’s through their personal phones.

Not the official military-issued devices- no, those would be too easy. You wanted to make an impression.

So when Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap each glance at their personal screens, expecting the usual notifications from Laswell, they’re instead greeted by:

(¬‿¬) Hello, boys.

Price sighs like a disappointed father, having been forwarned of your antics, and still immediately calls Laswell.

“Care to explain why my phone just got hijacked?”

Laswell doesn’t sound surprised. If anything, she sounds like she’s been expecting and waiting for this- for his phone call specifically about getting hacked. “That’s your new hacker.”

Price pinches the bridge of his nose, while the others exchange Looks of Consideration™️. “That’s how she introduces herself?”

“She’s efficient.”

“She’s cheeky.”

“She’s listening,” you interject, making them all jolt as your voice plays from the phone speakers, honey-sweet and undeniably smug.

There’s a long silence. Then Gaz whispers: “What the fuck?”

You giggle. (≧◡≦) flashes onto all their screens right after that, just as cheeky as your tone.

“So she’s just gonna creep around in our phones now?” Gaz asks after that, wary, an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed.

In response, just his screen flickers, and a new message appears.

(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ Rude.

Laswell sighs again, much like an exasperated mother, and gestures at their phones. “Give her a chance. She is, despite everything, good at what she does.”

And so from that that moment on, you’re everywhere; they don’t see you, but they feel your presence. You’re in their systems, their devices, and their comms.

Ghost boots up his laptop one day, only to find that his standard background has been replaced with a pixelated skull and crossbones- like those they did on pirate ships in movies. Below it, in small text:

For the spookiest boy.

He says nothing, just tilts his head slightly before closing the laptop.

And when Price logs into the briefing room terminal, instead of the standard military insignia, the screen briefly flashes with the words:

WELCOME BACK, CAPTAIN DILF.

Soap loses it. Price glares at him, then at the screen, then sighs, muttering, “Christ.”

Soap isn’t free from your shenanigans, though.

One day, while doing his usual workout, he pulls up his playlist. The moment he presses play, his music app forcefully closes and reopens with “The Drunk Scotsman” blasting at full volume.

“NO, NO, NO-“ Soap scrambles to shut it off as the entire base turns to look at him.

On his screen, once the app is blessedly closed, a message pops up:

(ʘ‿ʘ) Dance, pretty boy.

And then Gaz’s torture is quieter, but no less effective.

Every so often, while he’s texting, his camera light flickers on. Not long enough to take a photo- just a brief, eerie blink before an emoji appears on his screen:

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

He groans. “She’s messing with me.”

“You mean flirting?” Soap smirks, leaning closer to the phone and chuckling as the camera light flickers back on for just another few seconds.

Gaz scowls. “…I hope so.”

Still, despite all your antics, you’re brilliant at what you do. And they learn this firsthand during their first mission with you.

“All teams, check-in.” Price orders as they move through a darkened compound.

Instead of Laswell’s voice responding, it’s yours. Soft, smooth, and playful.

“Five by five, Captain.”

There’s a pause- brief but notable. Then, Price exhales. “You hacking my comms now, too?”

“Wouldn’t be a very good hacker if I couldn’t, would I?”

Soap snorts, snickering with Gaz. “She’s got a point.”

Ghost, listening quietly, murmurs: “Thought you didn’t speak.”

“Only when necessary. Or when I feel like annoying you.”

Your voice is warm, teasing. If Ghost were anyone else, he might have smiled. And then, just like that, you’re all business.

“Sniper on the rooftop, two o’clock.”

Ghost adjusts, and then fires. A body drops.

“Price, your six.”

The captain pivots, taking down the enemy creeping behind him.

“Soap, slow down.”

“I got this,” Soap insists- only for a grenade to go off near him. “…I don’t got this.”

“Clearly.”

“…Shut up.”

With you in their ears, everything runs smoother. Their feeds don’t lag. Their encryptions are tighter. They feel- secure. With you and Laswell? Almost untouchable, but they don’t let it get to their heads.

When they return to base, exhausted but alive, their phones light up with a single message:

(￣︶￣) Good job, boys.

They stare at their screens, and then Price huffs a laugh. Soap grins. Gaz shakes his head. Ghost, unseen beneath his mask, smirks.

They don’t know your face. Haven’t met you in person.

But they decide you’re theirs, and they are yours. Even if you’re just unknown- for now, anyways.

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Fae au thought

One of them storming into her chambers only for her to be in the middle of a bubble bath. Completely bare of all things fae. So utterly human, so utterly vulnerable.

yes || masterlist || trying my hand at actually writing johnny’s accent

It was Johnny.

Of course it was Johnny.

The door slammed open with the force of a man too furious to remember propriety, the wood crashing against the stone with a bang that echoed like thunder down the gilded corridor and scattering the softly glowing wisps that floated lazily in your chambers like fireflies caught in honeyed light. The very walls groaned in protest, ancient ivy carved into the pillars flinching at the fury that surged in behind him. His voice followed, sharp, brimming with a fire he rarely let show in court.

"Where the fuck were you- ?!"

Every faelight in the room flickered, dimming in tandem with his rage. Then, silence; a heavy, suffocating silence.

You turned in the tub, water sloshing gently against porcelain as your hand rose to clutch at the side. Bubbles clung lazily to your shoulders, slipping down soft skin untouched by glamour or adornment. No jewelry curved your ears to points. No talon-shaped rings or flower-laced braids. No velvet. No corset. No thorns. Bare as a whisper, as a prayer. Soaked in steam and solitude, skin flushed from heat.

Only you.

Bare, human, and blinking at him like a deer startled mid-step in a clearing.

The fury drained from him in an instant.

Johnny’s lips parted, then closed. His eyes flicked- once, only once- before they dropped to the floor, jaw tightening with restraint. The fire had not gone out, but it was merely stifled now, banked beneath something deeper and rougher.

“Dinnae mean to…” he muttered, voice cracking low, throat bobbing.

You remained quiet, shoulders curling ever so slightly inward. The room, warm and fragrant with oils and rose petals, suddenly felt too still, too quiet, even though distant flutes played, music still drifting in from the spring festival below. One of the glass windows glowed a faint blue, letting in the moon’s touch. You reached for a towel, slow and deliberate, never taking your eyes off him.

And you- so achingly human- were the only thing in the room that didn’t shimmer. It made you seem all the more delicate.

“… You could knock next time.” You said, softly, not with anger, but with a tiredness that had settled deep into your bones. The kind that no glamour could mask. The kind even Thrain’s company barely eased. The kind that had nothing to do with being fae or queen or wife, and everything to do with simply being alone for too long. With being human in a place that did not welcome it.

Johnny didn’t leave, though, even if he should have.

Instead, he stepped back once- just once- and turned his head, gaze fixed on a tapestry like it had offended him personally.

“I thought somethin’’d happened,” he said, voice low and rough, accent thick. “Ye weren’t in yer chambers, or at the table. No one had a fuckin’ clue where ye’d gone. Court’s been crawlin’ all day- bastards won’t stop askin’ for more time wi’ ye. Price is snappin’. Gaz nearly stuck a blade in some prissy noble’s gut when he asked too sweetly where’d you gone. I dinnae even know where Si’s at an’ I’m almost too afraid to ask.”

You sank back into the water, letting the warmth cradle your frame.

“I just wanted a bath,” you whispered, sinking back into the bath, water lapping gently at your collarbone. The petals shifted around you, soft and luminous. “Not a title. Not another favor asked of me. Just…” Your fingers trailed across the surface, drawing circles. “To be myself. For a little while.”

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t heavy this time, and neither was it angry. Quiet.

After a moment, you heard the sound of boots stepping away. Not leaving- just moving. Then the faint scrape of wood against stone that had been etched with centuries’ worth of wards to keep wicked things at bay.

He was sitting, less like an advisor and more a knight keeping watch outside a princess’s door. But even closer than that.

“I’ll stay,” he said gruffly, crossing his arms as though daring anyone to argue with him- even you. “Not lookin’. Just… watchin’ the door.”

A pause. Then, in a voice so quiet you’d never think he was even capable of, Johnny sighed. “… Take yer time, queenie. Dinnae let me take this away from ye.”

You had no answer for that.

But when you rose, wrapped in soft linen and smelling of dusk-flowers and magic, your bare feet kissed the glowing floor, and your eyes met his- he didn’t look away this time.

Not even once.

(You told yourself it was not hunger that colored his eyes; you doubted he’d find a human attractive.)

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Got back into reading fanfiction again, here are some (more) of my favourite dadneto/magneto family fanfics;

(will be adding to the list)

Every cloud has a silver lining (and a scarlet one) // 53851 words // 10 chapters - https://archiveofourown.org/works/37596463/chapters/93843133

To the stars who listen… // 91686 words // 20 chapters // Magneto (xmen apocalypse) fic - https://archiveofourown.org/works/31485110/chapters/77883419

The Night Shift // 30113 words // 7 chapters // dadneto — https://archiveofourown.org/works/33331009/chapters/82772923

Edge of Nineteen // 4900+ words // 4 chapters - https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933331/chapters/73678035

The Witch's Vindication // 41433 words // 17 chapters // xmen evolution fanfic — https://archiveofourown.org/works/23212645/chapters/55570771

The Adventures Of Young Peter Maximoff // 35071 words // 13 chapters — https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684482/chapters/56861197

Twin Troubles // 26k+ words // 9 chapters — https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12423578/1/Twin-Troubles

The beginning of something familiar // 10k+ words // 5 chapters — https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11955883/1/The-Begining-of-Something-Familiar

Late Again // 132498 words // 19 chapters — https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082626/chapters/16097917

Five Times Quicksilver Doesn’t Tell Magneto He’s His Son and the One Time He Does // 11855 + words // 6 chapters — https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247407/chapters/45770434

Tiny Terrors // 26144 words // 9 chapters - https://archiveofourown.org/works/32943280/chapters/81760546

Peter Maximoff v Life, Terrorists, & Awkward Family Conversations // 13764 words // 1 chapter — https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890533?view_adult=true

Reverse Star Wars // 8k+ words // 7 chapters - https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11956321/1/

Infinite Variations of a Summer Day // 76,953 words // 12 chapters - https://archiveofourown.org/works/30764972/chapters/75935630?view_adult=true

No Escape from Reality // 73,360 words // 15 chapters, unfinished - https://archiveofourown.org/works/35173735/chapters/87638068

One Right Choice // 17,299 words // 1 chapter // Erik and baby peter xmen first class au - https://archiveofourown.org/works/59433112

Running After You // 56,300 words // 7 chapters // after xmen apocalypse - https://archiveofourown.org/works/34489732/chapters/85839349

Disintegration // 51,258 words // 17 chapters - https://archiveofourown.org/works/58069000/chapters/147837067

[jj-the-hobbit171]

I fear you've awaken something in me with that cold!reader fic........ We need lore drops....... How did they meet....... Their dynamic at home...... CLENCHING MY SEAT AND BEGGING ✊✊✊✊✊✊

Unexpected Head Cannons

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x cold!reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: You wanted lore—here it is.

Summary: How Ghost met and fell for you and how their dynamic is at home with something extra

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

How They Met:

It wasn’t romantic. Not at first.

Simon met her during an off-books operation. She wasn’t military, but she was involved—either contracted through intelligence, maybe cyber ops, or part of a joint task force that had crossed paths with his. She was quiet. Efficient. Said only what needed to be said and nothing more. She didn’t look at him like others did—not with fear or awe or speculation.

She just looked. And then looked away.

Simon noticed her silence before anything else. In a room full of barking voices and tension, she was a cold draft—calm and collected, but present. He couldn’t explain it, but he started listening for her. Watching her. Noticing the smallest quirks—how she read documents like she was dissecting prey, how she barely blinked when someone yelled, how she seemed carved from stone but never missed a detail.

She noticed him, too. How he stood in corners like a sentry. How he didn’t make noise unless it mattered. They didn’t talk often, but when they did, it was… honest.

They exchanged numbers under the guise of “professional follow-up.”

The texts started dry. Then sharp. Then softer.

When he asked her to meet up again—off duty—she didn’t say yes.

She just said, “Send the address.”

Their Dynamic at Home:

Their home is quiet. Not cold, just peaceful.

Neither of them fill silence with empty noise. They speak when it matters. They read in the same room. She’ll curl up on the couch with a book while he sits on the floor nearby, cleaning a weapon or sketching something in a notebook. The TV is rarely on unless it’s a documentary or something dry and British.

She doesn’t fuss over him—and he adores her for it.

If he’s injured, she won’t gasp or coddle. She’ll just set out the med kit, raise an eyebrow, and say, “Shirt off. Sit still.”

She drinks her tea slowly. Watches him over the rim of the mug. He stares back, eyes soft behind the mask when he wears it, softer still without it.

They don’t “check in” like most couples. No excessive “how was your day” nonsense. It’s more like:

“Eat yet?”
“No.”
“Kitchen.”
“Alright.”

But when he’s had a bad mission, or when something heavy’s weighing on him—she’ll sit beside him, thigh against his, and let him breathe. Her hand will find his. She won’t speak.

And Simon? He melts in those moments. He’s safe there.

Little Details / More Lore:

* Pet Names: She never calls him "Ghost." It’s always Simon—like she’s peeling back the layers and refuses to entertain anything less. He sometimes calls her “love” or “trouble,” depending on her mood.

* Arguments: Silent, sharp, and over quickly. They don’t yell—they glare. He broods. She gives him a look that says “Fix it, or I walk.” And he always does.

* Affection: Rare in public. Behind closed doors? He’s got a hand on her thigh under the dinner table. Forehead kisses. Muted murmurs of “You’re all I’ve got.”

* Her Past: Nobody’s quite sure. Ghost suspects she’s been through hell—same as him—but she doesn’t share unless it slips through the cracks. And when it does? He listens. No judgement. Just squeezes her hand until her voice steadies.

* She Keeps His Spare Mask: Hidden in her drawer, tucked behind a stack of books. She doesn’t wear it—but when he’s gone too long, she holds it like it’s him.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Yandere Bruce Wayne that’s trying to seduce you, but he genuinely makes you uncomfortable. He has this uncanny valley effect on you, he’s too perfect, like everything is just too perfect to be normal!! It makes your skin crawl, wondering what horrible things he must be hinding to perfect such a lie that it being perfect.

The discomfort is so bad that you have to avoid him when you are invited to galas, which unfortunately sparked a rumor, the rumor being that he and you slept together, which resulted in you developing feelings but then getting rejected.

The rumor made you avoid him more, not wanting more rumors spreading about how your some hopeless romantic desperate for the playboy’s love. No one believed that it was him that always approached you, after all who wouldn’t want the Bruce Wayne??

Meanwhile Bruce is trying to get close to you, following you around the galas, sliding into the conversations you were apart of, attempting to talk about the business that you were apart of, even buying stock just to have an excuse to talk to you. So why are you still avoiding him? He’s done his hair perfectly to your preferences, bought cologne he’d know you’d like, and he’s being so attentive to you by rescuing you from conversations with people you obviously don’t want to be around - so why do you keep avoiding him? Is it the rumors? Because if it is just tell him, he’ll make sure that you won’t have to hear them.

Just please, look at him, talk to him, just give him a fraction of your attention

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Reblog daily for health and prosperity

[jj-the-hobbit171]

[jj-the-hobbit171]

I’ve been trying to write lately, but it’s so hard… 525 word in and I’m nowhere….

I so tired, and it’s the second day of the year…

[jj-the-hobbit171]

…. I actually planned to post a Drabble today, but idk right now

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Omg this is so beautiful, ca we have some more????

Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Hi! I don't know where the fuck this came from. But, it has plagued me for months. Inspired by Labour and the Fruits by Paris Palmoa, Please Don't Cry for Your Daughters Eve by Lydia the Bard, and Curses by the Crane Wives. This my attempt at being dark, so either this fucks you up or I fucked up. Apologies for both.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Implied assault, neglect, yandere themes at the end

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You got the Wayne looks, the Wayne charm, the Wayne name, but you’re fragile. Bruce would tell you. Damian would tell you. (Not so kindly.) Everyone in the manor would tell you.

But, charm and good looks still have their uses. And, everyone in the family despises all the galas they need to attend.

So, when Bruce offers to take you to one, you up the charm, you dress your best. You use your finest manners and all the proper ways your Momma raised you to your advantage. And, you flourish.

You can tell from the slight smile Bruce has on his face on the way home. The hint of pride in his eyes at your job well done.

You can’t help your family or Gotham as a Bat. But, you can help them as a Wayne.

The socialite. That’s your roll. Not a bird, not a bat. A little social butterfly. Drawing the public attention away from the things that go bump in the night.

You like your role. Sure, you're not bounding over the Gotham skyline saving people from muggers and insanely themed villains. But, you're helping your family, and that's what matters to you.

At least, that's how it starts.

It was special to you in the beginning. Going to charity gala's and events with your father, Bruce. No one else in the family enjoys going to these events. It was your own personal father and daughter bonding time, in a way.

But, as you got older the pressure started and the distance between you and the others grew.

You were a music box ballerina. Spinning in place to the same tune over and over again while sitting on a dusty shelf. And, Bruce would wind you up to dance every time he need his social butterfly to charm Gotham's public.

Soon you had a whole team of faceless people picking out your dresses, changing your style, cutting your hair. You couldn't be anything less than a vain air-headed heiress, because that was your role. Brucie needed someone to follow in his footsteps, not Batman.

The dresses got more expensive, the flashes got brighter. The diets got stricter.

And, the distance grew farther.

And, then Bruce stopped going with you to the galas.

You weren't upset the first time. Or, the second time. Or, even the third time.

It was the fourth time that things started to crack.

Sure, Batman was needed. Sure, there was Justice League business. Sure, there was a patrol that ran late. Sure, there was a breakout at Arkham.

But, the fourth time, when you found him and the rest of the family laughing in the cave, it really didn't feel like they were focusing on the good of Gotham while you were struggling to smile sweetly at men twice Bruce's age wanting to take you home.

Still, you powered on. Kept doing your part. You were making the family proud afterall.

Right?

It was the ninth time it happened that you broke.

The nineth time you had gone to a gala alone in an expensive dress you didn't pick, one that showed off way too much skin. One that seemed to tell everyone in that grand ballroom that you were up for the taking. One that just barely hid the bruises from their fingers and palms under the fabric.

You wore that placating smile and that dress all the way home. With a driver you didn't know at the wheel of the car Bruce sent for you. The backseat empty even if you sat on it.

When you got home, you walk in on something that made each cracked piece of you ache.

Apparently it was game night. Everyone that mattered was playing Mario cart of all things.

"Look at that Cinderella’s back from the ball." Jason was the first to notice you standing in the doorway of the room. And, his words burned.

Cinderella. Cinderella. Back from the Ball.

"Hey, glad you’re back. Hope you had fun." Dick didn't even glance at you as he spoke, took focused on beating Stephanie who had her tongue sticking out as she concentrated.

"God, those galas are so boring, I don’t know how you do it." Duke says in passing. It would be meaningful if he hadn't said the same thing the last six times you had come home.

Tim and Damian were also playing the game, with Tim occasionally nudging Damian to mess him up. Like typical siblings.

Barbara was in the room as well, a book on her lab to read. Only you could tell she hadn't read much, judging from where her book mark was located.

"Good job." Bruce says absentmindedly. You can't even tell if its directed at you or at the blueshell Damian just managed to hit Dick's racer with.

Words don't even leave your lips as you exit the doorway, pieces of you falling to the floor as you wobble to your room.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

The clock striking twelve in your mind as you feel the rotten pumpkin sinking in your gut and the magic wearing off.

You don't notice that Cassandra seems to hear it too as she watches you. Like she can hear the shards falling to the ground. And, she's unsure if she needs to warn the family that something just broke down the hall.

As you enter your room, taking in the fancy decor. It feels disgusting. The magic is gone. It's all rotten and you want it gone.

Cinderella. Cinder. Cinder.

Your tear the fabric of the dress as you take it off. Tears falling down your cheeks s you struggle against the fabric and clasp. Expensive gemstones falling to the floor as your finally rip it free.

There bruises under your dress. Finger prints on your bones. And, you're choking on air as the fabric rubs your skin as it falls to the floor. The fabric ripples like water and you hate it. You want the opposite of cool rippling water. Water drowns, and you need air.

Your skin feels to hot and each bruise burns.

Cinder. Cinder.

You're Cinderella and you crave ashes. You need air, but smoke will do instead.

Instead of letting it lay on the ground like it's dead, you throw open that grand window in your room and chuck it out the window. Watching as it flutters and falls to the grass in a heap, the breeze doing nothing to cool your anger on and underneath.

It’s not enough. Not enough. It's not going to be enough.

More. Cinderella. Give it more.

Your closet door was cracked when you left for the gala tonight. Now you break it the rest of the way and grab each hanger carrying a pretty dress in a bag and throw it over the ledge.

Still not enough. Needs more ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You break you dresser as you rip out the drawers. The wood splintering as you throw it out the window and on to the pile of dresses on the night dew covered grass.

You want to throw more, but you chest is heaving and your hands are shaking. Instead you stumble out of your room with just the bruises on your skin and towards the kitchen. You don't even hear the pans and cabinets doors slamming as you search for the matches.

Before you can find your light, you find a bottle of fancy wine. One that reminded you of the smell of this night.

You grab it, not caring that another bottle falls and shatters by your feet. Drawing attention, but not yours, as you finally find the matches and wobble out the door towards your pile of soon to be ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You're laughing as you shatter the bottle on to the fabric. Lighting up a single match and then throwing the entire box at it the pile.

It catches light quick and the air around you finally matches the heat under your skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You can barely hear Bruce's voice from behind you as your laugh. Turing to face him and the rest of the family's horrified faces at the sight of you.

You can barely restrain the giggles.

“I’m Cinderella. Cinder fucking Ella.” You spin like the little figurine you are. Like the pretty paper ballerina before she burst into flame.

Bruce rushes towards you, words spilling from his lips as terrifying thoughts fill his head at the sight of the bruises illuminating your skin.

“What happened tonight?”

“You would know if you had been there. But, you weren't. You never are.”

“Listen, you said you liked the galas-“ Excuses, excuses. You made enough for him and the rest of them in your own head that you don't want to hear more spoken out loud.

“I did! I did! But, that was when I had my father there to keep me safe.” You mock, spinning out of reach and looking at the flames.

They don't last long. The wood from your broken dresser drawers the only thing keeping the fire going. The expensive fabric not lasting long at all. Pretty things rarely ever do.

“But, no. I’m just another little one of your pawns in this family. Only you didn’t fuckin’ train me on how to fight off wandering hands. You taught me that I just had to grin and bare it.” Bitterness trips from your lips as you wipe of that sweet tasting wine from the night off your mouth.

“What happened?” His voice almost shakes. Almost, but not quite. You were the fragile one. The paper ballerina. The little Cinderella of the family.

You weren't suppose to break under his care.

But, was there any care if he let you fall from the shelf after he so haphazardiously placed you on it between uses?

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper to yourself. Words that had been dying to say to the hands that touches to tonight. Words that you wanted to shove down the throats of the strangers that pinched your skin, that gripped you too tight and too close.

“I’M NOT A WHORE!” Instead you scream it at him. Uncaring if you don't look pretty and perfect while doing it. Uncaring if your voice cracks from the way the emotion bubbles from your chest.

Startling enough, Bruce wraps his arms around you. Like he was trying to shield you. Like he was trying to keep you safe. Like he should have done. It feels awkward and tight. Your arms pressed tightly to your chest at an awkward angle. Your legs giving out at you sob and scream at him.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me. Let me go— I don’t want you to touch me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so sorry.” His whispers over into your hair as he clutches you close. So close that you feel more bruises forming on your skin.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

“I’m not—" Your voice breaking as you wail. Like the child you are in his arms.

Through your tears you watch Dick turn away, followed by the others. Cass lingering to brush your hair back as Bruce holds you tight.

You don't see his fist clench so tight his knuckles turn white.

You don't hear the silence in the cave as Jason changes out the bullets in his gun.

You don't feel the chill in the air as Damian scouts out the fancy house.

You don't feel the fear of God that Tim puts into grown men as that watch their wealthy drain to zero before their eyes on screens.

You don't watch as Barbara makes a few calls and plants evidence of crimes that can't be covered up.

You don't see Stephanie ripping out teeth.

You don't see Duke letting Gotham go dark as terror reigns for that one long night and day.

You just see Bruce, holding you close and apologize over and over again while Alfred puts out the flames behind you.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Yeah, I love the thought of Reader being the one to be the Socialite Wayne while everyone does vigilante stuff. But, interacting with Gotham’s elite would suck so much and so many things could go wrong.

A/N: Apologies if I missed the mark with it or if it’s all over the place.

A/N: I just really loved the imagery of standing in front of a fire of expensive burning dresses while screaming at Bruce naked as the day you were born much to the rest of the family’s horror.

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Hey guys! I was just listening to a song, and it gave me an idea.

Imagine reader and a character are “lovers” but overtime they’ve fallen out of love. Right now I’m thinking of Bruce Wayne cause that’s what I was reading.

So, reader and Bruce’s relationship was something like his and Selina’s, but more stable, loving… until it’s not. Neither knows when the rift started, maybe it was Bruce’s negligence of the relationship, maybe it was cause the family never really like them , thinking they were in it for the money, or maybe it was the fact that they saw the person the love having more of a connection to the villains they battle than them.

So, they pull away. No longer do they cuddle in the morning. No calls in work, no trying to bond with the family, no breakfast in the morning, no tending to wounds, no helping Alfred clean the manor, no visiting sick and Jason, no more going for Damian’s PTA, just, nothing but loneliness and Hiraeth.the most that Bruce’s gets is gentle moans when they make love after a night of alcohol , but even then, now, they just leave after, the ache to great to bare. And when everyone notices, when he notices… they’re gone.

He tries to reason what happened. “I’m no sweet prince of love” “I was so busy” but it doesn’t bring them back, just leaving an echo of what was.

Honestly, I’m still writing a Drabble for something else, but, when did that ever stop me from writing something completely different.

From the hobbit hole,

J.J

[jj-the-hobbit171]

If you don’t mind me adding my opinion.

He probably stalked you, finding out your type, or style, and slowly Changing it to fit you preference.

Alfred starts realizing that Bruce… walks differently now. His accent slowly morphs. He no longer enjoys his favorite food. He hums a different tune, fuck, the way he waves is different.

It’s driving Alfred crazy. His boy, his Bruce, is changing for this no good piece of trash!

Idk it just feels right to have Alfred to be yandere for Bruce, after all, he is his only family.

From the hobbit hole,

J.J

Yandere Bruce Wayne that’s trying to seduce you, but he genuinely makes you uncomfortable. He has this uncanny valley effect on you, he’s too perfect, like everything is just too perfect to be normal!! It makes your skin crawl, wondering what horrible things he must be hinding to perfect such a lie that it being perfect.

The discomfort is so bad that you have to avoid him when you are invited to galas, which unfortunately sparked a rumor, the rumor being that he and you slept together, which resulted in you developing feelings but then getting rejected.

The rumor made you avoid him more, not wanting more rumors spreading about how your some hopeless romantic desperate for the playboy’s love. No one believed that it was him that always approached you, after all who wouldn’t want the Bruce Wayne??

Meanwhile Bruce is trying to get close to you, following you around the galas, sliding into the conversations you were apart of, attempting to talk about the business that you were apart of, even buying stock just to have an excuse to talk to you. So why are you still avoiding him? He’s done his hair perfectly to your preferences, bought cologne he’d know you’d like, and he’s being so attentive to you by rescuing you from conversations with people you obviously don’t want to be around - so why do you keep avoiding him? Is it the rumors? Because if it is just tell him, he’ll make sure that you won’t have to hear them.

Just please, look at him, talk to him, just give him a fraction of your attention

[jj-the-hobbit171]

omg my poor heart, jus so cute!

Please hear me out...

TF141 as centaurs (I hope this hasn't been done before, I assure you I never ever read it, please tell me if I overlooked!!)

TW: for homophobia (not from one of the boys), implied abuse

There have been findings of centaurs dating back to the first humans, but the both of them never really mixed well. Their culture and traditions differencing from eachother too much. But in the modern age, its more accepted to be a centaur in a society around humans.

But centaurs don't really stay in one place for too long. They roam around the world and live as nomads in their herds. Never quite a part of somewhere, or that is how it has always been for John.

He has always been around and about, first in the herd of his family, and then with his friends..and then by himself. It's easier to find jobs surely, but it gets lonely. Then he meets Johnny, at a construction site. A younger, more eager centaur. Not quite as tall as him but surely pretty. So that's how the both of them start roaming around together. Johnny tells him stories, John exchanges his own under the starry sky. They find comfort in eachother, in their fingertips over their bodies, in their shared meals and in the way Johnny has to stretch himself a bit to kiss the older centaur, and unable to hide his blush. After a few nights of travelling John asks Johnny if they're a herd now and Johnny just holds his hand and nuzzles into him.

In another town, another moment Kyle meets Ghost. Which later becomes Simon, then Si'. Even though it is not centaur customs, Simon hides his 'human' body with a black hoodie in XL, and the lower half of his face with a handsewn mask. Kyle doesn't mind, still trots alongside him, sweats alongside him and even helps him with his nightmares. One night Kyle tells Simon a secret, one he hasn't told anyone. "My mum walked away when I was sixteen, because I liked stallions better than mares, she persisted that there is no bisexuality in centaurs, that it is a human disease." Simon holds him and shows him a secret too. The scar along his left brow, when his human dad found out, he wanted to join the military.

John and Johnny find new work, new people but never centaurs again. Until they spot Ghost and Kyle. Obviously a pair, both John's decide. But they find themselves quite drawn to all of them. So finishing their work they all decide to roam around together, forming a bigger herd, so no one has to be alone ever again.

Their free time is spent lazying around together in grass, building collapsable cots for eachother, chasing one another and loving all of them. They still tell stories under the dark sky, still kiss eachother because all of them have no one left.

But they have eachother, don't they?

Thank you for reading. I wish you a very nice day and please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes. English isn't my mother tongue and I make mistakes.

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Hey there! This is basically some head canons I have for this post

•141 probably leaves gifts for reader in their room which they promptly stuff in a chest, refusing to take their pity( why couldn’t you see they adore you?)

• In the beginning of 141s courting, they probably made reader guard them during rather…. Compromising situations like bathing, cloth fitting, and well….outside during Bedroom activities…(reader will never, and I mean never, admit that the sounds and colorful vocabulary got to them that night)

•Ghost watches you sleep during the failing courting, just to show reader reader that they’ll always watch over them( definitely not because that’s the only time your face is not so tense, just peaceful). Obviously that didn’t go so well when reader, after a month of waking up to a behemoth towering over their bed, throws holy water specifically given to them by the kingdom’s priest at him. (There is gorgon blood in there, counts for the burning sensation Simon feels for the next 2 weeks.)

•Price always has to have a hand on his partners when around them. Habit from fighting and needing to always find a pulse to see if his lovers are alive. His hand in Garrick’s during negotiations with neighboring kingdoms, a hand on Simon’s back while resting after a round of training, fingers in Jonny’s hair in bed, as he loses the fight to sleep, and when they start falling for reader, a hand around the back of their neck to ground them, or intimidate them. Whatever comes first.

Hey there! It’s been a while! I’ve been really busy, cause Advanced classes are a little so I haven’t got the time to write, but I’ll try to make time to write. There will be more head canons, and a Drabble or two by the end of the year. Anyway, hope everyone is ok? Please drink water and sleep!

From the hobbit hole,

J.J