#Engineering all courses in low price | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvbabydoll · 2 months ago

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soft target — john price

a/n: here is part one

the school’s quiet now.

the sun’s low, painting everything gold, and you’re locking your classroom door with tired hands and a cardigan pulled tight around your shoulders. the same sundress underneath, just a little more wrinkled now. your flats scuff softly on the pavement as you head toward the bus stop, bag slipping from your shoulder.

and then—

“bit late for the bus, isn’t it, love?”

you freeze.

he’s leaned against a dark car at the curb, sleeves still rolled, cap tilted back slightly. cigar in one hand, half-burned and glowing faint. he looks like he’s been there for a while. watching.

waiting.

you clear your throat. “i’m fine. it’s only a few minutes.”

he hums. takes a drag.

“not safe out here. bus stop’s full of pissheads after five.”

you blink. “i take it every day.”

he exhales smoke slowly, like the words amuse him.

“not dressed like that, you don’t.”

your fingers tighten on your cardigan.

“what’s that mean?”

he flicks the ash off the tip of the cigar, then gives you that slow, maddening once-over.

“floaty little thing like you? sweet voice, soft shoes, not a clue how many blokes’d follow you just to see where you get off.”

you shift on your feet.

“i manage just fine.”

“‘course you do, sweetheart,” he drawls, tone all condescension and heat. “still doesn’t mean you should be out here on your own.”

he nods at the car behind him.

“come on. i’ll drive you.”

you shake your head. “i don’t need—”

“wasn’t askin’.”

the words are quiet. firm. but not unkind. not really.

more like... decided.

you hesitate. bite your lip. you shouldn’t. god, you know you shouldn’t.

but then he opens the door for you, like he already knows you’ll say yes.

“it’s not charity, love,” he adds, almost mockingly. “just not lettin’ a pretty thing like you end up on the evening news.”

your heart hammers.

you get in.

the leather’s cool. smells faintly like him. like cigar smoke and expensive soap.

he walks around the front, slow and unbothered, flicks the cigar into the street with a practiced hand, then slides in beside you and starts the engine.

no music. no small talk at first. just the low purr of the car and the weight of his gaze at red lights.

until finally, he says it.

“didn’t peg you for the bus type.”

you glance at him. “i’m a teacher. not exactly glamorous.”

he scoffs. “could’ve fooled me.”

you blink.

“look like you belong in one of those soft little perfume ads,” he mutters. “all lips and lashes. s’no wonder your class won’t shut up.”

you don’t answer.

his fingers tap the wheel lazily. “bet they’ve all got crushes. boys like that—doesn’t take much. just a smile and a dress.”

“i don’t flirt with my students.”

he smirks.

“never said you did. just said you don’t have to.”

you look out the window. cheeks hot.

“you always talk to teachers like this?” you murmur.

he doesn’t hesitate.

“only the pretty ones.”

the drive is quiet again. only this time there’s music.

not loud—just a low hum from the speakers, something gritty and slow and old. a man’s voice, raspy, drawling about whiskey and war. you don’t recognise it, but you don’t ask either. you figure he already knows that.

he doesn’t look at you while it plays. just taps the wheel in time, lip twitching like he’s in on a joke you’re too young to get.

“not your kind of music, is it?” he says finally, eyes still on the road.

“no,” you admit softly.

he chuckles.

“didn’t think so. you’re more of a... sugar-pop sort, yeah? all pink headphones and love songs?”

you bristle, but only a little. “i listen to plenty of things.”

“mm,” he says, unconvinced. “you ever even heard of tom waits?”

“well… no.”

“figured,” he smirks.

by the time he pulls up outside your apartment, the sun’s almost gone. your building looks worse in this light—weathered and crooked, like it’s sighing from holding itself up.

he looks at it, then at your shoes.

“you live here?”

“...yeah.”

he lets out a breath through his nose. not rude—just surprised.

“jesus, sweetheart. i knew teachers weren’t paid well, but jesus lovie.”

you slide your bag onto your shoulder, already reaching for the handle.

“thanks for the ride.”

but he’s already out of the car.

before you can step out, he’s opening your door for you again—holding out a hand like you’re stepping onto a yacht and not cracked pavement.

you blink up at him.

“i can walk.”

“not in those dainty little things,” he mutters. “look at the state of this lot.”

and then—god—he lifts you.

just like that. arms around your thighs and back, bridal-style, all warm and solid and smug.

“john!” you squeak, clutching his shoulders.

“don’t fuss,” he says, carrying you like you weigh nothing. “not lettin’ you ruin those shoes on my watch.”

you want to argue. you really do.

but then you’re at your door and he doesn’t put you down. not right away.

“keys?” he asks, eyes flicking toward your purse.

you fumble, unlock it with shaking hands.

and instead of handing you over the threshold, like a normal person—

he steps inside.

like he’s invited.

like this is his now.

you’re still in his arms when he glances around.

“cozy,” he says again, same tone as in your classroom.

his voice is quieter here. thicker.

you try to wiggle down. he finally lets you go, setting you gently on the floor like a toy being placed back on the shelf.

you smooth your dress. try to fix your face.

“you didn’t have to come in.”

“wasn’t gonna leave you out there in the dark,” he shrugs, looking at your tiny kitchenette, the stack of books near the couch. “besides, didn’t get my proper tour earlier.”

you give him a look. “this isn’t a tour.”

“sure it is,” he says, moving to lean against your counter like he’s done it a hundred times. “i’ve seen your classroom. now i’m seein’ where you keep your soft little cardigans.”

you cross your arms.

“you’re very confident.”

he grins.

“and you’re very polite for someone lettin’ a stranger into her flat.”

you hesitate. “you’re not a stranger.”

“aren’t i?”

he steps a little closer. your back almost hits the wall.

you don’t answer.

he smiles, slow.

“you should eat somethin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

you blink.

“you don’t have to—”

“i know i don’t,” he cuts in gently, brushing a bit of lint from your sleeve like he’s done it before. “but i want to.”

“why?”

“dunno,” he shrugs. “maybe i like takin’ care of soft little things.”

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seumyo · 6 months ago

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the price to pay when you’re a passenger princess.

You knew that there had to be a catch when Bakugou said he’d pick you up after your 12-hour shift at the hospital. But the thing was, you were too exhausted to dwell on the thought.

Or so you thought.

“You look dead on your feet,” he commented as he opened the door for you.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you replied dryly, tossing your bag into the backseat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

The sleek, jet-black Porsche 911 Turbo S roared through the empty streets like a predator on the hunt, the low rumble of the engine vibrating through your very soul. Bakugou, of course, looked completely at ease, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, a calm expression seen on his face.

You’ve come to understand that your husband was relatively calm when not provoked.

“Katsuki,” you started as the car picked up speed, “you do realize this is still a hospital zone, right? Maybe don’t speed like you’re in a Fast and Furious movie.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Relax,” he drawled, shifting gears with precision. “You know I’ve got this.”

You, on the other hand, were internally reciting every safety procedure you could think of in case of an unfortunate circumstance to come.

“Should I call my assistant to make an appointment in advance?”

Bakugou snorts. “What? Don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. It’s the laws of physics I don’t trust,” you muttered under your breath, earning a low chuckle from him.

The worst part? There was barely any traffic this late at night, which only encouraged Bakugou to push the limits of what his new Porsche could do. You glanced at the speedometer and instantly regretted it.

“Katsuki, I swear to God—”

“What? It’s not like I’m breaking the speed limit,” he said with mock innocence, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The Prefectural Government’s Public Safety Commissions should really revoke his license one of these days. Or you might not live to see the next one.

“By less than two!”

You leaned your head back against the seat, staring at the darkened city skyline as it blurred past you. You were exhausted from your shift, your feet aching, bone tired, but all of that was being drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of your life flashing before your very eyes.

You double-checked your seatbelt again. It’s never too late to actually be safe.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to yell at me for being too hot and good at everything.”

“Wow? The audacity of my husband making such a bold claim,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Have I fed your ego too much that you’re about to float away like a hot-air balloon?”

“Didn’t deny my claim.” He got you there.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Just so you know,” you muttered, clutching the grab handle even tighter as he effortlessly weaved between two cars, “if I die tonight, I’m haunting you. And I’ll make sure to mess with you when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, finally glancing your way. “At least then you’d be with me all the time, huh?”

You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now? While you’re driving like a maniac?”

“Who says I can’t multitask?”

Before you could fire back with another retort, the car slowed as you neared your apartment complex. Your death grip on the handle loosened ever so slightly, though your heart was still racing.

When Bakugou finally parked, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your hands still trembling a little.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too or whatever.”

“I—wait, you actually said it.”

“What? Can’t a man just say he loves his wife?”

“Good point, but you rarely say it!”

“I pick you up after your every shift and make sure you don’t die of starvation or poor health. That’s enough than saying it, no?”

“But you said it! So it’s different.”

“Not.”

“It is!”

“Not.”

“Is!”

Terrifying car rides aside, there was no one else you’d rather be stuck with. Even if your husband drove you absolutely crazy—both on and off the road. This must be the price of being Bakugou Katsuki’s passenger princess.

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sillygoose067 · 2 months ago

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Hate to be Lame

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You slid into the backseat of the Uber, your mind already back at the office as you thumbed through a string of unread emails on your phone. You had barely closed the door when the driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with a slightly nervous smile.

“Hey, uh, quick thing,” he said, one hand still loosely gripping the steering wheel. “Mind if I pick up another passenger on the way? It’s just a quick detour, and, you know… gas prices.” He chuckled, a little sheepishly, like he half-expected you to say no.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the glowing screen as your mind flicked to the ticking clock at the top corner. You had exactly twenty-two minutes left on your break before you needed to be back at your desk, but the way the driver’s eyes flicked nervously to the dashboard, you figured he could probably use the extra cash.

“Um… sure, yeah, that’s fine,” you said, forcing a small, polite smile as you set your phone down, trying not to overthink it.

“Thanks, really appreciate it,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he merged back into traffic.

A few minutes later, the car pulled up outside a small, nondescript café, and the driver gave a quick, sharp honk of the horn. The door beside you opened, and a tall figure ducked in, the rush of cool, coffee-scented air following him into the backseat.

You glanced up, instinctively scooting a little closer to the opposite side, and found yourself staring at a familiar face. His eyes flicked to you, widening slightly in surprise before he quickly looked at the driver, one hand bracing against the edge of the door.

“Uh, this is… this is the right car, right?” he said, his voice a little lower, a little rougher than you’d expected, his brow furrowing as he leaned back out to check the license plate.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re good, man,” the driver assured him, throwing a quick, reassuring wave over his shoulder. “Just a little ride share, you know, nothing crazy.” He winced. “Sorry.”

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking back to you, his lips parting like he wanted to ask if you were okay with this arrangement, but then he caught the faint hint of polite, if slightly awkward, agreement in your expression and slid fully into the seat, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Sorry,” he said, a faint, slightly sheepish smile curving his lips as he settled back, his long legs folding into the limited legroom with practiced ease. “Didn’t mean to, uh, crash your ride.”

You managed a small, tight-lipped smile, your fingers twisting slightly in your lap as you glanced out the window, the awkward, too-close silence settling in almost immediately. You knew his face, of course — his profile had been all over billboards and streaming ads for the past few months, his latest project seemingly everywhere you looked. But the faint, polite nod you offered felt more appropriate than any starstruck gushing, your mind already flinching at the thought of making things even more uncomfortable.

He seemed to catch on to your attempts at maintaining some semblance of normalcy, a small, relieved exhale slipping from his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth as he glanced your way.

“Alright, so… I guess we should introduce ourselves, since we’re, you know… carpool buddies now,” he said, his tone light and faint, a chuckle slipping past his lips. He offered a hand, his palm warm and slightly calloused as your fingers brushed against his. “I’m Lewis.”

You gave your name in return, your voice a little softer, a little more hesitant than you’d intended, and his head tilted slightly, his eyes crinkling in a way that made the space between you feel just a fraction less stifling.

A few seconds ticked by, the soft hum of the engine and the low thrum of a forgotten pop song filtering through the speakers filling the otherwise oppressive silence. You glanced down at your phone, your thumb twitching against the side, a small, nervous habit you hadn’t quite managed to shake.

After another painfully quiet minute, you cleared your throat, your gaze flicking to the side as you forced yourself to break the silence. “Um… I’m not, like… trying to make this awkward or anything,” you said, the words tumbling out a little faster, a little more unevenly than you’d meant, your cheeks warming slightly as you caught the surprised flicker in his eyes. “I’m just… really bad at small talk. And… talking in general, actually. So, um, sorry if this is weird.”

For a split second, Lewis just stared at you, his brows lifting slightly in surprise, and then his lips curved into a small, genuinely amused grin, a soft, relieved chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“No, no, I get it,” he said, his tone a little warmer, a little more relaxed now, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee as he shifted in his seat. “Honestly, same. I mean, for an actor, I’m surprisingly terrible at talking to people outside of, you know… work.”

You felt a small, reluctant smile creep onto your lips, your nerves easing just a little as you leaned back against the cool leather seat, the awkwardness between you shifting into something a little softer, a little more tentative, like the first uncertain steps onto unfamiliar ground.

You tried to focus on your phone, scrolling through a half-dozen unread emails as the car eased back into traffic, the soft hum of the engine and the gentle sway of the ride providing a muted, almost comforting backdrop. But the awareness of the man sitting barely a foot away from you, his presence a warm, steady weight in the otherwise quiet backseat, made it hard to concentrate.

He shifted slightly beside you, his elbow brushing the seat between you as he leaned back, his gaze flicking out the window before settling back on you, his eyes catching the slight tension in your posture.

“So,” he said, his voice a little softer, a little more tentative than before, like he was testing the waters. “Heading home?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, your head snapping up to meet his curious, slightly tilted gaze. “Oh, uh… break,” you stammered, your fingers tightening instinctively around your phone. “Just trying to squeeze in a quick trip before the next round of migraines.”

Lewis chuckled, a warm, slightly rough sound that settled the nerves still prickling at the edges of your mind. “I know the feeling,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned a little closer, his tone taking on a conspiratorial edge. “Long hours, too many meetings, and the constant feeling that you’re forgetting something important.”

You let out a small, slightly breathless laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction as you met his gaze, the corners of your lips curving into a faint, slightly sheepish smile. “Pretty much,” you admitted, your fingers twitching nervously against your phone case. “Though, I’m guessing your ‘meetings’ are a little more glamorous than mine.”

He grinned, a faint, slightly embarrassed flush creeping up his neck as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “I mean, maybe,” he said, his tone a little self-deprecating, his eyes flicking to the side as if considering his words. “But honestly, half the time it’s just me sitting around in a trailer, trying not to spill coffee on my costume or forget any lines.”

You let out a small, genuine laugh, the sound catching in your throat as his eyes snapped back to yours, a faint, relieved smile spreading across his lips at your reaction. You could feel a small, unsteady warmth blooming in your chest, your heart stuttering slightly as you realized, with a faint jolt, that you were actually starting to relax a little.

You shifted in your seat, your fingers still fidgeting nervously against your phone case as you tried to keep the conversation going, the silence between you no longer quite as suffocating but still tinged with a faint, unspoken tension.

“So, uh… what’s your schedule like?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could second-guess yourself, your cheeks warming slightly as you glanced down at your hands. “I imagine it’s a bit more… chaotic than mine.”

He let out a small, breathless chuckle, his head tilting back slightly as he considered your question. “Yeah, you could say that,” he said, his eyes flicking back to yours, a small, slightly wistful smile tugging at his lips. “A lot of early mornings and late nights, a lot of sitting around and waiting for the right light or the right take. But… I don’t know, it’s worth it, I think.”

You managed a small, understanding nod, your nerves easing a little more as you met his gaze, the soft, unspoken warmth in his eyes settling something in your chest that you hadn’t realized was still tense.

Before you could think of what to say next, the car slowed to a stop, the driver glancing back over his shoulder with a small, polite nod. “Alright, this is you,” he said, his eyes flicking to the building outside as he tapped a few buttons on the dashboard.

You blinked, a small, startled jolt running through you as you realized your stop had come up quicker than you’d expected. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly as you offered the man beside you a small, polite smile.

“Well, um… thanks for the company,” you said, your voice a little softer, a little more uncertain than you’d meant, your pulse quickening as you caught the faint, surprised flicker in Lewis' eyes. “It was… nice talking to you.”

You started to step out, one foot already on the curb when his hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, the warmth of his touch startling but not unwelcome.

“Wait,” he said, his tone a little breathless, a faint, uncertain smile curving his lips as his eyes met yours, a hint of something like relief flickering in their dark depths. “It was… really nice talking to you, too. I, uh… don’t get that a lot.”

You felt your cheeks warm, your heart stumbling over itself as you caught the faint, sincere warmth in his expression, the small, slightly self-conscious shift in his posture as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I mean… it’s just nice, you know?” he continued, his words a little more rushed now, like he was afraid you’d slip away before he could finish. “Talking to someone who isn’t, like… making a big deal about it. Just… normal.”

You hesitated, your heart still racing as his eyes flicked back to yours, his hand slipping back to his side as he straightened, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for rejection.

“So… maybe we could do this again sometime?” he said, his tone a little quieter, a little more uncertain now, his gaze dropping to the seat between you before flicking back to your face. “Just, you know… chat. Without all the…,” he gestured around him.

Your breath caught, your fingers tightening instinctively around the strap of your bag as his words sank in, the unexpected warmth in this... honestly, he was still a stranger to you-- his tone catching you off guard. But you didn’t feel unsafe, and despite the nervous flutter in your chest, you found yourself nodding, your lips parting in a small, slightly breathless smile as you met his eyes again.

“Yeah… yeah, I’d like that,” you said, your voice a little steadier now, the small, relieved exhale that slipped past his lips sending a warm, unsteady flutter through your chest.

You fumbled for your phone, your fingers still trembling slightly as you pulled up your contact screen, your heart still racing as you traded numbers, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he handed your phone back, a small, slightly relieved smile curving his lips.

“Alright,” he said, his voice a little rough, a little breathless as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes lingering on your face for a second longer before he nodded, a small, slightly awkward chuckle slipping past his lips. “I’ll… text you. Later.”

You managed a small, shaky nod, your heart still stumbling over itself as you slipped out of the car, the door clicking shut behind you as the engine hummed back to life, the faint, lingering warmth of his touch still tingling against your skin as you watched the car pull away, your phone still clutched tightly in your hand.

---

The days after the Uber ride felt like a strange dream. The brief, awkward encounter in the backseat of the car had turned into something unexpected, and every time your phone buzzed with a new message from him, you found yourself smiling just a little wider. It wasn’t anything monumental—just small exchanges, nothing like the intensity you’d imagined romance would be. But it was enough to make your heart flutter, enough to leave you wondering if there could be more to this thing than you’d first realized.

At first, it was just casual coffee meet-ups, or quick chats in between work schedules, keeping it simple and unhurried. Lewis was an actor, always on the move, juggling scripts and auditions and press events. You, on the other hand, were buried under a mountain of deadlines, client meetings, and late-night project revisions. But somehow, amidst the chaos, the little moments you spent with him felt like an oasis.

It was a Thursday afternoon when the conversation turned more personal, one of those moments when you both found yourselves sitting across from each other at a cozy café, sipping on overpriced lattes and feeling surprisingly at ease despite the awkwardness that clung to the air at times. You had just finished talking about your hectic day, something about a report gone wrong and a team meeting that could have been handled better, when he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup.

“So… are you in a relationship?” he asked, the question slipping out so casually it almost sounded like an afterthought. His eyes were warm but curious, an eyebrow raised as he leaned forward just a little, as though waiting for an answer that would somehow tell him more about you than any previous conversation had.

You nearly snorted, the sound so abrupt that it startled both of you. “A relationship?” you repeated, your mind instantly scrambling for some semblance of dignity. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts but finding only embarrassment. “Uh… no. Never been on a date, much less had a partner.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, you both burst into laughter at the same time, the nervous kind, but real, genuine laughter all the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed like that—completely unrestrained, without worrying about how you sounded, or how you looked, or whether you were being awkward. And for the first time in ages, you didn’t mind the awkwardness; it felt… nice, comforting even.

His smile softened, though there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You’re serious? Never even been on a date?” His voice was laced with a disbelief that made your face flush even deeper. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d meet someone who hasn’t at least done the whole dinner-and-movie thing.”

“I know,” you said, shaking your head, trying to brush off the discomfort with a small, sheepish grin. “I guess I’ve just been… too focused on work, or… well, I don’t know. It’s just never really happened.”

He leaned back again, clearly processing this new piece of information. You could see his thoughts working behind those dark, thoughtful eyes of his, but there was no judgment, just an understanding that made you feel oddly safe.

“Well,” he said after a pause, his voice warm but teasing, “that just means you’re in for a whole new world of experiences.” There was a playfulness in his tone, but something else too—a sense of wanting to take things slow, to help you discover this new territory at your own pace.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat but found that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to pull away from the conversation. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that,” you admitted, feeling a touch self-conscious. “I mean… I don’t even know where to start. I’m kinda… out of my depth here.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the teasing glint faded, replaced with something gentler, almost tender. “Hey, no pressure,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m not in a rush. I just want to get to know you, you know? No big expectations. If you ever want to… I don’t know, go for dinner or a walk or something, I’m here. Just taking it one step at a time.”

You met his gaze, a sense of warmth washing over you at his words, and a tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest. Maybe this didn’t have to be a big, overwhelming thing. Maybe it could just be... slow, easy, something that felt natural and not forced.

Over the next couple of weeks, those casual, easy hangouts continued. More coffee dates, more laughs, more quiet moments where you found yourself stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking. You began to feel something deeper, a soft fluttering feeling that had no name yet, but it made your stomach twist every time he smiled at you, every time his fingers brushed against yours when handing you a napkin or passing you your drink.

One evening, after a particularly long workday, he invited you to dinner. It was quiet, a simple meal at a little restaurant with flickering candles and soft music playing in the background, just the two of you sitting across from each other. As you talked, your conversation drifting between your childhood memories and his experiences on set, something shifted. It wasn’t the same nervousness, the same awkwardness that had marked the beginning. This was different—more familiar, more comfortable.

“So,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned forward just a little, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve got the whole work-life balance thing figured out, huh?”

You chuckled, swirling your drink. “Hardly,” you said, the warmth in your chest spreading as you looked at him. “I’m just getting through the day-to-day.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said, his smile widening as he leaned back in his chair, his tone becoming a little more serious. “But, y’know, if you’re ever up for something less work-oriented… maybe a little less routine… I’d be down for that.”

It was the first time he said anything that made your heart race in that way. You could feel the soft warmth of the words wrapping around you, filling you with an uncertain but undeniable anticipation. You were still a little nervous, but for the first time, you felt like you might be ready.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. “I think… I think I’d like that.”

---

The night had drifted into that comfortable, easy rhythm, the kind where everything feels just right without any effort. The Italian bistro had a warm, inviting vibe—dim lights, the scent of fresh basil wafting in the air, and a soft hum of conversations around you. The perfect place for a relaxed evening that, as far as you could tell, wasn’t going to be anything like the first awkward moments you’d shared.

You’d been talking for what felt like hours, and yet the conversation never seemed to run dry. The moment you both sat down, you fell into a natural ease, exchanging jokes and stories. His smile was disarming, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time, the sound of it seeming to flow effortlessly between you.

“So, tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” Lewis asked, leaning back in his chair with that teasing glint in his eye, as if challenging you to open up in a way that felt lighthearted rather than intimidating.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering how you could answer that one without giving too much away. You glanced down at your plate, searching for something to say, then finally let out a breath and replied, “Alright, here’s one. I’m obsessed with really bad reality TV. The trashier, the better.”

He grinned. “Oh, I knew there was something about you. What’s your guilty pleasure?”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Honestly, anything with bad drama. The Bachelor, Real Housewives... you name it. I love watching people’s lives unravel in the most dramatic ways possible.”

His laugh was easy, and for a moment, you forgot about the nerves. “I get it. There’s something kind of comforting about watching people have their messes put out there, right? Meanwhile, my life is a pretty boring series of rehearsals and early mornings.”

“You’d be surprised,” you replied with a smirk. “That sounds pretty glamorous compared to my pile of spreadsheets and meetings.”

“You do have a point,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “But hey, we all need a break from the grind, right?”

The waiter arrived with the main courses, and the conversation shifted to more comfortable ground as you both discussed the food. It was light-hearted, easy, like you were just two people enjoying an evening out rather than focusing on anything too heavy.

But then, as the conversation lulled, you felt the shift. The air between you two felt a little thicker, more charged. And you realized it was because the topics you’d discussed were personal in their own way—sharing things that were a little quirky, a little unpolished. It was a side of each other that hadn’t come out in your earlier, more cautious conversations.

“So,” he said after a few moments, his voice quieter now, as if a bit hesitant, “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

You blinked, not expecting the question. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said with a mischievous grin, leaning forward a little. “What song would you totally rock at karaoke?”

You laughed, feeling a little shy but also eager to indulge in something fun. “I mean, I don’t do karaoke... but if I did, I’d probably go with something like ‘Rolling in the Deep.’ You know, classic.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! That’s a great choice. I can already picture you owning that stage.”

You blushed, shifting in your seat. “Alright, now you have to tell me. What would you sing?”

He thought about it for a second, then grinned, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “I’m not sure I should admit this, but… ‘Living on a Prayer.’ I know, it’s a little cheesy, but it’s got energy, you know?”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair, genuinely amused. “I’d pay to see that. You and a crowd, belting out Bon Jovi?”

“I think we’d have a pretty good time,” he said with a wink. “Maybe we should try it sometime.”

The banter continued, moving between small, silly things, moments where you each learned just a bit more about each other. A shared appreciation for quirky hobbies, your mutual love for spontaneous dance parties in the living room when nobody’s around, your terrible dancing skills—things that brought out smiles and laughter.

As the evening wore on, the rain outside began to pick up, the soft tapping against the window adding to the cozy, almost intimate atmosphere. When the dessert arrived—tiramisu, of course—he joked that you could fight over the last piece, but neither of you did. Instead, you both enjoyed it quietly, savoring the moment.

By the time the bill was paid, the tension had melted away entirely. You were standing by the door, ready to head out, but the soft glow of the streetlights against the wet pavement made it feel like the night was far from over.

He smiled at you, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “So… I guess that’s the end of our little dinner date? Um, can I walk you home?”

---

The rain whispered against the windows, a soft, steady backdrop to the charged silence in the narrow hallway. He stood just a step away, his jacket draped over one arm, his other hand flexing subtly at his side like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. His shirt was still a little damp from the misty walk over, a faint trace of fresh rain clinging to his hair, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him in the small, enclosed space.

“I should… probably head out,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges, like the words had to scrape their way out of his throat. His eyes flicked to the door over your shoulder, then back to your face, his gaze lingering a second too long, his breath a little unsteady as it ghosted over your cheek.

You felt your pulse stutter, a warmth blooming in your chest that spread quickly to your face, the unfamiliar rush of it making your fingers twist nervously at the hem of your sleeve. His eyes dropped, catching the small, self-soothing motion, and his jaw flexed, a faint crease forming between his brows like he was debating something with himself.

He took a small, careful step closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint warmth of his breath brushing your cheek. His free hand twitched at his side, fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to reach for you, his eyes flicking back to your lips with a raw, unguarded longing that sent your heart skittering in your chest.

He leaned in slowly, his head dipping, his nose brushing yours in a soft, testing touch. His breath caught, a small, unsteady sound slipping past his lips as you froze, your eyes wide and lips parted, your mind stumbling over itself, caught between the unfamiliar thrill of his nearness and the quiet, aching want in his eyes.

He hesitated there, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours, the tension hanging so thick you swore you could feel the electricity crackling in the narrow space between you. His hand finally moved, lifting slowly to your waist, his fingers brushing lightly against your side, the warmth of his touch spreading like a slow, steady flame through the thin fabric of your shirt.

You let out a small, involuntary breath, a soft, barely audible sound that seemed to snap the last thread of his restraint. His grip tightened slightly, his thumb pressing gently into your side as his other hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers slipping into your hair as he leaned in fully, his lips finally, firmly pressing against yours.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, his lips moving against yours with a kind of careful, unhurried intensity, like he was trying to show you something he didn’t have words for. His breath hitched as you responded, your fingers curling instinctively into the front of his damp shirt, the cool, rain-soaked fabric clinging to your palm as you leaned into him, a small, surprised whimper slipping from your throat when he deepened the kiss, his mouth parting slightly against yours.

His thumb brushed a slow, soothing circle against your waist, his breaths coming quicker now, his fingers tightening in your hair as his lips moved more firmly against yours, a quiet, relieved noise rumbling low in his chest as you responded without pulling back. You felt the soft, wet sounds of the kiss blend with the distant whisper of rain against the glass, the soft rustle of his jacket as it slipped slightly in his grasp, your fingers clinging a little tighter as he shifted closer, pressing his body just a fraction closer to yours.

When he finally broke away, his breaths came in short, uneven bursts, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his eyes still half-closed, the faintest hint of color blooming high on his cheeks as he caught his breath.

You felt your own face heat up, your fingers still clutching his shirt as you tried to process the rush of warmth still pulsing through your veins, your lips tingling in the lingering warmth of his kiss. You realized, a little belatedly, that you were still holding onto him, your knuckles pressing into the firm muscle of his chest, and a small, breathless laugh slipped from you, your head ducking slightly in a mix of shyness and disbelief at your own boldness.

He let out a soft, breathless chuckle in response, his fingers slipping slowly from your hair, his thumb brushing one last, lingering circle against your waist before his hand fell back to his side, his eyes finding yours again, darker and a little more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them.

“I… um,” he stammered, his voice still a little rough, the faintest hint of a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he tried to catch his breath. “I should… probably say goodnight before I, uh… get too comfortable.”

You felt another burst of warmth flare in your chest at his flustered tone, your heart still racing as you managed a small, shaky nod, your lips tingling as you tried to form words around the strange, breathless warmth still clinging to your skin.

“Yeah… yeah, okay,” you whispered, your voice a little unsteady as you slowly let go of his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as they fell back to your side, the faint pressure of his lips still echoing against your own.

He took a slow, shaky step back, his eyes lingering on your face for a second longer, his lips parting like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, with a small, breathless huff, he gave a short, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped back another pace, his eyes flicking to the door.

“See you next time?” he asked, his voice a little more certain, though his eyes still held that faint, uncertain warmth, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment go.

You managed a small, breathless smile, your heart still stumbling over itself as you nodded, your fingers still tingling in the cool air where his warmth had been.

“Next time,” you whispered, your cheeks still flushed, the word slipping from your lips like a promise, a quiet, breathless agreement that you weren’t quite ready to part with yet.

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nemo-writes · 8 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; summoning her was a choice heavy with consequences. now, you're forced to confront buried loyalties and a steep price for salvation.

⚠️ warnings; body horror, mommy issues

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

Hours pass after the call, each second heavy with anticipation as you sit on the porch, nails tapping out a nervous rhythm over your knee. Calling her was a decision you didn’t take lightly, and now that she’s coming, you can only wonder how it’ll play out after all this time. You’d left, and now, after everything, you’re the one who reached out first.

Suddenly, the rumble of an engine breaks the quiet, and it makes you straighten immediately. A sleek, black Mustang pulls into the drive, its windows so dark they blend seamlessly with the car's polished frame. It parks beside your own truck and where Sybil is sleeping inside. You stand up, unconsciously straightening up and brushing invisible lint off your clothes.

The moment the engine cuts off, you feel your pulse kick up a notch, the anticipation turning almost to dread.

A tall and imposing figure steps out of the driver’s seat first. It’s König, towering as ever, his dark, broad frame cutting a familiar figure in the low evening light. He steps up to meet you and doesn’t speak right away. His eyes, visible through the thin slit in his mask, soften just a little, a trace of warmth amidst his usually stoic demeanour. Carefully, he thumbs your chin in a familiar and comforting gesture, before he steps back.

“It’s been a while,” he murmurs quietly.

You give him a small nod, secretly grateful for the reassurance he brings. But the spell of reassurance fades as he opens the back door. Out slinks Cath Palug, your Mother’s familiar, a sleek, pitch-black sphynx cat with eyes like twin pale green mirrors, large and unblinking. The cat stretches his lean, wiry body and pads gracefully from the car, casting you an assessing gaze with piercing intelligence. Cath Palug’s presence is a prelude to the inevitable, and you swallow, feeling the familiar pressure of old expectations closing in.

Then your Mother steps out.

She’s a striking figure, even more intimidating than you remember, her poise and presence as commanding as ever. Dark glasses cover her eyes, and a sheer veil drapes elegantly over her face. The rich red of her lipstick is perfectly applied, as are her sharply pointed black nails, all silent declarations of control and power.

The instinct to fall back into your old ways is overpowering, and before you can think twice, you take a single step forward, bowing your head as you take her outstretched hand. You press a respectful kiss to the ring on her finger, a gesture that feels as natural as it is jarring—old habits and all. She says nothing as you straighten, and though her eyes are hidden, you feel her gaze on you, sizing you up. The faintest smile touches her lips, cold and knowing.

“Hello, darling,” she finally says. Your pulse quickens as you nod, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

Her gaze flickers over you, taking in every detail. “You look dreadful,” she says bluntly, the hint of a frown just barely touching her lips. “Haggard, exhausted. Stand up straight, would you? And explain the situation clearly.”

Her voice is clipped and unwavering, the very tone you’d grown up trying to avoid displeasing. The urge to explain, to smooth over any cracks in your composure, presses against you, and despite the bitterness it brings, you lift your head and straighten your shoulders, forcing calm into your voice as you begin.

“Yes, of course, Mother.”

As you start to recount the events, Cath Palug rubs briefly against her heels, tail flicking as it studies you with the kind of scrutiny that is all too familiar. Meanwhile, König moves ahead, his tall frame cutting through the space with purposeful strides. You can tell by his pace that he’s already in full guard mode, reading every shadow, every open corner for a potential disturbance.

You guide her through the entrance, and with every detail you recount, she says nothing. Her nose wrinkles as she surveys the house, one hand reaching delicately into her pocket to retrieve a crisp, black-lace handkerchief. She presses it to her nose, a distasteful sigh escaping her lips.

“Charming place they have here,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Your beloved truly have a flair for neglect, don’t they?”

You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “I asked them to stay on the far side of the house for now,” you reply, your voice laced with as much calm as you can manage. “They won’t interfere.”

Her critical gaze sweeps over you, and she nods, looking satisfied, as if you’d passed a test you hadn’t realised was still in place. “Good. That makes this far easier.”

As you reach the door to Leah’s room, she pauses, assessing the energy hanging thickly in the air.

“König,” she says, her voice softer but no less commanding, “stay back. Watch over us but don’t enter. I suspect whatever is inside may corrupt even the strongest minds.”

König bows his head, stepping back with the same silent grace he used upon entering. He positions himself just outside the room, gaze sharpening, vigilant and ready but out of view. As the two of you step in, you can feel her energy tense, the magic in her stirring to meet whatever lay inside.

You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “It’s a parasite,” you explain, feeling the sting of her scrutiny with each word. “And it’s vampiric in nature.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. The signs are practically screaming.” Cath Palug, hops into the bed and arches its back, sniffing cautiously as if tasting the darkness in the air, before hissing sharply at Leah and jumping back down. Your Mother steps closer to Leah, removing her glasses and examining her with an appraising look that makes your stomach twist.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, trailing one long, black nail above Leah’s arm. “I can see why she was chosen. A perfect little target for something so vile.”

Her gaze flickers over to you then, sharper, assessing. Her eyes carry that icy, knowing weight. “Your situation couldn’t be more clear, either,” she says, her tone cutting. “Discarded, were you? Cast aside without a second thought, as if the love you poured into them was nothing compared to this... human.” She gestures toward Leah, her lips curled into a thin, humourless smile.

The truth in her words is a punch to the gut. Tears prick at your eyes, but you won’t let them fall—not here, not in front of her, not after all the years you spent learning to hold yourself together under her piercing gaze. You swallow down the sting, focusing on keeping your composure, just as you always had in the past.

Finally, she steps back, putting her dark glasses back on as her expression cools. “I’ll treat her,” she says, a glimmer of satisfaction in her voice, as though she’s won something precious. “But there’s a toll to be paid, of course.” She tilts her head. “You’ll return to the coven. That’s my price. Come back as my heir, and I’ll cleanse her.”

Shame curls tight in your chest, creeping into every part of you, but your thoughts linger on them—on how, despite everything they’ve put you through, you still love them. You remember when they were the ones who held you up, who sheltered you, loved you. For the memory of those days and the loyalty they once showed you, you draw a breath and nod, head bowed.

“I shall serve,” you say, the words heavy on your tongue.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and without another word, she turns back around to face Leah. Her hand hovers over her chest for a moment, then sinks into it as if phasing through mist. You watch, heart pounding, as her fingers disappear beneath Leah’s skin, moving with a surreal ease. She reaches deeper, her arm lost in Leah’s body until, with a sharp tug, she yanks her hand back out.

In her grasp is the parasite, writhing and hideous, a twisted, centipede-like thing. She holds it up, it's dark, slick body wriggling, as she flicks her wrist and tosses it into the air. Cath Palug leaps, claws extended and teeth flashing, catching the creature in one swift, lethal motion and dispatching it efficiently.

It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. And just like that, it’s over.

The tension in the room is palpable as Leah lies motionless on the bed, the air thick with expectation. After a heartbeat, she gasps and jerks awake, pulling you from your anxious vigil. Relief tries to settle in your chest, but it’s quickly swept away as your Mother’s elegant hand presses firmly onto your shoulder, steering you out of the room without a second glance at Leah.

Her work here is done, and by her rules, so is yours.

Stepping into the hallway, you’re met with a tense standoff. König stands, silent and imposing, facing off with Price and Gaz. Their expressions are tight, But when König's gaze falls on you, his stance softens, just slightly, allowing a gentleness to seep into his intense demeanour.

Words start to form on your lips—an explanation, a warning—but they’re forgotten as Price and Gaz push past you without a second glance, their attention fixed solely on Leah. The pang of their disregard twists painfully inside you, deepening as your Mother lets out a disapproving click of her tongue, muttering, “Predictable,” with cold satisfaction.

Yet König steps up to stand by your side. His eyes linger as he wraps one of his arms around your shoulder. As he holds you, his calm strength eases some of the tension from your shoulders. Gently, he guides you away from the room and the people who were once everything to you.

Before reaching the front door, you hesitate, glancing up at him with a thousand concerns flickering in your gaze. Your mind returns to Sybil still back in your truck.

“Sybil… she’s—,” you whisper, unable to hide the worry in your voice. König’s eyes meet yours through his mask, understanding immediately. He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s safe, meine liebe,” he murmurs softly. “Sybil’s waiting for us in the car. I thought you’d want her close.” His thoughtfulness eases your worry. “I know how much she means to you. The ward you left behind was sublime, as always.”

Your face warms at his compliment, and you start to thank him, but he hushes you gently, brushing a calloused finger over your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” he says, his voice soft yet steady, an unwavering promise.

It’s not unfamiliar, this caring side of him, but after everything, it still catches you off guard. He picks up your bag of supplies from beside the door, effortlessly slinging it over his shoulder before acknowledging your Mother, who watches a few paces away. She gives him a curt nod, a subtle approval that König returns with a respectful bow before leading you outside.

At the curb, he helps your Mother into the car first, Cath Palug jumping in right after. Then, he guides you into the back seat. Sybil, just as he promised, is curled up in the front seat. Relief sweeps through you as you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her nose. She lifts her head to gaze at you with sleepy, trusting eyes, her tail thumping faintly.

For once, your Mother remains silent, her face impassive as you reunite with Sybil. König watches you in the rearview mirror, his gaze holding yours for a brief, grounding moment before he starts the engine.

Just as the car pulls away from the curb, your Mother speaks, her tone as sharp. “Take us to Black Mous.”

The command strikes you like a shock, but you swallow any questions that rise in your throat. König’s eyes flick to her in the mirror, and he responds with his usual composure. “At once. We’ll be there shortly.”

. . .

The car stops smoothly at bar's entrance. König steps out first, opening the door for your Mother with a practised ease, her familiar jumping out behind her. She whispers something to König that you don't catch, and he nods solemnly before rounding the car to help you.

He then goes to your door, offering you a hand which you take with a soft thanks. His grip lingers on yours however. “Sybil and I will be right here.” His voice is soft, steady, even though you can see the slight tension in his jaw. He gently squeezes your hand before finally letting go, settling back against the car with folded arms and a watchful gaze even under the mask.

With one final look, you follow inside after your Mother.

Inside the bar, the world falls silent. The regular patrons, familiar faces who would normally greet you with nods or smiles, freeze at the sight of your Mother. She strides forward with Cath Palug keeping pace beside her, his slitted eyes glinting dangerously.

“Everyone, out.” Laswell’s voice cuts through the silence, firm and resolute. She doesn’t need to repeat herself. Chairs scrape across the floor as patrons hurriedly exit, their glances lingering on the two of you before quickly darting away.

You follow after your Mother, feeling like a shadow—silent, resigned, and drawn along by her intense presence. She halts before Laswell, Cath Palug twisting around her feet, her movements slow and foreboding.

Laswell’s gaze flicks between the two of you. “To what do I owe this… visit?” she asks cautiously, her usual confidence strained.

Your Mother doesn’t waste a second. “The Le Fay coven withdraws its support. Effective immediately,” she declares, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Laswell’s face blanches, her mouth opening in protest. “Surely there’s something we can discuss—”

Your Mother raises her hand sharply, silencing Laswell mid-sentence. “Enough.” Her tone is cold, final. “I’ve seen the state of things. Your judgement is clouded, and this establishment has drifted too far from what it once was.”

For years, the Le Fay coven had been her most steadfast ally. They’d depended on her just as much as she on them—a mutual pact so deeply woven it felt unbreakable. And yet, here your Mother stands, wielding her power to sever it with a single decision. She speaks with the conviction of one who knows her word is law.

There’s no room for Laswell to manoeuvre, no path to reverse what’s been done. You watch her expression flicker from anger to desperate resolve, and finally, to a bleak resignation. She glances your way, perhaps seeking some support. But before you can even gather the strength to respond, your Mother snaps her fingers, and the effect is instantaneous.

Laswell’s pleading expression crumbles, her gaze clearing as though an unseen fog has lifted from her mind. “I… what—” she stammers, blinking rapidly, as if seeing the room and the two of you for the first time.

“Consider this a lesson,” your Mother says with a hint of a sardonic smile. She turns sharply, her familiar trotting behind her in perfect synchronisation. You glance back at Laswell, once your friend and confidant. The desperation painted all over her face is now replaced with stunned silence.

Without a glance towards you, your Mother’s peaks. “We’re going home.”

Her words settle over you like a sentence to exile from this place you once thought of as your real home. Though she doesn’t say it, you understand—she’s making it clear: you’ll never set foot here again. You do nothing more than nod in silent acceptance.

The price you’ve paid feels almost unnamable, yet you bear it without a word, quietly resigning yourself to the weight of the path you’ve chosen.

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thegnomelord · 2 years ago

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Hii, here for the prompt game of yours!

What about prompt 1. Where the reader is the one suggesting it to Ghost? Like, big ass guy sitting on your lap I think it'll be interesting. If you haven't gotten any ideas maybe there aren't enough seats in a vehicle and he's forced to just sit? But if you've already got a few ideas for this please use yours instead! I love your writing and how your brain works.

You've been doing great! Thank you for your hard work! Fighting man

Anon you and I share the same brain waves lol I legit made that prompt with Ghost in mind :Dd Play the game HERE

Prompt: "Do you-" "If you suggest I sit in your lap I'll kill you."

CW:NSFW, Sub Top M!Reader, Dom Bottom Ghost, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, quickies.

Simon's going to kill him. Stab him, shoot him, feed him to the dogs. And Johnny just looks at him like an innocent puppy with a smug look in his eyes. Of course Soap would suggest going to Vegas and of course he'd rent a car that's too small to fit them all, and of course Simon's the last one to get in...

"Come on LT, hop in already." The Scotsman grins, settling next to you in the back. Gaz is riding shotgun and Price's behind the wheel since he doesn't trust any of you to drive. "Wouldn't want to miss out on loosing all yer money."

Simon's contemplating strapping Soap on the roof or sticking him in the car's boot when you pat your thighs. "Do you-"

"If you suggest I sit in your lap I'll kill you." He cuts you off, glaring at you. He knows he's dead on the target when you give a sheepish grin, honestly he doesn't understand why you'd want him of all people to sit on your lap when he's at least a hundred pounds heavier than you.

"Oh come on Ghost," But you just give a charming grin, confident like a chihuahua against a wolf. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself." You raise your arms up in surrender, giving him your best puppy eyes.

"Fine," Ghost relents. The shuffle into the car is awkward and he bumps his head on the roof a couple of times, knees knocking into yours before he finally sits down. He's not even surprised when your arms wrap around his waist and you pull him down on your lap further, your hands unable to meet on his front from how big he is.

"That's a comfortable seat, yeah?" Gaz snorts as you nuzzle your nose into his broad back, he's so big you can't even look over his shoulder, his weight pressing down fully on you.

"Aye, look happy like a hog in shite." Johnny snickers, trying and failing to duck from Ghost's hand, ending up getting knocked upside the head. "Ow- that hurt!"

"There's nothing inside there to hurt." Ghost snarks, feeling your chest shake as you muffle your snickers into his back.

"Settle down boys." Price grumbles as Gaz laughs next to him, Price's eyes meeting both Simon's and Johnny's. They mutter out low 'yes sir's before he humphs, turning the car on. The engine rumbles to life like a dying geriatric.

"Christ MacTavish where did you find this piece of shite?" Ghost asks incredulously, and Johnny answers something in Gaelic. He looses track of time when he starts bickering with Johnny until Price turns on the radio, resulting in Gaz and Soap belting out songs at the top of their lungs. He feels your hands squeeze around him, reminding him that he's currently sat on your lap; strange how he could forget that.

The drive to Vegas is hell, the road's bumpy like a teenager's pimply face and Simon bumps his head on the car's ceiling every time Price drives over a pothole. It wouldn't be as bad if he didn't feel. . .you. . . brush against his arse every time it happened.

He was lucky he was wearing his mask so no one would notice how hot he became, hands clenching into fists each time your cock poked him, his throat becoming dry. He could feel you stiffen, suffering under the same problem he was, heat slowly burning in your veins.

And of course Price had to pick the bumpiest road he could, not a second would go without the car rocking and making you grind against him, the bloody bastard probably did it on purpose. At least none of them mentioned how you and Ghost had become silent, you literally biting down on his jacket to keep silent.

Finally after a few hours of hell on wheels Price stop at a gas station that looks like it hasn't seen human life since the 80's. Simon doesn't even wait for the car to shut off before he's jumping out of it, "With me," he growls with a hand firmly grasping the front of your clothes.

You don't resist him as he pulls you into an equally sleazy bathroom, the type of which you'd find in a brothel. "Simon, what-" You suck in a breath as he all but throws you down on the toilet lid, locking the stall behind him.

"Shut'it." Simon growls, pulling his face mask down to kiss you roughly, blindly opening your pants to fish out your cock. You're both hard as rocks, Simon separates from the kiss to push his fingers against your lips. "Open."

Simon groans as you take his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his fingers. If you had more time Simon would have had you eat him out, but fingers will have to do for now, especially with how you look when he catches your tongue between his fingers.

"So eager." Ghost hums, undoing his belt and dropping his pants and underwear, bracing a hand on your shoulder as he leans down and roughly pushes two fingers inside him. He groans and kisses you again, quickly stretching himself just enough so he doesn't tear anything.

"Just for you." You mutter against his lips, sucking in a breath when Simon pulls his fingers out, spits on his hand and lubes your cock.

"You better be." He grins, swiftly turning around so his back is facing you. Holding your cock in one hand he moves so your tip is poking his hole, slowly sinking down. Your hands fly to his hips, gripping firmly but not trying to slow him down. "Yeah, that's a good lad." He groans, relishing the burn and stretch, the sizzle of pain muddling with pleasure, electricity running up his spine.

God, he's so big compared to you it does your head in, your hips bucking up to meet his, chasing the tight heat enveloping your cock. "Fuck, Si," You groan, biting the back of his jacket to silence your moans as Simon starts riding you. He's unable to get a good leverage with the awkward position so you two end up rutting like animals, your hand coming around to stroke his cock, feeling his walls tighten around you.

You two cum in record time, a low moan leaving his lips as he shoots cum across the stall door. His hole flutters and clenches around you, muttering 'come on, give it to me' over and over again until you're cumming inside him, his walls milking you for all you have.

You feel him slump against you, tight heat still trying to pull more cum from you. You both are breathing heavy, bliss coursing through your veins as you tilt your head to kiss the nape of his neck lazily.

"Oi, quit snogging else we're leaving yer here!" Johnny's voice rings from the other side of the stall door.

Oh, you are going to kill him.

#Gnome's Prompt Game #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #cod modern warfare #cod smut #cod x male reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley x reader

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radioactivatedspider · 25 days ago

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Deal With The Devil

Main Masterlist Supernatural Masterlist

Pairings; Dean Winchester x Reader

Genre; Supernatural Drama, Angst, Tragedy, Romance (Bittersweet)

Warnings; Character Death (temporary), Blood and Injury, Grief and Emotional Distress, Demonic Pact / Crossroads Deal, Implied Afterlife / Hell Consequences, Canon-Typical Violence and Themes

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, Dean loses the one person he can't live without. Grief-stricken and desperate, he returns to the crossroads to make one more deal—no matter the cost. She comes back. He pays the price. And she never finds out.

486 words

The Impala was too quiet.

Dean sat behind the wheel, fingers locked around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He hadn’t turned the engine off. The low purr of Baby’s motor filled the void she left behind. Still warm blood stained his jeans. Hers.

Y/N had died in his arms.

A ghoul, a hunt gone sideways, one second too late. Her eyes had locked with his in those final moments—glassier than he’d ever seen them, full of pain, and worse—peace. Like she knew. Like she accepted it.

Dean hadn’t.

He still didn’t.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, voice cracking. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. “This isn’t how this goes. Not you. Not you, sweetheart.”

Sam had tried to stop him. Told him they couldn’t open that door again—no deals, no crossroads, no Hell. But Dean was already gone before Sam could finish the sentence. The Impala tore through back roads like it had a vendetta.

Dean knew exactly where the nearest crossroads was. Hell, he’d been there before.

And here he was again.

Midnight. A tin box, a picture of her, her favorite necklace, and a few bones buried six inches deep. Done.

The air turned colder.

“I was wondering when you'd show up, Winchester.”

Dean turned around slowly. The demon had a pretty face this time—red lips, leather jacket, eyes that glinted like obsidian. But it didn’t matter. They were all the same underneath.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Of course I do. The girl. Pretty thing. Shame about what happened to her spleen.”

Dean didn’t flinch. “Bring her back.”

The demon tilted her head. “You know how this works. Your soul for hers.”

“I’ve done it before,” he said quietly. “I’ll do it again.”

She smirked. “You’re not exactly a hot commodity in Hell anymore, Dean. You're used goods. I’m gonna need something… extra.”

Dean stepped forward, close enough that she could see the wildness in his eyes. “I don’t care what it costs. Just bring her back.”

The demon circled him, humming thoughtfully. “You’re serious. You always are when it comes to love, aren’t you? Daddy issues and all that. Still trying to save everyone but yourself.”

“Shut up.”

Her smile grew. “Fine. You get her back. But this time, no loopholes. No sneaky Winchester tricks. She lives. You suffer.”

“Deal.”

She raised her eyebrows. “No hesitation?”

“I said—deal.”

They shook on it.

The sky cracked open.

Dean’s world tilted when he saw her again—standing in the bunker kitchen barefoot, wearing one of his flannels, holding a mug like she’d just woken up from a nap.

“Dean?” she said, eyes blinking slowly. “What—what happened?”

He crossed the room in seconds, cupping her face, kissing her like a dying man.

And when she finally pulled back, confused, smiling, alive—he smiled too. Broken. Relieved. Destroyed.

Because he didn’t tell her what it cost.

He never would.

#x oc #x reader #x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x oc #supernatural x reader #supernatural x oc #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x you #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x you #dean x reader

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chapelofdread · 1 month ago

Text

too late for love ⋆₊˚⊹♡

part 3

dean winchester x hunter!reader

wc: 3.5k

summary based loosely-ish on 4x14 sex and violence. a late night lift from dean turns into something heavier, spiralling into a long-overdue conversation about everything that's been left unsaid. turns out, some things never really change...

warnings slight ooc most likely, little bit spicy & freaky (dryhumping), proper smut incoming (part 4, i promise!) under the cut 18+ ! MDNI pls 4 the love of god !, a lot of angst in this part (dean tells reader about hell), friends to enemies to lovers type beat.

read part 4 here !

playlist for part 3:

i still think about you - danger danger

never want to lose you - helix

the price - twisted sister

sometimes she cries - warrant

feels like love - danger danger

send me an angel - scorpions

♪ baby, i remember when you and me were best of friends, we crossed our hearts and swore it was forever, but i guess that lovin' me was just a temporary thing ♪

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you step out into the cool night, taking the stairs down to the parking lot. the air is heavy and quiet, with the exception of the soft buzz of the motel’s vacancy sign, the occasional bark of a dog somewhere down the block and the sound of your boots on the asphalt. dean falls into step beside you as the two of you make your way into the parking lot, his hands buried in his jacket pockets.

the impala is the first thing that catches your eye, sleek and low, gleaming under the flickering light of the lot. god, you had missed this car.

dean runs a hand along the roof, reaching down and opening the passenger door with a creak. he curtsies slightly, with a mock flourish of his hands, gesturing for you to get in. “shotgun’s all yours, princess,” he says, “think she misses you.”.

you slip into the familiar black leather passenger seat, the scent of aged leather and motor oil, mixed with notes of iron and gunpowder and the faintest smell of dean’s cologne, wafting up from the interior of the car.

you thought back to the last time you’d seen her, basically eviscerated, in bobby’s scrapyard. he’d kept good care of her since then. the glovebox was still bulging with tapes, filled to the brim with the boys’ fake ids and one of dean’s flasks. whether it held holy water or a half a quart of whiskey, you had no idea. although, you had a sneaking suspicion it might be the latter.

he slides in beside you, turning the key in the ignition. the impala purrs under you, engine rumbling to life and breaks the silence of the empty parking lot. reaching over to the centre console, he raps his knuckles over the top of it. “go on, sweetheart”, he says, “pick a tape.” he urges quietly, pulling out of the lot and onto the street.

you glance at him, raising an eyebrow quizzically, then reach for the console, popping it open with a click. the sight of dean’s cassette tapes, all slightly scuffed and worn, sends a wave of nostalgia crashing over you. zeppelin, metallica, kansas, ac/dc - all of dean’s favourites. you sift through the pile absentmindedly, until one particular cassette tape catches your eye.

the tape has a cracked clear case. faded ink on the label. your handwriting. you freeze, your hand hovering mid-air over the cassette. the words are smudged, the ink having bled over the course of the last year. you remember the night you started compiling songs for the tape, sitting on bobby’s porch with your feet up on the railing, pen in hand. you blink down at it, remembering the way the plastic had felt in your hands the night that you had given it to him.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

the sun was low in the sky when dean had finally emerged from the garage that day, wiping his hands on a rag. you had stopped him halfway up the porch steps. you knew the boys wouldn’t be hanging around much longer - jobs were starting to pile up and the impala was now operational.

“hey.” you’d said softly, your voice catching ever so slightly as you followed him up the stairs. he paused momentarily, turning back to you “yeah?” he’d questioned.

you had reached into your pocket then, pulling out the tape. “don’t you dare laugh.” you had said earnestly, your eyebrows knitted together seriously, “it’s just i know you guys’ll be heading off any moment now. ‘n i made you something…” you paused, pressing the cassette into his hand, “for the road”.

he had looked down at the tape, turning it over in his hand, a smile tugging at his lips. “no skips, huh? bossy.” he had commented sarcastically, his eyes locked with yours. “thanks sweetheart. really.”

and that was that. he tucked the tape into the back pocket of his jeans and made his way back into the house. they had left the next morning.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you swallow the lump that has crept up into your throat as the memory flicks through your mind, a reminder of better days.

dean glances over to you now, eyes flicking from the road. “didn’t think i’d still have it, did you, sweetheart?” he says softly, watching as you drag your fingertips lightly over the plastic case of the tape, turning it over in your hands.

“didn’t even think you’d remember it. didn’t think you still cared. figured you’d have chucked it…y’know after everything that happened.” you replied in a whisper, still processing the shock that after it all, after all this time, he had kept it.

“yeah, well…” he turns his head to the road now, one hand resting on the wheel, “just didn’t have the heart to toss it.”. he shifts in his seat, the rumble of the impala’s engine filling the space between you both.

“you ever play it?” you look up at him, catching the way his hand tightens ever-so-slightly on the wheel.

he huffs out a breath. “yeah. more than once.” he returns your glance for a second, his eyes flicking between you and the road. “used to put it on on bad nights. after a hunt went wrong, or when sam was passed out and i couldn’t sleep.” he pauses, his mouth quirking at the corners. “songs started to warp a bit. tape got stretched out. i still played her.”.

you look down at the cassette in your hands and then up at the road. the silence is suffocating, your voice barely audible as you speak “i made it for you, dean. meant every song on there.”.

“i know.” his voice is low, serious. “i could tell.”.

the headlights catch the edge of the motel as he pulls the car into the lot, the engine humming for another second before dean turns the key, silencing it. neither of you move. neither of you look at each other.

the quiet in the car stretches uncomfortably, taut and brittle, as the car dies beneath you. the motel parking lot is cloaked in stillness. you can hear the ticking of the impala’s cooling engine, the sound of your own breath in your chest.

the weight of everything hits you all at once, the words rising before you can stop them - bitter and sharp and one too many years late - as you turn to him slowly, voice tight and cracking at the edges.

“i was there for you for months, dean. months. no call, no word, no nothing. i didn’t know if you were even still alive. hell, i’d almost stopped caring if you were. and then…” you take a shaky breath, “and then…”, your words harden in your throat, “i see you with that girl. like it didn’t even matter to you, like i didn’t even matter to you.”

your voice cracks ever so slightly, vulnerability wavering in the air as you meet his eyes, “and don’t you dare say we didn’t ever have anything. don’t you dare. because, i know you felt it. i felt it too. and if you could stop being a complete prick for just one second, maybe then i could just have some fucking closure.”

your confession renders dean silent. he sits there in the driver’s seat, jaw clenched and knuckles white on the steering wheel. you think for a second you’ve been too harsh, that he might not say anything at all. might leave you again, without anything. but then, he exhales, long and shaky, like he’s dragging some demon out of himself.

“i know,” he says hoarsely, “you’re right. you’re always right. i shoulda called, shoulda told you something. but i couldn’t. i went to hell, y/n.” he turns to face you, eyes glassy, brows furrowed with the weight of something between regret and anger. “what was i meant to say? that i’d sold my soul? that i was just countin’ down the days until they claimed me?”

you stare at him with blank eyes, completely stunned. “i made a deal for sam,” dean says, voice breaking ever so slightly, “sam was dead. he died. i had to do something. and i knew from the moment that i sealed it, i wasn’t comin’ back. no loopholes. no way out. so i started pushing people away. started pushing you away. it wasn’t easy, but i knew…”, he takes an uncharacteristically long breath, trying to swallow whatever words were threatening to spill out, “i knew if i saw you again, if i let myself need you again, then i wouldn’t be able to go.”

he runs a hand over his face, “that girl, the one you saw me with at the roadhouse, she wasn’t anything. she was a distraction. i was spiraling, trying to outrun what i knew was coming. trying to pretend i wasn’t completely fucking terrified. tryin’ to feel anything but the fear. part of me knew i was doomed. i was with her because she didn’t know me. didn't look at me and see someone worth savin’. didn’t look at me like you do.” he mutters quietly, emotion tugging at his voice.

“i didn’t walk away from you to protect you. i walked away because i knew what was coming. i made a deal. i did. and the second that clock started ticking, i knew i wasn’t going to make it out of there clean. i was on borrowed time. hell’s not the kinda place you just ‘crawl back’ from, sweetheart. you know that. and if by some miracle i did come back…” he trails off, unable to hold eye contact with you, “i didn’t know who i might be. didn’t want you to be there to see what they’d turn me into. to see when they turned me into one of ‘em. a monster.”.

his eyes are glued to the floor of the impala now, as if he can’t bear to look at you. “i thought if i stayed close, you might come looking for me. you’d try to fight it. try to fight them. you’d get yourself hurt…or even worse, killed. so i made it ugly. i made you hate me. because if you hated me, i knew. i knew that there was no chance you’d stay. no chance you’d follow me”.

he turns to you now, that quiet, pained vulnerability showing on his face, tears beginning to brim in his eyes. “i never stopped thinking about you. never stopped caring about you. not for one second, dammit.” he breathes, a slow inhale, breaking the silence between you two.

“even when i was rotting down there for what felt like an eternity. even when i’d lost myself. lost you, lost bobby, lost sammy. you were still the thing i held onto. even when they were tearing me apart down there, when i did things that made me forget who i was. even when i forgot my own goddamn name. you were the only good thing. the only thing that made me feel human. and…” he holds your gaze, almost pleading at you for forgiveness, “i couldn’t bear the thought of coming back, just waltzing back in, because it would have hurt you. i couldn’t bear it, sweetheart.”

you’re shocked into silence at his confession. you had no idea. bobby hadn’t even told you about any of it. not sam’s death, not the deal, not dean going to hell, or being dragged back. it was all starting to make sense now. the way the boys had just seemed to disappear from your life. the way bobby’s updates had seemed to centre on sam. you’d thought he was just protecting you from dean, he’d known you were hurt. but now you knew. all this time, and no one had told you dean had been in the pit.

dean takes a moment to compose himself. “i’m not askin’ for forgiveness,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “i know i don’t deserve it. but i need you to know. i need you to know that i didn’t leave because i stopped caring. i left because i couldn’t bear the thought of you watching me die. i couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

you reach out across the console, brushing your hand over his jaw softly. you can barely breathe. he flinches, barely, but he doesn’t pull away. “dean…” your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to, barely more than a breath. your fingers linger at the edge of his jaw, lightly tracing the stubble that lies there. you can feel the tension beneath his skin, his teeth clenched.

“i thought you stopped caring, dean,” you admit, your voice trembling, “i thought you forgot me.”.

dean’s eyes close and you can feel him tense again under your touch. “no. god, no,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “i tried to. in the beginning. i’ll admit that. i thought that maybe if i did, it’d be easier.”.

your breath comes out in a shudder and you blink hard, trying to stop the sting of tears which threaten to spill over at any moment. “you could’ve told me, dean. i would’ve stayed by you. you know that. i wouldn’t have run. wouldn’t have let you go through all of that alone. i can’t imagine it…”, you glance up at him, unable to continue.

“i know,” he finally chokes out, slowly meeting your gaze, “but i couldn’t risk it. if i’d seen you again, i don’t know if i would’ve gone. i wouldn’t have been able to.” he looks away now, jaw tightening. “and sammy…sammy wouldn’t be here if i hadn’t.”

he stiffens slightly under your hand, slowly reaching up to remove it from his jaw and into his lap, squeezing it weakly with his own. you turn to face him as he does, voice small and trembling. “i missed you,” you whisper, “so damn much, dean.”.

he flicks his eyes over to you, holds your gaze with tears in his eyes, “i missed you too,” he breathes, the words cracking as they move from his mouth and into the space between you, “more than you know, sweetheart.”.

the weight of everything settles into the silence that falls over you both, thick and trembling with everything that has happened over the past year. dean’s eyes stay locked on yours, swimming with guilt and remorse. your hand slowly moves to his arm, grounding him, as your gaze flicks quickly, unintentionally to his lips.

and that’s all it takes. dean’s breath hitches in his throat and he moves instinctively, reaching up to cradle your face, calloused thumb brushing lightly over your own cheek. he presses you to his forehead. and then he speaks, hoarse and low, “i’ve wanted this for so long.”

and then he kisses you. it’s soft, unsure, careful, like he’s afraid you’re not really there. like you’re not really real. but when you don’t pull back, don’t stop him, when your fingers find the front of his jacket and tug him towards you over the console, something breaks loose. the kiss deepens, raw and hungry and heavy with a years worth of silence and regret.

you slide your hand along his jaw again, reminding yourself that this is real. that dean is real. he kisses you like he’s making up for every second, for every moment since he’d left you back at bobby’s. it’s desperate and clumsy, his hand trembling slightly as it moves from your cheek, down to your waist, his fingers rolling slowly over your hip bone, ever so slightly pressing into your flesh.

your breath hitches against his mouth, and you angle yourself into his touch, his grip on you tightening for the briefest moment. he brings his hand down from your cheek, fingers ghosting over your neck and then your shoulders, to your tits. he cups one of them, using his thumb to press over your clothed nipple, and you moan quietly into his mouth.

you shift instinctively, chasing the warmth of his hands. it’s all heat now and both of you are desperate. dean pulls back just enough to breathe, lips brushing yours as he mutters, low and rough, “c’mere.”, moving one of his hands to his thigh.

you hesitate for a second before moving, climbing over the console with a knee on your seat and your hand braced on his shoulders. he leans back, letting you settle onto his lap, like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before.

he exhales shakily, hands landing heavy on your hips. “jesus,” he breathes against your throat, letting his mouth trail there, sucking and biting, “you don’t know what you do to me.”.

you roll your hips slightly against him, teasing, breath catching at the feel of him already hard beneath you. “i think i’ve got a pretty good idea…” you lean down to whisper in his ear, voice heavy, “…dean.”.

he groans, low and guttural, mouth dragging, hot and slow, along the ridges of your collarbone. his hands flex at your waist, like he’s waiting for permission.

you rock forward again, grinding down on him, deliberate and hungry, your lips brushing over his jaw. his grip tightens as he pulls you down into him, his mouth crashing into yours, all tongue and pent-up need. it’s messy and greedy. the weight of the last year spilling up and out into the front seat of the impala.

his hands grip your hips as you grind down again, slower this time - intentional. the sound that leaves his throat is broken, practically obscene, as he drags his mouth from your collarbone, across your jaw and back to your lips.

he pulls you flush against him, almost like he wants to swallow you whole, his dick straining against his jeans. you almost mewl at the contact.

“you’re gonna kill me.” he mutters into your mouth, kissing you again, slower this time. your foreheads rest together as you both catch your breath, his hands still gripping, pawing, at your sides like you’ll disappear in front of his eyes if he lets go.

“we’re really doing this, huh?” you murmur, your eyes shut, your forehead pressed to his.

his hands tighten around your waist. “doesn’t even feel real, princess.” he whispers back, voice wrecked.

he pulls back then, just an inch, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. his gaze flicks to your mouth, then back up to your eyes, something wicked curling at the corner of his lips. a smirk that’s pure dean winchester.

there’s a pause, charged and knowing, and his eyes cut toward the dash as he shifts his posture. the suggestion is unspoken, but it’s there. you know him all too well. he gestures (not so) subtly to the backseat with a tilt of his head - a wordless offer.

you let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, head shaking as your brow lifts in disbelief at him. he doesn’t say a word, glancing up at you with a smug look on his face before his grin grows. god, he’s shameless. he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you blink at him, incredulous. “oh my god,” you say, “you’ve got nerve.”.

you roll your eyes, pressing down on him out of spite. “dean winchester, if you think you’re gonna fuck me in this car, you’re a bigger idiot than i thought.”

he laughs at that, a quiet, breathy sound which sits low in his chest, a grin tugging lazily at the corners of his mouth as you pin him with a look that could have exorcised a demon.

“oh come on, baby. what’d you expect?” he looks behind to the back jokingly, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“i expected a little restraint.”, you tease.

“restraint,” he repeats, voice rough and wrecked, “sweetheart, i’ve been restraining myself for over a year.”.

his hands stay on your hips, fingers flexing slightly. he doesn’t push it, just looks right up at you, eyes locked on yours.

your fingers brush his collar, tugging at the edge of his jacket a little. you lean in, just close enough for your lips to graze his cheek, your breath warm against his skin.

“i’ve got a room, dean,” you murmur into the shell of his ear, “y’know that right”.

his grin falters for half a second, but you catch it, the spark in his eyes flickering, searching your face like he’s not sure he’s heard you right.

you nudge his shoulder, before reaching over him to open the door without waiting for a response. the night air is cool, sharp against your flushed skin, as you step out onto the gravel, casting one last glance over your shoulder at him through the open door.

“you comin’, or what, winchester?”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖑'𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑 whew i had to get that convo out of the way b4 i let them freak it lol (character building etc.) ꩜ part 4 is incoming and i think we all know might happen between these two ;) ⛧ hope you enjoyyy<3

#⁶𖤐⁶chapel of dread #dean winchester #supernatural #the winchester brothers #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #sam and dean #spn #dean x y/n #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x hunter!reader #dean winchester x you #too late for love

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safeturnip · 4 months ago

Text

hey beautiful, what's a girl like you doing living all by yourse- wait, why are you screaming and pointing a cross at me

words: 2.9k

characters: GeminiTay, PearlescentMoon, Scott Smajor, ImpulseSV

summary: Gem moves into a new apartment and discovers an . . . unwanted guest.

additional tags: horror, feelings of isolation, mild body horror

(written for round 2 of soul searching for @mcyt-soulmate-sweepstakes !!)

AO3 link

***

Gem stared at the screen of her laptop, waiting for it to boot up, silently willing the circuitry to work faster. Stubbornly, the screen remained black, even as the sound of the fans whirring drowned out the ever-present muffled creaking and rattling of the apartment complex’s pipes. While the laptop struggled along, Gem cast a furtive glance around the confines of her two-room apartment—nothing. There was no one else here. It was just her.

Of course it’s just me, Gem thought, trying to will her thoughts into reassuring territory and falling short. Who else would—

A flash of light from her laptop caught her attention, and she turned back to the offending electronic device. It’d finally turned on, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief, dragging it closer to her across the desk and immediately opening up the search engine, quickly typing in her query.

“‘DIY exorcism’?” a voice questioned from directly behind Gem, reading out the text in the search bar. Every muscle in Gem’s body locked up. Slowly, she turned in her chair to face the source of that voice, dread pooling in her chest, wishing with every fibre of her being that there would be nothing there. Yet she knew that her paltry wishing was not enough to will away what she knew she’d see.

Behind her was a woman with long honey-brown hair, and grey-blue eyes that seemed to catch and ensnare the near-dingy lighting of the apartment. Overtop her white T-shirt was a black hoodie, unzipped and with the hood half-pulled over her head, her hands tucked in the pockets of her jean shorts. Her mouth had the slightest tension at the corners like she was torn between laughing or bursting into tears.

“Planning on evicting me?” the woman asked, tipping her head to the side. “That’d be so rude of you, Gem.”

Still not saying anything, Gem dug her fingers into the backrest of the chair, staring at the woman—no, the ghost—in front of her.

“Nothing? No Hi, Pearl, how’ve you been? No It’s been so long, I’m so happy to see you again! My feelings are so hurt.” The ghost—Pearl—twisted her expression into something resembling moroseness while Gem continued to stare at her tension-filled trepidation.

The longer she looked at Pearl, the more off she appeared. Her edges weren’t quite as solid as they should be; they were blurry and almost transparent, as if she was being viewed through a shimmering screen of heat. She was too still—she didn’t blink or breathe, she didn’t shift with the minute, barely-there motions of the truly alive. She didn’t have a shadow, as if light simply forgot that she existed and slid straight through her, as easy as a butcher’s knife through meat and bone and tendon. It was obvious how dead a thing she was.

Gem hadn’t been blind to the apartment’s faults when she’d purchased it; in fact, the landlord of the apartment complex had told her directly about this unfortunate feature of the room.

“Yep, it's haunted!” he’d cheerfully informed her when she’d come to view the room. She’d spotted the listing in a newspaper and had been surprised and tentatively optimistic over the low price. The landlord added, “I’ve set the price so low because of the constant complaints of ‘supernatural’ occurrences happening in the room.” It was clear from the verbal air quotes he’d put around supernatural that he didn’t believe there was anything of the sort actually happening in the room. “You know, the usual horror movie crap—doors closing by themselves; crying and giggling heard when no one else is in the room with you; loud thumps that wake you up in the middle of the night.”

Gem hadn’t responded, just waited for the landlord to run out of words. His hair was the same dark brown as the paneling around the base of the hallway walls, the same dark brown as the door that led to the supposedly haunted apartment room. His eyes were a couple shades lighter than the dark green carpet, raised off the floor here and there from the slight warping of the wood floor beneath. The price of the apartment had already been enough to convince Gem to buy it, she just needed to get to the point where she could put her name down on the lease.

“Yeah, it’s gotten so bad that all the previous tenants had to leave without notice because of how concerned they were for their safety.” Despite talking about such an off-putting topic, the landlord still had a genial smile on his face, the exact same smile he’d been wearing when Gem first stopped by, a newspaper clipping in her hand and nowhere else to return to. Gem idly wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

The landlord continued: “My . . . friend said he thinks that there being a ghost in here—” with the hand not braced on his cane, he gestured loosely at the apartment beside them “—is a whole load of hogwash, and honestly, I have to agree with him. I’ve personally stayed in this room for a week and had nothing bad happen to me. If you do plan to move in here, I’m sure you’ll be fine!”

“Thank you,” Gem said, the first words she’d spoken outside of a polite greeting. She summoned up a pleasant smile, and added, “Do you mind if I take a quick look at the room?”

“Sure, sure.” The landlord unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Take your time; I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” He shot her a parting two-fingered salute then turned and left, the thump of his cane against the floor muffled by the carpet.

Gem hadn’t given the apartment more than a cursory sweep—one room that was a bedroom with a kitchen attached, the other room the bathroom—before taking the two flights of stairs down to the landlord’s office. She’d signed the lease, handed over a not-inconsiderable amount of the cash she had left, and the apartment was hers.

And for a while, everything had been fine. There were no ghosts, no supernatural occurrences, just the normal good and bad that came from living in a new place.

Good: rent was cheap; the windows were closed, had locks, and were leak-proof; the bed was wedged into one of the corners of the room, surrounded by walls on two out of the four sides; wifi was an amenity included in the rent, which was a pleasant surprise during Gem’s first few days adjusting to the apartment.

Bad: the floor right by her dresser creaked whenever she walked over it; the rooms were cramped in a way where she’d bang her elbows and knees against furniture she swore was further away the last time she checked; her clothes always somehow managed to slip off the hangers no matter how securely she hung them up.

But they were minor annoyances she could live around. The more important thing was that she’d found somewhere warm and dry and affordable to live—somewhere far, far away from Scott and Impulse.

In front of her, Pearl drifted closer—not walked, she would need to have bone and muscle in order to walk—the look in her eyes curious. Gem’s laptop lay forgotten on the desk, beside the television set that took up half of the desk whose default channel was crackling static, all her attention focused on the apparition before her. Pearl looked exactly the same as when Gem had seen her for the very first time.

Her first appearance hadn’t been accompanied with an ominous thundercrack, or a streak of lightning knifing through the sky, or the temperature dropping to below freezing. It had just been: One day, Gem turned on the lights in the bathroom, then saw, in the mirror behind her, a woman with brown hair and flint-blue eyes. The only reaction to seeing a stranger in her apartment had been the slow, dull thought of Oh—this may as well happen. It hadn’t even registered to her at first that Pearl wasn’t actually there, it wasn’t until the lights flickered and Gem turned around to see nothing, that she’d realized.

Gem had just thought it to be a one-time thing, had thought it to be a product of too many sleepless nights. But then the strangeness had continued: glasses of water hovering centimetres above the desk’s surface, a spark crackling in the gas range stove when she was in the bathroom, a dark figure lurking in the corner of the room when the only illumination came from the night time street lamps outside. And it was then that the label of the situation was changed from one-off hallucination to a haunting.

“That’s what I love about you, Gem,” Scott would always say to her, over the remnants of a late breakfast, or at three in the morning when the world was still asleep, or backstage after one of their performances, his wry smile illuminated by dimmed stage lights. “You’re so . . . decisive. It’s—when you want something, you know you want it, and you just go for it! I find that admirable.”

And when Gem left everything behind, burnt all the bridges between herself and her band members, she couldn’t help but think of Scott telling her that—you’re so decisive. That it was that decisiveness spurring her to move on and away so easily. It was that decisiveness contributing to her decision of staying at this apartment despite the constant haunting in her life, along with her slowly depleting store of money, along with her unwillingness to do it all again, pick up all her possessions and find another place. Of course it was her decisiveness, it was all her own choice to stay in this situation she’d created for herself.

Pearl was leaning over slightly, peering over Gem’s shoulder to look at the laptop screen, muttering something that sounded like “surprised you’re not looking at the job market”, and it was that decisiveness that had Gem clenching her hands into fists to hide their trembling as she said, “I don’t want you in my space, Pearl.” Gem rested a hand on the keyboard of the laptop, half-turning to continue her search. “And you refuse to go, so now I have to find a way to force you to leave.”

If she’d still been facing Pearl, she would’ve seen Pearl’s expression go blank, a wall with its covering facade of wallpaper stripped away to reveal the old, rotting dilapidation hidden underneath.

A sharp crackle of black static across the screen was Gem’s only warning before an invisible force slammed her laptop shut—Gem was barely able to pull her fingers out of the way. Gem spun around to face Pearl again, and choked back a scream, jolting away so violently that the edge of the desk slammed into her back. She barely registered the pain, her senses overrun by a panicked, clawing horror.

Pearl had changed. She no longer looked like a young woman—or, that wasn’t quite right; she looked like a person, but only in the loosest of senses. As if she was something that couldn’t possibly be described, and the definition of person had been stretched and pulled at and warped until it could finally fit around Pearl, leaving behind something just close enough to be recognizable, yet simultaneously so unnatural that it had every one of Gem’s instincts crying out for her to run.

There was something wrong with Pearl’s eyes. They were still the same grey-blue colour, but now they’d become stretched into something awful, lengthening vertically instead of horizontally, as though hooks had been inserted into her upper and lower eyelids and then pulled, forcing her eyes into that horrifying appearance. She hadn’t grown any larger in size, but her body now looked misshapen and elongated, a dead animal’s hide tacked down and spread out across a wooden stretcher. Her torso was now the same length as her legs, her arms and wrists and hands stretched out so that the tips of her fingers reached all the way down to her knees. She was a strung-out amalgamation of joints and limbs pulled gruesomely out of alignment.

With her transformation came a faint but permeating smell of rot and burning flesh, the light from the corner lamp flickering like a stuttering dying breath. Gem felt cornered, the desk digging into her back, and her gaze darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape or a weapon or some form—any form—of help. Unbidden, she thought, uselessly There is nowhere to hide in this tiny apartment.

Oh, Gem hadn’t always been afraid of Pearl. In the past, she could handle the radio switching itself on randomly, doors creaking slowly closed by themselves, waking up with her drawers and dressers flung open, their contents strewn messily around the room. But there hadn’t been any violence or outright aggression, there hadn’t been anything to make Gem consciously think she was in danger, and she thought she’d be able to live in relative peace with the ghost that had come with the apartment. But fear was a sneaky bastard. It had snuck up on her so quietly and so gradually that she didn’t notice it until its fingers were digging into her shoulders, its breath was ghosting across the back of her neck.

It had built and built, an underlying anxiousness of there being something foreign in your space, in an area that was supposed to be safe, that belonged to you and you only. And this sudden terrifying display of Pearl’s—slamming the laptop shut, her deformed appearance, the way she so easily manipulated the space around her—caused that subconscious build-up of fear to spill over, overrunning Gem’s mind, her senses, until all she knew was that scrabbling instinctual terror.

Pearl opened her mouth to speak, and the movement of her mouth wasn’t right, it was just a fake face mimicking the shape of words, but Gem still understood her perfectly when she said, “You’re stupid to think you can get rid of me, when I’ve been in this apartment for much longer than you have.”

Abruptly, Gem realized the temperature of the room had dropped, cold slithering through the space and dragging icy nails along Gem’s skin, her sharp, shallow breaths clouding in the air before her.

“Really, I thought you’d be grateful for the company,” Pearl said. “I’ve seen how you act, how you like to pretend that you’ve moved on from whatever it is you’re running from,” and Gem couldn’t breathe at those words, a vise crushing her lungs, at how Pearl had so easily reached into Gem’s mind and found the doors keeping thoughts Gem was so desperately trying to keep locked away, then wrenched them wide open so that—

Don't think about how she'd gotten a new phone number to ensure no one was able to contact her, but that didn't stop her from, whenever her phone rang, half-expecting to see one of two familiar numbers displayed on the screen. She never did.

Don’t think about how she would wake up in the morning, warm and disoriented, prepared to go downstairs and see Impulse cooking breakfast for her and Scott. Impulse always was the best at getting up on time in the mornings. But then she'd turn her head to the side and spot the kitchen of her new apartment just a couple steps away, and the reality of her situation would come crashing back down on her.

Don't think about how she was alone, how if everything truly had gone to plan she would never see Impulse and Scott ever again, and it was better for her this way, better to have isolated herself from them, especially after—

It took every ounce of Gem’s strength to wrestle that flood of memories down and away, but she managed it in the end, resurfacing to the pounding of her heart, adrenaline coursing hotly through her veins, her entire body trembling from fear or cold or sheer helplessness. The time where Gem hadn’t thought Pearl was dangerous felt as distant and far away as a ship sunk on the seafloor for centuries. I’m safe for now, was what she would tell herself whenever inanimate objects would start moving by themselves, whenever she heard an unfamiliar voice murmur nothing-words, and she habitually repeated that to herself now—yet directly on the heels of that assertion was a brand-new, traitorous thought of But for how much longer?

Pearl reached out with her wrecked, warped hands, with those spindly jointed fingers like the legs of spiders. She went to touch Gem’s shoulders, and Gem simultaneously felt and did not feel. She did not feel Pearl’s fingers or palms upon her body, because Pearl was dead—she felt an invisible heaviness coating her body, weighing her down, pinning her in place as her heart slammed against her rib cage and her breaths came out fast and shallow.

The thing before her smiled, and it was a terrible thing, hollow and inhuman. “But you’re all by yourself, far away from anything—anyone—familiar. You’re all alone.” Pearl didn’t move, but she seemed to grow in size, looming larger and larger over Gem until she blocked out the view of the rest of the apartment, until she was all Gem could see. “You’ve made sure of that.”

As suddenly as she'd appeared, Pearl vanished, taking with her the smell of burning decay and the guttering light, leaving Gem alone in her now-freezing apartment. Wrapping her arms around her midsection, Gem curled in on herself, and she shook and shook and struggled to get her breathing under control.

#life series #geminitay #gem #pearlescentmoon #pearl #scott smajor #impulsesv #shiny duo #gem and the scotts #mywriting #gonna admit that this is not my best work but. sometimes it just be like that

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stelladess · 6 months ago

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I feel like using very powerful operators but your own strategy that you thought of takes more skill then copying exactly one to one a low rarity guide with the same exact timings and operators and everything does.

Ive mentioned before I have played a LOT of yugioh in my life and in trading card game circles there is a term called "netdecking". Where basically you copy another person´s deck (usually from the internet, thereby the "net" part).

There are a lot of reasons why people consider it bad, it being uncreative, stealing another person´s work but the one relevant to my point here is that it requires no understanding of *why* the deck is constructed like it is.

In my opinion the best way to build your deck is to decide on what kind of deck you want, build a cheap but solid enough version of that as you can (konami is making the "cheap" part harder and harder of course but still, on master duel it is still doable for many). And then you play with it. You see what works and what doesnt, you iterate over time, removing cards you end up not having use for and adding stuff that will help your strategy or counter things that gives you trouble. A lot of these things you add may also be engines or staples you can then put into a new deck once your old one has fallen behind from power creep or gotten everything banned, although certain themes are convenient in that they almost always work at least (shaddolls, branded, bystials, tearlaments and zombies are all some of my favorite deck types in part because they are very resistant to getting outdated, dragon combo is another one like that I just do not like using it).

This way you understand why every single card is there. You learn how to use them and WHY you use them instead of some other card. The adjustments you make you know the reasoning that went into. So a netdeck might not be terrible as the first version, but you should iterate on it based on your experience if you do that, and try to think about why the person who made this deck made the decisions they did (I also think this might be a risky starting point because it will likely be much more expensive then the approach I outlined since most really good decks will have a lot of cards that either were already pricy or just shot up in price after that).

If you do not understand your deck you cannot play it well no matter how good the deck is.

I have a similar issue with following guides completely. Watching them and trying to understand why the person who made the strategy does what they do is good, but if you just copy them without trying to get the actual thinking behind the strategy you are just gonna be stuck playing increasingly difficult parts of the game without having had to overcome the challenge to get there.

Chapter 7 is one of my favorite chapters of Arknights from a pure gameplay perspective because it really kicked my ass when I first got to it as a new player. It forced me to see weaknesses in my own roster (no levelled shifters, lacking vanguards, etc). And my favorite map is H12-4 because it presented so many little problems to solve and to beat it was this long process of having to isolate each problem and figure out a solution to it, one that didn't step on the toes of a previous solution for another problem. And sure some of those solutions ended up being "pull for Eyjaberry so I dont have to worry so much about elemental damage" but it still meant I was thinking about what the actual challenges of the map were and how to counter those. But a key thing of H12-4 is that it is a map that no matter how OP your roster gets you still have to use your head to beat. It is the the best boss battle in the entire game by a huge margin currently and I really hope we can get more as good as it in the future.

Anyway I think it is just more interesting to actually solve things by thinking about it yourself. Even if it requires you to use more powerful options then someone who does it with like only 3 and 4 stars and a single 6 star. The people coming up with those strategies are like, experts at the game. And it is far more valuable for a new player to actually learn to play on their own and make their own strategies, the basics, before they can work on gaining a deeper understanding and doing more challenging stuff. It takes time to get to the skill level where you can get the prestige of clearing the hardest maps in the game with no 6 stars or only welfare operators or stuff like that.

#arknights #yugioh tcg

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sentientcave · 4 months ago

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Sparrow

Chapter 3 - Funeral Rites

Read on AO3

Contains: Alcohol, Flirting, John Price POV, non-canon character death (it's a funeral), smoking, Nothing too wild

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~4.4k - MDNI - 18+

John surveyed the cemetery, watching the crowd of mourners in funeral blacks or military jackets mill around, making conversation amongst themselves now that the service was over. The sun sat in an awkward spot in the sky, too low for the tall trees to provide any shade, but still many hours from setting, this time of year. The funeral had been meant to be a small one, a simple late-afternoon graveside service before they lowered the casket into the ground. Half of the local base looked like it had turned out to bury their once quartermaster, although, from what little Nikolai had told him, the man had retired from the military many years ago, to manage his late wife’s company. Maybe it was just the nature of small towns for all to turn out for anything. John had spent much of his life in London, and the only event that could really bring the city together was a football match. Even then, there was always a good chance that the city would be divided on who they wanted to win.

This was a far cry from London in every respect. A little town a ways from the nearest ‘city’, a cemetery by a lake, the smell of fresh water and pine trees on the breeze, warm and sunny in the summer rather than the drizzling, grey and wet weather that seemed to hang over both London and Hereford no matter what time of year it was. He had expected it to be quiet out here, but the buzz of cicadas and chatter of squirrels and birds seemed louder than the rush of traffic.

“Which one’s your niece?” he asked, nudging Nikolai. He looked tired, and had been smoking non-stop since he met up with John around noon, soothing some inner demon with cigarette after cigarette. He wasn’t exactly sure that the young woman they had come here to see was Nikolai’s niece, since the man had never mentioned any of his family before, but he had overheard her voice on the phone once when Nik had called her, and she had called him Uncle Kolya, so it was as near as he could guess.

He didn’t really want to be there, even if Nik’s niece was the most talented pilot in the world. He wanted to find Morgan, apologize, beg for a second chance.

“Speaking to the priest, dark hair, long sleeves.” Nikolai exhaled smoke, tossing his cigarette to the ground.

John zeroed in on the young woman Nik indicated, his heart lurching at the familiar waist length, nearly black curls. “What did you say her name was, again?” he asked, knowing damn well that Nik hadn’t given him a name to begin with.

“I didn’t. You would have looked her up.”

“Would that really have been such a problem?”

“Perhaps not. But I did not want you to decide who she is based on what Kate could dig up. Better to meet with no preconception.”

Too late for that. Although he suspected now that many of his preconceptions were wrong. “Should we go talk to her?”

“She will come to us. My sparrow does not like crowds. She will be glad to get away.” Nikolai shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, at a loss for something to do with his hands now that he wasn’t holding a cigarette.

“You really think she’s cut out for our kind of work?” John had seen a hint of fire in her, but he wasn’t sure that it was enough.

“Of course. I would not recommend her if I did not.” He shrugged lightly. “For the same reason you have use for me. Military is rigid. She can operate any vehicle and fix any engine. Quick, clever, learns on her feet. Well connected.”

“Still, she’s a civilian. There’s no reason she would want to risk her neck working with us.”

“She is much like her mother. Not a woman to sit behind a desk. If I thought she would be happy with a quiet life, I would encourage her.”

“Maybe she just needs some persuasion,” John murmured, watching the young woman weave her way toward them, stopping to have quick conversations with clumps of people, exchanging sombre words and clasped hands. She was close enough now to confirm his suspicion that she really was Morgan, and even more beautiful in the daylight, wearing a modest dress with lace sleeves to her wrists, although it hugged her curves all the way down to her knees in a way that made his mouth water. He could sense Nikolai giving him a sharp look, but he ignored him, unwilling to look away.

He’d thought he’d have to work hard to arrange a second meeting, but here she was, delivered to him on a silver platter.

Well, perhaps not a silver platter. She refused to look at him as she approached, reserving her wide, pretty smile for Nikolai. “Uncle Kolya, you came!” she said, throwing herself into Nikolai’s arms. “It’s good to see you.”

He folded her into a tight hug, smiling back just as widely. “Of course. I am sorry I could not be here sooner.”

“No, it’s alright. I know you’re busy. I’m just glad you made it.” She took a step back when Nikolai released her, finally glancing at John, her dark eyes sharp, but expression guarded, unwilling to show her hand until he did.

It would be better not to tell Nikolai about their meeting last night. “John Price,” he introduced himself, offering her a hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly (he recognized it now as a trait of Nikolai’s), but she stepped forward to shake his hand, willing to pretend they hadn’t already met. “Thank you. Morgan Renard.” She withdrew her soft little hand from his grasp quickly, not giving him the chance to hold on tightly as he wanted to.

“You look tired, varóbushik. Not sleeping well?” Nikolai asked.

“I’ll sleep better once this is all over.” She waved a hand toward the funeral dismissively. “I was hoping for something quiet, but some of Dad’s friends got wind of that and have a whole ‘celebration of life’ planned at the Legion after this, and as soon as there’s any mention of drinking involved, everyone shows up. I’ll have maybe an hour to myself before they’ll start looking for me.” She glanced at John again, and her expression turned a hair guilty. “God, I sound heartless, don’t I?”

“Oh, I very much doubt that you could be described as heartless,” John said, a purr of reassurance in his voice. She was just guarded, careful about letting anyone in. Something like this, with so many people making demands of her, was probably exhausting. He wanted to offer himself up as shelter, put an arm around her shoulders and hold her close. “Everyone mourns in their own way.”

She hugged herself, one arm across her ribs and the other on her shoulder, rubbing a spot there like it ached. “I feel like I did all my mourning months ago, and I’ve just been waiting for this to end.”

She looked vulnerable for a moment, impossibly soft. He’d already decided he liked her round face and stubborn chin, already knew how those soft lips felt against his own. She didn't look like the kind of woman that got her hands dirty, despite the strength in her grip. She just seemed too sweet to belong in John's world of gunpowder and blood. If he hadn’t already seen the fire in her, he would have dismissed her wholesale, would have thought Nikolai crazy for even suggesting working with her.

Although he rather liked the idea of coming home to a woman like her, of having her around, close at hand, he didn’t really care for the possibility of putting her in danger.

"What will you do now?" Nikolai asked. "Back to flying cargo?"

“Maybe. I don’t exactly need to. The company chugs along just fine without me having to do much, but I’m a bit young to retire.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, sneaking a glance at John, and away again when she realized he was studying her openly. “I’m going to take a few months off, check through the books. Maybe start getting the house ready to sell. It was too much space when it was just me and dad, now that it’s just me…”

She looked sad, left to drift, directionless. The captain in John knew he could give her guidance, could take the fire and steel under that soft exterior and forge her anew. The man in him coveted that softness.

“You’re really a pilot?” he asked, angling to get under her skin with the question.

Her eyes flashed, dark and flinty. “I am. And a good one. I’ve yet to meet a bird I couldn’t fly.” She hesitated, like she regretted the boast. “But I mostly run cargo up North. The occasional charter for hunters. Nothing too exciting.”

John tipped his head to the side, studying her. He sensed that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Perhaps she’d done work with Nikolai before. Things she would hesitate to tell someone attached to the military, friend of Nikolai or no. “What do you usually fly?”

“A Mallard. She’s pretty heavily modified, but she’s still a beauty. The model is from the late forties, so she didn’t have the range and speed when my mother first got her.” Morgan lit up a little, brown eyes sparkling, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “She’s a reliable old girl.”

John couldn’t help but smile at her restrained enthusiasm. “Hope you get plenty of chances to take her up while you’re takin’ your break.”

“Oh, I’ll be back up there before long. Wasn’t built for life on solid ground,” she replied, hiding behind a blithe smile. “If I don’t have an engine humming through me I get antsy.”

"Perhaps you should visit me more, yes? It has been a little while since you flew a helo. Wouldn't want you to get rusty." Nikolai had an odd look on his face, a mix of pride and sadness. "I remember the first time you went up. Had the thing bucking like horse."

She laughed. “It was very different than a plane! Took some adjustment.”

“Still better than me! When your mother first took me up, I nearly crashed us into Køge Bay.”

“Really? You never told me that.”

“Well, I did not know how to speak of Lena then. It is easier now.”

“I know there are a lot of stories I never got to hear. But I would like to. I’ll bring Laika.”

Nikolai raised his eyebrows. “Laika? Don’t tell me—”

“My dog! Not a child. Jesus, Kolya, I would have told you if I’d had a baby.” She shook her head. “Got her a couple years ago, when dad first got diagnosed. I was spending a lot more time grounded, needed a project. She’s a good girl.”

Nikolai exhaled, looking relieved. “I’m glad. I worry, sometimes, that your ex-husband has wormed his way back into your life.”

“That’s why I got Laika. She’s not the guard dog I hoped she’d be, but she hates Danny.”

“Then me and her are kindred spirits.” Nikolai nudged John with his elbow. “My varóbushik is beautiful girl, but she married too young, to a—”

“Kolya,” Morgan said warningly. “It doesn’t matter now.”

"Is she looking for better?" Price asked, switching to Russian for a hint of privacy, although he wasn't sure why he bothered. By the look on Morgan's face, she understood just fine.

"Ask her yourself," Nikolai said, raising his hands slightly and backing up a step.

"I doubt you’ll be here long, English," Morgan snapped. "There’s no point in asking."

John raised his eyebrows, hiding his grin. ““Maybe you could give me your number. I’ll make sure I’m in town longer, next time.”

She crossed her arms, her stance widening automatically, defensively. “You’re planning on coming back?”

It was hard not to grin. Beside him, Nikolai lit another cigarette to hide his own amusement. “I get leave. Seems like a nice place to spend time.”

“You’d be wrong, unless you’ve got some sort of hard on for camping. But maybe that’s what this whole pseudo-military get-up is about.” Morgan unhooked one arm and waved at his outfit, indicating everything from his boots to his hat, her expression flat, unamused. She was still upset about what had happened the night before, by that look. Trying to drill the no that she didn’t really mean through his head. She was on the defensive, guard all the way up again. “There’s a provincial park nearby, but if you’re looking for something spectacular, you’d be better off going to Algonquin, or better yet, Banff. Go see the Rockies.”

He resisted the urge to tell her that he’d already found something spectacular. “Wouldn’t mind that. Maybe I can charter a pilot to take me. Get the lay of the land from up high.” He crossed his arms too, mirroring her stance, biting back a grin.

Her eyes narrowed. “Nikolai’s a pilot. Ask him.”

“Nikolai isn’t as likely to improve the view.”

“Does that sort of corny-ass line usually work for you?” Morgan asked. She was well and truly mad now. “Or are you breaking that out special for picking up a girl at her father’s funeral?”

Nikolai covered a laugh with a cough, clearly enjoying watching Morgan react to John’s attempts at flirting with barely-restrained hostility. Not that John could blame him. He was enjoying himself too. Maybe there was something of a schoolboy in him still, tugging on a pretty girl’s braids for attention, hoping that she’d chase him across the playground and wrestle him into the dirt.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was getting harder and harder not to grin outright. “Sure makes me sound a bit brazen. But I was breakin’ it out special.”

She glared at him. “Well put it back. I’m not interested.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

Morgan didn’t seem to know what to do with the cession. She had all that fight in her body still, and now nowhere to direct it. “Well. Good.” She turned back to Nikolai. “Are you staying long? There’s a bit of a to-do at the Legion tonight, but if you can’t stick around, maybe we can do something tomorrow? If you come out to the house you can meet Laika.”

“We will come tonight. Or I will. I cannot speak for Price.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He had been lucky to get extra time with her, he’d take every moment more that he could get.

“I’m gonna go. I have a bit of time before anyone’ll come looking for me, and I need to clear my head before I listen to another old guy tell me about the Gulf War.” She gave Nikolai a hug and nodded stiffly at Price, walking away as quickly as she could, hindered by the cut of her skirt. She stopped a little ways away and unzipped a side seam in her skirt so she could take proper strides, revealing one leg all the way to mid-thigh. The slight modification was undoubtedly practical, but it also changed the tone of the dress from modest to enticing. It was not difficult to imagine sliding his hands underneath and getting a handful of her round arse, or kneeling down and hooking that long leg over his shoulder while he tasted her pretty cunt. Things he could have had already if he’d shut his damn mouth.

“You look like a wolf who has spotted supper,” Nikolai said. “Behave yourself, Price.”

“I’ve hardly said anything,” John protested, but he still didn’t look away as Morgan gathered her hair back into a low ponytail and crammed a helmet onto her head. He didn’t look away until she had climbed onto a motorcycle and gunned it down the street and out of sight. By clearing her head, it seemed that she actually meant speeding over pavement with a rumbling engine between her legs. He’d never been so jealous of a vehicle before.

“You have said enough.” Nikolai lit up yet another cigarette. “She is my family. Try not to break her heart, da?”

John made a small attempt to look contrite, but by Nikolai’s unimpressed expression, he failed to convince. “Not worried about my heart, eh?”

Nikolai snorted and clapped John on the shoulder. “No. You aren’t good enough for her anyway.”

If Nikolai really didn’t want him pursuing Morgan, he wouldn’t have introduced them at all, and certainly not like this, springing John on her rather than warning her ahead of time that he was bringing a friend. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the work yet either, leaving it to John to broach the subject. The problem was that he no longer wanted to broach the subject— Skilled pilot or no, Morgan seemed too soft and too sweet (despite her defensive prickles) to belong on a battlefield. She belonged in a nice house with a white-painted fence and a garden, giving John a smile and a kiss when he came home from deployment. It was far easier to place her in an idyllic daydream than imagine her sparring with his boys in the barracks or practicing her shooting in the range, let alone steering a helo through a hail of bullets during a tricky exfil.

No, it wouldn’t do to put her in the line of fire. But he did have the opportunity ahead of him to charm her into giving up her phone number, at least. And then, from there, he could work out the rest. She was already thinking about moving, so it might not be all that tricky to convince her to go somewhere more convenient for him to drop by more often. Maybe even tempt her all the way overseas, if he went about it the right way.

Figuring out what the right way to go about it was would be the trickier bit. He didn’t know enough about her yet, aside from her name and the little that Nikolai had told him. She was had money, so she didn’t need someone to take care of her, at least in a material sense, her previous marriage to some bloody muppet had made her distrustful, and she balked at any indication of commitment or deeper interest. She would be a tough nut to crack.

He mulled it over, half his mind dedicated to Morgan, the other half paying attention to Nikolai.

Nik probably noticed his distraction-- Few things got past the man-- but he let John get away with it. There was a lot to consider.

The Legion was a low brick and concrete building, with a bar and cheap tables and chairs that could be folded up and put away if the event in question called for it. The floors were linoleum, scuffed up and stained, and the fluorescent lights buzzed a bit under the low hum of conversation. A place somewhere between a rec hall and a cheap bar, nearly identical to the one back home in Hereford.

It was a laid back kind of affair, a slideshow rotating through pictures on the wall, a few people getting up to tell stories about Michel Luc, including Morgan, who told a funny story about a family trip to France, where he had gotten increasingly irate at the locals insistence that they couldn't understand him even though he'd spoken French from the cradle. He didn't pay attention to the other speakers, but he did watch the slides for every trace of Morgan, slotting more information into the dossier he was building in his head. A few stood out to him, one where she was squinting down the scope of a hunting rifle, her father beside her, pointing forward, and the following one, where she held the rifle with two hands like a little soldier, a serious look on her face while her father and a teenage boy that must have been her brother carried a buck between them. Lots with a woman that looked a great deal like Morgan, pretty, but sharper around the edges, sporting signature sunglasses and a red-lipped smile in most of her pictures.

"Lena," Nikolai said with a nod toward the slideshow. "Morgan's mother."

She disappeared from any pictures where Morgan was a teen. The brother disappeared as well.

"What happened?"

"Luke was killed in the middle east. He was a soldier, like Michel."

"How come Morgan decided not to serve?" John asked. "Whole military family except her."

Nikolai hummed. "I do not recall her mentioning that her mother was military to you."

Busted. "We met last night by chance. Managed to piss 'er off."

"I wondered why she seemed to hate you."

"She doesn't hate me. She hates that she likes me."

Nik gave him a disbelieving look. "Ah, of course. Good luck with that." He clapped John on the shoulder, still amused. “There is a woman who has been making eyes at me for fifteen minutes. I’m going to say hello. If you talk to Morgan again, watch out for her left hook, yes? She is stronger than she seems.”

John waved him off, laughing. Optimist that he was, he hoped for a better outcome than getting punched. He watched her make the rounds of the room, fascinated by the way she flowed through conversations, body language and expression changing rapidly as she became whoever she needed to be to ease the conversation along. It looked exhausting.

She glanced his way a few times, cheeks turning slighty pink when she found him watching and still watching. His presence flustered her, set her off balance.

When her smile started straining around the edges, he stepped outside for a cigar, leaning against the side of the building, out of the way. Predictably, she stepped outside for some air not long after, not looking for him, but for a moment alone. Still, she walked right up to him when he waved her over, like she just couldn’t help herself. She sighed, leaning into the wall beside him.

“A cigar guy, huh?” she observed.

John hummed, offering it to her.

She shook her head. They stood in silence for a long moment, the high-pitched song of crickets filling the air, a cool breeze breaking the humidity of the day. Morgan tipped her head back to look at the sky, filled with bright stars, more than John could see from home. He remembered the first time he’d really seen the stars, up near the Northern tip of Scotland, on a fishing trip with his dad and granddad. They’d been so bright and close, it was almost as if he could reach up and touch them, catch a star and bring it to earth, to keep in his pocket like some heavenly souvenir.

Morgan looked worn down, like she’d spent everything she had shuffling through the masks that got her through the day. Now she had none left, and he could see her, watching the stars with sad eyes.

“You look tired,” John said at last.

“I am. It’s been a long day.”

“You took a lot on.”

“Yeah. I feel like I haven’t had a real break from anything in years now. I think I’ll sleep for a week after this.” She looked over at him. “Did Nikolai leave?”

“I’m not sure. Last I checked he was introducin’ himself to some woman.” He grinned around his cigar, hooking his thumb through a belt loop. “Have to admit, it wasn’t him I was watchin’.”

“I guess they don’t teach subtlety where you come from.”

“They do. Just don’t always have the time for it. Wanted to make sure you know I’m interested.”

That made her laugh. “Don’t worry, English. You’ve been more than clear. It’s just not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason.” She fiddled with her necklace, pulling it out of her collar and holding it tight in her palm.

“You don’t,” John agreed. “Shouldn’t have been so pushy with you last night. I’m not that good at lettin’ things go.”

“It’s alright. I kind of freaked out, especially when you got between me and the door.”

“Hope you tell me the reason for that someday.” He tossed the spent cigar down and ground it under his heel, the movement bringing his knee close enough to brush her skirt. “Can I take you home?”

“Still not going to happen.”

“But you want to.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, English.”

“How about a kiss, then?”

“You don’t like hearing no, do you?”

John laughed softly. "We'd both enjoy a yes. No sense denyin' it."

"Maybe next time." She said it dismissively, like she didn't expect there to be a next time. Worse, she shifted away, almost imperceptibly.

A new tactic was needed. He’d have to put it in her hands."How about I give you my number? We can get to know each other a little better before next time comes around."

"You can give it to me, but I can't promise I'll call you. Got a pen?"

He fished one out if his pocket. She rolled up her sleeve and offered him her forearm. "Could just give me your number," he said, gripping her wrist with his left hand to hold her steady as he carefully printed his initials and the number of the burner phone currently in his pocket. He rather liked the look of his initials inked on her skin.

"If I do that you'll call me tomorrow morning and try to change my mind before you leave."

He had to admit, that did sound like him. "Alright. When can I expect you to call?" He blew on the ink to make sure it was dry. He didn't want it to smudge, but he really didn’t want to let go, and it gave him an excuse to hold on a little longer, feeling the way her pulse leapt against his fingers.

"Between three days and never," she said, tugging her arm out of his grasp, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"Hope it's not never."

"Me too,” she admitted, surprising him. “But no promises."

Maybe she wasn't going to make any promises, but he was. He would see her again soon whether or not she reached out. If there was one thing John Price was no good at, it was letting things go once they’d caught his attention.

He wasn't about to let her slip away.

#cave writing #Sparrow #John Price x OC #x OC #This story starts a little slow but it'll pick up #I still enjoy all these slower set up bits #John stop being annoying challenge (Impossible)#OC: Morgan Renard

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jessefandomunited · 1 year ago

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Stuck together part two

This is a Daniel atlas X reader . I try my best to put no names or y/n , gendered language or anything of that nature so that people to project themselves onto the reader as much as possible .

Setting is you're new to the horsemen you are the new escape artist of the group and for some reason Atlas is just always knit picking your parts of the performance to the point where you barely talk to him outside of practice, what is his deal!? But when you two are stuck together after a show gone wrong you may in fact figure out he has a soft side to his control freak ways

Miles passes and I noticed Atlas was getting more anxious. I didn't want to be the one to break the silence but he was freaking me out ," what is it?" He jumped slightly at my voice I think he completely forgot I was even there . " were ... out of gas," he said pointing vaguely at the gage . I looked around us and saw just empty roads . " FUCK," I hissed pinching the bridge of my nose ," well what now ." The engine was beginning to cough and sputter when Atlas said ," I don't ...hey is that a motel?" Relief washed over me as I saw the glowing neon "Vacancy " sign flashing . " perfect we can call the guys to pick us up here tomorrow," I sighed in relief. They could pick us up tonight but since everyone was out looking for us we all needed to lay low.

We got out of the car and grabbed out small bags which had our phones, a change of clothes , cash , and some granola bars, the bare necessities. The place looked dirty but enough for a place to lay over for the night. I strolled into the front office and smiled at the sweet old lady behind the counter, " hey me and my friend were passing through and he's about to fall asleep behind the wheel so we just needed a place to sleep for a night." She looked at us and nodded ," yes we do have a room open, only one though I apologize we got so darn busy out of no where ." I smiled and said ," isn't that how it always goes, I'm sure it'll be just what we need ." She nods and tells me the price while pressing some buttons on a dinosaur of a computer. I go for my money but Atlas places it on the counter first , like it was a competition or something. " oh perfect here are your keys , room 22," she said handing us a old brass key , this place really needed to get with the times. We nodded and I said a light thank you as we made our way to the room.

This place felt straight out of a horror movie but I was honestly getting so tired I didn't care if I did get murdered. Of course Atlas had the key and was already unlocking the door when I trudged up beside him. He had to jump against the door to get it to open and when he did he fell inside which made me laugh. " ooof rough time buddy," I said stepping over him to get into the room. The moment I did, my laughing stopped. The room was way smaller than I thought it would be. It seemed like a very sketchy looking bathroom but the issue at hand, one bed. I froze as the realization dawned on me what was going to happen. I knew neither me nor Atlas would sleep on the floor and even though this place looked sketchy it would be even worse sleeping in the car. " what are you... oh," Atlas said coming to the same conclusion as me as he got to his feet. We did the slightly glance at eachother before I headed to the bathroom as he locked the door.

I showered trying not to think about what I was going to have to do. It wasn't just the idea of sharing a bed with Atlas that was an issue, my issue was every night after something stressful happens I have the worst nightmares I toss and turn all night it sucks, and almost getting caught by the FBI, yeah that counted. I pleaded with my brain to just sleep tonight as I climbed out of the shower. After drying off I put on my more comfortable outfit to sleep in . I walked out and Atlas had put a pillow wall in the middle of the bed and was already either sleeping or pretending to sleep I didn't know which. I honestly didn't care I turned off my light and climbed in . As I tried to get comfortable Atlas said ," can you relax I'm trying to sleep. " I gridded my teeth and sharply turned from the pillow wall and closed my eyes, pleading once again that I'd sleep through the night.

#jesse eisenberg #nysm #daniel atlas #Daniel atlas x reader #now you see me

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brokenpieces-72 · 9 months ago

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Low Speed

Choo Choo Charles x CoD | Navigation

TW: brutal death, monster fight, swamp monster (some thalassophobia?), let me know if I missed any

You climbed back into the engine, making sure not to put any pressure on your bad leg. You didn't let Soap or Ghost assist, not wanting them to have a reason to leave you behind. A new weapon to add to the mount and plenty of scraps for your to sort through later. No run ins with Charles either. Hopefully, Price and Gaz had been just as fortunate.

"Why do they call you Soap?" You asked the sergeant while he hung by the turret, ready for any possible attacks. Soap perked up at your question while Ghost got the engine started up again.

"So back in mae trainin, I was the best at clearing houses and the fastest. People started callin mae Soap." He explained. "Why do they call ya brat?"

You rubbed your neck, a little ashamed to admit. "People around here don't exactly like me. I used to start trouble when I was younger, and have an attitude. Giving Warren a hard time only made it worse, and now that I'm hunting the giant nightmare train, people think I've been agitating it and making it worse."

"Is that why you've been getting dirty looks?' Ghost asked.

"Yeah. Honestly I don't think they would have been as willing to help if you guys hadn't come along." You said. "Thank you for that."

"Thank us once we kill the bastard." Soap told you. You nod.

"...be wary of Barry the swamp monster. As long as you don't move around, he's kind as a kitten." Lizbeth told the three of you.

"Thanks." You said, hurrying away along the shore of the swamp, letting the other two follow you. You'd met Lizbeth before, and she was a fairly pleasant person. The last thing you had hoped for was to get whatever meat was being guarded by Barry! You also hadn't told the men about Barry, mainly because you didn't know you would have to. At least she had been nice enough to give you the medicine for your leg.

You stopped once you were a good distance away from Lizbeth and could see the bubbles from Barry swimming around. Simon and Johnny had their eyes on you. Ghost had a face that asked you to elaborate, while Johnny was a bit more wide eyed.

"A fucking swamp mosnter?" Johnny asked. You pressed your lips and sighed. "Were you plannin on bringin this up or was it meant to be a fucked up surprise?"

"Neither!" You said. Their eyes remained on you, wnating the full truth. "Okay maybe I forgot a little bit."

"You forgot about the swamp monster, a little bit?" Simon asked, brow raised.

"A lot has happened, and the swamp monster that is contained in the water and isn't capable of coming on land, and therefore is hardly a threat didn't cross my mind over the fact there is a living nightmare running around!" You argued.

"Is there anything else we should- no scratch that, is there anything else on the island that is even remotely abnormal or supernatural?" Soap asked rubbing his temples.

"Yes there is a ghost of some kind in a boulder field that makes drawings." You said. The both of them looked at you, trying to figure out if you were being serious or sarcastic. When you held your ground, Johnny turned and took a few steps, while Simon, folded his arms and sighed, looking at the ground. You shrugged. "It's been a long week."

"Johnny focus up." Simon called. Johnny returned next to his lieutenant. Simon looked at you. "You have a plan?"

You looked out to the water. Simon and Johnny followed your gaze, and can see the bubbles and ripples from Barry. "The water shouldn't be too deep, so you can touch the bottom usually. If Barry senses movement he'll move towards it, but as soon as you stop moving he won't know where you are. Even if he brushes your leg, he won't notice. So... red light green light."

"Red light green light?" Simon asked you. You sighed, fed up with yourself. Yeah it was all you had! You weren't special forces, could you please be cut some slack? Of course you don't say this to him directly.

Johnny seemed to be considering it. "Not the worst idea..."

Simon examined the water. It wasn't exactly shallow, at least from the distance and what he was guessing was Barry's size. He didn't like the idea of going into this without proper protection. Bullet proof vests would only work so well against bites. They were limited in resources though. The suggestion wasn't bad, but he wasn't sure how 'kind of a kitten' Barry would be to treading water. Simon would prefer to send you out to start, test the waters and all that.

"I'll go if you think it's better." You offered. What pissed Simon off was that this was all for some metal scraps.

"I'll do it." Johnny said. You looked up at him and he looked at you. "If there's a fucking swamp monster, the last thing we need is whatever made it to infect your leg."

"Red light green light it is." Simon stated.

Two things about Johnny MacTavish. First off, he's handsome in boxers. You were polite and looked away, but he told you he didn't mind. Didn't stop your face from turning a deep red. When you suggested he keep the vest on he teased you about it, asking if you'd prefer him covered up. Yeah that made you go darker.

The second thing about Johnny is that while he was capable of being a sniper, his patience and stillness were two different things. The red light, green light method was working pretty well. Johnny stepped out into the water and thankfully he could move while keeping his head above water without treading. You were tense, watching every hint of movement in the water for Barry. As soon as Barry started to make his way towards Soap you shouted red light.

Soap held still, keeping an eye out for the bubbles. Simon stood watch with you, coming off as calm and still. He was tense as well. Green light, and Johnny continued toward the island. You made sure Barry was a good distance away before saying it first, but this meant Johnny only got maybe two or three feet before the next red light. He was moving slow, which meant he would be in cold water for while.

Red light. Soap froze in place, the water reaching abve him midsection. He cursed and sighed, waiting as he felt the movement of the monster around him. All three of you held your breath, until Barry moved away. You waited before calling green light again. Soap waited a bit before moving again. This time he tried to go faster, and did make some distance. Red light, and Johnny looked around in place. He was still but his body twisted slightly in the water.

"Stop... stop moving!" You shouted at him. Simon was about to shout the same thing.

"It's fine." Soap called back, trying to spot Barry in the dirty water. He could see the ripples and bubbles but not the monster. Once Barry left him alone, you didn't get the chance to say green light, because he started moving.

"Soap! Stop fucking moving!" Simon barked at him. Soap couldn't see it, but Ghost was standing fairly calmly, but right near the edge of the water. Meanwhile, you had your head in your hands with baited breath.

"He's kind as a kitten!" Johnny argued, stopping when he saw Barry coming back. Johnny continued to look around.

"Soap you're making the poor kid panic! Stop!" Simon said.

"Literally said he's kind as a kitten LT. !" Soap argued again.

"Soap..." You tensed watching him look around in the water. "You... You butt fucking skank! Stop fucking moving!"

Soap stopped, and waited. He waited for the signal this time and once he got to the island you turned away and started pacing on the shore while he went to find the meat Lizbeth wanted. You finally took the breath you had been holding back in your anxiousness. You returned to your spot next to Ghost who gently pats your shoulder.

"If he always like that?" You asked. Ghost didn't answer and instead directed your attention to Johnny who had found a fish.

"Follow orders this time sergeant!" Ghost yelled to Soap. You could make out Soap nodding as he waded back into the water. "And keep the meat out of the water!"

Soap held the fish over his head and you called out red light. Johnny stopped. He was trying to go faster this time. It didn't stop him from looking around for Barry when he approached. Green light... red light... green light... red light. Johnny was about halfway when he tensed himself, not even turning in place. He felt the thing brush against his leg.

"You good?" You asked.

"Shut up!" He snapped, waiting for Barry to leave. You stayed quiet, seeing Barry hadn't moved away from Soap. It felt like an hour had passed before Barry finally swam off. Soap waited for the signal, and you waited until Barry was far enough away.

"Green light." You said. Johnny pushed through the water as hard and as fast as he could, thankfully making it before Barry decided to come looking for a snack again. Johnny tossed the meat to the side before dropping to his knees, and holding his chest. Simon came back with a blanket from the train, while Johnny was trying to steady his heart beat. You took a moment yourself, relieved he came back okay. Simon got the blanket around Johnny and you got his clothes for him.

Lizbeth gave you plenty of scraps for your efforts, and you got an earful of scottish curses from Johnny. Lizbeth was also kind enough to let him properly dry off and change in her cabin.

"Been a while since I've had a handsome young man in my cabin." She teased to you. Johnny may have considered changing in the train after that comment, but Simon told him to just go. As an extra bonus for your trouble, Lizbeth also let you have some of the stew she was brewing. The two soldiers were skeptical but you assured them Lizbeth wouldn't do something like poison or drug them.

"Now what are two soldiers doing in a place like this?" She asked while you ate. The three of you looked at each other. "It's not hard to tell dearies, not many people traverse this island, especially with vests like those."

"Long story." You answered. Lizbeth gave you a knowing look. Another mystical warning was coming. It never made it to you, because your meal was interrupted by a train whistle.

Lizbeth got back into her cabin, with the three of you following behind. Your train was too far away to make it before you would be spotted by Charles. Lizbeth had her cabin locked up tight while you listened to the awful noises of Charles. You watched out the back winow with a view overlooking the swamp, maintaining cover with Soap and Ghost. Charles legs stabbed into the water, any blood hidden by his red paint, dripping and staining the already murky swamp.

Lizbeth watched as well, hand over her mouth. Finding the signs of Barry was nearly impossible with how Charles was just scuttling about likely smelling the meat they had found earlier. Johnny finally got to see the beast he had been fleeing from in the water, and in action.

Charles let out a pained cry, that nearly destroyed your eardrums. When you looked you saw a strange mass had latched itself on to Charles's leg. Charles was bigger, and thrashed his weighted around, trying to get Barry to let go. The air is filled with ear piercing screams and water splashing. Charles chased Barry like a dog chasing it's tail, while Barry continued to flop around, keeping a grip on Charles leg. The noise seemed to go on forever, as did the fighting, until Charles decided it had had enough.

Charles slammed down the leg that Barry had latched himself, over and over, faster and faster. Finally Barry's grip loosened, and Charles went in for the kill. Without mercy, Charles spearin into Barry with another leg, shoving Barry back into the water in the process. The demon train wasn't done with him. Charles continued to slam Barry in and out of water, until Barry was finally off of Charle's leg. Lizbeth looked away, while you froze, your blood going cold. You wished you'd turned away from the sight as Charles stabbed into Barry for a second time and whipped Barry off his limb, and into the swamp, before waiting. It was seeing if Barry was actually dead, looking for the bubbles and ripples of life.

Nothing.

Charles, seemingly satisified with the lack of life, left.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

#choo choo charles #lizbeth murkwater #john soap mactavish #task force 141 x reader #simon ghost riley #cod au #call of duty au #horror game #barry the swampmonster #red light green light #injured reader #game grumps reference #teenage reader #demon spider train

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aceship-sconesterprise · 21 days ago

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June of Doom 2025 Day 5; @juneofdoom

5. “You’re not looking so hot.”

| Rash | Hypothermia | Bully |

A/N: This story is set in the alternate universe of @thesconesyard and my "To Light" series

"And I warned ye not to install that stupid system."

When he heard his good friend Scotty's voice, Jim couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of course he was grateful that his savior was finally here, but did the engineer really have to be such a know-it-all now?

"I-I-I know, I know. B-but it can't be helped now. You'd better g-g-get me out quickly," the blond replied, his teeth chattering. His whole body already felt completely chilled.

It had actually been a great plan! When he had been offered the chance to update the technology in his coffee shop at a ridiculously low price, Jim had simply not been able to say no.

New technical devices that responded to verbal commands. A system controlled by artificial intelligence which made work easier.

Including an automatic door to the cold store.

If only Jim had known that the system was extremely susceptible to faults. Then he definitely wouldn't have been locked in the cold store like that.

Fortunately for him, the rest of his employees had been on site and had immediately noticed the predicament their boss was in. And, of course, they had called the best technician they knew as quickly as possible.

Montgomery Scott normally only built ships, but thank goodness his technical know-how was far more far-reaching.

"An AI in a good old coffee shop. What a load of nonsense. How could ye let yourself be persuaded to install something like that?"

Jim could just imagine Scotty fiddling with the touchpad on the door and shaking his head.

"I-I just wanted to make life easier for Sulu and Chekov, okay?!"

Damn, this cold room was a living hell – without the fire obviously! If Scotty didn't get him out soon, Jim was going to be a popsicle! He hugged himself even tighter and rubbed his freezing arms.

Normally, in this hot summer, he would have been happy for any cool down, but this room was really too icy!

"Well, everyone's life was definitely easier before technology was allowed to do so much. The good old days were much better, weren't they?"

Jim groaned.

"A-are you going to get me out now o-or are you going to keep complaining?"

"I'm working as fast as I can, Jimbo," came the reply from outside the door.

"T-then w-work even faster! I-if you don't hurry, the hottest guy in town will be an i-icicle in no time!"

A click sounded and only a moment later Jim, who had been leaning back against the door, fell backwards onto the kitchen floor.

Scotty looked down at him from above, a slight smile on his lips.

"Ye're not looking so hot," he said, and Jim could hear the scorn in the Scotsman's voice.

Chekov and Sulu, who were also present, both had to chuckle, but helped their trembling boss to his feet.

The blond raised an admonishing index finger to give a quick-witted reply, but quickly dropped it again and simply hugged Scotty.

"Th-thank you, Scotty. You really saved my l-l-life."

Scotty just smiled and patted his friend on the back several times.

"Ye're welcome, lad. Ye're welcome."

Now they just had to wait for McCoy to arrive so he could take care of Jim and give him a lecture about the dangers of hypothermia.

#juneofdoom #june of doom 2025 #day 5 #whump #whump challenge #you're not looking so hot #hypothermia #star trek #fanfiction #james t kirk #montgomery scott #other characters mentioned #fhump #freezing #au #dangers of ai #mega_whumps_characters

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lizhly-writes · 1 month ago

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transmigrated as the female lead's villain fiance: the character list

I get the feeling that this may be helpful. Currently very, very incomplete, but whatever.

Yang Haoran: Our current main character. Formerly known as Li Yichang, or Andrew Li. The second child and only son of the Yang family, he grew up as a really weird fucking kid due to half-remembered impressions of his past life. He has since adjusted -- up until he realized he was actually a villain fated to die, of course. Currently a low-level software engineer in his parents' company. Likes reading webnovels and complaining about them. Quite possibly has a drinking problem. Don't worry about it.

Jiang Mingxi: The fiancee of our current MC. The only child and heiress of the Jiang family, she has grown up striving for 110% at all times. Does not believe in human limits and also does not actually seem to have human limits, as befitting of a super powerful love interest for the heroine who can do anything and everything. Currently has a high-ranking managerial role in her parent's company, being groomed to be the CEO. Likes martial arts and rock climbing.

Chen Lihua: ✨The heroine.✨ Her parents died in a tragic accident, and her life has not improved from there. As mandated by the plot, her backstory is a series of exceedingly unfortunate and dramatic events. The original novel portrays her as a gentle and pure ingenue, and that's exactly how she acts -- she's learned the universe will inflict consequences if she doesn't. Practically immune to poison at this point. Currently a low-ranking actress dreaming of glory and deicide. Loves eating and also reading really, really shitty webnovels.

Zhao Yuhang: The best friend of our current MC. He is the third and youngest son of the Zhao family and therefore has no parental expectations placed on him other than living a happy life. Dreams of a happy marriage, but is constantly thwarted by his fate of being an available lead for the heroine. Originally meant to be a socialite pursuing acting for the sake of the heroine. Some things got knocked a little out of place, and he is currently a med student with the goal of becoming a psychiatrist. Very much a people person. Very much cries at romantic movies.

The Yang family

Yang Tailong: Yang Haoran's father. The head of the Yang family's company.

Liu Gongnian: Yang Haoran’s mother. Holds a high-ranking position in the Yang family’s company. Probably could have been the heroine in a different novel: a ‘fallen rich girl’ who worked her ass off to graduate with honors and gain success.

Yang Haoli: Yang Haoran's older sister. The oldest child in the Yang family, and the heiress of the company. A ridiculous genius prodigy who doesn’t seem to have human limits; looked up to by her younger cousins.

Wei Songhua: Yang Haoli’s sort-of boyfriend, who she met when she heroically rescued him from drowning one time. Constantly irked by Yang Haoran constantly referring to him as ‘Brother-in-law’. Is not present in the original novel.

Yang Haoran (?)

Yang Haoshu (?): Yang Haoran’s younger twin sister, who died very shortly after birth. Yang Haoran sometimes wonders if her life was the price for his memory. We don’t talk about her (do we?).

Yang Haolun (?)

Yang Haowen: Yang Haoran's younger cousin. Much like the rest of her family, she views him a disappointment. She has a much more positive view of him in the original novel.

The Jiang family

Jiang Yunyan: Jiang Mingxi's father. The head of the Jiang family's company.

Liang Yuwen: Jiang Mingxi's mother. A charismatic socialite that is constantly disappointed by her daughter's personality. Interested in doing what's best for her family. What she thinks is best is... debatable.

In an AU:

Jiang Qingchen (Jiang Li'an?): The older son of Yang Haoran and Jiang Mingxi who is being groomed to be heir of the company. A quiet and anxious boy who has inherited his parents' strengths but like almost none of the confidence and temper. Extremely jealous of his younger sibling due to how obviously his father favors him, but mostly manages to reel it in. In favor of divorce.

Yang Qingyun (Jiang Liyun?): The younger son of Yang Haoran and Jiang Mingxi. Bears the Yang family name due to fallout between Jiang Mingxi and the original Yang Haoran; raised with zero expectations other than being moderately successful and happy. Wonders if his mother loves him. Contemplates marriage therapy.

The Chen family

Chen Ying: Chen Lihua's father. Deceased.

Lan Enmei: Chen Lihua's mother. Deceased.

The Li family

Li Shirong: Li Yichang's father. Also known as Eric Li. Professor of botany. Deceased.

Zhang Meilan: Li Yichang's mother. Also known as May Zhang. Professor of astronomy. Deceased.

Li Yizhen: Li Yichang's older sister. Also known as Claire Li. A undeclared university student. Deceased.

Li Yichang (?)

Li Yirui (?)

Zhao Yuhang's friends/exes

An Ruobing: Zhao Yuhang's ex. An up-and-coming fashion designer. Broke up with Zhao Yuhang because of her acceptance to a prestigious fashion school and her doubt she could make a long-term relationship work.

Han Weiyuan: An actor who moved abroad to take his chances in Hollywood. Doing pretty well, all things considered. Had a confusing time as a teenager with a crush on both Yang Haoran and Zhao Yuhang. He's mostly over it by now.

Xiu Yusheng

Liu Xiling

Fang Yuan

Assorted love interests of the heroine

Hua Shuangmei: The sweet and innocent actress love interest.

Xie Jingma: The boisterous and cheerful athlete love interest.

Rival characters

Mu Qilian (?): Portrayed as a petty and insignificant rival of Chen Lihua's in the original novel. Was actually her high school bully that bitterly regretted her actions and is still kind of haunted by guilt. Has a deeply weird relationship with Chen Lihua. Probably could have been a love interest in a different novel.

Other characters

Wu Youxuan: A high-ranking Triad member. Does not appear in the original novel.

Wu Xiying: Wu Youxuan's younger sister. Does not appear in the original novel.

Ma Yihuo

Song Yinuo

#liz's character lists #transmigrated as the female lead's villain fiance #i'll fill this out later...

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