#if you don’t like it you can argue with the wall
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My Darling Boy
Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Irish!fem!reader
Summary: Tommy’s late night leads to you comforting him and a recount of the first time you realized you loved him.
Warnings: Panic attacks, reader faces anti-Irish sentiment from a stranger, Tommy says some questionable things about the Irish but nothing too bad💀, violence, bar fight. Let me know if I missed any!
Word Count: 2.8K
Notes: This was 100% inspired by @red-write-hand ‘s Tommy bot. My god do I love that thing and fluff it gives me. I tried keeping this as reader friendly as possible, but some details had to be added to fit the plot, such as reader being Irish.
Edit: This has not been proofread and YIKES. Sorry for all the errors😭
Flashbacks are italicized!
You stared at the clock on your wall that read 2:07 AM. Tommy was supposed to be in bed three hours ago. It was your agreement. He could work as late as he wanted as long as he ate all three meals with you and came to bed at 11. The resolve had come almost a year ago when you’d finally told him you, his wife, felt like second place to his work.
But here it was. 2AM, your bed felt cold without him there, and this was the third time this week that he hadn’t come to bed on time.
You tried not to argue with him. He had enough stress with work and you didn’t want to be a source of more stress, but you had his same quick temper and you couldn’t deny that you were more than irritated that he was seemingly back to his old ways of ignoring your agreement.
You made your way down the hall and to his office, leaning against the door frame.
Tommy spoke before you could, “I know what you’re about to say.”
The exhaustion in his voice and the way he looked… defeated immediately caused a change of heart in you, though.
“My darling boy,” you said in a soft voice, making sure to use the pet name you had for him to try and avoid him thinking you were there for an argument.
“Don’t ‘my darling boy’ me,” he replied immediately with a bite in his tone, “Not when you’re here to start an argument with me. What time is it?”
You’d known Tommy since he came back from The Great War. You knew more than well enough by now to not take his words to heart when he was like this. He was taking his anger out on you, whether you deserved it or not.
You had blinded men and taken their tongues using the bladed Peaky Blinders cap for speaking to you the way Tommy was speaking to you, but Tommy was your soft spot. Somehow, you always remained calm when it came to Tommy.
You made your way over to his desk and picked up the empty whiskey glass that was next to a stack of papers that littered his desk.
“It’s 2 in the morning, my love,” you replied in a calm voice. You walked over to the fireplace where his bottle of whiskey sat and refilled the glass then placed it on the desk again.
He picked it up as soon as you set it down and took a long drink from it.
“I have work, you know that. The business doesn’t run itself.” He took another swallow of the liquid and you could see the way his breathing had picked up slightly.
It started to make sense in that moment. You knew Tommy as well as he knew you and as well as you knew yourself. You knew the signs of one of his panic attacks beginning and stepped between him and his desk.
“I know that. I’m not mad at you, darling,” you replied after a moment. You made sure to keep your voice the steady and calm tone you knew he needed at the moment as you spoke. “Can you look at me?”
Tommy took a deep breath before looking up at you and you could see the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead along with the way his eyes seemed unable to focus on you. You lifted your hand to his cheek and gently ran your thumb across it in a slow motion.
“What’s your full name?” You asked him. The questions you would ask him changed from time-to-time so he wouldn’t get too used to them. They were simple questions, enough to distract him and get him to focus on you, but not enough to send him into a further panic.
“Thomas Michael Shelby, why?” He raised the glass to his lips again, but his breathing only picked up more.
You took the glass from his hand and set it on the desk behind you then placed his hand on your chest, right where you knew he would be able to feel your heartbeat.
“Focus on my breathing and my voice. What’s John’s wife’s name?” You asked him next.
You watched as he closed his eyes and did as you said, trying to match his breathing to yours as you began taking slower and deeper breaths.
“Esme,” he answered after a moment.
“When’s our wedding anniversary?” You asked next.
”The 17th of August.”
You knew it was silly, but you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks at how quickly and easily he answered that question. It was the little things like that which reminded you that you were still his number one priority.
“Can you look at me again?” You asked him once you noticed his breathing had calmed down.
Tommy looked to you, his blue eyes immediately finding your eyes and locking onto them. The corner of his mouth tilted into a small smirk and you returned it with a small smile of your own.
“I love you,” you told him as you crawled into his lap and pulled him into a hug, trying to help ground him more.
He immediately returned your hug and buried his head into your neck. Your hands instinctively rose to the back of his head and gently ran your nails across the shaved part of it.
“I love you, too. Even when I’m a mess,” he replied quietly.
“You’re not a mess,” you argued immediately, “you’re my amazing husband, an amazing business leader, an amazing member of parliament, and the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
A sigh left his lips after a long moment and his head remained buried in your neck. His breathing was no longer panicked and he had relaxed into your hold completely.
“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered into your neck.
“Funny,” you said with a chuckle, “I think the same thing of me.” You moved your head enough so you could kiss his temple. “Love you with all my heart, Thomas Shelby. You’re my darling boy.”
As soon as the pet name left your lips, he was chuckling into your neck. It was one anyone else would be maimed for calling him, but somehow you saying it had won him over.
“Love you, too,” he murmured in response.
After a couple long minutes of the two of you curled into each other, and once you were sure he wouldn’t panic speaking of it, you asked him,
“What led to it?”
He immediately knew what you were asking and shook his head in your neck,
“Nothing,” he replied in a defeated voice.
You pulled back enough to cause him to raise his head and she the quirked brow you were giving him,
“Thomas Shelby, what do you tell me every time I try to say the same thing?”
Any time you tried to belittle your problems, Tommy was the one who was telling you that if it was causing you troubles, then it wasn’t nothing and it was worth talking about.
He grumbled something under his breath about using his own words against him and then finally answered.
“The bloody Irish,” he said loud enough for you to hear.
You couldn’t stop the giggle that left your lips. You knew Tommy knew better than to think she was laughing at him or her problems; you were simply laughing at the irony of it all.
“What have my people done now?” You asked, purposefully making your accent come out as thick as possible to pick on him.
“Made an illegal shipment without our say so,” Tommy replied and you could hear the smile in his voice.
“Well… we’ve never liked to obey the English. I think my ancestors are rolling in their graves at how soft I am with you,” you teased, hoping to get at least a chuckle out of him.
It worked and you could feel the way his body shook the slightest bit as the small laugh left him,
“You’re not soft, darling, you’re just civilized,” he teased in return.
You pulled away with a look of mock offense on your face,
“Hey, now! My people are very civilized, we just know how to have fun,” you told him.
You know Tommy held no actual disdain towards you or your Irish blood. He himself was part Irish. He only spoke this way around you to get under your skin and pick on you.
“If you call bar fights being civilized then sure, darling.” The smirk on his face told you he was still only teasing you.
You scrunched up your nose as you looked at him,
“Maybe not your strongest point, love. I’ve come home with a black eye from an English bar fight where, for once, I was genuinely an innocent bystander and I had to keep you from going after half of Small Heath,” you pointed out.
Tommy’s face immediately darkened at the memory of that night and he tried to stutter out some defense of how it was different, but you shook your head no.
“You know that was the night I realized I loved you?” You told him as your own version of the memories flitted through your mind and you tried to distract him from the darker thoughts of his mind.
Your words seemed to catch him off guard and he looked up at you with surprise written on his features.
“Really?” He asked, unsure how else to reply.
You nodded in response and you felt another deep blush creep onto your cheeks. One thing you and Tommy had in common was that vulnerability didn’t come natural to you.
“Would you care to know how I remember that night?” You asked to which he nodded. “It was after a day of shopping with Ada and Esme. You and I had been together for three months at that point, and Ada and Esme were sure we were going to end up getting married, so they wanted to make sure I knew I was part of the family.”
You knew he knew all of this, but you wanted to tell him the whole story of how you had come to the realization and what had happened leading up to the fight.
”After we were done shopping, Esme had John meet us up at The Garrison so we could all have a drink.”
The three of you stumbled through the doors of the pub, giggling over something Ada had said.
John motioned the three of you over to the table he was sitting at, already having ordered a round of drinks for you. It was the first time you had sat outside of the private room the Shelbys had, and the last.
In the middle of the three of you telling John about the new dress Ada had bought, someone who’d had one too many drinks came stumbling over.
“I don’t get you Shelbys. You serve your country in the war then associate with some Irish scum,” he spat out, motioning from John to you.
You had met the other Shelbys while Arthur, Tommy, and John were in France. Polly had needed a bookkeeper for the betting shop and had taken you, even vouching for you when they had returned. After a year of working with them, one incident where you had been used as bait that had gone too far, and you’d been forced to defend yourself, Tommy had decided to make you an official Peaky Blinder. You may not wear your Peaky cap, but the bladed item was also on you. Offers had been made to hide blades in other women’s items of clothing, but you had denied. You had learned how to hide the cap among scarves, shawls, or in your bags and you wanted the official Peaky Blinders symbol.
John had immediately jumped to your defense that night in The Garrison.
“She’s a damn Peaky Blinder and has been for years! She can be trusted as well as any Englishman or woman.” He had defended, standing up to meet the man eye-to-eye as a warning to leave.
“Do you know who you’re talking about?” Ada said next, standing up also, “Irish or not, she’s Tommy’s girl and a Blinder.”
“I don’t give a shit if she’s Tommy’s current whore or not. She’s Irish scum and I don’t want to be in a pub with the likes of her,” the man spat back at Ada.
Esme and you both stood up at this and the rest of the pub had silenced as they watched the scene unfold. Seemingly out of thin air, a couple other Blinders that were present came to stand beside John as he told the man to leave the pub while he could still see the door.
Next thing you knew, Esme had pulled you harshly out of the way as a glass shattered against the wall behind you.
Chaos broke out immediately. Despite you trying to fight against them, a couple patrons or other members of the Peaky Blinders (you weren’t sure which) had tried to drag you, Ada, and Esme back to the office. During the mix, a blow landed on your cheek and you quickly swung back.
The fight seemed to halt immediately after. Even if the guy was brave enough to harass you for being Irish, throw a glass at your head, and fight John over everything, everyone else seemed to realize the grave mistake that had been made in that moment.
No one touched Thomas Shelby’s woman, and there she was with a bruise already evident on her cheek.
John grabbed the guy by the scruff of the neck like he was nothing more than a rabid dog, called for you to follow him, and called for Esme and Ada to be walked back to the betting shop and for all the members of the Peaky Blinders present to go there, also.
You walked with John to the canal and were told by John that you ‘could do the honors of killing the bastard’ yourself.
After the deed was done, the two of you had walked back to the betting shop and arrived at the same time as Tommy.
You remembered the worry on his face as he looked for you, the anger that took over when he spotted the black eye, him screaming at everyone to give him an answer as to what had happened and who had harmed you, and the way he had pulled you into his arms in a hug that nearly crushed you.
You remembered the feeling of safety that washed over you once you were in his arms, the feeling of home, and the way you were able to ignore the chaos around you as others explained what exactly had happened that night.
You remembered the way he wouldn’t let anyone else touch you until he had personally looked you over for any injuries.
You remembered the look he had when you told him you’d killed the man. The disappointment over not being the one to do it himself, but the pride in you standing up for yourself.
“I remember being absolutely terrified when it finally clicked in my head what I was feeling. I have never feared you, but I was terrified of ever getting my heart broken again. I knew Esme and Ada had said they were sure we would be married, but my own insecurities came into play, and I was terrified you’d realize how much of a mess I could be and you’d leave me,” you told him, leaned in and kissing him softly for a moment before continuing on, “You never left me. Even when we’ve fought, you never let me feel like you were going to leave me. I learned that no matter what happened, you’d move the earth, heavens, and hells to make sure you always came back to me.”
Tommy remained silent as you finished your story. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but it seemed you had actually managed to make the man speechless.
“I love you, Thomas Michael Shelby,” you muttered as you leaned in to kiss him again, “I meant it the first time I said those words, when I accepted your proposal, when we said them at the altar, when I say them now, and every time in between. You’re my darling boy through it all.”
His hand came up to cup your face and he rested his forehead against yours, “I’ve meant them all, too. You’re mine until the end of time.”
#thomas shelby#thomas shelby x reader#Thomas Shelby x you#Thomas Shelby imagine#tommy shelby x reader#Tommy Shelby x you#Tommy Shelby imagine#Tommy Shelby#Peaky blinders#Cillian Murphy
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Daddy’s Girl
summary: this is actually a part two of Sweet, Domestic Life. i’m glad y’all thought it was cute bc i love joel having a happy life and being a family man (but tbf idk if i like this or not) also i’ve been reading writing tips and whatnot and even had a friend go over this for me (she helped so much) !! i hope you can notice a (good) difference shskdhakal
warnings: your child is a menace (affectionate), f!reader, reader is referred to as mama, the daughter is nicknamed ‘Bug’, so sweet it’ll rot your teeth, i also don’t know how to properly write toddlers lol
w.c.: 1k
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A soft, content sigh escaped your lips as you sat on the bed, crossing your legs as you neatly folded laundry and separated each article of clothing into its own pile. Joel was not as contented; he chased your little girl up and down the hall, her high-pitched squealing bouncing off the walls as she scuttled away, and he followed in hot pursuit with heavy feet that thundered after her with every laugh and giggle.
You heard Joel ask with an accusing tone, "What do you have in your hand?" Your ears perked up, and as soon as you lifted your head, you saw your three-year-old come barreling in. With a wide, shit-eating grin plastered on her face, making her cheeks appear rounder, she held her closed fist out in front of her.
"Mama!" She hollered and rushed to the edge of the bed, her free hand gripping and fisting at the bed sheets as she clambered up the mattress and placed a tiny foot against the frame of the bed to hoist herself up, trying her best to reach you.
"Bug!" You exclaimed with a dramatic widening of your eyes, dropping the shirt you held, and raising your arms slightly before grabbing her and settling her onto your lap. Joel joined next and propped an arm against the door frame as his chest heaved from the chase he had just endured. His brows bunched together, but a playful smile stretched his lips, clearly thrilled to be a part of the game.
"Nuh-uh," he said with a shake of his head and walked forward, "Mama can't help ya." Then he reached for the toddler once again.
Your eyes narrowed as you were about to argue but stopped short as Bug screeched in your ear. The sudden noise made you recoil with a wince. Your neck craned to the side, and you arched your brows while you blinked rapidly and waited for her to simmer down.
After a minute, you tilted your head to look down at her, "You done?" You ask softly and tuck a wavy strand of hair behind her ear.
Her head bobbled in response, "Yeah," she sucked in her lips and shifted in your lap, grabbing onto the collar of your shirt to balance herself.
You nod back and carefully remove her hand from the shirt, preventing her from possibly tugging the collar too low. "Okay," you whisper, then turning back to Joel. You resume your theatrical act, cradling your daughter's head to your shoulder protectively as you give him a mock pout.
"Not so fast, Miller," you say dramatically, "You bein' mean to my girl?"
The little girl had her hands tucked under her chin as she peeked at Joel with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Your husband noticed this, of course, and shot her a lighthearted glare.
"If anything, she's the mean one," he retaliated with a vague gesture of his hand and moved to lay down beside the two of you. "Makin' an old man with a bad back and bad knees run around like that." He added, followed by a soft exhale as he brought his hands to his stomach and clasped them together.
You snorted faintly and observed him with mild amusement as he got comfortable. You then avert your gaze to the fidgeting child in your lap. "I heard Daddy ask what you got in your hand," you tell her, tilting your head curiously. "Wanna show me what it is?"
Her nose scrunched as she bared her teeth in a goofy grin and brought her hands from under her chin, splaying them open to reveal-
"Nothing?" Your head reeled back with a laugh. Ah, of course. She was getting her father riled up for the sake of it, truly a chip off the old block.
Joel chuckled under his breath, bringing a hand from his torso to rub tiredly at his face.
"Glad I've got my girls ta keep me on my toes." He mumbled, voice barely above a whisper as he opened his eyes again and glanced between you. Your daughter wormed free from your hold and crawled onto Joel's lap, her little hands splayed across his chest as she gazed down at him.
" 'S'a joke, Daddy." She explained, her shoulders bobbing up and down with a happy lilt in her voice. "Bellie told me." Ah, that would explain it. Joel couldn't deny that Ellie's favorite pastime seemed to be finding ways to get under his skin, and now that had also expanded to his other daughter.
" 'Course she did," Joel replied, flicking his gaze to you, his expression mostly neutral with a faint look of amusement. You noticed your daughter's lip slightly parted with a soft yawn, and her eyes dropped ever so slightly, which signaled the two of you that she was starting to get sleepy.
"Yeah, bein' a li'l menace is tirin' ain't it, Bug?" Joel cooed playfully and touched her back, gently lowering her to lay against his chest.
You watched the interaction fondly and felt your heart flutter.
You couldn’t deny it; your daughter was a daddy's girl through and through, always seeking out the time she could spend with him, running to him with open arms when he came home after patrol, and always being under his feet, which he would always welcome with equal enthusiasm.
You finished folding the rest of the laundry and gathered each pile, placing them in their respective spots within the dresser. As you worked, you listened as Joel quietly sang, "Bye, Baby Buntin," his words slowly trailing off as he did. You turned back to see the pair fast asleep, the two embracing each other.
A warm feeling rushed through your body, and you silently padded over to the bed, reaching for the comforter folded at the end and throwing it open. You placed it over the pair and gently kissed each of their foreheads before turning off the lamp, then snuggled in next to them and closed your eyes, savoring this moment of peace and contentment.
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sorry it’s so short ahh !! i just wanted to write something real quickie. thank you for reading and comments/reblogs are always appreciated <33
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel tlou#joel miller tlou#tlou#joel miller x you#the last of us#the last of us hbo#joel miller imagine#joel miller the last of us#joel miller fanfic#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller one shot#joel miller/reader#joel miller fluff#joel miller fic
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❝𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙚❞
Pairing:
Soft!Dark!Neil Lewis x Girlfriend!Reader
Summary:
Neil had spent all night watching his girlfriend unintentionally flirted with Jonathan, and he couldn’t stand it.
Warning(s): SMUT. Non-con/Dub-con (at the end). Both POVs. P in V. Forced breeding kink. Jealous!Neil like he is irrational. Soft!Dark!Neil. Daddy kink (so sorry). Minors, dni! Note: the reader is coquette, but only in clothing aesthetic aspect because she is shy.
Word Count: 3.2k
When the store was finally locked and the street was quiet, Neil took her hand in his, making a beeline for his house.
They barely spoke as they walked. Every few minutes, he gave a suspicious glare at Y/N, but he was trying to hold in his anger.
Finally, they got to his place, and he dragged her inside with a firm grip. He was waiting for the right time to let out all of his emotions.
And he might just do that tonight.
“Neil?” She questioned him. she eluded innocence, and it was in the way of how she talked or how she acted. Always blushing and always stuttering. It was what made him attracted to her, gorgeous girl in pretty baby doll dresses and milk maid tops with skirts or cute jeans. He was rarely angry with her which was why he knew she was profoundly confused by his behavior.
Neil didn't answer her question. Instead, he slammed the door behind them, and with one swift motion, pinned her against the wall in the foyer by the stairs.
He pressed his nose almost aggressively against hers, his eyes narrowing, his lips curling into a snarl. "I saw everything," he hissed. "You were getting too close with him, weren't you?"
All his insecurities and jealousy finally bubbled to the surface, making him feel angrier than he had ever been. He had felt like Jonathan was better looking than him. "Were you guys intimate with each other?"
“Never!” She gasped, looking into his eyes because he was so close to her face, with his nose pressing against hers. She was confused on why he would ask that. She never even had sex with anyone until she met Neil.
"I don't believe you," Neil snapped at her. "You spent so much time with him, and you had so much in common. How am I supposed to believe you two were never intimate with each other?" He pointed out, accusation coated his tone as he curled his fingers into his palms, gritting his teeth. "I'm your boyfriend, not him," he spat. "And you better not forget that."
“Friends can have a lot of things in common and not be intimate!” She argued softly, eyes widening. Realizing he took a step back, she was able to move past him, down the hallway towards his bedroom.
He knew that was true, friends can have a lot of things in common, but he was beyond rational to think straight. Especially at his thought filled with his fear of losing her.
"Don't you walk away from me!" Neil shouted at her while grabbing her wrist and pulled her towards him. As she was in front of him, he immediately latched onto her waist, refusing to let her go, “look at me when I talk to you.” He hissed with a warning in his gaze, waiting until she was looking at him. “I know you two wanted to be intimate with each other. I can tell just by looking at him and that's what he wants." His grip was beginning to tighten around her waist, his icy eyes staring at her with pure rage.
Her eyes began to widen, him shouting at her with “don’t you walk away from me” and “look at me when I talk to you” had made her tremble slightly in sheer arousal and she didn’t know why it made her wet, but she wasn’t going to let him know at all. She wasn’t even afraid of him either. She didn’t say anything to him, but just staring up at him. Then she managed to slip from his grip and entered his bedroom.
Neil was taken aback when he suddenly felt her slip out of his grip. It was almost like a jolt of adrenaline because it only pissed him off more. He wasn't about to let her get away that easily.
He moved quickly, following her behind as he entered the bedroom and forcefully grabbed her by her waist, and dragged her back to face him. "Don't you ignore me," he said harshly.
His tone is making her thighs feel slightly slick as she grew aroused, it was a good thing he was too angry to see how wet she is from his actions and his tone.
“Stop,” she whispered, hoping he would calm down so she could stop feeling aroused. She did not understand why she felt aroused when he was acting like this.
"I'm not going to let this go, you hear me!?" Neil’s voice raised as if he couldn’t control himself. "You're with me, and no one else. Is that clear?"
His heart was racing, and his mind was on fire and filled with green ooze of jealousy. She was his and there was no way he would let her see other men, that included his friend.
He squeezed her waist even tighter, making her feel uncomfortable. "Look at me! Or do I need to do something to get your attention?"
“I can’t look at you,” she huffed slightly with a soft noise in her voice, looking away from him to the side.
Neil was frustrated; she just had to make things difficult for him, didn't she? "Don't you dare look away." He grabbed her chin with his fingers and forcefully turned her to face him. "What did I tell you? Look at me."
Her eyes hadn’t met his which only served him with increasing rage. His face contorted into a snarl, and the veins on his neck were prominent from how enraged he was. "Look into my eyes!"
“I can’t!” She burst out with a soft whine, refusing to look at him. In response, he settled for releasing her waist, then immediately grappling for her wrist instead.
"Why not?" He demanded, his grip on her wrist tightening even more as anger overwhelmed him. "Is it because I'm too scary and intimidating for you?” He asked, with a tone dripping with sarcasm. "Is it because you know you're guilty of wanting to be intimate with Jonathan?" He was so angry that he wanted to tear something apart. "Stop ignoring me and look at me!"
The biggest mistake was listening to him because when she looked at him and she was purely sopping wet. With a frustrated cry, her free hand latched onto his hand that wasn’t holding her wrist and dragged his fingers under her dress and into her underwear to feel her wetness to reveal how hot and bothered she was over his behavior. As soon she pushed his fingers and felt them touching her cunt, “daddy!” She cried out, and it was the first time she ever called him that.
Neil’s eyes darkened; his breath got caught in his throat as soon as he heard her say the word “daddy”.
All of the emotions vanished in that moment, his anger and jealousy were gone. His heart was pounding, his thoughts racing. He was still holding her by the wrist, and yet…he couldn’t feel any other emotion.
He was just stunned. All he could see was her, and all he could feel was her cunt.
She mewled and began to rut her hips onto his hand. “Daddy, please.” She gasped, begging as her fingers tightened around his.
Neil inhaled sharply as he heard her desperate plea. It was as if he felt a switch go off in him.
One second, he was wanting to argue with her, and the next he was completely taken over by this primal desire with a need to claim her.
It was like she had activated some sort of animalistic instinct in him.
“Daddy? You want daddy?” Neil asked in a breathless voice. His eyebrows were raised, his eyes darting back and forth between his wrist with the hand that disappeared into her dress and her face.
“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, eyes wide open in innocence and arousal.
Neil’s mind was clouded in lust. All of his thoughts were of this innocent and helplessly needy girl, calling him daddy.
She was dripping with arousal, and all she wanted was him; the man that she loved.
This was a dream come true to him.
He dropped her wrist that was still bounded in his hand, and ran his hand through her hair, looking deep into her eyes. "Call me that again."
“Daddy,” she said breathlessly.
Neil was completely consumed by desire, his mind racing, and his body trembling with excitement. He withdrew his fingers from her underwear. "Good girl."
He took her face in his hands and kissed her, pushing her against the wall and wrapping his arms around her. He was kissing her so passionately and aggressively, as if he needed a release, and she was the only one who could give it to him.
The feeling was unlike anything he ever felt before. He wanted to consume her entirely.
“Oh,” she moaned into his devouring mouth.
Neil kept on kissing her, his hands running through her hair. He felt intoxicated by her scent, and her taste.
Her noises sent shivers down his body, driving his desire even higher. "You're so delicious." He sighed pathetically, he needed her, needed her more than anything in the entire world. He was obsessed with her.
“Daddy.” She mumbled inaudibly, reaching for his bulge through his jeans and gripping it desperately. He gasped into her mouth, huffing aggressively as he withdrew from her lips before picking her up and throwing her onto the bed.
Neil's primal instinct took over in that moment, and he was completely consumed by this sudden, violent lust. He kissed her even more fiercely, using his slim muscles to pin her down.
He needed to taste her and touch her, to consume her. And she was the only one who could give him what he wanted.
Her moans and whimpers sent shivers up his spine, his lust growing with every movement she made.
She gasped as he dragged her dress away from her body by the straps to reveal her bra and underwear, whimpering when he started to push down, rubbing his hard on against her bare stomach.
Neil's voice was raw and full of passion as he answered her moan, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "I love you. You're my good girl."
His lips pressed against her neck, his hands running through her hair. He was so intoxicated by the smell and taste of her. "I need you, baby."
His lips returned to her mouth, his tongue touching hers in the most intense kiss he'd ever experienced. "Call me daddy again,” he mumbled incoherently into her mouth.
“I love you too, daddy.”
Neil felt like his body was on fire, his emotions spinning out of control, and all he could do now was take her. "Good girl."
His jaw was straining the moment his tongue pressed deeper into her mouth, his lips devouring hers like he was starved.
He kept on kissing her like he was trying to consume her. His hands were all over her body, caressing every single part of her skin.
He couldn’t think straight anymore. *"I need more.” His lust was growing with every second he spent touching her. He needed her. He wanted her.
She mewled when she felt him on her stomach, rubbing his bulge against her skin once again.
Neil felt like he was going crazy. He couldn’t handle the excitement any longer.
He needed more.
So, he maneuvered himself off her body and stood up from the bed and began to remove his clothes.
"Baby," Neil murmured the endearment softly, his voice dripping in excitement. He was staring right at her and her lips, her face, everything about her that made her perfect.
His hands were already wrapping around her body as he returned to the bed, pulling her closer.
"Do you want me, baby?" He murmured the question as he got on top of her, straddling her hips.
She shuddered in pleasure when she felt his hot and heavy cock on top of her stomach, skin on skin. “Yes.” She moaned.
"Good girl."
That was all Neil could say at the moment. Any other words had failed him. He could think only of her, and her only.
Neil's hands ran through her hair as his body rubbed against hers, touching her in all the right places. His lips were kissing her all over, and he was taking his time in making sure she was feeling good.
He knew she loved the teasing, and he was going to give her exactly what she wanted.
She whimpered when he started grinding down on her stomach, feeling his thick cock dragging across her skin slightly as he pushed down his hips in a slight rocking motion.
Neil felt like he was in such a euphoric rush. He was completely consumed by the feeling of holding her in his arms, her body against his. She was his whole world right now, her every breath, her every heartbeat.
His kisses were gentle but firm and passionate. His hands were caressing her everywhere, but they were never too rough.
He was in love with her.
She whimpered when he touched her sensitive nipples, brushing his thumbs across them. Before releasing them so he could scoot backwards to get her dress and underwear off.
Neil's hands brushed against her body, and he was taking his time as his mouth was all over her neck, shoulders, and hands, and his hands kept running through her hair, caressing every inch of her.
He was enjoying this so much that he was losing track of time. He didn't want this to end. He never wanted this to end.
Neil was obsessed with this girl. His girl.
Then he finally placed himself between her legs, settling one of his arms next to her head and his other hand was sliding down between them.
Lifting her legs around his waist, “please daddy.” She begged quietly.
Neil's eyes widened at her words, and his breathing hitched in response. He wrapped his hand around his girth, aiming it at her pussy.
"Baby,” he cooed softly as his body was trembling in excitement. He was ready to take her. He took a sharp inhale, and then-
She’d let out a wail, in pleasure when he slammed his cock into her. Her hands scrambled to find something to hold onto, but she couldn’t.
Neil's eyes were filled with passion and lust. He was in a primal state, a state in which all he could feel and hear and see was her.
He started thrusting into her roughly. She moaned, and she felt her hands being grabbed by his and she felt relief. “Oh, daddy.” She breathed, feeling his cock dragging against her walls made her whine even louder.
Neil huffed almost whiningly, feeling himself being consumed by lust. He couldn't hold back; he wanted her so badly. It was as if his blood was boiling with lust beyond his comprehension.
Neil's body was drenched in sweat, and his skin was flushed with a red tint. He was exhausted; exhausted from intense and relentless movements of pounding into her, feeling her tight pussy on his cock.
His heart was pounding, his lips were swollen, and his ears were ringing.
But he didn't want it to end. He wasn't done yet. He still wanted more.
He reached for her jaw with his fingers, and she gasped when he forced her mouth to open then she realized what he wanted her to do so she obeyed completely and closed her eyes in sheer pleasure when he’d spit in her mouth.
Neil was completely lost in a daze, his focus completely on her. In this moment, he felt unstoppable.
He felt like nothing could stand in his way when it came to her. He was going to give her everything that she wanted, and he was going to do everything in his power to make her feel good.
She was his, and no one was going to take her from him.
The pleasure of the climax finally washed over her, making her moan, and she could tell he was nearing his end as well due to the stuttering of his hips as his pace became irregular. Her lust-addled brain was clear when she realized he did not place a condom on his cock. “Neil, you-you need to pull out.” She whispered stammering, trying to push his torso away.
Neil was caught off-guard when she said that, breaking him from the haze he had been feeling for so long. He pulled away slightly, his breathing shaky and heart pounding out of his chest.
He stared into her eyes, panting slightly before shaking his head. "No." That was all he could say, his voice sounding hoarse and rough. "I'm not pulling out."
She looked at him with wide eyes as panic filled in her irises, “I’m not on birth control! You have to pull out before you could get me pregnant.”
"I don't care."
The words left Neil’s mouth before he even had time to think them through. He felt a sudden wave of lust and passion wash over him, and he couldn’t resist the feeling as he started slamming his hips into her, shoving his cock back and forth in her pussy.
Neil was completely and utterly lost in a daze, and all he could think about was her. He couldn’t think about consequences right now, he was just following his instincts. "I don’t care." He repeated again, his voice shaky but loud. "I'm going to give you a baby.”
She was shaking her head, “Neil.” She begged, trying to push his abdomen away, trying to stop him.
"No." Neil said harshly, refusing to be pushed away as he gave a brutal thrust. "You're mine, and I'm keeping you. You don't get to leave." He sounded desperate and forceful as he pushed his body back against hers. "No one is going to take you away from me."
Neil was no longer in his own control; he was consumed by his desire and lust.
She tried really hard to get him to pull out, but the battle was lost. She threw her head back as her hands were dragged above her head by him to prevent her from pushing him away. “Neil.” She all but whined when he started adding more force behind his thrusts .
She felt him deeply as he held her against the mattress. She couldn’t even try to wiggle if she could because he had a tight grip on her, holding her down as he took her.
Neil was so lost in himself that he didn't hear her, not until it was already too late. Her voice sounded so distant to him, a faint noise in the back of his head. He couldn't hear anything but his heart beating in his ears, pumping in and out.
He felt desperate, and his movement grew more aggressive with every second. He wasn't in control anymore; he wasn't in control of himself. His only thought was to let himself go.
"No one will ever touch you again." He spat. "You're mine."
Neil felt like his world was collapsing, all his desires and lust being suddenly sucked away by the feeling of pleasure. Time stood still in that moment, his body moving uncontrollably in the most intense and deep release he had ever felt.
His voice became nothing to a hoarse, broken “fuck.”
#neil lewis x reader#neil lewis imagine#neil lewis x y/n#neil lewis x you#neil lewis smut#cillian murphy x reader#watching the detectives#neil lewis
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Law being the most anemic fucking vampire.
Like he doesn’t pick up on hunger cues, especially when studying in med school and during his fellowship time. Will go days without feeding because he doesn’t notice he needs to until one day he stands up and just falls the fuck over
Like he becomes well known in his apartment complex because of the number of times he’s passed out on the stairs.
He doesn’t change his ways though until he comes to on the landing with his neighbour looming over him.
“Zoro says you’re a vampire” the neighbour says.
Law doesn’t know his neighbours he has no clue who Zoro is. “I’m a vampire,” he says, groaning as he sits up.
Neighbour nods, walks over and fucking HEADBUTTS the wall. Some cement crumbles.
Law gapes at him.
The neighbour walks back, looking mostly fine (definitely has a concussion) with a trickle of a bloody nose.
“Here you go!” He says brightly.
Law gives him a horrified face. He scrambles back when he thinks the neighbour is going to headbutt him too.
But the man just walks up to him and swipes the blood off his face and onto Law’s face, like you’re supposed to do to get kittens to eat.
He’s grinning. Very wide.
“Please don’t ever do that again,” Law says. He wipes the blood off his face.
The man frowns “I worked hard for that!” He says.
“I’m not rewarding bad behaviour,” Law says petulantly.
“You passed out on the stairs!”
“That’s beside the point.”
Law has blood bags at home. He doesn’t need a weird stranger’s blood. He probably has mad cow.
The man crosses his arms. “Well I think that’s rude,” he says.
Law sighs. He’s still lightheaded. “How about next time you want to donate blood, you ask me first? I can take some WITHOUT giving you a concussion.”
The man brightens. “Okay!!” He says, excited now.
“Im Luffy! It’s nice to meet you, vampire!”
“Trafalgar,” saw Law.
“Traffy,” says Luffy.
Law narrows his eyes. He senses arguing is futile.
Law never actually means to take Luffy up on his offer. He HAS blood, he just forgets to take it. Every time Luffy offers, he tells him he’s got blood at home, maybe next time.
That all changes when a summer storm rolls in and they lose power.
They’re out of power for almost four days, a sickly still and wet heat settling in the city. And when Law wakes up after passing out in his kitchenette, he realises he’s actually in need.
He doesn’t even know where in the complex Luffy lives, but it turns out not to be an issue.
He’s just made it down the stairs when the fire door in front of him opens and—
“TRAFFY!”
“Luffy,” Law groans despite himself.
“Do you need—“
“Yes.” Law grabs his wrist. “Come with me.”
Luffy obediently follows him back up the stairs to his apartment.
Law drags him in and sets him at the table. “You’re going to want to refill on protein and sugar after this,” he says.
“Okay!” Luffy says, expression bright.
Law sighs. He wipes down Luffy’s forearm with an alcohol pad before grabbing his wrist and sinking his teeth in.
Usually humans taste gross. Blood at the best of times is a neutral flavour, but skin and arm hair and sweat are disgusting.
But Luffy?
Luffy… tastes like honeyed ham.
Law pulls back, a wet noise as he pulls his fangs out. “Why do you taste like that?” He asks, alarmed.
“Like what?” Luffy asks.
“Like… glazed ham?”
Luffy laughs. “Silly,” he says. “Because I was eating glazed ham, of course!”
Law bit close to Luffy’s elbow. He also sanitised the area. How on EARTH did the taste permeate his skin so well?
With trepidation, Law goes back to feeding. It’s with horror he realises he… likes the glazed ham taste with the blood. It’s like drinking flavoured coffee; useless accoutrement but pleasing nonetheless.
When he’s drunk enough he’s confident he won’t be falling down stairs,
Law cleans Luffy’s arm and attaches two small round plasters to the holes.
“Fun!” Luffy says, looking at them. “Fang sized!”
“Thanks,” Law says. “You can go now.”
Luffy blinks at him. “Let’s hang out,” he says.
Law blinks back at him. “I have to—“ he gestures at his apartment.
Considering they are IN his apartment, he’s just sort of gesturing at everything.
“That’s cool,” Luffy says. “I’ll just stay here.”
Law… nods. “Okay,” he says. The power’s still out, it’s not like he was going to actually do anything anyway.
What Law doesn’t know is that once Luffy’s gotten into Law’s apartment once, he’s gonna always assume he’s welcome.
Even when Law tries to kick him out. S
ometimes (often) Luffy is just. Here now.
And unfortunately, like the glazed ham taste, Law realises he sort of likes it.
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Supercharged | JJK
Chapter 3: Figure it Out
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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life.
When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours.
Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?
🗲this chapter: You become Jungkook’s problem.
🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader
🗲word count: 3k
🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family
🗲rating: pg15
🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, tension, an argument, accidentally triggering someone else
a/n: this week, they actually get to talk!! hooray! except, well... they might not be so keen to celebrate this development... enjoy the drama👀
“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Jungkook’s stare was level, voice monotone. You gulped, finding it difficult to meet his eyes.
Exhaling, you cast your gaze across the rest of the training space, though you knew it to be empty. You were tucked down the end, where Jungkook had been practising before, and now stood opposite you.
“I- I don’t-” you stammered, “what do you mean?”
Jungkook poorly concealed the roll of his eyes.
“Namjoon taught you how to do this yesterday-“
“-I wouldn’t say taught, exactly-“
“-so let’s see it.”
Was Jungkook not supposed to be helping you? Namjoon had said his powers were closest to yours. Clearly his eagerness for you to learn from Jungkook had blinded him to the very clear hatred Jungkook harboured for you.
But if this was how he wanted to play it, you would go along. Prove to him that you didn’t need his help to improve.
Gritting your teeth, you lifted your palms as Namjoon had shown you earlier. What else had he told you? To summon the right feeling.
This time, instead of being afraid of the pain your powers had brought at first, you searched for the sensation in your chest. Briefly, your eyes flickered to the side. Jungkook was watching you impatiently, eyebrows raised.
He didn’t think you could do it.
Swallowing, you pulled your eyes away from him and towards the metal target he had fixed on the wall, the one you had seen him training with earlier.
Like opening a trapdoor in your chest, a blaze of heat suddenly escaped. You panted as it flowed from your palms, watching with pride as your bright blue current zapped across the surface of the metal, just as his gold had done earlier.
After a moment, you felt your energy waning and fumbled to close off the power again. Though it took you a great deal of concentration, it came easier than it had done the first time. Glowing with your achievement, you turned, head high, to face Jungkook. Maybe you had been too hard on yourself earlier, as Jimin had said. You would soon get better.
But instead of any indication he was impressed, Jungkook simply folded his arms, expression unchanging.
“You need to be quicker,” he said.
Not entirely concealing the disappointment that lanced through you at his dismissal, you waited for him to elaborate.
But he merely stared.
It became clear he had no intention of continuing. Hands tightening to fists at your sides, you scoffed in irritation.
“And are you going to tell me how to do that?”
“I’m sure you can figure it out,” he said darkly. He turned and stalked away to the bench by the wall, leaving you no chance to argue.
Before he turned around, you wrenched your eyes away, and back to the target. Fine. He didn’t want to teach you. He was only here because Namjoon had made him, but he was taking it as a chance to try and see you fail.
But you were determined he wasn’t going to be the only star student around here.
Your arms lifted, and this time it was much easier for you to summon the electricity. Perhaps, like physical exercise, this was a matter of getting warmed up.
A sharp blast of blue rattled the metal against the wall. A smirk slid across your face.
You shut it off and tried again.
At the side of the room, Jungkook watched without reaction as blue repeatedly fired across the space, the same vivid lightning reflected as a glow in your eyes. You smiled as you watched that deathly light, and he knew he was right about you. He saw that same cold joy at using powers that could take a life – the exact same as the man who had given them to you.
By the end of your training time, your confidence had been restocked. Jungkook hadn’t offered you any more assessments of your weaknesses, but you were certain you had become quicker at both activating and stopping your powers than you could have imagined after your first try the previous morning.
Another clash sounded through the room as you hit the target again. As it faded, leaving just the sound of your panting breaths to fill the space, a voice spoke.
“Very impressive.”
Lowering your arm and whirling around, you found Namjoon leaning against the opposite wall. He strode towards you, though you noticed his eyes travelling to Jungkook who was still skulking by the wall.
“Loads better already,” Namjoon offered you a smile on his way past, “nice work, both of you.”
As his leader approached him, Jungkook got to his feet, enduring the congratulations of Namjoon who threw an arm around him.
“Yep,” Jungkook ground out, eyes fixed on you, “she’s certainly determined.”
His blood boiled even further seeing your mouth quirk up at that.
“Get some rest. You’re done for the day,” Namjoon told you. Nodding, you headed away, not waiting for Jungkook. It was just as well, because Namjoon held him back.
“I’m proud of you,” he told the younger sincerely, “I knew you would be able to welcome her in eventually. And it looks like you helped her a lot. It may not be easy for you, but you set aside your differences and that’s great.”
Namjoon’s encouraging smile was the first thing to strike guilt into him about how he had been treating you. His leader was so pleased, but it was all a lie. He hadn’t really done anything to make him proud.
Nodding with an attempt at a smile, he excused himself for the gym. Whenever he couldn’t make sense of his thoughts, they could usually be straightened out by a workout, so he headed straight there and began with some pull-ups.
He trusted Namjoon. Namjoon wanted to welcome you. But still, he couldn’t seem to support the decision.
Again, his mind replayed the mental images of you, standing with your shoulders set and arms raised, repeatedly firing deadly electricity through the air. The flashes of blue were enough to dissipate his guilt almost instantly.
His biceps and shoulders began to protest, but he pushed through. If he could just make a few more…
The problem was, he could see that fatal determination in you. His comments hadn’t prevented you from pushing your powers harder. Did you even understand how dangerous they were? Anyone could end up with powers like that, and not all were equipped to deal with them. Not everyone would use them for the best.
It was clear to him that you wanted nothing more than to master them as quickly as possible. And then, who knew what you could do? To him. To his team.
He dropped back to the ground, panting heavily.
Rubbing his burning palms together, he watched as gold static crackled around them. He clenched them into fists, turning away.
You stared hazily at the four blank walls of the room. It was entirely dark, your eyes only picking out slight details. Not that there were many to behold; you remained in the bare room from your first night, clearly not fully trusted with your powers yet.
Though you felt you had proved yourself a little when you trained with Jungkook earlier, you had to agree it was for the best. You didn’t want to admit quite how drained you felt after the adrenaline from your training had faded.
At first, you had crashed on the sofa, chatting with Hope and Jimin again. They were encouraging as always, understanding of the tiredness that seeped into your bones.
“Don’t push yourself,” Jimin had warned again. “You only just got your powers after all. You’re still adjusting.”
But fairly soon, talk of powers and training had been dropped. They put the tv on, and besides the news article which flashed up at first (‘Bolt describes his defeat of Monster Necrus X’), it was the first time the craziness of this new world you had crash landed into was gone from your mind. You didn’t care what they put on, paying minimal attention to the show and instead basking in the downtime with your new friends.
But when Hope looked up warily, you didn’t even need to guess who was standing behind you.
Jungkook’s venomous glare only met you for a second as he walked past, instead settling on ignoring you completely as he headed to the kitchen. The same loose t shirt hung from his frame, but since you came upstairs it had been drenched with sweat, clinging to his back as he headed to the kitchen.
Looked like he did train as hard as the others had told you.
Heaving yourself to a sitting position with some difficulty, you groaned. You hadn’t been working out, in the traditional sense at least, but your muscles had seized up.
You kept your gaze on Jungkook, who was filling a bottle and tilting his head back to gulp down some water. When he met your eyes again, his darkened, jaw popping in irritation.
With a sigh, you turned back to the others who were eyeing you apprehensively.
“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you sighed.
“You don’t have to-” Jimin tried, but you shook your head.
“It’s okay. I’m about to pass out anyway. Have a good night.”
You weren’t sure what time it was then, but it must have been early because on waking you found yourself wide awake while it was still dark, the house quiet. Despite the subtle ache in your body from the strenuous first day, and the heaviness of your head, you were firmly awake.
Pushing the covers off, you sat with a huff.
At least this feeling, this inability to sleep, wasn’t something isolated from the regular world you used to know. Even people who had never seen lightning shooting from their own hands had trouble sleeping sometimes. A normal problem, that you could deal with.
And so it was almost relieving when you padded into the deserted kitchen. For the moment, you didn’t have to cling to anyone, least of all someone who seemed to despise you, to guide you through.
In the kitchen, you flicked on the lights beneath the cupboards, the minimum level to light the space without assaulting your weary eyes.
Through your tiredness you breathed in the still air as you sat back, having set the kettle to boil. You watched the water inside growing restless as it heated up, tracking the bubbles as something to do.
It was only when the light flicked off, signalling that the steaming water was ready, that you took your eyes off it. And then you nearly fell out of your chair.
As you had turned to stand and retrieve the kettle, you found the seat beside you filled.
Biting back a curse, you simply panted, hand over your chest as you recovered from your shock. Big eyes blinked back at you.
While you steadied yourself against the counter, you took in the person’s face. You hadn’t been introduced yet, but remembered seeing him the first night you had arrived, holding onto Jimin’s hand.
He hadn’t said anything yet, so you shifted slightly and decided to break the silence.
“Sorry… I didn’t notice you come in. Do you have powers like Yoongi’s?”
The only move he made was to close his lips.
Okay, that hadn’t worked. Glancing over at the kettle, steam still emitting from the spout, you tried again.
“I’m making tea. Do you want any?”
Slowly, a smile turned his lips up at the corners. What could be considered a nod moved his head, and a knot of relief unwound in you as you scampered around the counter to fetch mugs. Eventually, the calming scent of tea wafted in steam from each cup as you slid one tentatively in front of your companion.
Clasping your hands around the warming ceramic, you spoke softly as you waited for it to cool enough to drink.
“I’m Y/N. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
His eyes raised from his tea and you mustered a small smile. You hadn’t expected him to reply at all, so when his smile returned and he spoke, you were astonished.
“V,” was all he said, a deep voice that didn’t disturb the quiet.
Your own smile grew. Sliding back into a seat, you took that as a win and kept talking.
“I couldn’t sleep,” you chuckled, “I figured no one would be up, not that it matters. I almost feel like I’m back at home. Midnight tea breaks are still a thing when you become a superhero, it seems.”
Laughing at yourself, you took a sip of your tea at last. But lowering you mug, you noticed a frown creasing V’s brow.
“Hero…” he muttered.
“I was just joking,” you laughed nervously, “I barely know how to use my powers yet.”
He said nothing else, but you noticed his fingers tightening around his cup. Had you done something wrong?
“Is something wrong?” you asked gently, reaching a hand subtly closer to him.
But in that moment, a hot, itchy feeling shot down your arm. With a gasp, you tensed, recognising the feeling and scrabbling to restrain it as you had learned to.
Though you held back the threatening torrent, a small flicker of blue escaped, leaping from your hand.
Closing your eyes and gritting your teeth, you withdrew, but a sudden smashing sound assaulted your ears, making it difficult to focus inwardly. The moment you flinched away, eyes snapping open to see a chair strewn on the floor among a growing tea stain and shards of shattered ceramic, control slipped away from you again.
Eyes widening, you backed away from V, now several paces away from you. Blue crackled around your hands.
It prompted you to take your eyes off the shadowy figure of V, breathing deeply as you locked your powers away, a slight simmering in your chest the only reminder as they retreated.
You had successfully shut down your powers, as you had been taught. But it didn’t seem to have been enough, not for the tense figure that stood on the other side of the trashed kitchen.
Your eyes opened as you staggered back and into the wall, panting with the exertion your powers always inflicted. You opened and closed your hands experimentally. No more electricity threatened. Next, your eyes fell on V, who took another step backwards.
You didn’t know what to say, but before you had the chance, another figure was approaching from the dark corridor. They were practically running towards you.
Even in the unlit space, you soon saw that it was Jungkook. His nostrils flared as he noticed you, but first he turned to V. Not far behind on his heels was Jimin, who didn’t spare you a glance as he ran to V as well, instantly throwing his arms around him from behind.
You could only stand, frozen as Jimin led V away. Jungkook remained.
Biting down on your tongue, you pushed yourself to stand unsupported again. Jungkook stepped disdainfully over the remnants of V’s tea on the floor, stalking towards you. He didn’t stop until he was close enough that it forced you to look up at him.
“What are you thinking?” he hissed.
“I-I don’t know what happened,” you stammered.
You might as well not have bothered, cut off nearly instantly by Jungkook. He was practically snarling, throwing a hand out as he ranted.
“You’re damn lucky you weren’t fried to a crisp!”
“I got my powers under control-“ you protested.
Teeth gritted, Jungkook pressed even closer to you, crowding your space as he glared into your eyes.
“I wasn’t talking about you!”
Clenching your jaw, you breathed through your nose, refusing to budge even though his face was mere inches away. Silence stretched out, nothing but your breathing filling the space as you tried to fathom his words.
“V…” you murmured. A curious frown creased your brows, but Jungkook didn’t feel like indulging you. His lips curled into a scowl.
“You must be stupid. I’m not sure if you noticed, but our powers aren’t anything to fool around with. All of us.”
“He… he wasn’t going to hurt me,” you spoke. At first in disbelief, but you grew more certain. V had had more than enough chance to attack you if he had wanted to.
“You don’t know that. Just stay away from him,” Jungkook spat, stepping back.
You jumped in before he could turn his back.
“And how am I supposed to do that? I live here too, Jungkook!”
“That’s the problem!” he rounded on you, “you don’t know anything about us!”
“I don’t know what you’re so afraid of,” you spoke coldly, “V is fine. And so am I, if you cared to know. I did exactly what I’m training to do.”
It was your turn to walk away, passing Jungkook on your way towards the exit. Unfinished tea be damned, you couldn’t keep arguing with him.
“Like scare him half to death?”
You paused in your path. Why did he think you were training to instil fear? You were training because you had no other option, with powers as unpredictable as yours. But it seemed fear was what you had caused anyway.
Dropping your head, you gazed at your hands, wishing anew that you didn’t have this complicated curse that drove people away. That made you into a danger.
But you didn’t have the words or the will to explain this to the obstinate Jungkook.
“See you at training,” you spoke flatly, and stepped away.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you're enjoying so far!!💜💜
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Dial Drunk
5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...
The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”
There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”
The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”
Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.
Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”
Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”
“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”
Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”
Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”
“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”
“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.
Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”
“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”
Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”
Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.
Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.
Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.
Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.
The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”
Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.
“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.
“Really?”
The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”
Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…”
He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”
Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”
“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.
“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”
Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.
— — — — —
“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”
“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.
Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.
Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”
“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”
What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”
He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.
Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”
Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”
“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.
“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”
“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”
He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.
“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”
Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”
“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.
“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”
— — — — —
Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.
A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.
Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”
“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”
Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”
“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”
“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”
Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.
Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”
For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand.
“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.
Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.
Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.”
“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”
“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.
“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”
Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”
Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”
Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.
— — — — —
Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”
“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”
Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.
Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”
Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”
“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”
“You knew going into this—”
“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”
Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”
The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”
Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.
— — — — —
“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”
Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”
The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”
“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”
“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.
“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.
Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”
Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.
“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”
Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.
Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”
“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”
Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”
“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”
He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.
One last time.
— — — — —
The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”
But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening.
“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.
“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.
The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”
Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”
The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.
Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.
He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.
#ExR#Enjolras x Grantaire#Enjoltaire#Enjolras#Grantaire#Les Amis#fanfiction#Les Miserables#modern AU#5+1 things#developing relationship#established relationship#and because it's me#former relationship#mild angst
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BLOOD||HUNGER
[PREV PART] [AO3]
OOO I'm very excited to share this chapter! We're getting close to the finish line!
Its name is "The Song of Us"
Page 54 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 15:
The Blind man asks his companion, before dawn break,
What do you believe, is a beast’s fate,
Once death seizes its life, in his inevitable grasp?
The beast, his heart knowing of the fallen knight’s pleas,
Of men they lost, who were left to be but a worm’s dark feast,
Answers, death reaches for monsters all the same as men,
For the unjust, for the cruel,
For the kind, for the forgiving,
All bones become one, until they become none,
As death is the only being, to see all as one and the same.
This city is quiet, in the way a drowning is. Something wicked is happening under the surface, hidden from plain sight. If only its victim had air to scream.
The Hunter has intel beyond the SAS’s scope, beyond Laswell’s. Informants, comms. A man pronounced to all as dead. How is it possible, they were written off as a non-threat before?
Soap grits his teeth, tapping the lit end of his cigarette on a wall. Simon started moving a few minutes ago, the poison once again retreating. By the haunted look in his brown eyes, John could tell they both know he’s running out of time.
Price has been arguing with Laswell while helping Simon. Something about the fact the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist a year prior, on paper. Appeared out of nowhere one day with an army behind them, ready to burrow into intelligence networks in a way even Makarov couldn’t.
Makarov’s name came up a lot in that conversation. Enough that Soap had to take a smoke.
Anger thrums through his veins. Begging for blood. The same incessant screaming that drove him to choke the life out of Makarov, the same fire that kept him going through this personal slice of hell.
Maybe he’s an idiot, for wanting to kill the Hunter, for believing it will change anything.
The cigarette’s flame licks his fingers.
Soap crushes it against the wall. He turns around, watching Simon and the Captain. Far enough to not hear them, but they seem to need a bit of privacy anyway. Soap can’t say he’s ever seen Price that emotional, in their short meetings.
He asks himself where Gaz is when the Lieutenant approaches him.
“Price is bloody livid, isn’t he?” Gaz huffs.
Soap hums. His eyes move from the Captain to Simon, his mask still on the ground besides him.
Kyle follows his stare, “did you know Ghost’s identity, when I found you two?”
“No”, the white skull almost glows in the moonlight, “I only found out when… the communicator tried to use it against him.”
He can feel Gaz scan his features, “and you still decided to work with him.”
Soap doesn’t answer. Simon and Price are hugging now, the movement uncoordinated to Ghost. He doesn’t know how he can tell.
He turns to face Gaz, “I swore we will finish this together. I don’t go back on my word.”
“We both know this goes beyond that, Soap.” Gaz gives him a half smile, “the way you look at him… Haven’t seen you like that with anyone else.”
Soap frowns, scoffing, “don’t know what yer-”
“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Gaz asks, almost gently.
…Feelings?
…..Could he?
“I…”
“Don’t lie to yourself.” Gaz murmurs, “in all the years I’ve known you, you didn’t act like this. Going against everyone you know, jumping in front of him when Price starts threatening him, letting him rest his bloody head on your legs- c’mon Soap, you’re fucking smitten with the man-”
“Kyle.” Soap stops him, head hanging down to hide the embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He scrubs a weary hand over his features, looking up at his friend between his fingers.
Gaz’s eyes soften. Soap sighs, “I- this is not the time for that kind of shite. We need to fuckin’ dust the Hunter, and then-”
And then what?
Soap lowers his hand, stare unconsciously drifting towards Simon. Since when have his eyes started doing that?
It hasn’t been more than a month since he arrived to this godforsaken city. How is it that John can’t imagine being alone again?
Or… how can’t he imagine an ‘after’ without Simon?
“I won’t lie to you.” Kyle starts, his tone gentler, “I still don’t fully trust Ghost. Even if he is… Simon Riley.” the Lieutenant places a hand on his shoulder, “but I can tell what you truly want, even if you think it’s not feasible.”
“That’s because it isn’t-”
“Bullshit.” Gaz turns John around to face him, “look, we are not good men. We’ve been operating outside the law for… for as long as I can remember. What we do, the way we dirty our hands...”
Kyle lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his shoulder, “what I’m saying is, we can make people disappear. And if you… if you want that, I can help. I’m sure Price will too-”
“Yer out of yer mind-”
“Are you going to go back to Scotland, mate?” Gaz’s voice sharpens on desperation, “are you gonna go back to feeling like you have nothing to live for? Can you really leave this life, leave Ghost, behind?” He almost whispers the end, “be honest.”
How could he go back? No apartment, endless job search, a buzz under his skin that cannot be scrubbed off, disappointment to his family, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness-
“What else can Ah do?!” Soap tenses under Gaz’s hand.
That hand keeps him steady all the same, “whatever you want, John.” Kyle smiles sadly, “me and Price don’t have that freedom, but you two? You don’t have stuffy generals breathing down your neck.”
“I don’t-” Soap cuts himself off, thoughts whirling faster in his mind. He gets reminded of what his therapist used to say about him, back when he was just discharged.
“You fixate on danger, John. To the point of obsession. You don’t know when to let go, if you believe you can make things right.”
“Even if the cost is more than you should be willing to pay.”
“Just… think about it. Besides…” Gaz looks away, expression darkening, “I have a feeling the 141 might need people like you in the future.”
Soap brows furrow, “dishonorably discharged adrenaline addicts?”
Kyle chuckles, “no”, his hands tighten on Soap’s shirt, “people we can trust. People who are willing to do what’s right, even if they know they shouldn’t. Even if they don’t act the way the higher ups would want them.”
His brown eyes turn to look at John, determination he first saw on bootcamp only growing stronger, “people like you.”
Soap goes through another cigarette with Gaz by the time Price and Simon return to them. Both of their eyes shine with tears.
“Laswell did some digging.” Price grunts, “wasn’t easy, finding intel on the Hunter. They know their way around our networks, clearly.” his stare flickers towards Simon, “this operation-”
“Mass murder” Soap corrects. Calling this an operation would spit on the dozens of innocent people left to rot here.
“Mass murder”, the Captain continues, “is very unusual for the Hunter’s soldiers. Almost… flashy.”
“The communicator admitted it was an attempt to frame me.” Simon rolls up the mask in his hands, slipping it on, “they needed to show the British Army I’m too dangerous to keep.”
“And they knew the SAS would send the 141 because of the informant.” Gaz huffs.
Price nods, “which they did succeed in, but it also exposed them to us.”
“The SAS wouldn’t have investigated it further if ye actually killed Ghost the first time around.” Soap grumbles, wincing a moment later when he remembered who he’s talking to.
The Captain takes it surprisingly seriously. “Correct. This is not the first time they hide behind a smaller, supposedly unconnected criminal.” he hangs his arms on his tacvest, commending voice booming in the empty streets, “the Hunter is now top priority for the 141, our orders are to eliminate them, along with any high ranking officers remaining within their army. This mission is classified to all but us and Laswell - anyone else will be treated as a potential collaborator of the Hunter.”
“What about Soap and Ghost, Captain?” Gaz asks.
Price sighs, “Ghost has escaped after releasing the civilian he captured as leverage. And John MacTavish?” a sly smile pushes his mustache up, ”he has never set foot in this city.”
Kate Laswell isn’t someone Soap knew well, back in his service. Has heard her name being dropped in a couple of debriefs, a few calls here and there regarding missions.
He becomes increasingly grateful she’s on their side, as she brings up more and more intel on the Hunter. Their main source of information is the informant Ghost killed - the man recognized several undercover soldiers moving supplies in and out of the city in the past few weeks. He knew something big was going to happen, but the SAS waved it off as a local gang.
On the day of his death, he managed to send in one last report. The informant knew his time was limited, that his cover was blown, so the message was painfully short.
‘Skull in warehouse, Konservy, game over’
It was not clear if who he referred to when he transmitted the name “Skull”, and at the time the comms officer asked the informant to repeat, thinking it was a mistyped “Ghost”. With what they know now, it’s highly likely he was actually talking about the Hunter, and their red skull insignia. Konservy is a name of a warehouse, two clicks out of the city, as Laswell quickly found out.
‘Game over’ is the agreed upon sign for caught spies.
Price and Gaz have brought out their maps, attempting to lock down the warehouse’s location. Soap and Ghost were gently shooed away after it became obvious they don’t have any more useful intel to provide.
“How’s your neck?” Ghost asks him, the two of them leaning against a crumbling wall.
Soap opens his mouth to answer, when gloved fingers brush over the bruised skin on his throat. “I uh…” he swallows, the hand following the movement, “I feel fine.”
Ghost hums, caressing the wound for a moment longer before pulling away. Soap wants to chase the touch.
He really is in over his head, isn’t he?
“Simon.” Soap looks up at the bright skull mask, “have you thought about… what are ye gonna do after?”
“...no.”
“...Would ye go back? To what you did before?”
Simon stares at him deeply, eyes closing, “I don’t think I can.” he looks back at Soap, “you? What did you do before?”
Soap chuckles bitterly, “ah, I was spendin’ my newly civvi life indulging in only the greatest of pleasures. Like sittin’ in an office for nine hours a day, or knittin’ a scarf on my therapist’s orders.”
Simon’s shoulders shake with a badly hidden laugh, “I’d like to see you knit.”
Soap grins, “oh I was a natural. It definitely didn’t have several holes by the time I was done.”
“How did you get here, then?” Simon asks, mirth still creasing his eyes.
His smile drops, words dying on his tongue, “I uh…” that weeks-old shame starts creeping back in, “was about to be evicted. Got fired, bastards never liked me anyway. I jus’ took all of my money and… ran as far as I could.”
Simon hums, shoulder leaning in to nudge his. Soap thinks the conversation is over after a few moments of silence, the both of them mauling over the words, when Simon surprises him.
“Think I’d like that… running away.” he murmurs.
“Aye? Where would ye go?”
“Don’t know. Don’t think it matters.” Simon leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, “as long as the company is good.”
Soap feels a shiver go down his spine, eyes wide as he tries to find the joke that must be in Simon’s.
But he looks so painfully sincere, even when he finally leans away, “too bad there’s none ‘ere. Might ask Laswell if she got any tips on finding partners in crime.”
Soap lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “think they make dating apps for fuckers like ye?”
“Doubt I’ll find anyone as mental as you on Tinder, Johnny.” Simon deadpans.
“That’s because yer looking in the wrong place - Christian Mingle is where the real crazy bastards are.”
Simon can’t hold in his laugh this time, and for the first time Soap hears the way he snorts a little when his giggles become uncontrollable. It’s a horribly endearing sound, one that he wants to hear for every day for the rest of his life.
It makes his heart hurt, heavy, sinking in his chest like a death sentence.
Gaz was right.
He’s in love with Simon Riley.
Gaz went back to get the vehicle he and Price infiled with. It had a laptop, a few maps, and the most wonderful MREs Soap ever had. He never thought he’d miss that shite, but after running on a handful of oranges and a possibly moldy sandwich, they tasted like heaven on earth.
As he and Ghost had their meal (Simon’s eyes sparkled in a way that told Soap he was clearly as delighted with the food as he was), the 141 finalized their plan with Laswell. Soap could see them arguing about something, but he was far too preoccupied with eating to care at the moment.
Ghost, however, did care, “need anything, Price?”
The Captain snaps his head up, taking off his hat and scratching at his hair, “we have an angle to breach, but…”
Gaz joins in, “We don’t have intel on how many guards are posted, their location… mission will be doomed from the start if we just go in guns blazing.”
“Why not do some recon, then?” Soap wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “we’re all trained for that.”
“Too risky, the warehouse is exposed, and the Hunter won’t leave any obvious gaps in security if they’re worth their salt.” Price grunts.
Ghost gets up, walking over to the maps spread on the truck’s hood, “then we break in.”
Soap smirks at the assurance in his voice, “and that’s why I love the Ghost.”
He instantly catches the knowing expression on Gaz’s face, as well as Simon stiffening beside him. Soap curses himself mentally, feeling his face heat up in shame. He prays for any god that might listen, that Ghost didn’t take it as seriously as the truth is.
Thankfully, Price saves him from blurting out some more recently-discovered-emotions, “no other way but through, eh Simon? What do you have in mind?”
Ghost scans the maps of the warehouse Laswell has sent over, “The Hunter doesn’t know we’re working together, if they’re expecting an attack they would only expect two people - me and Johnny.” his eyes flicker to Soap’s for a brief moment, “if we split up, the 141 could take them by surprise.”
“You said they’re after you and John, Simon. If they catch you, we might not be able to help.” Price says grimly.
Ghost sighs, looking away frustrated. His head turns to face Soap, eyes calculating, “...what if they don’t know it’s us?”
“What?” Price asks.
Ghost continues, eyes still staring deeply into his, “Johnny can easily disguise himself, he’s done so before. All he needs is to cover up his face and hair.”
The Captain nods to Ghost, “and what about you, son? Everyone knows your mask.”
“But no one knows his face.” Soap answers, understanding washing over him, “but Simon-”
“I can’t be Ghost if we want to finish this.” Simon brushes fingers over the bone-white teeth of the skull mask, hand tightening into a fist.
Gaz nods slowly, “and we can’t be the 141.” he sends a meaningful look to the Captain, “this operation has to be kept secret. If the SAS learns we collaborated with the Ghost…”
“Then we won’t be.” Price walks to the back of the truck, pulling out 3 black balaclavas and throwing them to Soap and Gaz.
Price begins explaining their plan, “Laswell has gathered up a few blueprints of the Konservy warehouse. There are several key points that appear to be far too open for us to breach, all except one - the offloading garage. We’ll split into two teams, me and Gaz will take the offices and CCTV rooms, clearing the way for Soap and Ghost to infiltrate the main machinery room.”
“Our plan depends on each team watching the other’s six, we’ll have to keep comms up.” Gaz adds.
“Once the first team takes over the CCTV room, we will be able to locate the Hunter. The faster we do this, the less likely reinforcements will arrive.” Price hands Soap and Ghost a radio.
“Do we know where they keep their vehicles?” Soap asks while fitting the comms over his clothes.
“Yeah, should be around where we first enter. Why?” Gaz raises a brow towards him.
A wicked smile spreads on Soap’s lips, “might be able to set up a little surprise for any newcomers.”
Ghost chuckles darkly, “always ready to craft a trap, aren’t you, Johnny?”
“Never failed me before, Simon.”
“You can take a look at our supplies, take whatever you need.” Price looks over each of them, “any questions?”
Soap flexes his hands, adrenaline thrumming a familiar song through his veins, anger painting his vision red, “what are we waiting for?”
#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mw2#cod soap#cod ghost#cod gaz#cod price#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#john price#kate laswell#BLOOD||HUNGER#ghostsoap#soapghost#ghoap#call of duty fic#call of duty fanfic#call of duty modern warfare#cod fic#cod fanfic#gaz saying what we all think... finally someone notices#also taking some dialogue from the pre prison break cutscene dont mind me#im very excited to write the final battle i want it to be epic >:D#also this took a while bc i had to think of the plan and i always overthink shit when they make plans#like the thing with the informent: i searched for like an hour codes to cypher his message#only to realize... laswell would probably decode it before sending it to price and the gang......
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These Taylor Swift songs are theirs
Timed on my favourite parts of each song
#no I will not take any criticisms#if you don’t like it you can argue with the wall#taylor swift#taylor swift songs#would’ve could’ve should’ve#the lakes#mirrorball#avatrice#ava silva#alba baptista#sister beatrice#kristina tonteri young#kty#warrior nun#renew warrior nun#ava x beatrice#the haunting of bly manor#bly manor#dani x jamie#damie#victoria pedretti#dani clayton#amelia eve#carson shaw#greta gill#gretson#a league of their own#d’arcy carden#abbi jacobson#wlw
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Sleepover shenanigans
#drawing#steve harrington#stranger things#robin buckley#stobin#they were in her room arguing like old married couple#listen steve just doesn’t understand how she can’t do it bc he thinks she can do anything#he said what tf do you mean you don’t have abs and rob was like bestie I don’t work out they aren’t strong I’m a limo noodle#and he was like well girl get on that I don’t want you to die bc you didn’t keep your body healthy istg your worse than Henderson#and she was like HEY I do plenty of things such as ride my bike and he said ok then why are your thighs the size of my forearm#and he keeps yelling at her to use her core and she’s screaming at him that she’s trying#and he’s holding her leg#but we’ll rob flails and her heel whacked him in the eye so he feel back#hit the wall thought he was dead#dropped rob to the ground and shes cursing like an d man that had to get up from his chair#and she’s like why’d you drop me and he doesn’t respond so she looks over#and my man is out for the count with another black eye#she thinks she killed him and worries that after years of demogorgons and Russians the thing that kills Steve Harrington is#Robs sharp ass heel#she pushes him under the bed and covers him with blankets and then goes to sleep#except he wakes up at like 2am and she screams worse than when she saw a ud creature for the 1st time and whacks him back down and BAM#he is out again and now Robin is freaking out more bc omg she killed her platonic soulmate and he came back to life only for her to kill him#AGAIN#she wonders if she can be tried for double manslaughter on one man but how would they know? then rob realized she can’t testify bc#she’ll tell everything if she gets up on the stand and she won’t just be sentenced for life she’ll be sentence for TWO lives#but then she’s like omg I deserve two life sentences to honor Steve even though he wouldn’t be in jail she just assumes he goes with her#even her own prison sentence for his murder#the next time Steve wakes up he inches out and flips on her to tame her flailing limbs and she starts crying saying#I killed you twice but my love for you is so strong it brought you back a third time and steve is like you knocked me out shithead you didnt#murder me Jesus Christ and she’s like how do you k ow and he’s like omg how do I know
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i will NOT pick fights with my group members i will not i will not and i will ESPECIALLY not pick fights with the girl who’s both one of the leaders of the project and who i’ll probably be coworkers with next year i will have patience i am so chill and fine and secure and confident not at all going to explode
#peach rambles#it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine there’s no need to get worked up over these little persistent annoyances#she’s nice she’s talented she’s hardworking she’s also. there is just Something i can’t put into words#i should not get bitter about her little quirks she’s human too it’s fine!!#even though sometimes communicating with her and the others like her is like trying to walk through a glass wall#i simply cannot reach them i have never been able to reach my peers she and her people are an in-group#and in-groups can tick you off so fast by failing to communicate or recognize you even though they’re just regular chill people#but they never look past their groups they’re in their own world but they’re trying to be polite still i can’t get mad#it turns me into the villain of the story bc i’m the mean annoying one who has negative feedback that shatters the fairytale world#i approach things differently and it doesn’t gel with how they approach things so they give me orders and i question those orders or argue#i’m the one causing problems with my own ideas but i don’t have a chorus of friends to back me up i’m alone in the fight#so i just look like i suck#auhhhiiihghhhh
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been laying here listening to Lucky by Dermot Kennedy on loop for half an hour while thinking about Everything Stays and crying
#it’s good crying dw i am just. i have so many feelings about this story#Seven’s Celestial Commentary#Everything Stays#writing stuff#i may be stuck in bed struggling to type due to personal reasons but that will Not stop me from cooking up ideas for this fic#there is gonna be so much fucking angst and it’s gonna hurt soooooo good#the more i listen to it the more the possibilities expand#i can easily see Moon and Reader going back and forth between verses vulnerably arguing over Sun#but i can also see it being Sun and Moon getting real and discussingcougharguingover Reader#can’t decide which i like more#god i wish y’all could see this story the way it plays out in my head#next best thing would be to keep writing and sharing the story instead of vagueposting abt future plot points tho wouldn’t it lmao#and GOD don’t even get me fucking STARTED on Two Hearts…#Dermot Kennedy’s music is responsible for yet Another plot point for this story and i can’t even be mad about it. his fucking lyricsss dude#‘and so we jump to the THEATER??? in that SAME OLD TOWN???’ DO WE? FUCK I GUESS WE DO NOW!!!#picture me listening to that song and inspiration hitting me like a truck. diligently taking notes like the lyrics r instructions from God#‘she sees his face?? and HE sees HER as the LIGHTS GO DOWN???’ write that down write that down#‘the life that they should’ve had sat between them that night??’ FUCK Man yeah it sure did!!!#anyways it’s chill i’m chill. i’m very normal about my little stories and their musical inspirations!#and i’ve listened to these songs a very normal amount (translation: they will likely be in my top ten for the 2024 wrapped)#(cut to the scenes playing vividly in my head) ‘Well‚ at least I can always say that I /told/ her!’#‘I can’t relate to having a heart like that‚ Sun! With all of your wonder and your trust intact…’#like no i wouldn’t lift the lyrics directly for the song to use as dialogue but FUCk does it work well.. Lucky is such a good script for-#like- a heated conversation between my Relentlessly Positive Sun and my Apathetic Jaded Moon#‘How could our farewell mean as much as our time? Honey‚ I’ll be gone. It’s better if I’m something that you leave behind.’#‘I used to paint these trees‚ now I just scream at the sky. Honey I was wrong. Guess there’s certain things you never leave behind.’#*sobbing shaking throwing up clawing at the walls* I Am Normal About These Characters#anyways uh. on an unrelated note how many song lyrics do ya think i can cram into ES before it’s Too Many#gonna have to start getting creative with how i can incorporate more songs in a way that feels natural and not forced#even tho i am forcing it. i am forcing it very much bc i have songs with applicable lyrics and y’all Will read them one way or another
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drea don't even engage with the swifties they're not okay
this is the point I’m at with them not just now but always <3
#they can argue with the wall nothing they say is going to change the stance I’ve had on this woman for a decade now#and the gag is i have swiftie friends who agree with me bc they’re competent enough to get their head out of her ass when it matters#like if you take it so personally and get so defensive then you need to re-evaluate your psyche#I promise you can critique someone and still like them the two are not mutually exclusive#you don’t need to jump every person who doesn’t like your fav like some sort of rabid 10 year old get a grip!#anywho that’s that on that! if a silly little haha heehee meme is making you claw at the walls idk what to tell you
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he was so real for this
#psych#they call them cluster b personality disorders because of all the beautiful people that have them. obviously.#handsome disease beautiful princess disorder etc.#if you don’t agree with me you can argue with the wall btw#all people with cluster b/stigmatized mental disorders i am giving you an encouraging nod because i don’t like touching sorry#all the people who contribute to the stigma of these disorders…. choke on rocks and die !!
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I am begging us to stop applying a wildly puritanical lens to every piece of fiction because then we will never have compelling works of art 🙃
#literally everytime I see a “this is bad because it doesn’t have MorALs” take I want to bang my head into a wall#You can say you don’t like the thing and you can even argue that there’s nuance in media sure#But I feel like “this is bad and morally depraved and you’re bad because you engaged with it” is so tired#These are thoughts
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why does the tumblr agggtm fandom have the most lukewarm takes ever but they act like it’s so controversial or whatever
#my hot take is that no one reads critically and therefore they don’t really understand the books !#’argue with the wall’ you are stating a very obvious conclusion that can be reached by. reading the goddamn book and thinking about it#for like five minutes.#space invaders emoji#sorry i’m hating
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Some of My Favorite Ways to Describe a Character Who’s Sick
pressing their forehead into something cool or comfortable (this could be an array of things. the table, the floor, someones leather jacket, their water bottle, the countertop)
warm to the touch, or heat radiating from them (could be noticed if someone’s gauging their temperature with their hands, hugging them, or just generally touching them)
leaning into people’s touch, or just spontaneously leaning on them (like pressing into their hand when someone’s checking their temp, or just, like, literally walking up and laying their head on them from fatigue. bonus points if the character is usually feral and the other is scared to engage™︎)
falling asleep all over the place (at the dinner table, on their homework, in the car, in the bathroom — just being so exhausted from doing literally nothing)
being overly emotional (crying over things that don’t usually bother them, like their siblings arguing, or their homework, or literally just nothing)
stumbling/careening/staggering into things (the wall, furniture, other people. there is no coordination in feverish brains. running into chairs, hitting the door, falling over the couch, anything and everything)
slurring their words (could be from fatigue or pain. connecting words that shouldn’t be connected, murdering all of their conversations with the excessive use of ‘mm’ and ‘nn’ in place of words) (this is my favorite thing ever)
being overly touchy (basically like a sick kid — just hold them, please. do that thing where you brush their hair back out of their face, or rub circles on their back, or snuggle them. they won’t care. bonus points if this is also the feral character and they refuse to believe it afterwards)
being extremely resistant to touch (flinching away when they usually don’t so someone can’t feel the fever, not letting themselves be touched because they’re so tired they just know they’ll be putty in their hands if they do)
growing aggressive or being extremely rude (it’s a defense mechanism — they feel vulnerable and are afraid of being manipulated or deceived while they’re ill)
whimpering/whining/groaning (this was in my “characters in pain” post but it’s so good that i’m putting it here too. this shite is gold, especially if it’s just an involuntary reaction to their symptoms)
having nightmares caused by a fever and/or delirium (crying and murmuring in their sleep, or being awake but completely out of it and convinced they’re somewhere else)
making themselves as small as possible (curling up into a ball everywhere they lay, hunching over slightly when standing, wrapping their arms around themselves)
TW for vomiting below cut !!
sleeping in the bathroom floor because they keep getting sick over and over (bonus if someone finds them all weak and pitiful. bonus bonus if they find them there in the morning only to learn they’ve been there all night)
using their hands/other body parts to clamp over their mouth so nothing can come out (like pulling their knees up to their chest and using that, or like, their arm, y’know) (~maccreadysbaby who has emetophobia suddenly gets very awkward about this post~) (~yes i have a phobia of puke and still write this happening to my characters, shut up~) (~it’s about the hurt/comfort okay~)
sympathy pukers (people who aren’t the sick ones but get nauseous/vomit when they see someone else throw up) (~aka me~) (~okay I’m done now~)
dry heaving (it’s gross, but good for making your characters absolutely freaking miserable)
rolling/churning/spinning/cramping/ lurching and all those awesome words that describe what stomachs do when sick (i hate these words with a deep, fiery passion. but they’re good for writing or whatever)
#writing angst#creative writing#writing#writers#writerscommunity#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writing tips#writing help#word bank
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