Johnny’s on the path to recovery from his traumatic brain injury, but he isn’t his usual self.
demon!johnny x f!reader
5.1k words
cw: smut MDNI, dubcon, mentions of death, mentions of traumatic brain injury, mentions of religion, established relationship, blood, pussy pronouns, guilt, evil johnny, oral f!receiving, restraints, drugging
songs for this one shot: angel - massive attack / hearing damage - thom yorke / headlock - imogen heap
He’s not the same.
He hasn’t been Johnny in a while.
You know when the change happened. You know why the change happened. Hell, you can’t blame him for the change considering he survived a bullet to the brain. Yet, you can’t help but feel cheated.
Cheated because the man you worshipped, the man who you grew up with, the man who kissed your wrists before leaving on his first deployment so he could feel your pulse one last time, the man who cradled your face in his war roughened paws, the man whose family welcomed you with open arms after your own failed you.
Cheated because no one else seems to see the change.
His mother still strokes his cheeks and giggles at his grouchy quips. Simon still rolls his eyes fondly when he barks a lewd joke during boys’ night. Even his psych evals are coming back all clear.
Sometimes you think it’s all in your head. Maybe you’re the paranoid one. Maybe you just can’t compartmentalise that your boyfriend was shot in the head and lived to tell the tale.
He should be dead. He should be powder in a little silver box. There should’ve been a funeral- a day of mourning. A day where you sat and wept in all black beside a sapling with a plaque attached to the front;
Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish
1996-2023
Beloved Son, Uncle, Nephew, and Friend
Instead, three familiar men turned up at your door, wearing such guilt-ridden looks that you instantly assumed the worst. Perhaps the worst would’ve been better.
The worst would’ve meant you didn’t have to watch Johnny squirm in pain on a hospital bed. It would’ve meant bypassing months of physical therapy where he had to relearn to use his own hands. Tendons and ligaments frozen in time at the very second the bullet pierced his temple. That small, star-shaped scar signifying the end of your boyfriend’s career. A humiliating turn for the demolitions expert, who could once take apart bombs one-handed and blindfolded, now having to relearn how to pick up an apple.
The worst would’ve meant Johnny died the man you knew and loved. Not whoever- whatever- he is now.
Perhaps, in a way, there had been a funeral. You mourned everyday for the man you had kissed goodbye on the morning of his final deployment departure. You had woken with him in the early hours to kiss his cheek and pat his chest, waiting until you heard the front door close and his footsteps recede down the porch steps to the car before rolling over to sleep again. You counted that as his funeral- the last time you saw your Johnny.
He’d come on leaps and bounds in physio, with Price finding him the best specialists he could and either Simon or Gaz accompanying him. Without his team, you’re sure you would’ve gone under. The prodigious waves that continued to batter you during Johnny’s recovery were more manageable when you had a team to weather the storm with you.
It was this that made you all the more paranoid. How could you even begin to broach this topic to them? How do you look your boyfriend’s teammates in the eye and tell them that sometimes you wish Johnny had died? How do you tell the men who have become like older brothers to you that your boyfriend- the man who you share your bed with, the man who survived death- is not the man you once knew?
So maybe it was all in your head. It would explain why none of them had approached you with the same concerns.
You also feared bringing your concerns to them due to the fact that you couldn’t explain the difference in Johnny. You just knew there was one.
He was still the same loud, brash lad he’d always been- albeit slightly grumpier accounting for the fact he’d been shot in the head. He still held your hand walking through the park, still made you dinner to take to work, still cradled your face with his hands every night whilst laying opposite you. Johnny was still Johnny…except he wasn’t.
His hands were too rough, squeezing the sides of your face with just enough force that your jaw ached afterwards. The sunset walks through the park were accompanied with him muttering under his breath and scouring the fields with narrowed eyes as if he expected a sniper to emerge from behind the cherry blossoms. You found notes all around the flat with scribbles in an unfamiliar language, small pieces of paper hurriedly and haphazardly ripped from his many sketchbooks scattered everywhere. Sometimes you would walk into the bathroom only for him to be standing staring at himself in the mirror, razor in his hand and blood dripping from his face, as if he had nicked himself whilst shaving and was mesmerized by it. Oftentimes he would stand up from the couch wordlessly in the middle of a movie and lock himself in his office for hours, leaving you confused and alone.
There was no concrete evidence to any of this, and you knew that if you did bring this up with anyone they would blame it on the traumatic brain injury he had suffered not some months ago. But you knew Johnny. You had grown up with Johnny. This wasn’t him.
So you’d sat with it. This festering intuition, this rotten thought burrowing into the walls of your psyche, an infection spreading through your bloodstream.
It turned you into a shell of your former self; flinching when Johnny moved his hands towards you, stomach and shoulder muscles constantly tensed as if awaiting an ambush, nights in which you woke every couple of hours to check that Johnny was both beside you and asleep, days where you purposefully stayed late at work to avoid even the thought of being in the same room as him.
The guilt only ate at you further.
Selfish. Greedy. Paranoid. Ungrateful.
That’s what you were. Your boyfriend had survived a traumatic brain injury and you wanted nothing to do with him. He had escaped the clutches of death to come back to you and you’d rather him dead.
Nights were the worst times. In the silence, with your shallow breaths and Johnny’s snoring the only sounds. You never slept facing him, not anymore. Couldn’t bear the thought of your most convoluted, heinous night terrors coming true and having to open your eyes to face them. The gaps between slumber when you awoke from nightmares on a choked breath felt more like lucid dreaming. Eyes stared, piercing the back of your head, daring you to turn around. Each night, you had to control your breathing and teary eyes, curled into a fetal position with trembling hands tucked under your chin. A defensive pose. An animal playing dead.
Actually, perhaps mornings were even worse. When you cracked open your barely rested eyes to find Johnny standing over your sleeping form, cup of coffee in hand and an empty grin on his face. More grimace than smile. All teeth.
Having to pretend you hadn’t felt him staring at you all night. Pretending like your heart didn’t pound like a hunted deer’s every time he came near you.
So many times you had thought about telling someone. Someone who knew Johnny. Someone who knew you. Knew you wouldn’t lie about this. One of his best friends. But he was so sweet to you around them. Hell, he was sweet all the time- too sweet. He acted so normal around them that the paranoia you felt grew to a solid brick in your chest. It sucked the life out of you. Isolated you from your friends, from Johnny’s friends. You hadn’t been anywhere other than work, the house, or the hospital since Johnny’s unconscious body touched back down on UK soil.
And he knew.
He knew that he could act just normal enough that no one else would see what you saw.
You revelled the occasional nights when Johnny would walk into the bedroom of an evening with his jacket half zipped and a beanie covering his scar, knowing that meant boys’ night. You’d have the house to yourself for a night, you’d be able to take an entire lungful of air that wasn’t tainted with the rotting air that seemed to follow him. A frail smile and a peck on the cheek and you’d see him out, watching from the doorstep until he turned the corner of the street. He’d send a wave back, caring to eyewitnesses, but you knew what it meant.
You knew it was him giving you a grace period before he prowled back to the house several pints later. Technically he wasn’t supposed to drink until the doctor gave him the all clear but he justified it with how infrequent those nights were- once a month at most.
Drink always made him more reckless. He was less of a stealthy predator and more of a taunting entity. You’d wake up some hours after his return expecting him in bed beside you only to find him seated on the armchair facing your side of the bed. Dead eyes staring back at you, his once glimmering blues nothing but a deserted tundra. Dead smile plastered on. All teeth.
It was inescapable on weekends. You couldn’t hide at work. Couldn’t just lock yourself in the bathroom. Couldn’t leave the house without him either badgering you or following you out the door. On the weekends he was free to watch all day. Even when you weren’t in the same room. His presence felt too big for the house, attaching to your own soul and following you everywhere. Peace was a dreamt up concept at this point.
It was endless; you couldn’t exactly be the girl to abandon him after a traumatic brain injury and blame his changed behaviour.
Things had escalated in recent days. He’d been more erratic, more snappy. Scribbling frantically in sketchbooks. You’d found books in the freezer one night. A muddy spade in the cutlery drawer the next.
Entering the doorway after work, you’d immediately been hit with a wall of a pungent, rotting smell. It was almost earthy- metallic, cold, sulphuric. The sound of pots and pans clanging together pushed your feet warily to the kitchen where you were greeted with the sight of Johnny’s broad back, his hands obviously busy with whatever was cooking on the stove.
You took notice of the way he leaned on a crutch, something he only really used if he was feeling tired or weary for fear of looking weak if he was to use them constantly despite doctor’s orders.
His ears seemed to perk up, body turning with his head until he caught sight of you. There was that smile. The dead, lifeless one. All teeth.
“Ach, there ya are, bonnie. How was work ma darlin’?” He strode over to where you were rooted to the floor in the kitchen doorway, yanking your face between his palms and fixing you with his dead stare.
“Erm, y-yeah. Was…okay I guess?” Your confusion was evident, narrowed eyes darting between his own and the pans on the stove. He hadn’t cooked for you since before he came home, not counting the sandwiches he sometimes packed for you for work if he remembered, “What’s all this?”
“Well, ‘a was just thinkin’ we havenae had a proper date night in a while, aye? Cooked just for you, ya know?” Cold palms detached from your face to grab your jacket from your shoulders, twisting your body around until he stood behind you with his face tucked in your neck, “A’ve made all this effort, gonna say thank you, bon?”
That black, rotten aura he seemed to carry swallowed you whole. Threatened to suffocate you with its tar-like thickness, concrete sludge blocking your airway. Cold breath hit the side of your face, as if there was no life in him to warm him up.
“T-thank you, Johnny. I’ll just go freshen up, yeah?” Shooting a quick and fragile smile over your shoulder, you shuffled out of his grasp and up the stairs.
Halfway across the landing, his flat voice called to you.
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
—
Trembling hands trying and failing to stab the now-cold dinner Johnny had plated for you, you kept your eyes fixed to the shaking fork between your fingers.
You couldn’t bear to look up and have to look into the frozen void of Johnny’s stare.
Meanwhile, Johnny hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since you descended the stairs to sit at the dining table. His gaze burned into you, scorching your fragile skin. You assumed it was just in your head when you began to feel your skin start to itch.
Dinner had been virtually wordless thus far, aside from the constant barely audible mutterings that you had grown used to since Johnny’s hospital discharge. You’re not even sure he was aware he did it, seemingly a subconscious habit. Sometimes he did it in his sleep, grumbling and growling to himself in an indecipherable language whilst wrapped in the throes of a deep slumber.
You’re sure if Johnny looked hard enough he would probably be able to see your heart physically pounding out of your chest, the delicate skin across your breastbone thumping in time with the fist-sized organ beneath, jackhammering in a wild and asynchronous rhythm.
In a bold move, you glanced up at his face through your eyelashes to be met with Johnny’s tilted head, narrowed eyes and that haunting smile. All teeth.
Swallowing a thick gulp, you dared to tilt your head up, facing his own if even for a moment, “Thank- Thanks for this, love. Tastes…nice.”
The man before you merely deepened his smile and licked his lips, “S’alright, hen. Haven’t seen much of each other lately, ya ken? Thought it would be nice to spend some time with ma lady.”
Your heart fractured at his words. He was right here. The man you loved most in life was sitting right before you and yet…he wasn’t. You were his lady, and he was your man. But this was not your Johnny.
Suddenly your fracturing heart began to slow in pace, similar to the pace of a hibernating animal, slowing their heart to sleep and conserve energy. The edges of your vision grew darker with every blink as Johnny’s face began to skew and blur with your fading sight. A vague Johnny shaped blur rose from his seat at the table, slowly prowling to where you sat despondently.
“There ya go, be a good girl and go t’sleep.”
That smile was the last thing you remember before your lids grew too heavy to keep open and your temple slumped to the table in front of you, narrowly missing the half full plate before you. All teeth.
—
The smell of burning was what eventually lulled your brain back into consciousness. You attempted to bring a hand to your sore eyelids only to be stopped by the feeling of scratching and chafing each time you moved your arms. Cold panic shot through your veins, springing your eyes open involuntarily and snapping your stiff neck frantically side to side.
From your limited range of motion you could tell you were still in the house- specifically the bedroom you shared with Johnny, the framed photo of the two of you from his sister’s wedding some years ago placed on his nightstand. A thick, coarse rope wrapped around both of your wrists, presumably attached to the bed’s metal headboard. From the numb tingling in your ankles and calves, you could only assume your legs were tied to the posts at the end of the bed. You’d been stripped to your underwear and Johnny’s crucifix necklace rested between your breasts, something you hadn’t seen him wear since the day he left for that fateful deployment.
“Ach, hen. Donae be hurtin’ yerself,” Johnny’s flat voice cooed from the doorway of the bathroom, flicking the switch off beside him and drying his hands on a hand towel before slinking around to his side of the bed, “Come on now, bonnie. Nothing’s goin’ tae happen to ya.”
A calloused hand strokes a stray hair from your forehead and you flinch backwards as much as your restrained body allows. That bastard smile is barely visible through the thick tears that are welling in your eyes. All teeth.
“Ach, ma hen, no tears, aye?” He wipes away the spilled tears on your cheeks with a condescending pout, bringing that same thumb to his mouth and sucking the salty fluid with an exaggerated moan.
“J-Johnny, please–” Your voice comes out hoarse, both from fear and disuse, “Please, whatever this is, please you don’t have to–”.
He tsks patronisingly, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, bonnie. I do.” He stands from the bed, stalking to where your feet are secured to the bedposts, “It’ll all make sense soon, ‘a promise. I’m doin’ this fer you. Fer us.”
Reaching behind him, he rips his worn t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side where you now could pinpoint the source for the burning smell. None of the lamps in the room were lit, with the only light in the room coming from the multitude of candles on every flat surface. Every cupboard, shelf, chest of drawers, even some of the floor, was littered with burning candles. Evidently, you’d been out for a while.
Pulsing fills your ears as your heart begins to pound, so much so that you’re sure you can hear the blood rushing through your veins. A cold sensation washes over you as Johnny steps out of his boxers, still staring at you with that emotionless mask in place.
Tears continuously stream down your face as he plants a knee on either side of your hips, settling on all fours above you. Your lips tremble as he tracks his eyes up and down your body, “Ma lass. Bonnie thing ya are. Get hard everytime I look at ya.” His pervertedness only makes you sob harder, this is the most ‘Johnny’ he’s acted in months.
“Please, Johnny. Please–” You know the defeated begging will get you nowhere. Whatever has taken over your boyfriend’s body and brain has latched its claws into him and is refusing to let go. Puncture wounds filled with black tar. Bubbling blood and evil sludge. Thick coatings of fetid mucus coating his once lustrous and haloed soul.
“Hush, hush. None ‘a that. Now you sit there and relax, aye? Johnny’ll take care ‘a ya.”
Rough fingertips trail down your neck, coming to play with the crucifix resting on your breastbone. His jaw slightly flexes as if in pain and you watch in horror as his fingers start to burn and blister where he touches the symbol.
Resigning to screwing your eyes closed as thick sobs continue to spill from your mouth, you feel Johnny’s other hand trail down your sternum, over the curve of your stomach, fingertips edging beneath the elastic of your underwear to stroke the delicate skin of your hip.
Only…Johnny’s hand is still playing with the silver pendant, and the weight of one of his huge paws still hasn’t moved from the mattress beside you.
Blinking your tear-swollen eyes open, you cautiously glance down only to find Johnny’s torso has now sprouted a second pair of arms, emerging from the skin covering his ribs and smeared in a black, gooey substance. Streaks of this substance are marked along the skin of your sternum where he’s touched you, a trail leading down to where his fingers rest on your hip bone.
A smug smirk, all teeth, carves itself into his face as Johnny witnesses a myriad of emotions flit through your eyes, the windows to your soul baring your every thought. Flaying you wide open for him to gorge himself on the hysteria crashing through you. Cracking your rib cage open to get to the softest, most vulnerable parts of you. Flesh for his feasting.
“New toy for me to play with, aye? Means ‘a can touch you however ‘a want. ‘S not all though, bonnie, look’it.” Suddenly, he retracts all of his hands from you, pushing himself up to straddle your splayed open thighs. Tilting his chin back and closing his eyes, Johnny begins to mumble under his breath- the same mumbling you’ve become familiar with over the last few months. Squirming in alarm, you helplessly watch on as the flames of the candles surrounding you all seem to burn brighter, flickering becoming more intense until walls of fire seem to circle you in, swaying in time with Johnny’s muttering.
All at once, the flames retreat to their original state as two huge black wings unfurl from Johnny’s broad back.
They cocoon you, encasing you and Johnny and trapping you even further to the bed. From here, you can see each of the feathers are slick with a thick oil-like substance, weighing them down and permeating the air with a miasmic scent of sulphur and rot. When his head swings down to face yours, you gasp in horror as his eyes are replaced with two voids, at once hollow and inherently unholy. He barks a crude laugh at the obvious perturbation slashed across your face, teeth now sharpened to whetted points.
He quietens your panicked breathing with a hand- a human hand- smothering your mouth, those black holes piercing through your face, “No, no. Yer gonnae be a good girl. You’ll be screamin’ in a min’, bonnie. Now, if ‘a let go, are you gonnae be quiet?” He nods his head patronisingly as if to coax you into agreeing with him- and gods help you it works. You find yourself nodding if only for the fact that agreeing with him might make him trust you until you can attempt to get yourself out from under him.
“Hm, thought so. Now, just lay there like a good girl and take what ‘a give you. You’ll enjoy it, sweet thing.” His heavy hand lifts from your mouth enough for him to bend his face down to yours, long tongue retracting from his mouth and licking a path from your lips to your wet and salty cheeks. “Fuckin’ delicious.”
You curse yourself as you feel the material of your underwear sticking to you. You don’t want this…you shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this- this thing sitting on your thighs.
Johnny- whatever he is- knows this and smirks as one of his extra hands comes to cup your pussy through your underwear, finding it sodden and molded to the shape of you, “Ach, hen. Should’ve told me ya wanted me before, hm? ‘A can feel how wet she is for me.”
You can’t even find it in yourself to care about the black substance covering his hands as his palm rubs over you through the material. Your clit is puffy and neglected and visible through the cotton, small whimpers leaking from your tear-swollen lips involuntarily. You could come just like this, you think, jumped up on the volatile cocktail of fear and arousal coursing through you and culminating at the pinnacle of your thighs.
He doesn’t make it that easy for you, however, removing his palm and bringing it to his mouth, licking your arousal off of it before moving that same hand down to wrap around his cock. Eyes rolled back in his head, the grunt that echoes from Johnny’s mouth is nothing short of inhuman. It roils from somewhere deep inside of him, rattling off his diaphragm, booming like thunder.
Slick sounds fill the makeshift cavern of Johnny’s wings as he pumps his hand over his thick shaft, bruised and cracked knuckles catching on the curve of your stomach. Those black voids in his eye sockets hone in on the lush skin of your tits, watching them rise and fall rapidly. Another groan reverberates before he seems to lose all patience, taking that same hand and yanking the fabric of your underwear down your splayed open thighs, followed by the cups of your bra.
Now utterly at his mercy, and with no dignity left to protect, you give in the niggling voice in your head telling you to let go. Enjoy it. It’s what he wants. It’s what you want, don’t you sweet girl? To be good for Johnny?
Thick, rough fingertips descend on the peaks of your stiff nipples, pulling and pinching, tugging and flicking until you feel your inner thighs grow damp with arousal. Johnny’s head shoots down to the skin there, tongue immediately going to lap up the liquid, nose pressed against your clit. You see his eyes roll back in his head, matching muffled moans of pleasure escaping you both. He presses dirty, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, leaving bite marks and bruises in his wake. Pinning you in place with one arm over your hips, he stares up at you between his brows, black eyes fixing you to the spot more than the chafing restraints around your wrists and ankles. You feel the tell-tale roiling sensation in your lower belly, the build up of pleasure shooting through your calves, brain overwhelmed with euphoria.
When you do come, it’s with a sharp cry, Johnny’s lips fastened to your abused clit, nose pressed to the skin of your mons. He coaxes you through it, never once letting up, amplifying the sensation as another slightly smaller orgasm barrels through you almost immediately after the first. Finding some semblance of mercy, he detaches from your clit and presses soft kisses to the skin around your pussy, pulling away just enough to talk directly to it, “Fuckin’ perfect wee cunt. She’s fuckin’ gorgeous.” The dim light provided by the candles allows you to see the glistening of Johnny’s face, the entire lower half of it covered in you, his nose shining with your essence.
Echoing off the thick wall of feathers, your heaving gasps fill the quiet space, overstimulated from Johnny’s merciless assault on your cunt.
“Gonnae fuck you now, hen. That sound good?” He barely waits for you to exhaustedly nod before bringing himself up to stand on his knees in front of you. Spitting into his hand, he again wraps it around his cock before lowering to his elbows, heavy cock slapping against the curve of your stomach. The veins running up the sides are more prominent than ever, tip ruddy and weeping where it rests against your skin.
Swinging his hips down, he rests the tip against your still slick centre, coating it before running it over your clit, each pass making you whimper in overstimulation.
The first push into your hole is a teasing one. A shallow dip into the tide. A furtive glance from across the room. Daring you to follow. His jaw drops open as the head glides in, and he loses all semblance of self control. Johnny’s hips slam to meet your own in one smooth motion. A tree being felled in a silent forest. A nuclear explosion. Fireworks exploding behind clenched eyelids.
A strangled cry fills the room and your brain must be working on a time delay, as you only realise it was you who made the noise when Johnny’s eyes snap to meet your own. The taunting smile takes its place once more. All teeth.
He fucks into you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to. He’s merciless and animalistic and unforgiving. Grabs your hips in rough palms and yanks them to meet his own.
Presents the nail sized wounds in his hands and feet, saying drink up or I’ll force you.
“Feel like fuckin’ sin. Hot and wet as owt. Jaysus,” His words seem to roll from him subconsciously, heaving gasps interrupting his words as if he too is succumbing to the same fate as you.
It’s never felt this good. Never felt like this.
Like you’re becoming one. Like your souls are aligning. Like sounds are clearer and the stars are brighter and everything smells more intense. Like he’s unlocked a whole other realm of being. A whole other plane of existence.
Your legs are still numb from where the rope has you shackled to one position, but with his hands angling your hips, you can feel everything. Every smack of his skin to yours, every thrust hitting the entrance of your cervix, every vein and ridge of Johnny’s cock.
“We’re gonnae come at the same time, understood? When ‘a say come, you come.” His words are direct and demancing, unquestionable in the way he glares down at you.
Your nod feels involuntary, your head moving of its own accord as he fucks you into a different dimension.
Once again, that roiling in your stomach peeks its head, signaling the imminent release. But you can’t come first. You have to be good.
“Ye know, I– fuck– I wasnae gonna come back to you. I was fuckin’ dead. Shit. Dead and moved on,” Johnny’s words are interrupted by his own gasps and groans, and you struggle to compute them through the haze of pleasure, “Had to fuckin’ make a deal, aye? Had to come back to you. By any fuckin’ means.”
You feel one hand detach from your hip, and then he dips down to hover over your face, lips smearing against your own. The kiss is ruthless and punishing and delicious. His teeth catch the delicate skin of your lip as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, leaving remnants of your own taste on your tongue.
“Ach, fuck, I’m gonnae come. Come now, bonnie. Come.”
His words slip between gritted teeth, both of your faces screwed up in ecstasy.
It’s almost ethereal, the feeling of coming at the same time as Johnny. Feels like this otherworldly dimension he’s catapulted you to is spinning out, wrapping you in each other’s souls.
Until a pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt hurtles into your chest and a wet cough chokes from your lips. When you look down in shock, Johnny’s hand is wrapped around the blade of a dagger, his own fingers coated in blood, and the sharpest end lodged into the space between your breasts. Blinking confusedly, you look up at Johnny in horror to find that awful smile in place. All teeth. “This is the only way we can be together forever. I’m doing it fer you, hen. Fer us.”
fem!Reader jokingly reads out an incantation to summon an Incubus after a rough break up, accidentally botches a word and demon!Ghost/Soap are both summoned at the same time. You 1. didnt expect it to actually work and 2. you now have two incredibly sexy men in your bedroom and they don't fully look like they wanna share, but a Deal's a Deal.
When the 141 found out demons were real, they were all very fucking confused but, given time, they began to understand it.
In just a few weeks their world shifted completely after witnessing something truely unholy all at the hands of their friend.
It started when Gaz got shot clean through the head. Price screamed his name as Ghost rushed to his side only to find no life there to save. Chaos roared around them for just a few minutes that felt like an eternity as they all scrambled to do something, anything, to save their lost friend.
In the struggle Price was also shot, too close to his neck but still hanging on.
Alas, the rest got hero team took the test out and they four were left alone. Price was holding back tears as he tried to give CPR to Gaz and hold his bleeding neck all at once, Ghost silent beside him as the prospect of loosing someone he cared about reared again.
Soap was quiet.
Ghost had just started to take over holding onto Price’s neck, knowing the man was next to die if he didn’t get help soon, when Soap moved to stand over Gaz’s body.
“Son, I’m sorry-“
Soap shook his head, not wanting Price to blame himself for even a moment, “it’s alright, I am too. Please forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
Neither man had the time to question him before the lights in the room flickered and burst. The room became both freezing or cold and hot at once, as the walls were burning but the air was ice. The two windows of the room of the facility they were in started to crack but never burst, as if waiting to shatter yet scared to make the noise.
After a moment of panicked silence, the two living men looked to Soap after flicking their gaze around the shifting room only to find something else.
There stood Soap, with his gear and his meticulously cared for Mohawk, but now his very body was different. His hands had become disfigured, long fingers twisting and curling with unnatural nails and flesh.
His ears were pointed and clueling around the sides of his head, down until it met the back of his skull where a set of mangled horns protruded from his skin, framing his hair. The bone of the horns was cut up and curled around to make a mocking halo. The Soap they once knew now had longer legs with hooded feet, as if a goat or a stag.
Even someone who wasn’t catholic would know a demon stood before them.
The deep Scottish voice they knew and loved began to speak with an echo of itself, uttering words in a language they could never truely comprehend. The words seemed to activate some sort of spell as a ring of symbols surrounded Gaz and burned itself into the flooring.
Price didn’t even notice his neck wound heal, thinking the slight burn he felt was just that and not even considering it could be a sibling healing him from death. This was both because he was in shock and before the gasping sound of air filling Gaz’s lungs again was far more important.
The symbols faded, the room went back to a normal temperature, the windows creaked, and Soap… he just stood there as Price held onto Gaz and helped him calm down.
Ghost had held eye contact with him the entire time, watching the man he loved because he was so much kinder and sweeter than he could ever be turn into the very thing Ghost thought himself to be?
If Gaz wasn’t dead and Price seeming to do his best to follow, Ghost probably would have had a fucking boner.
Before the Sargent could turn tail, because well shit Ghost didn’t notice the body length long tail trailing behind him, Price spoke, “Thank you, Johnny.”
Gaz had been looking more confused then he was able to comprehend, but as he realised it was his best mate, he just smiled at Soap. The man, or demon, himself looked awkward as he stared at his friends and tried to figure out if he should run or not, but took his Captains words to heart.
When Ghost gave an annoyed grunt he looked terrified with his blackened eyes, but Ghost didn’t care and just spoke as he looked at the man he loved, “Only I call him Johnny.”
A woman Summons a demon that she nicknames Soap, some demon hunting ensues maybe a romance.
MDNI
warning: some sexual content.
(might be a series might not be we will see)
A abandoned church on hill a dark cold stormy night sounds like a starter for a horror novel, and I guess you can call it that. A girl by the name of Josey lights candles and draws a symbol with chalk on the floor of the church her footsteps echoing in the empty cathedral as she stands in the middle of the circle she takes a knife out making cut on her hand wincing in pain and squeezing it to make it drip on the summoning circle.
Josey: This has to work...please this just has too I have no other choice!
A strong wind enters the old church blowing out the candles the room got colder she could see her breath and she was shivering.....she could only hear her breath and the rain outside, she heard a noise and looked around seeing nothing, she smelled something weird.....laundry soap? stepping away from the circle she took out a rosary in her pocket and grabbed it saying a silent prayer for herself.
Josey: I know I'm damned to hell for doing this but it needed to be done.
Then she heard a voice seeing a figure in front of her she steps back her eyes wide a man with a red skull mask and horns staring her down his wings torn from millennia of use.
???: You are not the first to call me out, and you will not be the last. What is your desire, little mortal.
Josey: I summoned u here for a reason demon the tomb on the book said if I summon u, you have to do my bidding.
???: really now.....why would I do that you only just summoned me you haven't bonded me to ya
He grins approaching her she takes a step back terrified he gets close to her she's breathing heavily looking up at his blue eyes weird set of eyes for a demon she thought she was expecting goat eyes or cat eyes something like that.
???: I won't always be in your control what's stopping me from just killing u here and now...or using you for my own pleasures little mortal.
Josey: ARCO!
All the sudden the demon felt his power draining he dropped to his knees feeling a restraint on his neck choking him he glared up at her his eyes full of rage reaching up at her, she moves away from him a shocked look, stunned that the words actually worked.
???: Do you know what demon your messing with human bitch?!
Josey: DEORSUM!
The spell pins the demon down she stands over him now determined.
Josey: if u even think about doing me harm this enchantment I put on u drains your powers so you'll feel like a mortal I know yall demons hate that!
The demon snarls at her, but is powerless to do anything else, and glares at her as she stands above him she puts a collar on his neck.
???: You really have no fuckin idea what you've done, mortal. When the time is right, I will break free. Then I will make you regret this witch!
Josey: right... until then come with me demon my home is in the woods I will discuss my plan with you there.
The demon had to think of a plan how was he going to break this mortal woman betting? seducing? Anything? She walks away the demon reluctantly following her behind, he's seething with rage and plotting on how he would try to betray the woman. As the demon and mortal are walking through the forest she looks at him and smirks.
Josey: you know when I summoned you I expected to smell sulfur and brimstone but oddly enough it smelled like laundry soap.....ah I have to give my new pet a name right?....hmmm I'll call you Soap!
Soap: what a stupid name! that's no name for a demon!
Josey: your name is Soap now deal with it ahhh home sweet home.
She laughs as they approach her house, They enter the home and go upstairs to her bedroom and she discusses her plan with Soap the demon. Soap crossing his arms leaning on a wall waiting for her to talk not like he has a choice still livid over the name she forced onto him..
Josey: There are demons in this city with human's who do their bidding and I'm going to kill them all with your help of course. you can take care of the demons while I take care of the human part of the problem I need to hunt these fuckers down.
Soap: so you need me to do your dirty work why not do it yourself.
Josey: well as u so pointed out Soap I'm a mortal I cant exactly kill a demon which is why I summoned you supposedly your a powerful demon though being contained by me I might have made a mistake and gotten a weakling...
This pissed soap off as he got closer to her but he couldn't do anything but stare at her his blue eyes piercing hers, Soap chuckles.
Soap: Weak? Weak, you say? Just because you bound me, you think you have the advantage, woman? I could blast you out of existence, in this moment I could ravage you and take you as my personal slave.
She gets close whispering in his ear, teasing him her body close to his he feels her figure. Soap feels her tug at his collar.
Josey: yet who is the one collard Soap.
Soap: don't try and seduce me mortal..I am much beyond the need for such...distractions.
Josey: hmm yet I see you blushing Soap...curious I didnt know demons could blush...anyway that collar on your neck is infused with my blood ....virgin blood so if u planned on seducing me that enchanted collar is staying on your neck.
For the first time, she see's Soap look...nervous. And this, of course, amuses her His face flushes, and he looks away. Josey laughs she liked humbling this demon He growls, in an attempt to play off the situation.
Josey: Don't worry ill give u something better you like eating souls correct taste better than candy? .....if u partner up with me u can eat all the souls you want the more corrupted the better they taste correct?
He takes off his mask and smiles widely, teeth sharp.
Soap: Now you're speaking my language, woman. I get to eat souls with your help?
Josey: yes and hell at this end of this journey u can even have mine......a promise....Do we have a deal?
She extends her hand, Soap hesitates for a moment, before taking her hand and shaking it. Soap pulls her close their lips almost touching he makes one last threat.
Soap: you have a deal woman, but just remember the moment you fuck up I will make your mind and your body mine.
He kisses her, his lips soft, his tongue pushes against hers, and he pulls away again, his grin ever present. Josey blushed never been kissed like that but she composed herself but on the inside just a kiss from him made her cunt wet.
Josey: I'll take your word for it demon now get some rest we have a long road ahead of us....rest well....Soap.
The demon glares at you, still angry that you forced him into this.
Soap: Very well. I will go rest, but it's not because you told me to, witch.
She enters the bathroom closing the door she leans on the door breathing heavily she gets undressed her panties drenched. She enters the shower fingering herself thinking about Soap fucking her covering her mouth so her moans don't reach his ears and hoping the noise from the water covers it.
Josey: fuck....fucking demon I gotta be more careful.....he touches me like that again I'm done for, I gotta keep my head straight.
Meanwhile Soap lays on the couch tugging on his collar still pissed that hes in this situation and that if he was in hell other demons would laugh at him being bonded to a human woman.
Soap: I hate this. I hate this human If I could escape, I would. If I could kill her, ohhh I would make her sorry one way or another.
He continues muttering angry comments about you, but eventually falls asleep despite it. Josey steps out of the shower a towel wrapped around her body she sees Soap sleeping on the couch approaching him she lowers her face towards his wanting to touch his lips again before backing away and putting one a tshirt and shorts and going to bed.
