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codfanficedits · 7 months

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Final Goodbye - Full version.

Pairing: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader

Summary: You are Death, guiding the men to the afterlife.

Wordcount: 12,467 | Rating: M (18+ only!)

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS - Suicide - Selfharm and grieving.

A/N: Different colours to identify dialogue better. Gave John a little backstory.

Being the reaper was a work of art on its own. It was your duty to guide the souls whose time was up to the afterlife, and you had made it your personal mission to make sure that as little as possible souls would cross to the afterlife scared. After all, death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.

As a result you had to divide yourself, as an immortal being that was an easy thing to do. Being everywhere at once, yet being nowhere at the same time.

You had the taskforce in your sight for a while now. Four elite soldiers going on missions, you almost had your work cut out for you. But they were good, good enough to keep you lurking in the shadows, for now.

Some of them had come close, close enough to dance the dance of death with you, only to be granted a little more time. John “Soap” MacTavish being one of them. There had been plenty of moments where you had held his hands already, almost revealing your true form before he got pulled away from your grasp.

Life enjoyed playing tricks with you, with death. But it was what humans needed, a little reminder of their mortality so they could enjoy their life again.

And so here you were. You had been following John for a little while now, sensing that his time would be up again. And it was special so to say to follow him around, for every life he took, you would see a version of yourself pop up, taking the life he had claimed to the afterlife, only for that version of yourself to fade again, the very fragments of your soul being scattered around the world in an attempt to make the experience of death a more pleasant one than the experience of being alive. Not that you succeeded all the time. Sometimes you had to guide lives who deserved to live for another fifty years, sometimes the souls were terrified, and sometimes they were waiting for you, as old friends finally meeting up again. It could be a cruel world, but you weren’t there to judge. Humans had free will, and you could not interfere with it.

John’s death happened quick. Too quick for your liking. You preferred it when it took a little time. Not that you liked the suffering of the souls, no, of course not. But it was the best for all whenever a soul was at peace with their death. And John certainly was not.

“What the fuck?” He scolded. “Why the fuck can’t I grab my fucking weapon?”

“What kind of bullshit is this? Cap’n are you seeing thi-“ His sentence cutting short.

Oh you had seen this film before, and you never liked the ending. The look of despair when they see their body lying on the ground.

“No. No! Nonononono.” There it was.

Time seems to be standing still when reality seeps into his brain, his hand reaching out to his limp body on the ground, but he goes straight through it. A look of confusion, pain, anger, sadness when he can see his teammates continue the mission he couldn’t finish. He sees them disarm the bomb, he sees his best friend, Simon, kneel by his body, frantically looking for a pulse.

“I’m here!” John yells, waving his arms in front of Simon’s face, but it is no use, John no longer belongs to the earth, nor does he belong to the afterlife yet. He is in your realm, your limbo and you are the only one who can grand him the freedom of moving on.

“Simon! I am here!” He yells again, but he is meet with the empty eyes of his best friend, and a soft. “No pulse.”

“Hello.”

Your voice snaps him out of it. “Who the fuck are you?”

But it should be clear, the big, dark, black cloak hiding you, hiding your face. “I am Death.”

“I have died?”

“Afraid so.”

“That is a whole lot of bullshit. Can’t you turn it back or something?”

“No.”

You give him the time to process what had happened, what is happening, and what is about to happen.

“So, what now?” He asks, a hand running through his mohawk, his eyes shifting back to his dead body again.

“That depends.” You answer. “Are you ready to move on yet?” Normally you wouldn’t give the souls a choice, no normally you would guide them to the afterlife, maybe have a little small talk, but there was something inside of you telling you this death would stir up some things. So you decided to give him the choice.

“No.” His answer is quick, and you can tell he didn’t think about it.

“Why not?”

“There are so many thing that I still need to do.”

“You know you can’t do them now, right? You are death, you no longer possess your own body, everything you say, or do, is not visible in the human world.” Sometimes you have to be blunt in order to get your point across.

“Oh.”

“So I ask you again. Are you ready to move on?”

“No.”

“Give me a reason.”

John’s gaze shifts to the three men standing over his body, the pain in their eyes is visible and it is undeniable that they had a strong bond, something more than just coworkers. And their pain is shared, as you can see the same pain in his eyes.

“I need to know if they will be okay.”

“You can’t change anything if they won’t be okay.”

“I know, but I know they will be okay, I just need to see it with my own eyes.”

“Very well.” You answer. “You get to decide when you are ready.”

He looks up when he sees other versions of you reap the lives he and his team have taken, his brows furrow and you can tell he wants to ask you questions. Humans have always been curious creatures. “If you have something on your mind, speak up.”

“Who are those?” His fingers point at a version of you who slowly fades away.

“They are me and I am them.”

“That tells me exactly nothing.”

A soft laugh escapes you, even death this man is fearless.

“They are parts of my soul.” You explain. “I prefer to guide every soul to the afterlife personally, but with the volume of souls on this earth, I have to split myself in order to keep up.”

“And I am talking to the main version of Death?”

“That is how you could call it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Splitting yourself?”

“I am no mortal being, pain does not exist in my realm. So to answer your question. It does not hurt.”

His fingers go to the bullet wound in his head, his fingers trailing on the edges, before he pulls them back and looks at the blood on his fingers. “Huh. I got so caught up with this whole being dead thing, that I forgot I got shot.”

A smile forms around your lips. “You’re not the first to which that has happened.”

He is mesmerized, can you blame him? It is not every day that you meet death in person.

“If there is a death, does life exist too?”

“Yes. And Life is quite nice.”

“You’ve met them?”

“Of course, without Life I would not exist, and without me, Life would not be able to continue their creations. We dance a dance of existence together.”

“Hm.” John seems content with your answer. “Hey, can we follow L.T?”

“Simon Riley?”

“Yes.”

“Sure.” The benefit of being an immortal creature was that the law of physics and time did not apply to you, or to Johnny for that matter. “Why him, though?”

“I worry about him the most.” Johnny admitted with a shrug, a flicker of emotions in his eyes before it dies down again. “He had a fucked up life, and we had grown to be good friends, I worry he won’t take my death well.”

Oh sweet summer child, if you only knew. But you cannot interfere with the living and it is no point in telling Johnny what you know, so you keep quiet and grant his request.

“He has become my best friend in the military, you know?” Johnny breaks the silence, as you watch Simon, who at this time, doesn’t seem to feel a thing.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Been watching the taskforce for a while.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you give a lot of answers. Now why were you watching us?”

“You’re soldiers. Death follows you around.”

“In the most literal sense.” He laughs at his own joke, and all you do is stare at him, blinking a few times.

“Jezus, even L.T. wasn’t as hard to crack.” He mutters.

“I worry.” John repeats. “I worry that when I died. Simon died too, and Ghost remained.”

In a sense he is not wrong. You can feel it too, the guilt that Simon carries, the hatred towards himself for letting a friend die.

“He is grieving.” You eventually say. “And while grief is a beautiful thing, it expresses itself in the most destructive ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You can see his face shift, he understands Simon won’t cope well, and it doesn’t sit right with him. “I guess there is no way I can interfere with it, right?”

“Correct.”

“Huh.” He stays silent for a brief moment, while he watches the mission debrief going on, without him, but about him. “How does time work here?”

“I am not sure what you mean.”

“Can’t you speed up time or something? Turns out watching people gets kind of boring.”

Humans had always been impatient beings. “I can.” You say. “I can fast forward until we see Simon all by himself.”

His eyes light up, and you’ve hit the mark. “Yes, yes, I need to see how he copes.”

Alas, you grant him his wish, after all, you are death, not some cruel being.

His eyes widen as time around the two of you starts to speed up, the world moving at a faster pace while you are both the centre of it. You see his emotions shift to a sad one, he tries to hide it, but it is hard to conceal the emotions in his eyes, even for a hardened soldier. A soft sigh escapes him when he watches the sunset and you understand it. The sunsets are your favourite thing on earth too.

“It is hard to grasp that I’ll never see another sunset again.” John whispers and you can do nothing but nod. You understand, of course you do. “I just wish I would have appreciate them more while I was alive.”

“For what it is worth. You’re not the first who only appreciates the beauty of life when it is ripped away from them.”

A pained expression paints his face. “It is really the end, huh?” He mutters softly as you slow down time again. “There will be no second chances after this.”

“We are here.” You say, but you only form your sentence to get him out of his thoughts, of course he recognizes Simon’s quarters. He has been there before.

You guide him through the wall, knowing that what the both of you are about to see isn’t a pretty sight. Simon had taken his famous Ghost mask off, balaclava tossed on his bed, an empty look in his eyes, while he watches the dog tags in his hand. One of them is missing, and a smile curls around your lips when you realise where they are.

John doesn’t notice, instead he is hesitant to reach out to his friend.

“Fuck!” Simons booming voice startles John. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Simon is blaming himself and all that hatred needs to come out. His fists slam down on the mirror on the wall, the shards digging in to the skin on his hands, but it only fuels Simon’s anger. “It should have been me! Fucking me!”

Times like these make your job hard, while you do not understand humans all the time, you can understand their grief, their longing, their desperate attempts to cope with their loved ones being gone.

His hands clutch around the dog tag, the material reminder he has of his best friend. You know Simon wants to cry, to let out all the build up frustration, but you also know Simon is raised by violence and not by love, so he doesn’t allow himself to. Blood drips slowly from his balled fist as he takes deep breaths to calm himself down. Not that it is doing much, every time Simon catches a glimpse of himself, he is reminded of the loss that happened today.

“Is he going to be okay?” John asks.

“I don’t know.” You answer, but you know, you know what will happen, and you know it won’t be pretty, but John doesn’t need to know, not when you can see the pain on his face, the pain in his eyes. The pain in his very soul to see his friend react like this.

His breath hitches in his throat when he sees Simon looking for something, a hidden bottle of whiskey appearing from between his socks in his dresser.

“Fuck.” John’s voice is soft. “Fuck!” It isn’t as soft anymore when Simon takes the first swig.

“Are you really sure I can’t do something? Anything?”

You shake your head.

“Please, anything. I beg you.” The desperation in his voice is clear as day, he doesn’t even try to hide how he feels about his best friend drinking.

“I.. I.. I can’t see this. Simon CAN’T drink himself to death because of me, because I died, becau-“

“He doesn’t drink himself to death.”

And for John time stops again, the weight of the world falling off his shoulders. “Oh thank God.” He sighs. “I mean, thank you, thank life? What is appropriate to say?”

He doesn’t drink himself to death, it will be far worse.

“Thank God is fine.” You eventually answer.

John looks at Simon again, who keeps on drinking the whiskey as if he needs it to survive. “I’m sorry.” Simon eventually says, and John’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” John rambles. “It wasn’t your fault. We all knew Makarov was an asshole.”

“It should’ve been me.” Simon sighs, not hearing the words his best friend so desperately wants to hear him. “You had so much things you still wanted to do, you still had a life in store.”

“Bollocks, Simon.” John tries to tell him while Simon takes another sip. “Fucking bollocks. You can make something out of your life too! We’ve talked about this.”

The nearly empty bottle gets thrown to the wall when Simon locks eyes with the dog tag again. “Fuck. I really hope that when I wake up tomorrow, you’ll still be alive, and this is all a horrible dream.”

Simon ignores the mess on the ground, he ignores the life outside of his quarters, he ignores the world that keeps on spinning, that keeps going on, while his life stopped the moment that bullet hit John. Instead he half undresses himself, slow, lazy movements, the alcohol making it hard to be precise. And he curls up in a ball, the single dog tag clutched in his hand, close to his heart, an gesture to keep his best friend close to him.

“Oh L.T. that hangover is going to hurt.” John mumbles. “And you promise he won’t drink himself to death, right?”

“I promise.”

“And I really can’t give him a sign that I am still here? Or you know, put a glass of water on his nightstand or something?”

“Afraid not.”

“I wish I could though.” John adds with a sigh, looking over the sleeping form of his friend.

“How is the rest coping?”

“You mean John and Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see?”

His eyes light up again. “Can I?”

“Wouldn’t have said it, if you couldn’t”

“In that case, yes, yes please.”

“Who first?”

He needs to think for a brief moment, does he want to see his Captain first, or his other good friend? He isn’t as worried about them as he was about Simon, yet the decision seems an easy one.

“Kyle.”

“Very well.” You hold out your hand for him to take, taking him to the quarters of his other friend. The young man lies on his bed, above the sheets, just staring at the ceiling, tears burning in his eyes.

John needs to swallow a lump in his throat. “He’ll be fine.” Will he?

“But shit.” John continues. “I wish I had told him I was proud of him more often.”

The both of you stay quiet while Kyle rolls over to his side, facing the wall, eyes still wide open.

“He was a little younger than I was, but we had the same rank, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t become the best soldier out there. So young, yet so many achievements already.” John runs a hand through his mohawk. “I just.. I just hope he knows how proud I am of him.”

Another smile tugs around your lips, while Kyle rolls over again, it is clear that he can’t seem to get comfortable, the events of today replaying in his mind while he tries to process what happens, while he tries to find a balance between being a tough soldier, and being human.

“I want to become like you Soap, when I grow up.” Kyle mutters, before he finally closes his eyes. And you look over to John, making sure that he heard the words that left his friends lips and in that moment he looks like a proud father, the same words he had once told Simon, were now said by someone he was so proud of.

John wants to reach out, pat his friend on the shoulder and promise him everything will be okay. But he can’t and you can tell it is eating him inside. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and another.

“Okay.” He finally said. “I think I want to see the Captain now.”

“Sure.”

Once more you hold out your hand for him to take, allowing him to see his Captain.

“Oh.”

It Is not a pretty sight. Price’s phone lights up time after time, missed calls from Laswell, from Nicolai, but he doesn’t answer them, paperwork gets ignores while he smokes cigar after cigar. His way to cope with stress.

“Shit.” John curses. “I would’ve thought captain would be the least affected.”

But Price is only human, and humans grief in the worst ways possible. The taskforce had become the family he once dreamed of having, he found solace in the people around him, and losing one was always hard, especially when it was someone who was close to him. Price slams his fist on his desk, startling John.

“Makarov came for me.” The voice coming out of Price is soft, a stark contrast with the loud slamming of his fist only moments ago. “You died because you tried to help me.”

“You would’ve done the same, cap.” John answers. “You would’ve given your life to save any of us.”

Price sighs and shakes his head, his hand reaching out to grab a picture off his desk, a group picture, the four of them together.

“Fucking idiot.” Price mutters. “You should’ve never done that. I should bring you back from the death, only to kick you so hard you’ll die again.” It is almost an endearing way of coping and John can’t help but chuckle.

You give John a nudge, pointing at the dog tags Price is wearing. Instead of two, his chain has three. John’s being added after he identified the body and gave Laswell the details for the report.

John’s gaze softens as he notices. “I’ll never be far away from them.”

“Never.”

“You know what. I think they’ll be alright without me. They will learn to live again.”

You can tell he wants to tell you that he is ready to move on, but you stop him by raising your hand. “Do you want to see your final moment together?”

“Sure.”

Once again you reach out your hand for him to take, and within the blink of an eye you’re in the Scottish highlands, three adults standing by a cliff, an urn in their hands. It is almost peaceful, serene.

“Who dares wins, sleep easy soldier.” Price is the first to talk.

“See you down range, brother. We’ll take it from here.” Kyle is the second to follow.

“Rest in peace, Johnny.” Simon is the last to speak.

You and John watch Simon unscrew the lid of the urn, tilting it, allowing the ashes to dance with the wind.

“I feel… at peace.” John mentions, watching his ashes spread through the air.

He sits down on the edge of the cliff, patting down next to him, signalling you to sit next to him, and so you do.

“I want to ask something.”

“And if I can, I will answer.”

“Why do you look human? Are you human?”

“No, I am not human.”

“Then what are you?”

“I am death. I have always been death and I will always be death. However, if I choose to portray myself other than human, it will make your kind freak out even more.”

John can’t help but laugh at your words. “Truth be told, I think I would’ve freaked out to see something else than human, yes.”

His gaze falls on the beautiful scenery in front of the two of you.

“So, what happens next?”

“When you’re ready I’ll help you cross to the afterlife.” You answer.

“What is the afterlife like?”

“That depends. It is different for everyone.” You reply.

“Is there like a heaven and hell?”

“No. The afterlife is a place where your soul goes to after your body has died. Every soul gets its own realm, and there it stays, together with all the souls it loves.”

“So, does that mean I’ll see the soul of my grandmother?”

“If you loved her, yes.”

“Does that.. does that mean I’ll see Bobby again?”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve missed him.”

“He knows.”

“I’m glad.”

John knows it is time for him to go, but he has to ask the question that burns within him.

“Will I see them again?”

“Eventually. I can tell your bond is strong enough for all of you to be reunited again in the afterlife.”

“I’ll wait for them.”

“And when their time has come I’ll be sure to guide them to you.”

“Thank you, Death.” For the last time John takes your hand in his. “I am ready now.”

Out of all three of them, Kyle had struggled the most with John’s death, or Soap, as the living men preferred to refer to him. Their silly nicknames never made much sense to you, how could John become a Soap, a Kyle become a Gaz, and a Simon become a Ghost?

Kyle had seen Soap – John – as some sort of mentor, someone to look up to, and the fact that that person was gone, was something Kyle couldn’t grasp, something he didn’t want to grasp.

It turned out that Soap also was the glue that held the four of them together, and with him being gone, the group of soldier started to fall apart, slowly, but surely.

And all you could do was wait patiently.

So you did, waiting in the shadow after Kyle took dangerous mission after dangerous mission. Today was no exception, much to the despair of his captain. Not that that would stop Kyle. No, Kyle felt as if he had to prove himself, he wanted to make Soap proud, he wanted to make Simon proud, he wanted to make his captain proud. So much that he forgot his own mortality in the process.

And there he was, laying in the high grass, hiding from the enemy that planted a bullet into his lower abdomen.

Time for you to come into action, you had been lurking into the shadow for a while now, and just when you were ready to step out again, you saw them. Life.

“Not yet, Death.” Life’s bright voice sounds. “This one isn’t done yet.”

You can only watch while Life takes his hand into theirs, making sure Kyle can hold on until help arrives.

Life is everything Death isn’t. Where you, Death, are surrounded by sadness, despair, and darkness, Life is surrounded by joy, happiness, and light. Yet your realms seem to interfere, blend in together, not every soul is happy to be alive, and other souls deserve to live longer than the universe can grand them.

Life and Death dance around the world, leaving a trail of love and grief wherever they go.

“Gaz!” A loud voice booms over the field, his lieutenant comes running over, as fast as his legs can carry him. “Seems like you will win this round, Life.” You muse, as you watch Simon apply pressure to the wound.

“I need a medic, NOW!” Simon yells. “I can’t lose you Gaz.” He adds with a softer voice. “Not you too.”

But Kyle can’t look Simon in his eyes, not yet, right now he isn’t able to cope with the disappointment he will see in his lieutenants eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Kyle mutters with a meek smile, and you can see Life squeeze his hand.

“Of course.” Simon agrees, because Simon doesn’t dare to think about the fact that he might lose someone he cares about again.

“You’ll be okay Gaz, I’ll make sure.” And with those words, Simon spews out what he wanted to tell to Soap.

And Kyle will be okay, Life had made sure that he escaped from your grasp for the final time. Life continued to hold Kyle’s hand until he reached the infirmary, Life didn’t let go off his hand until the first stitch was placed in the wound, letting him live until his time was up.

And you just followed, following Life and Kyle into the infirmary, quietly waiting. Kyle’s time would come, quicker than he would expect it to happen.

Life finally let go off his hand, giving you a quick nod before they disappeared again.

You just watched, seeing fragments of yourself guide the souls of the less fortunate while you had yourself fixated on the young man before you.

You watched over his shoulder when he took out his phone. His hand shaking while he went to call his mother, a shaky breath leaving his lips when his mother picked up the phone and the video call starts.

“Mom.”

“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You never call without a reason. What’s on your mind?”

“Just.. I know.. You.. I..” The poor boy started to stutter, not able to express the emotions he wanted to express.

And a mothers love knows no boundaries. “Are you worried about John, Bearie?”

A sour expression crossed his face by the nickname from his childhood, but it is quickly swallowed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.

You know the look his mother bears, it is the look of a woman who wishes her son wasn’t away from her, a mother who wishes she could crawl through the phone to comfort her son about his fallen teammate.

“What is on your mind, boy?”

“I just wonder ma.” Kyle starts. “I wonder if he was in pain, if he was scared, if he would ever be proud of me.”

No he wasn’t, more pissed off than scared, more than you’ll ever know.

His mother sighs softly. “Those are questions you’ll never find an answer to. But I get it, I had the same questions when your grandpa passed. And I like to think that both of them are proud of us. You have reason to be proud, Kyle. I am sure John is proud of you too.”

The expression on his face softens. “Thank you mom.”

“Anytime Bearie.”

He rolls his eyes, quick enough so that his mother doesn’t catch on.

“Do you want to speak to your sisters too?”

“No, I’m quite tired, just missed you.”

“I miss you too Kyle. Promise me you’ll come home soon yeah?”

“Promised ma, I’ll see you soon okay?”

“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”

“Love you too mom.”

The moment his call gets disconnected, he presses his lips against his phone, wishing to press the same kiss against his mothers forehead. Kyle had never struggled to be away from his family, but with Soap’s passing, he found himself longing to be with his family more and more. Maybe he would take a little break after his next mission.

But Kyle never got to take that break. Soon after he was cleared from the infirmary he found himself taking dangerous missions again. The promise to his mother being long forgotten whenever he found himself enjoying the rush again, the feeling of being alive, of being worthy, he finally felt as if he mattered.

Not that any of that was important right now. Because right now Kyle was about to meet you. He had found himself caught in enemy crossfire once more, being in the delusion that he is in fact invincible. But he isn’t, no one is really no matter how often they think they are.

Kyle groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his short breaths, as his hands clutch the wound on his chest, he knew that time was running out, and even you knew that Life wouldn’t be able to keep him away from you.

“Hello.”

Kyle looks up at your words, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you? Did I? Am I dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.

“I suppose I can’t sweet talk my way out of dying.”

“Afraid not.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I promised mom I would come home again.”

“You did.”

“How did you know?”

“That is something for later. Right now I would advice you to call your mother.”

A short flash of gratitude in his eyes before the pain takes over again. With a bloody hand he takes out his phone, dialling his mother’s number. But she doesn’t pick up, she is on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that her son is about to breathe his last breath.

His lips press together to a thin line when he reaches her voicemail.

“Mommy?” His voice is quivering when he speaks. “It’s me, Bearie. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be coming home again. I.. I.. I.. I was too reckless, thought I had to make you and the whole world proud after Soap died, and now I never get to see you again.” The words spill out of him worried his life will be over before he can say the things he wants her to hear.

“I am so sorry for breaking my promise mom, I love you, I love the girls. Please don’t blame yourself.” His breathing is getting quicker and he starts to get cold, a sign for you that his time is coming to an end. You hold out your hand to him, a subtle notice that he has to hurry up.

“Mom. Mom I can’t say this enough, I should’ve said it more to you, but I love you. I really love you, thank you for being my mother.”

One raspy breath, another raspy breath.

“Oh and mom? It doesn’t hurt, I promise. It doesn’t hurt and I am not scared.”

Lair.

He ends the call, the pain is visible in his face, in his eyes. In everything. His hand is shaking when he reaches for your held out hand, and the moment you touch him, it is over. The pain disappears, his face relaxes.

Kyle stands besides you, looking at his dead body. “I had to lie to her, you know. She would never forgive herself for allowing me to join the army.”

“Do not worry, I am not here to judge you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“To guide you.”

“To hell?”

“No, to the afterlife.”

“Oh.”

It stays quiet for a little bit.

“How did you know I had promised mom that I would come home?”

“You should’ve been dead the last time you got shot, but Life decided you were allowed some more time.”

“Can I thank Life?”

“No, Life is a shy creature, and prefers to not be seen by the mortals. I am in no position to deny Life their wishes.”

A quick nod, as Kyle seems to understand what you mean.

He looks at his body again, and a sad look appears on his face. “Will my mother at least have my body back home?”

You nod. “Yes, let me speed up time a little, because it does take a while.”

“You can speed up time?”

“Correct, right now you are no longer in the world of the living, but in my realm. My rules apply here.”

He relaxes as time begins to speed up.

“Watch closely.” You urge. “You might not have realised, but the sunset are always beautiful.”

He goes to sit down, next to his body, and he allows himself to enjoy the setting sun, a soft, smooth transition to the night.

“Gaz, this is Ghost, how copy?” That is your cue to slow down time again.

“Gaz, how copy?”

“Can I answer him?”

“No, everything you do here, has no influence on the world of the living.”

“Shit, they must be worried.”

“Kyle, how copy?”

“Fuck. Kyle, stay where you are, I am coming.”

Kyle leans back into the grass. “Did you guide Soap too?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was there when he got shot. Guided him to the afterlife too.”

“Did he.. Did he mention me?”

“Mention you? He wanted to stay in my realm until he was sure all three of you could cope.”

Kyle smiles. “He always was a good friend. Did he say anything about me?”

“Only that he was proud of you, and that he should’ve told you more often.”

“He did?”

“I have no benefit in lying.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the tears in his eyes. “Fuck. I really thought he would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

“He wasn’t. By all means he was telling me how proud he was, how much you had achieved already.”

Kyle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with the name of his mother, the moment the ringing ends, it starts again immediately. And again. And again. Kyle has a sad look on his face. “I hate that I broke my promise to her.” He admits.

“I understand that.”

“God, she will be so heartbroken.”

“Yes. But you did give her some closure by that voicemail. She will cherish it till the end of her dying days. Even though it was a lie, hearing from you that it didn’t hurt, that you weren’t scared. It will help her heal more than you can imagine.”

Kyle wipes away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. “I am glad. She really is the best you know? Always been supportive of my dreams, even when my father left, she was there for me, always putting me and my sisters first.”

“It sounds like you love her.”

“More than I’ve loved myself.”

You watch Simon approach, his face hidden behind his mask, but the emotion in his eyes is clear. “Fuck, no. Gaz.”

He drops down the body of his friend, searching for a pulse, but the body had gone cold already, and in a moment of emotion, of weakness even, Simon cradles the dead body of his friend. “Not you too man, come on.”

Kyle has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Shit.”

Simon reaches for his radio. “Gaz has been found and identified, Killed in action. I’ll return soon.”

“Will he be okay? I noticed him drinking more after Soap died, and I don’t want him to drink himself to death because of my death.”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”

He watches, as Simon picks up his body, and carries him away.

“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.

“I can show you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

By the gods, that wasn’t a good sight to see, the captain looked at least fifteen years older, the constant smoking now had the company of a bottle of whiskey.

A fourth dog tag on the chain.

“Fuck.” Price muttered. “Fuck, it never gets any fucking easier.”

The fingertips of Price trace the outline of Kyle’s file. “I never should’ve let you go on this mission.”

“I hope he knows I would’ve gone on another dangerous mission if he would’ve declined me this one.” Kyle answers.

“He knows, deep down he knows, but it is easier for you humans to find a way to blame yourself.”

“Will the captain be okay?”

“He will be the last of you four to pass.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh, I guess the captain is tougher than he looks.”

“That he is.”

“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Final question, will mom be okay?”

“Your mother? She will never be herself again. She will always miss you, mourn you, but your urn gets a little shrine, and she will never toss out your childhood stuffed animals.”

“How long will it take for her to have me home again?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope once I see her heartbroken face. Right now all my memories of her are nice ones, and I will break my own heart if I see her grieve.”

“That is fair.”

Kyle looks at his captain again, before he turns to look at you.

“Will I see Soap again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Once you’ve moved on to the afterlife, your soul will connect with the souls you’ve loved.”

“Can I go now? Simon will be alright, Captain will be alright, and mom will eventually be alright too. I feel like I can leave them now and not be worried.”

Kyle takes a deep breath. “And I would like to catch up with Soap.”

“Very well.”

You hold out your hand to him. “Let me guide you then.”

Simon Riley. You had been following the man ever since he was born. There had been times where he had been ready to leave this earth, only to be pulled back by Life on the last second.

It would be a lie if it wouldn’t make you question whether or not it would be ethical to keep certain people alive. But that wasn’t up to you to judge after all.

Even after he escaped the horror that was his childhood home, death seemed to follow Simon, his hand never steered clear from the blood that stained him.

But this time? This time it was different.

Simon couldn’t cope with the death of Gaz and Soap, leaving him a broken mess. But Simon was taught that feelings, emotions should be hidden inside, piling up until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

So Simon did what he knew best, copying the coping skill of his father, empty bottles piling up just like the feelings piled up inside of him. Whiskey replacing the companionship that his friends no longer could give them, the burning sensation of the liquid making him feel alive, a feeling he thought he didn’t need anymore, but he felt himself craving it, chasing it.

And of course people around him were worried, John tried to talk to him, John had seen this way too often before. Soldiers not being able to cope with the loss, turning to the poison that roamed this earth, alcohol, drugs and self-destruction in the from of women. And John had tried to stop it, tried to warn him, but Simon was a grown man, capable of making his own choices, no matter how destructive.

You knew you had promises Soap and Gaz that Simon wouldn’t drink himself to death, and with the amount of liquor he was pumping into his system, you almost got the feeling you had been lying.

But Simon would bounce back from the alcohol abuse, with the help of his captain that is.

It had been a day like any other, Simon would try to focus on his work, his mind already on the numbing temptation of the liquor, briefings, conversations, details, they would all go past him like a blur while he tried to deceive the people around him. And usually after a day of work, he would lock himself into his quarters, drinking until he forgot his fallen teammates.

“A word.” John’s voice is loud, a little too loud for Simon’s liking.

“About what?”

“You.”

“What is there about me?”

“Why did you join the army?”’

You watch, slightly amused at the low blow John just spat out.

“Don’t you fu-“

“Answer my fucking question, Simon. Why did you join the fucking army.”

And you can tell Simon is struggling to answer that question, hell he doesn’t want to answer that question, because that would mean he could no longer pretend he wasn’t following his fathers footsteps.

“I joined to escape home.”

“And why did you have to escape home?”

“Because my father was an abusive alcoholic.”

“Then tell me, Simon, why the fuck are you turning into your father?”

“Bullshit John.”

“Bullshit? You think you’re sleek, only bringing away the bottles in the early morning. Do you think we really don’t hear the clinking of the glass while you wander these halls? Do you really think no one can smell it on your breath?”

“You don’t get it.”

You had seen John often enough to recognize the subtle anger in his face, flaring nostrils, a slight raise of his brows, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t get it?”

“You have no idea how much their death affected me.”

“I have no idea because you shut yourself out and rather poison yourself.” John spat back at him.

“You have no idea what I have been through Captain, and I would strongly advice you stray away to this topic.”

“You’re right. I did not have your upbringing, and I do wish you dad had healed before he came your father, but you do not get to tell me about grief.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am affected too. I was the one who asked Soap to come with me to Makarov, I was the one who approved Gaz going on that mission. And I can’t let you drink yourself to death, Simon. I will not be responsible for your death too.”

Both men are silent, straying into territory they are not used too, at least not with each other. Both men had been told that their emotions were forbidden, that emotions should not be on display for others to see.

But you could see their hurt souls, their broken souls, needing the company of each other. John is the first to give in. Holding his arms open and Simon clings on for dear life.

“God fucking damnit boy, get your shit together, that is an order.”

“I forget then when I’m drunk enough.”

“I know. But forgetting them isn’t the way to go. You shouldn’t forget them, celebrate their life because they no longer can.”

“I will, Captain.”

“Good.” John let go off him, giving him a rough pat on his back. “Do you need anything from me, the military?”

“A little time off.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay all by yourself? I can get a therapist for you if you want.”

“I would like that.”

“Good. Now, get some rest, I’ll pull some strings to get you someone to talk to.”

“Thanks Cap, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

Something was off, something was different, and John couldn’t really put his finger on it, but decided to not press any further. He had nagged Simon long enough and it felt as if his point had come across good enough.

Simon on the other hand, felt a calm feeling he hadn’t experienced before. A decision crossing his mind when he gripped his sink, tears streaming down his face when he recognized his father in the mirror. Simon knew he wouldn’t be strong to recover, he had become an alcoholic, just like his father.

“Fuck!” His fist slams the mirror, the second one this year, blood running down his arm while he takes in the freedom the pain gives him. His mind is only giving him one solution, the emotions, his grief, the craving to alcohol, they’re making it impossible to think straight.

Simons scribbles something down on a piece of paper. Before he takes a deep breath and looks around his room. John had been right, Simon thought it had alle been under control, but he was lying to himself, the half full bottles being the proof of that, but not anymore, not any longer.

He takes place in his own bathtub, a piece of glass gripped tightly in his right hand. You know what is about to happen and this is always your least favourite part.

He doesn’t drink himself to death.

Tears blur his vision when the sharp material pierces his skin, dragging down. He doesn’t even register the pain, all he can feel is the peace and quiet his mind gives him. So he does it again, and again, going deeper each time.

His head tilts back and he drops the shard of glass, causing it to shatter on the ground.

It stays silent, the only sound is his blood dripping on the floor of the bathtub. Life is nowhere to be seen, and you know this is his end. In a split second you make a decision.

The universe had been too unkind to Simon already, the least you could do was to make sure he didn’t have to die alone.

“Hello.”

“What the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in?” His eyes snap open and his head snaps back to face you.

“I am Death.”

“Did I die already?”

“Not yet.”

“Than why the fuck are you here?”

“Because this will kill you, and I did not want you to die alone.”

“Well thanks for your concern but I don’t need your pity.”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

You chuckle softly. “I guided them too.”

His face softens. “How.. What.. What did they say?”

“Soap was pissed off, Gaz was worried he had let his mother down.”

“Sounds like them.”

“It is nearly your time, Simon.”

“Will the pain stop?”

“When you’re dead? Yes, yes the pain will stop.”

“I can’t wait to be pain free.”

“Tell me about your favourite memory?”

“Of what?”

“Anything you please.”

Simon has to think for a little while.

“My brother.” He eventually starts. “Had gotten a part time job, and he needed to give the money to our father, but he had hidden his first pay check. So when our father was passed out on the couch again, we snuck out.” A smile forms on his face.

“We bought a cake, one of those fancy ones with a lot of frosting. We ate it in the skatepark where we used to hangout a lot. I ate so much cake I couldn’t stand it for the longest time afterwards. But for the time that it took for us to eat that cake, we were happy, not a care in the world, just loads of sugar and each other.”

He hadn’t noticed yet, but the shackles of life had fallen off during his story, setting him free of his mortal pain.

“I miss him.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

“How’s the pain, Simon?”

“Which pa- Oh fuck.”

You watch as he gets up from the bathtub, looking at his body, he died smiling, his eyes closed, almost looking happy.

“You deserved better.”

��I did.” He agrees.

Simon clears his throat. “So what now? You take me to hell and I’ll burn for eternity?”

“Why would you burn in hell?”

“I am a soldier, I killed people. People who deserved it, and people who might not have deserved it.”

“And that is equal to eternal suffering?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Don’t you think you have suffered enough?”

His face turns pale, the words slowly sinking in while he recalls his whole life.

“So there is no hell for me?” his voice is a soft whisper.

“There is no hell for you.”

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck I was so scared for hell, that had been the only thing holding me back from killing myself earlier.”

“So” He looks at his body again. “What would be next?”

“Once you are ready, I’ll take you to the afterlife.”

“How do I know I’ll be ready?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“I don’t feel it yet.”

“Then you can stay with me.”

He nods, liking the answers that you’ve given him. “I have some questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Can I ask them?”

“Of course. I’ll answer them if I have the answer.”

“How do you know which soul to reap?”

“I just know.”

“Okay, and now you are here with me, does that mean no one else dies on the world.”

“If that was the case a lot of deaths would’ve been postponed.” You answer. “I can split myself into fragments, therefor I am able to reap multiple souls.”

“How did you, you know, get into this profession?”

“I was created to be Death. It is all I have ever known, and it is all I will ever know.”

“Hm.” His eyes shift to his body again.

“What is the afterlife, and who will be there?”

“Everyone will be there, every soul goes to the afterlife, and you’ll reconnect with the souls that love you.”

Simon has to swallow a lump in his throat, he wants to say something but is interrupted by a knock on the door. “Simon?” John’s ruff voice sounds.

“Can I answer him?”

“Afraid not.”

“Simon!” the knocking returns. “I swear to God.” John mutters, as he opens the door to Simon’s room. “If you have been drinking again.”

John looks around the room, and you and Simon watch him do so. John’s gaze fall on the piece of paper, his face turning pale. “God fucking damnit.” The paper falls on the ground, slowly twirling in the air before it gently settles down.

‘this isn’t your fault.’ Even though you knew what would be on the letter your eyes automatically shift to the words on the white paper.

Johns open the door to Simon’s bathroom, and he just stand in the door opening, taking in the dead body of his teammate. “God damn it, Simon.” He repeats. “You could’ve talked to me you know.”

John moves over to the body, taking in the smile on Simon’s face. “At least you were happy.” John mutters.

His hands reach for Simon’s dog tags, taking one of the chain to add to his own. John’s fingertips rest on Simon’s cheek for a brief moment. “I hope death treats you better than life.”

Simon looks at you. “You do.”

“Thank you.”

“Will the Captain be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I feel bad, for leaving him behind, for doing this.”

“He’ll understand, and when his time will come too, I’ll tell him about you.”

“Thank you.”

Simon looks at his feet. “I don’t know if you can do this, but I want to visit Johnny.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to go to the Scottish Highlands, to the place where we set his ashes free.”

You hold out your hand to him. “I’ll take you there.”

Simon’s eyes light up as he takes your hand into his, and before he can blink twice, you’ve transported the both of you to the exact same place.

“I forgot how beautiful it was here.” Simon says, as he sits down on the exact same spot where Johnny had sat down, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that their souls are happy together in another universe.

You go to sit down next to him. “It is beautiful here.”

The both of you sit in silence, you know Simon wants to ask you something, a question burning within him ever since John had interrupted, but you’re not filling anything in, letting Simon come to you when he is ready.

“You mentioned something about souls and love.” Simon eventually says.

“I did.”

“Who will be waiting for me?”

A faint hint of a smile can be seen on your face.

“More than you’ll expect.”

“Tommy?”

You just nod and Simon let out a shaky breath.

“It has been a while since I’ve seen him, I’ve missed him terribly. Who else?”

“Tommy, Beth, Joseph, your mother. Roach. Gaz, Soap. They will all be there.”

“Will they be mad for what I did?”

“They love you too much to be mad.”

“I’ve known more love death, than I’ve done alive.”

You turn to look at him. “I know, and I am sorry.”

“Is there anything I had done to deserve such a life?”

You want to wince, flinch at his words, but it is a fair question.

“No. Sometimes the universe isn’t fair when it gives somebody a course of life. You were a child, Simon. What happened to you, should’ve never happened, not to you, not to anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re brave.” You add. “You’ve survived something you shouldn’t have had to face in the first place.”

“How do you cope with it?” Simon asks.

“With what?”

“The unfairness?”

You let out a sigh. “It is hard. Sometimes I have to guide innocent souls to the afterlife, souls I would have wished had a long and sweet life. And sometimes I see souls who I felt deserved death a long time ago. Unfortunately I cannot change the course of the universe, nor can I change the free will of humans.”

“Do you feel remorse?”

“No. I am no mortal, nor do I possess mortal feelings. I do however acknowledge the unfairness of certain situations.”

“I see. It is hard for me to imagine.”

“I get that.”

“Hey Death?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“Do you promise that they will be waiting for me in the afterlife?”

“I promise.”

Simon holds out his hand to you. “Then please, let me see them again.”

John Price.

The man had seen more than enough death for a lifetime. Yet it wouldn’t be the last of it. Being a soldier signed him up to a lifetime of death and despair. But unlike the others, John seemed to accept it a whole lot better. Yes he did feel guilty, yes he wished life could’ve turned out different, for him, for his team, for all of them.

But it didn’t, so he had to learn how to cope.

Even though you know his time isn’t there yet, you decide to follow him around, just a little more, just to see how he would cope. That is what you would tell yourself anyway, maybe you had been getting a little attached to this group of men.

You watch John approach the cemetery, four bouquets of flowers in his hands, a picnic basket hanging on his arm while he walks, silence lingering around him, and if he were in company, they would feel the tension surrounding him. But John is alone, except for your company, who would’ve guessed Death would’ve be such good company?

Three out of the four bouquets get placed on the ground, alongside the picnic basket, number four, a bouquet of tulips. Yellow tulips. John places them on the first grave, his hand brushes away the dirt on the gravestone. “Well, for someone whose nickname is Soap, it sure gets dirty quick.” John chuckles at his own joke. John kneels down at the grave, removing some of the weeds that had grown, using his hand to brush the rest of the gravestone clean.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” He mutters. “Sorry I dragged you along to that mission. I’m sorry you had to catch the bullet meant for me.” John awkwardly pats the gravestone.

“If I had known that would be our last moment together, I would’ve spent the car ride to our destination telling you how proud I am of you.” He speaks, and while John knows that no one will hear his words, it feels good to get them off his chest.

“I would tell you how good you’re doing, how much you’ve grown. How much we all appreciated you. How we all enjoyed your jokes, even though some of us would rather perish than tell you that.”

“You probably already know, but Kyle and Simon joined you.”

“I wish I could have prevented this. Kyle.. He slipped right between my fingers, I never thought he would push and push the way he did, Johhny. I thought I was keeping him safe, keeping him busy, but in reality I was allowing him to die.”

John swallows the lump in his throat. “And Simon. I think I knew what was happening, I thought I knew what was going on, but I was wrong, so, so, so wrong.”

John takes a deep breath, inhaling the cold air into his lungs, before he slowly exhales. “You’ve been one hell of a soldier, Johnny, but more important, you’ve been an amazing person. I’ll see you again on the other side, take care of the boys for me, will ya?”

With a grunt John gets up from his knees, taking a new bouquet of flowers.

A colourful bouquet of freesias is put down in front of the next grave and John lets out a sigh again, staring into the distance. It is hard to read his face, and you can’t figure out what he is thinking.

“I’ve heard a lot of gut wrenching sounds, Kyle.” He finally speaks. “But I’ll never forget the screams of your mother when I had to confirm your death. The wailing will never leave my mind. I can’t erase it, no matter how hard I try.”

The captain uses his hand once more to brush some dirt of the gravestone, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m sorry.” He says once more.

“I really wanted to believe life had so much in store for you. I should never had let you take on that mission, Kyle. I should’ve seen the signs, the desperate attempt to prove yourself to me, to Johnny, maybe even to Simon too.”

“But the truth is, boy, you never had to prove yourself in the first place. We all saw your potential, we all saw the amazing leader you could’ve become.” John runs a hand through his short hair. “I really wish we could’ve talked about this more. I really wish you would’ve told me you didn’t feel good enough, Kyle. I could’ve shown you my point of view.”

“But, we can’t undo what happened.” John continues. “I hope you can finally feel enough.”

“Your mother misses you. Your sisters too. Simon missed you. But I’m sure he has told you by now. Or not, we both know how he can be.”

“I.. I miss you too, Kyle. I would’ve loved for you to follow my footsteps.” John sighs again. “Simon couldn’t cope, but you already know that. Take care of him, yeah? I know he probably doesn’t want it, but he missed you and Johnny.”

John gives a final pat on the gravestone. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

He takes the third bouquet, a large bouquet of sunflowers, it is being put down on the newest gravestone. “Fucking hell, Simon.” He grunts. “Out of all people, I never thought you would do it. I thought I had it under control with you.”

“At least you had a smile on your face, and I wonder what went through your mind in your final moment.” A sad smile forms on John’s face. “I hope you’re at peace now.”

“Out of all their deaths, yours haunts me the most, Simon.” He confesses. “Because with yours it felt like I really could have changed the outcome, you know.” John kneels down next to the grave.

“I.. I.. I never got to say this Simon, but I am sorry that I compared you to your father. I was trying to get my point across and I’ve used words that I shouldn’t have used. I knew it was a low blow to mention him, and I’m sorry.” He rests his hand on the gravestone. “I hope my words didn’t push you over the edge, and I know you have made that little note for me, but I can’t help but feel guilty.”

John sighs once more, looking at the sunflowers on the ground. “I.. You didn’t have a home I could send you too, like Kyle, so I’ve spread your ashes on the same spot where we send Johnny home. I hope you’re okay with it.” He adds, with a meek smile.

“You’ve been one of the toughest people I’ve ever known in my life, and I’ve met a lot of tough motherfuckers, Simon. But you? You’ve bounced back from everything.”

“And no matter how guilty I feel, the fact that you had a smile on your face brings me a little bit of peace.”

“I hope that wherever you are, that you found your people again in the afterlife. That there will be enough souls waiting for you, to show you how loved you’ve always been.” John gets up from his knees again. “Don’t try to give the other too much shit, but keep them in check for me, yeah?”

He let his gaze fall on the three graves in front of him, a sad smile on his lips once more. His hand goes to the dog tags around his neck, there are too many to just be from one person. His gaze lingers on the names engraved in the stones.

John MacTavish

Kyle Garrick

Simon Riley

“It has been an honour. An honour to have known you all, an honour to have fought alongside you. The biggest honour has been to call you all my brothers in arms.” His voice is clear, never wavering as he pays his final respect, as he says his final goodbye.

“I promise you three that I’ll keep your graves in check, for as long as I live. I don’t care if they’re empty, they will forever be a reminder that you have all existed. Your legacy will live on.”

“I miss you all, until we meet again.”

After a final salute he picks up the last of the bouquets and the picnic baskets, and he walks further up the cemetery, walking past a grave that reads Herschel Shepherd. John gives the grave a quick nod. “You make me wish hell did exist.” He grumbles, flipping the headstone off. “Should’ve done it earlier.”

He continues to walk until he reaches another grave, putting down the picnic basket and the flowers, before he kneels down again, taking out a brush to gently sweep away any dirt.

Jenny Price

“I’m back again, love.” He sighs, as he tidies up the grave, making sure to pull the weeds, but leave the flowers that have grown intact. “It has been a while since I’ve visited, but I have a good reason, I promise.” He added with a chuckle.

He gets up after the stone is clean again, her name can be read again, and he takes a step back to admire his work. “Got you all cleaned up. Looking pretty as ever.”

He opens the picnic basket, taking out a blanket to lay it on the ground next to the stone. A bouquet of heliotropes, forget-me-nots and carnations. John sits down on the blanket, next to the gravestone.

“Next month..” He sighs, something he has done a lot this evening. “Next month, you’ll be gone for fourteen years now, Jen. And I still miss you as if it is the first day.”

He rests his head against the stone. “I miss the boys.” He whispers, almost as if he is afraid to confess it to her. “Blaming myself for it too. If you see them, take care of ‘m for me, please. Show them the love you’ve shown me.”

He takes out a small bottle of wine, and a cigar, leaving the picnic basket open. “I can only hope that Death guided them, the way you have been guided.”

“It’s been nearly fourteen year, love, and I still wake up in the middle of the night, searching for you, hoping you’ve just been in the bathroom and you’ll come back to lay next to me. I would give everything, Jen, and I mean everything, to just hold you once more, to feel your soft skin against mine again.”

“Being a captain, having my own taskforce, it all means less when I can’t share it with you. It all means so little, knowing that I won’t be able to hold you again, to hear your sweet voice ever again.” John opens up the bottle of wine he had brought, taking out the cork before he takes a swig, not bothering to take a glass. “You know.” He chuckled softly. “If I close my eyes and focus really hard. I can even hear you scold me again for drinking wine straight out of the bottle.”

“I finally had an orange again.” He mutters. “They apparently make special tools to help you peel them. So I can finally eat them again. It has been fourteen years, and I finally had an orange again.” He shakes his head. “I cried. I cried while eating it, the taste reminded me so much of you, the scent of the peel almost intoxicating. I remember how your hands would smell like orange the whole day after you’ve peeled mine. And I miss it, Jen. Fuck, I miss it so much.”

He falls silent, a stark contrast with the floodgates of words that spilled over his lips just seconds ago. His voice cracking when he speaks again. “It has always been you.”

“No other woman comes even close to you. It is weird, but I don’t even want another woman, I don’t feel the need to see someone, feel someone. Hell, I prefer to lay alone in that large bed, because when I fall asleep, you’re waiting for me in my dreams. You’re there, waiting for me to come home again.”

You’ve been watching him, while you sat on the nearby bench. Jenny Price. You remember reaping her soul, her husband had walked in on you, and he was the first mortal to see you, and to live to tell the story. But John kept it hidden, maybe that is why he had grown so strong, so tough, because he knew that death wouldn’t be an ugly thing, but an old friend waiting for you to come home again.

You’ve seen enough, as you get up from the bench. His time isn’t there yet, and you have enough to do anyway. Your gaze lingers on the captain, his head resting on the gravestone, his eyes closed as he brings up the memories he has with his late wife. It has become routine for him at this point, talking to her after a mission, visiting her whenever he could, keeping her grave as clean as he could. But for now you let him be. He deserved to have this little peace of mind before he would get sucked into the chaos of his day to day life.

Life goes on for the both of you, you have been reaping souls, he has been doing missions, neither of you meeting, although you take away the lives he has ended.

But his end is near, creeping up behind him, lurking in the shadows. Maybe he could feel it, maybe it was the universe apologising for taking away his wife, for taking away his teammates, but John finds himself at the cemetery again, talking to his old teammates, making sure that the weeds have been pulled, the flowers are fresh again. He updates them on his life, on the missions.

“We’ve done it.” He sighs, to no grave in particular. “We found Makarov. And I’ve put a bullet between his eyes, Johnny. Made sure he knew it was in your name. You should have seen the look on his face.”

And you remember, taking Makarov’s soul, it was safe to say the Rus was less than pleased, especially that John took his soul.

“Your mom is doing well, Kyle. She is still grieving as much as a mother does, but she is doing well. She finally got you that golden retriever you wanted as a kid. Named it Gaz, in your honour. Your sister graduated from her studies. She made sure to mention you in her speech. You would be so proud, Kyle.”

“And Simon, we have a mental health program dedicated to you, making sure that we can talk more open on base about mental health. So we can prevent that others feel the need to do what you did. You’ll live on.”

He moves on, once more laying out the blanket next to the grave of his late wife, sitting down next to her again. “There we are love.” He said with a grunt, lighting his cigar.

His gaze falls on the sky, looking at the setting sun. “You’re looking beautiful tonight.” He tells her. “I like it when you paint the sky orange. I never realised orange was my favourite colour until I found you in the sky every day.”

Maybe he could feel it, maybe your presence was looming to much on a cemetery. But John closes his eyes, breathing in the cold air into his lungs. He opens his eyes, seeing you in front of him.

“It is good to see you again, old friend.” He says.

“Hello.”

“Oh, you can skip the formalities.” He grunts. “I always thought I would die on the battlefield, not next to Jenny.”

“It has become a full circle, she passed in your arms, you will pass next to her gravestone.”

His eyes flash dark when he is reminded of how his wife had passed. “I never got to thank you for guiding Jenny.”

“It is what I do.”

“I know, but still. She was so scared, and you took that fear away.”

“I am glad that I could do it.”

“So, it is my time then.”

“Mhm, it is your call.” You respond. “But it will happen within the next few minutes.”

“Hm.” He answers with a murmur, as he rests his head against her gravestone again. “Wake me up when it’s done.”

You take place on the bench again, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath, his breathing turning steady as he falls asleep next to her gravestone. Sleeping together one last time.

You’re a patient creature, you have all the time in the world, so you wait, wait until his chest stops, until his heart stops beating. Before you can say a thing his soul leaves his body. John doesn’t talk to you yet, instead, he looks at his body, resting against the gravestone of his late wife.

“What a sight.” He sighs, turning to you.

And you just nod.

John turns to you. “I imagine that I also get to ask some questions before you bring me to the afterlife.”

“Anything you wish.”

John’s soul walks over to the bench you’re sitting on, having a view of the graves of his teammates and his late wife. “Do you think I am a bad person?”

“I am in no position to answer that question. For me and Life there is no such thing as a good person and a bad person. You all just exist with free will, and it is up to you how you use it.”

“If you were human, you would be a politician.” John snickers at his own joke.

You let out a sound that represents a huff. “Is this you calling me a bad person?”

“Only if you would be a British politician.”

“I would rather stay Death.”

He looks at the upcoming moon. “Did you guide my teammates too?”

“All of them.”

If he would be still alive he would be releasing a breath. “Glad you did.”

“They all wanted to know how you would cope.”

“They did?”

“Mhm.”

“Guess they cared more than I thought.”

“Of course they did.”

“Why was Simon smiling?”

“Why would I have something to do with it?”

“Because I know you wouldn’t have want him to die alone.”

“That much is true. I asked him his favourite memory. So he could die thinking about something happy.”

“And Kyle’s mother told me he has tried to call her and left a voicemail, I assume that is your doing too?”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Kyle’s upbringing was different from Simon’s.”

“As Death I do not discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. Life can be difficult and unfair enough. Why would I make their process of dying hard too?”

“That.. I.. I never thought about it that way.”

“I had no reason to grand you and Jenny some more time together, I had no reason to explain the afterlife to her, or to answer her questions about dying. Yet I did. Just like the universe does not need reasons to allow events in someone’s life to happen.”

“I see. Well, I think it is beautiful.”

John looks at his body, limped against the gravestone of his late wife.

“How did I die?”

“Your heart gave out.”

“Guess all those years of cigars, whiskey and stress finally caught up on me.” He chuckled. “I never noticed anything though, I mean I’ve been a little tired lately, but thought that was just the stress.”

You just tilt your head.

“Oh.”

“Heart diseases are something else.” You sigh. “A silent killer.”

“Learned that the hard way.”

His gaze shifts from his body to the gravestone next to him and he holds out his hand.

“As much as I liked seeing you again old friend, I am ready to go home, for the first time in fourteen years.”

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grandlinedreams · 8 months

Note

Your blog is the highlight of my day, I'm really impressed <3

Could you maybe write something more about what happened after that oneshot where the reader wants to stay up with law but falls asleep while doing it and then law laying in bed with them?

I love the slow burn that is happening there

Aah, thank-you!! I do my best and I'm just glad my hyperfixation has an audience that enjoys it ehe 💖 but absolutely!! I hope that this is to your liking!! I also couldn't help myself w adding the 'it's rotten work' 'not to me. Not if it's you'

[In reference to this]

[Heads up!: mutual pining, some angst, hurt/comfort]

There are three reasons you know that you're not in your own bed when you wake up. One, you're warmer than you ever are, blanket usually kicked off of you in some way or another. The second that there are no sounds of the bunkhouse ㅡ no soft snores or sleepy murmurs, the creak of someone moving in their sleep. And the third?

That Law is asleep right next to you.

It takes a minute to register, your cheeks warming. You'd fallen asleep despite trying your best not to, you know that much ㅡ and that for whatever reason, Law had seen fit to simply let you sleep in his bed.

It's inappropriate, you know. A severe breach of what should be between captain and crewmate ㅡ but staring at him, all you can think of is what could be.

You let yourself admire him for a little longer before you turn your attention to getting up, knowing that your other crewmates will be moving around soon and the last thing you need is them assuming things if you wait too long to come out of Law's room.

You're not sure how you manage to get free without disturbing Law but you do, glancing towards the mugs you'd brought in with you and move to collect them.

"Thanks for the tea last night." Law's voice makes you jolt, barely avoiding dropping one of the mugs as you turn to find him sitting up and watching you.

"Oh," you say, "right, no problem." Curse your wretched heart for doing gymnastics at how cute he is, hair sleep-mussed and expression drowsy. It sharpens, however, as his gaze flicks over you and then to the door.

"About this," he begins, "we won't be making a habit of this. It's for the best if this never happens again."

Your heart sinks. You know that it's for the best, that the idea of entertaining anything but is only going to hurt ㅡ and hurt it does, twisting a proverbial knife into your chest.

There's the rising want to cry, one that you shove down as deep as you can, shoving down your feelings.

"Yes," you say, now heading for the door with the tray and things in hand. "You're absolutely right. It's for the best."

ㅡ

You take to avoiding him. You make it an art ㅡ not so much so as to make it obvious that it's him that you're avoiding in particular, but enough to make it plausible as to why you're never around him.

And it's driving Law crazy. The Polar Tang is only so big, there are only so many places you can duck into before he notices, so many people you can so conveniently manage to be deep in conversation with when he passes, indifferent to his presence ㅡ but you still manage it.

It's frustrating, too. He knows that he hurt you with what he said, a proverbial slap to the face of your kindness, your efforts to put him at ease. He also isn't dumb, he's noticed your lingering looks, the previous excuses to be around him.

Were he someone else, he'd let you know that he reciprocates your feelings. Even as he is, he knows he does ㅡ but he can't act on it. He won't drag you down with him when it all inevitably blows up in his face, won't force you to suffer the same fate as him. You deserve more, and you deserve better.

But your behavior still hurts. The things that you do are made the clearer in the absence them, and he misses them. He misses you.

There's only so much that Law can take of this new routine that you've slipped into ㅡ which is why he comes up with a plan.

ㅡ

Avoiding Law is getting exhausting. Quite literally, as you've gotten into the routine of waiting until almost everyone has retired for the night, him included. It's childish yes, but you're determined to do it until your feelings for him ebb enough that you can go back to the way you were ㅡ as unlikely as that is.

Stifling a yawn, you trudge towards the bunkhouse, intent on getting as good of sleep as you can, only to have a hand curl around your upper arm and yank you away before you can react. You're dragged into a different room and when the door shuts, you wheel on your pseudo-kidnapper.

"What is your problem?"

Unbothered by your tone, Law simply stares at you, expression unreadable. "I need to talk to you."

You frown. "So talk to me like a normal person, not kidnap me."

"I didn't kidnap you," Law counters, "and it's hard to talk to someone when they're avoiding you."

You want to lie and say that you haven't been, but the look Law gives you makes you quiet before you realizes where you are.

His room. Again.

"Look. I realize that how I said things the other day wasn't the best way to put it." Law rubs his neck, trying to find the best way to articulate his words.

Figuring that it'll be easier to sever whatever you have with him all together now rather than continue to suffer, you look up and speak with a steadiness that surprises you. "I love you."

Law's eyes snap to yours, elation and dread clashing. "You can't." Before you can protest, he continues. "Not only am I your captain, but we're pirates. We don't have time for things like this, and I don't have time to entertain how you think you feelㅡ"

"How I think I feel?" Your tone is calm. "Last time I checked, I'm the one who should know best how I feel, Law." He opens his mouth, and you hold a hand up to silence him. "I'm not going to deign the rest of that with a response, because we both know that's bullshit." You pause. "Well, besides the part about you being my captain. You are, and I love you. I'm not expecting you to love me back."

A muscle in his jaw jumps. "You shouldn't."

"I know."

He steps towards you, reaching to tug you to him. "That's dangerous."

You press into him. "I know that too. We're pirates, remember? Danger is our middle name."

His arms wind around you, hand cradling the back of your head. "It's rotten work," he whispers, thinking of Corazon and his parents, his sister. "Loving me."

"Not to me," comes your response, muffled into his chest, the steady thump that your own echoes. You pretend not to notice that it's beating as hard as yours is. "Not if it's you."

Law feels something in him crack, splintering into glittering spiderweb fissures. "You're staying here tonight," he says, feels the shudder of your laughter against him.

"Is that an order, captain?"

"Yes."

ㅡ

Blankets over you both, Law still allows himself to reach for you, let your legs tangle with his, lose the dark tattoos of his knuckles in your hair. "Say it again."

You don't need to ask what he means, kissing the front of his shoulder. "I love you."

His lips brush the top of your head. "Again."

"I love you."

He kisses your forehead. "Again."

"I love you."

By the time Law kisses you properly, he thinks you'll get tired of saying it, because he can't say it back. Not yet. But the way you kiss him back says that you do, and that you don't mind.

You're patient, and you can wait.

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered.#–ml: law.

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 2 months

Note

Congratulations!!

If you feel inspired by this combo and have time, could you write a ficlet using "I", 🍨, 🥰 or 😂, and 🔨?

Thank you!

(Apologies if you already got this ask--my device froze when I sent it the first time, so I don't know if it went through)

Thank you so much! 🥰I still remember your lovely comments on the mer-dude fic, so I hope you enjoy this little bonus! 🦕❤️🧜🏻‍♂️

Of mates and mer-dudes

Words: 996

Rated: T

Tags: summer camp AU; mer!Steve; established relationship; flirting; sexual tension; fade to black

Notes: Set in the same universe as Just add water

“Hammer.”

“Hammer,” Eddie repeats dutifully. Dustin spends two or three seconds trying to drive the nail in with the object he's been handed, until he realizes it's a screwdriver.

“Very funny. I said hammer.”

“Apologies,” Eddie mutters, chucking the screwdriver back into the mess that is their toolbox with one hand and wiping his sunburnt forehead with the other. “I think we've been out here longer than is strictly healthy. How ‘bout we call it a day and head back to camp? It's almost dinner time.”

Dustin scowls. The hair under his Thinking Cap is matted with sweat and he is red-faced and splotchy. An unavoidable side effect of working out on the secluded pier all afternoon.

“We can't just stop now, it's almost done,” Dustin claims, gesturing at their rickety construction of wood and mesh - it’s supposed to be an oversized fish trap, even though Eddie thinks it’s turning out to be more of a funky modern art installation. “This'll work, I know it. This time, I'll prove that Lovie is real. All those past times, it got away too quickly, but if I could just-”

“Jesus, kid,” Eddie groans. “You and your lake monster. You don't know when to give up, do you?”

“Give up?” Dustin scoffs. “If Thomas Edison had given up, we'd still be lighting candles. If Homer Ahr had given up, we would've never walked on the moon. I sure as hell won't-?”

“The fuck is Homer Ahr?”

Dustin heaves a long-suffering sigh.

“Only mission control's chief engineer, Eddie? Honestly, that's the kinda question I'd expect from Steve, not you. Where is he, by the way? I thought he wanted to help us.”

“No idea,” Eddie admits. “Lucky bastard.”

Dustin draws a breath, probably to ask what he means, but Eddie is saved by the sound of the dinner bell floating over from the camp grounds.

“Okay, you gremlin, off you go,” he says, pushing the kid towards the sound before another argument can break loose. “We can finish this tomorrow when we aren't dehydrated and grouchy.”

Dustin grumbles. “What about you?”

Eddie waves him off. “Be there in a sec, lemme put away your shit first.”

He starts picking up their scattered tools, throwing them back into the box. Only when he's sure that Dustin is well out of earshot does he collapse at the edge of the pier, naked feet dangling over the water's surface.

“Man,” he says. “That kid, right?”

There's a soft growl from behind him, and the barest of sloshing sounds, and a shadow falls over him. He only just manages to suck in a breath - knowing he'll need it - before a massive snout pushes between his shoulder blades and he goes plummeting into the lake. He’s dimly aware of the toolbox going down with him, and then the world vanishes in a whirl of bubbles.

He resurfaces to the feeling of arms wrapping around his waist and massive fins brushing his legs, and the sound of laughing voices - one human, one very much not so. He tries to glower at their owners, but actually needs a second to part the sopping curtain of his hair.

“So fucking hilarious, you aquatic asshats. I thought I told you to quit doing that.”

Lovie the lake creature just chirps merrily and dives back under again, splashing him with her fins as she goes.

Steve shrugs. The motion makes tiny droplets of water run down his bare shoulders and collarbones, bringing out his freckles and moles and tiny, glittering scales. Eddie wants to lick them. He has long stopped worrying about what that says about him.

“Sorry. She just wants you in the water with us. She likes it when the flock is together.”

His smile is apologetic, but his tail curls around Eddie’s legs in the water, fins wrapping around the two of them possessively.

Because, see, here's the thing. Over the past year, Eddie has not only discovered that his infuriatingly pretty fellow camp counselor is a mermaid and the guardian of an ancient lake creature. He has also somehow managed to score said mer-dude as a boyfriend and been adopted into the lake creature's flock.

“She never does that shit with Buckley,” he grouses, even though Steve’s words make something flutter in his chest. Steve's touch, also - hands on his hips, fins on his ankles. “She's part of the flock, too, isn't she?”

“Yeah…” Steve blushes, a delicious pink hue on wet, sun-tanned skin. Eddie wants to lick that, too. “But Robin isn't my…”

He trails off into an unintelligible mumble after that. Eddie wrinkles his brow.

“Your what? Come again, fish boy, I didn’t-”

“My mate,” Steve blurts, and the fins on his hips flutter excitedly under Eddie’s fingers. “Robin isn’t my mate.”

Eddie feels his mouth drop open. The water is unpleasantly cold against his flushed skin.

“Wait,” he says when he finally remembers how to form words again. “Hold on a second. When did that happen?”

Steve’s face is still scarlet, but his lips start twitching when he meets Eddie’s eyes. “That’s just the way she sees it. You can’t expect her to think in human standards. Now c’mon, we gotta get to dinner or the kids will wonder where-”

“Oh, no!” Eddie interrupts him, mouth tugging into a stupid, wide grin of his own. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You don’t get to tell me that we’ve been mer-mated for God knows how long and never officially consummated that sacred connection. I’m gonna get a mer-divorce if you don’t-”

“Oh God, shut up,” Steve groans, and kisses him.

As he gets dragged off to their favorite little shore, well out of sight from the camp grounds, Eddie bids a brief mental farewell to the toolbox lying abandoned at the ground of the lake. He’ll have to make up some story about where it went when Dustin asks him, but that's a problem for later.

For now, he’s got other things to think about.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #just add water #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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adarkandmagicalforest · 6 months

Text

An Irritation p. 2

pairing: Otto Hightower/Targaryen Reader (twin to Daemon)

tags: explicit sexual content, hate fucking, mentions of incest, otto hightower talking about sin

She had not thought to do it again.

But then, Daemon had been expelled from his short term as Master of Laws and had been in an especially instigative mood since then. He'd dragged her from her bath, complaining all the while, demanding they fly together.

When she refused, as it was Winter and a storm was pouring rain over Kings Landing outside, he prodded her, viciously trying to get her to rise up to his fire. But Daemon was poor company when in such a mood, so his pushing only served to make her furious. She'd bit out some response and dressed in a mere robe before leaving through one of Maegor's tunnels, her brother glaring after her as she left.

She ended up at the Tower of the Hand soon enough.

But to her utter disappointment, Otto Hightower was nowhere to be found in his chambers.

But never one to suffer disappointment for long, the Princess began to help herself. He had not been here to stop her after all, and what did it matter if she wished to ruffle around in his things? He was their servant after all, it should have pleased him that his possessions could entertain her for a time, she mused as she explored the chest of drawers against the wall, the nightstand that held a pair of gloves and the desk with his papers. She even exchanged her robe for a pair of his trousers, loose and far too long for her much shorter legs, but an interesting sight nonetheless. She wished she could have found his pin, but the blasted man seemed to never take it off.

She had begun humming when she went through the rest of his clothes, the stale mass of dark grey, black and emerald green uninspiring until she found a pair of thick, woven ties inside.

They were clearly meant for holding, perhaps to fasten against his belt or some other mundane purpose, but she as a dragonrider thought them to be rather similar to reins .

And so the Princess took them, laying herself back on the Hand's neat belt, hoping dearly she would not need to wait long.

She counted near a half hour before her ears caught the sound of doors opening beyond the bedroom.

Pleased, her pale hand rose up and pushed her half-dry, ivory curls up in an artful array and arranged herself into a more comfortable position on her stomach, though the mix of his trousers, her long hair and the dark green ties that were idly wrapped around her wrists like bracelets was an odd one, but she liked the way it felt.

Minutes were all it took then for the door to creak open - it halted of course, halfway upon opening. The Princess ignored it, instead twirling the fabric about as her heart thudded in her chest, curious to see if Otto would play.

More heartbeats followed, but words were not uttered.

She could only hear his footsteps, stepping over the floor and to the rug beneath his large bed.

"I did not think I would receive a visit from you, Princess. I did not receive a missive nor warning of it." Otto finally said, not as negative as he could have been. For the past week, the Lord Hand had been thoroughly avoiding her, which was an interesting development, especially with Daemon's horrible attitude of late. Normally the old man would've started lashing criticisms of her and Daemon both, no matter which twin had earned his ire, always lumping the two together. But even with her brother wrecking havoc, she hadn't heard Viserys grousing once about hearing of her from his Hand.

So the dragon turned onto her back, her pale hair covering her breasts but hardly as a fine act of modesty, what with the curve of her small breasts and her soft pink nipples being well on display.

The movement caused the Hand's breath to hitch, just slightly, which made her lips turn up into a pleased grin. That would surely bother Otto, who's immediate twitch of his brow told her that his action had been an accidental one. "I thought you were a servant of my House, Otto - I did not think a servant required prior warning before I had need of him." She replied, lifting herself up onto her arms, peering up at him expectantly.

"Of course. Yet it would only be polite. Then, I should have expected that to be something that was beyond your worries, Princess." He said then, drifting closer now and placing his hands on the sturdy wooden footboard of his bed. He always kept such neat hands, she noticed blithely. Clean hands with clean fingers and clean fingernails. Only days ago, those fingers had been rubbing at her cunt til she came. Daemon would have taken this man apart piece by piece, slowly feeding each limb to Caraxes if he ever found out.

"Mmm. The worries of a Princess are more important than such things." She agreed. She squirmed slightly then, rubbing her thighs together. The texture of the trousers that she was wearing was rubbing against her, heat looming within her at the motion.

This action caught the Hand's attention instantly. "It seems though, you've been here for sometime." He said darkly, finally approaching her properly, now looking down at her as if he could frighten her.

"I have."

Finally, Otto reached for her, looking rather frustrated but also aroused in her opinion, especially as his hand smoothed over her pale stomach. His fingers pushed her loose hair out of the way of his path as his touch traversed her torso, moving carefully along her delicate ribcage and then up the curve of her pale breast, the warmth of his hand pleasant, especially as his thumb moved over her nipple. The Princess moved slightly, pressing herself up against this touch, encouraging him to stroke and pet her. Cannibal liked the same.

"You've been going through my possessions." He stated, disgruntled and yet still touching her. He was still roaming over her flesh, but now his hand was touching the trousers she'd stolen, perhaps noting after ducking them down an inch, that she wore nothing beneath them.

"I was bored."

This, he didn't like, because then his fingers began digging into her, his nails raking over her until she gasped and red marks raised up through her soft skin. She was soaking through his trousers, she knew, and was tempted to grab at his wrist and escort it down between her legs - but she was fascinated where he was going with this. How odd it was to think him an interesting lover.

"To think, a woman of your privileges, to be blessed by the Gods to rule - and yet to be damned by such sin." Otto finally said, an edge to him that made her ache. So this is how he wanted to play? Very well, she thought, ecstatic.

"Oh yes, I forgot how pious you are, Otto. It must have slipped my mind the last time you were wetting your cock with my whorish little cunt." The Princess almost purred back.

That flash of pissed off and starving came over his face, and then he climbed over her in the bed. His hand gruffly moved underneath her hair, grasping at her nape with force as he kissed her. She kissed him back hungrily, her hands reaching for him and yanking at his clothes, fantasizing for a moment about putting on his doublet with the gilded hand of the King pin, perhaps with him putting his mouth to good use at her cunt while she wore it.

But Otto had another thought, it seemed.

Because her hands, having been making work of the ties on his doublet, were suddenly seized with an iron grip and roughly pinned above her head. And those ties, which she had been wearing as bracelets, were now her reins - as they were now being tied against the headboard with such swift action that by the time she thought to struggle and wriggle and fight, it was already done.

She shouted her frustration, wriggling against the ties, but to no avail.

"So much fire and yet two little straps can keep you bound so tightly..." The Hand said, looking down at how she struggled.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was still touching her, his fingers rubbing over her sides and then up to her breasts, massaging at them near worshipfully, she might have made a stronger effort of it. She could escape, if she so wished.

Otto lowered his head then, kissing at her rib cage slowly. "If you were not born a Targaryen, a girl with your appetites would have been punished by the Seven already." He said, his wiry beard tickling her as he mouthed along her sternum and then up the curve of her breast. His mouth was warm, but the tantalizing thought that he was visiting her body as he might a Sept while also murmuring of punishment could dazzle her mind. "A girl with such a mind - " The Hand continued, kissing one pink nipple while his hand plucked at the other. " - one no better than a slut... If you were named anything else, even just a bastard perhaps, you would have been stripped down and paraded through the streets to atone for the whorish desires within you."

Hot arousal bloomed in her, needy and aching at his words. House Hightower had always been tied to the Faith, but she'd never believed religion to be anything more than lies told to shame children to behave. Now, devilishly, she wondered if she should have learned more of it - if just so she could combat old Otto more properly.

"And what does that make you, Otto? Touching your slut Princess like this, as I'm sure your dirty old Septons fantasize about too. Some faithful man you are... I wonder, what would your wife think if she could look upon you now, hm?" She mused back, glad to not be so breathless when his fingers began roughly unlacing her from her trousers. The laces rubbed against her flesh so quickly as he pulled them away, as he'd done so with such harshness that they left tiny rope burns on her stomach. The trousers were ripped away just as quickly, and her legs were pushed up, bending them against her chest.

The look on his face was dark and outraged, just as he usually looked whenever her or Daemon's lips ever quirked a smile or pushed the Hand to his limit.

This she was fine with, pleased to see some fire, but instead of receiving a cock, she got a rough hit. Otto's hand spanded over the softest part of her arse, just where her thigh met it, and even over her cunt. The smack stung unbelievably, and the sensation actually made her yelp in pain.

But that didn't stop the Hand's hand, who smacked her again. And again. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Seven times, she realized once her arse was burning hot and stinging painfully. He'd hit her once for each of his stupid gods. Her core was weeping, the contact from his smacks not enough to satisfy, just to torture her. Perhaps he hadn't meant these to arouse her, but the evidence was surely hard to ignore.

"You really are no better than a common whore, aren't you, Princess? Look at you - " Otto opened her cunt lips with his thumb, a wet sound joining it. "Pink, pulsing and soaking wet after I've just struck you. I should bring you to the King and have him look upon you. You would bring shame to him, no matter white hair graces your head or dragon you straddle between your legs that make you believe you are outside of the will of the Gods."

"Oh is that what you desire, Lord Hand? If you wished for an early - well, earlier, death, I could introduce you to my Cannibal. It would be my pleasure." She assured, feeling indeed to her pleasure when the older man took his time stroking her.

The petting she liked, but when he did not add to her neddling, she immediately began to push at him, needing so badly to be ridden.

"Gūrogon aōha jēda sir, Otto? Tolī uēpa naejot qogralbar nyke rhinka?" Taking your time today, Otto? Too old now to fuck me roughly? She murmured coyly, knowing just how to annoy him with her tone and use of High Valyrian, which had never failed her before.

His thumb pressed punishingly upon her clit then, making her hiss and raise her legs up high as if that would make him relent.

"You will cease to speak your foreign language at once if you expect a response." Otto commanded, his voice strict and heady even as his free hand snatched at her leg, placing it high over his shoulder while he forced his fingers inside of her - they slipped inside of her easily, wetly, before beginning to thrust them within her, his speed not enough - she needed him angrier.

"Kostilus istia gūrēñagon ziry pār, ser." Perhaps you should learn it then, ser. She replied, mirth in her voice. And that was enough, she saw, with just a sharp twitch of the Hand's brow.

Her cunt received another sharp smack of his hand, the strike over her clit now, making her yelp. A second came over her wet lips. And then, with no warning, Otto took her by her hips and flipped her onto her belly. His body followed, straddling the back of her thighs as he forced his lips along her back, moving her pale hair out of the way so he might kiss along her neck, even grazing his teeth over her shoulders and then down her spine while his hands roamed her lithe body with a worshipping touch. He was so unlike Daemon or her other past lovers - the dragon princess never quite knew what he would do next, especially as she was under his mercy. What did a would-be jumped-cut second born son want to do with his Princess? He had yet to suckle at her as he did their influence, this she was disappointed she had yet to experience to it's heights. But then, Otto grasped at her rear, spreading her arse so he might run his knuckle along her cunt and even her arsehole. Every part of her came alive as he did, awareness and thrill raising her blood with excitement.

A knock came.

To any other, this would have been the moment they stopped - almost getting caught the tipping of the glass that would have shattered the moment.

But not to a dragon.

She was Cannibal in a woman's form - and above all, she hungered. Wantonly, selfishly.

"If you do not fuck me right now, Otto Hightower, I will scream for all to hear." She threatened, turning her head to witness his face.

He did not disappoint. Fury crackled through the air, and he very nearly looked to scowl before reaching for the front of his breeches and taking out his cock. "What is it?" He called out coldly to whomever dared to interrupt.

The head of his manhood slipped inside of her, lingering for only a moment before being removed - and then roughly thrust back within her until he was fully sheathed in her, almost making her yelp if not for his hand slapping over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"The Small Council has been called, my Lord Hand, and are awaiting your arrival." A servant replied from behind the door.

Otto slammed his hips against her, his cockhead hitting that place within her cunt that she knew with enough attention would make her peak if he fucked her hard enough. She thrust backwards against him, needing more, but his fingers had dug into her soft hips tightly, forcing her still while he controlled the pace.

"What topic has the meeting been called for?" He questioned gruffly. The Hand pulled out of her again, lingering with just the head rubbing through her folds, before thrusting within her again.

"I believe it is - Prince Daemon, my Lord." Pain came through her hips then - Otto's fingernails had dug so hard into her flesh that he'd surely drawn up her blood. "He has landed the Blood Wyrm over a tavern in Fleabottom - with the storm this eve, there was much damage to the area, including the death of a local tavern owner."

There was no more teasing to be had now.

Her brother's Hand had finally begun doing as she wanted most - he'd roughly slammed his cock inside her, as deep as it could go, nearly taking her breath away at the force.

"I - will be along - shortly." He growled, punctuating each word with a thrust, not even waiting to hear a response for the poor fellow who had given along the message before beginning to fuck her with true earnest.

If she had a mind to, she might've wondered if he would not worry of throwing his back out with this action - but there were no thoughts to be had, let alone a mind left to her as she lowered herself onto her elbows as Otto rammed himself inside her, fury ruling his body as well as his lust as he fucked her. There was a loud, wet noise echoing throughout the room, with their shared grunts and her muffled whimpers joining it. Over and over again, he drove into her body, until she felt him bruising her hips and his cock repeatedly hit upon her cervix.

His hand suddenly removed itself from her mouth. It reached for her ties and undid them deftly before grasping at her throat. Her body was pulled up until she was pressed solidly against his chest, his cock still deep within her even as his lips brushed along her ear.

"Did you come here as a distraction then, Princess?" Otto inquired dangerously, the rumble of his voice making her shiver with delight. "So your brother might do as he wish through the city?"

She moaned softly, especially as his fingers wracked up her side, the pain whirling with the pleasure. She wanted to finish so badly, she could feel his cock throb within her - the talk of Daemon though had made him violent.

"Daemon does as he pleases whether or not if his twin sister knows or cares." The Princess replied restlessly. She rolled her hips back against him, but his grip was like iron.

"Does he?" He countered, accusation in his voice.

She shoved herself against his back, enough to free herself. Otto was still in a fury over Daemon's recklessness, and once her feet hit the floor, her hair was captured - and then her lips.

The kiss was fierce and mean, teeth clashing and his tongue demanding the submissiveness of hers, which he would never receive. She kissed him back hotly, gasping when he pulled her back onto the bed, her scalp stinging as he threw her onto her back.

When he finally did leave her, he did so with his cock still wet, and the dragon wondered idly if her brothers would be able to smell it on him.

#otto hightower x reader #otto hightower smut #otto hightower fanfiction #otto hightower #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #smut #fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction

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watchingblsnowandforever · 4 days

Text

We Are Ep.11

Part 1

*sits with half a tub of ice cream with both AC and fan on because my AC is old and needs a little help and puts my cat on Do Not Disturb mode (aka scratching his belly)*

Hello!!!!

Welcome back to my crack posting! =D

Warning: long post, and since I have like 60 screenshots, there will be a part two 😊😅

I wrote that intro before I'd watched the ep. Me as I was watching the ep was mostly incoherent screaming (so much so that my cat woke up from his nap to give me "what the hell, hooman" look).

This episode was amazing, and I loved it, and I'll probably die of too much fluff, but that won't happen before I finish watching We Are (which- WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE JUST 5 EPS LEFT?!!).

I was giggling and kicking my feet (just like Peem the morning after that Prince Charming kiss) from the very first scene.

Oh, they are so gone for each other (and I am gone for them 😭). The smiles, the trying to hear what the other is doing just across the door ah

So, so true. As a writer that hits.

Also, I'm very glad they decided to showcase creative blocks, even if it was for a few minutes.

Me to PhumPeem: yes, Peem, I would love to know too.

Also- I really wanna know what Ciize was doing back there 😭

Too cute to handle 😭

Jokes (and puns) aside, this scene is quite significant. Previously, whenever Phum was seen in the vicinity of the Fine Arts building, it was only because he wanted something from Peem (yes even that scene in ep. 8, he wanted company from Peem), but now, he's just sitting there waiting for Peem. And when Peem comes down, he's pinching his cheeks right there and acting cute with him and asking what's wrong.

And he keeps on asking, because he can see that Peem is a little moody, and not his usual self. "You're usually livelier than this."

Phum: "Actually, I want to be water too..."

Me: No way, is this what I think it is?

Phum: "I want to be the reason you feel good."

Me: yeah, yep, that's what I thought

No but, you can't tell me Phum doesn't binge watch BLs with his beloved teddy bear. Of course he has a whole arsenal of cheesy flirting lines.

All this time, it was always Phum telling Peem how comfortable he is around him and his friends, how fun it is.

Welp, it's Peem's turn.

I love Phum.

This is both him asking for consent as well as making sure they're on the same page and going at the same pace (which he always does, as I'd said before).

Also, no, he wants you to get closer.

HANDS.

Hear how polite and soft Q is with Toey now? Once Q knew for sure that he's allowed to show affection towards Toey as more than just a mentor/mentee, he decided to be fluffy as heck and never went back (because his love language is giving and showing through actions).

Love that for them both <3

This is such a valid fear.

He was afraid that his love would be too much, and in the process he'd lose the person he loves again, so he thought it better to just suffer alone than confess. Not gonna lie, my heart broke just a little here. (Also, because I'm currently rewatching MSP, I'll be pulling a lot of parallels, and this reminds me of that scene where Sound tells Gun that he's afraid to confess to Win because he's pretty sure he'll get rejected).

Oh, and I keep forgetting to say this, but Satang is such an amazing actor. Watching Sound and Toey, I almost can't believe they're played by the same person.

Phum's lethal weapon and Peem's fatal weakness 😭

Let's be honest though, no one would be able to resist that smile, those eyes and that soft, "Na, krab". Oh yeah, he used polite pronouns here by the way.

I can't always notice the shift from formal to informal or vice versa because I'm not that well-versed in the language (yet) but this was pretty obvious.

Bonus (Peem's reaction):

Tan: flirts with his theerak non-stop 24/7 Fang: *brushes his hair a little and apologizes for making him wait* Tan: *melts into a blushing mess*

That man is so whipped.

And in this house, we stan all whipped men.

This actually reminds me of when I was a wee baby (around 3 or 4 years old, I think) when I rescued a baby sparrow and took it to my dad and told my neigbours my dad would be able to heal it because he's a dcotor (he isn't a vet either) 😭

Also- naming a bird by another bird is so true to Pun's character.

This so relatable oh gods 😭

Also, we got the princess carry for Pride month! Twice if we count Chain lifting Pun in the waterfall, which I totally do.

We finally get being carried to bed but realizing they're laying on top of the blankets instead of just being magically wrapped in them by morning!

*sighs fondly* such a simp. <3

Uh huh, you said that last time too.

Don't lie, Peem, you'd let him hug you every night.

👀

Is this the reason behind the NC rating?

Also, this singular line just gave me a brain worm that is making me write my first smut fic. I blame y'all for getting me into this series.

Yes, of course, Phum, everyone believed your "snort mi mi mi".

Don't think I didn't see your little secret smile, Peem.

(Also, I have a headcanon that Phum just loves to be the little spoon)

Now who's hugging who, huh?

"Go away", he says, while putting his arm around his (not) boyfriend.

See, it was all fun till this point, but you can't be giving me this level of domestic fluff while at the same time telling me they're not even dating yet. That just doesn't work.

So, for me, from this point on, they're an old married couple <3

Frankly though, all the four couples in this series are old married couples that just don't know they're married yet.

Toey: HELP ME!!!

Q: WHAT HAPPENED WHO NEEDS BEATING UP-

Toey: I forgot to do my assignment and today's the deadline 🥺

Q: ... 😑

You don't...?

I thought that was the perfect time to start working on it?

jk jk, kids, I'm a chronic procrastinator, please don't learn from me, learn from your P'Q

(Q reminds me so much of @desi-yearning when she scolds me after I pull an all-nighter to submit an assignment or study for an exam 😭)

Oh. Oh.

Oh my.

I love this scene so much.

This pencil box is very very special to Q, and he's asking Toey to draw on it - something that is irriversible, as Toey himself says.

But this is Q's way of putting together both his loves. This pencil box was picked up by Toey the first time, but back then, Q only knew him as Milk Frappe Boy.

Now, he's asking Toey to do something Milk Frappe Boy would never have been able to (remember, Toey started taking an interest in art only after meeting Pencil Senior), because Pencil Senior disappeared on Milk Frappe Boy, but Q would never disappear on Toey.

On this note, I end Part 1.

Part 2 will be out tomorrow, because as much as I try to deny it, I have these pesky things called responsibilities to attend to, and it's very late here now (not past my regular bed time, but way past my ideal bed time 😭)

Thank you for reading! 😊

Here, have some pizza and a cookie🍕🍕🍪

[If you want, my previous posts: Ep. 8 Ep.9 Ep.10]

And here's Part 2

#we are the series #we are #we are series #thai bl #watching bls: we are #let's talk bl #phumpeem #qtoey #tanfang #chainpun

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cheezbites · 9 months

Text

Dating Soap

✎: I know this is quite short compared to my other ones, but I'm falling asleep as I write. :(ENJOY!!! (Bf!Soap x F!Reader)

♡Summary: Headcanons of dating Soap <3

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Bf!Soap was sharing headphones with you on a rainy day, and a sudden thought crossed your mind:

“Wait, I need to show you a song, ‘kinda reminds me of you.” You muttered, reaching for your phone before playing it.

Your head on his shoulder as it played, completely clueless as to how grand your gesture was to him. To you, it was just a song that reminded you of him each time you listened. But to Soap, this was his newest prized possession. Ever since that day, he listened to it incessantly. Either if he was running errands, driving, or humming the melody when he was stressed.

Bf!Soap’s greatest quality was his striking mohawk; (duh) and he protected it with his life. He undoubtedly deemed it his greatest responsibility. He also trusted you with his life, so every now and then he let you trim split ends or unkept strands. (He would've never let anyone else do this in a million years, Simon being the only exception).

Bf!Soap enjoyed the lengthy philosophical conversations you’d randomly have, going from discussing your favourite animals to how the universe began and if there really is a greater power. And although he can be goofy and silly at times that man is genuinely smart.

Bf!Soap perpetually teased you the moment he discovered you couldn't read a clock:

“What time is it, bonnie?” he asked, his eyes glued to the TV playing a football match.

You had no access to a digital clock as your phone was dead, so your gaze instinctively shot to the wall clock.

“It’s, um... something something... PM,”

And the moment he came to terms with his newfound discovery, he laughed so hard he got excruciatingly painful cramps and started seeing stars.

“Ugh, I just couldn’t be bothered to learn when I was younger. We have technology and stuff now!” you proclaimed, defensively crossing your arms.

“Oh my word,” he mumbled while clutching his stomach, still wheezing out a few dry chuckles.

From that mildly humiliating experience, he taught you how to read one instead of continuously laughing at you.

"So, bonnie," he began, "You see the big hand, right? That's the minute hand. ‘Tells you how many minutes have passed."

You nodded, feeling a bit sheepish but willing to learn.

"And the wee hand - that's the hour hand."

You watched the hands move, slowly beginning to grasp the concept. "Okay, I think I'm getting it.”

Soap could sense the lingering doubt in your tone. He leaned in closer, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours. "You sure, love?"

“No - of course I do!”

…

You hesitated, then sighed.

"Okay, maybe not entirely."

"Let's break it down again. Remember, big hand is minutes, wee hand is hours."

He patiently explained it once more, a softness visible in his tone. He took the time to answer your questions and clarify any confusion.

As you finally began to grasp the art of reading a clock, he rewarded you with a proud smile. "See, you've got it now, haven't ya?" he laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

(Clock reading is too simple for someone to not understand, obviously. BUT just imagine soap explaining something complicated to you until you understand - like being so patient, not mansplaining in the slightest. Like ooouuhh🏃🏽‍♀️)

Bf!Soap was thoroughly amused as he watched you go to town on uninvited moths around the house. You grasped a nearby kitchen towel and started ruthlessly thwacking it. Thankfully for him, he didn’t have to deal with the spiders and insects - as you thoroughly enjoyed making them suffer a harsh and unnecessarily truculent death. Maybe it was a bit much, sure. But who asked them to be here, anyway?

Bf!Soap telling you about his dreams alongside your guys’s morning caffeine refreshments was your entertainment for the morning. His dreams almost always included you and were oddly specific and vague, yet so realistic all at the same time.

“So, babe,” he'd start, settling down on the couch next to you “last night's adventure was a doozy…”

“I’m intrigued.” You sipped your coffee and mentally prepared yourself for the most diabolical tale you’ll ever hear.

“I was in a Jaffa Cake factory, right,” he clicked his tongue before continuing, making an effort to recall all the details “and you were there, too, of course. We were both wearing tangerine suits, whilst Price was throwing potatoes at us, telling us to get back to work and whatnot - no joke.”

Bf!Soap has occasional cooking contests with you. You pick random ingredients, and each of you have to create a dish using those ingredients. Both of you fail oh so miserably- you’ve nearly burnt down your house numerous times. Maybe you guys should stick to Tesco meal deals and Deliveroo.😔

A/N: Sorry if I yibber-yabber too much in my writing… I just love going into detail.🤞

Price version

Ghost version

König version

Gaz version

Masterlist

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misspearly1 · 2 years

Note

Hey there! If I haven’t missed the cutoff for requests, I’d love smut prompt 1 (never tease me like that again) for Arthur. Excited to read everything you’re working on! ❤️

Oh, Katie! I've been writing this out since yesterday and I've had to take multiple tea/coffee breaks in between because... lord have mercy... what I was writing was affecting me 🥵. I needed to breath! 🤣 Thank you so much for sending this into my blog, my love. Not only was this prompt so good for our boy Arthur, but I also really enjoy writing the reader being a tease in just the very best way. 😏

The Inevitable

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x You (F!Reader)

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Friends to Lovers. Mutual Pining. Lots of Teasing from reader. Backache & Back Massages. Accidental Boner. Switch between Rough Arthur and Soft Arthur. Smut. Oral (M receiving). Deepthroating. Praise Kink. Use of 'good girl'. Gentle Sex and Fluff.

Prompt: "Never tease me like that again."

The art of being a tease is knowing how to use it in such a subtle way that just sparks the best type of reaction, and that art is something you use again today with Arthur Morgan.

Arthur and you have been dancing around your feelings for each other for quite some time now, and although you’re certain he’s attracted to you, and you’re not afraid to make the first move, you just play the role of a tease so well that it makes the man second guess himself and question whether or not he’s right to assume you’re flirting.

Which you are flirting, but you’re being so delicate with it and it’s just too fun to watch him get flustered with uncertainty. The lead up to the inevitable is too fun. The inevitable being that he, or yourself, finally breaks and reveals the truth about the attraction you feel towards each other.

Starting off plain and simple this evening, you walk over to the fire around the outside of camp and make your complaints of a sore back audible to his ears when taking a seat. “Fuck me,” you say, groaning as if you were in pain but it could easily be misinterpreted as a sound of pleasure. The man damn near snapped his neck to look at you, a look of sheer panic evident on his face before he saw why you said those words.

“Are you ok, girl?” He asks, mirroring your grimacing expression and even feeling a phantom twinge of pain. He, too, has suffered with backache in the past and he knows how bothersome it can be, which is why you chose this tactic to tease him. It’s to play on his sympathy.

“No, not really,” You shake your head with a little gasp, another sound that could easily send mixed signals. “I think I slept wrong, but don’t worry, I’ll be okay. Thank you, Arthur.” You try to smile but pretend that it was too painful and before you could even think on what to do next, the man was moving from his seat with a determination to help. “Sit on the floor, I’ll sit behind and rub ya back,” he says, and it’s not what you were expecting at all, but you were more than happy to oblige.

Moving slowly, so you don’t give yourself away, you get into position and wait till he touches your back before letting out a little moan from the contact. “Shit, did I hurt yer?” Arthur worries, to which you shake your head and explain. “No, no. Not at all. Don’t stop, Arthur,” You sigh breathily when he rubs your back again, “Feels so good.” You say, purposely toying with him with your choice of words and how you voice them.

You feel the way his breath stutters across your neck, as if he were choking up, and from the way he shifted his position ever so slightly just shows that he’s affected by your words. He’s probably turned on right now, trying to hide his erection without making it obvious.

“There!” You call out rather loudly and dart out to hold his leg at your side, “Holy shit. Right there, Arthur.” You point, showing him the right spot and he continues to knead the heel of his hand into the area. It really did feel good, thus warranting your reactions to some extent, only you exaggerated them with a lot of pretty sounding ‘oohs’ and ‘awws’.

Arthur was quite clearly affected by the sound of your voice as he began to pant under his breath with the quietest groan slipping past his lips. You felt his free hand drop to his crotch, no matter how much he tried to hide it, you felt him holding his manhood, no doubt to ease the ache you were causing. This is exactly why you have so much fun teasing him because it’s only a matter of time before he catches onto what you’re doing.

“You’re really good at this,” You whine and lean forward a little, causing your shirt to ride up and reveal some skin, “Should come to you for a back massage more often,” You joke lightly, hoping that the humour disguises your true intent, only he doesn't answer.

You tilt your head to the side when he doesn’t answer and see the wanton look in his eyes, shrouded with desire and filthy thoughts, but as soon as he sees you looking, he quickly snaps out of it. “Huh? Did ya say something?” He asks as blood begins pooling in his cheeks, embarrassed for nearly getting caught.

You fought the urge to smirk and instead went for a warm, genuine smile. “I said you’re really good at this, Arthur,” You repeat your words for him, batting your eyelashes a little as you blush, really, truly blush, “And that I should come to you more often for a back massage.”

“Yeah,” He visibly gulps with an eager nod, his eyes dropping to your lips briefly, “Yeah, of course. Anytime, sweetheart.” He looks away, and from what you can only assume, it’s because he’s close to acting on his impulse to kiss you. “Um,” He clears his throat nervously, almost hesitant to speak, “Do you want me to lift your shirt a little? It’s fine if you don’t wanna, just think the bare contact of my hands on your back might feel better, might make you feel better I mean.”

“Yes. I love that,” You reply, then look straight ahead and bite your lip with a palpable pulse in your heat, just adoring the way he stumbles over his own words. For a man with such ferocity and focus when out on jobs with the guys, he can be really quite shy and unsure of himself at times when in your presence. You love the contrasts in his personality, it’s what drew you in from the very first moment you met him.

Leaning forward some more, you bend your knees to rest your cheek against your legs and close your eyes to relish in the comfort of his touch. It was the truth when you said he is really good at back massages. You could get used to this and would love to reciprocate the gesture for him too.

You hum contently with real moans of satisfaction slipping past your lips, not over the top or exaggerated, just authentic sounds of pleasure. “Makin’ me feel sleepy, Arthur,” You mumble with a smile, “I could fall asleep easily to this,” you giggle softly before reminding yourself of the role you’re playing, “Your hands are so big and warm, hitting all the right spots that just feel so fucking good.”

Your eyes suddenly spring open when he stops moving and tuts loudly. Fearing that the jig is up, you tilt your head to look at him, rolling your lips together to hide your amusement with flared nostrils as you fight the urge to laugh. Arthur looked at you with narrowed eyes, his expression stoic, yet cold and unforgiving.

“You playing with me, girl?” He hisses, crooking one eyebrow as your cheeks burn red from the fire in his words. You don’t answer him because you don’t know how to respond. He had caught you completely off guard, and the loss of the upper hand was exciting, however your silence speaks for you, answering his question loud and clear without a need for words and he acts on it accordingly.

“Was ya back even sore, darling? Or were you just looking for any excuse to feel my hands on your body?” He leans in to ask another question, holding your hip firmly while dragging his thumb across your skin, a small gesture that reassures he’s not actually annoyed or mad with you, but he is in fact enjoying the upper hand.

“Maybe.” You whisper, already feeling some of the wrath that’s about to come your way.

“Maybe.” He repeats your words, as if mocking you while he shakes his head, “Well, Y/N…” His hand slips around your front before yanking you back to feel the full extent of his erection poking into your ass from behind, “...Never tease me like that again…” He growls into your ear, his voice deep and seductive, “Not unless you want your cunt stuffed with my cock, sweetheart.”

“I do want that, Arthur,” You sigh as your head lolls back to his shoulder with a whine escaping you, “God, I want that so much, you don’t even know the half of it.”

“Oh, I can take a guess,” He rises from the floor, bringing you with him and keeping you glued to his chest as he walks towards his tent. “Now that I know you’ve been playing games, it clears a lot of things up from the past coupla weeks, don’t it?” He asks rhetorically. There wasn’t a need for an answer because he knows that he’s right, and you know that he’s right too.

Everything is becoming crystal clear for the man as each and every occasion where you’ve been teasing him has just resurfaced, thus fuelling his idea of revenge in the very best way. While walking to his tent, his hand remains on your lower stomach, his fingers dipping inside the waistband of your pants as he feels the hairs on the top of your mound.

"Want me to touch you down there, huh?" Arthur asks, and when you nod in reply, he chuckles sinisterly. "Well, that's just too bad ain't it. I gotta teach you a lesson first." He enters his tent with your hurriedly, “Get on your knees, Y/N.” He demands while closing the covers, concealing you both with much needed privacy. You drop to the floor eagerly, desperately, and look up at him with big doe eyes, your hands resting to your legs as you await his next instruction.

Arthur glares down at you, although there was a hint of love and excitement in his eyes for this very moment in which he’s dreamed about many nights, he holds off on the urge to be passionate and gentle. He instead chooses to be rough and merciless. “You hit my leg twice if it’s too much.” Arthur nods affirmatively while pulling the suspenders off his shoulders, letting them drop down his sides before reaching for the zipper on his jeans.

The man doesn’t even bother pulling his pants down, he just pulls his cock through the opening then reaches out to hold the back of your head. You spend a moment looking at his cock, your eyes widening with the thought of him stretching you open later. His length looked like it would be a perfect fit for you, but his girth was most impressive and just thinking about him inside of you makes your legs squeeze together. “Open that pretty little mouth for me.” He says, snapping you out of your amazement as you look back up at him.

You continue to hold Arthur’s direct line of sight as your mouth opens and he guides himself past your lips, his eyes threatening to close from the contact of your wet tongue. A brief crack in the rough character he was playing into. His mouth falls open with a groan spilling out as you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, sucking gently while swirling your tongue in a circular motion. You hum and moan when feeling him push forward, searching for more of your warmth wrapped around him.

“Oh, that’s it,” He grunts, eyes rolling to the back of his head upon hearing you gag. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He pulls back, only to thrust forward again and hit the back of your throat, drawing out an obscenely loud and filthy sound of you choking. “Relax ya jaw… There, just like that.” He rewards your efforts with praise, “There ya go, good girl.”

Steadily rocking his hips back and forth, while grunting and groaning through the pleasure, you reach up and tug on his shirt, to which he looks down and sees what you’re asking for. Arthur then pulls his shirt off and looks back down to your eyes, watching the irises expand as you take in the sight of his top half nude. Your expression softens with lust, adoration and worship, and it makes his chest swell with pride and boosts his confidence. You could see it too. You could see the confidence exuding from him, all from a simple look.

Still holding his line of sight, you bob your head back and forth while continuing to admire his body. You watched in awe as the muscles in his stomach tensed with the build-up of his climax, you watched the way his biceps and his pecs flexed, drawing your attention to the sexy amount of hair on his chest or the brute strength in his arms, the veins so prominent and strong. Arthur could probably hold you in his arms and fuck you with ease, and that thought alone makes you mewl.

Your hands drop between your legs, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your pants to ease some of the ache in your muscles. It just felt so tight and sore, desperately needing to be stretched and massaged by his dick. Opening your mouth as wide as you could, you ignored the slight discomfort in your jaw and focused on all the beautiful noises he was making - because of you. This is all you ever wanted, to make Arthur feel so euphoric and lost within the pleasure that you provide.

“I’m close, darling,” He gasps, one hand reaching up to hold onto the beam above his head, and his other hand sliding down his stomach to flatten his palm over his lower abdomen. It’s as if the blissful feeling growing rapidly in his stomach was just so strong that it was almost too much.

You watch his brows knitting together tightly, his mouth falling open and spill delectable throaty groans as he rests his forehead against his upper arm, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The sight looked so erotic and sinful, yet as pretty as a picture as the same time, especially from this angle as you look up and see the droplets rolling down his chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He rambles, grunting and whining in tandem with the movements of his hips rocking back and forth, chasing the peak of his orgasm. You sample a taste of his release with salty flavoured beads of cum leaking out onto your tongue and your eyes close on instinct as you hum and moan around him, the vibrations of your voice working perfectly to push him over the edge.

“Ughnn, fuuuck!” He cries out, and your eyes suddenly spring open for a second time this evening as he shoots a load into your mouth. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Arthur pleads, looking down at you with desperate eyes, “Take it, sweetheart. Take it all,” His body shudders, the skin dimpling with goosebumps as you gulp back ropes upon ropes of his seed and suck him clean until there was nothing left he could give.

Once the man's head comes back down from cloud nine, he kneels to the floor and cups your cheek before pulling you in to kiss your lips. You moan with surprise that he didn’t care about where your lips had just been. Past lovers would always make a fuss about it, but Arthur didn’t care. He even deepened the kiss and hummed, as if enjoying the remnants of his own desire on your tongue. It was turning you on even more, making you hungry and feral for his touch where you want it most.

“Arthur,” You beg, your hands pawing at his chest as he lowers his hands to your ass with a groping squeeze. You couldn’t take it any longer, the ache in your core was growing worse and you needed to feel some ease, whether it be his tongue, fingers or cock, you don’t care. You just need him to be the one who takes care of your needs.

Upon feeling his fingers slip inside the waistband of your pants to pull them down, you break from the kiss to lift your shirt over your head, exposing your top half completely. “Jesus,” He whispers while gazing at your chest, “Always wondered what you look like underneath.” He admits before ducking his head down to kiss the top of your breasts softly and gently, using the sharpness of his beard to tickle your skin in the most delightful way.

Your back arches into him, your breathing beginning to pant as his lips lower to your nipple. He seals his lips around the sensitive bud, drawing out the sweetest whine from your lips while tearing your pants down along with your undergarments. “Yes, oh fuck yes,” You reward him vocally as your head lolls back to savour every second of his loving touch.

Arthur’s hands slip around to your front, his fingers easily gliding through your folds, just oozing with your slick. “So warm and wet,” He grunts into your chest and traps your nipple between his teeth, biting carefully, pleasurably. “Mind if I indulge?” He asks, and you’re already shaking your head before he could finish asking. “No, God no. Please Arthur,” You beg, “Please hurry, I need you now, honey.”

The sound of your voice, so desperate and sweet, weakened the man's composure to maintain his dominance. The plan to teach you a lesson, to be rough and merciless, ultimately fell apart. He broke. He was crumbling like soft putty in your embrace before lifting you up the bed to evenly lay his weight down on top of you. “I gotchu, darling,” He whispers reassuringly while pulling his jeans down to his thighs, “I’ve got you, Y/N,” He repeats, clearer this time, firmer and with certainty.

Lining himself up at your entrance, you hold onto his biceps with your fingers digging into the brute strength of his muscles, nodding for him to continue. You want it, need it; need to feel him open and make love to you like no one else. “Ungh, God!” You yelp from the slight pinch when he breaches your walls, a yelp mixed with pain and pleasure. “Keep going,” You nod again, this time running your hands up to the back of his neck, urging him to close the gap and kiss you.

Arthur obliges. Kissing your lips passionately, yet fervently, it works as a distraction to the discomfort as he buries himself slowly, inch by inch. Once he’s buried to the hilt, and only then, he breaks from the kiss to look at you, unmoving to let you adjust, while admiring the lust clouding your eyes. Your desire coats the hairs on his mound, he can feel it, so plentiful and silky. You pulse around him, squeezing his cock so tightly that it causes him to grunt and exhale heavy breaths of satisfaction.

“God damn. I could cum like this. Just buried inside, feeling you fall apart on me.” He sighs, dropping his head to your neck and nipping kisses on your skin. He begins to grind, so careful and generous, his subtle movements felt incredible and the stimulation to your clit provided sensational pleasure. Arthur kept doing this, never, not once, breaking the rhythm, and he was right, he did climax just from the feeling of you falling apart. But he didn’t stop there.

All night long, the man kept grinding until you were exhausted and couldn’t take any more rounds of pleasure.

Tagging:

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#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fluff #pearlyfics #follow 👑 share ❤️ enjoy 🍑#enjoyreaders

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aethon-recs · 1 year

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30 Tomarrymort Recs for February 2023

I keep telling myself that I won't do month-by-month recs and that they're too much of a commitment, but then a month like February hits where there were so many knock-out Tomarrymort fics published that I couldn’t resist celebrating all the incredible works posted in the last month, including for two Tomarrymort-themed fests. Apologies that this is coming a bit late in the month — it took me quite some time to write up thoughts on each due to the huge influx of unforgettable fic in February!

Criteria for this list: one-shot, complete, published in February 2023, in alphabetical order by title. It’s quite an extensive list, but every single one of these is worth reading.

Tomarrymort Recs (February 2023)

A Lesson Learned Well by @ellionne (M, 2k)

A very creepy take on a captive Harry and how he slowly starts to lose his mind until Voldemort can get him to do anything. ‘Anything’ includes some pretty gruesome cannibalism and other horrors!

Amensalism by @cindle-writes (E, 6k)

Tentacle sex! Inspired by the Venom movie! Harry/Scarcrux based off Eddie/Venom! Need I say more?

Anchor the Moon by Xenjn (M, 8k)

A very cool spin on genderswapped Tom and Harry who attend Hogwarts together! No matter the setting or era, Harry is obsessed with stalking Tom and proving she’s up to no good.

Anniversary by @vdoshu (E, 4k)

The last place that Harry would want to have sex is back in his cupboard at 4 Privet Drive. Yet Voldemort still takes him there for their anniversary. The mind games in here are absolutely top-tier!

Because it is his by TheOnceandFutureQueenofTarts (E, 2k)

An experiment in polyjuice leads Harry to discover that Tom is extremely attracted to… Tom. A truly hilarious take on Tom Riddle’s unhinged and unparalleled levels of narcissism!

Cynosure by @wolfantlersinspace (E, 3k)

When Voldemort steps out of the cauldron, he is the hottest man in existence. We've all seen that scene in the 4th movie! Harry can’t help but feel the same way, despite how much he tries to resist it...

Eulogy by @meles-merrivale (E, 6k)

A brooding, pensive glimpse into a day in the life of Harry who’s been raised by Voldemort. How Harry yearns for him, yet never quite gets the emotional fulfillment he so craves is heartbreaking! I gasped at the ending!

Frigid by @mrviran (E, 3k)

I don’t know if the world is ready yet for Puritanical Voldemort, but if you think you might be, this fic does it BEST. The way Voldemort fixes Harry is so… chilling (pun intended — it'll all be clear once you read the fic!)

Honeyguide by @cannibalinc (E, 7k)

Tom, an unmatched Omega, is determined to have Harry as his Alpha, no matter the costs. The rut scene is so intense, with Harry completely losing control in a very sexy (and dangerous!) way.

Identity by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 5k)

Harry and Tom go on a road trip together to celebrate their anniversary. The reveals in this fic were SO GOOD, I didn’t see any of them coming — crowthing skillfully delivers intricately layered tangled plots-within-plots in just 5k words.

In the library by @chiocchi (G, Art)

Harry and Tom studying in the library — with an adorable depiction of Tom letting his guard down around Harry. Both the scene and the coloring are so very soft!

Insatiate by @vdoshu (E, 2k)

A very bleak and dark take on an AU where Voldemort wins and Harry lives a very empty life, only to be filled by Voldemort’s cocks and some magical immortality juice.

it's kind of tripping me up babe, i've got it bad for you by @limonium-anemos (E, 3k)

Harry and Voldemort get isekai'ed into a cursed romance-novel AU. I love how all the long-standing love and trust between Harry and Voldemort shines through in this fic, as they make the best of their time in this very wacky erotica setting by fucking each other's brains out.

Keepsake by IceLynx (M, 5k)

Harry suffering from amnesia wakes up with Voldemort telling him that they're in a relationship. But when the pieces don’t quite add up, Harry discovers the horrifying truth. A very creative twist at the end!

アンバランスなKissをして by vash (E, 2k)

A show-stopping alternate ending to the Final Battle, with Harry asking for a final kiss from Voldemort.

Matriphagy by @being-luminous (M, 2k)

This fic takes the whole “Voldemort hunting Harry because of a prophecy” origin story, and adds a vampire twist to it. The floaty and detached vibe is a really nice contrast to the visceral horrors of what’s happening on-page — very skillfully done!

Phalanx by @vdoshu (E, 4k)

There’s a reason why Voldemort doesn’t wear shoes, which Harry, to his horror (and our delight), finds out firsthand. The foot worship in here is magnificently over-the-top in very satisfying detail.

Quiet as the Moon by @itsevanffs (M, 2k)

A Beauty and the Beast AU that’s a sequel to @duplicitywrites’ Certain as the Sun. I thought what was a really nice touch is how we see the state of their (unhappy) relationship through flashbacks interspersing the main action — in just a few sentences, itsevanffs manages to paint a picture of a very wretched existence for Harry, before he takes matters into his own hands.

Research and Development by @cannibalinc (E, 6k)

Voldemort captures Harry and proceeds to experiment on him. And by ‘experiment’, I mean, carve Harry up and fuck him with his hemipenes in delightfully gratuitous, violent and unrestrained, and gushingly hot fashion.

Right in Front of My Salad? by IceLynx (T, 2k)

Draco Malfoy dies right in the middle of Harry and Tom’s kitchen (rude). A hilarious sequence of misunderstandings ensues, which leave you with no doubt that Harry and Tom are absolutely perfect for each other.

Run Boy Run by @youknowmevj (E, 6k)

The ultimate chase & capture fic. The anticipation builds with every one of Harry’s steps as he's trying to run away, and we’re left with some delicious emotional manipulation and a very hot wall sex scene at the end.

silk of midnight and dawn by @ilya-zzz (E, 3k)

Such a cool concept! Harry and Tom decide to become animagi, and when Tom transforms into his animagus form, his animal instincts kick in... and Harry is right there unable to defend himself...

Tantrums by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 5k)

Featuring the brattiest Tom I’ve ever come across, and an incredibly impulsive Harry who can’t resist Tom’s allures. You'd think this combination would automatically spell destruction and disaster, but they actually work out really well together in a surprisingly compatible way!

Tearing me apart (like a new emotion) by @rudehellion (E, 2k)

As this fic progresses, the horror of what’s happening to Harry in his forced marriage to Voldemort continues to build and build. Not only is Harry getting taken part physically, he’s also getting taken apart mentally ("Every night, there’s a little more trust to break.") I loved what the ending implies for Voldemort’s favorite hobby.

That's Your Boyfriend by @solavonn (G, Art)

This artwork is so cute!! Depicting Harry who's overwhelmed by how hot his Quidditch boyfriend Tom is. Harry's not the only one — Solavonn's Tom Riddle art is always so good-looking that we all feel the same way, Harry!

The Green Herring by @duplicitywrites (G, 1k)

A hilarious cracky take on what exactly Tom Riddle thinks of his boyfriend Harry’s very special, very extraordinary, very memorable eye colour.

The sweet burn of venom by @loneamaryllis (E, 4k)

SMOKIN’ HOT ABO! Harrie goes through her first heat, and Voldemort provides relief, but is he really there, or is it a (very hot) dream?

thrice-bound, twice-filled by @cindle-writes (E, 4k)

Voldemort. Hemipenes. Double-stuffing Harry. A perfect setup for a very hot pwp!

We're (Not) Together by @vdoshu (E, 3k)

This fic is the EPITOME of gaslighting and manipulation. An extremely controlling Tom refuses to accept that he and Harry aren’t still together… or are they?

you alone of all creatures by @duplicitywrites (E, 3k)

I love the concept of Tom having an illicit affair with his very sexy and married Professor Potter. All the sneaking around is SO HOT as he seduces Harry and cracks open his defenses bit-by-bit.

#tomarry #harrymort #tomarrymort #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #hp fic recs #one-shot recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #harrymort recs #2023 reads #2023 recs

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hawkcoyote · 1 month

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Y’all can’t be Patrick Girlies for real

Controversial opinion but I want Patrick to leave those people alone! YUP!! He’s a big reason why I can’t just say yes to the throuple. He genuinely deserves so much better and I want him to have that. Like he just feels so immensely tragic to me which is why I can look past his transgressions and the parts that makes him shitty. Throughout the film you just see how deeply he feels. Especially towards Art. And do either of those people get it? Not really. It feels so heavy and visceral and it they don’t really seem to see it. Especially Art. Like Patrick really loved that man and he did not feel the same way. And that’s not me denying Art’s bisexuality. That’s my blonde bisexual king!! And that’s not say that Art didn’t have feelings for Patrick. He 100% did have feelings for Patrick! That's literally the entire problem. Art’s feelings weren’t as strong as Patrick’s. It’s not as strong as what he feels for Tashi. It is because Art’s feelings were not as strong that Patrick gets unceremoniously dumped by him. Art hates himself for being bisexual. He initially latches onto Patrick because he has all the self confidence and self assurance that he lacks within himself. Develops this bond and deep intimate connection with him. And I’d imagine no other relationships he’s experienced come close to his attraction and feelings for Patrick, until Tashi. Tashi comes in and blows his world wide open. And immediately he feels so viscerally drawn to her, in a way that even transcends Patrick. And when you are a repressed bisexual that wants to deny your bisexuality, you are gonna latch onto that person for dear!! That’s an undercurrent to Tashi’s and Art’s relationship. Like he really met Tashi and was like “Great!! I don’t have to do this gay shit anymore!!! Thank God! I was getting worried for a second.” And then he loses her to Patrick!!! That’s where the bitterness and resent creeps in! Because not only is he not with the girl of his dreams, but Patrick just reminds him of how he’s still bisexual! It didn’t just go away! That’s why he can cut that man off.

This leaves Patrick reeling. Like his life falls into the pits of hell. His career is in shambles. He can’t seem to make any more meaningful connections with people. The only source of joy in his life is picking at Tashi, because she will let him. Because he wants to matter to someone even if it is kinda messed up. And then we get to the sauna scene and Art’s infamous “I’m too old to be bisexual” speech!! Like yeah, Patrick was trying to pick at him (because it was part of their dynamic as kids) but then you see Patrick being genuine and vulnerable and Art doesn’t see it at all! That shit hits me in the chest!!

Then we have the ending! Where Art smiles at Patrick during that last point, and you just see Patrick light up. Not in a fiery way like it was with Art, but in this soft way. And then drops his racket just catch him and hold him. Like are you kidding me!!!!

Patrick deserves to be loved like that, and y’all really think Patrick being in a throuple with Art and Tashi is where he is gonna find it? He craves intimacy. He tells Art that nobody wants to marry and “that’s not what he’s for.” He plays it off as a joke, but it hurts him. He wants to be chosen. He wants to belong to somebody(ies). I don’t want him to settle because Art and Tashi satisfy his craving to be needed. I want him to get the closure that he needs from them, and they can still be in his life in some capacity. But I want him to find someone(s) else tbh. Patrick really suffered a lot for no real reason. Art and Tashi more or less were able to get along fine. While he gets mocked, ridiculed, beaten, spat on, and treated like he doesn’t matter. And for what? He didn’t do anything worthy of this energy. All he did was be true to himself and surround himself with inauthentic people who hated him for it!! “Well he needs to be there because he forces them to be real.” After everything he went through, that’s all he gets? It doesn’t move me, sorry!!! This is not trying to say that anyone is a villain because no one is a villain. They are all going through it in their own ways, and don’t deal with their pain and issues in the best way at times. But Patrick feels so deeply tragic in a way the other two do not. He really should leave those people alone to navigate their epic failmarriage! While he finds someone(s) that isn’t afraid to be real and doesn’t hate/resent his authenticity. Someone(s) that understands his desire for intimacy that isn’t just relate to sex and gives it to him! TLDR: Patrick deserves better than them.

#patrick zweig #challengers #art donaldson #tashi duncan

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lilis-doodle-dome · 8 months

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I have so many questions about every dynamic you can think of for this au im so interested in hearing more about the tenma siblings (toya included) and nene + emu's relationship with tsukasa

im also interested to hear how the dynamic between ena and mafuyu, emu and mafuyu, + rui and mizuki changes.

There is not enough space in these charts for any real information aughh, sorry for the weird text sizing. Also I didn’t put that much effort into editing Kasa/Mafu in these images haha

But relationship charts between the group! Sorry it doesn’t answer every question, but hopefully it’s enough? Feel free to ask more if anything needs clarification!

Here’s a transcript:

Tsukasa- Emu: Always tries to make me smile, but should she really waste her energy on me?…Sometimes she reminds me of Saki when she was younger

Tsukasa-Nene: Stronger than she seems. The least chaotic of the others, when we’re together she doesn’t expect anything. It’s…nice, although it might not be good.

Tsukasa-Rui: Always has something new to try, but I think it’s more for his own curiosity than for my self discovery. He knows a lot, could be more helpful if he ever shared it.

Emu-Tsukasa: Someone important to me that I’ll help find the smile of, no matter what! You’re no oohm doom villain Tsukasa-kun!

Emu-Nene: The most wonderhoy singer! Thank you for helping me see what it means to be a leader, I promise to never lose sight of my troupe again.

Emu-Rui: He always has the best, most fun ideas! I really appreciate his support, we always do best with his directing!

Nene-Tsukasa: He can seem pretty intimidating, but he’s actually rather clueless. I hope he can figure himself out, just not at the expense of others.

Nene-Emu: You’ve grown into a person deserving of the title of leader and I’m grateful you brought us together. I know you’re determined about your goal, but don’t forget we’re here too.

Nene-Rui: I’ll get stronger, I won’t turn a blind eye to you ever again.

Rui-Tsukasa: He tests anything I ask of him without complaint, I wish I could say that was a good thing. Let’s keep using each other until we’ve found what we’re really looking for, okay?

Rui-Nene: I’m glad she’s standing up for herself more, but I hope she knows there’s nothing she needs to make up for. It’s just nice to perform with her again.

Rui-Emu: A truly admirable person, she’s dedicated herself wholeheartedly to other’s smiles. Your smile is something precious as well though, don’t forget that.

—

Mafuyu-Kanade: A musical genius to match my lyrical! Her soft mannerisms belie her unmatched stubbornness, she’ll ever so gently, tell me I’m doing too much, all while she neglects herself! How confounding!

Mafuyu-Ena: She reminds me of those small dogs that get a poor reputation for being aggressive, despite it being people ignoring their fear signals that cause those reactions. That being said, it’s rather entertaining how differently she responds to Kanade versus Mizuki.

Mafuyu-Mizuki: They’ve introduced me to many new styles I’ve never experienced before. It’s amazing how they can make the most intimidating outings seem approachable. I enjoy any and all time spent with them!

Kanade-Mafuyu: She can’t see how she’s hurting herself for the sake of others. I need to help her, someone who can actually save others- shouldn’t have to suffer for it.

Kanade-Ena: Her art is still filled with hurt, but I’m glad she’s found some peace in our group. If only I could do more for her…

Kanade-Mizuki: They always have the frankest opinions of everyone else and seem to speak their mind freely, yet rarely say anything about themself. Their perspective is always appreciated though.

Ena-Mafuyu: Aren’t the big headed types supposed to not actually be good at everything? How is that fair at all, and she’s even got the nerve to be a nice person! I’ll show her-

Ena-Kanade: She’s wonderful. The soft, patient voice-of-reason needed to reign in the group, listening to her music is like a miracle cure for bad days.

Ena-Mizuki: They’re an insistent pest, that won’t leave me in peace. I guess I don’t hate the company though and they are good at putting together outfits for photos.

Mizuki-Mafuyu: A willing dress-up doll, she’s pretty enough to be one too! Kinda reminds me of an old friend with how many questions she asks about everything, guess geniuses have that in common.

Mizuki-Kanade: Always makes sure everyone feels comfortable and safe. It’s really nice to have a space I won’t be judged…

Mizuki-Ena: She’s way too funny not to tease, but she’s just as capable as the rest of the group. It’s kinda scary how easy she is to talk to, wouldn’t want to say anything I regret.

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abiiors · 8 months

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okay here’s one that i wrote a few days back and i’m not 100% sure about it but you were so sweet and i thought might as well you know :) it’s very sweet (i at least tried to make it that way) and i just really hope he’s feeling better now but here it is!!

when she returned to the bus with george, chatting about just how much reverb is too much for the song they were working on, she immediately heard the curses coming from ross’s bunk. she knew he had a few issues while playing as of recently, her diagnosis being a repetitive strain injury in his arm, but he refused to let anyone help, suffering in silence and trying to teach himself how to use kinetic tape to make it all a bit more bearable. when she moved the curtain of his bunk to the side she saw him sat on his bed, shirt off and trying very hard to wrap his upper arm with kt tape but obviously failing to do so. “ross, stop. if you don’t let me do this i will fight you and i mean that.” the soft, slightly pitiful smile on her face told him otherwise as he looked up. she climbed up into the bunk, the space between the two dangerously small and crammed, but neither seemed to care. she carefully removed the tape that was already on ross’s arm, trying her best to make it as painless as possible, though still earning some curses from ross. she couldn’t help herself from looking at the tattoos that were sprinkled around his arm, adorning his skin and making her wonder about the origins. the one on his shoulder she knew about, she was there when he got it. it was dedicated to a close friend of his that sadly passed a few years back and he decided to commemorate him by getting one of his drawings on his right shoulder. when he went in to get the tattoo he asked her to come with him, at first under the pretence of him not getting bored but deep down he knew that it was because he needed her there to support him. he needed her everytime she wasn’t around because he was deeply in love with her. not that she knew that.

she carefully cut the pieces of tape and started applying them to his skin, pressing down at certain points and asking him to move his arm so that she could create more friction and thus make the tape more effective. ross only watched, careful not to get too affected by her touch. by the time she was done she pressed a kiss on his shoulder and he leaned into her touch, not wanting her to go just yet. “thank you”, he lowly said, careful not to break the tension that had been building up between them. she traced her fingers across the delicate art on his arm, and he let her. he usually hated people touching him like that, in such a vulnerable state, but he did not care with her. in fact, he wanted it; craved it even. at some point he turned around and pulled her into him. she smiled as she laid down on his chest, now tracing along the tattoo on his side, one that she rarely saw. her fingers continued to explore his tattoos, and he closed his eyes, savoring the sensation. “you know, i’ll probably fall asleep if you keep that going, love.” he said, opening his eyes to see her already smiling at him. “and what’s so bad about that?” she asked and he pulled her even closer.

ross wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as if he never wanted to let go. the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear was a soothing lullaby, and it didn't take long for the combined warmth and tenderness of their moment to lull them into a state of drowsiness.

as their eyes grew heavy and their breathing slowed, ross whispered, "promise you won't leave, even if I fall asleep."

her heart swelled with affection as she nuzzled closer to him, her lips brushing against his chest as she whispered, "now where else would i go?”, her breath sending shivers down his spine. her closeness was both maddening and comforting, a sweet torture that ross willingly surrendered to.

oh god the YEARNINGGGGGG!!! 😭😩 friends to lovers trope is always just so >>>>>

and also the part about him getting the tattoo was actually so fucking sweet :(( like ngl i have thought about it multiple times about him commemorating a friend in such a heartwarming way 🩷😭

#asks #chatty asks #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader

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codfanficedits · 7 months

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Final Goodbye.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish & Reader

Summary: You are Death.

Wordcount: 3829| Rating: M (18+ only!)

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS

A/N: I finished playing MW3 and this little idea flooded my writer brain. I am so sorry. Different colours to identify dialogue better

Part 1/4.