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joelscruff · 11 months

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wait (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader) 18+

first and foremost! this is part of my boyfriend's dad!joel series and takes place after "words". this won't really make sense if you haven't read that one! it's so crazy to me how this started out as a silly little smutty drabble and somehow became this. this one's kind of heavy (read the warnings!!) but i promise that things won't stay this angsty forever. at its root this story is supposed to be smutty and fun and i promise there will be more of that in the future. i hope you enjoy it and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 summary: it's been a month since your boyfriend discovered your relationship with his father and a month since you've seen joel. it's starting to take its toll. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, sexting, comeplay, angst, allusions to past trauma, shitty family dynamics (addiction & verbal abuse), panic attacks word count: 3.2k

i miss you

it's the only thing you've thought about texting him for about a month, a text you always type out and then erase a few moments later. it's something you swore to yourself that you wouldn't do no matter how lonely you got. he'd said he needed time, and you want to give it to him. and yet here you are, leaning against the window of your bus home from community college with tears in your eyes, phone in hand, wanting nothing more than to see him. selfish.

it's been one of the loneliest periods of your life. you've known loneliness, felt it throughout most of your childhood, through your adolescence, it's nothing new. but with joel you'd finally begun to feel whole again, like you actually mattered to someone. he looked forward to seeing you, to holding you, being with you. you'd never felt so desired and loved and protected in your whole life.

now you're back to having nothing, no one. it's a harsh reality you're forcing yourself to accept. you still haven't heard anything from your boyfriend - now ex, of course, though there was never any official breakup - and even that's a punch to the gut, an added depth to a loss that you caused.

he's hurting, i hurt him, joel's words repeat in your head. it breaks your heart that he's feeling so guilty, that he feels that he caused this entire thing when it's really your fault. if you weren't such a mess of a person, such a broken human being, the whole thing wouldn't have even happened to begin with. what kind of person sleeps with their boyfriend's father? starts a relationship with him? calls him daddy?

you know you caused this and yet you can't help but miss him so much. it's like he's ingrained himself into your bones somehow, his touch tattooed into your skin. he's all you think about, dream about. you miss being in his embrace, being held by him, whispering daddy in his ear and feeling understood, not judged. you miss his gentle kisses to your nose, the safety of his lap, his arms around your trembling form while he fucked you, took you, made you his.

you stare at the unsent text message and inevitably find yourself scrolling back up to a previous conversation from a few months back, short and simple. texting was never a frequent medium for the two of you, more-so used for you to send him dirty pictures every so often to tease him a bit. you briefly look at the picture, a close-up shot of your bare pussy with some of his come leaking out; absolutely filthy.

still have u inside me daddy

oh baby, so messy. what am I gonna do with you?

you smile at the silliness of it all, the filthiness, but it quickly fades when you remember the reality of the situation again, the fact that your boyfriend had read joel's messages, had definitely seen these texts in particular. he'd called joel a sick man. you don't agree, but you can understand why; if you'd seen a text interaction like this between your own father and a girl half his age... you'd probably have a similar reaction - though the concept of your father showing a woman any affection in the first place is alien in itself.

your bus pulls up to the stop near your house and you get off, slipping your phone back into your pocket and hiking your backpack over your shoulder as you go. it's only a short walk to your house, no more than three minutes, though you usually try to make it a bit longer to delay the inevitable disaster of your home life.

you take it one step at a time, slowly walking down the darkening street with fresh tears in your eyes. god, you're so lonely. you don't want to go home, don't want to be accosted by your alcoholic father and avoidant mother, your asshole brother who never gives you a break. it's so damn depressing in that house; when you'd first gotten together with your boyfriend you'd been so relieved to finally have somewhere else to go that wasn't school or home, another reason you'd stayed with him for so long despite the relationship being doomed. you should have known it couldn't last.

you'd told joel everything. it's hard to believe sometimes that the connection you shared was strong enough for you to trust him with some of your darkest secrets, the worst things from your past. he knows all about your family, all about what you've been through, had listened to you quietly and earnestly as you cried into his shoulder about the hand life had dealt you. he'd rubbed your back, kissed your forehead, whispered it's okay, and i'm here now, and i'm gonna take care of you, sweetheart. and he did. he did take care of you. he'd done everything right and somehow you still managed to fuck it up.

the lights are on in the house when you arrive at the front gate, though the car is missing from the driveway; this only means that your mother is out late tonight, probably staying with a friend or a lover or whoever she turns to when shit gets bad. you can't blame her - you'd done the exact same thing when you'd actually had somewhere to go - but part of you still aches for that little girl inside you that needs her, wishes she was inside waiting for you, though it's not like she'd do much to help.

your father is definitely home, probably your brother as well. you stand at the gate, gripping the strap of your backpack and deliberating even bothering to go inside. you know you'll be accosted at the front door by either a drunken tirade or bitter argument. it's a no-win situation no matter how you look at it. your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out, grateful for one last brief distraction.

i miss you too, angel. so much.

your eyes go wide, heart stuttering in your chest as you stare at the words.

"fuck," you breathe, "fuck, fuck fuck," you quickly scroll up to confirm your fears - the i miss you text, the one you always erase, the one you make sure to never send - you'd somehow sent it this time, entirely by mistake.

tears are stinging your eyes as you turn on the spot and start walking back and forth in front of your house, running your hand through your hair in disbelief while you stare at joel's text. you fucking idiot. what the fuck have you done? what happened to giving him space? you stupid fucking bitch. you absolute loser. you're suddenly berating yourself the exact same way you know your father and brother will berate you if you go in the house now. you can already picture it - them seeing your tear stained cheeks, the puffiness of your eyes, the words they'll throw at you to hurt you even more, make you feel small.

fucking bitch. fucking loser. fucking idiot.

your breathing is becoming more and more erratic the longer you pace. you can't go in now, not after this, not after seeing that he misses you too and being so fucking close yet so far away. all you can suddenly think about is all those wasted moments at his house, spending so much time with your asshole boyfriend when you could have been with joel, been loved instead of tossed aside like garbage.

god, if you could only hear his voice. if you could just talk to him for one minute before you have to go into this godforsaken hellhole.

before you even fully understand what you're doing, you're hitting the call button and bringing the phone up to your ear.

he answers on the first ring.

"h-"

"i can't do this anymore," you gasp out through a sob, not even bothering to let him say anything, "joel, i can't do it, i miss you so fucking much it hurts."

"babygirl," he breathes, voice rough and deep and gorgeous and familiar, sweet like honey in your ear, "where are you? are you okay?"

and that's enough to break you.

you feel the tears begin to stream down your face, hot and unrelenting. you shake your head even though he can't see you, throat bobbing through repetitive gasps, "no, i'm not okay," you blubber, "da- fuck, joel, i- i can't do this, i can't be by myself anymore. i'm - " you don't even know where this is coming from, voice muddled, "i'm so lonely. i can't do it anymore, i can't. please, i can't."

he makes a devastating sound at your words, something between a sob and a gasp, "where are you?" he repeats, voice full of concern, "where are you, baby? i'm gonna come get you."

"the bus stop by my house," you manage to tell him through your tears, reaching the little bench and situating yourself on it without an ounce of hesitation, "i was- i was gonna go home but," another sob rips through your throat, "but they're home and i- i can't- i can't take it anymore, joel. i don't wanna be there anymore, i can't be there."

"you stay where you are, you hear me?" you can hear movement on the other line, the rattle of keys, footsteps, "don't go home, babygirl, i'm comin'. i'll be there in ten minutes."

"okay," you whisper, trying to catch your breath, "okay."

"deep breaths, baby, remember?" and you do remember; he'd taught you some exercises to help in situations like this, when you feel like the world is falling apart around you and you're just getting smaller and smaller, disappearing into nothingness. he'd held your hands while you'd sat in his lap, eyes closed as you both matched each other's breathing, melted into one another. "in and out, babygirl, that's it. real slow, count for me."

"i r-remember," you manage to hiccup, squeezing your chest with your other hand and trying to ground yourself.

the wait is excruciating, no matter how short, and no matter the fact that joel is on the other end trying to calm you. you sit on the bench with a hand on your heart and the other on your stomach, listening to joel count to five over and over, phone upturned on your thigh.

"big breath in. one...two...three...four...five," he says through the muffled sounds of traffic and wind, "big breath out. one...two...three...four...five." over and over and over again, "i'm turnin' the corner, baby, i'm almost there," he says after about ten minutes of this, "you see me, honey?"

you look up to find his headlights, getting brighter and brighter as they approach. you shakily sit up from the bench, breath coming out much less erratic now, "y-yes," you whisper.

seconds later the car is pulling up in front of you and he's jumping out, not even bothering to shut the door behind him as he dashes around it. it's been so long since you've seen him that it's jarring to suddenly have him in front of you, sprinting toward your small and shaking form with his jacket undone, shoes mismatched, glasses askew. you catch a glimpse of his expression, concerned and upset - are those tears? - before he scoops you up into his arms and pulls you in close to him.

"i'm here," he tells you, voice rumbling through his chest against your cheek, solid and warm, "i'm here now, babygirl, you're okay. you're okay."

and somehow you are.

"i'm sorry," is all you can say to him as he drives you to his house, hand holding yours tightly the whole way, "i'm such an idiot, i'm so sorry."

"stop saying that," he repeats for maybe the fourth time, shaking his head and squeezing your hand even more firmly, "you're not an idiot and you have nothing to be sorry about."

you really are okay now, breaths calm and tears not even flowing anymore. instead the guilt and shame and humiliation have taken over, sinking into your skin as you lean back in the passenger seat with your hood pulled up, hiding your face from him.

"i was giving you space," you mutter, "i didn't even mean to text you, it was an accident. i was being stupid, as usual."

"stop it," he says again, "stop being mean to yourself."

you close your eyes and face away from him, "easier said than done."

the two of you drive in silence for a few moments, that is until he asks, "have you eaten?" and you say, "no."

he buys you mcdonalds and doesn't let go of your hand.

the house hasn't changed. you hadn't really expected it to; it's not like it's been that long since you were last here. you don't bother even sneaking a peek at your ex boyfriend's bedroom as joel leads you upstairs, curiosity nonexistent.

you're not sure why you expect him to take you into his office, maybe sit on the couch with you and talk. to your surprise he leads you straight past the door, down the hallway to what you can only assume is his bedroom - a place you've never been in all your months of being with him.

"sit down," he tells you softly as he opens the door, pulling you slowly inside and nodding toward the queen sized bed, "i'll get you something to wear."

"okay," you breathe, barely looking at him as you examine the room in front of you, large but cozy, cool colors but a warm atmosphere, framed music posters and blueprints covering the walls - exactly what you'd expect from someone like joel. you shuffle forward and drop your bag at the end of his bed, sitting on the edge of it while he goes to his dresser.

you end up in one of his sleep shirts and a pair of his underwear, loving the feeling of being his again, even if neither of you have actually talked about what exactly this means for your relationship. he helps you change, tugging off your worn-out jeans and the same shirt you've worn for three days in a row, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls off your panties and replaces them with his boxers. it's not sexual, but part of you still longs to pull him on top of you, just feel his weight, smell his cologne.

he pulls back the duvet and helps you climb inside onto your stomach, rubbing your arms and shoulders and releasing some of the tension you've been feeling for the past month. you feel him press another kiss to the back of your neck, pushing your hair out of the way and stroking it gently, giving you all the care and attention you've been aching for. his hands are so big, so comforting and safe, touching you everywhere without any expectations or underlying motive.

"i missed you, daddy," you whisper against his pillow, not sure if he can even hear you, even more unsure whether it's okay to use that word anymore.

he doesn't reply right away, still kneading his thumbs into the base of your back and massaging you gently. you hear him inhale and exhale deeply a few times, like he's biding time while he figures out what to say.

"sorry," you wince, "joel."

he releases you then, helps you turn over so you're on your back and peering up at him with uncertainty. he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches down to thumb your cheek, eyes sad and tired.

"i wanna be that for you, sweetheart," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "i do. i want it more than you even realize," he takes a breath, biting down on his lip briefly, "i just... i need you to tell me somethin'. be honest with me now."

your heart skips a beat, "what?"

"when you said you loved me..." his voice breaks a bit and you ache to reach for him, cup his cheek and hold him close, "was it because of what we've been doin'?" he seems to reassess his words, shaking his head slightly, "i mean, did it...did you actually mean it? or was it... was it just part of the game?"

you stare at him for a few seconds, lips parting and eyes going slightly wide. without a second thought you do exactly what you'd just been thinking about, reaching up to place your hand against his face, feeling his scruff beneath your palm. he leans in and takes a breath, peering into your eyes with a yearning you can't describe, can only feel.

you shake your head slowly, "joel," you whisper, "it's never been a game."

his eyes close, stuttering out another breath when your thumb strokes his cheek soothingly. unable to hold back anymore, you lean up to capture his mouth in a soft kiss, sweet and tender and familiar. his hand finds the back of your head, pulls you closer, claims you again.

he fucks you slow.

it's never been like this, never has he fucked you the way he fucks you now. you barely speak, just moan and whimper and sigh and melt into each other the way you've never truly been able to, not without prying ears and a time limit hanging over your heads. your hands tangle in his hair while he hits that deep spot inside you, holds you close, buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, pounds into you relentlessly like you'll both come apart at the seams if he lets go.

you're biting it back, trying not to say it as much as you desperately want to, still unsure if this is really want he wants. just tell me what to do and i'll do it. i don't care, i'm yours. he looks into your eyes and you can't help but start crying again, overwhelmed by the warmth of him, the safety. he thumbs your tears and kisses them away.

"say it," he murmurs to you as you both near your inevitable release, the tension building and building as he grabs your face with both hands and fucks you with purpose, with passion, "say it, babygirl, tell me."

you shake your head, suddenly self conscious, suddenly afraid. the feelings from earlier tonight rise back in your chest, making a home in the back of your throat as a sob threatens to rip through it.

"it's okay," he whispers, voice trembling with the speed of his thrusts, "it's okay, honey, i wanna hear you say it," he furrows his brow and releases a groan, so close to the edge, "please, baby, say it. need you to say it."

you pull him close, grip his back, press your lips to his ear, "daddy."

he groans, dark and rough, "that's it," he murmurs, "that's it baby, i'm your daddy. that's right." he pulls back to look at you, eyes meeting yours in a passionate gaze that lasts forever, "say it again."

"daddy," you whine, unable to unlock your eyes from his, lip trembling as you submit entirely to him, "feels so good, daddy."

there's something in his expression you can't place, something in his words that reverberates in your brain like a pinball. say it again... you realize it means more than you'd initially thought. he's not just asking you to say one word - he's asking for three.

"i love you," you cry out just as he presses his thumb to your clit, pushes you over the edge, "i love you."

he comes just as you do, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as your fingers scramble for purchase at his back, holding him impossibly close to the point where his entire body weight is on top of you, but you don't care. all you can feel is the way his heart beats against your chest, the way his gasps match yours, finding the same rhythm.

you lay there still for what feels like eternity, joel laying on top of you with his cock still deep inside and his forehead pressed against your shoulder. your tears have stopped but you feel the dampness of his own on your skin, hear the gasp he lets out as he sets his emotions free.

"i love you too," he whispers in your ear, breath hot and quick, voice wrecked, "god, i love you so much."

for the first time, you stay the night.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*#fic: bd!joel

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adventuringblind · 4 months

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Make Me Yours

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: chaotic smut (I'm a slut for this man)

Summary: Daniel mentions something to Oscar and he takes a shot in the dark.

Warnings: KNIFE PLAY, blood, intensive aftercare, Max and Daniel being big brothers, Oscar is a dork and we love him for it, enemies to lovers if you squint, soft dom Oscar, Reader is a mess for Oscar and he loves it.

Notes: This was an anonymous request! I hope you like it!! Please remember to communicate and take care of yourselves if you engage in a kink like this!! Reader is a Redbull rookie which I know is ridiculous but it's fiction.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

She wouldn't say her sex life is vanilla. Definitely the opposite, actually. Most people would look at Oscar and assume he is the most boring human on the planet.

They are all wrong.

Most the drivers, including herself, teased him about how he knows two positions maximum. He'd gotten fed up with it and showed her exactly why everyone is wrong.

Turns out pent up tension from being rivals from F3 and F2 leads to these situations. The situation being mind-blowing sex with the one guy who you didn't want to admit feelings for.

Formula 1 is an unforgiving world. She didn't need feelings getting in the way. Until Oscar came along and ruined it all.

Until that night, at least. Now they are stuck together like glue. It drives Max and Daniel insane with how much he's around the Redbul garage.

She tried to use the 'best friends' excuse until Daniel caught them in her driver's room.

"It's always the rookies."

That being said, her problem isn't the sex, or Oscar, or her relationship at all. The problem is how to bring up something she would like to try.

Both of them like trying new things and have been very clear on boundaries and keep open communication about the subject. He's never judged her for anything she's brought up. So why can't she just ask him?

"Something on your mind?" Daniel appears from thin air, and she slams her phone down out of view. She prays he didn't see the pictures of the silver blades and thinks she a psycho.

"Nope," she squeaks. A terrible recovery on her end.

"Watching porn? Looking at Mr. Piartri's nudes? Come one, you can tell me!"

Max pokes his head out from around the corner. "Are we talking about sex?" Here she thought the secluded space would be far away enough for them to come bother her. Then again, Daniel could help her out. He's good at talking to people.

"Pretty sure you and Charles talked about it last night." She quips without looking at him.

She's blushing and embarrassed. Her brain is yelling at her to run as far away as possible before she does something stupid-

"Hey Daniel, you know about sex stuff right?" Wow, that doesn't sound awkward at all.

"Yes?" He quirks his eyebrow at her. "But if you're looking for a threesome I'm going to have to decline. For now, at least," he winks.

She chokes at the notion. She's going to explode at this rate. Time to bail out. "Never mind, it's not that, but it's dumb."

Max appears fully in her line of sight. "You can't leave us hanging now! Oscar not performing well anymore?" His expression suddenly goes dark. "Or if he hurt you, I won't hesitate to send him into the barriers."

"No! no, it's not him it's me. I don't know how to ask him about something."

Both the males soften. It eases the anxiety a tiny bit, but she'd still rather not be here.

"Hmm, can I ask what it is?"

"A kink," she whispers away from him.

Daniel hears it anyway. "Yours or his?"

"Mine."

Daniel, now seeing he's not going to get anywhere like this, tries a new approach. "Look, this is a no judgment zone, right? Max talks about Charles and their sex life any chance he gets. I am an open book. No laughing or cringing, okay?"

It still feels weird having this conversation. But Daniel isn't going to let it sit now. Curse her impulsive mouth. "Knives. I want him to use a knife on me."

~~~~~

Oscar is sitting in wait around the Redbull motorhome. His girlfriend had said she'd meet him out here and he hasn't seen her all day, so he came early.

Media days are usually difficult for her. The journalists manage to find some new sexist thing to point out every race weekend. It drives all the drivers insane. They can't just let it go and move on to something new.

"Hiya mate!" Daniel appears around the corner and Oscar manages (just barely) to not jump out of his skin. "You waiting for your girl?"

"Yeah, I'm early though. Do I need to go?"

"Nah, you're fine." Daniel throws him a grin. "I'm curious how you keep the marks on her hidden. Been wondering for a while now."

Oscar blinks. His brain is trying to process the last Statement. "You mean... like a hickey?"

"No! The scars." Daniel looks like he's just said the most obvious thing. Oscar is still trying to remain neutral in what is definitely an odd conversation.

Scars? What scars is he talking about? "I-"

"Don't tell me you don't see it! That girl totally has some kind of knife kink."

Knife kink?! Where is this coming from? He tries to think back to any hint of it on her end. It's not like he's opposed to trying new things and he wouldn't be shocked if she felt weird about bringing it up.

"I'd ask her about it mate." Daniel winks and disappears into the crowd of people.

Oscar tries not to think too hard on it. It's just a weird comment made by Daniel in passing.

At least, that's what it started as.

Oscar then finds himself doing research on it. A deep rabbit hole that now occupies far too much space in his brain.

The idea of her permanently some kind of mark he puts there drives him wild. Which is odd, because it hasn't before. A visible hickey every now and then does the trick. Satisfies him when they go out places.

After the first 'I don't see your boyfriend,' he started putting one on her collar bone. Not visible unless she deems it so amd fresh enough to ward off any suspicious characters.

Curse Daniel for giving him this stupid idea. Something more permanent than a hickey sounds appealing.

If it were up to him, he'd keep her in his pocket. It's funny, really, how she thought he didn't know about her feelings. Oscar had played the game for two years. Then he couldn't take it anymore and he snapped.

Yes, she's snarky and moody, and as picky as Lando, until you get past the hard exterior and see she's all soft and squishy. Most of the time, anyway.

He asks her about it after Silverstone. He's coming down off his high and drunk on the adrenaline paired with a shot of success. The confidence boost is really what he needs to put the idea out there. As outrageous as it seems, Daniel might have a point.

"I was thinking about something." He starts off with. She flops onto her bed. Not his since Lando manages to get into his room at the worst times.

"Something good I hope?"

"Depends." Oscar adjusts their position so he can cradle her. The way she snuggles into him like an affectionate cat makes him melt. "It's kinky."

"The best kind of thoughts to have!" She taps his nose with her index finger to accentuate each word.

Oscar steels himself for the possible outcomes. "What if we tried knives."

There is an unmatched look of pure shock on her face. Oscar is prepared to reassure that she doesn't have to, until he notices the glint.

"Yes! I mean - yeah, we should give it a try."

Huh, so Daniel was right. Oscar will have to thank him later for the tip. "We need to talk about it first. I'm thinking either talk now and do it or we save it for a later date."

"How about we talk now, then see?"

"Sounds lovely."

~~~~~

The more Oscar talks, the more she wants it. It's ridiculous what he does to her with merely his voice. Or maybe it's the constant regard for her wants, needs, and safety.

Yeah, it's true what they say: consent really is sexy.

"Love? Did you hear what I was saying?" His voice has they soft mellowness about it that calms the raging see of her emotions.

"No..."

"Stay with me, yeah? I'll put this off if you aren't coherent enough to truly consent to anything." Yep, sexy. No doubt about it.

"I'm here, promise! Just got distracting... thinking."

"About?"

She waits a beat to see if he's willing g to drop it. He makes no indication he'll be moving on, however, making her forced to answer. "Your voice..."

She is going to combust at this rate. It's embarrassing how wrecked she is already. Oscar hasn't even touched her, but the sight of him with the glinting silver blade in his hands has her going feral. The crazy eyed, drooling kind that makes her seem like she should be locked up.

The fact Oscar spent over two hours in discussion and has research to back up every point her makes drivers her wild. She would happily spend the rest of her life with him even after a measly two years together.

He's ruined her. Oscar has made it so she will never be able to leave. So what if she's dramatic? Can you really blame her when she has Oscar Piastri standing in front of her looking ready to devour her?

Oscar takes his time. It's slow and gentle kisses, nimble fingers finding their way around the canvas he knows so well. "Fucking hell you're gorgeous."

She takes a mental note of the way she's in no clothes and he's got all his own. It's unfair and she tugs at his sleeve to signal she wants it off. Oscar complies and pulls the fabric off.

He goes back to licking his way around the inside of her mouth. Her hands relax around his body, taking comfort in the warmth and closeness of the skin-on-skin contact.

His fingers slip through her folds and like muscle memory locate her clit. It's pathetic the sounds he's getting her to make. Specifically, while holding the pocketknife, unopened, in his free hand.

"So pretty for me love. I would cut you up and put you in my pocket if I could. Carry your cute ass around with me like a good luck charm."

She's so far down the rabbit hole of her favorite headspace. Oscar's words are just swimming around her, until the sound of the black clicking open pulls her back into reality.

He presses the flat part of the blade against her arm. The cold of the metal sends a shiver running down her spine.

Oscar is looking deep in the eyes, mapping out every emotion and physical reaction she's having to the sensation. "Color?"

"Green, very green, the brightest of greens-" Oscar shuts her up with a kiss to her temple. It's gentle and meaningful. Enough to turn her right into a blushing mess.

Oscar checks in frequently every time the blade moves. The masochist is jumping for joy when the tip barely rests against her shoulder blade. "Are you ready? Want me to mark you? Shall I make you bleed for me?"

"Please," She whines.

"Keep your eyes on me yeah? You say red and I stop."

She signals that she understands and would like to continue. Oscar traces the line he wants to make.

She hisses when the knife presses downwards. Oscar panics, but he watches her eyes roll back and knows to continue. "Eyes on me, love. I want to see how pretty you look."

The cold stinging sensation makes her whimper in pain and moan in ecstasy all at the same time. He's still talking to her. Voice still calm and gentle. He's watching her intently, tracking every shift until he's done.

He keeps a hand on her to let her know he's still present as he tucks the, now closed knife, safely onto the bedside table. Despite looking so composed to everyone else, she notices the small thing about Oscar's shift in demeanor. Like how his pupils are staring at her, just the slightest bit tinged with the desire tor take her in the next ten seconds.

He resists and makes sure she is ready for that first. "Color?"

She slurs through an ungodly number of praises and words resembling 'green'. Oscar basks in it. He sits and caresses her skin as he watches the cut to make sure he really did go light enough.

Small beads of red appear at the surface, but not enough that he's concerned with first aid at the Moment. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"Osc? Are you still green?"

Oscar softens again. "Yeah, I'm green, just taking in the sight and - happy I didn't stab you." He's breathless and panting. His jeans straining and her hands aching to get her hands on him.

There is so much love and kindness leading up to him finally getting inside of her. The towel underneath her shoulder catches the run-off red. It falls away with every thrust of his hips and rock of her body.

They hit the edge to quickly. Falling over it in white hot pleasure and moans of joy.

"You're such a good girl for me. You did such a good job." Oscar whispers in her ear as he wipes the cut with disinfectant.

Oscar carries her blissed out body to the bathroom and lets her look at the wound before bandaging it. A perfect heart now rests on the peak of her shoulder. Not massive, but enough to be seen without looking to close.

"I love it."

"Yeah? You ready to bandage it?"

"Do we have to?"

She doesn't get her way. Oscar bandages the heart and gets them cleaned up. Then it's water and snacks in bed.

"I never thought you'd be into it."

"I wasn't until Daniel brought it up."

Her entire being stills. Maybe even goes pale and Oscar looks at her in confused worry.

"I might have asked him for advice on how to ask you... about this."

Once again, his face softens. "You know you never have to be afraid of asking me." A gentle smile appears on his face. "I do think we'll have to thank him for this later."

"You're just going to inflate his ego."

"Maybe it's worth it if he keeps giving me advice." Oscar winks at her and smirks.

Yeah, maybe Daniel's pestering isn't to bad.

~~~~~

Oscar stands waiting for the drivers parade the next race weekend with all the other drivers. He's waiting patiently for his favorite rookie to come and join him.

Instead, he is once again jumping out of his skin because Danile is grabbing his shoulders from out of nowhere. "Could you not, like, scare me? Please?"

"But this is more fun! Certainly not as much fun as you had, I'm sure. I saw the scar." Daniel wiggles his eyebrows.

Oscar is blushing, he can feel it in his face. The words he wants to say are not coming out like he intends. "yep, I - um... thanks."

"Let me know if you need any other advice." Daniel smirks and claps him on the shoulder, Leaving Oscar a mess.

This is why I get teased; he thinks.

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marlynnofmany · 1 month

Text

Secondhand Solutions

Mur gave me a smug look, curling and uncurling one tentacle like a yo-yo. “Told you it was a waste of credits,” he said.

I sighed. “If those human ships were here, it wouldn’t be. This stuff is prime Earth nostalgia.” The small pile of items on the hoversled had seemed so full of promise when I’d bought it at our last stop: cat posters, harmonicas, and a dozen packs of googly eyes.

“Pity we’re far from Earth,” Mur said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, eyeing the locals of this alien marketplace. Lots of scales and exoskeletons. Not many hands that would appreciate the softness of a cat’s fur, and very few mouthparts that would be able to do much with a harmonica. The merchant I’d gotten the stuff from had been a Heatseeker all too happy to unload her stock of cut-rate human nonsense. These folks would likely have similar opinions. I said, “At least it doesn’t expire.”

Mur straightened the individually-boxed harmonicas. “And it shouldn’t take up too much space in your quarters until we meet up with more humans eventually. The captain won’t want to hang around here waiting for them to show up.”

“True,” I admitted. It was gossip from our last stop that had told me they’d be here now. I should have known better than to trust it.

“Well, back to the ship,” Mur announced. “Maybe you can cheer yourself up by decorating your quarters with eyeballs.”

I had to smile at that. “Maybe.” He was already walking back to where we’d parked, on the far side of an over-cultivated garden area. I towed the hoversled after him.

Then I caught sight of some locals who’d run afoul of multiple birdlike beasties, and an idea started to form.

The locals, a half-dozen Heatseekers whose scales ranged from red to pale yellow, were trying to eat a nice lunch at the dining section of the garden. The squawking bird-things, which were half-lizardy with speckled brown feathers and wide beaks, had apparently claimed the bushes for their own. They were contesting this claim by spitting at the Heatseekers every time their backs were turned. These looked like pretty gross spitballs, impressive for birds.

It occurred to me that I’d seen those feathery characters all over the place here. A look behind confirmed it; they lurked in nearly every tree I could see. And judging by the way the locals were abandoning this picnic table, they were a known hazard.

They still only spat at fleeing enemies, hiding or freezing in place when pinned by eye contact.

And that was my idea. “Hey Mur,” I said. “I’ll bet you one shanty sung on a table that I can sell some of these googly eyes right now.”

He stopped and looked around, full of skepticism. “To who?”

“Do you take the bet?”

“Ah, sure. There’s no way anyone here is interested.”

“You say that now,” I said, grabbing a pack and waving down one of the hurrying locals. “But you don’t know how we deal with tigers and magpies.”

“With what?”

I didn’t answer, busy as I was explaining to the local that the false eyes were adhesive, and would give the impression of eye contact from both directions. They were just as interested as I’d thought they’d be.

After a demonstration, during which I strolled through the picnic area and didn’t get a single spitball on me, the birds were unsettled and the locals were more than happy to buy everything I had.

This was a new colony town, you see, and no one had come up with a good solution for the annoying fauna that came with the territory. But these folks were prepared to make everyone’s day.

They certainly made mine. That was five times as much as I’d paid for the stuff in the first place. And they didn’t even want the posters and harmonicas.

I waved goodbye, but they weren’t paying attention, so I turned my grin on Mur instead. He had draped a tentacle around his pointy squid head in exasperation.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken the bet,” he declared. “But I was so sure it was pointless.”

“And I am sure that whichever song you choose to regale us with at dinnertime will be delightful,” I said, tugging the hovercart around the bushes. The birds watched me carefully, noting the eyes still stuck to my hair, and leaving us both alone. “If it’s a song I know, maybe I can play a backup melody with a harmonica.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #this one's relatively short so I'm going without the read-more #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #googly eyes #I do enjoy some good be-googling #just made up that word; like bedazzled #it may not catch on #but that's okay #I'm still having fun

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codfanficedits · 6 months

Text

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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iamasaddie · 8 months

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try not to abuse your power

paring: bfd!Joel x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 3,6k~ summary: Joel is a bad man. Absolutely terrible. But even he has his own moral. a/n: I'm sorry? but umm, yeah. a giant thank you to @covetyou for being a very thorough beta, and helping me out in the last moment <3 all the love and adoration to my beautiful wifey @bearsbeetsbeskar for destroying my self doubt <3 and the tightest hug and biggest kiss to @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for being my little goose and giving me more love and comfort than my silly heart can take <3 warnings: no-outbreak; Joel's POV; implied infidelity; masturbation; angst; no use of y/n SERIES MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

Joel Miller was a terrible, terrible person. He came to terms with that a long time ago, but still, the lengths of his evil surprised him sometimes. It was one thing to fuck over a buddy of his to get a better portion of their shared business - that he could justify by being in greater need of money as a divorced single dad. Or blatantly lying about his power and connections using his intimidating form to get his son into a sweeter spot in the University - he'd do anything for his child, after all. But it was a new level of villainy to fuck his dear son’s girlfriend, and judging by the look on his kid's face whenever you were around, maybe even his future wife.

What started off as a gentle appreciation of a person who seemed to make his child's life better soon turned out to be a sick obsession that not only occupied his brain during the day, but also followed him in his dreams.

He still remembered the first time he thought of you as something more than Jason's girl. He should’ve punched himself in the face that day and left the town, or made his son take you and leave, but the devil on his shoulders had other plans.

That fateful day you were coming back to your new southern home that you shared with his son after spending a week at your parents' house. Jason was supposed to meet you at the airport, but he had just gotten some calls back from a couple of places where he'd sent his resume, so he asked Joel to pick you up instead. You'd got along just fine and neither him nor Joel thought about it much when Joel agreed to help out his son. When he got a text from his son with all the details, he'd gotten in his truck, ignoring the spring in his step at the opportunity to see you. You were a nice girl, smart, funny, easy on the eye, of course he didn't mind spending time with you.

The version of you he saw when you had gotten out of the airport gates was a new one. Your back hunched under a simple white long sleeve, and your shoulders uneven with the weight of the duffle bag on your right one. He saw you grip it tight, with every step the heavy-looking bag hit you on the knee clad in long jean shorts. Joel jumped out of his truck and shut his door a little harder than he would've normally done as he sprinted towards you.

"Mornin', sweetheart." He gave you a smile as he tried to take the bag off your shoulder.

"Mister Miller? What are you doing here?" Your grip was tight, as your red and puffy eyes showed surprise. He thought Jason warned you, but apparently he was too busy, or too forgetful, something he'd been a lot around you lately.

"Jason got a call for an interview, said it was something big. Asked me to pick you up so you didn't have to order a taxi."

"Oh," your shoulders hunched more, and he hated seeing the sadness on your beautiful face.

"Will you let me take the bag, and drive you home?" He tugged on the strap and this time you let him have it. Joel threw it over his shoulder and led you to his car, his hand automatically finding a place on your lower back, but you didn't even react.

The drive home was quiet. He kept stealing glances at you, but it was like you didn't come off of that plane, your eyes stayed glued to the front window, blinking rarer than a human should. Joel was caught by surprise when he felt like his heart was squeezed violently, he hated seeing you like this. It was the first time and he already hated it. You were supposed to smile with the brightness of a thousand suns that came off you in waves whenever you entered a room. You were supposed to laugh, lower your head in embarrassment when you'd suddenly snort, which Joel had always found adorable. You were not supposed to sit here like all the happiness was drained from your life, with your eyes bloodshot and your face sunken. He fucking hated it.

"D'you wanna get somethin' to eat?" Joel looked straight ahead, you were almost home and he knew you were going to pass that donut place you liked so much. You and Jason always brought a box of twelve whenever you visited on Sundays. He figured you liked them when you were the one to eat almost half of the box, licking your fingers afterwards when Jason wouldn't even touch one.

"Huh?" You looked at him for the first time during the trip and Joel looked back at you, your eyes lost.

"I asked if you wanna get something to eat. Maybe a donut?" You just shook your head, returning your gaze to the window and cracking Joel's heart a little bit more. "Okay, then."

He parked outside the place you rented and jogged around the car to help get you out. When you placed his hand in his, your palm was freezing against his skin. "You okay, darlin'?" He knew you weren't but he didn't think he had the right to pry. You just shrugged your shoulders and stretched your arm to take the bag from Joel.

"I'll walk you, 'kay?"

"Okay."

He mentally patted himself on the shoulder for his decision to walk you to the door when he saw you twisting the handle of the door that didn't open. "You ain't got keys?" He raised his eyebrows, and instead of answering his question you began punching the door with the side of your fist, cursing out loud.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, why the fuck can't I just have a normal day?!"

Joel ran towards you, taking your fist into his and holding your shaking body to his. You started trembling, the curses became muffled as tears burst out of your eyes, wetting Joel's t-shirt.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. It's fine. I'll take you to my place, okay? And then Jason'll pick you up. Deal?"

You didn't answer and he stood holding you as you shook in the hall for another couple of minutes, before almost dragging you back to his car and driving you home.

The first thing he did when you entered his place was sit you on his couch and bring you a big cup of mint tea. He sat next to you and watched you sniff the cup, hugging the hot ceramic with your tiny fingers. You took a couple of sips before placing it on the coffee table, and shuffling back into the cushions. The tears started streaming down your face, and you didn't try to wipe them away, just letting the drops create wet patterns on your shirt. Almost reflexively, Joel pulled you into his embrace, hugging you tight to his chest like he could keep the breaking pieces of you together if he squeezed tight enough. Your tears turned into hiccups, but you didn't push him away. You didn't hug him back either.

"It's my mom." Your whisper in his chest was barely intelligible.

"What about her?"

Joel didn't know a lot about your family. The only thing Jason said was that your relationship wasn't as great, but you still tried to visit your parents, called them once in a while, unwilling to shatter your bond.

"Wanna share?" He rubbed your shoulder in a comforting movement, trying to hide the worry in his voice. "Sometimes it's good to pour everything out, y'know?"

You gently pushed away from his embrace and he let you, watching you pick the skin around your nails, full of doubt.

"She's not fucking happy, you know?" You head snapped, and you looked him straight in the eyes as everything that was boiling inside you finally started to spill out. "She never was. She just rolled with whatever the fuck happened, married dad, settled. She forgot about her dreams, just to be what? This? A housewife with an addiction to sleeping pills? A woman who's lonely even though she lives with a person who promised his life to her? She hates herself, she hates my dad, God, she even hates me. And it destroys her. If you'd only seen her... And... And I am becoming her, you know? Every day I look in the mirror, and I see her more and more. And I see the hate that's going to fill my future because I’m like her. I... I don't fucking take risks, I follow the stream, and I’m going to become a hateful, miserable old cunt who hates her own reflection." You took a deep breath.

"You're not..." Joel started a sentence he didn't know how to finish, but you didn't even let him.

"Oh, but I am. You don't know it, Joel. I don't remember the last time I was happy, and that scares the shit out of me." Your eyes were sad, no more anger, just plain exhaustion. Joel felt like he was breaking with you. "I am always pissed, and I don't even have a reason to be."

"And what do you want?"

"I don't fucking know, I'm just... lost."

He wanted to help you. Wanted to give you the comfort that you so deserved but he didn't know how. What was he supposed to do? Call Jason? Take you away from everybody and hide you in his room on another planet? Wait... Take you away? Where did that come from?

Your tired eyes looked empty, as if life was drained of them, and Joel made an attempt to take your hand in his, hoping to give you at least a tiny bit of peace.

"Darlin', listen to me, you have to…-"

"Pops, did you meet - Ah, there’s my beautiful girlfriend!" The voice - and soon after the figure - of his son entered the living room, finding Joel and you sitting close on the couch, the energy filling the place obviously didn't match the one he brought with himself, but Jason seemed obtuse. He didn't even bat an eye when you took your hand from Joel's, leaving an empty cold space there. "I'm sorry that I couldn't pick you up, baby, but this interview was important, I think I actually nailed it."

You tried to put a smile on your face, and Joel noticed the struggle before you dropped it and just nodded. "It's okay, Jason, we should go home, I'm sure I've exhausted your dad enough."

"Oh no," Jason brought his right hand to his chest in a theatrical movement, and then kissed you on the head, whispering too loudly for the words to actually be meant as a secret. "He adores you, baby!"

Joel smiled and rubbed the back of his neck as you took Jason's hand and got up from the couch.

"I'm just really tired from the road, I want to take a shower."

You dragged your feet towards Joel's hall and Jason followed you like a little excited dog. "Mhmmm, sounds exciting, can I join?"

Your head snapped back as you stopped in your tracks, and Joel felt his cheeks get hot as a momentary image of you relaxing in a bubble bath crossed his mind.

"Jason, what the fuck, your dad is right here."

"What?" Jason shrugged his shoulders and looked at Joel over his shoulder, seeing his old man shaking his head. Then he jogged to where you stood and lightly slapped your ass, getting a deathly look from you. "He knows what two people in love do when they're alone. He did have sex with my mom, at least once."

"Ew."

You were already out of his vision when Joel whistled, and made himself present. "I heard that." He followed you both, catching up with you in the hall.

"Sorry, pops." Jason gave him a smile and turned to you. "I'll take your bag to the car, okay?"

You nodded and he grabbed the duffel bag and walked out as you started putting on your shoes. Joel stood above you as you tied your sneakers.

"Sorry, Joel, I shouldn't have…" You shook your head and looked him in the eyes. There wasn't a right thing to say after everything you'd unleashed on him. There was nothing you could say to convince him it was nothing. "I'm gonna be fine."

Your hug was weak and passing, but he pressed you closer to himself with his massive hands, leaning his head closer to your ear and whispering, so only you could hear.

"You are going to be fine, I promise."

You nodded, sniffling a little, and followed Jason to the car.

After that, Joel felt the animalistic urge to protect you. To make you his and hide you from all the misfortunes of the world. The beast inside him purred, forcing him to do something, to claim you, to make you his. But he knew that wasn't possible. Not in this world, not in this life. He was twice your age, and even if he wasn't, you were his son's girl. Sometimes, after the moment you shared, he saw you looking at him for a little bit longer, smiling at him a little bit warmer. It was bad. It was wrong. Joel knew that if he called, you'd come to him. You started feeling something, and that something was confusing you. Because that something was stronger and more exciting than what you'd felt for his son. A risk. Joel was old enough to know. He was also old enough to know that this couldn't happen. You couldn't fall for him, even if he wanted you to. So he suppressed his own feelings, channeling the complicated emotions into something he could deal with, into lust. If you saw him as creepy, or even hated him, you'd forget your little infatuation. Maybe you'd even leave Jason and go somewhere that makes you happy. God knows, you two weren't made for each other, no matter how much it hurt Joel on behalf of his son. Sure, you made a normal couple, a decent one, maybe you'd even be a mediocre family one day, but he hated that for you. He saw the fire in your eyes being extinguished the longer you stayed with Jason, and he knew that you fought more and more from the late night calls he got from his son. So maybe if he played the devil, he could help you. He just needed to find out how.

And then he did.

He managed to do that, he managed to calm the beast inside him, and managed to please the devil. That night, when he met you in the club, he saw the opportunity and he took it, hating himself for the way it happened, but also reveling in the fact that he had you. And you had him. However twisted that was.

Joel drowned himself in alcohol. When he came back home that night, remembering the insults he whispered, all of them lies for the greater purpose. He wished he could fuck you on the silk sheets, praising you, worshipping your body, but it was not in the cards. Joel thought that was enough, that you'd either pack and leave that same night, or sometime after, but you came back to him.

You fucking came back.

You came back and you wanted him as if he planted the infectious seed inside you that pulled you to him. The more disgusting and cruel he was, the faster and stronger you came back. He hated that it pleased him. Joel hated himself, and he almost started hating you for the fact that you were perfect. Perfect for him. Your soul, your body, your needs and wants were designed to keep him satisfied, to keep him obsessed with you forever. It had to stop, of course it did, and it would, but maybe he could have just one more taste. Maybe he could have you once more before turning you completely against him. The hurt in your eyes when he admitted he was good for nothing still haunted him.

A few days after you came to him, he found himself in his bed with his right hand gripping his cock in a choking embrace, the thumb of his left hand awkwardly hitting replay on a three minute video over and over again. It was already painful to stave off his orgasm, that has been impending for a while now, but he knew that as long as his hand continued torturously, slowly sliding up and down his angry red cock, he had a viable reason to still be watching your pussy sloppily swallowing his cock. Listen to your tiny whimpers as he asked you filthy questions. See the perfect slopes of your ass bouncing with his every thrust.

Fuck, you looked sinfully good on a normal day, but impaled on his cock you were out of this world.

Joel adjusted his pace to the thrusts on the screen in his hand. His hand moved up and down the thick length of his cock and it would've been enough on any other day, but when he first dove in your pussy he knew he was fucked. The gentle yet tight hug of your wet cunt twisted the chemicals in his brain. He hoped once would be enough, oh fuck how wrong he was. He was ready to commit atrocities just to slide in your scorching heat again, and again, and again, until his fucking dick fell off.

‘Should we send him a little wanking present?’

'No, Daddy, please’

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, good fucking girl, such a good fucking girl," his motions became faster, thick thumb sliding over his weeping head with every second pump. Joel felt his chest get tighter and his balls draw impossibly tight, alerting him of a much-awaited orgasm.

Thrust - thrust - thrust. Pump - pump - pump. He felt the phantom squeeze of your cunt around his cock, accentuated by his own fierce movements. His whole body shuddered as the orgasm claimed him, thick ropes of cum covering his greying happy trail, spare drops almost hitting his nipples as he heavily exhaled.

Joel's chest rose and fell as he tried to gather himself, eyes still staring at the ending shot of his cock buried deep inside you. He was more than fucked, but he couldn't find the strength in his wasted body to care. He reached for a tissue on his bedside table and wiped away the sinful remnants of his wicked desire. He had to have you again, you just had to come to him first.

He was falling in and out of sleep when a loud bang on the front door thundered through his house. He jumped out of the bed embarrassingly quickly, his knees cracking as he practically sprinted down the stairs. Something warm and exciting stirred in his chest, who else if not you could come over in the middle of the night? You were becoming his little owl. He adjusted his cock in his boxers, starting to get stiff at the thought of him having you again. Not caring that he was almost naked, and that his pillow left creases on his already wrinkly face, Joel swung the front door open, his heart dropping immediately.

"She left."

Jason walked past him, his hair even more messed up than Joel's bed head. The strands were sticking out in different directions, a few capillaries in his eyes bursted, his face pale, almost dead in the moonlight. Joel closed the door and turned the lights in the hall on. His son kept pacing in small circles, left hand gripping a piece of paper.

"What are you talking about, son? Who left?"

He shouldn't have asked the question he already knew the answer to.

"Just left a note, saying sorry or some other bullshit, packed her stuff and left. And I wasn't even there." His voice was shaking, but eyes stayed dry. Joel came closer and put a hand on Jason's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"I'm sorry, son." And he was. He loved his son dearly, and it broke his father's heart to see his boy hurting like this. But he also saw the bigger picture, and he knew that the wounds would eventually heal, the whole situation becoming a bad memory, a shitty break up with a girl from the past.

"What am I going to do now?" Joel was glad to be there for his son, he'll put him back together the only way a father like him could. He'll stifle the guilt burning in his chest after seeing the broken face of his boy by the twice amount of love and care he'd give him.

"Let's go, I'll pour us a drink."

As Joel laid on the bed still covered in the sheets you'd ruined mere days ago, he felt an embarrassing relief combined with a weird sense of pride for you washing over him. His son was sleeping on his couch downstairs, and you... You took your life in your hands, you had finally decided to take the risk and left them all behind. His chest hurt a little, but he brushed it off, surely he wasn't disappointed. Surely he wasn't heartbroken. He should just lay off the burgers, and he really needed to start watching his cholesterol. Joel's lips twitched in a smile, as he tried to smell the remnants of you on his pillow.

"Good girl."

#joel miller x reader #iamasaddie fic #joel miller #joel miller x you #bfd!joel #lost in the dark

226 notes · View notes

geeks-universe · 21 days

Text

The Fallen pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Cooper Howard x F!Angel!Reader

A/N: The rating is going to go up after this chapter. This one doesn’t include any smut, but the next chapter definitely will.

The journey to finding the head was relatively uneventful.

Or, as uneventful as traveling through the Wasteland could be.

The group picked up a dog on the way, though somehow you were the only one surprised, and delighted. Among all of your father’s vast creations, they happened to be your favorite.

The feeling was apparently mutual, considering the dog had taken to sleeping on your chest every night and following close by during the day. You’d lovingly named her “Maze” after your favorite, albeit grumpy, demon.

It fit, if you were being honest, even though you knew the aforementioned demon would skin you alive if she ever found out. (Even if she’d secretly find it endearing.)

It was a nice distraction from Cooper too. When you’d first met him a few years ago, you’d been reminded of something so very human in his hesitation. It was buried deep, heavily denied, but there. Every meeting since then you’d been determined to find it, to find the man in the monster.

“Have you slept?”

Maximus had been a nice addition. At first, you’d been hesitant to trust him. Many, many factions had risen since the fall of humanity, and almost every single one of them became twisted, corrupted versions of what they were meant to be. The Brotherhood of Steel was certainly no exception, but Maximus was.

Maybe you’d been too quick to judge others before too.

“Was just thinking,” you murmured, absently petting Maze when she nuzzled further into your lap.

“About anything in particular?”

It was a kind question, and while you could see the darkness in him, the kind that came with growing in a world hell bent on destruction, there was a good heart in his chest. You only hoped he didn’t lose it.

“Nah,” you shrugged the question off, letting your mind wander through the twists and turns of your memory.

He studied you for a moment, before gesturing towards the other two sleeping bodies.

“Get some sleep, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Initially, you were going to object. You didn’t want to rest, didn’t have any desire to revisit the pain of the past that you were forced to witness in your dreams, but there was an exhaustion deep in your soul. Rest wouldn’t fix it, but it would help.

You muttered a thanks, not missing the way his eyes lingered on Lucy’s unconscious form. There was certainly something happening there, and the thought of a blossoming romance in a decaying world warmed your heart.

Sleep, like always, slipped through your fingers like sand. Even with the warm presence of Maze and the friends around you, it didn’t come easy. It hadn’t in a long time, and you doubted it ever would again.

Eventually, however, the lures of slumber found you, and instead of falling into a peaceful embrace, you woke to lungs full of ash.

You tried to call out, to yell to your friends, but the burning in your chest crawled up your throat, forcing you to your knees.

Before you, the world burned.

Not the Wasteland you’d been traversing, the endless desert and bloody terrain, but the world as it was before. Skyscrapers reached for the clouds, cars were like so many dots in the city, and there was so much life. Birds singing in the sky, the breeze swaying leaves, a smell so fresh it brought tears to your eyes.

Then the flames licked it, consumed it, swallowed it whole.

And you were left there to watch, your knees planted to the ground.

“Dad.”

A desperate, wretched sob. A wish. A cry torn from your throat, wrenched free by your heart.

“Dad, please.”

You were screaming now, begging, heart pounding with anguish.

“Don’t do this. Don’t let this happen.”

Each word shredded your soul, hopelessness bitter on your tongue. The brightness of your heart, the very essence of your being, dimmed to an ember. Your fists pounded against the Earth, the horizon disappearing in a cloud of smoke and ash.

A scream of rage, of agony, of desolation erupted from you, like the bombs that fell to the Earth around you.

Horror sliced through your back like a knife- blinding, hot pain coated your tongue like blood. You reached back, clawing at the pain despairingly, ignoring the splashes of blood as you tried to just make it stop.

But it wouldn’t.

Your nails provided no relief, the desperate slashing growing fiercer with the tears in your eyes, grasping with the last of your strength at the pieces of yourself.

It didn’t matter.

Made no difference, really.

The bond was severed.

Minutes turned to hours turned to days before you had the courage to move, to assess the damage. The fires still raged around you, days after the initial blasts, and the hollowness in your gut deepened.

Your hands shook as you reached out, first hesitantly, then madly, at the remnants of your once beautiful wings.

Golden Child.

Hope.

Growth.

Life.

Your father had called you all so lovingly, murmured into the ear of a child desperate for her father’s pride. It was all a lie, one that poisoned the air in your lungs.

Bloodied feathers and snapped bones lay behind you, the golden dulled with the death of an entire population. A crack formed in you then, one that would never heal.

“I hate you.”

A gloved hand pulled you from the clutches of unconsciousness, dragging you back to your prison.

The way you moved was instinctual- swiping your leg out and pressing Maze’s knife into the neck of your would-be attacker. It was fast, precise, a move taught over and over again by the demon until you’d been able to do it in your sleep.

Only, by the time the tears in your eyes cleared, you realized it was very much not an attacker.

It was Cooper.

And he looked far too smug for a man you’d just put on his ass.

“It ain’t good form, sneakin’ up on a restin’ man.”

Your words were an exact echo of the first time you’d ever heard his voice.

“It most certainly ain’t.”

There was an almost playful twinkle in his gaze as he pressed a little deeper into your knife. Your hand shook then, a reminder of what you were.

More importantly, a reminder of what you could never be.

Before he noticed that particular quirk, you sheathed the dagger, but didn’t move from your perch above him. He didn’t seem too keen on moving you off him either.

“You were squirmin’ in your sleep, sweetheart.” He explained, resting his top half on his forearms. That man surely did look too comfortable with you on top of him. “Makin’ a lot of noise.”

“Just… memories.”

You puffed a breath, nearly leaning your forehead against his. It was easy, natural, the way your body sought his out, like a moment of rest after a hard day.

Instead, your gaze zeroed in on an unassuming glint, a sparkle in a sea of sand. It was more than just glitter though, and upon the realization of exactly what it was, your heart dropped.

There, sitting inconspicuously in the sand, was a small, golden feather.

Your feather.

Cooper followed your stare, looking curiously at the object that was causing such a reaction. He didn’t understand though, couldn’t possibly.

Your feathers hadn’t shined like that since the day the bombs dropped. The few that remained were dull, bloodied and broken like the rest of your wings.

“Are we interrupting?”

Lucy approached, Maximus directly behind her with a curious look. Why in all the world were you on top of the ghoul?

While Max was shocked, Lucy wasn’t bothered. She was more astonished that she’d yet to walk back to the two of you fucking the absolute hell out of each other.

“Yes.”

“No.”

You and Cooper spoke at the same time, your movements quick as you disengaged. You didn’t see him grab the feather you seemed so mesmerized with and tuck it into his chest pocket, but after giving the two others a smile, you definitely did notice it missing.

“Okey-dokey,” Lucy drawled, another suspicious glance casted between you both.

“Are you okay?” It was Maximus who asked, and from the tenseness of his body, you guessed he’d probably heard more of your nightmare than anyone else.

“I’m okay,” you lied, standing closer to Cooper absentmindedly.

Maze trotted up to you, pressing her wet nose into your hand like she understood your pain. Maybe she did, in a way. Not the exact pain you felt, but the loss of something so fundamental to your person.

Animals had an easier time realizing what you were. Besides Chloe and Linda, you’d never actually told another human being. A few had found out through one way or another, but it was hard to trust that part of yourself with others.

“We’re close,” Lucy announced, gesturing towards the wide open desert.

Less than half a day, you’d all agreed on yesterday before you stopped for the night. Then, as soon as you retrieved what remained of Dr. Wilzig, off to Lucy’s dad and the mysterious Moldaver.

“Thaddeus had the head last,” Maximus explained, stepping up with Lucy as she led the way.

You hung back with Cooper, glancing over at him every few minutes.

The two at the front continued to talk, explaining something or another, but you were too focused on Coop. He’d been there when the world went to shit.

You’d known it for a while, that he was old enough to have witnessed the end. He hadn’t said it explicitly, but the pieces clicked together when he properly introduced himself. Lucifer had a week-long bender involving a piñata of drugs, a couple of Swedish models, and a whole lot of old cowboy films.

You’d passed on the drugs and sex, but he’d trapped you in his penthouse and forced you to marathon the greatest hits of one Mr. Cooper Howard.

Time hadn’t been kind to him.

That man had been good, altruistic. He, like so many others, had lost so much of themselves to the world.

“Any particular reason you’re starin’ at me like I’m the last piece of pie?”

You hummed a small laugh, more thoughtful than entertained.

“The world before…”

He held a hand up, stopping you before you could even start down that line of questioning.

“Whatever you think you know of the world before, you don’t.”

“I think you made a better cowboy hero than a cowboy villain,” you joked, a genuine chuckle sounding as he nearly tripped over his feet, shock on his face.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, darlin’?”

“Whatever you want it to, cowboy.”

The mischief in your eyes was rivaled only by the guilt. You’d never be able to let go of it, to not have it haunt you every moment of every day, but perhaps you could live with it.

Perhaps there was a future for you.

Not the kind of future Lucy wanted, with romance and children, but the kind of future you did- freedom and a person to share it with.

“Got jokes, do you?”

His smile was wry, not quite amused, but certainly interested.

“Just for you.”

He cut you a hard stare, one that saw far more than you wanted him to, and yet not enough. The relationship you’d built up was founded upon a mutual understanding of letting the past die, and yet you found yourself wanting to tell him everything.

Gazes locked together, longing mingling in the air, interrupted only by the sound of a growing melody. You snapped your head forward, surprised by the sudden appearance of an entire radio tower.

Perhaps Cooper had distracted you more than you cared to admit.

“Thaddeus,” Maximus called, drawing attention to your group.

Maze held back, sticking close by your side as you approached the tower. As unsuspecting as it looked at a distance, it grew more ominous up close. Bodies and debris littered the ground, blood speckled in the warm sand.

You frowned.

Death, in this world, was nearly constant. You’d never seen the uglier side of it before coming to Earth. Even knowing the eternal resting place for these souls didn’t make it any easier to see them strung up and displayed this way.

The brutality of man hurt almost as much as the abandonment of your own family.

“Maximus?” The man, Thaddeus, you assumed, approached with a look of surprise. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Just give us the head,” Max bargained.

The mention of an ‘us’ seemed to garner a response. The squire finally looked at the group, a cursory glance to each of you.

When he saw you, a smile tugged at his lips. He blinked once, then twice.

“Hi,” he greeted, solely focused on you.

You sucked a breath in, not missing the clench of Cooper’s jaw.

“Hey,” you replied kindly, taking a step towards him. “Thaddeus, was it?”

“Oh fuck,” he rubbed his empty hand against his pants nervously. “I ain’t ever seen someone as pretty as you.”

You breathed out a laugh, holding both hands out in front of you as you approached.

“Flirting is definitely not a part of the Brotherhood’s curriculum, huh?” Lucy mused.

“We really need that head,” you told him cautiously, slowly, ignoring the vault dwellers' merriment.

His eyes were wide, following your every move with something a little too close to reverence for your liking. The divinity that ran through your veins certainly made you more appealing, but the look he was giving you was a bit deeper than that.

A bit hungrier.

“It’s too late,” he responded, and as if on queue, the distant sound of spinning blades cut through the air.

“It’s not,” you argued, another step as you very carefully maneuvered around a trap. “Bring it here and we can leave together, before they land. But we have to go. Now.”

For a brief second, you didn’t think he’d follow. His eyes flicked up to the sky, where the Brotherhood would be any minute, and then back down to you.

Then, he took a step.

A cry rang out in alarm, torn from your throat as you jumped forward, trying to push him out of the path of a well-placed arrow. It didn’t matter, though. You were too late, pinning his body to the ground after he’d already been wounded.

Guilt gnawed at your stomach as you gazed down at him, wide eyes staring right back up at you. He’d been struck in the neck, a fatal wound by all accounts.

“Are we having sex?”

You tilted your head to the side, confusion bubbling around you. He definitely wasn’t dying, if the appendage pressing insistently into your thigh was any indication.

“You’re not dead?”

It was a question, one echoed by Maximus somewhere behind you.

“He’s gonna be,” Cooper growled, his voice hardly registering in your confusion.

“Just, sit still.” You ordered, reaching a hand towards his neck.

The arrow went clean through one side, remaining embedded into the throat. How he was alive was a mystery for another day, your current concern revolving around removing his new necklace.

You grabbed one end of it, tingles splintering up your arm, that ancient warning rearing it’s ugly head.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You grit your teeth, tugging as his hands came to rest on your hips. You’d wanted to comment on it, to tell him to take his hands off you, but Cooper beat you to it.

“Keep those hands there and you’re losin’ them.”

It was a vicious threat, spoken from his chest with anger, the hammer of his gun clicking for emphasis.

A pounding started in your head, a chant repeating itself.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You wanted to shout in frustration, the tremors working their way through your entire body. They came to a crashing halt the second the arrow was through, the wound healing on its own only seconds later.

You slumped forward, catching yourself with your hands on either side of Thaddeus. The man beneath you noticed, the sound of a bullet echoing through the air when he reached a hand up, almost grazing the side of your face.

“Watch those hands.”

It was a final warning, the patience of the ghoul gone.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

His voice was dazed, staring at you with awe. It made you fidget uncomfortably before you rolled off him, leaving the space Cooper needed to stand above him.

Rage burned in his eyes as he pointed his pistol at the young man.

“Coop,” you warned, stepping in front of him.

Your warning meant very little to him at the moment. Murder was in his eyes, the kind that promised to see it through to the end.

The sky grew louder, the Brotherhood closing in on your position faster than you’d like.

“We don’t have the time for this.”

Reason seemed to win out for the moment, the need to survive beating back the need to prove a point. He holstered his gun, a withering glare pointed at Thaddeus.

You paid it no mind, jumping into action before any more ground was lost. You tossed the head to Lucy, shuddering at the lifeless object. It was gory, unnecessarily so, and holding it felt unnatural.

“Get out of here,” you yelled to the others, finding your footing relatively quickly.

Cooper was close by, following your every footstep. Thaddeus, however, decided to take his own route. It was probably for the best, lest Cooper ever see him ogling you again. Maze, initially unsure of where to go, obeyed your queue, running alongside Coop.

You’d only made it a hundred feet or so before you realized Lucy and Max were not with you. Your abrupt stop was interrupted, the ghoul tugging the back of your jumpsuit before you could even try to turn around.

You caught a quick glimpse. A passionate kiss was exchanged, and a sorrowful goodbye. The moment wasn’t for you to witness.

Before long, Lucy caught up to your little group again.

She didn’t bother to greet you, her hand gripping the head for dear life. It was the only thing she’d managed to salvage from the radio tower.

It was clear Max’s departure bothered her deeply, but you knew some wounds couldn’t heal with anything but time.

Maybe one day they would find one another again.

Until then, you’d look out for her, make sure she was able to grow on her own terms.

God only knew she’d need it in the upcoming future.

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard insert #fallout x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout reader insert #the ghoul imagine #cooper howard imagine #i love this #fallout

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snippychicke · 8 months

Text

Legend of the Selkie and the Pirate

Am I a dumbass for starting another story? Yes. Do I care? No.

This will be a bit like Cats & Ships where we switch POV, but also inspired by prompts I found in an old document.

Fandom: One Piece (LA mainly)

Rating: Teen/mature (we have non-graphic nudity stated)

Part one of ?

Pairing: Buggy/Selkie!Reader

Warnings: Violence, hinted attempts at sexual assult by background characters. Followed by... more violence.

The seal I personally imagine is the leopard seal, but I try to be nondescriptive so you can have your own ideas.

Summary: Even in a world of monsters, devil fruits, pirates, and fishmen, selkies were considered a myth. Especially in the East Blue where the waters were too warm for seals to live anyways.

Except that myths were always seeded with truths, and stories always had a habit of coming to life.

Alternate Summary: You thought it would be easy to follow the stars home to the Arctic when you ended up far too south. Unfortunately, you were wrong.

Fortunately, another kind of star kept pulling you in-- the Flashy Fool: Buggy the Clown.

Unfortunately, this also leads you to question where 'home' really is.

(Meanwhile, Buggy is likewise conflicted. He handles it poorly.)

Ao3 | masterpost

Prompt: Dreams/Nightmares

For Buggy, he swore it was a dream the first time he met you. It was some nameless town whose populace proved less than thrilled by their not so free entertainment. Even though his freaks had put on an extremely flashy show, the townspeople had barely clapped.

Watching the waves lap at the rocky beach under the full moon, dreaming of the treasure lost beneath (that he would never be able to reach) was still one of his favorite ways to unwind after a long day. Even if the sea hated him, he was still in love with it.

Yet that night something else broke the waves other than rocks or a boat.

A seal.

That instantly caught his attention. He hadn't seen a seal this far in the East Blue, and only had vague recollections of seeing them when serving with Gol D. Rodgers’ crew in the colder waters of the poles.

Yet before he could ponder that oddity for long, things became weirder as the seal shifted, its skin becoming nothing more than a cloak over a woman's shoulders.

A very curvy, naked, woman.

His eyes widened in surprise as she looked up at the stars, a frown on her face and apparently unaware that she had company on the small beach.

Well, he had to fix that, didn't he?

~*~

For you, that night was a living nightmare.

You gazed up at the stars, comparing them to the map you had (somewhat) memorized of the stars back home.

You… were lost. You were very lost.

"Mother Sea," you swore, rubbing your face as you tried to think. If the North Star was there, then you were… to the southwest? Or southeast?

Well, too south either way.

(What if that wasn’t even the north star?)

"And what do we have here?"

You froze at the unfamiliar voice, pulling your seal-skin closer as you turned. You had been warned about land-kind (humans and fishmen both) stealing one's furs right off one's back and using it as blackmail for all sorts of things.

This one was human, you decided, judging by the tall thin form walking out of the shadows. (How did they survive without any meat on their bones to keep them warm?) Though you hadn't seen a human with a bright red nose like that… or strange markings on their face…

Then again, you hadn't seen many humans this close either. Usually it was as a seal, and they were washed out by the bright light of the sun.

You bared your teeth at him in a snarl as he walked closer, causing you to inch closer to the sea. "Back, human! Or I'll bite your hand off."

Oddly, the human smiled, apparently amused by your words. With a flourish, he snapped his wrist and the rest of the hand came flying towards you, making you scramble backwards with a startled yelp.

"Already off, sweetheart," he laughed as he booped your nose. "So let's try again. Who, and what, are you?"

You didn't think, not when waves washed over your feet beckoning you home. (To safety, at least. These waters were too warm to be home.) You turned and melded back with your furs, ignoring the sharp yell behind you as you splashed into the waters.

Prompt: Avarice

Buggy was a greedy man, he could fully admit to that. Greedy for wealth, fame, power. Just like every other pirate, really.

"You collect freaks, right?" The man pleaded as Ritchie dropped him at the pirate captain's feet. "I-I have a freak for you!"

Despite the smile on his face, Buggy felt something twist unpleasantly in his stomach (or maybe something hadn't connected just right?). "You want to trade another's life for your own?"

His freaks weren't slaves. Sure, he was their captain and they obeyed them, but it was voluntary… mostly. Usually.

They could leave any time was the point.

And implying anything else already had condemned the man’s life. But then he led him back to the small merchant ship and pulled the so-called fream from the storage space from the hull of the tiny ship.

Chains bound your wrists, your mouth gagged with a strip of fabric. Dressed in nothing but a literal sackcloth.

But Buggy was enticed by those dark wide eyes. So full of rage. It took a moment, but the clown-pirate recognized you from that moonlit cove just a few nights before. The mottled skin, oddly-sharp teeth. Those squishable curves.

"--A real life selkie,” the merchant continued. “Her coat’s on another ship, just to make sure she didn't grab it. But--"

His words were cut off as Buggy grabbed his throat despite the space between them. "I accept,” Buggy grinned as he looked at the merchant. “Her life for yours. Except she gets to keep hers. You don't. Not unless you can swim."

Buggy's hand carried him a few yards over the open ocean before dropping him, causing the pirate crew to laugh as the man struggled in the water. Meanwhile, the clown-pirate looked back at the woman, easily seeing the tell-tale signs of fear despite the attempts to cover it with anger.

Selkie? At first he wanted to scoff: those things were a myth. He remembered listening to the other pirates of his youth tell stories of beings that lived in towards the poles and looked like seals, but could shed their skin and become human.

Which is exactly what he had seen that night. And after all, the Chop-Chop Fruit was supposedly a myth too.

He stepped closer, carefully studying the odd mottling of your skin, your just-a-bit-too-wide eyes, and the sharp teeth trying to gnaw through your binding.

"If you bite, I get to bite back," he jested with a grin before undoing the gag, wondering if you even remembered him from the beach.

He half expected you to snap or spit considering the expression on your face, but you did neither as you adjusted to no longer having the cloth in your mouth. "Water?" You asked after a moment, your voice sounding like someone who had screamed themself hoarse. "Please?"

His grin softened slightly, becoming just slightly less manic. “Well, since you used the magic word.”

Prompt: Difference

Not having your furs made you… jumpy. It was like a piece of you was missing, which did not make your odd situation any better. You weren't one that typically socialized with those of the land. So being stuck on a ship with a motley pirate crew was certainly an… experience.

Not a bad one per say, you actually were enjoying learning so much about their culture as you did small tasks about the ship to help out (your title was apparently chore-girl, or so it seemed). Most of the pirates were friendly enough, either asking questions or just ignoring you.

A few you had to show that you were not as defenseless as you looked when they cornered you looking for 'special favors,' having heard ridiculous rumors about your kind.

That, and apparently some human saw a naked person and presumed they were interested in sexual intercourse.

Cabaji had been kind enough to provide you with more 'appropriate clothes' after that. Leading you away while their Captain reminded the idiots of their manners. (Granted, the fact the hand you had bit off was not going to return was probably punishment enough.)

It was easy to tell their captain, Buggy, was… different. For one, he could detach his body parts and send them flying as if a puppet on a string. (Devil fruit, some old memory in your mind spoke. Forsaken by mother sea and cursed by the Sea Devil himself. But you pushed such childish stories away.)

But just the way he acted. Talked. It was different and had caught your attention in more ways than one. He may have been as thin as a piece of kelp, but he proved to be far stronger than he appeared.

(Okay, you would admit it. He was handsome and charming. For a human.)

You tried to convince yourself that all you cared about was the agreement you had reached after they had rescued you from the merchant ship: "We get your fur back, you do a little diving for us for some sunken treasure. It's a win-win."

But even if you were able to find you fur like they promised, you were still so very lost. And unlike the others, the crew was welcoming. Buggy was welcoming.

Not like the men who had caught you unaware while you had been trying to cool down from the hot tropical sun.

You gazed up at the night sky, trying so hard to find something familiar and failing. You hoped it was just the bright moon and clouds partially obscuring the night.

"Starting to think you’re a night owl." There was the tap on your shoulder, yet all that met you was a waving gloved hand that booped your nose before pointing to your other side.

Buggy had his usual grin on his painted face (another human thing you were slowly getting used to) as he raised the arm missing its hand. It was so odd to see it return to its proper place and loom as if it had never left. "I heard Mohji had you bathe and groom Ritchie, so I would figure you'd be exhausted after that disaster."

You shrugged your shoulders. Trying to wash the lion had been fun, considering the cat hated the water. And afterwards, all Ritchie wanted to do was play as you tried to comb out his fur. And yet… "It's… hard to sleep." So many thoughts and worries constantly running through your head. Missing the heavy warmth of your fur.

Missing being able to just swim to help relax. You knew humans swam, but how was a mystery to you.

Buggy nodded as if he understood while he leaned against the rail of the ship, looking out over the waters. And you'd be a liar if you didn't take an extra minute to appreciate his form; long legs crossed, that thin lean body stretched out and muscular forearms braced against the wood.

"I can help tire you out, if you want," he offered as he caught you staring, his grin wide as could be, punctuating his words with a wink.

You had a feeling that it was a joke--as most things were with him-- though you didn't quite get the punchline. You tilted your head curiously, mimicking his pose as you waited for him to elaborate.

Only his smile faded once he realized his joke didn't land quite right. "Geez, give a man a beautiful gal and she's as innocent as a lamb," he muttered under his breath.

"It's not my fault your humor is… different," you defended. "I'd like to see how you do if you were around my kind."

"Can't swim," he grinned yet again, but one of those smiles that didn't feel sincere. It was a kind that reminded you of a threat, though you had never felt anything akin to fear when around him. "Pretty sure I'd end up as fish food." He paused before tilting his head thoughtfully. "Selkie food?"

You shouldered him playfully before snapping your teeth at him. "Yes. Because our favorite food is pirates. Especially those with big red noses."

His demeanor changed quickly, which you did not anticipate. His usual smile was gone, replaced by a dark look that seemed unnatural on his face. "I'll give you this time just because you're you, but no nose jokes." He growled threateningly, making you instinctively back up.

"I-okay?" You offered placatingly. "I'm sorry? I don't understand, but I won't say anything more, promise." The last thing you needed was him upset and throwing you overboard without your fur.

Nevermind the fact you didn't want to upset him even if you could swim.

He glanced over you for a moment before his expression switched again, and he was soon ruffling your hair. "Relax doll. It's just a tender subject."

You nodded silently, slowly relaxing but still on edge as well. You had seen his tempers, and don't particularly want that directed at you. "... for what it's worth, I think it's perfectly fine." You couldn't help but state, looking back at the inky black waters.

Buggy huffed dryly. "You thought Mohji's little bear ears were real, so forgive me if I don't use you as a reference on what looks 'perfectly fine.'"

You blushed as you sunk lower against the rail. "How was I supposed to know?" You had been so confused to see him with his hair flattened by the sudden rainstorm a few days prior. Which had been a riot to the rest of the crew, apparently.

"Damn it,” Buggy swore under his breath. “You're lucky you're just...adorable." There was a hand at your opposite hip that suddenly pulled you into Buggy's side, his arm already waiting to wrap around your waist. "I could just eat you up."

You squealed as he nipped at your ear playfully, continuing the little joke between you. Yes, you threatened to bite him that first meeting, but it… was also a way your kind established and kept bonds between friends. Family.

Mates.

Not that he would know that. It was just a game to him. And you would happily keep it that way.

Prompt: Child

Buggy had to admit, despite the fact you were obviously a fully grown woman, there were times it was hard to see you as anything more than a child.

Especially those wide eyes of yours opened in wonder as you marveled over such simple things like electricity or Cabji's unicycle. Granted, it did wonders for the egos of him and his freaks to have such a beautiful gal clap enthusiastically during training, complete with delighted laughter that needed no prompting.

Okay, it was very intoxicating the way you watched. Like he was the most amazing thing you had seen. Forget the spotlight, he wanted the light in your eyes to always remain on him. He wanted to hear you laugh. He wanted to see your smile.

He wanted all of it.

(God it was so hard not flirting with you. He was a pirate, but he did have his own code of somewhat-honor. And you were thoroughly making him want to rip it to shreds because of the mix signals you sent.)

And then came the times where it was clear that while you had a child-like wonder, you were far from defenseless. Those teeth weren't just for show as you proved when an idiot tried to cop a feel.

You weren't kidding that night when you threatened to bite his hand off. He wasn't even sure how you managed to bite the man's hand clean off, but you did. By the time he arrived to the startled gathering crowd, blood smeared your face like a mockery of his own makeup and the ex-crewman was wailing as he held a stump of his hand.

The crewman shortly went overboard while level-headed Cabji found you some less provocative clothing. And he warned the rest of the crew that if anyone tried that again, he'd let you do as you please.

Even if it was ripping out their throat.

At the time the thought was a bit of an exaggeration. Especially as weeks past and he got to know you better. Your violent side was forgotten even as you'd smile and playfully nip at him with those sharp teeth. You were you, after all. Innocent as a lamb…

And then they finally hunted down the fisherman who had your fur.

Even Ritchie shirked back as you took your revenge, and Buggy was both disturbed and uncomfortably aroused. He hadn't realized how sharp your nails were. How quick you were on land. How vicious you were.

There was no mercy. And by the time you had your dark silvery fur wrapped around your shoulders like a cozy blanket, most of your body was painted red with the blood of your victims.

"Join my circus," he offered as soon as your eyes landed on him. If only to stop him from begging you for something else as he stepped forward over the tattered remains of those who had wronged you, his arms spread as wide as his grin. "Join my crew." (Be with me forever. Stay by my side. Don’t leave me.)

And for a moment, he thought you would take his offer, as you turned towards him, hand partially raised to take one of his. He already had planned that as soon as you touched him, he'd pull you into a hug. To hear you squeal with surprise and laughter. He looked forward to feeling those full curves pressed against his body, the soft warmth radiating from you.

His crew would be even flashier with a selkie. Such a beautiful deadly creature. Being. Person. He didn't even care what roll you took on, you would be amazing. You brought a new spark of life to his crew, and he needed it to stay.

But your hand dropped along with your expression as you stepped away from him. That light in your eyes shifted as you looked away, pulling your fur close to your body. "We had a deal. I'll gather treasure from the seafloor for you, but then I-I should go home."

It was like you had ripped his heart out, and he couldn't will it back into his body. He lowered his arms, though he didn't dare let his smile fall.

No one could know how disappointed he was. Or the fact you had just completely devastated him. "Right. Back to your little selkie pals, even though I haven't seen a single one of them trying to help you. Not like we have. We take care of our own, we'd take care of you."

Okay, maybe a little of his anger seeped out, judging how you shied away. "I'm lost,” you tried to defend. “They don't know where I am, or what happened."

It didn’t settle well with him. Because if you were his, he'd scout the whole four seas for you. Fuck a map, he'd go to the Grand Line blind to look for you. Raid the entire Red Line.

But you weren't. And you would never be.

Because his crew weren’t prisoners. “Okay then, doll face. A deal’s a deal, and it’s time to uphold your end.”

Prompt: Running Away

How could someone look the absolute same, yet act so differently?

Tension filled the air when you returned to the ship. Even though you had your fur and should feel complete, you felt… wrong as Buggy all but ignored you, snapping at the crew to take the ship to wherever you would finish your end of the deal.

Was he that mad that you turned down his offer?

But… you didn't belong here. Not just aboard the ship, surrounded by landkind. But in their whole society. You kept messing up, you were the odd one out. You couldn't contribute any to their circus acts.

Besides, they had seen you overreact to knowing you had found the ones who had stolen your fur. Even after washing yourself as good as you could with a cloth and basin full of water, scrubbing until your skin felt raw, you still could smell the coppery tinge of blood. Taste in your mouth. Remember the feeling of pure bloodlust and rage.

If the crew had tried to interfere, you would have hurt them.

You didn't know if Buggy could recall a limb that had been torn asunder.

Buggy avoided you as the ship tore across the open sea. Before, he would find you several times throughout the day, dragging you to show you something. Or venting about something or another. Or just… teasing you in his own Buggy fashion.

Now it felt like he avoided you.

The crew as well, who would give you looks but usually just left you alone.

You… missed it. How it used to be.

But it was proof you didn't belong. Right?

Finally, after days of awkward silence, you came upon a piece of ocean marked by rocks and shipwrecks. Masts and dark stone raised above the deep blew, rubble crashing upon both as the waves turned wicked.

Finally, Buggy appeared, though avoided looking at you directly, and instead stared at the harsh ocean. "Deadman’s Stacks. Pirates have been trying to use it to escape marines for centuries, often with little luck. Only the best can navigate through the rocky outcropping and the wreckage. And rumor has it, it is a treasure trove beneath the waves."

Cabaji held a bag out to you, "Fill this with whatever you can find, and a deal's a deal."

You took the large rucksack, studying it and making a mental note of how to carry it when in seal form, before glancing at Buggy.

Who was still not looking at you. He used to always catch your gaze with his, and you loved the spark in his dark blue eyes. They were like the tropic seas you had begun to enjoy. Vibrant, warm, playful with a hint of treachery.

Yet now they were as hard and cold as the waters of your home.

You shoved the thoughts and emotions hounding you and quickly stripped the borrowed clothes, feeling the ocean spray briefly as you wrapped your fur around your shoulder.

And jumped overboard.

You heard the start of gasps behind you before you broke the surface of the water, the seal skin furs melting into your body as you changed, senses adjusting to being underwater.

The damage above was nothing compared to below. You couldn't even see the sea floor through the wrecked boats, though the sea life had adjusted and seemed to thrive in the land-kind's ships.

With the strap of the rucksack bitten between your teeth, you dove and searched. Finding the bits and bobbles that the pirates seemed to love and carefully placing them in the bag. Which was hard to do without hands, but you managed.

Time was a foreign concept to you below the ocean,but eventually the rucksack was as full as could be without spilling and you returned to the surface.

To your seal-eyes, everything was overly bright and hazy, but you could make out the large ship at least, swimming toward it. You could hear the crew once they saw you, whooping and hollering in excitement as you drew closer.

You… never thought how you were going to get up.

Just as you realized this, hands gripped your sides just behind your flippers and hiked you up into the air. You bit the strap of the bag in both fear and to keep it from falling as you were lifted up to the deck of the ship.

Into Buggy's arms. You could make out the red of his nose and blue of his hair amongst the bright light, his mouth spread into a grin.

Yet before you could do anything, he had set you down on the wooden deck and gently pried your rucksack from your mouth. Even with your poor senses, you could see and hear them clamoring over the treasures you had brought up.

You had done your end of the bargain. Now it was time to leave. Part of your heart wanted to stay, and threw a fit as you forced your body to wiggle towards the edge.

You heard Buggy call out for you just as you threw yourself overboards, freefalling into the waters below.

#one piece #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #buggy x reader

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givemeonereason · 6 months

Text

Meditations: First Meeting

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Rating: cotton candy

Dragon Ball Masterlist Givemeonereason Masterlist

Plot: Can a green alien teach you to meditate? Or better yet, shut your mouth?

A/n: okay, okay, okay OKAY! Hear me out…I don’t see a lot of love for this green guy. I actually adore him as a character. He really grew on me while watching DB. I think he needs a little love and appreciation.

I think it has to do with the fact he doesn’t look like a regular human, and honestly I get it. But he could get it. And he should.

I will keep writing for him because Piccolo has such great fic potential that no one is utilizing.

Your lesson: we can’t judge books by their cover. It could just be the best book you’ve ever read ;) and that particular book might just be tall, handsome and green. You never know.

╒══════════════════════╕

Meditation.

This wasn’t something that you were particularly skilled at.

You tried a few times to do a guided meditation with that popular app that was complimentary thanks to your company on your lunch breaks. After several attempts you just gave up. The cricket sounds were relaxing though.

Such poise.

He sat on the hillside every day crosslegged, eyes closed, faced out towards the valley.

What exactly he was thinking about you could not have guessed.

Even if someone paid you one million Zeni to guess, you still wouldn’t have got it right.

He just seems so peaceful, his cape flowing in the light breeze.

Probably one of those basement rats who work on software towers. You thought to yourself. Makes sense he would try and catch some sun during his break.

“Umm, excuse me?”

Your hands nervously fiddled with the hem of your shirt. You’ve heard the rumors about the people downstairs, however you were curious. And walking up the hill to speak to him had your nerves all over the place.

“Hmm?” It was if he broke out of trance.

The man looked over his shoulder in your direction, putting his feet back down upon the grass when he saw you standing several feet away.

It was easier now to take in his full form. He was large and green. Such an odd appearance, you think. Nothing like anything you’ve seen before.

No sunlight…

It was a lot to take in at once. Your eyes glanced over him. You didn’t imagine he’d be this tall. He practically towered over you.

He blinked a few times before you spoke up. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I was just…” You voice trailed off as well as your courage. You turned on a heel to walk down the hillside you treaded up.

“Is there something you need?” His strong voice stopped you in your tracks. Of course, a voice that strong, and that deep would come from someone like him. It should almost be expected due to his size. But the tone alone was comforting to an extent. It didn’t enact fear in you.

You turn back around to look at him once more. Trying to find something to actually say that has real meaning. “I, uhh, see you from my window most days and I just wanted to know what you’re looking at?”

He looked down into the valley below. The blue of the nearby lake shined under the hot sun. Trees blowing in the humid summer breeze. “I wasn’t looking at anything.”

“No?” it seems your courage finds its metal and you walk up beside him, looking down into the same valley. “This is a very beautiful view, though. I would’ve never come up here, save for my curiosity.”

You backed away from the edge, remembering that you have a fear of heights. “Again, I’m very sorry that I bothered you. I just…”

There you go again.

He takes a seat on the ground near where he was before, crossing his arms against his chest. “I was only meditating. You are welcome to join me if you wish.”

Unmoving from where you stood and just above a whisper, “I don’t think I know how. I tried with the company sponsored app and it’s just too much.”

You heard him take a breath in. It was long and deep, and filled his chest.

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about. However, take a seat here.” He pointed to a patch of grass near him. You obliged sitting down on the spot he designated.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted down towards the ground, relaxing.

“It’s your decision now if you wish to think or not.”

You looked over at him, his form unchanged. “Think of what?”

“That is what you must choose.”

“Do you work for my company? I don’t think I’ve seen you in the building before. I only see you on this hill.”

“I do not work for anyone.”

Your hands relax in your lap. “Oh, so you’re a freelancer then. You might make some good money, but no benefits is shit.”

“You are making little sense now. Clear you mind. Or keep your thoughts to yourself.”

You sat quietly for sever moments. You were watching him, taking in the strange details of his silhouette.

But you broke the silence again.

“Are you Yoda?”

“I’m Piccolo.”

“Is that your ‘Yoda’ name? Your like Yoda, but your name is Piccolo….Piccolo like the instrument.”

He took another breath this time it resembled more of a deep grown. His brow is furrowed with confusion and almost frustration at this point. His hand are gesticulating when he raises his voice. “I do not understand what you’re saying.”

What should have frightened you made you smile cheerfully. There is nothing you love more than to talk about one of your favorite things, Star Wars.

“Okay, so there’s this movie called Star Wars and there is a character in that movie called Yoda. Yoda is a small green character and he has pointy ears.” You looked over at him pointing, “Oh, yeah, kind of exactly like your ears.”

You look back out at the scenery, shoulders, relaxing, and the tone of your voice, so joyful. “And he talks so formal and it’s almost as if he speaks in riddles. You kind of remind me of him, though you’re not small like Yoda.”

Again, you look to him. But his eyes are open and he’s staring into the air blinking blankly. You went silent, then. Fear of irritating him once more. Your eyes darting between him and your fingers in your lap. “I’m sorry…I…listen, I have never met anyone like you. I can only compare you to what I think I know. However, I know that’s only fiction. I don’t mean to be rude or a burden.”

He’s floating several inches off the ground, his eyes closed.

You turn sitting on your calves now. “Piccolo, what are you exactly?”

“A Yoda,” he said very serious, his tone almost booming.

Your obvious confusion broke him as he began to chuckle.

“I am an Namekian.”

“A Na-mek-ian,” you said repeating the title, annunciating the syllables. “So you’re an alien.”

“Yes.”

“Yes? Well, I guess I kind of figured you are green and everything.”

That made him turn to look at you. But you looked right back at him matter-of-factly.

“It is kind of odd, you know, the whole green skin. What are these rigid parts on your arms?”

That confused look painted his face again. “My skin?”

“Yeah, these parts.” You touched the and quickly retracting your hand. It was soft like your own skin. For some reason you imagined it’d be sticky or at least moist. “I did not expect it to feel like that.” You squinted your eyes looking at his arm again. “It’s like you have a worm in there.”

“A worm?” It sounded like a question, yes, but it was really just a confused statement at best.

“It’s like the ridges that a worm has….”

He’s not even listening, his thumb and forefinger pressed again the bridge of his nose.

Shit.

I’m talking to much again.

“I’m sorry…”

You waited for his harsh tone to sting your ears again.

But it only came out in a calm, collected way.

“Perhaps, that is enough for today.” He put his feet on the ground. He faced away from you. “Farewell miss.”

That’s when he blasted off from the hillside into the air.

Only Superman can do that. Maybe only Clark and Namekians?

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking.

Gosh, if Yoda could have done that then the entire plot of films would be different.

What if Yoda could fly, and we just didn’t know it.

Shut up!

You just spoke with a green alien, named Piccolo, who can fly.

A green alien.

Named Piccolo….like the instrument.

Who. Can. Fly.

╘══════════════════════╛

Don’t steal other people’s works! Respect creators!

Reblogs and likes appreciated :)

#dragon ball z piccolo #piccolo x reader #piccolo and you #cotton candy fic #dragon ball z #dragon ball super #fanfic #slug man #green king

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dangermousie · 9 months

Text

The Killing Vote - all these excellent dramas are killing my free time

Full disclosure - I rarely like police/killer/etc dramas (or narratives in any medium) and only checked out The Killing Vote because of my utterly irrational and unhinged thing for Park Hae Jin. We are all anonymous here so I can admit that when he first showed up on the screen I literally exclaimed "oh, fuck me!" in Pavlovian delight. The man just does it for me, OK?

(That's not his first moment but I like this cap.)

However, to my pleasant surprise, as I expected to be forwarding for a few glimpses of PHJ, I really really REALLY like the dark and unhinged the first episode.

The set-up is fairly simple, a little like Devil Judge Only Not Legal. Basically some mysterious dude sends "questions" to all citizens of Korea to vote on whether some criminal who escaped sufficient punishment should die or not; if majority votes yes, he kills them. The government is in uproar and forms a team to track the man down. Park Hae Jin's character is the leader of the team (about him more later.)

OK, why do I love it? It's a very dark show - I don't mean just visually (so many scenes take place at night) but narratively - the place is portrayed as a cesspit of humanity and nothing is clear cut. In fact, the drama very interestingly (it remains to be determined if they will develop it properly) posits of how much everyone is on continuum of vigilantism and what is acceptable. For example, our protagonist, the cop played by PHJ is, while clearly not a murderer, is hella unhinged.

He himself is a vigilante with a badge, which can be a very dangerous thing (we don't know why he is so relentlessly driven but if I were a betting person, I'd bet that scene in the prologue, where he had to arrest a man who killed his daughter's killer because said killer walked is one of his goads.)

Honestly, one of the big draws to me is just how utterly unhinged he is. He really has no stops. Look at him with the human trafficker:

And then he makes sure the camera won't catch it and bangs his own head on the table a few times as hard as he can until it bleeds. !!!!!!!

He has no stops and you begin to wonder if it's really a difference merely in degree of extreme between him and the killer he is supposed to catch. You can tell a large part of him sympathizes.

The matter of fact his assistant says as he's bandaging up PHJ's face after that little stunt says volumes.

One of the reasons I love PHJ is his unnerving intense vibe on screen - he can play someone where you don't know if they will be loving or they are secretly a serial killer, and do so incredibly convincingly. (The first drama I've seen him in was East of Eden, a sprawling epic of nurture versus nature, where he was the swapped at birth bio son of a noble worker brought up by evil businessman and he was magnetic and repulsive all at once - his "father" was so unhappy about him having genuine feeling for the girl he was obsessed with since childhood, he paid someone to drug and force him into sex and later sonny turned around and raped the girl he was obsessed with since childhood because monsters and abuse beget monsters and abuse. Childhood friends to rapist and victim is quite an arc. The drama tried to later redeem him with mixed success - it was a vvvvvv long drama - whether it worked out is something up to each viewer to decide - I - am biased by his hotness in the safe confines of fiction - but he was a truly fascinating character to watch.) The whole episode he is so on edge; you can see it burn in him when he has to protect the scumbag who got early release despite being a rapist, abuser etc etc and a part of him definitely sympathizes with the killer who eventually does the man in. His no holds barred character appears to be why despite his insane success rate he's not promoted and disliked by higher ups. He and cyber whistleblower cop girl both appear to be not good at fitting in.

This is not a drama that is likely to have any romance (alas) but I actually do like the vibe between them - they are very very different but both pretty damn unhinged.

PS This bit from East of Eden is basically what crack is like:

Here is Park Hae Jin ripping open his shirt so as to make it easier for Han Ji Hye to stab him. Ahahahaha god I miss old kdramas and their insanity.

#kdrama #park hae jin #the killing vote #east of eden

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ghouligancentral · 2 years

Text

Watch and Learn

Aether x Reader x Rain Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Summary- To say Rain’s experience with humans is lacking would be an understatement. The combination of being summoned much later than the others and his shy nature make it so that Rain has little to no contact with any of the Siblings. So what will happen when Aether offers to show him what it is really like to be with a human.

Afab reader - like one they/them

A/N- AHHHH! It’s finally done! I’m currently working on a few more pieces, so keep your eyes peeled for those. Also thank you 🧝‍♀️ anon for sending me this prompt. I’ll take all the inspiration and prompts I can get. Also NSFW- you are responsible for your own content consumption.

More specific warnings: Aether has a daddy kink and you can't convince me otherwise

----------------------- --- Watch & Learn ----------------------------------

Rain watches as you giggle in response to something Aether had just whispered in your ear. To say Rain’s experience with humans is lacking would be an understatement. The combination of being summoned much later than the others and his shy nature make it so that Rain has little to no contact with any of the Siblings.

“Oh shoot! Is it already four? I gotta go,” you exclaim as you stand up off of the couch while gathering up your things.

“Bye Rain,” you say, offering him a little smile, causing the water ghoul to blush. After, you turn to the quintessence ghoul.

“Bye Aether,” you whisper as you lean down to give him a quick kiss.

“See you tonight, my love,” Aether hums. The large ghoul purrs in response to your affection as he watches you leave the room, shutting the door behind you. Aether lets out a pleased sigh before reaching for a magazine laying on the coffee table.

It wasn’t often that Rain found himself alone with Aether, so he knows that it is now or never. Rain can already feel a blush rising on his face before the words even come out of his mouth.

“Hey Aether, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” the quinessence ghoul responds as he flips the page of the magazine he is reading.

“So I… uh… I..” Rain trails off as he averts his gaze to the floor. The water ghoul’s hesitation catches Aether’s attention, he sits the magazine down and shifts so that his full attention is on Rain.

“Hey Rain,” Aether says, as attempts to catch Rain’s gaze,” you know you can ask me anything. I won’t judge.”

The water ghoul takes a deep breath before looking back at the other ghoul.

“What’s it like being with a human?”

Aether blinks a couple of times in response. Aether was expecting Rain to ask him about one of Dew’s strange habits or why Copia always does the ‘hip’ thing during Mummy Dust. But this certainly wasn’t a question he was expecting.

“I…I… what exactly do you mean? Like how we get along or…”

Aether lets his words trail off as he cocks his head at the water ghoul. Rain blushes even harder as he tries to find the words to ask.

“I mean we get along just fine. It’s just like any other relationship with a gho—”

“What’s the sex like?” Rain blurts out, interrupting Aether. Immediately after he utters the words he smacks his hand over his mouth, almost in disbelief that he could even form such a sentence. Aether blinks a couple of times as he takes a moment to process the question.

“You mean you’ve never,” Aether makes a subtle hand gesture to get his point across,” you’ve never? With a human?”

Rain averts his eyes and just shakes his head.

“Well it’s just like being with a ghoul I guess,” Aether utters as he rubs the back of his neck,” you just have to be more gentle.”

“Gentle?” Rain questions. In his short ghoul life Rain has only been with Dew and Cirrus, neither of which would be considered ‘gentle’ lovers.

“Hmm. It’d be easier if I showed you,” Aether explains. Rain’s eyes widen in surprise.

“You mean with [Y/N]? But they’re your mate and I thought you didn’t like to share.”

The larger ghoul just smiles at Rain’s words. Everything he had said was true, but for Rain, he is willing to make a one time exception to his ‘no sharing rule’. With the condition that you are okay with the idea, of course.

“I’ll show you on two conditions. Number one: no one, especially Dew, can know about this,” Aether explains. The last thing he wants is a certain fire ghoul sniffing around to see if he can get some as well.

“And two, you’ll do everything I say, exactly as I say it. Got it?”

“Yes!” Rain replies, nodding eagerly. His tail flicks excitedly beside him.

“Good. I’ll have to talk to [Y/N] about it, and if they are good with it then I’ll set a date and time,” Aether explains

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, while lying in bed with Aether, the large ghoul rolls onto his side to face you. You can feel his eyes watch as you turn the page of your mystery novel.

“What?” you giggle as you turn to face him. He makes a face at you to which you respond by wrinkling your nose and sticking out your tongue at him before turning back to your book. Your response causes the quintessence ghoul to let out a breathy laugh.

“I’ve got a question,” Aether chuckles.

“Okay, shoot.”

“How do you feel about Rain?”

“I like him, if that’s what you mean,” you responde, eyes still on your reading material. Aether places a hand on your thigh, drawing your attention away from the book. You cock your head at him before putting your book away for good.

“I mean, do you find him attractive?”

The serious tone in Aether’s voice causes you to sit up a little more before. Your brow creases in response. Sure you thought all of ghouls as attractive, but Aether was your partner and you were his mate, so you never really thought about the other ghouls in a sexual light. Where is he going with this? You remain silent as you process the question.

“He’s good looking, I guess. Why do you ask?”

“Well he just asked me what it was like being with a human,” Aether explains,” and I thought it would be easiest to show him.”

Your jaw drops at his admission. You are fully aware that the ghouls are often polyamourous and like to share partners, but what you and Aether had was strictly monogamous. In fact, Aether had been the one who wanted the relationship to be that way.

“So you want to bring Rain into our relationship?” you question. In all honesty, you have no problem with the idea of bringing another person, or in this case ghoul, into the relationship, but Aether had a strict ‘no sharing’ policy.

“Oh no! No! Nothing like that. This would strictly be a one time thing,” Aether quickly explains,” and only if you are okay with it.”

“Okay. What did you have in mind,” you smile, thinking that this could be fun. A wicked grin spreads across Aether’s face.

“Well I was thinking…….”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the quinessence ghoul seeks out Rain to let him know the plan. The moment Aether tells Rain that you are up for it, Rain is buzzing with excitement. However, with all of the excitement, came anxiety.

Ever since the water ghoul had met you, he had a crush on you. You were alway so kind to him and always made him feel welcome. He always respected the fact that you and Aether were together. Aether told Rain to meet him at your shared room that evening at 9:00 pm

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The water ghoul sits in a large, overstuffed wingback in the corner of the room as he watches the scene unfold before him. He can’t take his eyes off of you as he watches you writhe around in Aether’s arms.

“Oh! Fuck Daddy!” you whine as Aether’s fingers speed up. The arms wrapped around your chest just pull you tighter against the quintessence ghoul’s broad chest. Your eyes screw shut when he grazes a particularly sensitive spot. Aether lets out a pleased hum as he watches your toes curl in pleasure.

“That’s it babydoll,” Aether coos in your ear,” show Rainy how good you are.”

A moan emanates from both you and the water ghoul watching. Aether looks up from you to check in on Rain. Rain’s eyes are wide as he watches the way Aether toys with you. The quintessence ghoul knows exactly what to do to have you melting under him. Aether knows Rain is fighting the urge to touch himself, the water ghoul’s knuckles are white from how tightly he is clenching his fists. A hiss escapes the water ghoul as he shifts in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, the movement causes the rough fabric of his trousers to rub against his hard cock, making it even harder to fight the temptation to palm himself.

Aether’s attention is brought back to you when one of your hands makes its way to grip onto his meaty thigh. The large ghoul purrs and his tail flicks happily at the sight of you writhing in his arms. He can’t help but begin to rut his erect member against your lower back. When your breathing speeds up, he can tell you are nearing your peak. Aether positions his thumb so he can begin to rub delicate circles on your clit.

“Make me cum Daddy,” you beg. A smile spreads across Aether’s face as he looks into your pleading eyes. Even though it might seem like the quintessence ghoul is the one in control, you both know that’s not the case. All you have to do is say the word and Aether will give you anything your heart desires.

Aether presses his thumb down harder before he swipes it over your clit. You cum with a loud cry, toes curling, nails digging even deeper into his thigh. Aether lets out a groan as he feels your hips bucking against his hand.

“So good,” Aether praises as he works you through your orgasm,” you did so well for me.”

You remain wrapped in his arms as you attempt to catch your breath while Aether places light kisses against your temple. A content sigh slips from your lips as Aether shifts you onto your back.

The large ghoul positions himself over you and you instinctively spread your legs a little wider to accommodate him.

“Now here comes the fun part,” Aether growls, more for Rain’s benefit but you still giggle a little at his words. Aether flashes you a wide grin before positioning himself at your entrance, hoisting your legs over his shoulders in the process.

“Are you watching Rain?” Aether questions, not taking his eyes off of you. The only response he gets is a strangled moan from the water ghoul.

A groan escapes the quintessence ghoul as he slides into you. Once his hips meet the backs of your thighs, he stills. While some might say he does this to allow you to adjust to his size, the truth is that he knows he needs to take a moment so he doesn’t finish too early. Your arms wrap around his neck as you wiggle your hips to encourage him to move.

Aether starts with slow, deep thrusts. Each movement causes more pleasure to well up inside of you. You can feel the bed rocking underneath you as Aether’s hips continue to smack against your thighs.

“Aether,” you moan as your eyes screw shut. You can feel a thin lay of sweat beginning to form on your skin.

“That’s not my name babydoll. Come on, say my name, baby,” Aether pants as he increases the strength of his thrusts.

“Sorry Daddy,” you reply with a moan. Aether’s lips curl into a smile as he hears you utter those words. He brings up a hand to gently sweep a piece of hair out of your face before tucking it behind your ear.

“Good job babydoll,” Aether praises. While one of his hands cups your cheek, the other makes its way down to begin toying with your clit. Your eyes fly open as you gasp at the sensation.

Aether can’t help but chuckle a little at the reaction. The large ghoul lets out a moan when he feels your nails dig into the flesh of his back. The pain prompts him to speed up his thrusts.

“Daddy, I’m going to…” A moan interrupts your sentence.

“Cum for Daddy,” Aether instructs as he begins to rub your clit harder. You cum with a cry of his name. Waves of pleasure wash over your body as Aether continues to work through your orgasm. The way your tight heat clenches around him, brings the ghoul to his own high. Aether leans down and bites your neck as he cums. His moans are muffled by the placement of his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you pant in an attempt to catch your breath. Aether grumbles a little as he releases his jaw from your neck. He places soothing kisses to the sore skin before gently lowering your legs from his shoulders.

“You did so well,” Aether coos as he cups your cheeks. You offer him a smile in response. The both of you grunt as the large ghoul pulls out before placing another kiss on your lips. Aether gives you a wink and you know it’s time for part two of his plan.

"Alright, it's your time to shine," Aether grunts as he stands up off the bed.

"Wait? Really? Now?" Rain asks in a panicked tone. Aether just grins at the water ghoul as he slowly makes his way over to him.

"Go show Daddy what you learned baby," Aether purrs as he places a hand on Rain's jaw and turns his head so that it faces you. Before he can stop himself, Rain finds himself making his way over to you. Once he reaches the edge of the bed, he stops, his hesitation is clean.

“Hi,” Rain squeaks, blushing a little.

“Hello Rain,” you purr as you tuck one of his curls behind his ear,” come here.”

You gently pull the water ghoul onto the bed beside you before running a hand over his chest. The ghoul purrs at your touch and you can feel him relaxing. You start by unbuttoning his shirts before laying a hand on the buttons of his trousers.

“Is this okay?” you question before moving any further.

“Yeah,” Rain pants. You smile as you begin unfastening them. He lifts his hips just enough so that you can pull his trousers and pants down to his knees. HIs hard member drools precum and you are just dying to reach out and stroke him a couple of times, but that’s not what you and Aether had planned.

“I’m going to ride you. Is that okay Rain?”

“Yes! Yes please,” Rain exclaims. Excitement rushes through his veins as he watches you straddling his hips. The both of you let out a moan as you roll your hips against his, you wet pussy sliding over his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Rain whispers as he watches you move against him. His hands find their way to your waist.

"Pleas..please, please," Rain whines in a high pitched whimper, he isn't even sure of what he’s begging for. The motion of him gripping your hips a bit tighter before thrusting up into you. This has your nails digging into his chest, the arousal in your core growing even stronger. The sensation causes the water ghoul to bite down on his lip as he throws his head back.

“Oh fuck,” Rain gasps, “ oh fuck, please.”

Grasping Rain’s face, you lean down so that your foreheads rest against each other. You watch as Rain’s eyes roll back as you tilt your hips, allowing the water ghoul to slide in deeper.

"Please," he whines once more before burying his face in your collarbone.

You place your elbow on either side of the water ghoul’s head before propping yourself up and turning to look at Aether. His irises are blown as he watches the scene unfold in front of him, his erection indicating that he is raring to go once more. A cry escapes your lips when you feel Rain bite down on the skin of your collarbone.

"Daddy?"

Your question causes a deep growl to emanate from the quinessence ghoul.

"Yes baby?" Aether replies, his voice even deeper than it usually is. He leans forward so his forearms rest on his knees before clasping his hands in front of him.

"Daddy can…”

You are interrupted by the feeling of Rain’s fingers on your sensitive clit, roughly rubbing circles against you. You have to swallow a gasp before you are able to finish your question.

“Can we cum? Please Daddy," you moan as you feel your orgasm drawing nearer.

"Well, I don't know if you guys deserve it,” Aether muses,” you've completely forgotten about me over here."

"No! Please!"

"Please, Aether!"

You and Rain cry out in response.

"We haven't forgotten about you,” Rain whines as he lands another particularly hard thrust.

“Yes, we just wanted to put on a good show for you,” you continue as you give the quinessence ghoul your best doe eyes and pout. Aether chuckles a little before standing up to make his way over to the two of you.

"Please Daddy. We'll be good for you. I promise just please let us—"

Your words are cut off by a moan. Aether reaches out a hand to gently caress the side of your face.

"Ok babies. You’ve done a good job. You can cum," Aether states as he remains standing by the bed. A simultaneous gasp leaves both of you as you speed up your hips, matching the rhythm to which Rain is pounding into you.The water ghouls' pants increase with each thrust.

"I'm gonna cum,” Rain whimpers,” can I..can I..?”

“Use your words, baby,” Aether teases as he reaches a hand down to play with one of Rain’s sensitive nipples, making responding even more difficult for the ghoul. Aether’s other hand snakes down so that it can join Rain’s in rubbing little circles on your clit, the sensation making you groan. Rain can feel your slick as it leaks out onto his skin and he knows he won’t be able to last much longer.

“Can I cum in them?” Rain asks before letting out a whimper at the feeling of Aether’s hand on his chest.

"Yes, Rainy, you can cum inside, but first you have to show me what you learned," Aether instructs as he pulls his hands away from the both of you.

"Thank you Aet…Daddy... thank you so much,” the water ghoul pants.

With one last burst, Rain suddenly flips the both of you over so that he is in control. He pushes you onto your back, your legs coming to rest on his shoulder, his thrusts speeding up, hitting deeper and deeper inside you. The water ghoul’s fingers find their way back to your clit.

“Good job baby,” Aether praises as he pats the ghoul’s head,” make them cum.”

With a loud moan and a deep thrust, Rian has you cumming. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through your veins, causing your back to arch and toes to curl. Your hand comes up to grip the back of Rain’s head as he buries his face into your neck, tongue laving against your throat. The way your walls flutter around him, has the water ghoul cumming inside of you. His warm spend filling you as he continues to buck his hips into you.

With one last shudder, you turn your head, lips curling into a smile as you lock eyes with Aether. You reach a hand out for him.

He leans down, smoothing a hand over the top of your head pushing back any of the hair that had stuck to your sweaty face.

After placing a kiss on your forehead, Aether climbs in beside you and Rain.

“Now let's take care of you,” you giggle as you unwind yourself from the water ghoul. You push Aether down so that his back rests against the headboard. He cocks his head at you, a puzzled yet amused look plastered on his face. After winking at Rain, you settle yourself in between Aether’s legs. Rain nods in understanding before removing his shirt and trousers fully. You move over just a little to allow the water ghoul some space to join you in your current position between Aether’s thighs.

A rumbling growl escapes Aether as he realizes what is about to happen. As soon as you bring your mouth down to meet his hard member, he knows he won't be able to last long. You place a gentle kiss on his tip before running your tongue along the side. Aether closes his eyes and tosses his head back in pleasure as his nails dig into the sheets. Soon he feels another tongue join yours.

“Oh fuck,” Aether pants as he opens his eyes to see you and Rain worshiping his cock. One minute your tongue is tangled up with Rain’s and the next minute it is tracing over the head of Aether’s member. Your lips seal around the sensitive head and you begin to lightly suck as Rain continues to tongue the rest of Aether’s shaft.

You feel Aether’s member twitch and you know he is nearing his peak. You remove your lips from his head with a pop. Aether cums with a roar, warm burst of cum landing on your tongue and face.

Rain is the first to pull away. He sits back on his knees before pulling you over closer to him. As soon as you are close enough, he begins to clean your face off with his tongue. You giggle a little at the way the slick muscle feels against your skin. Once Rain determines that you are sufficiently cleaned, he leans back to admire his handy work. A crooked smile spreads across his face as his tail flicks happily behind him.

Aether leans up and pulls the both of you down to lay next to him. You intertwine your hand with your mate’s as you look into each other's eyes. The water ghoul moves so that he can press his body up against your back, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. Soon Rain’s hand comes to rest on top of yours and Aether’s.

A deep sigh leaves the both of you as you feel his warm skin press against yours. Aether gives you a small smile and raises his eyebrows at you and you give him a wink in return, knowing this wasn't gonna be the one time thing you guys had agreed upon before.

Oh this was only the beginning…

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N- Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. As always likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Feel free to send me any prompts or ideas that you might have. Also please know that if you send me a message anonymously I cannot reply to it privately so it will either be replied to via post or not at all. If you don’t want me to reply publicly just let me know and I will respect your wishes.

#the band ghost fic #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul x reader #aether ghoul #rain ghoul #rain x reader #aether ghoul x reader x rain

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asnowfern · 5 months

Text

Crimson Blade - Part Two

Summary: When Paris-based Feyre stops contacting their London home, Nesta engages private detective Cassian to investigate. The truth turned out to be much bloodier than she ever expected. ~~ OR a vampire Cassian and human Nesta Victorian love story

Rating: M, for vampire shenanigans

WC: 5.4k

Read on AO3 | Part One | Part Three

A/N: This chapter is a little overdue but I honestly had so much fun writing private detective Cassian! I hope you enjoy him as much as I did!

Nesta boards the first train out of Paris. She slides into the seat by the window, her frayed nerves begin to soothe in the gentle glow of sunrise. Her eyes shakily shutter close for the first time in over twenty four hours.

The train is slowing down at its destination by the next time she opens those stormy blue eyes. She rests her palms lightly against her cheeks, taking in the warmth on her skin from the summer sun. Her mind almost naturally deviates to the last time her cheeks flushed in that manner.

Teasing hazel eyes, infuriating smirk, and a large hand spanning her back that supported her with every dip and spin. Nesta shakes her head slightly. Even with the distance between them, she feels his presence imprinted on her every thought.

They linger enduringly and frustratingly like a weed as she journeys her way home. Clinging on desperately at the back of her mind as she settles into life back in England. At least with Elain still in the country estate, there is time for Nesta to breathe and consider her next steps.

The brief reprieve ends when she is once again struck by a familiar prickling sensation. It raises the hairs at the back of her neck and puts her on an edge. The muscle in her jaw tenses.

No. He does not get to do this.

The governess gets on with her day, tutoring the young Mandray twins. Even as the feeling persists, bothering her like a cockroach. Not moving, just… there. Her temper continues to fray with every passing hour, every passing day.

Does he not have anything better to do? She thinks angrily. Her hands tremble in frustration as she packs her bag, needing to leave before she loses her temper on the children.

“Miss Archeron?”

Nesta squeezes her eyes shut, her mind letting loose a line of profanity. When silver blue eyes turn on the elder Mandray, they are back to their usual impassive state.

“Mr Mandray,” she greets politely, her lips forming a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Please, call me Tomas,” he takes her hand, raising it to his mouth. He smiles wryly, “Mr Mandray is my father.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly,” she says demurely, “what an example I would be setting for the girls!”

A knot forms in her stomach as dark eyes pin her in place, assessing, judging. It is gone in the next breath, a gentlemanly smile gracing those aristocratic features once more. He winks playfully, “Well, it would just have to be our little secret.”

The knot tightens and yanks at her. Unsolicited attention from a man bolstered by his unearned privilege who does not seem to realise that not all girls fall to his feet, is troublesome. She forces herself not to grimace. Instead, Nesta lets her smile fall flat as she retracts her hand just a tad too quickly, “Of course.”

The edges of Tomas’s month pull downwards, slight displeasure entering his eyes. Fortunately, a summon from the Lady of the house pulls him away and Nesta is quick to make a hasty exit. The knot in her remains a heavy weight, pulling her under. Just as she leaves, she impulsively grabs a loose paper in the study, scribbling in it. Without giving herself the chance to second guess her decision, she drops the folded note at a random window ledge.

You overestimate yourself. You are terrible at tailing discreetly. Stop it or I’ll set Scotland Yard on you.

Nesta notices another folded piece of paper stuck discreetly on the lamp post right by her usual omnibus stop the next morning. Her breath hitches as her brain registers the familiar scrawl and she gingerly reaches for it. Her fingers twitch at the static charge the paper sends down her spine.

Go ahead. I have buddies there. Also, I don’t like that older Mandray.

Nesta scoffs as she tears up the note and tosses it in the trash.

She hates that she can hear his retort in that recognisable scrawl. Hates that the words add a barrier between her and the cold fury, muffling it the way a felt cloth would.

Worst of all, she hates how fast her heart beats, helpless against its traitorous response.

***

Elain is home by the time Nesta returns home from the Mandray residence, fortunate to have missed the elder Mandray that day. Her sister’s comforting scent of jasmine and honey fills the home, and the smell of roasted chicken wafts from the kitchen. She shrugs her bag off, her shoulders dropping an inch as she relaxes into the ease of her home.

“Nesta! You’re home.” Elain greets cheerfully, rushing to hug her. Her fair skin has tanned in the weeks she spent in the countryside, her face dotted with even more freckles. There is a lightness to the middle Archeron sister that wasn’t there when she left dreary London.

Nesta half-heartedly returns the hug. Her brows pinch together as she spies her chirpy sibling practically skipping back to the kitchen.

She follows behind, asking casually, “How was the job training with…” Nesta trails off.

“The Vanserras,” Elain beams, unbothered in the least, “Oh, Nesta, their greenhouse is absolutely incredible. They have flowers from all over the world - names I’ve only read in books. And they are trusting me to look after their plants in their London townhouse!”

Despite everything, Nesta feels something unfurls within her at Elain’s joyous expression as she gushes about her new employment. It is a drop of brilliant light in the dark tunnel, hopeful and optimistic.

Elain pauses midway, her rich brown eyes trained on Nesta before they soften in concern. The expressive orbs that see too much rile her up before the words even spill out of rosebud lips, “Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” she is quick to reassure her sister, pleading with her internally to let it go. She continues at Elain’s unconvinced look, “It’s Tomas Mandray. The older brother of the girls? He’s been-“ she sniffs in disdain, “showing me more attention lately.”

Elain releases a breath, understanding softens her expression. After all, men like these have a reputation that doesn’t need elaboration. She closes a concerned hand around Nesta’s, “Be careful, Nesta.”

Nesta stacks her other hand over her sister’s and tries to smile as reassuringly as she could, “I will.” She promises.

Elain returns the smile with a small comforting one of her own before breaking away. She returns to her cooking, seemingly placated.

Then again, why shouldn’t she? It’s not like she can anticipate the truth: her younger sister is forever lost to them, swallowed by the unnerving night.

***

The classroom is spotless as it always is. Nesta does a quick sweep as she lays out the French books, as scheduled to be the focal point of their next lesson after tea break. She rolls her shoulder back as she looks at the roll of sunshine outside the window. She wonders distantly, if it is a myth that vampires can’t be out in the sun because this presence is nothing but persistent.

“Nesta!” A sharp voice rips her away from her thoughts.

Nesta bites back a swear as her entire being freezes. Her name, called out almost like a summon, stokes a flame steadily licking away

at her patience. Her throat bobs as she forces on a smile to face the Lord-to-be.

“Mr Mandray”

He puts on a rakish grin. “Uh uh,” he wags a finger in reminder, “Tomas, remember?”

Nesta’s laugh comes out in forced huffs, “Forgive me. Old habits die hard.”

A triumphant glint enters his eyes as Tomas continues, “You’re forgiven on one condition.” He reaches out for a hand, playfully rubbing light circles on the back of her thumb. “Accompany me to the theatres. There is a spectacular ballet performance going on.”

Nesta has to resist the urge to shudder as his eyes darken with intent. Her heart thunders painfully, the throes of anxiety twists her insides. She asks, almost breathlessly, “Why, Tomas, we barely know each other.”

“I’d like to rectify that, Nesta.” Her name rolls off his tongue, possessiveness coils and wraps until it is secured tightly within. “Would you like that?” He asks when she says nothing.

He was intending to court her, she realises with dread. And she has no reason not to accept.

“I’m flattered,” she moves to turn away in attempt to buy herself more time. But the grip on her hand is now tight, fingertips pressed white. The pressure clears her head and erodes the fear.

She has no reason to accept but her own will, where the fire burns. “But I’m not interested.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes are wide in disbelief. Nesta meets his gaze head on, her chin tilts upwards.

“I’m not interested.” She repeats firmly, this time she lets a little exasperation bleed into her tone. “I am flattered by your attention, truly.”

By now, she is sure her hand is starting to bruise but Nesta maintains the locked gaze. If he thinks that she is just going to cower obediently, he truly has no idea who she is.

“But I will be a Lord. And you’re-” he catches himself, bewilderment floods the space between them, “how are you not interested?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Money and titles are not everything, Mr Mandray. Now,” She gestures towards their locked hands, “I would appreciate it if you release my hand now.”

His grip barely lightens before she wrenches her hand out of it. Her other hand moves to cover it protectively. She eyes him carefully as the emotion flits through him.

Shock. Understanding. Anger.

Her brain races as he takes a step towards her, her legs moving on instinct and steps back.

“Missy Nesta!”

A cheerful voice slices through and pops the tension like a balloon. Nesta could kiss her student for her fortunate timing.

“Tomas? What are you doing here?” Sarah asks her brother, her head tilts in innocent curiousity.

“Oh, just asking about your lesson plan.” The male says briskly, his eyes do a quick sweep on the books lying around. “French, huh? Important language to study. Well then, I’ll leave you two to it. Sarah,” His lips form a tight smile as he dips his head in a quick bow. “Miss Archeron.”

Nesta offers her own nod in return. Her stomach clenches as she catches a glimpse of thinly veiled fury simmering in those dark eyes. She pushes it aside, turning to Sarah instead.

She will deal with the fallout when it comes.

***

Turns out, she doesn’t even need to wait until the sun gives way to the moon. The pink glow of twilight streams through the massive window and touches her bag that sits turned out on the table. Next to it, an incriminating chain of rubies glint mockingly at her.

“Please explain yourself, Miss Archeron.” Lord Mandray says gravely.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” the indignation burning in her chest spreads to her cheeks. She doesn’t look past Lord Mandray to where she knows his son is standing, likely with the same arrogant, triumphant look he is fond of. She says coldly, “I didn’t take it.”

The noble looks disappointed as he tuts, “I like you, Miss Archeron. You taught Victoria well and you’re doing a mighty fine job with Sarah too. Don’t make me call the constables on you.”

Nesta’s fist clenches by her side. She would be damned if she lets them win so easily. Her hand is almost trembling from the pressure when she tilts her chin up,“If the girls have learnt anything from me, it’s that we do not bend over to please.” Stormy blue eyes stare down puny men, “I did not take anything.”

Behind Lord Mandray, Tomas starts to move. His mouth opens-

Knock knock knock.

The tension cracked in the room, interrupted by a doorman scrambling to drive the visitor away. Nesta waits, her breath caught in her chest until a familiar cocky voice came down breezily through the doorway, “Is Miss Archeron here?”

Despite the protests from the help, powerful footsteps easily find their way to the sitting room where they are at. Cassian steps through the door and Nesta forgets to breathe all together.

Glowing brown skin and swirling tattoos that spiral into his stiffly pressed shirt, strong chiselled features pull into a familiar cocksure smirk. Hazel eyes found silver blue immediately before taking a quick scan around the room. They flash dangerously for just a moment.

“Nesta!” He greets cheerfully and casually walks past the Mandrays. He stops by her side, feigning ignorance, “Is everything alright? You were late so I thought you might still be here.”

He pauses, as if he is looking around the room for the first time, “am I interrupting something?”

Tomas, now standing by his father’s side, grounds out, “And who might you be to barge into our family home without invitation or permission?”

Cassian stares at him before frowning, hazel melts into mocking concern, “But I knocked and was let in. Evidently, the person whose whereabouts I was concerned about is also here.” His gaze flicks to the rubies on the table, “I sure hope she is not being unfairly treated.”

Tomas’s face turns a sweltering red but his father puts a calming calm on his shoulder and says instead, “I believe what my son is trying to say is that we don’t have an appointment and introductions are due. I am Lord William Mandray, my son Tomas, and my wife, Martha.” He gestures to them with ring adorned fingers, the Mandray coat of arms on full display. He looks at Cassian expectedly.

Unfazed by the posturing, Cassian’s answering smile is razor sharp, “Pleasure, my Lord, Lady.” He nods at them in deference, completely skipping over Tomas to say, “I’m Cassian Everly.”

The brows of all three Mandray are raised high into their forehead but it is the matriarch who gasps, “As in the private detective?”

Her eyes widen when she realises she has spoken out of turn, and her gaze immediately flits to her husband, fear seeping in like a poisonous cloud. When Nesta follows her eye line, the Lord’s thinly veiled displeasure is evident from the tight press of his lips.

Cassian smiles charmingly throughout the encounter, though behind their backs, he grabs Nesta’s hand and gives it a quick squeeze. I’ve got this, trust me.

“The one and only.” He replies as he takes deliberate footsteps around the table. “And just as well, as it seems my beloved is being accused of something untoward.”

Nesta has to stifle the noise of protest climbing up her throat.

Cassian continues his slow rotation around the room. He lets the silence fester with an unerring precision. Nesta can’t help but think that this is his arena, one that he always comes out victorious.

He launches straight into his questioning, his tone is crisp and no-nonsense, “Lady Mandray, how often do you check on your jewellery?”

Lord Mandray’s lips disappear even as he gives a minute nod at his wife. She stutters an answer, “Once a day.” At Cassian’s encouraging nod, she continues, “usually around lunch.”

The detective nods, his face thoughtful as he turns to her, “Nesta, what is your schedule like from lunch.”

“Language lessons, French for today. We then stop for a tea break, then etiquette lessons.” She rattles off, her brain racking for what he is probably looking for: An unbreakable alibi.

“I see. And do you take tea breaks together?”

She nods briskly, “Oh yes, it’s good practice for etiquette.”

There it was, locked and loaded. Neither of them smiled when Tomas cuts in angrily, “She could have slipped out at any point of time. You can’t expect my twelve year old sister to be an alibi.” He points an accusing finger at the detective, sneering, “You’re clearly skewing the story to protect her. She must be skilled at warming your bed. The prim and proper looking ones always are.”

The temperature of the room plummets. But nobody even dares to shiver. Not even Tomas, who was mid-spat at Cassian. The private investigator in question keeps his expression neutral even as murderous intent permeates the air.

“Where do you keep your prized pieces, Lady Mandray?” He asks silkily. A question that is too forward, even for someone with Cassian’s notoriety.

Nesta is not surprised when Martha whispers, “A locked safe hidden in the last row of my dresser.”

They are led into the Lady’s room where Cassian immediately crouches down at the drawer, inspecting it carefully. After a moment of deliberation, he takes out a white handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to grip onto the handle. Not to hold it open but just to imprint the fabric.

Finally, Cassian stands, his eyes glinting in victory. “Do you hunt, milady?”

“What? Of course not!” She harrumphs, her nerves forgotten in a moment of indignation.

“But you do, don’t you, Tomas?” Cassian croons. He opens the handkerchief to reveal dark metallic grey dust clinging on to the fabric. “Nesta?”

With a slow shrug, she lifts her clean hands up to the room. “Never held a gun a day in my life.”

“You owe my Lady an apology, Lord Mandray.” He says sharply, though his pointed gaze is directed at the lordling’s dust stained hands.

“As do you, Tomas.” Cassian sneers his name in derision before leaning in to whisper in his ear. Nesta is sure that she caught the pungent scent of ammonia as she walked out of the room.

***

They walk in silence on the dimly lit street. On any other day, Nesta might have felt concerned for her own safety. But today, she knows with certainty that the biggest threat in Central London is walking right by her side, looking a little too pleased with himself.

“What did you tell him just before we left?” She asks, her curiousity getting the better of her.

Cassian gives a dismissive shrug, even as his eyes shine so brightly they are nearly gold, “Just a reminder of his friends at the horse tracks and how they are children compared to what I’ll do to him if he ever tries to slander your name again.”

The words douse her in frigid rain, stopping her in her tracks. She looks up at him, the simple truth of his bloodthirsty nature out on display, and realises he would do that for her. Destroy another human for wronging her. It forms an uncomfortable lump in her throat. She pushes it aside, focusing on the anger that has been stewing since Paris instead.

She faces back to the front and begins to walk again, her face pointedly looking in front, her strides more forceful. She asks stiffly, “Have you passed my message on to Feyre?”

“Nesta”

A sigh - both pleading and exasperated. She feels her anger rising in response, a wolf howling. Good, this is something she could use.

“Did you?” She asks coldly.

“I did.” He answers with another sigh, “That wasn’t my secret to share, Nesta.”

She lets out a hollow laugh, “Don’t worry. You did more than your fair share of lying.”

He steps in front of her, shrouding her in the familiar intoxicating scent of pine and sandalwood. “What were you really expecting from me, Nesta?” Hazel eyes blaze with angry gold, unrelenting and unwavering in their conviction, “Could I really tell you the truth then and not have us end up exactly where we are now?”

She scoffs, “If you truly need me to answer that then you are more hopeless than I thought.” She pushes past him with a shove of her shoulders. “Don’t follow me again. It’s endlessly irritating.”

He lets her go, the thuds of her shoes against the concrete pavement echoing through the streets. They ring loud and hollow in her ears.

He lets her go.

And she is unsure if she is relieved or disappointed.

***

There is distant chattering as the words in front of her start to melt and blur together. It starts off bright and cheerful, yet familiar and soothing. It gradually turn insistent, demanding for her attention. But wait, are there crawling ants on her paper? Why are they dancing?

Is someone shaking her shoulder?

Nesta snaps her head up to annoyed brown eyes. “Earth to Nesta?” Elain asks, slightly miffed, “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes!”

Nesta coughs slightly, slightly abashed at exactly how out of it she was, “Sorry, just distracted. What’s going on?”

Elain frowns, the crease between her brows marring perfect, fair skin. “I was asking if you’ve heard from Feyre.” She repeats with a sigh.

Her saliva turns tacky in her mouth. “No,” she replies, one probably a little too slow for such a straightforward question, “I haven’t. Not since that letter.”

Chocolate brown eyes narrow, a shrewd expression taking over. “Are you okay?”

She lets go of the newsletter she has been combing through, letting it fall to the table with a swoosh. She waves a dismissive hand, “I’m fine. Just a little caught up with this whole Tomas incident.”

She grimaces slightly. Despite fat pleading tears from their youngest, the Mandrays had been more than happy to receive her resignation letter the next day. Not even a notice period was needed. They wanted her out and nothing was made more apparent.

The stubborn line set on her sister’s face tells her she’s unconvinced, “No… That’s not it.” Her head tilts a fraction of an inch, her eyes sharpen. “What happened in Paris, Nesta?”

Every minuscule muscle freezes for a second but she plays dumb.

“Paris?”

Elain lets out an impatient huff, “I found the ticket stub for a Parisian gallery under the coat rack yesterday.” She gives Nesta an expectant look and demands with a tapping foot, “Well?”

“It’s nothing.” She insists coolly, falling back to old ingrained habits to pull her shoulders up and back.

Next to her, Elain stiffens, her back straightened in a way she only ever did around their mother. A jaw locked in tension-

The slight jingling of keys as the front door opens has the two sisters snapping their heads up in surprise. Doe eyes widen - Elain springs into action and leaps for the door. She swings it open because there can only be one other person who has access to the house.

Nesta’s blood runs cold.

Their youngest sister looks as radiant as ever. Impeccably dressed in contemporary Parisian fashion, her fair skin glows iridescent in the faint glimmer of the moonlight. Silver blue eyes are bright as the stars, with elegant lips curling into a wry smile at the sight of her second sister.

“Feyre!” Elain exclaims, sweeping her sister into a hug, “You’re back!”

Feyre stills at the show of affection. The movement is so rigid it makes Nesta wonder how she ever missed the signs the last time she visited Paris. Nesta steps forward to cut in.

“What are you doing here?”

Her interruption has Feyre stepping back from the hug. Twin stormy blue eyes watch the other warily. Elain unconsciously moved backwards, her gaze shifts from side to side between her sisters. She asks slowly, “What’s going on?”

Feyre angles her head slightly at Nesta in mock innocence, “Was this not what you told Cassian? To tell the both of you the truth or I’m dead to you?”

Elain swivels her head back to hiss, “Nesta, you what?!”

“It’s been weeks,” Nesta seethes slowly, raised hackles jangle angrily, “If you cared, you would have returned weeks ago.”

“So you just write me off ?” Feyre scoffs, “Just like that?”

Elain jumps between the both of them, her palms raised to a shoulder level at each sister, asking loudly, “Okay, is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?”

Nesta raised an arched brow at Feyre. Your move.

The artist shakes her head slowly and replies sardonically, “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Undeterred, Elain levels a flat look, “The truth.”

Feyre turns away from them, her front to the window. Something pricks beneath Nesta’s skin like a thousand ants and it takes every ounce of willpower not to shiver. Beside her, Elain crosses her arms as if to hug herself protectively.

The feeling amplifies when Feyre turns back to them. Draped in the gentle embrace of the night light, there is a quiet feral presence prowling beneath silver blue eyes.

She starts, “Something happened in Paris.”

Feyre’s words are bewitching and pin both of them in place. She regales them of her first few weeks in the City of Light leading up to the World’s Fair: how she caught the green eyed attention of a pair of siblings Dagdan and Brannagh, how she later stumbled unknowingly in Rhysand’s house and spotted him feeding on another person. A vampire, she said casually, setting them up for the inevitable news: When the siblings eventually acted on their jealousy and fatally wounded her, she made the split second decision to survive.

It is Elain who speaks up first after. Head held high, she asks softly, not to Feyre but to Nesta, “and you knew?”

“I suspected something after her letter arrived. Days of poking around… nothing for a while,” a lump forms in her throat as she thinks about who led her in circles then. She swallows it thickly, pushing the thought aside, “Until I spotted them one day. Her and Rhysand.” Disgust unwittingly creeps into her voice at the memory, “Feeding.”

“And the ultimatum you had no right to give on behalf of both of us?” She challenges.

An irritation rises within her. “You don’t know what I saw!”

“No,” she conceded, “I don’t. But that still doesn’t give you the right to decide whether I should break ties with my sister. Doesn’t excuse the fact that you lied to me for weeks after.” She stumbles back even as her eyes blaze. “I-I need to process this.”

She hurriedly gathers her belongings, her hands trembling just barely.

“Where are you going?” The words are hollow, even to Nesta.

Elain looks furtively between the both of them, her mouth opening and closing a few times, until a final shutter closes within the recesses of deep brown eyes. She shakes her head, “Out.”

The door slams behind her. The silence that follows it is thick and uncomfortable.

“Why now?”

Feyre bites her bottom lip, a tiny glimpse of pearly white peaking through. “There is an old blood feud between the Nights and this Romanian family. The Floareas. I wasn’t sure where we would be after.”

Her heart hammers in her ears. “You came to say good bye?”

“No… I don’t know. Maybe?” Feyre sighs. The first sign of vulnerability she’s shown since stepping in here. “Just in case.”

Fear that she doesn’t know she still possesses wraps tightly around her throat. It wrestles fiercely against its angry counterpart. “I see,” Nesta manages to force out, “I guess that’s it then.”

A shadow falls over Feyre and hurt creeps in her eyes. She repeats, “That’s it then.”

With a straightened back, Feyre heads for the door. She sets her key on the table, the action so seemingly final that Nesta’s heart leapt.

“No” The word slips between Nesta’s lips before her brain even conjures a thought.

Feyre starts from the door, her eyes wide.

“Keep it,” Nesta clears her throat, “For after.”

Feyre’s lips curl up into a faint smile. “For after.” She repeats, pocketing the key once more and steps gracefully out the door.

Nesta collapses into the seat after the door closes shut for the second time. She wipes her face with her hands and sighs loudly.

Her arms fall limply to the side and tiredly heads upstairs.

What a day.

***

Her hand freezes for a brief moment before it closes around the handle. She steps through, intentionally averting her gaze from a specific corner as she heads to the dresser. One by one, she removes her accessories.

Waiting, waiting.

She stills again before undoing her braided crown and lets soft honey brown curls fall to her waist. She treads slender fingers through, teasing out the knots. “Were you really not going to say anything?” She scoffs.

“I was hoping you would continue actually.” Cassian drawls as he steps out of the shadows, revealing those monstrous leathery wings.

Nesta’s breath hitches as his gaze darkens, a palpable presence caressing her face, skating down her body. She catches herself in time to sneer, “No hiding today?”

Wandering eyes snap back to her face and he shrugs, “Whatever for?”

She turns away, looking back into the small mirror as she begins to braid her hair, nimble fingers speeding down the length with a practiced ease. She flicks the relaxed braid over her shoulder, asking with a sigh, “What are you doing here, Cassian?”

“I wanted to check if you were okay.”

She can’t help the small but swift inhale at the words. Can’t help but to raise her chin to look into the swirl of gentle gold in the pool of hazel, full of gentleness and concern. Can’t help her heartbeat from picking up a notch.

“You were right,” he admits, raising a hand to tuck a stray strand. “I lied and deceived you. I can try to justify to the ends of the world my motivations but that doesn’t change the fact that I did.”

She feels the lump forming in her throat. “And?”

“And I’m sorry,” he traces her features, a touch so featherlight it feels reverent. “I’m so sorry.”

“And if I don’t forgive you?”

He pauses in mid-air before his finger begins to move again. “Then I’ll just need to find all the ways possible to prove it to you.”

“Anything?” She challenges with a step forward.

A quirk of the lips, a bright glint in the eyes. “Anything.”

“Even if I tell you to leave and never come near me again?”

Their faces are now impossibly close. His breath a lover’s caress as he challenges back, “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe”

They close the gap, and there is no longer her or him. There is just the feel of plush lips pressing against hers, large hands wrapping tightly around her waist and the back of her neck. A swipe of tongue and she lets him in greedily because nothing, nothing has ever felt like this. Like every nerve in her body is lit, heated and bothered.

Wet tongue lightly crosses across sharp fangs and inadvertently breaks the surface. The sharp tang of iron fills her mouth. Any thoughts of disgust are smothered when a hot tongue immediately laps it up. It soothes the edge of the pain and lightly sucks on the wound. An unwitting moan escapes her throat at the pleasure that erupted within.

He spins her around and presses her into the dresser. He deepens the kiss, hands gripping on her so tightly it might leave a bruise. The discomfort of the drawer handles digging into her back a delicious pain.

Her hands rove over the thin white shirt and pull it out of his pants. She slips them underneath to explore the rippling muscles, she skirts them teasingly up and down and down until-

Cassian breaks the kiss and groans hotly into her mouth, “You’re going to kill me like this.”

She lets him feel the wicked smile against his lips, “I thought you said any way I wanted.”

“Aye,” He steps back slightly to reveal blown out pupils, hazel pushed to the rim. His fangs gleam in the darkness as he says with a determined smile, “But I’m not going to rush this, Nesta.”

She feels her chest rising and falling rapidly even as he takes her hands, raising them to shoulder level so he can press his lips to her knuckles: the way he once did on a magical night.

“All the ways to earn your forgiveness and I am going to do this right.” He promises, his lips still a hair inch away. Every hot breath a loving caress against her hand.

She gingerly takes her hands back, the emotion lodged in her throat. A lump that can’t be swallowed. “You better”

Lips press a sweet kiss into her forehead before curving into a smirk, “I will, sweetheart. After I return from this little spiff with the Floareas, you will have my undivided attention.”

Nesta can’t help the little laugh that bubbles out of her chest. She swats his face away, “I don’t want it.”

Cassian pulls himself up to his full height, spreading his wings out behind him. He steps on to the windowsill to throw her one last cheeky wink, “You’re getting it anyway.”

With that, he steps off the ledge and disappears into the night.

#nessian #nessian fic #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #private detective!cassian

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codfanficedits · 6 months

Text

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.