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stylesispunk · 30 days

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'I love you, it's ruining my life' | Part ii

Joel Miller x f!reader

part one | part three

summary: The aftermath of your confession and how all it ended, for now.

w.c: 3,9k

warnings: angst and just angst. Perhaps grammar mistakes cuz even when I edited the chapter, I tend to be stupid.

a/n: As I promised, part 2 is here! Thank you so much for all the love you gave it to the first part, I'm really happy you loved it despite the messy writing. This part will not be the end, so a third part is already in the works to end this mini story since I had to talk about the aftermath of the events in part 1 and I couldn't fit everything here, you know. Part iii may have a time jump. Happy ending or sad ending for these two?? Make your bets after reading this part. Happy reading 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

After what had just happened, you closed the door of your house with a slam, as if that would help you to silence the thump of your heart cracking with anguish. You didn't even get to savor the taste of Joel's lips on yours; they felt tainted by poison and treason creeping from the unfaithful actions of two people in a vulnerable state. You felt completely dirty by your actions; the tears streamed down your face, washing the warm hands of Joel over your checks away, with the salty rustling of his skin on yours.

After a few seconds, you recovered your composure, inhaling the smell of your soon-to-be ex-home. You looked around your living room; there were boxes containing all the memories you had made for the last eight years of your life inside, saved from the postmortem state. All the days, seconds, and years seemed illicit and foreign, and you could not stop crying.

You sat by the door, head on your knees, next to the window, stealing glimpses of a frantic Joel, who was now walking towards his car, getting away from you for real. Your heart broke even more because you knew that your confession didn’t matter and that you were destined to recall things you never did. He had made his choice. He was going to get married to another woman, and you weren’t going to witness such torture.

You stood from the ground towards your bedroom, still crying from the hope you had that he was going to love you that way, but he didn't, and you couldn't blame him. He was a good man, one who knew how to love but not how to receive, or perhaps he didn’t want it from you.

As you retreated to your bedroom, the weight of your actions bore down on you like a crushing wave. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened by the knowledge that you had irreversibly altered the course of your life and Joel's.

The tears continued to flow unabated, leaving a trail of salty bitterness in their wake. You collapsed onto your bed, the sheets offering little solace from the storm raging within you.

When you made your way upstairs, you didn’t know that Joel turned back towards your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt gnawed at him like a relentless beast, tearing apart his insides with every breath. He couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that hung heavy in the air, suffocating him with its weight.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn back, to run as far away from the mess he had created as possible. But something, perhaps a glimmer of hope or a desperate longing for closure, propelled him forward, urging him to face the consequences of his actions.

You loved him, and he loved you too. He had waited to hear those words for so many years, and now they felt like treason, and he felt like a villain.

With a trembling hand, he opened the door of this car and drove towards Tess’s house, not knowing this would be the last time you would be sleeping next to his house.

As Joel arrived at Tess's house, he was greeted by the warm glow of the porch light and the familiar scent of her perfume wafting through the air. But instead of feeling comforted by her presence, he couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled over him like a dark cloud.

As he stepped inside, Tess's worried expression immediately caught his attention. She approached him with a furrowed brow, her eyes searching his face for answers.

"Joel, I'm so glad you're here," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

“Of course, what seemed to be so urgent?”

"I...I called you because I needed to talk to you about something." She spoke.

Joel's heart skipped a beat as he listened to her words, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a heavy weight in his chest.

"What is it, Tess?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tess took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke. "I couldn't shake this feeling, Joel. The thought of you spending the night after our wedding with...with her," she paused, unable to bring herself to say your name. "It just didn't sit right with me.” She paused, “We’re getting married tomorrow, and I just need to know that she won’t ruin our lives.”

“Why would she?” Joel asked, feeling an urgent desire to defend you.

Tess hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she struggled to find the right words. "I don't know, Joel. It's just that there's always been something between you two. Something I can't quite put my finger on."

Joel's heart sank at her words, the weight of guilt settling heavier upon him. He felt his heart exploding from the shame. He looked down at his hands, taking his time to gather all his courage and act like a man.

“I kissed her.” He confessed, and the silence sliced the skin of both. “I kissed her because I wanted to do it.”

As Joel uttered those words, a heavy silence descended upon the room, thick with the weight of his confession. Tess's eyes widened in shock, her hands trembling as she struggled to process the revelation.

The air hung heavy with tension as Joel's words echoed in the space between them, the truth of his betrayal leaving a bitter taste in the air. He could feel Tess's gaze boring into him, her expression a mix of disbelief and hurt.

"I... okay," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll pretend it didn’t happen, but she is not coming to the wedding, and you won’t see her again.”

Her attempts to mend an already broken trust were being stabbed with a knife.

"She won't because there won't be a wedding, Tess," Joel said, his voice filled with resignation. "I can't go through with it, not like this. Not when I know that I've already destroyed any chance we had at happiness. Not when I don’t know what I feel.”

Tess's eyes widened in shock at his words, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. She had never imagined that their love could unravel so completely and that the future they had planned together could crumble before her eyes.

“And you deserved a man who didn’t put his love for you in doubt when the woman he waited to love confessed her feelings to him,” Joel said.

Tears welled up in Tess's eyes as she looked at Joel, her voice trembling with emotion. "I...I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the weight of their shattered dreams.

Joel reached out to her, his hand trembling as he gently brushed away her tears. "I'm sorry, Tess," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... don't know what I want anymore."

Tess felt a surge of anger rise within her at Joel's words, the pain of his betrayal still raw and fresh in her heart. But beneath the anger, there was also a sense of resignation, a realization that their love had been built on shaky ground from the start.

"And what about her?" Tess asked, her voice tinged with bitterness. "What about her? Do you know what you want with her?"

Joel looked away, unable to meet Tess's gaze. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know anything anymore."

Tess felt a lump form in her throat at Joel's words, and the next thing Joel felt was a slap on his cheek.

Joel felt a pang of sorrow shoot through his heart at Tess's action, as if all her resentment had consumed him with the hit of her hand on his skin. Tess turned away before he could even realize it. Withit tears streaming down her cheeks, Joel knew that he had lost her for good. And though it pained him to admit it, he knew deep down that he deserved every bit of her anger and resentment.

And his thoughts drifted to you. For him, it was a feeling in his heart at the thought of not having you in his life anymore.

He had broken the hearts of two women last night, and he couldn't bear that feeling.

Joel woke up at noon the next day. There wasn't going to be a wedding that day. He had told Tess he had kissed you because he felt it. There were tears, yelling, slurs screaming at him, and even a slap when it was completely deserved.

He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the events of the previous night playing out in his mind like a never-ending loop. The tears, the yelling, the slap—it all echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused.

Joel knew that there wasn't going to be a wedding that day and that the future he had envisioned with Tess had been shattered beyond repair. And as he lay there in the silence of his empty house, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of emptiness.

But even as his heart ached with longing, Joel knew that he had to face the consequences of his actions. He had hurt Tess, shattered her trust, and broken her heart, and he couldn't ignore the pain he had caused.

With a heavy sigh, Joel dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the bitter taste doing little to chase away the bitter taste of regret that lingered in his mouth.

As he sipped his coffee, Joel knew he had a long road ahead of him. He had to find a way to make amends and earn back the trust and forgiveness of those he had wronged. And amidst it all, he vowed to do whatever it took to hold onto the love he felt for you and to fight for a future where you could be together, despite the odds stacked against them.

Joel had met Tess two years ago. At first, it was something cosmic and faster, like spending some time together after he had fixed her house, but then the pages between them started to get written and Joel began to spend less time with you. You tried to dismiss the gut-wrenching feeling consuming your void inside, but you promised him to take care of Sarah, while he had taken the chance to bet on love once again.

He deserved it, but you wanted to be the one, and you consumed yourself into your own pity just for one glimpse of his smile, hoping someday he would notice you that way.

It was two months later when Joel invited you to meet Tess for the first time. As you stepped into the cozy café where they had arranged to meet, a pang of bittersweet emotion tugged at your heart. You couldn't deny the twinge of jealousy that gnawed at you, knowing that Joel was introducing you to someone who could potentially become his wife someday.

Despite the ache in your chest, you plastered on your best smile, determined to be supportive for Joel's sake. After all, you had promised to always be there for him, no matter what.

As Tess walked in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Joel, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. They were already sharing a secret language you would never get to understand. She was everything you weren't—beautiful, confident, and effortlessly charming. And as Joel introduced you to her, the weight of his hand on your shoulder felt like a silent reassurance, a reminder of the bond you shared as best friends.

You exchanged pleasantries with Tess, forcing yourself to push aside the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. You laughed at her jokes, engaged in small talk, and did your best to be the supportive friend that Joel needed you to be.

But beneath the façade of your smiles and laughter, your heart ached with a sense of loss. You were already grieving your friendship with Joel, as if you were feeling the distance growing between you both, as if his introduction of Tess marked the beginning of a new chapter—one where you would no longer be his sole confidante and companion.

And as you watched Joel and Tess interact, their laughter mingling in the air like a melody of happiness, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to stand in her shoes—to be the one who captured Joel's heart and made him smile in that way.

But despite the ache in your chest, you pushed aside your own desires and fears, burying them beneath layers of friendship and loyalty. Because in that moment, all that mattered was Joel's happiness, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of your own.

You made sacrifices for the people you loved.

As Joel's thoughts drifted back to the present, he tried to recall all the times he missed the way you glanced at him full of love, and he didn’t even notice. Even when he was the one looking out beyond the simple glimpses,.

He felt like a fool. Joel sat in the quiet solitude of his house, contemplating the light of the sun creeping through the window. His thoughts drifted to you once again and again. He knew that he needed to come to talk to you later to make amends for the pain he had caused and perhaps even begin to write a new chapter in your relationship. But deep down, he also knew that he needed time to heal himself and mend the wounds of his own heart before he could hope to repair the damage he had done to yours.

Lost in his thoughts, Joel was jolted back to reality when the sound of the door opening caught his attention. Turning his head, he watched as Tommy stepped into the house, a tired Sarah sleeping in his arms. The pitying glance that Tommy shot him didn't go unnoticed, a silent reminder of the wreckage of his almost-married life.

Joel offered a weak smile in return, his heart heavy with the weight of his own guilt and remorse. He knew that he had let everyone down—Tess, you, and even himself—and he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that hung over him like a dark cloud.

But as he watched Tommy and Sarah disappear into the other room, Joel knew that he couldn't wallow in self-pity forever. He had to find a way to pick up the pieces of his broken life and move forward, even if the road ahead seemed daunting and uncertain.

Lost in his thoughts, Joel didn't notice when Tommy returned to the living room, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "Hey, Joel, why didn't you tell me?" Tommy asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Joel blinked, snapping out of his reverie as he turned to face Tommy. "Tell you what?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Why didn't you tell me that “bubu” was moving out?" Tommy clarified; his tone was laced with concern. "I saw the moving truck leaving.

Joel's heart sank at Tommy's words, a wave of realization washing over him. He remembered now—the conversation from last night, your tearful confession that you were leaving for good. "She couldn’t be serious," he had whispered, the words heavy with disbelief and desperation.

Without another word, Joel stepped away from the couch, his movements heavy with purpose as he made his way towards the door. Ignoring Tommy's calls behind him, he pushed open the door and stepped outside, only to be met with the emptiness of your house next door.

The sight of your empty home, stripped bare of all its memories, hit Joel like a punch to the gut. The realization that you were truly gone, that he had let you slip through his fingers without a fight, left him feeling hollow and alone.

With a heavy heart, Joel sank to his knees on the doorstep, the weight of his regrets crushing him beneath their unbearable burden. And as he gazed up at the empty windows of your house, he couldn't help but wonder if he had lost you forever.

It was a warm summer afternoon when Sarah said her first word. You, Joel, and Sarah were lounging in the living room, playing with her favorite toys.

As Sarah babbled and cooed, her tiny hands reaching out to grasp at the colorful shapes before her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and wonder wash over you. Watching her grow and learn had become a highlight of your days, a bright spot in an otherwise ordinary existence.

“Bubu”

Joel's face lit up with pride and joy as he scooped up his daughter, a mixture of awe and amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Did she just say her first word?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder.

You couldn't help but laugh at Joel's playful jealousy, knowing that he was only teasing. "Oh my god, baby!" you cooed, reaching out to gently stroke Sarah's soft cheek. "You're just too clever for your own good, aren't you?"

"Bubu," Sarah repeated, her eyes sparkling with innocence as she reached out towards you, her chubby fingers grasping at the air.

"I can't believe she didn't say 'father' first," Joel joked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You chuckled at Joel's comment, feeling a surge of warmth fill your heart at the playful banter between father and daughter. "Don't be jealous, Joel," you teased, giving him a gentle nudge. "I'm 'Bubu'—that's a tough title to beat!"

And as Sarah continued to babble and coo, her laughter filling the room with its infectious joy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging there.

From that moment on, "Bubu" became your nickname, a term of endearment that Joel had bestowed upon you in honor of Sarah's first word.

And though the years had passed since that day and Sarah had long outgrown her baby talk, the nickname had stuck. It had become a symbol of the bond you shared with Joel and her, a reminder of the love and affection that had blossomed between you over the years.

Back in the present, Joel sat alone in his bedroom, the weight of his regrets heavy on his shoulders. The memories of the events that had unfolded in recent days weighed heavily on his mind, filling him with a sense of profound sorrow and remorse.

As he sat in the quiet solitude of his living room, Joel couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that seemed to permeate the air around him. The absence of your presence in his life had already left a void that seemed impossible to fill, a gaping wound that refused to heal.

And your letter on his hands weighs like the steam of a rose, making his hands bleed as the words written on it punctuate deep wounds in them.

“Joel,

As I sit down to write this letter, my heart feels heavy with the weight of everything that has happened between us. There are so many words I want to say and so many apologies I want to offer, but I know that mere words can never truly express the depth of my regret and remorse.

I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you and that every choice I made was made out of fear and confusion. But I know that my actions have caused you pain too, and for that, I am truly sorry.

I know that things between us may never be the same again and that the trust we once shared may be irreparably damaged. But I need time and space to heal and to find a way to live my life away from you.

I want you to know that I love you, Joel, more than words could ever express. You have been my rock, my confidant, and my closest friend, and the thought of losing you fills me with a pain that is almost too much to bear. My biggest expression of love is letting you go.

Please know that I will always cherish the memories we shared together, the laughter, the tears, and the moments of joy and sorrow that we experienced side by side. And no matter what the future may hold, those memories will always hold a special place in my heart.

I hope that one day we will be able to look back on this time with a sense of gratitude, knowing that it was the challenges we faced together that ultimately brought us closer. Until then, know that you are always in my thoughts, in my heart, and in my prayers. And know that no matter what happens, I will always love you, now and forever.

Have a wonderful wedding and a happy marriage with Tess. I hope you know you deserve to be loved.

I’ll miss you and Sarah so much."

With all my love,

Bubu or you can just call me by my real name now.

As Joel read the words of your letter, each sentence pierced his heart like a dagger, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal. The weight of your words pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket, leaving him feeling numb and hollow inside.

He hadn’t gotten married, and you thought he had. You left thinking he got married to another woman.

The realization that you were truly gone, that you had made the agonizing decision to leave him behind, sent a wave of despair crashing over him. He felt as though the ground had been pulled out from beneath him, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

Tears welled up in Joel's eyes as he read the final lines of your letter, your words of farewell echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain. The emptiness of your absence loomed large in the room, a stark reminder of all that he had lost.

With trembling hands, Joel clutched the letter to his chest, as if holding onto it could somehow keep you from slipping away from him completely. But deep down, he knew that no amount of pleading or begging could change your mind, that you had made your decision, and there was nothing he could do to change it for now.

You were truly the biggest loss of his life; there was too much to grieve and yet so much to hold onto. He was going to go back for you, but he had to heal that part of him that pushed you away from him and let you find yourself before he could come back into your life again.

.......

I'm tagging people who asked me and those who asked for a part 2, if you want to be removed you can tell me 💌

💌 taggs: @immywonderdefender @sarahhxx03 @powellssaturn @ifall4dilfs @harriedandharassed @skysmiller

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actuallysaiyan · 5 days

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The Beast Inside Of Me(Incubus!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, AU, Incubus, demons, slight dub-con, oral(fem receiving), slight yandere vibes, creampie finish, mentions of passing out/fainting, vaginal fingering word count: 3.2k pairings: Incubus!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: Kento has been searching for his mate for a long time, and he finds out it's you. Incubi don't usually mate with humans, so he's desperate to make it work. a/n: not sure if it's the demon who possessed me or the Earthbound OST that made me write this, but here it is and I realllyyy hope you all enjoy!! Some dividers by @/benkeibear

taglist: @beneathstarryskies @an-ever-angry-bi @namikyento

@seireiteihellbutterfly @adharadotcom @heyitsd1yaa

@darkstarlight82 @melisuh123. @galactict3a

@erebus-et-eigengrau @aomi04 @isabelzoldyck

@cinnamon-girl-writes @felixmr @typicalemo. @entirelysein-e

Want to be a part of the taglist? Join here!(Please have age indicator in bio!)

You’ve seen that handsome face before. In your dreams, where you thought you were just imagining things. But now that you’re awake and looking at the man(or so you think)sitting on the edge of the bed, you aren’t sure if this is just another dream or figment of your imagination. When he looks over at you, he looks so incredibly sad. The sorrow in his features is so apparent, you feel the sadness deep inside you.

“Are you…” your own voice scares you. “Are you real?”

He looks at you once more. His hazel eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness of your room. Then you see his wings expanding, creating an interesting shadowlike surrounding. Your eyes widen a little as he climbs out the window and you watch him fly away. You’re stunned by the sight.

Lying back on your bed, you try to calm your breathing. That was a dream, right? It had to have been. There aren’t handsome creatures with wings that just casually hang out in your room. That doesn’t happen. It really just doesn’t happen at all.

You pull the covers up to your chin, curling it in your fist. You think you’ll never be able to go to sleep again, but soon your eyes flutter shut and your mind is filled with the most pleasant dreams.

When you wake up, you chalk it all up to some silly dream and being extremely tired. You go about your day like nothing happened. Meanwhile, the creature you saw in your bedroom is suffering in silence. He has finally found his human mate, which is you.

He’s suffering because he knows he could never court you properly. He’s suffering because he knows you would reject him if he were to approach you and explain the situation. He invades your dreams as much as possible because it’s the only way he’s able to see you and feel you and touch you and taste you…

Being alive for so long has its perks, but it also becomes so lonely. All the other incubi and succubi from his pack have already found their respective mates. And it’s a little rare for his kind to mate with a human. Kento wonders if he’s just destined to be alone forever. He feels that deep sorrow inside of himself. The same one that he felt when he realized it would take him a long time to find his mate.

Night after night, he’s been chasing after you like some lovesick puppy. He finds it so pathetic too. You could easily find someone better for yourself, and you don’t even know that someone like him is so deeply in love with you. Kento contents himself with just sitting on your bed and watching you sleep. Seeing him that night was a mistake and you shouldn’t have woken up.

The next night that he shows up, it’s only in your dreams.

The room feels hot and stuffy, but it’s pleasant. There’s a slight smell of a candle that’s been burning, and something like a cinnamon and nutmeg scent. It’s enticing and intoxicating. Your skin feels drenched with sweat. You try to open your eyes, but you’re feeling so sleepy and so tired.

“P-please,” you pant out.

Calloused hands caress you, removing the sheet that covers your naked body. You whine as you feel those same hands spreading your thighs. Soft touches from fingertips follow, creeping up your thighs. Then you let out a pathetic whimper when you feel something parting your soaked folds with expertise.

“Fuck,” you whine when you feel a wet, hot tongue pressing against your clit.

The feelings are intense. Your orgasm grows so fast, it hits you hard. You’re panting and moaning loudly, trying to grind against this tongue. But as soon as it appeared, faster did it disappear.

You wake up the following morning wondering if that was truly real and with sheets that are still damp from your dreams. This time, you have a harder time chalking it up to a wet dream.

For Kento, he wishes he could keep the taste of you on his tongue forever. He’s never gone that far with you, but he’s very happy he did. He eagerly jerks himself off to the flavor on his tongue and the memory of your scent until it fades away. It makes him angry that he can’t have you committed to his memory forever.

So he gets a little more daring the next time he visits you. This time, it isn’t just a dream for you. It’s a real encounter with the demon himself.

He casts a deep slumber spell on you, but you are still reacting to everything he does. He takes his time to memorize you; tasting you heavily on his tongue as you gush. Orgasm after orgasm is pulled from you as Kento works your body with expertise. He knows what you like. He could probably bring you to orgasm with the smallest little nudge against your clit by now.

His eyes are glowing as he feasts on you. His cock is rock hard as he begins to rut against the bed. Nothing could be better than this. The room feels so hot and warm, but it only seems to add to your arousal and his. The smell of burning candle, cinnamon and nutmeg fill your senses, even while you sleep deeply.

Kento’s eyes roll back as he gets to taste your essence once more. If he could, he’d gladly drown in the flavor of you for all eternity. It’s not enough to keep visiting you in the dark of your bedroom at night. He needs you always. Now and forever.

So the night finally comes where he decides to see how you’ll react if he introduces himself to you. He sits on your bed, waiting for you to rouse from your sleep. When you do, you gasp softly at the creature at the foot of your bed. He leans closer, and you get a better look at him.

Sharp, angular features for such a beautiful man. Or…is he even really a man? He can’t be a man if he looks this good and has a tail and wings. He smiles softly, his cheeks lightly pink.

“Have I frightened you?” He inquires, leaning in just a little closer.

Your senses are filled with the scent of burning candle, cinnamon and nutmeg. Your thoughts are filled with sensual memories. Something about this makes a throbbing sensation begin between your thighs.

“N-no.” You finally manage to answer. “Who are you?”

He smiles sweetly before reaching out to cup your chin. You get to look into his beautiful eyes. They shine so brilliantly for you. You don’t feel frightened at all, only confused and curious.

“My name is Kento,” his voice is so reassuring and soothing. “I am not here to hurt you.”

Something about that name makes your heart beat faster. You lean in closer to hear more of what he has to say. But instead of talking, he decides to kiss you. It’s so deep and passionate. He holds you close, his wings wrapping around you to keep you securely in his grasp.

“You are my beloved,” he finally whispers against your lips. “I have searched for you for a long time.”

Your eyes widen at the creature holding you. How could someone so beautiful have searched for you for so long? You feel so plain in comparison.

Almost as if he has read your thoughts, “You aren’t plain. You are the most beautiful thing on this earth and within every plane of existence.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. Your cheeks are redder than a tomato. You aren’t sure how anyone could think this about you. Kento cradles your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. He looks at you like you are the stars in the sky, the colors of a rainbow, a beautiful masterpiece hung on the walls of an art museum.

“How precious you are to me,” he says softly. “I could not say it in words.”

You allow him to lay you down on the bed. His lips are attached to your neck; sucking, nipping, licking and biting. To get that sweet taste of you, he is quite desperate. Everything about you is both beautiful and extremely enticing. He could never get enough of you, even if he made love to you a million and one times.

His hands are calloused as he caresses your body. He slips your pajamas off of you slowly, tantalizingly so. His eyes keep gazing up at you, making sure you know just how much you are loved. He couldn’t be able to continue if he didn’t know for sure that you are indeed enjoying yourself.

The moment his fingers slip against your folds again, you feel that same arousal from the other night. It begins to truly dawn on you exactly what is going on. He’s been the one to pleasure you all these nights, even the ones where you were dreaming.

You pull him in for another kiss; this time it’s sloppy because of how hungry you are for him. He grunts against your lips, his fingers still working at your greedy pussy. But he loves that you’re getting into it. You’re desperate and needy for him, which makes him so happy and very aroused.

“It’s been you this entire time,” you whisper.

He nods. “Yes, does this please you?”

You can’t even begin to think of the right words to answer that question. So instead you reach down and feel his cock through the skin-tight underwear he’s wearing. He moans just for you and you love the sound. You love it so much, you wish to hear it forevermore.

Kento kisses you with a ravenous hunger now. The hunger that resides so deep inside of him as an Incubus is beginning to come to the surface. He needs to try and rein it in if he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you.

Tenderness returns to him as he takes a few deep breaths. He cannot show you the ugly side of him. It’s an animal, a beast that resides inside of him. It’s ugly and carnal and full of sin. And though he’s sure you’d still be able to find it in your angelic heart to forgive him if you were to see that side of him, he would hate himself forever if he were to harm you in any way.

“Please,” he moans softly. “Allow me to taste you once more.”

He spreads your thighs again, grunting when he sees just how soaked you are. You smell divine. Musky and yet so sweet. It makes his cock throb and painfully twitch. For an Incubus, he swears he’s falling into your trap instead of the other way around.

Your little heart pounds in your chest like the fluttering of the wings of a hummingbird. You reach down to push his hair out of his face, and this earns you another grunt from the man between your legs. You aren’t sure if he’s fully a man or he’s a beast, but either way you have come to accept him as your lover.

His tongue feels like warm silk against your folds. He licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, rendering you incapable of speech for a moment. You shudder from head to toe, and a small little gasp falls from your lips. You’re panting already and all he’s done is lick once.

“Oh, you’re so needy for me.” Kento purrs before he dives back into lapping at you.

Your toes curl as his mouth works you up to an exquisite orgasm. Your breath hitches in your throat as his mouth and tongue and lips stimulate you in all the ways only someone from your wildest dreams would be able to. As your body shudders and shakes, Kento grunts against your wet cunt. He’s hungry and growing hungrier by the moment. If he doesn’t pull away soon, you’ll see the beast inside of him.

Thankfully you tug on his hair to pull him away to avoid too much overstimulation. He looks up at you; his once hazel eyes have grown very dark. There’s a look on his gorgeous face that you can’t quite decipher. But soon, it begins to dissipate and you swear his pupils are in the shape of hearts just for you.

“My pretty lover,” he coos softly. “Please…” he swallows hard. “Please allow me the chance to make love to you. The privilege.”

Your eyes widen. How could he even be begging you? He was so beautiful, so handsome, so breathtaking. It should be the other way around. You should be the one begging for a chance to even look at him.

“I understand if you don’t want to tonight, or really if you didn’t want to engage at all, I just want to—”

He’s interrupted by you pulling him in for another kiss. It’s mostly to shut up his insecurities right now. But part of you wants to taste yourself on his tongue and his lips. He grunts as he adjusts himself in his underwear. Your hands reach down to begin tugging them off of his perfectly sculpted body.

“It would be my privilege to make love with you.”

Those words make his head swirl with arousal and lust. His eyes are dark once more. He nips at your bottom lip, making you squeak in pleasure. Kento parts your thighs even more so that he can place himself between them. His underwear is all but ripped off his body.

“Eager for me?” he teases you before kissing you. “I’m just as eager, if not more.”

You sigh as you feel his hands guiding your thighs to wrap around him. The heft of his cock rests on your mound. Kento uses his fingers to open you up, making you drip all over the sheets even more. Slowly pumping them in and out and in and out…

“Just like that,” he coaxes. “Just for me. Open up, my beautiful flower.”

His words go straight to your head, but also straight to your throbbing clit. You’re more than aroused and ready for him, but the fact that he wants to take such care of you, it turns you on even more. It takes no time for him to slip his fingers out and replace them with the tip of his cock.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispers in your ear as he pushes more of himself into you. “And I’ll go slow.”

Slow is his pace. Gentle is his touch. You shudder as you feel him leisurely pushing into you. His eyes snap up and down from your face to your little hole trying to suck him in. His tail begins whipping in excitement. He knew it would feel good to finally be inside of you, but he’s having to take deep breaths once again to not lose control.

“My beloved,” he moans against your ear. “You feel heavenly.”

Your cunt spasms around him as he eventually bottoms out. His balls are plush against you and you finally get a sense of how pent up he is by how heavy his testicles feel. Your hands come around to rub his back as Kento starts up at a very loving and tender pace.

“Pretty, beautiful, exquisite…” he spouts off as he begins rocking his hips. “So warm, so wet.”

When you look into his eyes again, you see tears. He’s relieved but also so overwhelmed. He’s trying his best to hang on to the shred of sanity he has left. It’s so difficult when you keep squeezing and clenching around him. It’s all too much for him to keep going without losing a little control.

“Forgive me, beloved.”

You barely have time to comprehend what he means when he pushes your knees up to your chest. His hips begin to snap as he fucks into you harder, faster and deeper. Oh he is just so deep inside of you, you swear you can feel him in your throat. It’s all too much for you to even begin to understand. You cling to him as his cock rams into you over and over.

“Kento!” You gasp, trying to hold on.

He grunts and growls like a ferocious beast. Inside, he’s cursing himself for allowing himself to show you even just a fragment of who he truly is. His tail comes up to curl around one of your breasts. His head dips down to take the nipple into his mouth. He sucks on it harshly as he fucks deeper and harder into you.

“Need to fuck you,” he grunts. “Need to breed,”

His words are a bit of a shock, but you’ve been piecing parts of this together in your head this entire time. He, of course, is not a regular man. And the way he’s pumping into you now, you know it’s because something else is possessing him to do so.

Your legs begin to shake as his cock keeps pushing against that sweet spot deep inside of you. Stars speckle in your vision as your peak becomes imminent. It’s such a deep feeling inside of you. You can barely contain your moans, whimpers and sweet breathy whines. Kento tries to stop himself, but the more you squeeze around him, the less control he has.

“Going to breed you,” he growls. “You are mine.”

Every word is punctuated with a deep and harsh thrust. His balls rest plush against your ass every time he’s completely deep inside you. His eyes are growing darker. And the tail wrapped around your breast has now begun to tug a little bit on your nipple.

“May I…Can I…” He growls loudly. “Need to breed!”

It’s no longer a question. It’s a demand. A command for you. You are so willing to allow him this privilege. He never even told you the outcome of this coupling. You just wanted to soothe him and his needs, all while falling in love with this man; no, he’s no man. He’s a beast. A beast that you wish to tame.

“Cum,” you struggle to tell him. “Inside.”

He barely hears you, but something inside his brain clicks. It’s all that he needs to be sure that he is more than allowed to do this. Before either of you can register what’s happening, his tail wrapped around your breast squeezed harder. His wings come around the both of you, shielding you from the rest of the world.

With a loud roar, he begins emptying himself into your tight little hole. Shots of thick, potent cum spill deep inside of you. Kento reaches down to begin rubbing your clit in slow, tantalizing circles. A soft gasp escapes you as your orgasm hits you hard. Your legs are shaking and your heart is pounding harder than it ever has before.

You feel your vision beginning to tunnel…

You awaken several hours later. Your hole is sore and abused, dripping thick cum. You’re disoriented as you try to understand what is happening. Kento isn’t here, but his scent lingers on everything. You look at the nightstand and notice a bottle of water and a piece of paper folded in half. You take a drink of the water and then you unfold the paper. It’s a note from your otherworldly lover.

See you this evening. Same time as last night. Be prepared, my love. I have lots more to show you.

Xoxo,

Kento.

460 notes · View notes

randomdragonfires · 3 months

Text

Pieces of a Woman | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Even when his life takes a turn for the worse, Aemond Targaryen endures.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Smut; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Miscarriage; Yearning; ANGST

WORD COUNT | 7.2k

A/N | This is my personal favourite out of all the stories I've ever written, reposted with a new header and all that fun stuff! Beta read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs ❤️

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins.

They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. He had watched as her once bright and hopeful eyes became empty and devoid of emotion. He had watched as she was pulled into the darkness completely, becoming a shell of the woman she once was.

As much as he wished he could turn back time, he had accepted his fate. He accepted that he would never have his wife back. He would never hold her in his arms again and never get to lay his head on her lap as she embroidered. She would never read to him in her mellifluous voice ever again, despite the fact that he would give everything he had to have her with him once more.

What good was all this power and wealth, if he could not protect his own family? What good was his title as Prince Regent, if he did not have her to stand by his side? If he could not protect his little boy?

His hair, once braided to the side by her deft and nimble fingers with love, remained uncared for, left loose in all its glory. Training his one dark-rimmed, tired eye at the crypt that held the ashes of his heir, Aemond Targaryen let the sadness take him - for when his son’s life was brutally snuffed out, his wife’s very soul had been too.

There was nobody to blame for it all apart from himself.

Ever since their wedding, she had been a steady and calm presence in his life. She was the quiet to his rage, the water to his fire. He had always been a sullen and lonely child that harbored resentment for those who had wronged him, but he felt his heart steadily calm down with every moment he spent in her presence.

It wasn't until he met her that he realized he was lacking love and consideration, both of which he believed had never received before - not like this. She gave him an opportunity to be a better man; one that he took eagerly with both arms.

In return, he was a respectful husband who did his very best. He wasn’t adept at great gestures of love, but he always made sure that his wife woke with a kiss to her hair and his arms enveloping her body. He wanted her to never know loneliness for as long as he lived, he would make sure of it.

For all his reading and knowledge, Aemond was not good at making his appreciation known verbally. Instead, he would bring her huge tomes from the library so he could read to her. These books covered topics that he was passionate about, so everytime he brought one, he was offering up a part of his soul. Who better to give it to than the woman he has sworn his heart, soul and loyalty to?

He needed her. He needed her from deep in his soul, and he needed her carnally, always. She was all that was missing in his life, and now that he had her, he would always need her.

But right now, as her screams erupted through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond’s heart lurched in his chest, becoming heavier with each passing moment. The babe was arriving, and it would seem that the child was taking her for all that she was. Everytime she groaned in pain, he held onto the railing tighter than ever, as though it would make her pain go away.

They would not let him in, no. Childbirth was a woman’s fight, and the men would have to wait outside - much like the women did when the men went to battle. There was nothing he would not give to hold her hand right now; to tell her that she would be an absolutely beautiful mother, and that all she had to do was summon all her strength and emerge victorious.

As though she had heard his thoughts, her pained wails slowly died down, replaced by the first cries of a newborn. Boy or girl, the babe had an incredibly strong pair of lungs on them, their mighty cries could overshadow even the loudest of thunderstorms. The cries echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the servants outside immediately jumped to work. A new royal babe had been born after all - there was work to be done, celebratory feasts to be organized, chambers to be prepared, nothing but the best for a Targaryen.

His mother stepped out of the chambers and laid a hand on his back in comfort. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled in congratulations. “Mother and babe are well, my son. She has made me so proud. The little one is beautiful, he would go on to achieve many great things. Just like you.”

A son. She had given him an heir to carry his bloodline. How would he ever repay her?

He walked into the chambers with speed that he did not know he possessed, his purpose made clear with each stride. The midwives and maids moved to make way for the One-Eyed Prince, and in he went.

She laid in the middle of the chambers, looking like she had braved the worst experience of her life. Her hair was askew, with sweat coating her entire body, her fatigue was palpable. Blood and waters coated the floor, and the chambers smelled like death. The bloody spots on her shift alarmed him, and it concerned him to see his usually happy and energetic wife look so thoroughly worn out. But then she smiled.

Through all her weariness from the challenges of the birthing bed, she had meekly smiled at him - and all was alright in his world again. He held her cheek in his palm and kissed her forehead, heart full from knowing that she was alright. She reached for his other hand, holding onto it like it was the last thing that kept her tethered to reality.

“Are you well, wife?”

The seemingly simple question certainly did not project the waves of concern that had plagued him outside while he waited with bated breath, but she knew. She saw it in the crinkles on his forehead and the widening of his good eye.

“I am now.”

She had braved battle, and had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. Her voice was hoarse from all the pained screaming, and she certainly had no business being awake right now - but by the Gods, he was the happiest man in the realm.

The maids were done with wiping the blood off of the babe and had handed the boy to her. Aemond knew right then that he would have to compete for his wife’s attention from then on, for his little son had clearly stolen her heart, and his, within moments of his birth.

Her weak voice called out to him once more. “Aemond, husband… look what we made.”

He was exquisite. Aemond reached out to the babe, his son, and his son's pudgy rose finger latched onto his long, sturdy one as he continued to cry. “He has a strong grip. He shall be a storied warrior." She smiles at the possibility, and he cannot help but kiss her hand once more.

"You’ve given birth to a boy as strong as you are, wife.” He watched as she nudged her nose to the babe’s and smiled, her face glistening from sweat and tears. His newborn son’s cries got louder with each passing moment, but despite being a man of silence and solitude, Aemond had never felt more at peace.

“Thank you.”

Aemond would be the first to deny that he was a doting paragon of a husband that the bards would sing about, but he certainly was a good man who loved and respected his wife.

In the days that followed the birth of his child, he had spent every waking moment that he could spare with the pair of them. Both mother and son had the fierce One-Eyed Prince wrapped around their fingers. Between sparring sessions and battling his family’s idiosyncrasies on the daily, his little family had given him quite the reprieve, one that he was infinitely thankful for.

But now, his son is gone, and his wife is too.

“The heirs need to be kept safe. The twins, little Maelor, all three of them,” his mother said.

He may be in the middle of a war, but it was moments like these that seemed hardest to him. Aemond sat quietly by the hearth, in the very same chair where he always rested. His wife used to sit by him or at his feet as she embroidered. Now, her absence was a gaping hole each time he sat.

“Aemond…”

He turned to the sound of his grandfather calling out his name, looking cold and calculated. It did not escape Aemond that he was discussing the safety of his brother's children while he had lost his own child. The irony of it all was stark and jarring.

“Yes,” he curtly responded.

“It is in our best interests that you…” His grandfather paused midway through his words, and Aemond knew well that the man did that only when unsettling news was to follow. “...that you take a new wife. We’re in need of an alliance, and she can be sent to the motherhouse at Oldtown. She will be cared for, she will be fed-”

He saw red. “My son is dead!” The words tumbled out of Aemond’s mouth like shards of glass before he could even comprehend the gravity of his grandfather’s heavy, cutting words.

"My son’s death is on my conscience, his blood is on my hands. I did not do the deed myself, but it certainly feels like I was the one who wielded the knife that killed him.” The people had taken to calling him a kinslayer, and Aemond felt it in his bones everyday - not because of Lucerys Velaryon, but because of how his rash actions had resulted in the death of his little boy.

“My son is dead, and my wife has not been the same ever since. How do you think I can start a new family, with a new woman, when I know very well that I have caused all the grief that has driven my wife to madness? When I caused the death of my own child?”

Aemond Targaryen always made for a menacing sight, but his grandfather was not prepared for the kind of anger that his grandson had kept stored in him - for himself, his wife, and his son. They were not here, and he was angry enough for all three of them.

The Dowager Queen watched the entire conversation unfold, and she held her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat become frantic with each moment that she saw her son in distress. She knew how content he was in his wife's presence, and how much he loved her. To watch a child grow and fester in his own resentment - no mother should have to witness it. And yet, the Gods saw fit to give Alicent Hightower the closest view to her son's heartbreak.

“Get out,” he seethed. Otto Hightower took Aemond’s raw and angry words in stride before walking away, his head still held high.

His mother stood in front of him, held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry…”

She wept until she could not, and it took everything Aemond had in him to not do the same.

When he tossed and turned in his bed in the middle of the night, he would always reach out for her.

She would always welcome his touch and curl into him, her forehead resting on the smooth planes of his chest and her warm breath making goosebumps rise on his skin. He would hold her tight until neither could ascertain where one ended and the other began, and sleep that normally eluded him would come to him faster than anything else.

Tonight, her spot on the bed is empty.

When he woke in a hurry, he noticed the crumpled sheets and the pillows left askew, the only evidence of her having retired to bed alongside him. He quickly rose from the bed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, wondering as to where she could have gone at this ungodly hour.

Gods, was she hurt?

He did not have to wait for the divine deities to answer, for his answer came in the form of the sweet humming sounds that he had grown to love. He followed her voice as he walked through their apartments, and it led him to the chamber where his son’s crib was kept. She was sitting next to it in her white shift, her head peeping in as she let her hands rest on the crib. She hummed softly and happily, marveling at how beautiful her little boy looked as he slept - looking much like the man she shared her bed with.

Aemond wanted to ask her to come back to bed immediately. The maesters had advised lots of rest for his wife, given the stress of the labors and the damage her body had taken. But as he watched her and his boy, he knew he couldn’t. He needed a moment to drink in the sight of his wife and son - his entire world, all in one chamber.

He held so much love in his heart for them both despite seeing them only with one eye. Perhaps he’d be able to love them more if he could see them with two.

“He’s going to be there when we wake, wife. Come back to bed.”

She turned to him and smiled, a warm smile that he wished he could brand into his mind for all eternity. “Did I wake you?”

“You did not. Your absence from our bed did.”

She chuckled softly, and he walked over to her. He positioned himself behind her chair and kissed her temple, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of looking at him,” She said.

“Hm.” His gaze rested on the sleeping babe, tired from all his crying throughout the day.

“My son, a dragon prince,” She mused. “He’ll be charming, strong and intelligent, just like his father.”

At that, he chuckled darkly and she rose, turning around to face him. Her hand found his cheek and he leaned into her touch, leaving a light kiss on her wrist as he held her hand in place. “What’s so amusing, husband?”

“Charming is not the first word anyone would use to describe me, wife.”

“Well, you are. To me.” Her whispering siren-like voice was like music to his ears.

She reached up on her toes and left a light kiss on his brow, and Aemond was quick to hold her to him by the waist, wanting to have this - this quiet solace - all to himself for a time.

Who was he to argue with the woman around whom his entire world revolved? The very one that held his heart in her hands?

He stands in the middle of what used to be their shared chambers and sighs.

The entire room is covered in pieces of her - fragments of her that he desperately clings to for dear life. Robes and dresses that she had not worn in a long time, but still manage to somehow retain her scent. Quills and ink that she used to write her correspondence with, now left to gather dust. Ten Thousand Ships, her favorite book, one that he had given to her as a name day present, laid abandoned on the bedside table.

This was the very same chamber where he had claimed her. This was where he had first admitted to loving her. This was where she had told him that she was with child. This was where they had spent countless nights talking well into the night, their bodies entwined and voices coming out in hushed whispers and low giggles. This was where they had discovered and learned of the passions of the marital bed, together. This was where their marriage had grown and bloomed.

If he walks a little further, his feet will take him to the adjoined room where his son used to sleep - but try as he might, he does not have the strength for that. Not yet.

He sits by the edge of their bed, the sunlight passing through the windows in streaks of yellow gold. He closes his good eye, hoping for a little time to adjust to the light. Perhaps if he closes it hard enough, he will be able to picture her sitting by the window with her focused eyes trained on her embroidery or one of his books, waiting for him to come back to her after his daily duties.

His nose flares at the unearthly reminder that his wife is no longer his by side. She had been full of happiness and life, and she had brought light into his life. He welcomed it for as long as she was around, but now that she was gone, he closes his eye and avoids it like the plague, much like he does with the sunlight that now warms his skin.

Her world has become dark because of him. How can he sit in the light in good conscience, when he knows he has lost all right to it?

The waves crashed by the shores of Blackwater Bay and she sat on the sands, watching them. She had a book in her hands, and a basket of food that she had the maids prepare for them to take.

Her eyes closely followed her husband as he held their baby son’s hands upright, his little pudgy feet resting over his huge boot-clad ones as he led them forward. The little boy’s gurgling and laughing echoed through the wind, and she took a bite of a juicy apple while holding a book in her other hand.

They were the picture of a happy family, the stories of whom may be immortalized in songs for years to come.

He had not yet begun to walk, and his words were all a blubbering mess - but Aemond Targaryen was not known for being patient. He insisted on guiding his son to his feet so his first steps would come to him quicker, and spoke to him in High Valyrian in hopes that his first words would be in his native tongue.

Her boys had walked all the way toward her with her baby’s toes pressing onto Aemond’s feet harshly. He picked him up and held him then, and his son’s hands landed on his eyepatch. It had become his favorite little plaything these days - the boy took to wrangling it off his father’s head and swinging it with his two fat fingers until he grew tired - that was if he did not notice the sapphire first. By the Gods, if he did, he would insist on taking that off to play with too. His son, like him, had a taste for the finer things in life, it would seem.

“He’s taken well to the waters, I think,” she said. Her fondness for the little lad and her husband was evident in her face as she watched them. Her son had taken to swinging his arms in all directions, occasionally hitting his father’s face.

“Water does not mix with fire and blood. He should not be taking so well to the waters.”

“Suppose he can embrace it all then. Perhaps he’s… special.” She rose to meet her son’s eyes, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The boy smiled, a handful of his father’s alabaster hair in his hands as he pulled. Aemond winced, and she giggled.

“Zaldrītsos…” Aemond murmured, a quiet plea to his son to stop. It fell on deaf ears, but he did not mind. [Little dragon]

A maid had come to inform them that their presence was requested in the keep, and Aemond handed the boy over to her before walking back to give his wife his hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and rubbed her hand with his before leading them away, their steps slow and relaxed.

“We should have another,” she said. Her smile, the source of all his content, was as bright as the sun. “You should take me tonight,” she murmured then, eyes quickly blackened by lust. He watched as the girl with childish wonder transformed into a seductress, and he lost even before he tried - defeat had never felt sweeter.

He could never deny her anything she wanted.

“Do you want me, wife?” He muttered darkly as he halted his steps, turning towards her. He held her by the waist and kissed her brow, waiting for her to respond.

“I always want you,” she murmured, eyes fluttering at the closeness of his lips. Her bright eyes sought his lilac one as the sound of the waves rippled through the air. “I also want to bear you another child. Would you like that, husband? Another little babe for us to love…”

He nodded and kissed her, pouring all his passion into it as he devoured her lips. “You do look beautiful, belly round and full with my child.”

That night, he choked her name out like an urgent prayer while he spilled into her, his peak following soon after hers. He then peppered kisses across her face and neck as the smell of sweat and coupling engulfed them, while she held onto his hair and let her hand wander over it in a soothing manner. He rubbed a hand over her belly, praying that his seed had taken. If not, he would seek her out and touch her everywhere once more - he would never be tired of her.

If another child was what she desired, then she shall have it - for how could he ever deny her?

The burns and injuries had ruined any spirit Aegon may have had as King.

He had watched his brother as he grew into a fierce protector of his family soon after being crowned. Ser Criston had made clear the dangers that they posed to Rhaenyra with their very existence, and it was all Aegon needed to grow into his role as the rightful monarch. However, he had gotten ahead of himself and underestimated his skills as a dragonriding fighter and gotten himself hurt.

Aemond’s role as Prince Regent was something that he slid into seamlessly - he had always known that he was the better fit for the throne after all. His first action was to ensure the safety of his own wife, Helaena and her three children.

“They’ve been moved to our father’s old chambers. Deep in the Holdfast, far away from any possible intru-”

“I know where the chambers are, Aemond. Will you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.” Aegon interrupted, words slurred as he sipped on Arbor Red. The wine sloshed in the cup as it moved in his unsteady hands.

His eyes were trained on his brother, a tired and tested man who was now incharge of running a Kingdom. Aegon knew that the crown was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight of the world that Aemond always carried on his shoulders. It only seemed to have gotten worse since his son’s death and his wife’s isolation.

“Does she fare any better?”

“No.” It is all Aemond wishes to say on the matter.

While he may not want to speak of the family he had lost, Aemond knew that he would protect those he was left with every breath in his body if need be. He may not have been there for his little boy, but he would die before he let a hair on any of his remaining family members’ heads be touched. The regret of being an inadequate husband and father pricked at him like the heat from the bright blaze of the fire in the hearth, and he walked out with purpose.

He knew where he was going next. After all, his feet always carried him to her at nightfall.

When Aemond came home dripping wet from the rain that had drenched him at Storm’s End, he was convinced that he had ruined everything good that he had. He could not imagine a simple scratch on his little boy without feeling angered - how could he expect Rhaenyra to simply accept her son’s death?

He had to get them safe. He had to keep them safe. He had to keep them safe. Safe, safe, safe.

She had just left the babe with the nursemaid and come to their chambers to find a moment of quiet before her son’s inevitable crying began again. Her eyes widened when she opened the door to find her husband completely drenched, looking like he was inviting death with open arms. He may as well have.

“Aemond..” She rushed to him immediately, hands going to his damp hair and clothes. “Gods did it rain on your ride back home? Let me fetch you some clean clothes and something to dry yourself with.” He reached out to her before she could go too far, and she gasped at how cold his touch was.

It was always warm, and tonight it was not.

“Stay, please.”

“I need you to put on something warm first, Aemond. You’ll catch a chill.”

She was too distracted by his wet state to notice the tears mixed with the raindrops. He said nothing as she walked away and brought back fresh garb for him to change into. She quietly bade that he raise his arms and he obeyed, not having the strength to do anything else. Slowly, each garment fell with a wet thwack to the floor and she took to wiping all the water off of him.

His grave silence unnerved her immensely, and she knew something was wrong. She would wait for him to say it.

She dressed him in a linen undershirt and breeches and took him to his beloved chair by the fire, in hopes that it would warm him up and encourage him to tell her of what plagued him. He sat in silence for a long while as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her forehead leaning on one of his thighs while her finger drew mindless patterns on the other.

His hand always reached for her hair when they sat like this, but tonight, that was not the case. She looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and as he caught her vision with his one eye, he did not have the heart to tell her what he had done, but he had to.

“I killed Lucerys Velaryon.” His voice is hoarse and the words are choked out with difficulty, and while the weight of his actions hit him hard, it was harder to watch his sweet wife’s concerned face morph into something else entirely.

“What?”

“He was sent as an envoy. I only meant…” He gulped, and the tears fell freely once more.

She quickly lifted herself up and straddled him, holding his face in both her hands. Her fingers caught every tear that fell in quick succession. “Tell me, go on.”

“I only meant to scare him. I need you to believe me, I did not mean to kill him.”

Her husband was a proud man, and it made her stomach churn to see him sound so broken. She feared that she may not like what she was about to hear, but she had promised to be his other half for all his life, and now he needed her.

He may be fearsome, but he was not a cold-blooded murderer. He did not mean to kill him - but how much weight did his intent hold, now that the boy was dead?

“I believe you. Go on.”

“The dragons…” He let out a hoarse breath and she continued to wipe at his tears with the tips of her thumbs - softness that he right now felt very undeserving of. “Arrax breathed fire at Vhagar and she retaliated, she bit into the dragon’s neck and Luke fell, so did Arrax.”

She felt light headed with worry. How could she stomach the thought of a young boy falling to his death from the skies? How could she, when she was a mother to a little boy herself?

His uncle, Daemon, was going to come for them, Aemond was sure of that. But he could not bring himself to think of much else as he watched his wife digest all that he had told her, never once ceasing to remind him that she believed him, even if nobody else would.

When they rose, Aemond’s anger knew no bounds. The possible consequences ran through his mind as he pushed his desk onto the floor with brute force. The sharp edges of her vanity had drawn blood from the back of his hand as he moved in frustration, and she was quick to hold onto him and remind him of her presence. He was not alone, he had her.

“Take me. Take it out on me.” Aemond could not think straight, and she could not bear to see him hurt himself, any more than he already has. It is this very thought that drives her to take his hand and lay it upon her clothed chest.

He took her from behind that night, hands clutching onto her bouncing breasts. Every string that was stretched had snapped with each rough thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping skin somehow seeming too rough that night. “We’re going to be fine, wife,” he groaned - and she did not know whom he was trying to placate - her, or himself?

“I will keep you safe, the both of you.”

When he was done with her, she was left looking ragged with dried tear tracks on her face. He wanted to apologize - it seemed as though he hurt everything he touched, and after his now dead Stong nephew, his own sweet wife was his latest victim.

She held him between her breasts that night as they both wept, at a loss for words at what he had done. She did not know how to comfort him or rid him of the guilt or paranoia that his mind now played host to.

What she did know is that her husband needed her, and that she was not going anywhere. So when he suggested sending her and their son away, fearing for her safety, she begged him to let her stand by his side.

“If something were to happen to me, there would be nobody to protect you and our boy.”

“If something were to happen to you, our son and I would much rather follow you than brave many years alone.”

He reluctantly gave in, thinking that an increased guard and his constant presence around them would be enough to keep them unharmed.

How wrong he was.

He had walked away only for a moment.

His wife had wanted to eat some cake during the night - he suspected that she was with child again. Little did he know that it was the last moment of their happy marriage. The sight that he had walked back into was something that would never fail to haunt him.

Dead guards, a whole litany of them. His wife in her bloodied white shift, holding onto their son’s decapitated body. All the light in her eyes had dimmed as he stood frozen in place, his eye widened at the harrowing sight before him.

She wailed as she clutched the corpse to her chest, with no care for the injuries on her own body, or the blood of their babe that was now mixed in with her own.

“My boy, my precious boy…”

The rest of the royal family soon followed and his mother pulled her away from the babe’s lifeless body. He fell to the floor with no one to hold him, and Aemond could do nothing but watch. Aegon’s angry calls for his nephew’s head to be brought back along with the killers slipped into one ear and slipped out the other, and he went numb as he realized that the consequences of his actions had caught up to him.

Him, he could understand. But his sweet wife, his little son? What had they done?

A son for a son.

The rational part of his mind would have argued that Luke’s death probably left Rhaenyra feeling the same tragedy that he was faced with - but he was anything but rational in that moment. His fists clenched as his knuckles met the wall, and Aegon had to physically restrain him from walking out to catch the rats himself.

“She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. Listen to me, Aemond!”

Helaena had collapsed onto the chair entirely, repeating ominous words that he did not register at all.

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese.”

Aegon had gone to join in the hunt for his nephew’s killers, and she kept rocking herself back and forth at the sight of the blood that now painted the walls and floors of her brother’s chambers until she was led away. Aemond stood, all alone in a pool of his son’s and wife’s blood.

When the Silent Sisters were led into the chamber by his grandfather, Aemond froze. His wife had held their lifeless son to her breast as she cried, but he could not bring himself to look at him, much less touch him.

Hours later, with patches of his own son's blood soaked through his clothes, he had gone to see her. He held her in his arms as she sobbed through the night, trying to push him away with each firm hit to his chest. Aemond shushed her over and over to no avail, holding her closer each time she tried to separate herself from him. Sometime during that night, her eyes had become lifeless; a deep abyss. The sight of it finally drove him to tears too, with his good eye becoming a glistening violet ring floating in a sea of angry red.

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment when the madness had sunk its claws into his wife.

It was right then as he held her, comforting her and apologizing like a madman for tainting her life with his presence.

The moonlight diverged through the stained glass windows that directly faced the room where she now resided. She had been kept in these chambers before their wedding, and she often spoke of how beautiful the lights were when they fell directly onto the corridors, reflecting the colors of the glass that they slid through. He wondered if she still thought the same. He wondered if she even looked.

In the day that followed their son’s death, they had burned their little boy and watched as his body was wheeled around the streets of King’s Landing for their benefit. Aemond had wanted to retch then, but he held his wife tight as the people empathized with the kind princess whose time as a doting mother had been brutally cut short.

She fared worse - she looked dead in her eyes, and he was sure she was lost on the inside too. He did not know if she even sensed his hold on her as she kept muttering their dead boy’s name in a series of weak whimpers.

Two days later, she had lost their second child. He held her from behind and rocked her gently as the blood flowed from between her thighs for hours, the babe coming out in clumps of bloodied skin, having never drawn breath. Every moment of his wife’s torture plagued Aemond’s existence, and he questioned his abilities as a protector while grieving his son and his unborn child all alone.

The Gods were cruel to him in their games. They made him watch as his son’s life was taken, and they took bits of his wife’s mind and soul with each passing day. He supposed that this was the hand that kinslayers were dealt.

It was a slow death for Aemond, and it had begun the day his son was killed. Now he had to watch as his once vivacious wife completely lost hold over all her senses, and lived in a world where he could not reach her.

On some days, she would receive him with love, as though his presence in her life had not destroyed her completely. He would be able to revel in her touch once more, if only to simply be able to remind himself that she was still alive - in body, if not soul. He missed her, his wife, his woman, his entire heart. But his actions had killed her from the inside - did he have a right to his yearning anymore? He did not want to know, for he feared that he may not like the answer.

On other days, she would be the complete embodiment of madness. She would fight the maesters and scream at them, begging for them to let her die and throw herself off the window. She would pull at her beautiful hair, blame him continuously and shriek, mourning the loss of their child.

When she was done, she'd lower her voice and murmur words into the air. Speaking to no one in particular, almost like a ghost, she'd fidget with her dress and say, "His body twitched after they hurt him. My baby boy suffered. Oh, my boy!"

He may not have wielded the knife that removed his head, but his actions caused it. He may as well have killed his son himself. Guilt was not an emotion that Aemond Targaryen knew well as a boy, but it was all he now knew as a grown man.

She would bawl and cry at him to go away. She would scream at him to leave her alone, and blame him for killing her children - and rightfully so. And though it pricked at his heart, he would come back every night.

He wonders how she is feeling tonight. He wishes she was ignorant and unaware, for he is desperate for her touch, her company. It has been weeks. He is brought back to reality when the Maester’s gown billows behind him in the night wind.

“Your Grace.” he bows.

“How is she?”

“Somewhat calmed tonight and not lucid, my prince.” The old man sighs before continuing. “The Princess continues to ask for her little prince. We have given her milk of the poppy, so she may fall asleep soon enough.”

“Hm.”

He is mildly relieved to hear that she is not herself tonight - for it allows him to relive some of their happier days.

In his hand is a book - Ten Thousand Ships, the very one that he had gifted her. He dismisses the maester and his stewards follow behind him. Aemond walks into the room with his mind steeled, ready to be brave - for himself and for her.

“Husband! Come, come!” Her cheery voice is not quite hers, and it unnerves Aemond - her words are not from her heart, and it takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and apologize once more for what he has done to her. “The Maester said our boy’s learning to walk! Did you see him? I was promised that you would bring him tonight! Where is he?”

Gone, where we cannot see him, he wants to say. But how could he, without wanting to throw himself at her feet in regret? “He is tired. All that walking has exhausted him.”

“I suppose, yes! They tried to force me to take that vile concoction once more tonight, I managed to push it away and evade them! Look!” His gaze follows her hand and sees the spilled milk of the poppy on the floor. His wife was a calm and steady woman, and now she was behaving like a child and mistreating maesters.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You should not do that, wife. It is not proper.”

He holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, before leaning his head back to look at her. Her hair has not been combed today, and he gently turns her around to run his fingers through her hair, digits trembling at touching her once more. She could come to at any moment and remember who had caused her such distress, and then she would cry until he walked away - the very real possibility rakes at Aemond, so he remains prepared for her to push him away any time now.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

"I know. I drank it the second time. I'm sorry."

He then turns her back to face him and notices the dark rims around her empty eyes. He sighs and lets out a long, heavy breath. If he was drunk enough and she was unaware, he would fool himself into thinking that they were alright. But they aren’t.

“It is time to go to bed, wife. Will you come with me?” I love you, I miss you and I am sorry. Will you come back to me? Please?

He kisses both her eyelids and leads her to the bed in her shift. He gently helps her lay down, following her immediately as he lays next to her. She leans into his hold seamlessly and he tightens his arm around her - it hurts him how despite her madness, her penchant to seek out his touch never changes.

He takes the book from the bedside table, and she squeals. “Will you read to me tonight, husband? I do love it when you read to me. Perhaps a quiet moment between the both of us before the maids bring our son back? You know how he makes a fuss and refuses to give us a moment of quiet!” She laughs, and Aemond holds his tears back once more.

“Of course.” He kisses her temple.

He begins reading and the dry sounds of his throat lull her to sleep in his arms as he rakes his fingers through her hair. When she has completely drifted away from him, he allows himself a moment of thought and kisses her on the lips - watching as she murmurs his name.

He had taken her to wife, and sworn to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In the end, the only one she had to be protected from, was himself. He failed her, and now, he would not rest until he picked up all the pieces and put her back together.

When morning comes, she may still be unconscious of her surroundings and allow him some more time, or she may be lucid and scratch at his face until he leaves her alone. The uncertainty kills him, but he will allow himself to enjoy her tonight.

It was on this very day that he had kissed her for the first time, in the Sept, between the statues of the Mother and the Father. On this day, four years ago, they were married.

And on this day, he continues to read to her because she had asked, even when she had fallen asleep - for how could he ever deny her?

BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC, HERE.

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calmcoldevening · 1 year

Text

Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair

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elfwreck · 1 month

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I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

#Anonymous #ao3

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hopepetal · 5 months

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They had been running for some time now, chasing after Gem and Scott ever since proclaiming themselves allies. Chasing, without end, prey that was an expert at evading. It was frustrating, and not to mention exhausting.

Pearl took a moment to gasp for air, her footsteps stumbling to a halt. It took Scar a moment to notice, but when he did he stopped as well, turning to look back at her. “You good, Pearl?” he asked, tilting his head slightly in question.

“Yeah,” she got out, “doin’ lovely, mate. Don’t worry about me, just need a second.” She bent over, resting her hands on her knees as she gasped. Her lungs and legs burned from the strain, and despite his calm demeanor she knew Scar was feeling the same.

It took Pearl a moment to realize that her hair was cascading down around her, falling into her face despite the fact that she had tied her hair back earlier. With a groan, she realized her ponytail had come loose, the ribbon she had used still tangled in her hair. “Hold on,” she got out, straightening back up, “I have to tie my hair back up. Can’t be fighting with my hair down.”

“Wait!” Scar set down his shield and bow before stepping forward. “I have a better idea.” Before Pearl could protest, he gently took the tangled ribbon from her hair.

Pearl frowned. “What are you planning, Scar?”

“Sit down, Pearl.” Scar lowered himself to the ground and sat with his legs folded beneath him. “I’ll braid your hair.”

Pearl raised an eyebrow, laughing. She still clutched her bow in her hand, looking around nervously– they were almost a full death game in, and she still was on edge. As if she was planning on winning. “You know we don’t have that kind of time, Scar. Gem and Scott are still out there, and who knows what they’re planning?”

Scar shook his head, patting the ground in front of him. “Sit down. We need this rest, you know. Can’t fight too well if we’re exhausted.”

Pearl sighed, reluctantly setting down her bow as she sat. She kept her shield in her hand, laying it across her lap and fidgeting with the handle. “Alright.” She felt Scar pull her hair back, gently beginning to comb his fingers through her tangled locks. “Y’know, the final fight would go a lot easier if you killed me.”

Scar shook his head, still continuing to carefully brush through Pearl’s hair. “You know why I won’t do that, Pearl. I don’t like all those ‘heroic sacrifices’.”

Pearl laughed, continuing to fidget with her shield. Something about her laughter sounded a little bitter, nostalgic for something that had never happened. “Yeah, I can’t imagine why.”

Scar began dividing her hair up into sections, humming softly as he began to braid. “You have nice hair,” he commented, “very shiny. And soft.”

“You think so?” Pearl asked, free hand drifting up to play with one of her free locks. “Honestly, it just gets in the way during these games. I’m thinking of cutting it.”

Scar gasped, though the smile remained on his face. “Oh, I can only imagine… this game hasn’t even given us hairbrushes, the nerve!” After a moment of silence, he continued. “If you cut your hair, I won’t have any to braid, you know. How’s a man supposed to keep his hands busy like that?”

Pearl laughed, finally seeming to relax slightly as she set her shield to the side. “Grow out your own hair, you goof.” There was a sadness in her voice that Scar couldn’t physically understand– he’d never had long hair, so why did she sound like she was grieving something that never happened? And something so small at that.

For Pearl, the reason why was simple. How could she not grieve the parts of her friends that they’d forgotten they’d ever had? A smile that was missing its mischievousness, a laugh that was missing its depth. A look that had no recognition, no shared secrets. Memories like missing puzzle pieces, lost somewhere unknown. That was what she saw every time blood stained the ground, every time family was pitted against one another like soldiers at war.

Scar continued to braid Pearl’s hair, humming a cheery tune that Pearl knew he couldn’t recall learning. Deft hands paused, lightly holding the strands of hair, before Scar pulled away to grab something. Pearl heard him pick up his sword then hesitate, considering something.

“Aren’t you afraid of me stabbing you in the back?” he asked, to which Pearl laughed. “What? It’s a serious question!”

Pearl turned slightly to look at Scar, giving him a smile. “If you were going to stab me, Scar, it would’ve been when I asked you to. Besides,” she added, turning back around, “even if you did stab me now, I wouldn’t be upset. You’d get ten extra hearts.”

“Eh,” Scar dismissed, far too nonchalant for a discussion of death, “I don’t need ten extra hearts.”

Pearl raised an eyebrow, though she knew he wouldn’t be able to see that. “You might not think the same when we’re fighting against Gem and Scott, mate.”

Scar cut something with his sword before setting it back to the side, his hands taking Pearl’s hair in them again. “That’s a problem for future Scar. Present Scar doesn’t kill his only friend in the entire server.”

Pearl felt a pang of guilt shoot through her. She knew that feeling well– loneliness, grief. Loneliness was an old friend that had once been her only companion. She recognized that in Scar, in his voice and his eyes. She had seen it once before, in the second game. Not that he would remember it.

He might, soon. The voice that whispered to her was none other than her own, her deepest thoughts given words. He could win this. He could become like us.

I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, she shot back, unknowingly tensing up. It was a little silly, getting into an argument with herself, but Pearl had always been a rather silly person. Unconventional, even. At one point, she’d been called insane. Perhaps it was fitting.

And yet you want him to win. The voice made a good point– she made a good point. If she didn’t want Scar to win, she could easily just kill him now. She should kill him now if she so desperately wanted to spare him the fate of the victors. He’d put up a fight, and he was good with a sword. Pearl knew that much, knew that there would be a moment of surprise before his eyes narrowed and heart hardened and the battle began. She also knew that he wouldn’t win against her on the chance she did try her hardest, that she fought with all her might.

Scar knew this too, and perhaps that was why he teamed up with her in the first place. Maybe he had found kinship in their shared loneliness. Maybe he’d wanted protection. Maybe he needed a friend. It was unlikely, but maybe he’d felt drawn to her by a bond he couldn’t quite understand, one made by witnessing the violent and sudden end of a server he couldn’t remember. There were a thousand possible reasons as to why he’d chosen her, and perhaps she’d truly never left the tower after all, because the fact he had chosen her at all still slightly baffled her.

Well. No matter. He chose her, and in the end they’d all die anyway.

“You have gentle hands,” she commented. “Joel tried braiding my hair before. Nearly tugged my whole head off my neck, that man. It’s a wonder Lizzie’s put up with him this long.” No matter what memories they lost, it always seemed like Joel and Lizzie’s marriage remained an unchangeable fact. Maybe it had something to do with “‘til Death do us part’”, though Pearl wasn’t really sure.

Maybe she’d try marrying someone when they got back to Hermitcraft, just to see if it carried over to the next death game. And wasn’t that a strange thought, the next death game? There would be another, Pearl knew, if Grian had anything to say about it. He was a little strange like that, but she’d come to expect those kinds of things from her brother.

“Why thank you!” Scar was beaming, she could tell by his voice. “This just comes so naturally to me. Maybe I should’ve been a hairdresser instead of a trader.”

Pearl laughed, remembering the intricate braids Scar would put his hair in during Last Life and their home server, Hermitcraft. Although he couldn’t remember them, he remembered how to do them. That was a small relief, at the very least. It was nice to know that her friends kept some parts of themselves, instead of being the blank slates she had originally thought when she first regained her memories.

“Maybe,” she responded, starting to pick at the grass in front of her, plucking a small flower from the ground. “I’d go to you all the time if you were my hairdresser.” Her voice took on a teasing lilt as she continued. “Just as long as you promise not to do anything too crazy with my hair, alright?”

Scar giggled, his laughter another part of himself that he had kept even after the loss of his memories. “I can’t promise anything, sunflower! Who knows what might happen if you stop paying attention? I might turn you blonde if you aren’t careful.”

Pearl snorted, twirling a strand of grass around her finger idly. “And where do you suppose you’ll get the dye for that, mate? Or the means to make my hair lighter so it’s easier to dye? We’re not exactly exploding with resources here.”

“Hmm, true…” Scar hummed thoughtfully. “We’ve found ourselves in a bit of a pickle, Pearl!”

Pearl shook her head, rolling her eyes. “No, Scar, we aren’t. I didn’t want to go blonde in the first place, so there’s no need to get the materials we’d need for it. Just keep braiding my hair, you goof!”

“Aww, alright!” Scar laughed softly as he went back to braiding Pearl’s hair. “Almost done.” His voice took on an uncharacteristically serious tone. “How are you feeling? Injuries, exhaustion? General… mental state?” He gave a small chuckle on the last one. “I mean, other than the obvious. This game has been… a trip.”

Pearl groaned, stretching out her arms in front of her. “Tell me about it. I lost all of my Mounders.” Her shoulders slumped. “I really wanted them to win, Scar. I really did.”

“I know,” Scar murmured, “and I’m sorry you didn’t get to see that through. You did your best, Pearl.” He paused. “And what about you? I would’ve thought that after all your allies… got out… that you would want to take up the sword and win for them. But you haven’t really… been doing that. You even offered to let me kill you.”

Pearl held back a shudder, wanting to wrap her arms around herself to fight off the sudden cold that had settled over her. “I don’t want to win,” she mumbled, “Even if I did, I don’t think they’d be too happy if I tried.”

Scar made a confused noise. “What was that? I couldn’t quite catch it.”

Pearl shook her head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She took a breath. “I just don’t want to win. Don’t see the point in all this, really. Never have. What’s a victory when everyone else around you is dead?”

Scar hummed thoughtfully, thinking about it. “I suppose you’re right. But in the end, isn’t it better for it to be them than me?”

Pearl chuckled sadly. “Not when you have to live with the consequences.”

Scar paused for a moment, as if struck by a sudden revelation. “...I think I understand. Thanks for, uh, answering my questions.” He continued braiding for another moment. “Alright, I think we’re all done!”

Pearl stood with Scar, reaching back to gently touch her braid. There was a shallow pool of water nearby, and she walked over to check her reflection. “Really, Scar?” Woven into her braid was a sunflower, which must’ve been what Scar cut with his sword earlier.

Scar laughed, joining her by the water. “Doesn’t it look pretty? I thought it was fitting. And!” he continued, over Pearl’s soft laughter, “it adds some brightness to the whole ensemble!” He gestured at Pearl’s outfit, the same she had worn in her past games.

Maybe she would change up her red look next game. If there was a next game. “It does, it does,” she agreed, stifling her laughter. “Thank you, Scar. I look very pretty now, and my hair is out of the way.”

Scar looked over at her, eyes wide. “You mean you won’t cut it? You promise?”

Pearl smiled, reaching out and putting a hand on Scar’s shoulder. “I promise I won’t cut my hair, Scar. Not after you put so much effort into braiding it. I wouldn’t do that to ya, mate. That’s just cruel.”

Scar grinned. “I knew I could trust you!” With that, he turned away from the water and walked back to where he had left his sword and shield.

Pearl spent another moment there, gazing out at the water. Did he really mean that? Did Scar truly trust her? If so, had it just been this small moment that made him let down his guard? No, surely not. Scar was intelligent and cunning, and rarely did he let his walls down for anyone. Something must’ve happened for him to feel this way towards her. Something she had done, or said, maybe.

And that was just if he was being truthful with his words– she knew Scar wasn’t one to ignore the benefits of weaving lies and charm into his speech. He was a masterful manipulator, she knew many underestimated him for the cheery, unassuming front he put up. But that was just another reason as to why he was dangerous.

“Pearl?” Scar’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she looked back at her ally. “You comin’?”

“Yeah.” Pearl jogged over, feeling much more energized than before. Picking up her bow and her shield, she did one last check to make sure everything she had was in order. Once she was certain, she turned to Scar with a smile. “Lets win this one, Scar.”

Scar grinned in return, red eyes shining. “Why, I think that’s a wonderful idea!”

Lightning struck the ground as Gem took Scott’s sacrifice, and once again Pearl stopped Scar. “My offer still stands, you know. Kill me and take the hearts, you’ll stand a better chance against Gem if you do.”

Scar pretended to think about it. “I think I’ll stand a better chance against Gem if I have you on my team. So, no thank you! But thanks for the offer. Come on, we can’t let Gem get away!”

The chase continued, feeling much more light-hearted than the ones at the end of Double Life had been. To be fair, she had gone a little insane in the last few days, but still. Maybe it was Scar’s jovial attitude about killing. Maybe it was the fact that she still had an ally this late into the game. Maybe it was something Pearl would never be able to put her finger on, no matter how hard she tried to think of a reason.

The two inevitably caught up with Gem, who had grown exhausted from the chase. Despite being enemies now, Pearl still felt guilty as she raised her sword to attack, Gem’s wide eyes and shouts of an unfair fight making her hesitate and pull back. It was two against one after all, and Pearl had no intentions of winning. Ganging up on Gem like that felt wrong, but maybe that was just her old bond to the other holding her back. Scar had no such qualms, swooping in when she pulled back to quickly cut Gem down.

Pearl could hardly believe it had happened until lightning struck the ground, and silence rang between the two as Scar stood over Gem’s body. They’d discovered that bodies remained after the last death when Jimmy had died, but it was still a little disturbing to just see Gem laying there. Like she was asleep.

It didn’t feel right.

Pearl had to bite back a snort. Four death games in, and she was still disturbed by the sight of dead bodies. Honestly, it was a little pathetic. She’d killed, and been killed, and yet… somehow, it never got any easier. Somehow, it just got harder. The blood staining her hands had become so much that it was hard to hold onto her weapon, and her scars ached whenever she killed.

Pearl brushed her braid back over her shoulder and lowered her bow, offering Scar a weak smile. “You did it, Scar. Good job.”

Scar laughed softly, not turning around to face her just yet. “It’s just us two left, then. The last ones alive.” “Mhm. What’s your plan now, Scar?” Pearl kept her voice casual, trying to hide the trembling in her hands. How are you going to do it?

How are you going to kill me?

Scar answered her question by turning and raising his bow. Pearl hardly had any time to blink before he shot her, the force of the arrow sending her stumbling back with a shout. Instinct took over then, and she ran as Scar continued to shoot at her. All thoughts of sacrifice fled her mind as she dodged the flying arrows that missed her just barely, reminding her just how good of a shot Scar was.

“Going for it immediately, huh?” she shouted back as she ran, pulling her sword. Not that she intended to use it, not to kill. But she would put up a fight. If Scar wouldn’t let her sacrifice herself for him, then she would do the next best thing. She would fight him, and he would earn his victory. Not like the hollow sacrifice Scott made for her, where victory was force-fed to Pearl by his hands. No, she wouldn’t do that to Scar. She respected him too much to throw the fight.

That didn’t mean she would try to win, not in the slightest. But she would do her best to not make it easy for him. His victory would be painful no matter what she did, but at the very least she could make sure it wasn’t a hollow one.

The next arrow hit her as she ran through the field of sunflowers they had been sitting in just earlier, when Scar had offered to braid her hair. It felt like a lifetime ago as she crashed into the ground, yelping in pain as she tried to scramble back up. “Really, Scar?” She couldn’t help but laugh as she ran, the pain shocking as adrenaline flowed through her veins.

“This game!” Scar called, continuing the chase as he spoke. “There were more of them, weren’t there? And you won.”

Pearl stumbled, surprise catching her off guard mid-stride. She cursed and turned back, swinging her sword down and catching Scar in the side. He stumbled back, granting her more time to flee– but not enough. As she ran, Scar drew back the bowstring, aiming carefully. A running target was harder to hit, but Pearl was moving in a relatively straight path. All he had to do was aim a little ahead, steady, then release.

It was over the moment the arrow flew, striking Pearl in the chest and pushing her over the edge of a cliff, sending her plummeting into the caves below. Lightning struck, and then all was silent.

Scar stood, clutching his bow in a white-knuckle grip. “Pearl?” He took a step forward. The wind blew around him, rustling through his hair and shawl. Sunflowers bowed against the breeze, gesturing in the direction where she’d fallen. “Pearl?! Pearl, sunflower, where are you?”

The breeze led him a few steps further in a stumbling haze, until he stood at the edge of the caves that he’d sent his friend? Enemy? falling into. He didn’t know what he expected– maybe to see Pearl gazing back up at him, a smile on her face and weapon drawn, hurt but alive– but as he looked down into the caves, he found only the body of his first and final ally.

A presence danced around him, heavier than the wind but acting just like it. She’s dead, Scar. You won. Five words whispered in his ear, as thin as the passing breeze. Five words that would’ve meant the world to Scar, once upon a time. Five words that now meant nothing to him as he gazed down at the body of his only friend.

Crouching, Scar swung his legs over the edge of the cave, slowly and carefully lowering himself down. He had to find footholds so that he wouldn’t fall and possibly lose his life as well– the fight with Pearl had left him with fewer hearts than he would’ve liked. “Hold on, Pearl,” he mumbled as he made his way down to where Pearl lay. “I’m coming to get you, I’m… I’m coming, don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”

He dropped the last few feet, wincing as pain shot up his legs and sapped at his strength. Luckily, the drop wasn’t far enough to cause any actual injury, but it was closer than he would’ve liked. He stumbled to catch himself, pulling himself to a halt in front of Pearl’s body.

It was hard to look at her like this. Pearl was someone who was so full of life, always. She was strong and fierce, fighting for what she wanted every day, every moment. She never gave up, not once in all the time that Scar knew her. It hadn’t been long, and it was hard to really get to know someone during a death game like this, but Scar had always been pretty good at reading people.

He knelt by Pearl’s body, brushing her hair out of her face and gently closing her eyes. He didn’t delude himself with pretending she was asleep– what was the point of avoiding death now, when he had caused so much of it? His hands were stained red with blood that he would never be able to wash off.

Scar lingered a moment longer before shrugging off his shawl and gently wrapping it around Pearl. He was careful with her body, handling her as gently as he could as he settled her back against the stone. There wasn’t as much blood as Scar thought there should’ve been, but he wiped the blood that was there off Pearl’s face as best he could.

Then, his hands went to the braid. It had held up well, keeping the sunflower he had woven in secured in her hair. He hesitated for a moment before untying the ribbon that held it in place and beginning to undo the braid.

He began to hum while he worked. Slowly, reverently. A song that came from a place he couldn’t quite remember, a home he once thought he’d never forget. In another world, he would know he was humming the last rites for a loved one, to send them off into the stars. In this world, all he knew of it was the deep, longing ache in his chest and the tears that it caused to spring to his eyes.

Carefully, Scar took the sunflower from Pearl’s hair, placing it down in his lap. He gently combed his fingers through her hair one last time, before tucking it into the shawl. Picking the sunflower back up, he leaned forward and gently kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, sweet sunflower. And goodbye.”

He stood and once more began humming softly, climbing out of the ravine with the sunflower still in his hand. Scar took extra care to not crush the delicate flower as he pulled himself up onto solid ground. The sun was just beginning to set as he made his way toward the Secret Keeper, the intimidating statue that reigned over the entire server. The towering tyrant seemed to gaze down at Scar with eyes he knew he couldn’t see, taunting him with a victory that tasted at best bittersweet.

It grew dark as Scar approached the buttons, but he held tight to the reminder of the sun’s light in his hand. It gave him the strength to push forward even as his legs threatened to give out from under him. He could not hide the trembling, however, that came from the rush of adrenaline and fear.

He raised his eyes to meet the invisible ones looking down on him, a challenge held in his gaze, “You wanted me to be the villain?!” he called out, the weight of being watched settling on his shoulders. “Fine! Here I am!” He reached out and pressed the button to succeed.

Welcome home.

And Scar… remembered. What sounded like thousands of voices overlapping filled his mind, causing him to stumble back with a yelp. He dropped the sunflower, clutching at his head as he was forced to his knees in front of the Secret Keeper.

Sacrifices offered and refused. Atonement rejected, forgiveness given. Arms outstretched, to offer a helping hand. Tears falling into blood-stained water as the two left locked eyes. “For all you have done to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.”

Bloodied sand, prickling cactus spines, heat waves and cool nights. Two impossible friends, against the world. Traitorous actions, painful fists, a killing blow. “Scar, whatever happens, I think we can count this as a double victory.”

A loneliness that echoed in the silence around him, howling as the wind at night. Bonds broken off entirely, leaving him with only the stars for company. “Everything that happened last season is null and void. Doesn’t count, okay?”

A bitterness that came from once tasting too much sweetness, like slightly burnt cookies. A loneliness that ached worse than when he had been truly alone, for this ache was born of lies and deceit. “I made them, they’re for your secret soulmate.”

A moment of joy, in the midst. A time of family, friendship, and security. Before the secrets, before the lies and the pain, before the fire and the red wars. “We’re the cockers!”

Allies for the first time in what felt like forever. People who truly had his back, no matter what. A place where he could let his guard down and smile, laugh, and live. If only for a moment, he knew what it was like to be loved. He was protected, and he was protective. “You don't go against the family.”

You are seated in a field, surrounded by grass blades, ebbing and flowing through the gusts of your imagination. Each of those blades represent a past life. Memories. Desires. Dreams. And past loves… By plucking one you shall reveal–

“Home,” Scar gasped out, eyes snapping open. “I need to go home.”

You are home.

The presence became louder, more unbearable. Each voice clamored for attention, every new memory begging to be heard. The weight of the universe pushed him into the ground, making him gasp for air in a strained panic.

It was too much. All the memories, all the emotions– it was too much. Scar yelled in pain as it just grew louder and louder, the pressure growing as the weight pushing him down increased. Just like a volcano, it felt as though he was going to erupt at any minute.

And then a cold wind brushed up against Scar’s skin, weaving and dancing around him. “Enough.”

The voices instantly quieted, the pressure vanishing as Scar collapsed to the ground gasping for air. He tried blinking away the tears and black spots that cluttered his vision, making it difficult to see properly.

What he could see, though, took his breath away.

Pearl stood in front of him as a shimmering silver spirit, facing the Secret Keeper with her wings flared out to their full span. She glowed as if she were made from moonlight and stardust, and Scar couldn’t help but stare at her in awe.

“He belongs with us. You will leave him alone.” Her voice was thin and brittle– as if it might snap were someone able to reach out and grab it. There was an echo to it as well, ringing in Scar’s mind as she spoke.

The feeling of being watched vanished completely, and Pearl turned back to Scar. She smiled a silvery smile, and held out her hand to him. “C’mon, mate. Let's go home.”

Scar took her hand, gasping at the sudden coldness that flooded his body– Death. He stood up, trying not to look down at his body that lay where he had fallen just moments earlier. As he stepped forward to join his friend, he couldn’t help but glance back and notice the sunflower lying beside his body, just inches away from his open hand. Nothing he could do about it now.

Scar turned back to face Pearl, noticing the three other spirits that had gathered. He remembered them all now. The winners of the previous games. His allies, his enemies, his friends. His eyes caught Grian’s, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Well hello there,” he greeted his old ally with a grin, letting go of Pearl’s hand to bow dramatically. “Guess we finally cashed in on that double victory, huh?”

Grian laughed, rolling his eyes. His expression warmed as he took a step forward, reaching out to take Scar’s hand in his. “Little late, but I’ll accept it. How are you, Scar?”

“Well, he’s very dead, so I can’t imagine he’s doing great,” Scott interjected, ignoring the glare the two avians gave him. “What? I’m not wrong.”

Scar shook his head. “That you are! I’m actually doing much better now that I remember everyone’s going to come back. Makes me feel a lot less guilty about killing all those people!”

Pearl sighed, though she couldn’t hide the smile on her face. “Y’know, I felt the same way after I won Double Life. And now the games are so much easier for me! It’s nice to get all the murderous urges out now that I know everyone’s going to be fine eventually.”

“This is why everyone calls you two insane,” Martyn muttered, crossing his arms. “Now can we go back home now? I don’t like hanging out in these servers longer than I have to.”

Grian let go of Scar’s hand to pull up some sort of screen, typing commands into it. “Sure, just give me one second.” He continued typing on the screen, swiping through various options and closing others. “Good game, by the way,” he added, without looking up, “I don’t think anyone expected you to win.”

Scar gave a half shrug. “To be honest, G, I didn’t either! Totally thought Gem was going to get this one.”

Grian nodded. “But that’s just how these games go, mhm? Expect the unexpected. Pearl’s win should’ve taught us that much.” He spent another moment typing before closing the screen. “…Alright, we should be heading back to our respective servers soon enough.” He reached out to take Scar’s hand again, taking Pearl’s hand in his other.

“Can’t believe we almost have all of the Boatem crew here,” Scar blurted out, “do you think Impulse will join us next time?”

Pearl laughed. “I hope so! I don’t think Mumbo will be winning any time soon, though. So we might just have to settle for four out of five.”

Scar nodded sagely. “You speak very wise words, Pearl. I fear Mumbo may be too… how do people say it? I fear he may be too much of a wet cat.”

Martyn groaned. “Oh, don’t remind me.”

Laughter rose from the group as the code began its work, and they all began to fade away. Grian held tightly to Scar and Pearl’s hands, locking eyes with the both of them. “I’ll see you both soon, okay?”

Pearl giggled, squeezing Grian’s hand in return. “See you soon, Griba!”

“Goodbye!” Scar called to Martyn and Scott, their responding farewells faint as the server faded away around him.

And then there was darkness.

And then Scar woke up.

#my writing #pearlescentmoon #goodtimeswithscar #geminitay #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #scott smajor #secret life #secret life fanfic

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crossfandomslut · 12 days

Text

At Peace in Your Fire (Pt. 1)

Summary: Y/n Archeron is an adaptable person. As long as there is a warm fire to breathe life into her soul, she can find strength. Even after all they've been through.

Pairing: Future Eris x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 1,400

Notes: This is my first fic ever and it is hardly proof read haha I have a lot of ideas for this story, so it will have a few parts ! There is no Eris in this chapter, but he is coming ! What do you think the reader's gift from the Cauldron will be ? Please give me lots of feedback and I hope you enjoy ! Also if anyone has a better title suggestion I'm open to them !

Credits: @enchanthings created the beautiful text divider ! And @reveriesources made the gorgeous 'comment and reblog" banner at the bottom !! Thank you both !

Part two

Y/n Archeron has always been an adaptable person. When their father lost their fortune, when their mother died, and when they were forced to move into that shitty little cabin with only one bedroom, she had remained positive. Her and her twin sister, Feyre, learned to hunt together, forage for berries, and steal bread from the baker down the road. Y/n prided herself on being fast enough to never get caught, but if there was ever a close call, Feyre was standing by with a distraction- usually a rodent she would release to run into the house and cause chaos.

If ever the family couldn't find her, she could always be found by a fire. It made her an asset to the family, to be able to always start a fire and cook whatever meat her and Feyre caught, but it also made her “secret” hideouts pretty pathetic. As a child, when she was sick or sad, she would be by a fire. It was the only thing that seemed to sooth her. When she was happy after a good day of hunting and gathering or an afternoon of flirting with the baker’s son to get free bread, she would want to have a fire to celebrate. She would dance around its edges well into the night, even if there was no music to be heard.

That desperate need for warmth and comfort almost had her knees buckling as she and her sisters were ripped from their home in the middle of the night, blindfolded, gagged, and dragged to a land they had only heard of.

When the blindfolds and gags were removed, y/n looked around the large room, to her older sisters, Nesta and Elain, and finally they fell on her twin. Feyre looked to scared and helpless. Y/n had never seen that look on her face. Feyre was so brave and the last time they’d seen her she was so determined and fierce. What the hell happened?

Feyre was nervous about being in the mortal lands with Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. She hadn’t seen her sisters since before she went under the mountain and becoming Fae. She hadn’t seen her twin since she was dragged to Prythian by Tamlin. Nesta told her that Y/n has been going out to search for her, only stopping at home for a few days at a time to make sure Nesta and Elaine had food to eat. Y/n was out on on one of her searches the last time Feyre was here, and she desperately hoped she would be home this time. She needed to see her twin. Not only to have someone on her team against Nesta, but because she relationship with y/n was the most important one in her life, and she needed to tell y/n everything that’s happened.

Making it through what she thought was going to be the most awkward part, the introductions at the door, Feyre and her friends found themselves in an even more uncomfortable position. Sitting at the table silently, Nesta staring daggers at them, and waiting for y/n to get home.

“She might not show up today. You know how she likes to take her time on her hunting trips. She could be out all night and getting back home in this weather would be a stretch. Travelling isn’t as easy for us humans as it is for your kind.” Nesta stated coldly, refusing to look at Rhys, Azriel and Cassian, the two Illyrians standing cramped in the corner, trying to make their wings as small as possible. “We might as well start without her. Tell us what you’re doing here so you can leave. Y/n can get caught up later.”

Rhys opens his mouth to pick a fight when the front door slams open.

“Nesta I’m back! You won’t believe the size of the deer I got! Can you help me clear the table so I can drag it in here?” At the sound of y/n’s voice, Feyre lets out a sob. “Nes?” The sound of footsteps fill the hall as y/n rounds the corner into the dining room. Her eyes scan the room, making eye contact with Nesta before clocking the three strange males in the corner, and then finally at her twin. Y/n fell to her knees.

Feyre is up in an instant, running to her sister and holding her tight. Y/n holds her just as fiercely as sobs wrack both their bodies. Either Feyre doesn’t notice the blood covering y/n from the deer sitting outside, or she simply doesn’t care. When breathing is once again possible, y/n cups her sisters face in her hands and just stares at her for a long moment. Feyre holds her breath as y/n takes in the delicately pointed ears and the elongated canines. “Fey…you look so beautiful.” Her hands fall from her face as she suddenly realizes what’s happening. “Are you okay? Why are you here? How are you here?” The questions start to become frantic as y/n also realizes that none of the males in front of her are the one who took her away. The one who Nesta had told her Feyre was in love with and going to save. She studies them a second longer and takes note of the dark hair, the violet eyes, and then the wings of the other two males. Wait- wings!? Y/n’s eyes dart between them and then settle on Feyre.

“Y/n, this is Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. His Spymaster, Azriel, and his general, Cassian.” The three males gave Y/n a small smile and a wave as she and Feyre rise to their feet.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Y/n looks just at Rhys then as she says, “Am I to assume that you are the reason my sister is glowing? Not that she wasn’t always stunning, but there’s something about you Faeries…”

Rhys smirks at Feyre as she rolls her eyes, but looks back to Y/n when he says, “I’m afraid so. But she is just as much to blame. Had to be the hero.” His eyes soften with the last part, almost something sad but proud flashed in his eyes before it was replaced by a self-assured, arrogant mask.

“Thank you.” Y/n says with all the sincerity she can conjure in that gaze, as tear once again form in her eyes, and she tugs her sister into another tight embrace. “I want every. Single. Detail of your story, sister.”

Now obviously being kidnaped was less than ideal, but again, Y/n is adaptable. She scanned her surroundings and tried to make sense of what lay before her. In the middle of the grand room, what looked to be in a palace, was a massive cauldron. Standing around the cauldron, on clearly opposing sides of the room, were Feyre, Rhys, and his Inner Circle as they called themselves, and on the other side stood who she predicted to be Tamlin and Lucien. Feyre had told Y/n the whole story. From falling in love with Tamlin, to going Under the Mountain. About Amarantha, the bargain with Rhys, Tamlin locking her away, Lucien standing by doing nothing, and their almost wedding.

With y/n and her older sisters standing at the front of the room, nearest to the cauldron, it was easy to piece the puzzle together. In a whirlwind, y/n fought back with Nesta to keep the Hybern soldiers from putting sweet, innocent Elain into the cauldron. Holding their breaths, they waited until a barely conscious Elain was tipped out of the dark waters. Feyre and the Inner Circle were in various forms of gravely injured, or being held down by the King of Hybern’s magic.

The next to be forced in was Nesta, but trust that she put up the fight of her life, along with y/n. It was of no use, and before she could be fully forced under, that wicked finger pointed right at the King. A gesture so full of wrath, the King had the decency to pale just slightly. When Nesta was dumped from the cauldron, she crawled straight to Elain and wouldn’t let anyone else touch her.

There was no one left to fight for y/n. She was so cold and she felt so helpless as she trashed in the soldiers hold that as soon as her feet touched the warm water of the cauldron, she let the water engulf her. Distantly she could hear Lucien calling out to Elain, but y/n wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t seem to care as she let the warm water embrace her and take over all her senses.

Taglist: @abysshaven @stained-glass-eyes0708

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris x y/n #autumn court #lucien vanserra #eris vandaddy #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader

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itsgreti · 9 days

Text

UNSPOKEN FEELINGS

pairing. james beaufort x f!reader

summary. james realizes he has deeper feelings for lydia's best friend.

warning. slight cursing, mentions of cheating

word count. 1.4k

a/n: i just watched maxton hall and felt the urge to write a quick fic. english is my second language, so if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate and text me! (divider is made by rookthornesartistry)

The prestigious campus of Maxton Hall Boarding School was a world itself, where the rich teenage life unfolded in all its complexity. Among its many students were James Beaufort, the charming and popular heartthrob, and his twin sister Lydia, known for her big mouth, but besides that, intelligence. (Y/N) was Lydia's best friend since they were toddlers, and because of that she often finds herself in the company of the Beauforts. Despite this, (Y/N) felt like a shadow, always in the background and unnoticed by James. His attractive presence draws attention, as he walks around the hallway, towering over others, always surrounded by admirers. Like everyone in the school, (Y/N) also had a crush on him, but she knew she would always be only his little sister’s friend. And she had long accepted that.

The (Y/L/N) family is famous internationally, because of their luxurious, high-quality dresses. They often collaborate with the market-leading fashion brand, Young Beaufort. But (Y/N) usually wished for just a simple way of life, without fame. All the children, who inherit their family’s legacy, are burdened by the weight of expectations and pressure.

To make things worse, it was a chilly afternoon when (Y/N)'s world shattered. She had been dating a boy from another school, a relationship that seemed promising but ended in betrayal and heartbreak. The boy had just played with her, and thrown away her without a second thought. (Y/N) was devastated and hurt.

Lydia was away on a school trip, leaving (Y/N) with her emotions alone. She wandered the campus aimlessly, eventually finding an isolated bench near the gardens, where she let the tears flow freely.

Unaware of (Y/N), James had noticed her distressed state from afar. He had been passing by when he saw her sitting alone, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Concerned, he approached quietly, unsure of how to begin.

"(Y/N)," he said softly, startling them. "Are you okay?"

(Y/N) quickly wiped her tears, attempting to make herself presentable. "Oh, James. I'm fine. Just... having a rough day."

James sat down beside her, his expression gentle but insistent. "You don't look fine. What happened?"

The unexpected kindness in his voice broke through (Y/N)'s defences. She looked at him, eyes filled with pain, and sighed. "It's just... this guy I was dating. He turned out to be a jerk. He used me and then just... dumped me."

James's jaw tightened, a flash of anger in his eyes. "Who is he?"

"It doesn’t matter. He’s not from Maxton Hall." (Y/N) shrugged her shoulders.

When James heard the pain in her voice, he decided to deal with her now, and it will be enough later to get to know about that asshole. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). You didn't deserve that."

(Y/N) shook her head, feeling small and insignificant. "I should have seen it coming. I'm not exactly someone would notice."

James frowned, shifting closer. "That's not true. People notice you, (Y/N). I notice you."

(Y/N) looked at him in surprise. "You... notice me?" she said with irony.

James was confused, but nodded, his gaze sincere. "Of course I do." (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat hearing those words. "You're important to Lydia, which makes you important to me. And beyond that, you're a great person. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life."

The warmth in his words and the intensity of his gaze made (Y/N) feel a flicker of hope. She had always seen James as someone out of reach, but here he was, sitting beside her, offering comfort and understanding.

"Thank you, James," she whispered, feeling the weight of her sadness begins to lift. "It means a lot."

James smiled softly, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze hers. "I do care about you, (Y/N). And if that guy couldn't see how amazing you are, then he's the one who's missing out."

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the cold air around them a sharp contrast to the warmth blossoming in (Y/N)'s heart. James's presence was a balm to their wounded soul, a reminder that she was not alone.

"Do you want to talk more about it?" James asked, his voice gentle. "Or maybe we can just sit here for a while. Whatever you need."

(Y/N) smiled, feeling a sense of gratitude and a newfound connection. "Sitting here is nice. Thank you, James," she said feeling his arms pull her into a hug.

As they sat together, (Y/N) realized that maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong about James’s emotions towards her. Perhaps he had been seeing her all along, and in this moment of weakness, she had realised that her feelings for her had not changed over the years.

The weeks following that emotional afternoon saw a gradual but significant shift in the dynamics between James and (Y/N). Where once their interactions were only about polite nods and casual greetings, now there were shared moments, conversations, and a growing sense of friendship.

James found himself looking forward to seeing (Y/N) more than he ever anticipated. Her presence was comforting, her laughter infectious, and her perspectives refreshing. He was drawn to (Y/N) in a way that was new and unexpected, and it unsettled him in the best possible way. He finally had to admit that he had lied to himself all the years when he said he didn’t care about (Y/N).

(Y/N) felt the change too. She was still close to Lydia, but now James seemed to seek her out independently. He'd join them for lunch, walk with them between classes, and even invite them to hang out with his friends, to where (Y/N) always refused to go and eventually Lydia accepted it. It was confusing but exhilarating.

One evening, while Lydia was busy with her extracurricular activities, James invited (Y/N) to study with him at a cosy coffee shop off-campus. They settled into a quiet corner, books and notebooks spread out before them.

"You know," James said, looking up from his notes, "I never realized how much fun studying could be until I started doing it with you."

(Y/N) laughed softly, their cheeks flushing. "I have never thought that once in my lifetime I will hear that from the mouth of James Beaufort, but I think you just enjoy the coffee and the company."

James smiled, but there was a depth to his gaze that made (Y/N) look away shyly. "You're right about that. But it's more than that. You're different, (Y/N). In a good way. You make everything better."

(Y/N) felt her heart skip a beat. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. "Thanks. Spending time with you isn't that bad either."

As the weeks went on, James's feelings for (Y/N) deepened. He found himself thinking about her at odd times, daydreaming about their future conversations, and feeling jealous when he saw her with others. It was during one of these moments when he saw (Y/N) laughing with Cyril, that he realized the truth: he had fallen for (Y/N).

The next day, James asked (Y/N) to meet him in the gardens where they had first bonded. The air was cool, the sky painted with the hues of sunset.

"(Y/N)," James began, taking a deep breath. "There's something I need to tell you."

(Y/N) looked at him, concern flickering in their eyes. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking a lot, and I realized something important," he continued, his voice steady but his heart racing. "That day when you sat with me here, something changed for me. Spending time with you, getting to know you better... I've come to realize that I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings."

(Y/N) stared at him, her breath catching in their throat. "James, I... I-"

James stepped closer, his eyes locked on her. "You don't have to say anything right now. I just needed you to know how I feel. Whatever you decide, our friendship means a lot to me, and I don't want to lose that."

Tears welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes, but they were tears of happiness and relief. "James, I feel the same way. I've liked you for a long time, but I never thought you'd feel the same."

James's face broke into a radiant smile, and he reached out to gently hold (Y/N)'s face in his hands. With that, James leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, a perfect blend of nervous excitement and genuine affection.

As they pulled away, both of them breathless and smiling, James whispered, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

(Y/N) smiled back, her eyes shining with happiness. "Me too."

#james beaufort #james beaufort x reader #maxton hall #maxton hall fanfiction #james beaufort fanfiction #james beaufort imagines #james beaufort x you #damian hardung #damian hardung x reader #maxton hall the world between us

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suguruplsr · 7 months

Text

Let me be your cure

featuring.. Alhaitham

✰ ✰ ✰ You gave up on love after being affected with the infamous hanahaki. With pity and sadness slowly swallowing your life whole, you end up in the hospital. Reluctant to getting surgery. And your boring, sadly hot, doctor doesn't seem to care. At least until he finds himself thinking about you.

,, x fem!reader , reader had an ex fiancé who was shitty , fluff w/ angst + comfort , mentions of blood and bruises (caused by the disease) , purely fictional! i know nothing about how hospitals actually operate or if things in my story are or are not allowed! so as you read, remember its purely fictional!

+ disease used is called hanahaki! and it is fictional, and used in many fictional stories, like mine. in shorter terms, a character affected by this disease coughs up flowers and, usually, blood, because of rejection or the loved character not loving them, (without it being said too!). it’s mostly solved with the loved character realizing their love for mc and saving them. or in other cases, the mc getting surgery and losing feelings for the loved character.

↬ 1K Event Masterlist

wc: 5K+

- divider @/benkeibear

“Why are you staring?" You huff, making the gray-haired man in front of you nearly lose his composure. There’s no reason why someone like him should be stuck with some bratty woman. Okay, maybe he should have some sympathy. considering it’s a part of his job. “Ma’am, I'm just evaluating your physical health by sight for now.” You groan, turning your head away.

You’re literally going to die within this year and You can’t even at least get someone who is a bit more bubbly and nice to be around! not some cold guy with looks that could kill.

His eyes were unique. like targets or darts, probably? Your confuzzled mind couldn’t make sense of most things at the moment, but you felt strange underneath his gaze. intimidated. even without looking at him.

“Maybe if you wiped that scowl off your face, you wouldn't be in this situation. Probably drove the guy off." Alhaitham mutters. Yeah, yeah, it’s unprofessional, but he wasn’t disappointed with your reaction. His eyes lingered around your face, noticing how your tired, red eyes widened. But your lips curled, as if satisfied, mixing with the disbelief in your words. "Oh, you must be the funniest one around. What? Was I supposed to just smile? Say, 'Oh, I don’t mind, you’re fucking your secretary! Let’s plan our honeymoon, though!’ And hope to continue our romantic story?” You sneer, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“Well, it clearly didn’t work.” Alhaitham almost snickers. finding amusement in your extroverted attitude. He jots down a few more noticeable signs of your defect. Your lips look like they’ve been bit a lot, your nails are brittle, and your hair is frizzy and not taken care of. These are pretty normal things that the nurses should be able to help with. But he does eye the areas that aren’t just normal, like the bruises that reached to your neck or the ones on your arms that the gown does little to hide.

As you ramble on about your not-so-perfect love story, Alhaitham flips through the history of your visitors. It’s been three weeks since you were hospitalized, and there has been only one visitor since the day you came. which he’d assume was your mother or father. “Not a lot of friends or family?” He interrupts, his tone maybe a tiny bit softer than how firm it usually is. simply out of respect, of course. “Yeah, well, when you choose to die on your hill, not everyone wants to watch." You chuckle, smiling a bit.

He’d think that smile wouldn’t meet your eyes—cliche, right? But it did—a smile that wasn't too happy and an expression that wasn't too happy. But he merely hums in agreement, having no words of comfort and fixing his binder.

“Anyways, a female doctor will come and do a physical inspection before we prepare for your x-ray appointment in a few days. Although it seems that the roots of the flower may be growing and causing damage from the inside, His words make you waver, looking down at your lap. Was this really a good choice? It’s probably too late for surgery—not like you want one, but...

Alhaitham studies the visible emotions crossing your face before heading towards the door. “Make sure you ask for some food; you’re heavily malnourished."

The next few weeks have been bland. You wake up around 10 AM, and usually the nurse you’ve learned to call, Ms.Candace, is bringing your food inside and having a small conversation with you. Eventually, she begins the morning routine, doing your hair with a nice side of warm herbal tea. Chapstick, nails, and a light pair of pajamas, and then talking about what you’d like to do for the rest of your day.

But just when you think you won't ever have to see that snobby doctor,

“Unfortunately for you, you won’t be able to go outside.” Alhaitham steps into the room, clipboard in hand, and shoots a look of no remorse towards your huff. “And why not? I haven’t seen the light of day for what feels like months."You scoff, making the blue-haired woman beside you sigh. "Well, miss, your body is already becoming slower, and there’s signs you are getting weaker in general. I'm sure he’s just wanting to prevent your state from getting any worse.” Yet her sweet words do little to calm the bubbling feeling within your chest.

You shake your head as she goes to walk out, giving the gray-haired man one more look before the door closes. He ignores it, “Anyway, after the results of your recent checkups, the estimate of how much time you have left to live was determined. but I doubt it’ll affect you considering you’re one stubborn woman." Alhaitham raises his eyebrows at you, anticipating your rebuttal before you can even get it out. but instead, you suddenly get into a fit of coughs. It’s like an eruption within your chest. the tiny tree within, sending an array of attacks.

You hate it—the prickly feeling that wells up, like knives cutting your insides as flowers sputter and fall into the palm of your hand. Your eyes water from the odd sensation you’ve lived with, and you question yourself with the same old question you uttered the day you made your decision.

Was it worth it?

Was it worth sticking with a man who never had to even speak of his loss of love for you? The yellow carnations were enough. Symbolizing the rejection you’ve faced from him, something you never thought you’d ever have to endure after your relationship was taken to the next level,

Alhaitham had grabbed the new form of medication you were going to start using, a syringe filled with yellow liquid. He grabs your arm, his eyes quickly traversing around your body, especially your throat, for signs that may be more alarming than they should be. He looks into your eyes, seeing the panic and fear that have swelled within them. “I know it hurts, but breathe...” He whispers, keeping your arm firmly still as the syringe prickles into your skin. You look away in fright. You hate needles, but you hate this even more.

The spiky feeling in your throat slowly subsides as you spit out some blood. "I'm fine now...” Your croaky voice makes him jeer, swiftly grabbing a band-aid for the little spot of blood on your arm. "You aren’t. You’re, quite literally, dying. Although it seems like you may be dying way faster than I thought.” He sighs, moving around the room and grabbing a few of your medications. “We'll have to give you stronger medication to reduce the pain. I'll have Ms. Candace and a few other people come help you," he says, leaving almost as quickly as he came.

The nurses come in within a short time, the room bustling with movement and questions being directed towards you. The blood staining the pretty gold ring on your finger makes you finally wake up.

You’re actually dying.

And it’s for a man who swears he could never love you again.

Oh, how tricky fate can be with those stupid I love you's.

“How’re you feeling?” Alhaitham mumurs. You’ve been ignoring the man who sat in front of you, all silent, ever since the fiasco yesterday. You could only stare down at the ring around your finger, twisting it and sometimes daring to fully shed it off your finger.

You don’t have the guts to do that, even if he did. without any hesitation either.

“With how much you talk, I'm surprised you aren’t yelling at me for just existing.” He muses, his eyes flickering from his clipboard up to where you sit on the hospital bed. You don’t have the energy to banter with him, "I'm not that childish.” “You’d be surprised." His mutter makes you jolt, your face twisting into a pout.

“It sounds like you just have a problem with me!” you gibe. but Alhaitham’s eyebrow raises. as if you hit the target with that one. "Possibly," he mumbles, focusing back on the papers in front of him. Your fusses fall dead on his ears.

His problem with you wasn’t bad—more like pity. Something he rarely feels for patients, only understanding their situations, giving affirmations, and moving on. but he finds your situation simply ridiculous. Not only are you dying for a man who left you for another, but he doesn’t even have the respect to pay for your medical fees. Not to mention, literally, your mother was the one who paid, only stating to him that she has no plans on visiting and that he was allowed to do whatever once you died.

What a heartless woman!

“Since you’re so absorbed in that paper—“ “You must not have an ‘off’ button.” His eye twitches at the tone of your annoyance, all sickly and sweet. He could practically hear the joke Cyno would make. "Actually, I do. and it’s counting down. Speaking of, you never told me how long I have left.” Okay, maybe you were a bit funny. and it’s something that should definitely not make his lips almost form into a smile. However, he clears his throat, not bothering to flip through the mountain of pages. considering he already memorized the information. “Two months at least. With the rate at which your body is deteriorating, the best you’ll be able to last is maybe an extra week or two.

Alhaitham’s stomach strangely twists at the sight of your mood dampening once again. your head looking back down to your arms, and your lips pressed tightly together. But it wasn’t like he cared; it’s just interesting to see how fast the light can disappear from one’s eyes. something he realized long ago that he'd see a lot of.

It’s probably just from how tense the room got all of a sudden. nothing he can’t handle.

Before you know it, droplets of tears fall onto the blanket bunched around your lap, like a rainfall that just doesn't stop. no matter how fast you bring your hands up to wipe them away. "Sorry, I'm just going—" “Go ahead. I see it every day." Alhaitham doesn’t let you argue. He pulls out a small handkerchief from his chest pocket, inscribed with the letter A in cursive. but he doesn’t mind your slight humiliation, or whatever it is making you uncomfortable in front of him, looking away and grabbing a piece of paper.

Once your blurry eyes are clear, you see that he has left you in silence, leaving behind a sheet of paper. clutching the white cloth, you read the words, a smile blooming on your face. Make a bucket list.

“Abiding by our policies, you can’t get your nails painted.” Alhaitham shuts down the 20th idea you had. He sat in the chair in front of you, avoiding the glare you threw at him and skimming through the third row. Maybe she should’ve predicted that a dying person would want to do exactly, one hundred and one, things before their death.

But it’s not like he’s done this before.

"Okay, what, can I do?!” You huff, already fed up with the word ‘no’. "Well, since you can’t go out, we can watch that movie, ��scream’, here." Alhaitham sighs, watching how your whole mood lit up, your eyes almost sparkling. This is going to be a long two months.

“mhm! what else.” You giggle, clapping your hands together. It’s almost comical to him to see how expressive you are. Looking back down at the paper he held, he began picking out some of the activities you would be able to do.

And in the end, you ended up winning him over in a few things, like being able to use some make-up for fun, more movies, specific snacks that you’ll have to eat at very specific times, board games that you convinced him to play with you, and basically anything and everything that you can do with the tiny little home of your room.

You even managed to persuade the silver-haired man to let you get some press-on nails. nails, which Candace, thankfully, went out to buy. but surprisingly, the doctor decided to put them on you himself. since Ms.Candace was attending to another patient and he had some free time. Well, at least that was his excuse. Not like you know, he was simply curious to see your excitement over something so small.

“That one fits the ring finger more.” You correct Alhaitham again, making him squint his eyes, mumbling under his breath, and moving his fingers to hold your hand firmer. And you just so happen to be right. He sets it aside carefully, putting it in the line of pretty pink and black gemmed nails. He picks up the last smaller nail, the one that finally fits your index finger perfectly.

“Isn’t it pretty?” You smile, adoring the nails, as he concentrates on applying the fake nails. He gives a low tsk, a faux look of confusion on his face. "Well, I dunno, they’re kinda...” he trails off, a neatly structured, stoic expression on his face that makes you roll your eyes. “They’re cute!” “If you say so.” Your adorable little glare makes him want to egg you on, but he stays silent for now.

Wait— Adorable? Maybe he has a headache from your nagging or something; there is nothing to worry about now.

You study his expression unknowingly; your eyes just so happened to need something to latch onto. And he’s clearly got a nice view. better than the nails. The small scrunch of his eyebrows is obviously dedicated to something so simple that it almost concerns you. Even the way he holds your hands up is tender, contrasting with his slightly calloused hands. He has a beautiful face too, and you think you can see some muscles hidden under his coat.

Sculpted so gorgeously. Funny, for such a snarky man.

“How old are you?” You blurt out, looking up at him as he glances at you in confusion. “Why?” He asks softly, almost done with your second hand as you contemplate. “Just curious.” “Curiosity killed the” “but satisfaction brought it back.” You finish before he can fully say the little saying. A small smirk of victory forms on your lips when he gives you a look that just radiates sass.

“Twenty-seven.” He gruffed. Perfect. “How did you even become a doctor so young?" You question him, a look of surprise crossing your face as he shrugs. “A few golden opportunities.” “Wait, are you not going to ask me how old I am?” You’re so clueless, Alhaitham thinks. “I’m your doctor. You must really not have a brain.” And you scoff at his words, but yet another question pops into your head. “Anyways! Favorite color?” “Are you serious, right now?" “If you don’t answer, I will personally file a complaint." "Green."

You two eventually ended up having a long conversation, with you asking him questions and him answering reluctantly. But what made it so long was him turning it on you and asking a few questions that you gladly responded to. All the while, he held one of your hands, not ever thinking to let go and just studying the ring you still wear. What a bubbly woman you are.

Alhaitham nearly let a curse out to the man who wronged you when you mentioned him once. He doesn’t care much, but how can someone be so stupid?

Alhaitham looks at the time on his watch. Two-thirty. Zipping up his lunch box, he heads towards the elevator, making a small stop in the room full of medicines. He ignores the calls in his name from other doctors or nurses who simply want to know more about the quiet man. He hates spending his breaks around people. Sadly, this just so happens to be one of the times when he’d love to have his headphones.

But duty calls.

He taps the button to go to the ninth floor, where your room is. Today is your movie day. That just so happened to land on Friday, the thirteenth too. He swipes through his notes, finding the password to his Hulu subscription. He only bought that for the movie series you like to watch on the smart TV installed in your room. *’Scream’ was it? Today you two were watching the fifth one, and you somehow logged him out for the third time within a week. Ms. Candace said you were snooping through the account settings or something like that.

What a hassle you are!

He reaches the high floor after a few seconds, making his way to your room and memorizing the password that he surprisingly always forgets. But, when he opens the door, he’s greeted with the sight of you fast asleep. Something makes him dread the energy you’ll have later in the evening, but he’s mindful of your rest. Placing his bags on the table silently and taking off his coat, he put it on the hook of the door.

The silence within your room is nice, for once. Usually, only the tension of your attitude or sadness would lie in the silence of this room. But only your light snores and the small drag of a chair were heard. Alhaitham moves to sit in a corner, thinking about leaving and having an extended break or waiting for you until you wake. But he picks the latter, crossing his arms and legs, leaning back, and letting his eyes drift onto your figure.

His mind was maybe a bit more active than before. He doesn’t know why, but he finds himself thinking of you more often: your health, your many expressions, your cheeky smiles, the dumb stuff that comes out of your mouth, and your eyes. To him, eyes are the purest form of honesty. like how yours can look like saucers when you’re shocked or diamonds when you're happy. or a pit of sadness.

Sadness. Alhaitham would think your only source of sadness in life was that fiancé of yours. Well, ex by now. A man who caused you so much pain that you’ve decided to live and die with. How could you ever love again if you’re so committed like this? But Alhaitham won’t ask you such things, out of respect, of course. It’s not like he’ll be pondering over them in a few weeks.

He shakes off the weird thoughts, dozing off.

You woke up to the sight. ‘What a sight for sore eyes.’ You quote in your head. You almost want to wipe away your eyes with how fine that man looks. Despite how creepy it was to notice the doctor in the corner of your room, His head was leaned against the wall, and his body stilled like stone as he slept. And his arms—Oh his arms. His arms were practically bulging out the scrubs he wore, so muscular. You almost want to touch them. Well, at least you know he keeps up with his gym regimen. Good thing he’s sleeping; now you can admire him more.

“You must have a staring problem.”

Maybe not.

His voice was a bit raspy, laced with tiredness as his eyes fluttered open, straight to you. “Why didn’t you wake me?” You divert him. Eyes away from him with an obvious flustered expression on your face. Alhaitham’s lips tug into a tiny, knowing smile, humored. But he decides to play along and not tease you any longer. “I’m not going to interfere with a patient's sleep.” He sighs, standing tall and going to put back on his coat. He checks the time. 4 PM.

“Before you watch your movie full of blood, you need your dosage.” Alhaitham ignores your whine in response, picking up the wrapped syringe in his white bag. “Ugh, why do I have to do three a day anyway? I’m feeling well.” You huff, holding out your arm as he walks to you, closing your eyes in anticipation. “That’s exactly why.” He mutters, holding your arm gently. “Breathe.” He says it softly, feeling your fast heartbeat on your wrist. “I clearly am." "Well, calm down.”

You purse your lips, complying and taking some deep breaths. Once his thumb presses the familiar spot between your forearm and arm, you feel the prick in your skin. Then comes the tingly feeling of fluid entering your body. You shiver, unexpectedly clutching his hand as your chest tightens. Alhaitham watches in interest, allowing you to hold onto him until the pain passes. "Can we watch that movie now?" You mumble, making him give your hand a final squeeze before letting go.

He grabs the remote on the table, turns on the TV, and flicks through the streaming services. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I think you like looking at something else,” he offhandedly mentions, giving you a small jab at your earlier actions and glancing down at the little funny face you gave him. “Oh c’mon!”

“What? It was just an assumption."

“But! Ugh!”

“Again!” You groan before Alhaitham can even slot his red chip into the blue holder. You’ve lost maybe five or six games of Connect Four now, sitting at this stupid table with this stupid game for maybe an hour and a half. "No, I can do it." Alhaitham says this while sitting back into his chair with that signature cross of his legs. “And why is that?” “It’s getting late.” And you pout, laying your head on the table as he watches you.

Those little target-like eyes of his drill into you. Moreso, the purple veins that have formed on your neck over the past month The area is dark, and the veins are even darker. There were parts of your body that suffered from the disease; your health was deteriorating so badly that it made him sick. You’ve become slower, unable to even stay awake for longer than eight hours. He and Ms. Candace have been hovering over you with every last second of your life, with the knowledge that you could drop dead at any moment.

“Not a good look, huh?" You murmur, feeling awful under his watchful gaze. And Alhaitham’s cocks his head, not entertained by your words. “Did I say that?”

"It's on your face."

“You have poor judgment, then."

And your face scrunches up, looking at him with an annoyed look. “What else would you think, then?” Alhaitham bites his tongue. something he doesn’t do a lot. Well, not at all. It’s not like him to interfere with a patient's choice, but...

“I’d think that you should get that operation.” He sighs, not bothering to take his eyes off you as you turn your head away. “Doctor. You know I—“ “Are you seriously letting a man who isn’t here dictate how your life ends?” He scoffs, letting a tone of disbelief creep into his voice before realizing his own words. But Alhaitham doesn’t correct himself.

He was already correct.

"Okay, well, why do you care? And yes, I know you’re my doctor and everything, but, you don’t act like this." You give him a pointed look, sliding the lever of the blue grid and letting the coins fall into the bin. “I’m just saying. Anyone in their right mind would at least be honest with you about this.” Alhaitham shrugs, but the truth is that he truly could not stand to see you like this. So in his right mind, he did the least he could do.

It's not like you know his true feelings.

You ponder over his words, playing with the ring on your left hand. He was right. But perhaps you expected too much from that damned man, the man you fell in love with classically, high school sweethearts who swore to marry, and oh, how so close you were to that dream.

Not every story has a happy ending.

But who were you to let some shitty man write your story’s ending while he goes to some fucking island with his fucking bimbo?

An idiot is what you’d be.

“Sure.” You whisper, bringing your elbow up and laying your head on your hand. Alhaitham gives you a look of satisfaction, a knowing smile forming on his face as he stands up. “I knew you weren’t that dumb.” “You know nothing!” You scoff, your chest bubbling with excitement for your future as you get ready to put away the board game. But he pulls the grid towards him and says, "You won’t need this here. I’ll just take it home.” He says it casually, making you pause.

“But it was a gift to me? Why—" “Do you seriously not know how to take a hint?” What’s with this man always interrupting you? You scowl. Hint? What hint—"Oh, wait—are you like, inviting, me over or something?” And Alhaitham only makes a sound of agreement, dropping the chips in the bin into the box. “yea, and I won’t be your surgeon, obviously. But once the day of your appointment comes, you won’t see me around. Just talk to Ms. Candace after they release you."

Alhaitham cleans up as you tuck yourself into bed, playing the background show of your choice before leaving with a small click of the door.

You can’t believe it. You aren’t dying in three weeks. and you’re going on a date. Well, in a month, but still!

“Um, should I just call him? I don’t want you to trouble you any longer. You were dressed in a fine black dress that Candace willingly gave to you. Your body healed after the operation within a few weeks of rest and food. You hadn’t seen the doctor—well, Alhaitham—since the day before your appointment.

So basically, a long time.

But after getting released from the hospital, Candace took you in and helped you familiarize yourself with life. And she just so happened to tell a specific man that you made a full recovery. which his immediate reply was, for you to come over to his house for dinner.

It was about time for him to properly pursue you.

“Oh? You must be eager to see him. He’s just a little car ride away, but if you insist, Candace teases, her eyes glimmering in amusement as she hands you your phone. You look at yourself in the mirror again; it feels so refreshing to actually see yourself healthy, not scrawny and filled with scotches of purple on your skin.

You spent over an hour in the mirror, buttering yourself up with some light makeup of your choice and admiring yourself.

You take the phone from her hand, chewing on your bottom lip nervously as you get to his contact. "There is no need to be nervous. I’m sure he’d swoon just from the sound of your voice.” She smiles, making you laugh, and clicks the call button. "Oh, please, he’s not that—

"You finally called."

You shiver at the sound of his voice. Who the hell answers the phone so quickly? “Sorry, but, uh, I was wondering if you could come pick me up." You aren’t sure how the tone of your voice got meek so quickly, but for some reason, it makes him chuckle. “*yea? I’m already on my way.” Maybe you were too sick to realize how hot his voice actually is, even just on the phone.

Candace notices how stiff you are, clearly flustered and shy. She leans to the phone and says, “What a gentleman you are! I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you! She might lose her head if you don’t hurry.” She sings, clicking the red button as you fall into her hug.

You two talk about some things you might be interested in doing in the future, like continuing your career and education in technology or finding a job soon so you can get out of her hair. It really feels nice, like you’re actually becoming something rather than being a little housewife with a fiancé who never took the time to love you.

You drift away from the conversation on cereal before milk when you hear a honk outside. Candace jumps up, holding your hand and guiding you to the door. “I feel like a mother,” she smiles, making you give her a grin. “You’re younger than me!” “But I’m wiser. Have a nice night, hun.” She opens the door for you, giving you the sight of a Black Cadillac parked beside her driveway.

You walked down the driveway nervously, clutching the sides of your dress with your purse in your other hand. Just as you reach the car, Alhaitham gets out, walking around to open your door but stopping you with a hand just barely ghosting your waist.

You two stare into each other's eyes, a light breeze blowing through the evening air as he looks you up and down. while you do the same. It felt like a blessing to be able to see his figure without those stupid scrubs. He wore a gray button-up with black slacks, simple but fitting. with some small amounts of jewelry that complement him well. Before you can even try your hand at being confident, he speaks before you: “You look decent." "I spent over two hours on this outfit! And you say, "Decent?"You huff playfully, the weight of your heart already dissipating when he gives an airy laugh, opening the door.

“Then I apologize..gorgeous." “That is so corny.” You jest, despite the increase in blood flowing to your cheeks. “I tried. But I was honest.” He sighs, almost disappointedly, but is careful of your legs before closing the door. Your mind races as you get comfortable in the car, noticing the light scent of cologne. How fancy.

At least it was better than those strong perfumes. like a dark, regal scent, but brisk.

“I was hoping to make you dinner, and then we can play another game I bought for you.” Alhaitham gets in, buckling up before giving Candace, who stood at her door, a small wave. “Yea?” “Yea.” You smile bashfully, your cheek bones betraying you as you hold your hand out. “I’d like that.” And Alhaitham returns your smile, examining your hand.

No ring. But he already has one in mind.

It’ll be silver.

He puts his hand in yours, interlocking it and squeezing firmly. “And I promise you’ll love it.”

Hopefully, you’ll love him too.

#genshin x female reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #gesnhin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin x you #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #al haithem #alhaitham x female reader

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rivatar · 29 days

Text

Pandora’s Hub

Pairing: Adult!Lo’ak x Fem!Human!Scientist!reader

Warnings/content: MDNI 🔞, heavy smut, p in v, outdoor sex & recording (obvi), porn references/simulation, degradation & praising, creampie, flirty man-whore Lo’ak, squirting

A/n: Day 5 prompt (Outdoor Sex + recording) for Pandora’s Glow- hosted by @luvv4j4ybe11 @aperiraa! Sorry it’s a week late, I’ve had so much going on (graduations, weddings, birthdays, etc) but I finally finished this. And ngl it’s filthyyy hehehe🤭. Also I hope you guys get the ‘Pandora’s Hub’ = ‘Pornhub’. Idk I thought it was funny 💀

Dividers by @cafekitsune

W/c: 2.2k

It was a beautiful day on Pandora. Quietly humming to yourself, you made your way towards the forest where you would be collecting photos of many different plants to further your research. The book ‘Pandoran Botany’ that Grace Augustine wrote was literally like your Bible. You spent countless hours working with the other botanists to learn more about these plants and what they are capable of providing. Their beauty and wonder never failed to amaze you.

You’ve spent almost the past week coming out into different spots in the forest to capture photos of plants and try to identify them without looking in the book. Of course, you didn’t stray too far from the lab but each day you ventured out a little further and further, not being able to contain yourself each time you seen a new plant you’d never seen since you arrived on Pandora. But what was the harm, right?

You were crouched down in a spot, carefully focusing the camera on the details of this plant you found.

“What’re you doing out here?” A deep voice startled you, making you jump and gasp, nearly dropping the camera. You whipped around to find the source.

“Oh, Lo’ak,” you blew out a sigh of relief with your hand over your heart, “You scared the shit out of me!”

He laughed, flashing a wide and charming smile, looking at you in amusement. “Sorry, didn’t know you were so jumpy,” he teased with his hands on his hips.

You stood up from your crouch and gave him an eye roll, trying to suppress a smirk.

“Well, what are you doing?” He asked for the second time.

“Oh yeah— I’m just taking some pictures of some plants for my research,” you explained as he nodded in response. “What are you doing?” You threw the question back at him.

He tsked, “Last time I checked you’re on my terrain. Didn’t know I needed a reason to be out here.” He tilted his head at you holding your camera.

“Let me see this,” he snatched the camera out of your hand.

“Hey!” You tried to grab it back but he dangled it way above your head due to his much taller stature. “Be careful with it, Lo’ak, it’s got important stuff on there!” You scolded while jumping up and attempting to get it back. It was to no use, though.

He chuckled and seemed to enjoy teasing you. “Awww, the little human girl can’t reach. Aren’t you just pathetic?” he laughed and feigned pity, poking out his bottom lip in a fake sad expression all while holding you off with one strong arm.

He threw it up in the air and gasped to scare you, only for him to easily catch it with his large hands. Your heart dropped, not wanting the camera to shatter and lose all the photos it possessed.

“Knock it off, Lo’ak!” You shouted angrily and kicked his shin, only to make him bust out laughing.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” he kept laughing and petted your head.

“I’m not a fucking child, stop treating me like one!”

“Oh, yeah?” His eyes danced around playfully.

You didn’t answer, you didn’t know if he was still teasing or if it was a trick question. You just stared at him, eyes filled with anger.

He smirked and looked away from you to look at the camera, clicking through its contents.

“Hmm, these are pretty pictures,” he stated observingly, “But Eywa, you would look so much prettier in this camera” he flirted shamelessly.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying not to blush. It was no secret Lo’ak has always been a huge flirt.

“Oh please, Lo. Don’t you have anything better to do than flirting with me?” You asked peering up at him with your arms crossed.

He loved you calling him his shortened nickname and how you teased him back. He liked to think you were playing hard to get. All the other girls would’ve already submitted to him by now, but what’s the fun in that?

“Nah, I don’t think I do.” He quipped. “Have you never wondered what you’d look like on here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’re you talking about?”

“Like they do back on earth. I think dad called it ‘porn’?” He asked nonchalantly.

Your jaw fell to the ground after you nearly choked on your spit. A blush crept over your features, not being able to hide your blush this time. “Lo’ak! You pervert!” You shoved his stomach and tried acting offended that he would insinuate such a dirty idea.

He chuckled at your reaction. “How am I the perv when you’re the one blushing, huh?”

Your blush deepened, much to your dismay, and you looked down at your feet.

He squatted down to be on your level. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think you are curious about it” he spoke lowly, and you swore you could feel his breath on your face. He stretched an arm out to pull the strap of your tanktop and bra down your shoulder. Your stomach did flips and you were frozen in place, unable to stop him.

“Tell me you want to,” he demanded, already feeling impatient. “I know you do, I can smell you, but tell me you want it.”

“I-I want it, please,” you gave up your fight easier than you’d like to admit.

“Hmm, good girl. I knew you had it in ya,” he praised, loving that he broke you and won. He turned his attention back to the camera in his hand and pressed a button, making a red light come on in the corner as he pointed the camera towards you.

“Hey everyone, Y/N here is gonna show us how good she can be whenever she’s not bickering like a brat or hiding in that damn lab,” he started, and you blushed and couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“No one is seeing this, Lo.” You made it clear and shook your head, looking at him and not the camera lens.

“Oh, come on! I know that but don’t ruin the fun, baby.” He laughed. His smile faded and lust clouded his eyes, darkening his expression. “Now let’s see you take those clothes off, sevin,” he rasped.

Your heart was racing and you were nervous as hell. Not only because of the thrill of doing anything sexual with this hot Na’vi man, but also the thrill of doing it in on a video?? You were sure your heart was about to beat out of your chest.

Your hands were shaking a little as your reached for the bottom of your tank top, slowly peeling it up to raise it over your head and off. Your nerves made you slower and less confident. You had the first item of clothing off at least, time to tackle the rest.

“C’mon babe, this thing won’t be able to finish our video at the pace you’re going,” he laughed behind the camera, holding it up to his face to make sure you were perfectly centered.

You huffed in frustration and wiggled your shorts and panties off in one quick tug, flinging them off to the side and unsnapped your bra in a swift move as well to be completely naked. “There! Happy?”

He lowered the camera from his face so he could fully take in the sight for his own eyes. “Fuckkkk, yes,” he groaned out deeply, reaching down to palm his tented loincloth that was aching for some relief. His eyes were hooded and ate up every inch of your naked form, licking his bottom lip in the process.

His evident approval made your confidence boost and you didn’t feel as insecure to be exposed in front of him. You rubbed your thighs together as slick coated your pussy lips, you were more than ready for whatever Lo’ak had planned in that dirty mind of his. He chuckled seeing your apparent neediness and untied his loincloth with one hand, the other hand still making sure the camera caught every inch of your glory.

His cock sprung out as the cloth fell to the ground. You couldn’t help your mouth from hanging agape, taken aback by how huge and heavy he was. It took effort to force your eyes off his beautiful erection and back up to his equally beautiful face. He motioned you with his hand. “C’mere, babe.”

You gently walked towards him, waiting for him to make a move. He reached his hand out and grabbed your tit, fiddling with your nipple between his fingers. He smiled when you couldn’t help but hum and whimper in satisfaction. Then he lowered himself in a squat to get on your level and positioned the camera to get a closeup on your boobs.

“Fuck, these are perfect,” Lo’ak said while groping them, “Truly a work of art.” He continued to get all the angles of your breasts while playing with them, making your heart speed up.

Then he lowered himself more, opting to sit on the ground in front of you. Without warning, he hiked up one of your legs and you quickly gained your balance on your standing leg, hands finding rest on top of his head. He angled the camera to get a good view of your pussy as his other hand began playing through your glistening folds, collecting all your slick on his long fingers. You whimpered above him, the rough pads of his fingers bringing much pleasure to you.

He spread your lips apart, gaining a perfect view to your little hole. Looking through the camera, he made sure this stunning view was being captured. You blushed deeply at the way you were being put on display like a pornstar, but it turned you on beyond belief.

“Such a tiny little tawtute pussy,” he hummed and looked up at your eyes, “I’m gonna fuck it so good.”

You clenched around nothing, your one standing leg suddenly growing weak and wanting to give out. “Please Lo’ak!”

“Lay down, now,” he demanded and you wasted no time in rushing your way down to the forest floor, spreading your legs wide open.

“You’re so good. What a good little slut,” he praised you. He grabbed his rock-hard dick and ran it up and down your slit, earning a moan from you. Once again, he held the camera up and made sure it was getting all of this. Your pretty self laid out on display for him and his dick starting to breach your hole. It was nearly too much for him to handle.

Pushing in slowly, you gasped at the stretch and he groaned as you sucked him in your tight walls. He pushed and pushed until he nearly bottomed out, giving you a minute to adjust to his size. “You okay?” He asked, genuinely concerned you might break in half.

“Mhmmm, go, please!” You thought it was more painful with him being still inside of you instead of moving.

He obeyed and started with some short thrusts to get you going. He knew the interspecies differences would make this nearly impossible if you and him weren’t so damn turned on right now.

Squelching noises filled the air as you took him in your pussy so well. Your noises of pleasure only encouraged him more, and he swore to himself he wouldn’t cum until you did.

“Fuck! You’re so fucking wet and tight around me,” he said breathlessly.

“Mmm, feels so good, more!!” You shamelessly begged as he sped up his thrusts.

“God you’re so good at this. Taking me so well.” he groped your tit some more with his free hand, marveling in the way they bounced around from his steady and hard thrusts.

You moaned loudly and felt your orgasm approaching as the pleasure intensified. You reached down to rub your little nub and threw your head back, screwing your face up.

“I bet you’re so wet because you like being recorded, hm? You like being a filthy whore every once and a while?” He degraded you, but he was right, and God, it only turned you on more.

“Yeah everyone, look how she’s rubbing her clit and trying so hard to cum. How pathetic,” he spoke to the ‘audience’. The thought of someone else watching this was all you needed to finish. You came hard around him.

“Fuckkkk!!” You screamed and kept rubbing your nub quickly. You felt warm liquid coat your hand and splash around.

“Holy shit!! We’ve got a squirter!” Lo’ak said in awe and surprise, continuing his thrusts but they got sloppy as his orgasm overtook him too, not being able to hold back anymore at the sight of you squirting on him.

“Shit, I’m cumming!” He announced and came inside of you, somehow finding more room in there to put his cum.

Your combined sounds of pleasure and heavy breaths rang through the air. You were both a sticky mess from sweat and cum.

He lowered the camera and ended the video, laying it to the side as he collapsed on top of you. You were both trying to catch your breath.

“Well, that wasn’t what I had in mind for what I was going today,” he joked.

You snickered. “Yeah. You’re telling me.”

Taglist: @bambithewriter @neteyamssyulang @anemonelovesfiction @professional-yapper @plantgirliewholovespandora @etherynn @nonamevenus @ladykat37 @loakstahni @zafrinaxyz @xylianasblog @xstarsdiary @itchaboi-itchyboy @neteyamsoare @strongheartneteyam @inolaphoenix @erenjaegerwifee @vogueweb (lmk if you wanna be added or removed from taglist!)

#avatar smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar #avatar fanfiction #loak #loak smut #loak x y/n #atwow loak #loak sully #loak x reader #loak x you #loak fanfiction #pandoras glow #pandoras glow 2024 #pandoras glow ‘24

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bluemusickid · 3 months

Text

The Heiress

Pairing: Lucien Flores x Heiress Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't be silly wrap your willy), slight dub-con (if you squint), slight dom-sub dynamics, just in general smuttiness, read at your own risk.

A/N: The collective brainrot those clips have brought us as a fandom (thanks for that, Tony ;3), is INSANE. This is just a smalllll effort in keeping that alive till we get the full movie. I have to confess: this is just shameless PWP at this point lmaoooo (don't judge me, i'm just a girl after all). enjoy and please reblog if you liked it thankssss <3 <3

Note: By clicking read more, you consent to my terms and have heed all warning mentioned above.

(Photos/Gifs of P, credz: @a7estrellas, the dividers are by the lovely @saradika-graphics)

Dull.

That's what these parties were to you always. Dull. Throw in a bunch of old men in stiff suits holding onto champagne flutes like their lives depended on it. Even worse, they tried to sell themselves to you, as if their sad marketing convinced you. You still entertained them, owing to a lack of anything fun happening around those parts.

That is till you met him.

Lucien, he had introduced himself. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, a champagne flute in his hand as he was engaged in a conversation with Hermann Astor, owner of the art gallery that was hosting one of the many boring do's you simply HAD to attend.

Truth be told, you weren't really listening to him. The whole "I'm-a-man-of-culture-so-of-course-I-know-art" spiel was boring. So many men trying to dazzle you with their "expertise", but you couldn't care less. To your surprise though, Lucien didn't mansplain or explain the intricacies of art missed by many. He let Hermann drone on, only piping in when something piqued his interest. He only met your eyes a few times, his dark brown hues holding his secrets.

But you knew what he was thinking. It was quite obvious, isn't that what most men wanted in this room? A chance to talk to you, an heiress to a hefty inheritance, maybe a chance to woo you, wine and dine you and then pop a ring on your finger. Maybe get you pregnant. Secure the bag.

Atleast that's what you assumed he wanted, but he didn't seem like the type to talk you up. He was mostly interested in having a chat about your life, why you hung out at these places especially since you gave no fucks about fine arts, and so on. It was surprising, true, but maybe men changed up their tactics ever so often. So you played along, as you always did. Answering with as much truth as you could.

You found yourself on the balcony standing next to him, staring at the vast grounds with its fine cut grass and neatly trimmed hedges, the moon casting its glow upon it. Turning to him, you decided to cut to the chase. You were bored, and only a quick fuck could break the tedium. Running your hand along his arm, you pulled him to one of the bedrooms, pushing him against the door. Leaning towards him, you brought your lips close to his, waiting for his permission to continue. He leaned forward, as you latched your lips to his, guiding his arms to wrap around you, deepening the kiss as you pushed yourself further into him. That's odd, you thought. This actually felt nice.

His lips, while hesitant at first, tangled with yours, the heat warming your bones. He ever so slightly placed his hands on you, running them down your body down to your hips, squeezing gently as he rested them there; pulling you towards him and his growing erection.

Itching to taste him, you knelt down, licking his growing manhood over the fabric of his tight dress pants. With a growl, he pulled you up, gripping your shoulders as he turned you around and walked you over to the bed behind you. Pushing you down, he bent you over so your ass was up in the air as your face was smushed into the soft bedding eagerly waiting in anticipation.

You felt his hot breath as his lips trailed along your thighs, his tongue running over the divots and the stretch marks that adorned your skin. You squirmed, wishing he would turn his attention to the place you needed him the most. He seemed to have heard your unspoken wish, because the very next moment, his lips moved over your core, his tongue lightly ghosting over your wet folds, your swollen core. You panted, your hands grabbing the duvet with a force that you weren't even sure was possible.

Lucien started off slow, and then dove in, his tongue swirling over your swollen nub, as he gathered your wetness on his finger and pushed a digit inside; his tongue and his finger working in tandem. You groaned loudly, pushing your hips onto his tongue, not realising that they were moving of their own accord, ever-so-slightly undulating and moving in rhythm to his licks and thrusts. Through the haze of pure lust, you realised that you were meant to be in control of this entire situation. Reaching behind, you tangled your fingers into his soft brown curls, pulling him even closer to your nub as you fucked yourself on his tongue, moaning loudly as he groaned at your act of dominance; the vibrations shooting through your core, making their way through your body. He added another finger, doubling his efforts as he felt your legs shake, and your core tightening as you neared your peak.

You screamed into the duvet, muffling your cries as your orgasm took over. You would've collapsed into the mattress had Lucien not been holding on to you, resting his head on your back as he caught his breath as well. The both of you lay there, him spooning you, till your breathing returned to normal. Straightening your clothes, you both exited the room, not meeting each others' eyes, no words spoken to one another.

The rest of the evening went very well, your secret rendezvous leaving you satiated, yet hungry for more.

The second time you met him was at the Charity Ball held by your "good friend" Fiona Mayhew, who got on your nerves most of the time, but did a lot of good for underprivileged children/teens and their education; so you stuck around. At first, you didn't really wish to go to her stuffy ball; but RSVP'd yes, with the smallest hope that Lucien would be there.

He was, of course. Dressed in a well tailored, crisp tux, his messy brown curls slicked back and gelled down. You hated to admit it, but he looked downright edible. You pretended not to notice him at first, making small talk with the members of the small group he was entertaining. You mingled, the both of you catching each others gaze as you talked to the other guests, your eyes conveying what you couldn't bring yourself to say. You barely managed to pull your gaze away from him each time, silently berating yourself for giving him that much importance. It was all a game, all a ploy.

It was working, though. Because the next time he caught your gaze, his deep brown eyes darkened as he walked out of the gigantic ball room, making his way to the large area where the cars were parked. Making his way through the maze of luxury, vintage cars, he walked over to a cambrian grey Bentley, leaning against it as an invitation to join him. He smirked, watching your hips sway as you sashayed towards him, ready to beat him at his own game. He held the door open, his hand moving from the small of your back to rest on your behind, giving you a small smack as you made your way in. Tsking, you gave him a wolfish grin, as you slid the dropped sleeves of your gown from your shoulders, his eyes bulging at the sight of your gorgeous breasts being freed from their confines.

The car shook, almost too violently, as you bounced on his cock, a moan escaping your mouth as you felt him hit your front wall, over and over. You'd always thought of sex as a chore, something to get over with. But it felt different, with him; it felt as if your body and mind split, and was only concentrated on him and how he felt inside. Your core squeezed around him, as you pulled him deeper inside; fingernails digging into his meaty shoulder. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck as he thrust up into you, pulling you towards him to meet his sharp and pointed thrusts. Your breath caught in your throat, lips ghosting over his as your breaths mingled, all thoughts of speech banished. He kissed his way down your neck to your gorgeous globes, running the tip of his tongue around your swollen nipples. This action made you groan, running your fingers through his hair, completely mussing them up and ruining his do. You couldn't care less; with the way he was making you feel, you had half a mind to pull him to the ballroom and fuck him in front of everyone to show the reason for his and your disheveled states.

His thrusts began to speed up as he held you in place, your legs trembling and burning as you tried to hold yourself up, absorbing every bit of his amorous assault on you. Undoing the buttons of his crisp white shirt, you yanked the shirt off his shoulder, biting down hard at the exposed skin. He growled loudly, thrusting up once, then twice as he emptied himself into you, painting your walls as you squeezed every drop from him, reaching your explosive end as well. The euphoria melted into your veins, swiftly coursing through the length of your body. But yet again, as he helped you straighten yourself up, no words were spoken.

Both of you made your way back to the ballroom, your clothes and hair slightly askew, and a bright red mark on Lucien's neck, that he didn't bother hiding for the rest of the night. You wouldn't be surprised if people found out that the two of had been together, let alone what the two of you were upto

You couldn't bring yourself to care, though.

And now here you were, months later. You hadn't seen Lucien for quite some time, but you didn't really care all that much. It wasn't like you were pining after him. On the contrary, you'd found quite a few men to keep yourself entertained.

You walked into Fiona's beach soiree, thanking divine providence that it wasn't a black tie affair. The fact that it was at her luxurious beach house, which was facing the vast ocean, just happened to be a silver lining. You made your way around the party, chatting with Fiona about her latest venture, the NGO she had established, the soiree a means to raise funds.

As the night progressed, you found yourself pleasantly buzzed as you sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender to serve you. A familiar voice directed at you made you turn, only to see Lucien standing there, a flute of champagne in his hands, his signature smirk on his face. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, shifting your focus to the drink placed in front of you. He looked amazing, his messy curls softly styled, his beautiful neck adorned with gold chains and a thick ring on his finger. You had never seen him this casual, the Hawaiian shirt he had donned sitting loosely on him, leaving little to imagination.

Raising your glass at him in a silent toast, you smiled, taking a swig of the bubbly liquid. Delicious.

"You alone?" He drawled.

You gestured around, "Do you see anyone else here?"

"Touché." He took a swig of his drink, eyebrows raising as he savoured it. There was a small lull in the conversation but you didn't mind. It's not like the both of you talked when you were together.

"So. Long time no see."

"Yeah, kinda hard to see someone if they don't really show their face at events." you mused dryly.

He chuckled, nodding at the accusation. Taking your flute from your hand, he put the glasses on the counter, beckoning to the garden at the back of the house, "up for a smoke?"

"I don't smoke.", you said smugly, downing the glass in front of you.

He leaned towards you, bending down to whisper in your ear, "Who said anything about smoking?"

You should've known. It never ended in just talking, in fact, you don't think you've ever had a proper conversation with Lucien, barring that one time on the balcony, the night you met him. It was as if the bond between you was solely driven by the sheer lust and attraction you had for one another. Just the way you preferred it, and wanted it, truth be told.

As you both made your way outside, Lucien pinned you to the stone wall, locking his fingers with yours as he held your arms by your head, his lips brushing over yours. You wanted to ask him many things, probably talk about the both of you and your arrangement, but you couldn't bring yourself to talk. Atleast, not now.

You felt your insides flutter in anticipation, as he left kisses all over you: your neck, your breasts, your stomach. Pushing your dress up, he left open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, biting and sucking till he left marks, you were sure of it. Pulling your lace panties to the side, he began to eat you out with a ferocity that aroused you and scared you in equal parts. All you could do was hold on as he held your wet folds apart, his tongue running over your swollen nub. Briefly, he pulled back to look at your core; swearing under his breath as he saw how wet you were for him. He dove back in, pulling your lips apart with his fingers as he fucked you with his tongue for all he was worth.

You had died and gone to heaven, you were sure of it. Stars exploded behind your eyelids as each swipe of Lucien's tongue made you forget all about your surroundings. Your leg was on his shoulder, your dress was basically falling off your body and you had nearly bitten off a finger trying to hold your screams in. If he weren't so good with his tongue and his fingers, you would have laughed at the way your body turned to putty near this man.

You were rudely pulled out of your thoughts by the feel of him pushing inside you, hitching your leg on his hip as he bottommed inside you. You gasped as he stayed there, letting you feel all of him as he feasted on your breasts, his thumbs and tongue working their magic. He began to move, his hand holding both your arms above your head, restricting your movements. Rutting into you with abandon, he snarled as he felt your pussy clench around him as he tightened his hold on your arms. Using them as leverage, he quickened his motion, anchoring your waist as he fucked into you wildly, using your body for his own pleasure.

"Fuck...take it. take it all." he grunted through gritted teeth, letting go of your arms as he held you steadily, his fingers making their way to your core, circling your swollen clit.

You heard yourself shriek as you came apart, throwing your arms around his shoulders as he reached his end as well, his warm spend coating your walls. Your core pulsed, nearly strangling his cock as the aftershocks died down. Suddenly feeling exhausted, you slid down the wall as he held you, gently rocking you till you came back to normal.

As you recovered from your explosive high, there was only one thought in your mind: you were truly and honestly screwed.

GAHHHH IDK HOW THIS TURNED OUT BUT OMFG i had suchhhh fun writing it!! Hope y'all enjoy! I don't do taglists anymore, just turn on blog notifs for @lexiscyberlibrary to be notified about any new fics!

Love ya!

-xoxo Lexi <3

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snowyquokka · 4 months

Text

DRAINED

bf felix x gn reader

cw: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of anxiety, stress, crying, fluff (maybe?), swearing, overworked felix, shitty grammar

wc: 0.6k

a.n - my first attempt at hurt/comfort. did i do well? <3

dont hate me but i think i prefer writing angst rather than anything else

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Felix sighs and all but throws himself on top of you as you sit on the couch. “Hi, baby.” you giggle as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

“What’s the matter, Sunshine?” you say as you run your fingers through his soft blonde hair.

“Exhausted, overwhelmed, sad,” he lists against your neck. You always feel bad when he comes home from the studio or after he’s toured. Your boyfriend is constantly tiring himself, working as hard as he possibly can. You wish he would take care of himself once in a while. Felix says that’s what you’re for anyways.

You press a kiss to his temple and hum.

“Why are you sad, love?” He sighs and snuggles closer to you.

“I kept fucking up my part. Redid it five times.” you can feel him pout. Another example of him pushing himself to his limits is when he frustrates himself to the point where nothing satisfies him. He could go hours with many fantastic takes but will insist on retrying it until it’s absolutely perfect.

“I’m sure you did amazing,” Felix squeezes you tighter and inhales deeply.

“‘m sorry,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence. You pull back enough to be able to see his face. He has no makeup on, his freckles on full display. Sometimes when you’re bored you’ll pretend like they’re constellations and connect them in your head.

“Sorry for what, Lix?”

“For bothering you with this kinda stuff. It's not important and I don't want to worry you.” Your heart plummets down to the floor.

“Why wouldn’t it be important to me, love? If you’re upset, I’m upset. Your problems are mine.” you kiss his forehead softly. Felix shifts in your arms so he’s at eye level.

You hold his hands while you watch a single tear stream down his cheek. He immediately wipes it away and displays a small, but not reassuring, smile.

“Thank you,” he sniffles and leans his forehead against yours.

“Of course, Sunshine. I’m always going to be here.”

TWO DAYS LATER

You’re sitting in bed watching a random movie when your phone dings.

my only sunshine <3: im gonna be a little late tonight

my only sunshine <3: im sorry. i love you ❤️

you: its okay baby. let me know when ur on ur way !! i love you too

You sigh and lock your phone. It’s not like you’re mad at him or anything of that sort. It’s just difficult watching him drain himself again and again. No matter what you say, he always goes back to overworking himself.

Tears that you hadn’t noticed were brimming fall down your cheeks. You turn everything off and close your eyes, inhaling Felix’s scent from the pillows.

You wake to the sound of the front door closing and glance at the alarm clock,

5:08am

Fuck. Is he just getting home?

You climb out of bed and wander into the living room where you find your boyfriend sitting with his face in his hands, he immediately notices you. He had turned the small lamp in the corner on, allowing you to take in his disheveled state.

His long blonde hair tousled from his fingers being ran through it. His eyes bloodshot from what seemed like hours of crying and lack of sleep. His hands shake and his leg bounces up and down in an anxious manner.

“Baby?” you whisper with worry laced in your voice prompting Felix’s body to almost automatically rack with sobs. You quickly pull him into you and wrap your arms around his figure, the only sound present in the room being both of your cries blended together.

tags: @godslino

divider: @chaeneuu

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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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