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codfanficedits · 1 year ago

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Final Goodbye - Full version.

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

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

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

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS - Suicide - Selfharm and grieving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. No! Nonononono.” There it was.

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

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

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

“Hello.”

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

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

“I have died?”

“Afraid so.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“No.”

“Give me a reason.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They are me and I am them.”

“That tells me exactly nothing.”

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

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

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

“That is how you could call it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Splitting yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. And Life is quite nice.”

“You’ve met them?”

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

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

“Simon Riley?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Been watching the taskforce for a while.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

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

“Correct.”

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

“I am not sure what you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he going to be okay?” John asks.

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

“He doesn’t drink himself to death.”

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

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

“Thank God is fine.” You eventually answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promise.”

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

“Afraid not.”

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

“How is the rest coping?”

“You mean John and Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see?”

His eyes light up again. “Can I?”

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

“In that case, yes, yes please.”

“Who first?”

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

“Kyle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never.”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to ask something.”

“And if I can, I will answer.”

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

“No, I am not human.”

“Then what are you?”

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

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

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

“So, what happens next?”

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

“What is the afterlife like?”

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

“Is there like a heaven and hell?”

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

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

“If you loved her, yes.”

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

“Your dog?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve missed him.”

“He knows.”

“I’m glad.”

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

“Will I see them again?”

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

“I’ll wait for them.”

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

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

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

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

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

And all you could do was wait patiently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom.”

“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What is on your mind, boy?”

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

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

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

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

“Anytime Bearie.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”

“Love you too mom.”

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

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

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

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

“Hello.”

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

“Not yet.”

“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.

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

“Afraid not.”

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

“You did.”

“How did you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

One raspy breath, another raspy breath.

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

Lair.

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

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

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

“Then what are you here for?”

“To guide you.”

“To hell?”

“No, to the afterlife.”

“Oh.”

It stays quiet for a little bit.

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

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

“Can I thank Life?”

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

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

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

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

“You can speed up time?”

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

He relaxes as time begins to speed up.

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

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

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

“Gaz, how copy?”

“Can I answer him?”

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

“Shit, they must be worried.”

“Kyle, how copy?”

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

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

“I did.”

“Really?”

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

“Did he.. Did he mention me?”

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

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

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

“He did?”

“I have no benefit in lying.”

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

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

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

“I understand that.”

“God, she will be so heartbroken.”

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

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

“It sounds like you love her.”

“More than I’ve loved myself.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”

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

“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.

“I can show you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

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

A fourth dog tag on the chain.

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

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

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

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

“Will the captain be okay?”

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

“Really?”

“Really.”

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

“That he is.”

“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Final question, will mom be okay?”

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

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

“Do you want me to show you?”

“No.”

“No?”

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

“That is fair.”

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

“Will I see Soap again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

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

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

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

“Very well.”

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

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

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

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

But this time? This time it was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About what?”

“You.”

“What is there about me?”

“Why did you join the army?”’

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

“Don’t you fu-“

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

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

“I joined to escape home.”

“And why did you have to escape home?”

“Because my father was an abusive alcoholic.”

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

“Bullshit John.”

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

“You don’t get it.”

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

“I don’t get it?”

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will, Captain.”

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

“A little time off.”

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

“I would like that.”

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

“Thanks Cap, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t drink himself to death.

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

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

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

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

“Hello.”

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

“I am Death.”

“Did I die already?”

“Not yet.”

“Than why the fuck are you here?”

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

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

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

“What the fuck did you just say?”

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

“How the fuck would you know?”

You chuckle softly. “I guided them too.”

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

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

“Sounds like them.”

“It is nearly your time, Simon.”

“Will the pain stop?”

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

“I can’t wait to be pain free.”

“Tell me about your favourite memory?”

“Of what?”

“Anything you please.”

Simon has to think for a little while.

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

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

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

“I miss him.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

“How’s the pain, Simon?”

“Which pa- Oh fuck.”

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

“You deserved better.”

“I did.” He agrees.

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

“Why would you burn in hell?”

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

“And that is equal to eternal suffering?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

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

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

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

“There is no hell for you.”

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

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

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

“How do I know I’ll be ready?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“I don’t feel it yet.”

“Then you can stay with me.”

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

“I’m sure you do.”

“Can I ask them?”

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

“How do you know which soul to reap?”

“I just know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I answer him?”

“Afraid not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon looks at you. “You do.”

“Thank you.”

“Will the Captain be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.”

“Who will be waiting for me?”

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

“More than you’ll expect.”

“Tommy?”

You just nod and Simon let out a shaky breath.

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

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

“Will they be mad for what I did?”

“They love you too much to be mad.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

“With what?”

“The unfairness?”

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

“Do you feel remorse?”

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

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

“I get that.”

“Hey Death?”

“Yes, Simon?”

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

“I promise.”

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

John Price.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John MacTavish

Kyle Garrick

Simon Riley

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

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

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

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

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

Jenny Price

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello.”

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

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

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

“It is what I do.”

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

“I am glad that I could do it.”

“So, it is my time then.”

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

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

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

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

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

And you just nod.

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

“Anything you wish.”

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

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

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

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

“Only if you would be a British politician.”

“I would rather stay Death.”

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

“All of them.”

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

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

“They did?”

“Mhm.”

“Guess they cared more than I thought.”

“Of course they did.”

“Why was Simon smiling?”

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

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

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

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

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did I die?”

“Your heart gave out.”

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

You just tilt your head.

“Oh.”

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

“Learned that the hard way.”

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

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

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waywardsou2 · 1 month ago

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𝕮𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖚𝖙𝖞 🫡

Hey gamers! I have recently created a Call of Duty discord server. This baby is brand new and looking for players.

I'm not a long-time player myself but I did grow up with the game and have recently gotten very invested in it and would love to build a community around it.

This discord server is complete with:

channels for creators of all kinds

a space for the avid comic readers

a whole category for all the shippers out there

channels for each and every game including spoiler chats for plot lines in game

roleplay forums

and voice chat for those who wish to team up with new friends

If any of that sounds like something you are into then consider joining me in this new server and make your mark as one of the first recruits

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underyourbedtoday · 8 months ago

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…it would be an honor to get slapped by Laswell actually

#I’m biting the air right now man #she looks delicate but she could beat me up #and I am HERE for it #cod laswell #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #kate laswell #cod fanfic #laswell x reader #cw slapping #cw suggestive #I don’t know if I’m tagging this right sorry in advance

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cheezbites · 1 year ago

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Lemonade Koolaid

✎: I'm sorry in advance for this (apology with tears dropping soon) but the moment I discovered piss kinks are in fact a real thing and they aren't an internet inside joke I HAD to experiment and write about it. 😓☠️

♡Summary: You pee on König.

WARNINGS: Piss kink, All acts are consensual, NSFW, Forced Pissing? Not proofread

The bathtub’s water pleasantly embraced you and König - your arms were wrapped around his chest as you straddled his lower waist. You nuzzled into his neck and were on the verge of sleeping from how relaxed you felt.

Although your baggy t-shirt was completely soaked through, as well as his white vest and boxers, you still embraced the moment and his company. Appreciating him there with you merely every second. You enjoyed drinking and taking shots with him, so now you were up to laying in the bathtub which he just about fit into and snuggling one another.

But there was a subtle distraction, you had to use the bathroom. You’ve been holding it in for a while now, hoping for the impulse to pee would to suddenly go away. The urge only grew and grew, so you unraveled your arms around him and just as you were about to make your way to the toilet seat:

“Where are you going, Prinzessin?” König murmured, remaining in the same position; he kept his arms tightly wrapped around your waist.

“I need to go,” you grunted, playfully hitting his chest. You hated departing from him as much as he did, so you understood the mild disappointment etched onto his face.

“Go where…?”

“The ladies room,” you sheepishly looked away from him, however the amusement he gained from this all from this was blatant, you sensed it all from the grin on his face.

“You can do that here, no?” he further closed the distance between you guys, pulling your hips into him even closer than before. This induced your clit to irrepressibly throb against his abdomen, all the whilst holding in your pee.

“Ewwww no, König. That’s gross,” you giggled whilst squirming around him, arching your back to minimise your form and free yourself from his grasp. But he couldn't resist keeping you with him, making you stay with him. Your subtle movements made it easier for him to hold you, and your constant manoeuvring generated friction against his clothed boner - making him harder by the second.

He kept one arm caging you in as his free and reached under your shirt and grabbed your boob and massaged the bud with his thumb; the sensitive part of your nipple. All these temptations and distractions were to entice you to release onto him.

“I’m literally about to pee, König.” you groaned as your nails clung to his wet shirt, doing everything in your power to not urinate on him. You have been holding it in for what felt like the past half hour, God knows how you’ve still been holding it in. Even after drinking so much water to wash away the lingering taste of alcohol.

“What’s stopping you, Schatz? weil ich nicht bin...” He whispered sweet nothings into your ear to further tempt you, as well as gripping your sensitive boob harder, eliciting a defeated whimper from you. A tiny amount of pee unwillingly sputtered out of your cunt as your face flushed a bright red from the utter embarrassment.

“C-ant…König…” you dug your face into his shirt, like it would protect you and act as a shield. He lifted your chin with his hand that was previously grabbing your boob to make you meet his gaze, your eyes half-lidded and lips unmanagably quivering.

“What’s to be ashamed of, hm?” his lewd words provoked you to suddenly release on him as your gaze shamefully darted away from him before the water gradually turned a yellow hue, but it still felt rewarding releasing what you've been holding in for the past half hour. Even if it was on your own boyfriend, the tangy scent of your urine lowly dispersed around the room.

I’m sorry I just couldn’t write on I can’t take myself seriously🥲 if this gets enough notes I'll do something long for the piss kink community c:

A/N: Expressing my confusion for piss kinks through writing a König fic is the CheezBites way of saying THANK YOU FOR 2.5K LIKES!!! 🎀💕

Masterlist

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fortheb0ys · 3 months ago

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Michael on his knees, puppy dog eyes looking at me. Wordlessly begging for something, anything to be done to him. Anything will do if it means your hands are on him.

He wants your fingers brushes through his hair and you fuck his throat. Choking around your cock as his cold, robotic fingers stretch his needy hole.

He needs to know he's a good soldier, he can take orders. That he can please. He can rely on you to tell him that. It's the one surety, the only constant he has.

#MITCHELL I LOVE YOU BBG #such a pretty boy #☆*charlie writes #jack mitchell #jack mitchell x male reader #jack mitchell x reader #cod advanced warfare

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quizzyisdone · 2 years ago

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It Will Come Back (Part I) | Ghost x Fem! Reader

Chapter Title: Witch Image Word Count: 4.3k Pairing: Ghost x Fem! Reader Synopsis: The instant you joined the 141, you took special notice of a certain member was not like the others, in both appearance and personality. The way his intense stare ignited a feeling within you that you could not put words to. For months you pretend not to notice him. But Ghost does not play pretend. Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical violence, slow burn romance

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Masterlist

**Chapter title inspired by Witch Image by Ghost

I have always kept you closer than you've known I am riding in the shadows behind you On a pale white horse

He always lingered in the background, and were it anyone else, his presence would have been insignificant from where he stood. Ghost was different, though. Even from day one, the day you first met him, always in the back of your mind could you feel his cold, harsh presence emanating over you like an aura.

The first time you had met (although “met” is a strong word for what truly happened), you took notice of him immediately. Price had greeted you right off the heli with most of the team, including Ghost. Everyone had at least offered a greeting, but he just stood there. Several feet away from the rest of the group, staring at you, sizing you up. His mask was off putting, but what stood to be more intimidating was his stature, stare, quiet nature. 6’5, roughly 250 pounds of pure muscle and utter silence.

The balaclava that he never took off seemed comparatively minor in terms of intimidation when contrasted to everything else about him. You weren’t the type to scare easily, but to say Ghost was off putting was saying it mildly. When the group dissipated and went their separate ways, you stole one final glance at him. He simply nodded in acknowledgement then walked off, his assault rifle in hand with the safety notably turned off.

Why the hell was the safety off on base?

Price chuckled when you informed him of the encounter later that day.

“Sounds ‘bout right.” He took a puff of his cigar. “You’re lucky he acknowledged you. Must’ve caught him on a good day.”

The window in the makeshift debriefing room was propped open, allowing the cool desert breeze to sweep through the room, little wisps of your hair fluttering as it flowed by. You sat slumped in a chair waiting for Price. You were trying damn near everything in your power not to fall asleep at this late hour, but also to avoid glancing over at Ghost, who had elected to stand and restlessly pace about the room in silence, making you a bit apprehensive of him in the moment.

Something had to have happened to make him this restless, and his current demeanor reminded you of that first meeting with him.

Since that first encounter all those months ago, something barely bearing a resemblance to an acquaintanceship had formed, forged through the very few covert stealth ops you both had been on together with some of the others. It was a strange, unspoken bond between the two of you, like you both completely understood yet misunderstood each other at the same time. It was weird, but you had grown accustomed to it as he had.

Ghost never spoke to you outside of missions, he didn’t really do that with anyone (but his eyes seemed to linger a little longer, you realized). Like the others, he beheld you in a cool, stoic regard. You returned the favour and pretended not to notice him as often as you truly did, only ever standing in his presence if Soap, Gaz, or Price was present.

You two were never alone together like you were to be this time around. You don’t know if being alone with someone he didn’t trust on an op was causing his restlessness, or it was some other inexplicable reason.

You also didn’t know if it made you nervous or euphoric being alone with him. On one hand, he was unnerving, and ruthless by reputation. He was willing to sacrifice his teammates for the greater good, and as noble as that is, that often meant a bloody, horrific death for whomever he sacrificed to get the job done. On the other hand, he was a natural leader who embodied the spirit of professionalism, and his seeming omniscience and considerable skill bordered on the supernatural.

There was also a small part of you yearning to impress this enigmatic man that admittedly scared you at times, and this was the perfect opportunity. You didn’t quite know if that desire extended from a strange attraction or admiration of the man. Perhaps both.

Price opened the door, slamming it shut. His face set into a deep frown, clearly his mood over the next week hinged on the success of this op.

“Evening.” He greeted the pair of you curtly. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

Ghost stopped his pacing, crossing his arms as he stood and you sat up straight in your chair.

Apparently, you were tracking one of Makarov’s main weaponry smugglers, an ex-Spetsnaz ultranationalist known as Vadim Ivanovich. Intel uncovered that Vadim not only armed some of Al-Qatala’s army, but also a certain ultranationalist infantry battalion. While arming AQ would’ve made him inconsequential to the bigger equation, a job better suited for another taskforce, arming the battalion who were designated to protect key strongholds that Makarov used as bases of operations was what made him notable.

Vadim is your key to getting in close to Makarov. Ever since Ghost had killed Hassan and Makarov reemerged as a threat, he had remained, for lack of a better term, a virtual ghost. No leads had popped up. Until now. This was the first breakthrough the 141’s analysts had made in months.

He was operating from a farm turned Al-Qatala safehouse, located in a rural area on the border of Urzikstan and Kastovia. Intel states that this acts as his main transportation hub and base of operations. Given that tensions are heating up, with ultranationalists joining Makarov’s cause in droves, he’s most certainly there to oversee the operation at the orders of the kingfish himself.

With heavy AQ presence and Vadim’s penchant to flee at any sign of trouble, this mission was best left to stealth rather than a fully fledged gunfight with the whole task force. Perfect for you and Ghost to infiltrate, grab the target, and exfil — quietly.

“Target is intended to be captured and brought back for interrogation. You cannot kill the target under any circumstances.” Price stressed to the two of you, his expression was stern, a far cry from his normal, relative leniency on ops. “We cannot afford to fuck this up.”

“Yes sir,” You nodded. “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll land in a helo two klicks out from the safehouse. Ghost, you’ll position yourself on a nearby ridge, at a critical position overlooking the farm, providing overwatch and sniper cover as needed for L/N” He pointed at the table, Ghost’s name written in a circle on a topographical map of the area. “L/N, you will silently infiltrate the base, subduing and capturing the target with this stim provided by Laswell.”

Price handed you a sizable syringe, containing a mysterious orange liquid meant to incapacitate rather than eliminate.

“CIA shit.” You chuckled, looking the syringe up and down, examining it. “I like it.”

“Aerial reconnaissance of the farm revealed that Vadim’s personal vehicle is parked right outside the house at night.” Price said, directing your eyes with his hand to a photo with the vehicle attached to the map with a tack. Nice car, a 2020 Mercedes. “This is what you’ll use to get him out of the area without alerting AQ. You and Ghost will RV at a spot below the ridge, and exfil two klicks north of the safehouse. I’ll be on comms, in a helo for exfil.”

“Understood, sir.” Ghost’s hoarse, rough voice chimes in. You didn’t hear him speak often outside of missions, and this was the first time in days you’d heard a word out of him. His deep, scratchy, baritone voice always sent shivers down your spine, and you weren’t always sure if it was a good or bad thing.

“Wheels up at 2200 hours tomorrow.” He dismissed the both of you, and Ghost left as soon as he was given the order. You glanced at Price before he left, taking in his features. He was stiff, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched in stress. The past few years had clearly taken a toll, evident by the wrinkles that had formed on his face that weren’t there when you first met him in Credenhill. “Nervous, L/N?”

You nodded. “A little. It’s pretty high stakes.”

“Well I’d be more worried if you weren’t.” Price offered you a small, reassuring smile. “I know this isn’t your tactical specialty like it is for the lieutenant, but given your past record, I think the both of you are uniquely qualified for this.”

“Yes, sir.” You dismissed yourself, Price was right, stealth wasn’t your tactical specialty. You were decent at it, better than some on the 141, which earned yourself a spot on some of those ops, but it was not what you excelled in. If you didn’t have to be on it, you didn’t want to be on it. But you trusted Price’s judgement and his insistence, even if neither you or Ghost seemed to understand it.

As you made your way to your quarters, you made a pit stop at the mess hall, grabbing a bite to eat before going to bed. There, you spotted Soap, Gaz and Ghost eating and conversing at a table in the corner. Well, Soap and Gaz were talking, Ghost simply sat there silently, a barely touched tray before him.

He had immediately taken notice when you walked in, shamelessly glaring at you as he sometimes did and you pretended not to notice. His eyes, which were his only visible features, were indiscernible in emotion. You couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or simply trying to intimidate you, but if it were the latter, it certainly worked. He followed your figure until you sat down next to an empty seat, diagonally from where he sat cornered against a wall.

“‘Evening, boys.” You smiled, patting a back on Gaz’s shoulder. You were met with a round of friendly hellos from two of the men, but with silence from the third. You side eyed him, hoping to goad a word out of him, if only to hear that rough voice again.

“Good evening, sergeant.” Ghost replied nonchalantly, which admittedly surprised you that he responded. You raised your eyebrow at him, but he simply shrugged, glancing away, and your heart skipped a beat. Soap laughed in response.

“Now ye finally got to say something to her now that yer going on an op alone with her, eh LT?” Soap nudged his shoulder, and Ghost once again shrugged, this time lifting up his balaclava just enough to reveal his mouth to shove a quick bite of bread, then pulling it back down immediately.

For that split second, you noticed ashy blonde stubble decorating his well chiseled jawline. Coincidentally, Ghost had also caught you stealing a glance in that moment, and you could’ve sworn you saw the outline of a smirk on his balaclava that vanished in an instant.

“It’s not polite to stare, sergeant.” He said, his voice muffled by the large chunk of bread he was still chewing. You almost chuckled, you could say the same to him.

“Facial hair, eh? You don’t shave?” You shot back, ignoring his statement.

“Does it matter?” Ghost swallowed, his question harsh and laced with a hint of hostility that didn’t deter you, even as you inwardly cringed at the nerve you seem to hit inadvertently. You looked over at Soap and Gaz, who were watching this conversation unfold with great interest.

“Well, a girl sometimes wonders what’s underneath that mask of yours.”

“Well a girl can keep wondering, sergeant. You’ll never know.” His gaze was intense, although whatever emotion and intent he had behind that statement was unintelligible, whether it was vexed, humorous, or simply neutral.

“You’ve seen his face, haven’t you?” You asked Soap, and he smiled and nodded. “Does he wear it because he’s ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.” Ghost interjected. “Right, Johnny?”

“Eh,” Soap glanced at Gaz and then Ghost, clasping his hands together with a chuckle, harking back to Las Almas. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

Ghost elected not to respond, simply turning back to his tray, lifting his balaclava to eat once more, this time, he ensured you saw the smirk on his lips and that you met his eyes, even as you quickly shifted your eyes elsewhere, feeling inexplicably warm in the face.

“This is Bravo 7-0, I’m in position. How copy?” Ghost’s voice came through comms, its gruffness exacerbated by the graininess of the headpiece. Although he didn’t really need an answer, he could see you through the scope of his rifle. Your back was pressed against the tall wooden fence surrounding the farm, laying in wait for the lone guard right behind the fence to come by so you could neutralize him.

You ignored his question for a moment, so as not to give yourself away. You readied your knife, and as he turned the corner, out of view from any other AQ, you grabbed him by the scruff, pushing him against the fence and slitting his throat. As his dead body slumped against the fence, you wiped your knife against your thigh and sheathed it once more.

“This is Bravo 7-2. About to infiltrate.” You poked your head around the fence, sizing up the AO. You saw several guards, two of them positioned at the front entrance of the barn, which had its wicket gate propped open, armored SUVs parked inside, being loaded with weapons to be shipped off to Makarov. Separated by a field of crops, the main building, where Vadim was located, lay completely opposite of you, and there was little besides the barn to offer cover.

“Sergeant, recommend we do this smart and take down all personnel at the barn first, then proceed to the main house.” His statement was less of a suggestion, more of an order. “After the barn, I’ll neutralize who I can at the main house but the interior is up to you. Visual on several AQ and ultranationalists through the windows. Won’t be easy.”

“For you, maybe.” You chuckled a bit uneasily, as you sniped a lone enemy positioned near the side of the barn. “For me it’ll be a walk in the park.”

“If it’d be even somewhat hard for me to do, it’ll be damn near impossible for you.” Clearly, the lieutenant was not pleased with your boasting that you used to mask the nervous pit in the bottom of your stomach. Even if he wasn’t here in your presence physically, you could feel a shiver go down your spine. Silence ensued as you made your way to the barn. Just as you reached the side entrance, an enemy came out the door in front of you.

The guard took notice of you immediately, grabbing you and pinning you against the wall, his pistol to your head as he shouted something in Arabic. However, Ghost quickly took care of the problem, and a bit of the guard’s blood spattered on your face.

“Walk in the park, eh?” Ghost jived.

“Thanks.” You said, wiping the blood off your face, a frown forming at his well-earned arrogance at saving your ass. That taste of instant karma might keep you off of boasting like that again.

Clearing the barn went off without a hitch, and more importantly, without the need of assistance from the LT. Something which you hoped he’d remember next time he doubted you like it felt like during the debriefing. It was a simple job, you cut the power from the generator, picking off one by one the enemies left stumbling in the dark.

Toggling your flashlight on, dead bodies scattered the vicinity, but you took notice of a desk in the corner, laptop still on but papers, maps scattered around it. One map in particular caught your attention, a map marked with routes and coordinates, filled with lines leading to circles. You folded the paper, placing it in your pocket for you to give to intel later on. Might prove useful.

“Barn’s clear. Might’ve found some intel.” You informed Ghost as you loaded your tactical gear with some flashbangs you found lying around. This was a weapons goldmine, RPGs, grenade launchers, innumerable semi-automatics, and even a few machine guns were simply lying around.

“Good job.” Your heart, against your brain’s better judgement, jumped a little. “Price will be happy after tonight. Provided you don’t screw it up down there.”

“I won’t.” You reassured him, back away from the desk to the front entrance. When you turned around, you were met with a pistol cocked against the center of your forehead, a man with a wicked grin smiling at you as the butt of a gun slammed the back of your head.

Some seconds went by, and not a peep from you nor did he see you exit the barn, which was unusual, given how talkative you tended to be. Raising his brows, he pressed the button on his radio.

“Bravo 7-2, how copy?”

Silence.

“I repeat, Bravo 7-2, how copy?” His voice grew angrier. He looked into the scope of his rifle, scanning the perimeter for any sign of you. Nothing. “Fuckin’ hell, do you copy?!” Ghost slammed his fist on the ground, his stomach dropping when he looked in his rifle again, seeing your limp body being carried by the target intended for capture, being brought into the house.

“Fuck.” He hissed. “Bravo 6 do you copy?” Ghost radioed the captain, trying to hide the desperation he felt growing.

“Loud and clear. What’s happening?” Price responded in an instant.

“L/N was captured. I’m going in.”

You were awoken with a cool feeling of liquid trailing on the back of your scalp, accompanied by a pounding headache, your head throbbing. Your hands were bound behind you as you sat in a simple fold up chair in a windowless and barren room. There was a heavy, steel plated door shut tight in front of you about 10 feet away. Your weapons were gone, but your tactical gear remained on you.

“That didn’t take long.” A thick Russian accent could be heard from behind you and your heart began to beat out of your chest. He placed his hand on your shoulder as he presented himself in front of you. Vadim. “At least they brought me a pretty one this time. I do get tired of the large, stinking brutes they bring me. You’ll be easier to break.” His thumb going to rest on your lip as he cupped your face in a sick, twisted attraction. Oh how wrong he was. “What’s your name, girl?”

You stayed silent, staring defiantly into his eyes.

“I said what is your fucking name?” Vadim screamed in anger, swinging his fist to hit square onto your nose. You gasped in pain, feeling blood trickle out of your nose and lightheadedness as the impact combined with the head wound you sustained.

“So you think I’m pretty?” You smiled in faux flirtatiousness, your eyes half lidded in lightheadedness as you tauntingly smiled. If he wanted to play that game, you’ll beat him at it. That had earned you another punch, this time the impact colliding with your eye.

“I tried being gentle with you.” He huffed, turning his back around, rummaging through a briefcase containing weapons. “I know that you know of the treatment disrespectful little girls get around here.” Vadim turned around, brandishing a knife with a taunting smile mimicking your own, and it only grew wider as fear grew in your eyes. “So, let’s try again. What is your name and rank?”

He held the sharp end of the blade to your cheek, threatening to break skin if he applied any more pressure. The realization that should’ve settled earlier came, he meant business and rescue was nowhere in sight. You remembered the first rule of being interrogated: Give them what they want, omit where you can, and lie only when necessary.

“Sergeant Y/N L/N.” You answered meekly.

“See, we can be nice to each other, Miss L/N.” His pressure on the blade lifted slightly at your admission. “So, why are you here?”

“To find your guns.” You glared hardened as your ears perked at the ever so faint sound of gunfire in the distance that Vadim seemed to not take any notice of. He smiled at you, even as the sound of fighting grew louder. “And to find you.”

“Makarov will be interested in this.” He tutted. He opened the door that separated the room from the main hallway, muttering something in Russian to one of his lackeys who was standing guard outside the room. The man saluted him, and walked away from his post and Vadim shut the door. As you could hear the fighting getting louder, you almost laughed. Idiot. “You’re coming with us.”

Soon enough, gunfire could be heard loud and clear in the vicinity, and that same soldier who he was talking to earlier cried out.

“Vadim, blya-” The soldier was cut off as a gunshot rang out.

“No, I don’t think I will.” You smiled, and in an instant, Vadim grabbed your neck harshly and pulled your back straight against his chest to use you as a human shield. He held a pistol against your head and backed into the corner with the table that had the briefcase.

The inside of his elbow pressed harshly into your neck, making it difficult for you breathe, especially so when you struggled against him. As you gasped for air, the door swung wide open, Ghost, who’s mask and gear were drenched with the blood of the no doubt many, many people he killed to get here so quickly.

Your heart jumped and you smiled, even as you were gasping for air and the sudden movement made your lightheadedness sustained from the head injury worse.

“Drop the weapon.” Ghost barked, although his gun was not aimed towards Vadim, instead just a little bit above his head. He was clearly still adamant about the objective to bring him back alive.

“I’ll fucking shoot her!” He screamed back, his iron grip now tightening impossibly hard on you as your vision began to tunnel.

“You kill her, you’ll die a long, painful death.” Ghost threatened, his eyes, normally indiscernible, now clearly enraged. “I’ll make fucking sure of it.”

He looked straight at you as he uttered that last statement.

As the two stood off in a battle of wills, you slowly inched your hand toward a screwdriver that lay on the corner. Even as your vision began to collapse on itself from the lack of air, you somehow managed to grab it. Using all the strength you could muster in your clouded, delirious mind, you drove it into Vadim’s side and he let go, falling to the ground. You stumbled to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

Now that you were free, it wasn’t lack of oxygen clouding your judgement -- it was anger. Before either Ghost or Vadim could react, you used the same screwdriver and drove it as hard as you could through the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

In your anger, Ghost’s screaming at you to stop fell on deaf ears. Even if you could, it was already too late, the damage was done -- you killed him.

No longer gasping for air and your vision returning to normal, you pushed yourself away from his body until you reached a wall. You pulled your knees to your chest, feeling a sudden urge to sob, which you fought desperately to control.

“What in the bloody hell was that sergeant?” Ghost yelled, but you didn’t respond, still staring at his body just five feet away from yours. Shame began to set in as you realized what you had done. The only lead to Makarov was now dead. Because of you.

The urge to cry strengthened as it sunk in further. This was your fault, you thought as you felt a burning stream of liquid well up in the corner of your eye, which you quickly wiped away.

Ghost kneeled in front of you, and his signature intense gaze burned into your eyes once more. “Why’d you kill him?” His voice was not as booming and rough as it was the first time, but a notch of hostility could still be detected.

“I-I don’t know. He hurt me a lot and he just made me so angry and I-I just lost my shit.” You stuttered. He sighed, and his eyes looked down for a moment, as if he was lost in thought for a second.

“You can’t lose your shit like that.” Ghost muttered quietly. He glanced back up at you, a certain softness in his eyes. For a moment, for the first time, you understood him and he understood you. For once, you were not afraid to look him directly into those eyes that seemed to burn right inside of you.

But sooner than it came, that moment was gone. His gaze returned to that normal, shadowy, vague stare that was oh so typical of him and he stood up, reaching his hand to pull you up. “You broken?”

Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up with precious little strength and you stumbled forward, grabbing onto his shoulder for balance. Ghost tensed at the contact, and you quickly moved away as you gathered your bearings.

“Bravo 6, L/N is okay.” He looked over at you, watching as you gripped at your head, trying to get the pain to stop. “Relatively.”

“Good. And the target?” Relief seemed to wash over his tone.

“KIA.”

“Fuckin’ Christ!” Price yelled through the comms, Ghost’s disappointment etched itself into his ashy blonde brows that peaked right below the mask. You averted your eyes, grabbing a handgun from the dead body of the man that was so imperative you brought in alive. “Just get your asses back to base, we’ll talk then.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

#hi this was barely proofread sorry in advance #if u squint rlly hard there's a life of boris reference in there #that was almost accidental #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #captain price #john soap mactavish #john price #mw22 #modern warfare 2 #cod #call of duty #quizzy writes

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reveluving · 2 years ago

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update:

I'm not even a quarter thru writing the fic and suddenly, we got john, alejandro, gideon AND graves living in my head rent-free

#tell me ur a hoe #w/o actually telling me ur a hoe #but n e ways #gimme two months <3 #cod #call of duty #john price #captain price #john price x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #gideon #gideon emery #gideon x reader #philip graves #commander graves #philip graves x reader #modern warfare #advanced warfare

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ornateorchid · 11 months ago

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im dying and the only thing that can save me is more jack mitchell content

#call of duty #advanced warfare #jack mitchell #please he's such a cutie #i can't believe people don't appreciate him more #can't believe people don't appreciate the game itself more it's so underrated #cod #jack mitchell x reader

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whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years ago

Note

Obviously you are gonna be getting a couple from me because they are open but we are gonna start off strong here,,

You wanna talk about Ilona, talk about Ilona. Give me some headcanons about, maybe what she would be like with s/o as well. I got you into AW and I want to know your takes obviously.

Dating Ilona

[GN!Reader]

[AN: here we go!]

Reblogs are appreciated!

I think that Ilona is biromantic and demisexual with a HEAVY preference for women. She's like 99% into women, 1% into men.

SO, what's dating that woman like???

Surprisingly I don't think she's all that romantic in the sense of PDA and whatnot. She's not hands off but she isn't smothering you with affection either.

Her affection is very subtle. She'll hold your hand, generally have a hand on you, but she's not going to be making out with you in public.

Ilona is very joking and sarcastic in her relationship!

She has LOTS of nicknames for you in Russian, both joking and sweet.

She will play fight with you (no that's not my own biases peeking through)

LOVES to cook Russian comfort foods for you.

She wants to teach you Russian as well. If you speak any other languages than English, she's going to want to learn from you as well!

She's a space heater! Please cuddle with her! Ilona NEVER gets cold or hot! She's surprisingly great with handling extreme temperatures (though she does NOT like summer).

She enjoys picking you up at random times.

Ilona always has to drive. Always.

She says 'I love you' in her native tongue, never that much in English. She finds it more genuine for herself in Russian.

#ilona aw #call of duty advanced warfare #codaw #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod advanced warfare Ilona #Ilona

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birdstooth · 2 years ago

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Looooool I can’t 😂😂😂 this is literally the kind of psychological warfare I engaged in at the age of 12 y/o when I fought with my parents and wanted to “punish” them so they would come apologize to me first 😭

For real I’d just sulk in my room and not come for dinner - and the whole time I’d be so hungry but thinking like “they must be so worried about me hahaha, let them suffer from my silent treatment!! I hope they feel very tormented and guilty 😈”

Meanwhile my parents were probably having a peaceful dinner with nice conversation like, “phew that kid finally gave us a break! I couldn’t deal with that whiny brat for another second 😮‍💨”

Anyway, I can’t get a grasp on what the frickle frackle kind of clothing people wore during the medieval period, so I went with a mishmash of things I saw on Google images and Etsy, which probably resulted in the most wildly inaccurate outcome, so honestly I’m just hoping you guys don’t know what they wore either 🤷‍♀️

Ok but basically, imagine this happened at your work lmao 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Hue and Cry

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You notice a sudden change in Lord Barnes.

Note: This is just me being self-indulgent. I start a new job on Monday and yesterday, someone close to me passed. I’m trying to distract myself but I’m too stressed to work on an standing series. This will have at least one other part.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You scattered fresh herbs over the rushes carefully as you backed down the hall. The woven mats would absorb the scent and keep the floors tidy until the next sweep. When you reached the corner, you tied up the sachet and gathered up your bucket and broom. The corridors were already smelling fresher though the task had kept you well past the evening meal.

Keep reading

#bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #comics and doodles #advanced psychological warfare #sun tzu should take notes tbh #fic rec #fic art #darkficsyouneveraskedfor #hue & cry fic art

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librababe99 · 3 months ago

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Moments Between Time: Part One

CW: angst, hurt, dystopian, Mutant!Reader, mental anguish, existential despair, suggestive emotional and physical intimacy

Word Count: 2436

A/N: Hey loves! So I' m back with the first part of this new series featuring DOFP! Logan---Definitely one of my favorite x-men films that I went to see in theaters a few years back. I really hope y'all enjoy it--As always comments and feedback are highly appreciated! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(Part Two)

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The world had become a graveyard of memories, littered with the remnants of a civilization that once thrived. The skies, once a brilliant blue, were now a perpetually overcast gray, the sun a distant and pale shadow of its former self. Buildings stood as crumbling sentinels, their facades scorched and broken by years of unrelenting warfare. The air was thick with ash and the scent of burning, a constant reminder of the lives that had been lost and the battles yet to be fought.

The war had waged for years, perhaps decades—time had lost its meaning in the endless cycle of violence and survival. The Sentinels, monstrous machines designed to hunt and exterminate mutants, had decimated the population. Humanity, too, had been nearly eradicated in the crossfire, caught between the relentless advance of the Sentinels and the desperate resistance of the mutants. Those who remained were either in hiding or dead. The world was a barren wasteland, devoid of hope and teetering on the edge of oblivion.

You stood on the precipice of what was once a thriving city, now reduced to ruins. The wind howled through the skeletal remains of skyscrapers, carrying with it the echoes of a world that no longer existed. Your heart was heavy with the weight of all you had seen, all you had lost. But you were still standing, still fighting. You had no other choice.

Your powers had been both a blessing and a curse in this war. The ability to manipulate time was a formidable weapon, allowing you to slow it, speed it up, or even rewind it in brief bursts. But every use took a toll, draining your energy, leaving you weaker with each passing day. It was a power that came with a price—a price you had paid over and over again, watching friends and allies fall only to rewind their deaths, knowing that it would only delay the inevitable.

And yet, despite everything, you had survived. You were one of the last remaining members of the X-Men, a shadow of the team that had once stood as a beacon of hope in a world that feared and hated them. But hope was a luxury none of you could afford anymore. Survival was all that mattered, and even that seemed like a losing battle.

Beside you, Logan Howlett—Wolverine—surveyed the desolate landscape with a grim expression. His once fierce eyes were hardened by the years of combat, yet there was a depth of sorrow in them that matched your own. His presence was a constant, a rock in the storm that raged around you both. You had fought together through countless battles, each one more desperate than the last, and had watched the world crumble piece by piece.

Logan’s wounds healed quickly, his regenerative abilities keeping him alive when others would have perished. But even he was not immune to the emotional toll of this endless war. The loss of friends, of family, of a future worth fighting for—it all weighed heavily on him, carving deep lines into his face, turning his hair to gray.

For years, you and Logan had been comrades in arms, partners on the battlefield. But there was more between you than just the bond forged in blood and fire. There was something unspoken, a connection that ran deeper than either of you dared to acknowledge. It was a thread that had woven itself through the fabric of your shared experiences, pulling you closer even as the world around you fell apart.

The quiet moments between skirmishes had become precious, stolen time where the chaos of the world seemed to fade, if only for a brief while. It was in those moments that you would catch Logan’s gaze, his eyes searching yours as if seeking solace in the only place it could be found. There were times when your hands would brush, a fleeting touch that sent a spark through your entire being, a reminder that you were still alive, still capable of feeling something other than pain and despair.

But there was no room for love in a world like this. No room for the vulnerability that came with it. To love was to risk losing everything, and neither of you could afford that. So, you kept your feelings buried deep, hidden beneath layers of resolve and determination. There were more pressing matters at hand—survival, resistance, the slim chance of victory.

As the days passed and the future grew increasingly bleak, a plan began to take shape among the remaining X-Men. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort to change the course of history, to prevent the events that had led to this catastrophic timeline. The idea was to send someone back in time, to a point before the Sentinels were created, before the war had begun. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance you had left.

The choice of who to send was obvious. Logan was the only one who could survive the journey. His healing factor would protect him from the physical strain, and his mind was strong enough to endure the temporal displacement. But even with his abilities, the mission was fraught with danger. If it failed, if something went wrong, there would be no coming back.

Your role in the plan was just as crucial. Your powers would be used to anchor Logan’s consciousness in the past, to guide him and keep him connected to the present. It was a task that required immense concentration and would drain you of almost all your energy. You knew the risks, knew that there was a very real possibility that you wouldn’t survive the attempt. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was giving Logan a chance to succeed, to change the future, to save the world.

The night before the mission, you found yourself unable to sleep. The weight of what was to come pressed down on you, a heavy burden that you carried alone. You had always been strong, resilient, but the thought of what lay ahead filled you with a sense of dread that you couldn’t shake.

You sat alone in the darkness, the cold air seeping into your bones, your thoughts a tangled mess of fear and determination. The reality of the situation was sinking in—this could be the last night you ever spent in this world. The last night you would see Logan, hear his voice, feel his presence beside you.

The sound of footsteps drew you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Logan approaching. His face was set in a somber expression, the lines of worry etched deep into his features. He said nothing as he sat down beside you, the silence between you heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. There was nothing that needed to be said, no words that could capture the magnitude of what was about to happen. But the silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with the unspoken emotions that had been building between you for years. The tension that had simmered beneath the surface, always there but never acknowledged, was now impossible to ignore.

Finally, it was Logan who broke the silence. His voice was rough, low, like gravel underfoot. “Tomorrow’s gonna be hell,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the first light of dawn was just beginning to break.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “Yeah. It is.”

He turned to look at you then, his gaze intense, searching. “You ready for this?”

You met his eyes, seeing the concern there, the fear that he was trying so hard to hide. You managed a small, sad smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Logan’s hand reached out, hesitating for just a moment before he rested it on yours. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the cold that surrounded you, a lifeline in the darkness. You looked down at your joined hands, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This could be it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If things go wrong… I just… I don’t want you to—”

You shook your head, cutting him off before he could finish. “Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Don’t say it. We can’t afford to think like that.”

But even as you said the words, you knew it was too late. The reality of the situation hung between you like a shadow, impossible to ignore. Logan squeezed your hand, the pressure grounding you, pulling you back from the edge of despair.

“You’re strong,” he said, his voice steady, reassuring. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered, took your breath away. For a moment, you felt like the world had stopped, that there was nothing but the two of you in that cold, desolate night.

Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his face in your hand, your thumb brushing lightly over the rough stubble on his cheek. “And you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You have to come back. You have to make it right.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the hardness in them giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he vowed, his voice fierce, filled with a determination that sent a shiver down your spine. “I swear, I’ll make it right.”

The moment hung between you, heavy and charged, the tension that had been building for years finally coming to a head. It was as if all the barriers you had both put up, all the walls you had built around your hearts, were crumbling in the face of what was to come.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before the fear could take hold, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was fierce, desperate, a collision of pent-up emotions that neither of you could contain any longer. Logan responded immediately, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if he could merge your bodies, your souls, into one.

There was no room for hesitation, no time for doubt. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more intense, as if you were both trying to pour everything you felt into this one moment. It was a kiss born of desperation, of the fear that this might be your last chance to feel something real, something good, before the darkness swallowed you whole.

Logan’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you into his lap as he kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless. You could feel the raw power in him, the barely-contained rage and pain that he carried with him every day, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take it all away, to make him feel something other than the constant ache of loss and regret.

The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other, clinging to this one moment of passion and vulnerability. It was as if time itself had stopped, holding you in a suspended reality where nothing else mattered.

But time, as always, was cruel. The kiss slowed, the intensity gradually ebbing away, leaving behind a bittersweet longing that settled deep in your chest. You pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the cold air.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

He opened his eyes, and the raw emotion you saw there nearly brought you to your knees. There was so much in his gaze—love, fear, desperation, hope. It was almost too much to bear.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” you said, your voice barely audible, “I need you to know… I—”

But before you could finish, Logan captured your lips again, silencing you with a kiss that was somehow even more tender, more meaningful than the last. It was a kiss that spoke of promises unmade, of words left unsaid, of a future that might never come.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling your face, his expression was one of fierce determination. “You don’t have to say it,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “I know. I’ve always known.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding as you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand on your skin. The dawn was fast approaching, the light slowly creeping over the horizon, casting long shadows over the ruined city.

The reality of what was to come settled over you both like a dark cloud, but in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you, you felt a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. You knew that this could be the last time you ever saw him, the last time you felt his touch, his kiss. But you also knew that if anyone could change the future, it was Logan.

As the first rays of sunlight pierced the gloom, you pulled back, reluctantly breaking the embrace. Logan’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the same mixture of hope and fear reflected in them.

“It’s time,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart.

Logan nodded, his expression hardening as he prepared himself for what lay ahead. But before he could step away, you reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Promise me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardness in his expression melted away, replaced by something tender, something achingly vulnerable. He squeezed your hand in return, his grip strong and reassuring.

“I promise,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll come back. I’ll find you.”

With one last lingering look, Logan turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows as he prepared to embark on the most dangerous mission of his life.

And as you watched him go, your heart heavy with a mixture of fear and hope, you whispered a silent prayer to whatever gods might still be listening, begging them to bring him back to you.

Because in this world of darkness and despair, Logan was your only light, your only hope.

And you weren’t ready to let that go.

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Taglist: @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus

(If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series moving forward just comment below <3 )

#Moments Between Time #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #gender neutral reader #hugh jackman #gender neutral y/n #angst #hurt/angst #dystopian #marvel #xmen fandom #xmen fanfiction #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #days of future past #DOFP! Logan #mutant reader

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codfanficedits · 1 year ago

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Bittersweet memories.

CW: ANGST. I have no words for this one, at this point I'm just hurting my own feelings idk

Fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

Eight years ago you joined the army. You wanted to be the best recruit they had ever seen. You wanted to succeed in something, anything at all. You craved the validation and the army could give that to you. Your eagerness didn’t go unnoticed. Your work ethic being the main reason for the praise you received. Your hard work did also pique a mans interest. You’d found him intimidating at first. The skull mask, his large physique, the gloved hands, the unreadable eyes. But Ghost took a liking to you. It started with small gestures, very small gestures. A little nod when you completed your training. A soft hum of approval when you hit the target during practice. An awkward pat on your shoulder when you returned from your first mission, a gentle squeeze on your bicep when you went to the bar to celebrate your mission.

Seven years ago it weren’t just little gestures anymore. It had evolved to holding your hips a little too long when he had to move past you, pressing himself against you a little too hard when he corrected your stance. Jealous glares when another man tried to buy you a drink in the bar. Being a little too eager to be teamed up with you. So seven years ago you finally bit the bullet, asking him out for a date. Ghost disappeared after that, avoiding you like the plague, leaving you confused and even a little heartbroken. Took him three weeks to come around, to reach out to you, to apologise. He’d told himself you were pulling an awful prank on him, that you couldn’t be possible be interested in him. It took you a lot of convincing that you were in fact interested in him.

Six and a half years ago, you finally saw his face for the first time. Until then you had been blessed with a half pulled up balaclava, enough to see his lips, enough to kiss you. But never enough to fully see him. He had come to your quarters after one of his hard mission, tired, beaten, but alive. No words exchanged when he sat down on your couch, manspreading as his hands rested against him. A long, tired exhale and a moment of awkward silence. His hand waved you over, urging you to sit next to him, your head on his chest as you listened to his heartbeat. The balaclava falling on his lap when he finally took the piece of fabric off. The military had taught you to be brave, and you needed all the skills you had learned to look up at him.

And by God was he divine. A slightly crooked nose, you knew he had broken his nose as a child, the result prominent in his face, soft brown eyes, a little freckle here and there, an old scar decorating the left side of his upper lip. You hand reaches out to touch his cheek and he leans into your touch as if he is starving and you’re his only source of life, from that moment on it felt wrong to call him Ghost, because Simon came back to life from your touch.

Six years ago he finally told you he loved you for the first time. Of course you had said it before, and you understood that he needed more time to say it. You could see his love for you in the smallest things in life. How he held his hand against the sharp edge of the countertop when you had to pick something up from the floor, so you wouldn’t hit your head. How he would always keep a small picture of you in his wallet, keeping you close when you weren’t there. How you became his emergency contact for the hospital, you know, just in case. So when you were lying under his sheets, your body intertwined with his, sweat glistering on his chest as you admired the marks he had left on you collarbones, the words came as a surprise.

“I love you.”

Five years ago the two of you start to discuss marriage. It started casually, one of your friends had gotten married and on the car ride back the two of you were discussing the things you’d like different on your wedding. It was then that you’d realise how similar your taste was. How you wanted to same things for the most special day in your life. He wanted a vanilla cake, with a white chocolate strawberry buttercream filling, and you wanted the same. Both of you wanted a small wedding, just close friends and family, a lovely little outdoor venue, with fairy lights and sunflowers. The both of you agreed that he would look best in white. A blue tie, and a small sunflower in his chest pocket. The next time marriage was discussed you were lying under his sheets again, on your stomach as his fingers traced around the soft skin on your back. Again you two agreed on the white suit, the fairy lights and the cake.

Four years ago he took you to the beach. Growing up you’d never been there and when Simon found out, he needed to show you the beach. So he found the two of you a secluded spot and he disappeared with a blue little bucket to catch you some starfish and little crabs. A smile on his gorgeous face when he returned, proudly holding up the bucket. A soft grumble when he requested you to put sunscreen on his back, after all, he had been the one to carry all the stuff you had packed to this secluded spot, and this would’ve been an amazing payback for his duties.

The two of you stayed on the beach until the sun started to set, when you watched it in awe you could see him fumble with his hands, and you wondered what would make him so nervous. Your question would be answered quickly when he got on one knee, a little black velvet box coming out of the pocket of his trunks. The vulnerability on his face when he asked you to marry him became engraved in your mind, in your soul.

Today he stood before you, looking gorgeous in that white suit, a blue tie, and a small flower in his chest pocket. Although the venue wasn’t an outdoor one, and there were more people than you had discussed, you couldn’t help but fall in love all over again with him. The slight crook in his nose, the few soft freckles on his face, those beautiful brown eyes who reminded you of the desert over and over again. His dirty blonde hair suiting his face so well.

You get snapped out of your thought when you can hear the officiant starting to speak.

“Do you take Simon Riley, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Your eyes shift to his bride.

Three years ago your world stopped when he told you he was leaving you. He had fallen out of love, the spark being gone, the thrill no longer being there. He knew your every move, and it had made him realise it wasn’t what he wanted. Your world had stopped the moment he walked out of your shared apartment with nothing more than a black duffle bag and his balaclava. Seeing him around base was the worst, your heart shattering every time you saw him. The pain never got easier, not even when you could see him move on, when he became Ghost again, instead of Simon.

Two and a half years ago, you learned that he had found a new girlfriend, some civilian working in the café where the two of you used to go on little dates. Your heart clawed it’s way out of your chest when you heard the news. He was moving on, while you sobbed in the bed you once shared with him, holding on to one of his shirts, his scent long gone, but if you closed your eyes hard enough, you could pretend it was still there.

Two years ago you tried dating again, you really tried to move on, but none of the other men were him. None of them knew you the way he knew you. With every new man you meet, you seek Simon, but you’re left empty handed. You’ve been trying to chase the happiness he had given you, losing yourself in all sorts of self-destruction, only to be met by that empty bed every night.

One year ago Ghost announced to the team that he was engaged. Again. It took you all your strength, but you mustered up a fake smile, pretending to be happy for him and his new girl. If only your heart was as cold as you pretended to be, maybe you could get over this. Your heart is filled with a burning question, can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been? You knew you could, you knew you would always love him, no matter how horrible he had shattered your heart.

Today is the day of his wedding, and you’re coming along as Soap’s plus one. The worst pain is being homesick for arms that don’t want to hold you. You can picture yourself standing in front of him, reading him vows, looking back at them you joined the army, just eight years ago. You can picture yourself cutting the cake with him, but instead you can feel our heart clawing at your ribcage again as you hold up that fake smile you mastered. You can feel that it is getting hard to breathe again. The pain settling in once more. You feel it, heavy in your chest, why can’t you breathe through this moment like all the times before?

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painted-flag · 2 months ago

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OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 4: A Night of Song and Dance

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 4k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ your perception of elves and their stoicism changes upon seeing the way they celebrate.

Settling into life in the castle over the next few days had been made surprisingly easy. Your routine was what held you together. In the mornings, you would break your fast with Amara and Liriel. It took you a little while to warm up to them, and even still you do not reveal too much about yourself. You are still determining whether or not they report your conversations back to the king or any of his advisors. While they were pleasant and treated you with kindness, falsity could still be on the horizon.

You would then spend a brief period in the mornings reviewing the patients and checking them for any advancements in their condition. After making those rounds and reporting to Daeron, you would sequester yourself to the library until noon. The amount of subjects and languages would never fail to awe you. Many of the books looked centuries old and a part of you was nervous handling them for fear that they would tear.

Your eyes would begin to ache with the amount of scanning you would do. Lunches were spent in Helaena’s company, with Daeron joining briefly before quickly returning to work. Of all the people in the castle, Helaena was the one you trusted the most. She was always kind, though not much of a talker. Still, it was nice to sit with someone and eat and not have to worry about holding a proper conversation.

After lunch, you would go back to the patients and start laboratory work with Daeron. You had been showing him how to make your concoction with the moonweed and he was still generous with his compliments on your work. While you taught him, you found yourself learning far more from his experience. It was truly a gift to have the opportunity of working with someone like him. However, during all of this, Aemond’s words still haunted you.

I do not like to be disappointed.

That fact loomed over your every moment, every interaction, and every breath. You had a year. Only a year to somehow solve the greatest mystery that had faced the realm in the last millennium. The absurdity of it all almost had you laughing, yet the weight kept you rooted in reality.

It was the morning of a new day and you had been in the library for a good few hours working away at some new texts. You would occasionally write down information in your notebook. You slouched in your chair with your right elbow on the wood table and your cheek resting against your palm. It was a wonder that your eyes were still open. You got little rest that night, having tossed and turned into the early hours. Most of the information in front of you was things you already knew and you were starting to wonder if the library would have anything new to offer.

One of the entrance doors to the library swung open. The person, an elf with silver hair that just brushed his shoulders, stumbled in. One hand gripped the doorknob tightly to maintain his balance while the other clutched a mug. His eyes scanned the area with disappointment.

“This is not the kitchens…” A lone hiccup came from his mouth. The man was dressed in all green, with black and gold embellishments. The front of his tunic had gold thread stitched into some design that you could not quite see from the distance between you two.

His eyes then found yours and both of his eyebrows shot up in shock, “What in the seven… are you real?”

“Am I real?” You questioned back. You placed down the quill you were using. The man stumbled forward and placed his mug down on the table. He uncharismatically swung his legs over the long bench and sat down across from you. He rested his right elbow against the table and pointed at you.

“Yes, are you real? Or am I seeing things?” His questions perplexed you. Why would he be seeing things? You took in his elvish features and rendered that he was drunk - well, beyond drunk. You had never seen an elf dunk nor did you think they could. They seemed too poised to participate in such matters.

“I am real.” You looked back down at the parchment in front of you. It was covered in some description of a random plant with various sketches of it. Not what you were looking for, but had stumbled upon it nonetheless.

“Good. I feared that I had sunk too much in my cups and became mad.” He sighed before picking his mug up and gulping down another sip of what you assumed was some kind of wine. The smell of fermented grapes hit you, though it was not much of a bother.

“Yes,” You scanned him up and down with your eyes, “Wouldn’t want to get drunk, now would we?” Your question echoed with sarcasm but seemed to go unnoticed by the elf.

“Are you..” He paused for a moment to get his bearings, “Are you the human that my sister told me about? The one that is working with the healers.”

You gave him a quick nod, “Yes. I am that human. Do you mind? I am trying to work.” While in any other case, you would not mind meeting new people here, you had started to become restless in the last few hours and were in no position to try your hand at pleasantries.

“Oh, it is rude to speak to a prince like that.” He drank from his mug again. You sat for a moment and mulled over his words. Prince? Damn, how big is this royal family? You don’t recall a brother being mentioned in your conversations with Daeron, as most of them revolved around work. With Helaena, you two just sat in silence occasionally speaking about whatever insect she happened to be fascinated with that day.

“Who are you? And how many people are in the royal family?” You asked.

“I’m Aegon. I’m the eldest, followed by Helaena, then Aemond, and lastly Daeron.” He explained. However, his explanation only made you more confused. Aemond was king, yet was the third born.

“Then why aren’t you king?” You had completely forgotten about the books spread out in front of you, determined to understand the workings of such a mysterious family.

“You wound me,” Aegon covered his heart in feigned distress before recovering, “Helaena did not wish to sit on the throne. Aemond challenged me for it. I, being the idiot, agreed to a duel.” Aegon then reached to his shirt and pulled the collar of his tunic down. There, on his pearly skin, was a nasty scar that ran down from his collarbone and disappeared under the fabric, though you assumed it went down much farther.

“He was always the better fighter,” Aegon muttered. He released his hold on his shirt and adjusted it to cover himself again. His hands wrapped around the wooden mug, but did not sip from it.

This gave rise to a question you had been mulling about the entire time you came here. It was always at the back of your mind, but you had been far too afraid to utter it - especially to the wrong person. However, it had been stewing for far too long and you could not resist.

You lowered your voice to whisper, despite it only being the two of you in the library, “Is that how the king lost his eye? In your duel?”

This question seemed to wipe any trace of drunkenness off of Aegon’s face. He sat up straighter and glared at his mug. He lifted his gaze to meet yours and there was an intensity in his eyes near paralyzing. It was not directed at you, but whatever or whoever was behind such malice would surely be dead.

“No,” His voice was full of condemnation, “It’s best if you do not ask such a question for your safety.”

A few moments pass, and just as you are going to continue reading, Aegon spoke, “Are you coming to the celebration tonight?”

“What celebration?” You brought your attention back to him. You had not heard anything about a feast, but then again you do not keep up with any news regarding the castle and court. It was none of your business. You were here to work, not gossip.

“Every week, there is a party held in one of the halls. To sing, dance, drink, and ultimately mingle. Think of it as a way to destress.” Aegon informed. To you, a party was anything but a way to relax, but you were curious about how elves did party. If it was anything as entertaining as watching Aegon stumble into the room moments ago, you would not mind attending.

“Think about it, little human,” Aegon got up from his seat and grabbed his drink, “You are more than welcome to join.”

He left you to ruminate. You went back to your work in silence again, but your curiousness was peaked. Perhaps it would do you some good to relax for an evening. You had done nothing but work for hours tirelessly every day. It would not be so bad, as to spend a night drinking and dancing.

Your day of work had passed and you found yourself in the familiar path of being escorted back to your room by two guards. They switched each day, so you had not bothered to get to know them. You wondered what the rotations for guards were in a castle as big as this. While you had only seen a small fraction of it, on account of you only being let in permitted spaces, it seemed ginormous.

When you got back to your room, you opened the door to see Amara and Liriel waiting on one of the couches. You were confused, as normally they would visit you after dinner for a short period to undress you and undo your hair. When they spotted you walking in, they each got up. Amara ran off to an adjacent room that had your bath while Liriel approached.

“Quickly, we have to get you ready.” Liriel wasted no time in grabbing your hand and dragging you to the vanity. She sat you down in the chair and began to undo your hair from the day. Amara walked back out of the room, a silken dress in hand. It happened to be your favourite colour and the fabric sparkled like gemstones.

“Ready for what?” You questioned.

Amara set the dress on gently on one of the couches, “For the party tonight.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing, yet that unsure feeling crept back to you. You had mulled the idea over for the day and concluded that it may not be best for you to join in.

“Oh, I don’t know if I should go.” You spoke. Liriel ceased her ministrations on your hair and Amara froze as well.

“There is no possible way we will let you miss this. It will be fun, we swear.” Liriel reassured you. She began to fiddle with a bunch of oils and scents laid out on the vanity desk.

Amara helped Liriel, picking up a bottle and receiving a nod from her partner, “This one will do. Anyways, you have to go, it will be magical.” Amara began to apply the oil to your skin, infusing the most wonderful flowery scent to invade your senses. You instantly liked it and took note of the bottle.

“I met Amara at one of these parties,” Liriel began to brush out your hair, “It was magical, truly. I saw her and just knew there was no other. A short while after we were wed.” She looked as though she was in a trance, reimagining that day. You had discovered quite recently that elves have impeccable memory and a string of envy hit you at that. What you would give to remember what little moments you had with your mother.

“What are elvish weddings like?” You asked. Amara began to look through a jewelry box. You were not given any jewelry upon your arrival, but the two elves had gifted you a bunch of theirs as they had so much it did not matter.

“Well, the celebrations are long, about a week. However, the ceremony is rather short. We each cut our palms with steel and hold on to one another. Some words are recited and it is sealed in a kiss.” Liriel explained. She had finished your hair and moved over to collect the dress.

Amara moved in front of you to put on the accessories, “In elvish marriages, our souls are bonded. We feel our partner's emotions and are more in tune with them. When you bind souls, it is like your body is born anew, a feeling like no other. I had a scar on my arm and it went away.” Amara adjusted the necklace to fit perfectly and stepped back, admiring the work done so far.

You were led out of your seat and towards Liriel who handed you the dress, “When one elf partner dies the other dies. It is seen as a good thing for us, as no one could see a life without their partner. It does not mean it has to be romantic, the bond could be platonic as well. Here, put this on. I bet it will be perfect.”

You thank Liriel and enter the room with your stone bath. You mulled over the information you just gained as you changed out of one dress and into another. The concept of marriage in elf culture is intense. In your world, it was the simple act of exchanging rings and some vows. Matches were often arranged and not entirely pleasant. Here, it was the literal binding of souls.

To think that two people could be so tied to one another to feel their emotions and die together, was a level of commitment that fractured your concept of the word. You shrugged on the fabric while still contemplating. Regardless of discovering a cure, if you somehow made it out of this kingdom alive at the end of the year, would there be a possibility of discovering a love like that? You had admittedly never given much thought to it.

There was little time in your life for those pursuits. When you were young in the capital, there were boys you would play with, but it was all childhood innocence. You were still young when your father moved you two out to the countryside. In the village, the selection for people was low, and the quality even more so. You had dedicated yourself to your studies and would have most likely rejected any potential suitors had they asked.

You emerged from the room in your dress to meet the excited squeals of Amara and Liriel. They each fuss over adjusting the silk until it looked just right.

“No time to waste,” Amara looped her arms with you and Liriel and walked you two out of the room.

There was no sight quite like the celebration hall. It was lit up with torches and jars of fireflies. Solf banners covered parts of the trees and dark stone that made the walls. It was crowded with elves. Some sat at tables while most stood and mingled or danced. There was a large band playing music you had not heard before. It was as joyous as tavern music but had more elegance to it. Ultimately, you did not regret attending after seeing what the night had in store.

You had little time to continue to take the room in as the call of Daeron and Aegon shook you from your reverie. You turned to see the two waving you over with excited looks on their faces. Amara and Liriel dragged you to the elves standing by one of the bar tables that held numerous kegs of wine. Your two companions bowed to the royals.

“You decided to come.” Aegon swung one of his arms - the one not holding a chalice of wine - over your shoulder. He handed you the wine and turned behind him to get another.

You held the drink up to your mouth and caught a whiff of its scent. Cherry, with hints of honey, hit your nose. The intensity of it made you cough lightly, to which your new friends all laughed.

Daeron moved forward and tugged you from Aegon’s hold and beside him, “Be cautious with the wine, it is far stronger than any human brew.” He warned as he took a sip from his own cup. You decided to be brave and take a sip. Almost immediately you were sputtering. It was like the first time you had ale as a child and found yourself coughing up the liquid. Daeron patted your back with a laugh.

“Seven hells, that warning was not enough.” You spoke.

“You’ll get used to it,” Daeron took another gulp and wiped the edges of his mouth while scanning the room. Aegon, having downed another cup in that time, spotted some of his other friends from across the hall and proceeded to stumble his way to them. You watched on in amusement and wondered if you would ever see him sober.

Amara and Liriel moved to the dance floor as a new song began. You watched the loving gazes they gifted one another and soft touches. It was always a pleasure to see two people in love, but something about it stabbed a small part of your heart and you did not know why. Daeron placed his cup down on a table and moved in front of you.

He held his hand out, “Would you mind joining me in a dance?” You looked at his open palm and thought for a moment. You are not the best at dancing, but what little wine you consumed had already begun to affect you.

“Alright, but if I break your foot that is not my fault.” You placed your hand in his and he led you to the dance floor. One of his hands moved to your waist while the other stayed holding your hand. The two of you moved with him leading. You would glance at your feet every few seconds to make sure you did not fumble. When you looked up, Amara and Liriel passed by in their dance, giggling away.

“They look so happy.” You noted.

Daeron nodded and spun you around, “They make a fine couple.”

You pause for a moment before opening your mouth, “Have you met anyone?” Daeron’s face turned red, the rosy colour spreading across his cheeks. During your discussions while working, he had yet to speak on his social life. The two of you had bonded over some common interests outside of healing, but there was rarely any time to have long conversations.

“She is a member of the royal hunting team. Sometimes she comes in with cuts or bruises from some hunt. I, uh,” Daeron stutters and falts in his steps for a moment, “I get to treat her.”

“Then why haven’t you asked her?” You questioned. Daeron shook his head at your words as if it were a funny joke.

“If you could see her, you wouldn’t. I can barely keep from making a bumbling fool of myself, let alone work up that kind of courage.” Daeron spun you around again as the two of your bodies moved with the other dancers in a circle.

You looked at the elves all around, watching them drinking and laughing. Your head swivelled around and spotted more happy couples, “Would you rather spend your life cursing yourself for missing the opportunity to ask her?”

Daeron thought over your words and you could see him working through it. In a quick turn, you almost stepped on his feet but managed to save yourself, however, Amara and Liriel were beside you and caught your fumble. They sent quick nods of encouragement to you and you gave them a small smile in return.

“I suppose not.” He reluctantly agreed.

“Are,” You paused for a moment and wondered if you should ask the question, “Are any people in your family married?”

Daeron laughed, “Ah, well, Aegon is too busy with his cups to pursue such an idea as romance and Helaena has never expressed much interest in it at all. Though, I suppose that is rather lucky to dodge the keen sting of heartache. As for me, well, you know it all now.”

“And the king?” You made eye contact with Daeron to ask that question, though you are not entirely sure why you would care. Aemond was nothing but cruel, in the brief moment of exchange between you two, and you had a hard time picturing any being tolerating him enough for romance. You did not think he had much of a heart to participate in that matter, to begin with.

Daeron laughed even harder then, “Oh, gods, no. My brother is not interested in any of that.”

“I thought so. Someone like that does not seem capable of it.” You let slip. You wished to swallow your words. How could you so openly insult the king, in front of his brother no less?

“Aemond is not as bad as your kind make him out to be,” Daeron defends, “I must admit he may not be the most sensible, but all he does is protect our kind.” You took in his words and began to question the validity of the stories told to you in your youth. You learned from the history books of his cruelty and prowess on the battlefield.

“What about,” You lowered your voice slightly, “The Great War?” It had ended centuries ago, but the scars from such gratuitous violence still cut and the blood still stained the minds and hearts of everyone. Daeron’s eyes darkened for a moment as if recalling it himself. You knew he would have been alive during that period and it once again hit you how odd it was to be among elves. They lived so long, and everyone in this room was guaranteed to be many centuries, possibly even a millennium, older than you.

“All that my brother did was to defend our lands. What about your people? Are you telling me they did not do terrible things to protect themselves?” Daeron seemed almost lost in his memories and you instantly regretted why you had been so combative.

“I’m sorry, Daeron. I did not mean to attack your brother like that.” You apologized.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, “It is alright. That is of the past and our kind’s need to stop and move on for the sake of the future. You do not need to worry about Aemond hearing this, he never comes to these parties.”

You agreed with his reasoning, but his comment on the future threw you off, “If we have a future. With this taint…” Your voice trailed off.

“We can fix it. I know that.” Daeron offered an encouraging smile before twirling your body around which made you slightly dizzy.

“I just wish I had my father, he would know what to do.” You had briefly spoken to Daeron about your father's disappearance and your belief that he was still alive. It was a feeling, deep inside your heart, that he still lived. You knew he was alive, you were his child and still felt that connection.

“Enough with the negative topics. This is your first party here, let's not ruin it.” Daeron and you made your way off of the dance floor and towards the crowds of elves mingling about. “Now, what would you like to do?”

You hummed at his question and turned around to watch what others were doing, “I think I should like another taste of that wine.” You met his gaze with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Daeron chuckled and patted you on the back, “Ah, that we can do.”

The two of you ventured over to one of the many kegs to get another cup of wine. That night, you experienced the first moments of pure excitement during your stay in the kingdom. You, Amara, Liriel, Daeron, and Aegon partied into the late hours of the night, not stressing about the current weight of your dying world.

Just for a moment, the rift between elves and humans meant nothing.

Chapter 5: The Young Elf Preview

“If I am nothing but a silly little human in over her head, what threat do I truly pose, your grace?” While your words had been aggressive, you coated them in the most flattering voice you could muster; the call of an innocent animal hiding their violence.

Aemond regarded you for a moment as you stood there. You adjusted the weight of the books in your hands. He still was giving you a look that deeply unsettled you. You felt like a bug under his gaze, though you knew he would not treat you as gently as Helaena does to her insects. Aemond would not hesitate to squash you under his foot.

“All humans are a threat.”

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rise-my-angel · 1 year ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

7 - Shadow of a Fiery Stag

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 11.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, nighmares, blood and violence, discussions of warfare torture and executions, character death, smut, p in v, light bondage, slight dom/sub dynamics, references to unwanted and aggressive sexual advances, canon divergence

Notes: Based mostly off the show, but certain sub plots here are pulled right from the books instead. Previous chapter here, series masterlist here.

It was during a night like this when you had been at the opposite end of this kind of attack. The rain that night had been heavy and only grew heavier the longer you were out there. Most would have given up by that point, called out their surrender or simply made their way back home on their own. That was not you however, not that night. Your teeth were shattering and your clothes were so soaked through it would take days to dry but what kept you was blind, dumb, determination. Or stubbornness.

It was a sweltering air of summer in that year, unlike now where the heat was dying to what everyone knew would be a longer winter. Your back was pressed against a tree as your eyes peeled around you trying to see in the darkness. You appeared to be alone but you were no fool on that. There was a wolf somewhere in these woods. There had been two as they hunted you and that of the sea, but one your partner in crime was caught, and the first wolf had given up once the rain grew heavier.

It was a game, really. To the younger Starks, it would be fun and easy. Chase them and you around the clearing until they tired out or the sun begun to dim and Lady Catelyn would bring them all in. But between the four of you, three all around eighteen and you at sixteen, the game was much more competitive. If the runners could hide out until midnight, well honestly you hadn’t remembered what the winning bet was for. But it had boiled down to the two teenagers who hadn’t grown up in the wolfswood had to last until midnight without getting caught by the two wolves who knew it like the backs of their hand.

The rain started to fall when they caught Theon, both Starks all but charging him into the mud and once the rain grew harder? Robb tried to call it, but when you wouldn’t come out, considering it to be a ploy? Well it seemed Jon took that stubbornness of yours as a challenge.

Now it was nearing midnight and the rain hard as anything, you knew Jon was still searching for you, never trying to call out or coax you to him.

No you were the prey being stalked by a quiet, and stealthy wolf and you had the great feeling he was toying with you. Purposely letting you get close to winning before he striked. From here, if you ran as fast as you could, you just might make it to the small lake a bit ahead and then you knew how to get back to the castle easily from there.

Your eyes had narrowed, looking to the sides and in front but nothing was there. The tree was thick enough to hide you entirely so by the time he spotted you, you might have made enough of a head start. You had to risk it, and risk it you did.

Taking a deep breathe you begun to sprint in the direction of the lake, only to be grabbed almost instantly by two strong arms yanking your back into their chest. You could feel Jon’s smirk, he didn’t even have to say anything. He had snuck up on you, and hid on the other side of the very tree you were hiding behind, and you never heard a thing.

Struggling against the far stronger one, you huffed out with a laugh. “Alright, alright, you win, now let me go.”

Oh he was definitely smirking, you could hear it in his voice as he spoke lowly into your ear, only in this instance for some reason you picked up on the raspiness of it. A husk in his voice that had been there for a long time, but for some reason as it growled in your ear it made you still in his hold. “I think you’re forgetting who the wolf is here.”

If he noticed your sudden change in demeanour, he didn’t show it. Your voice a little more out of breathe for someone who hadn’t even broken into a spring yet. “Stags are bigger then wolves, Snow.”

His hold previously pinning your arms to your sides, moved gently to unravel as they rested against your upper arms. Him not having moved you away from him, nor backing up to give you space. Once again, the deep raspiness of his voice made your breathe hitch. “Stags are male. Besides, you’re too small to be one anyways, you’re more like a deer. You know what deer are to wolves, Baratheon?”

Jon’s tone putting a mocking emphasis on your own last name. Turning your head slightly, you could see his dark curls, quite long at that time and soaked as they brushed against the side of your cheek. If you looked any further, you may have caught his grey eyes, so dark at that moment they could’ve been black. Your voice was higher pitched, and it was obvious to both of you something in the air had changed but you didn’t have the words in your mind to pin why. “Prey?”

As he chuckled, you tried to take one last chance. Not really for the sake of this little game, but maybe beacuse your head was overwhelmed. Even over the rainfall, he was close enough you could smell him and it made you dizzy to find that you liked it. But Jon wasn’t one to give up, as you broke free of his hands, you only made it a few feet before he called your name.

Coming up behind, he grabbed and spun you to press your back against a tree as he stood in front of you, only when you looked up at him it wasn’t Jon.

Something tall enough you had to stretch your neck to see, and staring back down were two shockingly blue eyes that glowed against the darkness of the figure. A freezing wave casted around you like a fog and in the distance you heard the echoing cries of a baby.

Your memory having turned to something new, playing the events out right until it turned into a nightmare of cold you didn’t understand. It was that dream that you thought of as you sat atop your horse in the rain.

Only this time, the two wolves were on your side and you were the one doing the hunting. Ahead of you were a good number of Lannister men, lead by Stafford Lannister. An easy job, even as they outnumbered your six thousand men they were poorly trained and with even worse command. Men were beside you, on the front ready as you and the King in the North were, but he had one trick up his sleeve first.

You were staring ahead, but the small glance you took to the side as you waited out Grey Wind’s attack, you swore for a split second Robb’s eyes looked almost white. But then an aggressive growl rang out, and whatever you think you saw was once more his blue ones, dark and sharp in the night.

The watchmen ripped apart by the direwolf, and the men led forward by who some had begun calling The Young Wolf. The King in the North, Robb Stark, the Young Wolf ravaging the Lannisters throughout the south with his Queen, his Silent Stag at his side.

They had put up little fight, at least in respect to what you thus far had been used too. The dark and the rain had confused them, making all the worse by the orders given to those acting as archers just before. “Kill the men, not their horse. A dead horse is good cover in the dark.”

The light came quick and the victory came quicker. Still freshly painted with blood, you walked through the scattered remains on the field beside Maege Mormont, keeping track in your mind of the enemy survivors being counted for. “That’s what? At least five of them for one of ours?”

Nodding with narrowed as as you looked around, “So it seems.”

The large woman next to you seemed to have sensed the mood, “It takes getting used to, your grace.” You turned with a raised eyebrow in question as she nodded with her chin to the dead around you. “All this. Every fight it feels like it never gets better, but one day you’re standing on the winning side and your too focused on how many of you, ‘ya got left then focusing on how many you killed.”

She took a pause as she looked you over, the distant and stoic expression she had started to learn wasn’t that of a cold inside or uncaring. Just more of a shell that’s been long taught to cover you on the outside. “And if you ask me, the longer it takes to get used to it, it means you’re still human in the inside. Treasure it while you still have it, your grace.”

Both of your eyes followed a path in the distance to where Robb was having a similar chat with Roose Bolton, but you both could tell there was some disagreement being discussed. “Some lose it faster then others.”

Nodding with a slight grimace you turned to her, your hands resting on your hips as you both watched the pair for a few seconds. “You know, I can’t tell if I respect him or am terrified of him.”

An easy laugh left her that was more of a knowing “Ha” then anything. Maege took a step towards you leaning down closer to your level. “Bolton terrifies most. I can bet if it weren’t for the King, he would’ve been hanging and flaying open those Lannisters the second the fighting stopped.”

Jaw clenching you tore your eyes away from him, “As long as they have his sisters, he won’t risk doing anything that gives Joffery and Cersei any more reason to hurt them.”

Raising an eyebrow at you, “You think they’re hurting those girls?”

You could still see the look in Joffery’s eyes that day in the throne room. An unhinged look that only added up to all the separate times you’d seen him act out so egregiously. “That little psycho isn’t above dragging them into the throne room and having his sorry excuse of a Kingsgaurd beat them as much as he can get away with.”

It weighed on Robb a lot. Knowing that they suffered with each of his own victories, that in his campaign to free them and his people for good he has to sacrifice their well being. It was something you know Catelyn was struggling with. Trying to convince her son that they will give them her daughters for Jaime, but you know handing him over is too risky.

Information, details, secrets, and worst of all, you’d lose a hefty leverage over the Lannisters knowing that they would never grant the same in return. The North loses, people die, Robb surrenders in any way and they will drag you him into the public and end you both just as they did Ned Stark.

Continuing down, it was nice to have found a companion in Maege. She was large, brash, unafraid to speak her mind to just about anyone while keeping a good sense about her. You had asked if all Mormonts were as towering as her and Dacey, to which she gave a pretty good laugh. “Most of ‘em seem to be. All but my youngest, Lyanna she’s a tiny thing but hell if she makes up for it in that mouth of hers.”

You smirked, “Wonder where she could possibly get that from. You have all girls?”

Nodding there was a pride in her face, “Aye, and thank the gods for it. Men in this family were starting to drive us up the wall, now it’s at least a little more quiet.”

You had kept to yourself and only Robb that her nephew, Jorah was a spy working with the now single living Targaryean. He had already disgraced their house enough you didn’t think they needed one more slight added to their pile. It already was a stain that left them bitter, what he did. “My brother always said I was the short tempered one, but I’ve never met a man who could yell quite as loud as him.”

Noting the amount of your own dead, gathering names and families to write for as Olyvar had come to your side at the ready. Maege had glanced at you with an amused smirk, but you shook her off with a close to flat smile of your own. Robb had accepted him, but he hadn’t the patience for a squire that wasn’t quite use to knowing when to leave him alone.

So he had started coming to you, you having no qualms about sending him off on any task just to keep the boy busy. “Be sure to write to Lord Frey yourself about Ser Stevron. I’m sure he’d more appreciate hearing it from one of his own boys.”

“Right away, your grace.” Maege laughed as he took off and you found yourself chuckling alongside her quite freely. “He’s hard working, I’ll give him that but I have no idea how Walder Frey means to make a knight out of that boy.”

“The most aggressive I’ve ever seen him get is when one of the goats bashed him in the ass a few days ago. Think it made him drop his grace’s meal judging by how much he was trying to yell at the thing.” You smirked, that may explain how strangely apologetic he was one evening about being late, when in reality neither you nor Robb had noticed. There was plenty to go over keeping you from noticing the time.

Glancing her over you asked her, “How are you with livestock?”

Her eyes narrowed in question before shrugging. “I can carrel them better then that boy can, that’s for sure.”

Nodding you turned to face her properly. “Good, I want you and Dacey to take your men and start moving along the lines and capturing as much livestock as you can, start getting them into the riverlands so they can get a jump on some before they get too slim or the Lannisters pick them off first.”

An easy grin on her face, “And here I thought you were going to give me something hard, that’s not even a challenge. I’ll get them ready to go by afternoon.”

“Keep an eye out the closer you get. With us heading to Ashemark, then the Crag, Tywin’ll assume Stannis is going for the Stormlands meaning he’ll start heading west for us. Don’t be in his cross hairs when he does.” You glanced around again, “There’s too many men here even with you here.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You felt thankful she knew you well enough that she put her hand out. Yours clashing into hers with a steady force as she gave it a shake.

You held it there for a moment as you gave her a much more easy going look, “Don’t get killed, Mormont.”

“Nor you, your grace.”

Taking a moment to look over the field alone, you went over in your head trying to organize just who was where and expected by when. Starting to understand how your father always seemed to wrapped up in paperwork, you think you needed a tome full just to keep track of your own men. Greatjon Umber should be close to the Gold mines at Nunn’s Deep, while the Glovers and Karstarks had moved to start raiding along the coast.

“You seem troubled, your grace.”

Your palm having been running over your forehead, you rose up in surprise to find Roose Bolton approaching you. Shrugging you could spot Grey Wind in the distance behind him, suspiciously keeping you in his eyeline it seemed. He’d been keeping his eyes on you as much as he always did Robb now and you were finding the sight of the giant direwolf close to comforting in a way. Turning your attention back to Bolton, “Not troubled. Just struggling to find a way to keep track of things without feeling like my head’s going to explode.”

Chuckling, beside you, you always found him to be an odd man. He was someone with a commanding presence, full of a calm respect, and offered as much as he did listened well. And yet part of him spooked you to the core. “I’m afraid that feeling only gets worse with age. Finding a good outlet helps.”

Face remaining impassive, “And what kind of outlet does a man such as yourself engage in?” Quiet ran between both of you, the tension growing a tinge thicker as he looked as calm as you did, only a single flicker of his eyes betrayed his thoughts as he glanced to where you could distantly hear Robb speaking to a group of men. “He told you no, I am to guess?”

“He did. His grace dies not condone the use of torture, even now in times of war.” There wasn’t discontent in his tone or face, but certainly his words put you at a feeling of unease that was rather similar to what Robb had previously felt at such suggestions.

“You torture a person long enough, and they’ll tell you anything you want just to make it end. Even if it’s nothing but lies, and we’d be none the wiser.” You thought not of rumours of Dragonstone, and how all too much of it was vastly outrageous and some inhumane. It was easier to tell yourself none of it was true here as well.

Roose conceded, following as you both walked. “I must say I am surprised, your grace. I didn’t think a woman such as yourself would have been raised to believe in fighting war with kindness.”

The smell of blood and rotting death festered all around the field, it stuck in the air and would attach itself to you for as long as this war went on. “I don’t believe in that, my lord. Not at all. I think if you’re too kind then you risk letting any fear slip passed by those looking to take advantage of it. But this?” Passing in front of you, a small trio of Silent Sisters passed on, all with gloves drenched in blood and bodies to follow.

The two of you share a glance as you both waited, giving them space to work. “This isn’t kindness, though. And the King has no intention of showing them any.” He looked at you with a lighter expression, eyes a bit more open to your words. “If he was showing these men kindness, then Lord Tywin would have no reason to hide away in Harrenhal, would he?”

Roose tilted his head slightly at you, and in a moment of surprise, you recognized the same strange unspoken pride that you had seen from your own father. In earlier years, you had said when being taught the Great Houses of Westeros, you couldn’t imagine what growing up under “those kinds of people” would be like, when identifying the flag of a flayed open man of House Bolton.

But as you stood with the man now, you started to think maybe you already did. It just took your own father a bit longer to get to the cruelty of it all. Interrupting your thoughts he spoke, “And yet he sent Lady Catelyn to broker a truce with Renly Baratheon.”

He noticed how easily you smirked at such a comment, a sight so rare on the silent Queen. “Renly has had everything given to him by others, my lord. Robert gave him Storms End when he was only a child, he spent his days on the small council laughing and joking with Petyr Baelish instead of taking it seriously, and he has never been involved in anything more violent then getting knocked off his horse like a fool.” Arms crossed over your chest, you could see the men in the distance all looking to Robb with almost worship. “Renly has as many men as he does, because he thinks all a ruler needs to be is charming and his men will do the rest. I think sending her was the safer option, he isn’t really a leader who responds well to anything that might actually intimidate him.”

Was this how your father felt? A love for his brother turned sour as he was wronged more and more, and watched him get rewarded for it? The men of the Stormlands would have turned to Stannis most likely if not for Renly, and of Highgarden? You couldn’t be sure. The allegiance of the Tyrells seemed to be something that eluded you.

“It’s all just a game to Renly. And it won’t last forever.”

You had been sitting partially atop the table, your legs up with knees bent against the seat of a chair as you read and reread the contents of the raven. Robb watched you try not to break into a smirk as the returned Lord Karstark stood present. “And you are sure this was meant for-”

“Lord Damon of House Marbrand, your grace. No doubt about it. The details match what your scouts have reported.” He explained, turning to address the King himself. “A right fuck up, these southern men can’t even read, now.”

Robb much more freely joined in the amusement Lord Karstark had brought to you with a smirk. “Thank you, my lord. I’m sure the Lannisters would thank you as well for such a prompt delivery. If you would give us the room if you would.”

As the room fell quiet your face fell into your palm. “Everything I’ve heard about Ser Amory Lorch, and suddenly him not being able to read makes a whole lot more sense.”

Coming to your side, Robb leaned back against the table, grabbing the letter from you with a mix of amusement in his tone. “By the time Lord Tywin realizes it, we’ll have taken Ashemark already.” A raven had been sent to Lord Marlyn of House Dormand, keen eyes being able to tell the general direction which a raven has been sent from one of Karstark’s men recognized a flight path coming from the direction of where they knew Tywins forces had been pushed back too.

It wouldn’t have even passed them at all had it been sent to House Marbrand of Ashemark like the letter was addressed. Details of infantry movement telling both of Lannister forces pushing back out of Riverrun, garrisoned across the river, and of instructions to the very place your own forces were marching onto. “We started writing in code to avoid this.”

“We were also ten years old, and afraid of our parents finding out what pranks we wanted to play on our siblings.” His voice trailing off in fondness at the thought. It was after your first visit to Winterfell, Robb and yourself would get caught the most getting into trouble and by the time you were to return to Dragonstone, both of you came up with a way to plan out things without getting caught.

As you looked over at him, it was as if a wave of softness came over your heart. The gentle smile on his lips and the bright eyes that always spoke so much in them. It wasn’t fair, the only thing that finally brought you together so deeply being war. A war started for a father he still lost, and a family that was scattered across the rest of the realm and it all now weighed on his shoulders. Any loss, any mistake, any bad thing to happen all fell on him no matter what now and you knew there would be no way for anyone to understand what he’s truly given up to do this.

He knew it was his responsibility to protect his family, and he knows that there is no losing this war that doesn’t end with him ending up beside his father. Robb can’t just give everything up for his sisters and surrender, because he knows that his surrender won’t mean anything to the Lannisters. Not after what they’ve shown themselves to truly be. He had no choice anymore, this was his duty and he has to do it.

“We do not chose our destiny. We must do our duty, no? Great or small, we must do our duty.”

You could hear him even from here. His words ringing out in lesson after lesson, hammering it into your head until you could say it backwards in your sleep. It wasn’t your fathers choice to inherit a throne he was never meant to have, and it wasn’t Robb’s choice to lead his people who had spent generations being shoved away and forgotten by the very throne your father now sought after.

Robb gently calling your name brought you back to the present, standing tall over you once more with a narrowed look in his eyes. Just as he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, and just as you felt the gentle brush of his hand on your waist you lifted a hand up to gently cup his jaw. Pulling his lips to yours as the rush of comforting warmth ran through your veins once more.

Almost too sweet and innocent of a kiss for where you both were, one that felt so much like the gentle kiss in front of the Weirwood. So many women in your life told you that your duty was simple, you were a highborn lady. You would marry a high lord, have his children, should you be so lucky have a quiet and simple life in his home. But you and Robb were nowhere near that.

Far from home surrounded by a war that depended on him and all you had brought from your side was a broken family who hates each other. Pulling back, he could see the trouble in your eyes but the sounds of someone entering broke the spell between you. You had at least, gotten more used to not feeling so flustered at Robb’s lack of care about showing such physical affection in front of his men.

Keeping his hand on your waist as you stood up and turned to face Brynden Tully, “Pardon the interruption, your grace.” Pausing he looked at you, even in his normally hardened expression you could see the apology for being the one to deliver it. “I thought you should hear it before the rest of the camp start squawking about it. Renly Baratheon is dead.”

Your heart both stopped and pounded at the same instance, a dizzy feeling flushing your mind as you slowly brought your palms down to brace against the table in front of you. You’re glad it was him who delivered it, a man who at least wouldn’t take any offence to the cold roughness in your tone. “How?”

As Catelyn entered the tent, you at least put together how he found out so fast. “Maybe we should speak in private.” Glancing at her uncle, you shook your head, nodding for him to come in.

“Stay.” Brynden didn’t question it, as he nodded to Robb still behind you, the hand on your waist wrapping more around your back as he came to stand more next to you. He understood that if he continued to find some semblance of solace in his mother you at least were starting to find an amusing kind of understanding with the older Tully.

Catelyn seemed to say something quiet to someone outside the tent before Brynden closed you all in as she looked to you, almost confused. Your name coming out in a cracked tone as she found the words trying to form. “I don’t know how to even describe this without sound like I lost my mind..”

Robbs hand around your waist tightened as he could see your knuckles turning white as you tensed your hands on the wooden surface. Your jaw set so much it looked like it would break. “Try, mother.” He was more quiet beside you, but in a serious tone.

Exasperated, she stepped closer to you on the other side. “We were speaking in his tent, when the wind picked up and...” Her voice trailed off as her head turned away, only to see yours snap up with a flash of something you knew she couldn’t quite read behind them. “This, black smoke seemed to just..fly in as it..” She found no doubt in your eyes, so she only looked to you. “It looked like it turned into a man, and stabbed Renly right through the chest before disappearing.”

“Cat-”

“I know how it sounds, Uncle. Trust me, I do. But it happened right in front of my eyes, there was no mistakening it. The woman I came back with, she saw it happen as well. One of his kingsgaurd, no doubt they’ll blame it on her but I promise you, that’s what I saw.” Your eyes had trailed down to focus on nothing in particular on the table.

Whispers in your head, images in your mind, and nightmares you’ve never spoken of all seemed to make this sound like the more rational thing. You could hear Robb and Brynden try to find reason with her that she was mistaken, when Catelyn once more said your name. “There is one more thing. The woman with me, she didn’t just see it. She claims she saw the...figure in the shape of the person who did it.”

The hesitancy in her voice, and you felt something constrict around you. Being at war with him was one thing, but this? No, there was no way. Your father would never stoop to something like this. Ned Stark’s words in the small council chambers that day sung in your ear, “You’ll dishonour yourself forever if you do this.”

The silence was stifling before you glanced to Brynden. “Do we know where his forces have moved too?” Walking over to where the plans had been laid out, he leaned over it as you came around to his side. Robb giving his mother a stern glance to drop it, to let him deal with this.

“If our scouts are correct, then most of them are headed to Stannis’s side. Except for the Tyrells, who we haven’t heard where they ran off too.” Your eyes fell onto Storm’s End, he wouldn’t risk going from there. The charge from Dragonstone to Kings Landing was right in his path and he knew those waters better then the Lannisters did.

Robb beside you came to the other side. “I know where they’ll go.” Looking up you could see him catching your eye. “You said that Renly had been trying to find a way to get Margaery Tyrell at Robert’s side, right?” Nodding slowly, you tried to clue in the dots he was, but you couldn’t push past the thought. “Robert dies, Renly declares himself King and Margaery his Queen. So where is the next best place they could think to go that’d give them that advantage?”

Catelyn was more unsure. “But if they already sided against the Lannisters once-”

Robb with no doubt in his tone, once more an easy shift to that of a real leader. “What do the Tyrells have that is more important to Tywin Lannister then gold or men?”

You bit your tongue as you tried to keep your breathe even as Brynden answered for you, “Food.”

As you exited the tent, you were met with a flash of a darkish gold shine leading up to a face you hadn’t seen before. Trying to place her but coming up short, “My Lady, I assume I’m correct in saying you must the one who came with Lady Catelyn?”

Her voice was calm, polite, and as formal as one could ever hope for. “I am, my lady. My name is Brienne of Tarth-”

Coming up beside you was Brynden, “Pardon me,” more stern then you had expected from him, but he moved right through her mid sentence regardless. “But this isn’t your lady, she is the King in the North’s wife. That is, she is our Queen.” A recognition painted in her eyes, and something must have clued in for her.

So this is the woman who thinks your father was behind this. Whatever was in her mind, she found it in her to push aside as she nodded to you. “My apologies. You have my sorry for the passing of King Renly, rest assured your uncle was well loved by all of his followers.”

“Followers that all ran to Stannis once he passed.” Onlookers had noticed tension between the three of you, but all but none would dare interrupt. “And it takes more then just calling yourself King to make you one.”

Something irked inside of the woman and you almost were just itching to have her let it out. In a stroke of likely good luck, rings of “Your grace” spoke up as Robb approached. Giving a nod to Brienne with nothing but a polite but firm look in his eye. “Pardon the interruption my lady,” Hard to see from where anyone was standing as Robb put a hand flat over your lower back with a slight pressure. “But the Queen and I have many things needing attending too. I’m sure you and my mother are tired from your travels. I’d ask you do well to make sure she settles in.”

Nodding, you could see her catching the eye of what likely was the woman in question behind Robb as she lost much of the tensity she spoke to with you. “Of course, your grace.”

As she begun walking off, you caught Catelyns eye whose gaze was full of a complex sympathy, not an easy position you’ve been put in in her mind. Robb having quietly sent his great uncle off with something he pushed you with him in the opposite direction. “If you’re going to scold me-”

Robb letting a small amused smile slide onto his face, “I wasn’t. I was going to say that we’ll talk about it in private later.” Sensing your muscles relaxing, he let go of you before moving up to stand in front of you closer. “I’m having Grey Wind stick to your side from now on.”

Your eyes narrowing in question he looked at you with a stern darker look in his eye not to argue about it right now. “I can’t ask you to-”

“I’m not asking.” His hand coming up to run over the side of your neck and jaw. “If I’m not with you, then I want him to be. And to answer your next question, yes this is an order.”

Something stirred underneath him that you could feel was worry, neither of you really had any reason not to believe her but without the time, energy or ability to question it further? You would have to accept for now that Robb would feel better if you weren’t left on your own without a watcher as trusted as himself or his own direwolf. Nodding, you ran your hand over the wrist closest to your face, sneaking under all the coverings to run your thumb across his pulse. Your voice for now, just that of a whisper. “Understood.”

You both nodded at the other, your eyes taking too long to look away as a protectiveness was clearly swimming in his, but was calm enough to not let it overtake. You both had things needing your attention, you would at least have to wait until tonight to give yourself a real chance to breathe.

Or not, in the ever growing day that provided nothing but issue. Only this time the offence was far more personal. And the anger felt in the room wasn’t just contained to fester on the inside of your heart, no Robb was a Stark and when that anger was felt it would wash over the camp like the sea.

The news came in from more then once place. Trusting in the man he’d known for over ten years, the person who oathed to stand by his side and had never shown an inkling he would do this. Theon had left in high spirits, and instead of giving Robb the news one answer or the other, Theon chose a third route. A brutal betrayal. From a man who swore himself to the King in the North, this was treason.

Greyjoys had landed in on the areas around the North, raiding and all the worse which comes with their warfare. Theon had led the Iron Islanders himself to the heart of Winterfell and had taken it for himself, taken it in the name of his father.

One King dies, and another took his place. Stamping out any alliance with the North that Robb had offered, an offer which respected their once rebellion to be independent again. Two kingdoms who had enough of the Souths choke hold on them, and yet when given the chance to work together Balon Greyjoy had instead sent his only living son to take the place he grew to be a man in.

You supposed, this must have been how those words felt, father. His daughter, a Queen to her husband the King in the North. You know knew what mocking words felt like. King Balon, and Prince Theon. You could take those words and wrap them around the decrepit old mans throat and leave him to choke and die in the sea he loved so much.

Robb sat with the words in his hand. His mother stood with a shock of her own of her own while you and Roose Bolton kept the only calm in the room as you stood next to where Robb sat, and Roose standing across from him. You were angry, and there was no question about it but Robb was angrier. “This cannot be true.”

Roose confirming what he had informed you of moments prior to bringing the news to the King, “We’ve had ravens from White Harbour, Barrowtown, and the Dreadfort. I’m afraid it is true.”

You could see it grow, if not even in his voice or eyes you could feel it in the air, the betrayal was more then an insult, it hurt. It truly hurt. “Why? Why would Theon..”

“Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores.” Looking up to him, you tilted your head with a pointed look that with a flicker of his eyes you knew the man caught. Asking of Bran and Rickon, Roose confirmed only, “We’ve heard nothing of them. But Rodrick Cassel is dead.”

Your chest feeling a sinking weight in it like being dropped off a cliff, he had taken his home and murdered his men. Men he’d known his entire life. Robb was silent, but it was right at the edge and you knew there was no stopping it.

Catelyn with a waver in her voice, “I told you never to trust a Greyjoy.”

Your head rising up with a warning in your eyes, “Catelyn,” As quick as she realized the seriousness of your warning, Robb reached his limit on his own.

“I must ride North at once.”

Moving to step in front of him before he could reach the front you pushed him back, making him look at you. “Robb, we’re still at war-” Even from how many layers sat between your hands and his chest underneath you could feel his heart pounding and screaming at him as it rose up.

An almost furious desperation in his yell as he looked at you. “How can I call myself King if I can’t hold my own castle?” You felt him shake under as you kept him right there in front of you, knowing if no one stopped him, he’d take off right then and there. “How can I ask men to follow me if I can’t-”

Finding his eyes, you stood tall as your own voice was laced with it’s own anger, yet low enough to try and soothe that wolf clawing to come out. “You are King, and that means realizing that you cannot do everything yourself.” He wasn’t calm, and he felt no less in a need for bloodshed but Robb stood still and evened out his breathe as you looked at him with the calm he needed.

Catelyn stepped to you, “Let me go and talk to Theon.”

Both of you whipped your heads to her, “No.” The same look as you warned her with earlier, now in the sharpness of your tongue. “We won’t talk this out, he dies for this.” You felt in a tight grip that almost could be painful as he ran a thumb over your pulse, finding something relieving knowing that you were only as calm as for his sake. Your pulse ran fast, however.

The woman wasn’t made for war like this, not to this kind of violence. Never trust a Greyjoy she said, but even hearing from you that death is the only fate you saw fit left her a bit stunned.

Roose approached the pair of you, Robb not making any move from you. “Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon.”

Glancing at you, it was hard to not soften at those eyes. Anger and hurt and it tore at you knowing there was nothing to take that back. You leaned up more, ensuring his eyes looked deep into your own. “We have the Lannisters on the run. If we turn around now, we lose everything.”

“My boy would be honoured to bring you Prince Theon’s head.”

Robb kept his hand on you, looking with a steady approval in his expression to Roose. “Tell your son Bran and Rickon’s safety is paramount. And Theon, I want him brought to me alive.” The question in the other man’s eyes melting out to an approval that for once, you both could stand on even ground over.

Robb’s voice almost rough enough to be a growl. “I want to look him in the eye and ask him why, and then I’ll take his head myself.”

The three of you stood in an approval, as he nodded. “I’ll send word at once.” He glanced to you, “Your grace, a word?”

For a moment it almost looked like he was split about you leaving him alone with his mother, the last thing Robb needed was to be told that something he had no way of knowing about, was this much of a mistake. But, it was your mistake too then. You both trusted him, and you both sent him off without the worry of betrayal. If it was on Robb it was on you.

Your eyes narrowed in question, but he just nodded. Not a day that left either of you without an exhausting rage. Stepping out into the night, you spotted Grey Wind sitting up in one direction and Roose in the other. Tilting your head to the direwolf, he seemed to be content to obey as he stood and followed close behind.

Eyeing the sight with a bemused curiosity he nodded to the wolf, “I see you’ve attracted the attention of more then one wolf, now.” You shrugged a shoulder as you glanced back with a fondness in your eye for him, apparently you did, didn’t you. What was the saying, two is coincidence and three is a pattern?

“I seem to have a knack for it.”

Chuckling, the pair of you begun walking through the camp. Looking to the men all around who deserved better then to have their King stabbed in the back by one they called their own. One that was raised by Ned Stark for more of his life then not. “I’ve underestimated you, your grace.” Raising an eyebrow to him, he gestured around the pair of you. “Every man here is a northerner, the first men blood runs strong in our own, and yet they all look to you like you’ve never been anything but one of them.”

“I may not have grown up there, but I’ve been in the Stark’s lives since I was eight. Lord Eddard treated me as well as his own daughters, and I’ve been friends with his eldest sons for as long as I’ve know them. Hell, I even married one of them.” Somberingly, you thought of Renly. How he would tell you that you were never suited for Kings Landing, that the only place that agreed with you was the North.

“You’ve even stood against your own father for them.” Roose seemed to sense the tightness in your throat at the subject but he pressed on. “Married or not, if it’s the Iron Throne Stannis wants, then it’s the throne he’ll fight for and I think most had dreaded that you would side with him.” You had a chance, you really did. But what had Ser Barristan told you? That your duty now was to your family?

“My place is beside my family, and the Starks were family long before I married the King. I suppose I should be grateful that more men aren’t looking at me waiting for my turn.”

What surprised you was the ease which he spoke next. “For a while, I was the only one.”

Heart picked up in speed as you paused in your step. Looking to him with a hesitant wide eyed look as he turned to face you. “Is that what you asked me out here for, my lord? To tell me Robb’s men don’t trust me?”

“Quite the opposite. You’re a hard woman to read, your grace. Everything I know of your father, I see very heavily in the way you carry yourself, and yet I see you in there like you’re the only one who can get through those Starks tempers.” You hadn’t really seen it that way. You just acted in the only way you knew, the only way you’ve ever been with Robb. Or any of them. Wolves can be temperamental, yet you’ve never once worried about that being directed at you.

Your own silence seemed to prove something of a point to him. “I’ve underestimated you for some time, and I’m happy to be proven wrong. I see quite a formidable foe in you, you just need room to let it out.” Looking at him with a more squinting look he stepped in closer, your eyes glancing to calm the slight growl from Grey Wind.

“What did you call me out here for?”

“My bastard has his own way of doing things. I could tell him to simply do only as he’s been told, or I could tell him to make the Greyjoy feel some of that pain the King he betrayed is feeling. And the Queen.” An impressed look on his face, truly something about him reminded you strangely of your father, finding things to be proud of that most would tell you to ease up with. “Sometimes, we must punish pain with pain. Leave our enemies with a bit of fear.”

You didn’t think you knew what he was trying to ask of you. Or if you liked it. As if what he saw in you was a darker feeling then you had ever intended to show. You had heard of what your father has done, and you’ve spent much time trying not to think of it. Not to consider the horror of fire that has been used as a tactic of fear.

Inhaling a steady breath you looked at him, “Tell your son that Bran and Rickon need to be safe and unharmed. Have him find that out for us, and then it’s Robb’s decision from there. He is the King, and it’s his choices I stand by, now and always. Is that all, my lord?”

There was a pause, as he seemed to be unsure of where you yourself was standing at his suggestion, but made his leave without a shred of discontent. “It is. Goodnight, your grace.”

He startled you as he stormed into the tent. Grey Wind immediately taking leave to stand out the door, and yet the look in Robb’s eyes was something you didn’t recognize. You had assumed you were here before him, but judging by his dressed down state he had only walked out for a short while. Tossing something you couldn’t see in his hands down onto the bed, Robb walked up to you.

Grabbing both sides of your face with his hands and pulling you up to him, his lips hovering just over yours as he almost seethed. You could feel him as you whispered, your hands gently finding his torso and resting flat. “Talk to me, my love.”

Eyes squeezing shut he shook his head before hissing out. “I need to hear it.” Stunned for a second as where this was coming from, Robb felt his patience wear thin, yanking you to press up against his front. Already you could feel how hard he was. “Tell me you’re with me.”

There was the hurt, the betrayal from someone he never expected and the need to turn that anger into something else. Gently you danced your fingers up to run them behind his neck and into his curls. “I’m with you, I always will be and I will keep telling you that everyday if I have too.”

His hands on you tightened before he slid one to rake through your hair. Nudging your cheek now with his nose before mumbling deeply into your ear. “You trust me?” Nodding, he ran his hand over your hair comfortingly, “I need you to say it.”

“I trust you.”

You should have been tipped off by how worked up he was, how much he was trying to keep himself in control as he held you but the softness of his voice was a trick that you truly fell for. One that revealed itself as Robb spun you around, holding your back firmly to his chest as he held both your hands at your sides like he was pinning them. “If I do anything you don’t like, I want you to tell me right away.”

Despite your nod, he leaned more over your shoulder grasping at your chin to turn you to look back at him. “I will, I promise.” You dared not move your hands.

Finally, a soft smile came over him. “That’s my good girl.” Leaning down Robb closed the gap and kissed your roughly. Pulling a gasping moan from your mouth into his almost right away as your fingers itched to reach back and run your hands through his hair. He lightly bit your bottom lip and as you opened with a little breathe he slid his tongue to brush against yours. The hand on your jaw trailing down, reaching slowly into the top of your shirt and smirking into the kiss as he found nothing in his way.

Biting your lips once, twice more before trailing down your neck. His facial hair scratching at your neck, leaving raw red marks where he passed that added to the delicious sting of his teeth. Your eyes fluttered shut, cries wanting to leave your mouth so desperately only to come out loud and needy as he kissed and bit at such a sensitive spot.

You hadn’t realized Robb turned you in the room until he pressed your hand to your side firmly in a warning to keep it there. Reaching over you tried to look but he pulled you back to strain your neck back at him. “Ah, ah you keep your eyes shut for me.”

For a second both his hands left you only to find him yanking both your hands back and wrapping what felt like a rope around your wrists before pulling at it to test how tight it was. Robb knelt down behind you dragging your breeches down slowly. “You drive me insane wearing these, you know that?” Carefully helping you step out of them before he ran his hands up your legs as he stood, grasping your ass roughly with both hands. “Walking around this camp, not even realizing how much every one of them would kill for even a peek at this.”

A smack at your ass pulled a shocked gasp from you before a shaky breathe sent shivers running down your spine. Smacking the same spot again before he roughly groped at the plush skin. “They don’t-”

Another smack, this time harder then either before as his groping increased in greed. “Oh they do, all those men want a piece of my pretty little wife and not one of them will ever get it.” On the unabused cheek, he gently massaged the skin before smacking it too, all the while watching your face twist in a fight of pain and pleasure. “I could walk you out there right now, and not a single one of them wouldn’t be hard as a rock at the sight.”

Stepping forward Robb moved around you to sit on the bed, pulling you carefully up to straddle his lap, when you swallowed nervously at the feeling, his touch turned soft on your hips. “I’ve got you, you’re safe I won’t let you fall.” Shifting back enough so that you could firmly sit in his lap, both your knees pressed against the fur beneath.

Smoothing his palm out to run back and pull you right over his cock by your ass, he other ran along the back of your hair much more gently. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, “I’m sorry,” your eyes narrowing in confusion as he kept you on the edge with both his hands on such different places. “About today, all of it. You were angry, then I was so angry I didn’t even bother asking if you were alright.”

Shaking your head, you both hated yet understood why he kept you tied back. It was too easy for you to distract him with your touch, “You have nothing to apologize for, I know you care even if you don’t say it.”

“Aye, that’s the problem.” Like he was trying to drive your senses crazy, Robb ran his mouth along your jaw once more, nipping along the skin on the other side now. “If I don’t ask, you just won’t tell me when you’re not okay. I don’t want you assuming I don’t care if I don’t show it, you do nothing but be there for me and if I’m not doing the same? Then I’m a bad husband.”

Your fingers flexed again, “I love you, and you love me, that’s all we need, Robb. Just us-” you cut yourself off as he bit a little harder, marking the other side of your neck to match his previous. “Are we talking or are you seducing me?”

Smirking into your skin, he pressed his hand into your ass a little tighter, “Can’t it be both?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’ll have to tie me up a little better if you want me to really listen.” Pulling back his eyes were dark as they stared you down, his hand finally moving from your hair down to hold onto the rope tie at your wrists. In a second, the world spun as he pulled you up onto the bed, and flipping you over so your hands sat behind your back.

Robb pushed both your knees open before reaching behind him, pulling a small dagger out. One hand rested on your inner thigh as he kept your eyes on his, so you could watch him carefully tip the blade down to the top of your shirt before slicing into it. The sound of the tearing fabric almost screaming in the silence of the room otherwise. Tossing it down, he pulled back to rest on his knees as he took his own clothes off for you to watch.

Your knees being kept wide apart as he knocked them open more with his own and knelt in between them, watching you grow more and more wet as he undressed. “You think any of them are lucky enough to have a woman like you in their bed, soaking their sheets when they’ barley done anything?”

You shook your head, “They’re not missing anything special.”

Leaning over top of you, you felt his cock slide hard and thick between your legs. “Oh but they are, and they know it. I could buy each and every one of them as many whores as they could handle, but none of them would make them anywhere near as greedy as you make me feel for free.”

Both hands braced beside your head he dragged is cock along more ever so slowly, your voice coming out in strained breaths as you stammered out. “F-fuck, could start charging. Be good for morale.”

Capturing your lips in a biting kiss, Robb wasted no time in deepening it as he let you soak his cock more and more. Pulling your hips up to his level, but never using the leverage to try and tease you more then dragging along your folds. “You think?”

You almost laughed if he didn’t capture your lips between each word before running a hand down, pressing a thumb against your clit, sliding down to gather the wetness he knew you were still giving him and ran small circles against it firmly. Pulling back with a small bite to your bottom lip, Robb slid two fingers deep inside of you, the sound almost obscene with how wet you were around him.

“Those men have no idea do they? Not a clue how much of a needy little whore their Queen is, how desperate she is for her King to fuck her every single night.” His fingers started to thrust slowly, almost pulling out before a rougher push back in, a moan crying from you every time. “Or maybe they do, you don’t seem to bothered about letting them hear you moan like one.”

Your core burning, head thrown back as he suddenly let a third join as he fucked you with them, “Please, Robb, of fuck please, I-” You could barley finish a sentence how worked up he had you, how much your inside twisted with pleasure at the sting three was giving you.

Leaning his head down, he pulled your forehead to rest up against his as he held the back of your neck with a rough voice, “Remember my love, when you asked why would a woman want it to hurt?” You felt lightheaded as you nodded, the wolfish grin ready to devour you as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “It’s only because the one fucking them, knows exactly how far to push before. Knows right where it’ll hurt just the perfect amount that it makes you cum.”

Your whine this time was a little harsher, Robb gently shushing your cries as he slowly shoved a fourth finger inside of you. Your body already sweating from the heat of him on top of you, the fur below and the need inside of you. Tears falling from the side of you as he paused just as he pushed them as deep as they could go, “Talk to me,”

“Don’t stop, please. I, fuck, you make me feel so good I promise.” His smile this time was a little more soft, the gentle kiss a little more innocent. The wetness sounding obscene as he fucked you this way, but the heart pounding pleasure you were feeling in between the aching sting was too good. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Robb actually breathed out a laugh into your neck, leaving another kiss where his lips lay.

Only in an instant, you felt that coil snap, back arching as much as you could as Robb gently fucked you with his fingers through your orgasm, his lips along your neck making the same bite worse. Pulling them out just as you started to shake, he yanked your hips up and pushed inside of you.

You could barley think as he almost pushed you right into another orgasm, the stretch was thick and you clenched around him from the sparks of pleasure before he started to fuck you. Right up against that spot that had you sing for him, both of his hands now shoving your thighs as far apart as they could go he fucked harder.

Slow, pounding of his cock that slapped against your skin loudly. His eyes dragging over you as you weren’t even trying to hold your moans back. From the deepness of his cock and how each rough fuck sent you closer to burning in the fires you weren’t even sure you were aware of crying out his name, and how much Robb groaned each time.

All you could see and feel was him, and your heart pounded suddenly at the idea that he would ever consider you wouldn’t be there for him. The wolf making you feel utterly crazy from his touch like he wanted to possess you as much as you had his own mind and heart.

Almost falling on top of you, like Robb needed to feel you pressed against his skin, he buried his face in your neck as his hands roamed all over you. You pushed closer to the edge and this time the fall off would be into waters you never wanted to swim up from.

“Robb, please, fuck, cum inside me, my love. My king, please I want to feel you so badly,” The hair around his cock rubbing against your clit as his facial hair did the marks on your neck. His cock pushing hard against such a sensitive spot inside you that you snapped, coil twisting and breaking as your orgasm pushed you off the cliff. Arching into him and Robb holding you close as his hips fucked into you now faster as he seeked his own end deep inside of you.

“My needy girl wants me to fill her?” His voice rough as it was cracking from his own pleasure, your thighs burned from the strain, your neck from his teeth and your hips already sore from how hard he was pounding inside of you.

“Make me yours, Robb.”

Something came over him as he reached his orgasm. His hands on you rough as he started to cum, hot and thick like you could feel every drop of it deep as he spilled inside of you. His teeth clenched onto your neck and for a split second it was like as he came, he was gone and an aggressive and loud growling came from Grey Wind just outside.

Only just as he started, he stopped and Robb pulled back to press his lips against yours.

It took some time to come down, for both of you. Robb undoing the rope as he turned you onto your side away from the entrance as Grey Wind wandered in. You were pulled back into his chest as you both held the others hands tightly between your breasts as you both settled your hearts.

It was late into the night when he spoke quietly to you, “We need to meet with him, both of us. If he has Renly’s men now, he might stand a chance.”

Snuggling back into his touch, you sighed at how warm he felt. “He thinks I’m a traitor, thinks you’ve stolen half his kingdom.”

“All the more reason to try, we combine our numbers then the Lannisters have no legs to stand on, and if he doesn’t? I may have an idea for that anyways.”

Laughing lightly, your eyes slipped closed as he ran his nose along the back of your hair. “You think about my father a lot when we’re in bed, your grace?”

You got a smack on your ass one more time for that one. He likely could tell you were too close to slipping away to get into it, but Robb was awake for some time that night. Not only was his head stirring with any and every strategy he could conjure these days, but also at one other thing. Renly Baratheon being killed by a black mist in the shape of a man didn’t seem to insane, not to Robb.

Not when he could no longer pretend what was happening with Grey Wind was just his imagination.

Another direwolf on the other side of the world also sat curled up close to his master, but there was no sense of calm as they lay there that night.

One more night out in the cold beyond the wall, and another night Jons dreams were filled with tormenting images of you and Robb. Like the old gods were cursing him, more then they already currently were. You were his brothers now, he shouldn’t be forced to have such dreams that drive him insane, haunt him with knowing what you sound like in ways he almost had.

It was impossible to forget you in the dead of night, when something was filling his mind with sights and sounds of you and too many of them were like an alluring mockery of what Jon knew he gave up. But as he looked up in front of him one of the two actual things he could see just made this worse then being stuck here already felt.

Ghost first, being the only comfort he still had, beside him and facing the second figure carefully. His sharp red eyes watching as on guard as Jon’s grey ones were. It almost made him more frustrated. The woman who spoke as if she had no hypocritical thoughts that she spat at him, as if her kind hadn’t done as much bad as his and yet she never knew when to stop that mocking.

Taunting him for what she caught right away as inexperience and did she ever torment him for it. She had the gall to act as if The Night’s Watch were the true irredeemable enemy, and yet here Jon was, a grown man who certainly knew how to fight, having to put his own direwolf between them at night just to keep her aggressive advances away from him.

Whatever she thought this was, Jon couldn’t possibly tell her enough times she was wrong. She refused to listen, mocked him, and had no care of being told no. And now, each night he was mocked by dreams of the one person who showed him the exact opposite of the abuse thrown at him currently.

With the brother who always got what Jon never did, and still the one person who was the only thing Jon once ever had to himself. Ygritte could taunt him all she wanted for whatever she thinks he doesn’t know.

But Jon certainly did know what being consumed with a burning love for you feels like, and how much he hated that being forced closer to the wildling made him feel like a traitor to you.

He had to watch you and his brother for who knows why, but he told you to do it. To find love with Robb, and you listened to him, you always listened to Jon. But for him, on top of everything in this new life he had to deal with, feeling like Ygritte’s advances somehow betrayed him to you even now?

Just let the cold of the night take him out already, he thought.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #jon snow #robb stark #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine

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diejager · 2 years ago

Text

Gentle Giant

Pairing : König x fem!reader

Cw: blood, gore, murder, injuries, war, FLUFF.

Wc: 3.1k

(A/N) : Its my first try at mw2 fanfic, I'm sorry if he's ooc >~<

Ps. I went with standard german since I can't find a free and functioning austrian german translator.

Calling him a giant didn't do him justice, a goliath within the army giants fit him better. Face hidden under a hood over a balaclava and the skin around his eyes painted black that made his icy blue irises gleam, König was as shrouded in mystery as he was shadowed by thick layers. His sole figure made others move away, parting ways for the behemoth to pass with big strides to match his size.

You've seen it happen too often with bigger or scarier soldiers - Ghost and König being a part of this selection - lower ranked never bothered too much with them, not wanting their ire. You understood them, having met and worked with both KorTac and the 141 before, you felt the difference between you and the men you've worked with.

You being smaller than most men, probably a bit under the average height for a woman your age, knew how menacing having someone towering over you in warfare; but you fought and earned your rank and notoriety.

You watched from afar, laying stomach down and arms propped up to hold your sniper that stood on pegs, observing your teammates through the scope. Your sights zoned in on the squad that moved forward steadily, yet carefully, weapons up and sticking in duos when they split to check corners. They caught on the front lines, the danger being higher than yours, especially on an open-aired ground like this place. KorTac could fall victim to snipers - you made sure to take care of them before you gave them a clear, spotting five gleaming scopes from the dilapidated building you hid in and you took them out, careful not to get caught - grenades, flash bangs, trigger happy newbies or enemy arms.

You watched their back, covering them from any strays advancing from the back of from higher up, you were thorough with your job. People knew you for your 'no man left behind' principle, ensuring everyone came back in one piece or with a few missing, but always alive; you were a sniper people wanted to have covering them, and that's why KorTac placed so much trust in you - aside from the times you joined them.

You heard them talk, about spreading out in teams of two through the radio, half took the front and the other would go through the back, ensuring that they'd trap the target inside.

"Moving in, Owl, " Horangi informed you, eyes forward and leading the front through the back door.

"I'll keep the line open, " you replied, watching as the last of his group entered the building.

Your eyes scoured the windows, watching through them for KorTac operators. You took shots at any armed men you saw running through the door or trying to enter the building. You pulled the bolt back and snapped it after every shot, reloading and searching around you for any enemy before returning to your observation. Gunshots rang in your ear, pained cries from afar, and loud thumps from falling bodies, given a few minutes and they would radio back for exfil with the target. As expected, your prediction of KorTac's skill happened, Stiletto radioed over that they had acquired the target and were moving out.

"Cover us, Owl," König's rumbling voice called out, the monotone timbre in his words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Copy."

"Moving towards exfil."

You watched the men exit from the back, pushing a cuffed and limping man, screaming threats at them, from garnering the ire of his country or thbackupup he called, but the operators ignored his crazed babbles. If the latter really happened, you'd have to be ready. You scoped the area around them and further back, switching to and fro the team and surroundings until they got to the helicopter.

Once you saw them board the aircraft, you jumped to your feet and held your bolt-action sniper across your chest as you watched the helicopter fly your way. The closer it got, the louder the propellers sounded and the harsher the winds became, blowing sand into your eyes, balaclava shielding you from nose to mouth from the grimy taste. Once it lowered itself near the roof, it landed and you boarded, grasping the helping hand of the behemoth. You gave a firm squeeze of gratitude before you slide the door shut and caught the glaring eyes of your target.

"Gute Arbeit, Owl."

Your answer was a swift nod, eyes meeting König's icy blues as he towered over the rest of KorTac and you.

The mission was a success, the target - terrorist - apprehended and the interrogation was left to Laswell. You'd go back to solo missions or join others as their sniper.

***

A few weeks flew by rapidly, you hadn't seen König much between your missions with TF 141, other teams, or solo missions, and the little rest you got when off duty. A part of you wished for a day of rest, but another one reminded you of the threats of straying for too long, work helped get your mind off of unwanted thoughts, and dark and dangerous ground. Working helped you stay preoccupied, leaving only your nightmare to haunt you.

You were heading to the armory, to suit up and meet with Laswell for another mission, with who? She hadn't told you. "Meeting in 15." those were her words, clear and direct. You wore the dark grey vest over your grey hoodie, helmet, and balaclava in hand, and strode to the room after you stocked up with knives, a pistol, ammunition, and your sniper in a well-protected case. You preferred arriving a minute or two before it started, not wanting to be the last nor the first to step into a room and risk the chance of an awkward waiting time with other people you hardly knew.

Fortunately, the moment you reached for the door, a familiar figure opened it, looming over you at the entrance with the palest blues you've ever seen - or admitted you liked.

"König," you greeted softly, walking in when he moved back.

He gave a slow nod, eyes fleeting and jumpy - perhaps his anxiety was acting up, you spoke with him about it once, when you were forced to stay hidden in a safe house while you waited for evac to come. Did he come here right after another mission?

"Owl, good to have you."

"Owl, how copy?" a gruff voice radioed.

Aksel, the sole Norwegian of KorTac, you knew from the rough rasp he had even when you spoke in person. This task hadn't demanded the whole team, having the need of half of the members for it in case it turned bad. Laswell had you join Aksel, König, Roze, Zero, Oni, and Zeus.

"Affirmative, Aksel, " you replied, eyes catching sight of the target's car.

A dark limousine rolled to the side, doors opening as guards in ironed suits walked out, surrounding an ugly-looking man in luxurious clothes worth probably more than your life. You could see him from 2 blocks away through your scope, eyes probed to focus on your target. He was smart, having meat shields around him from all sides, it gave him a chance to survive; if he wasn't put up against you, he's an unlucky son of a bitch. Human trafficking, drugs and weapons dealing, child prostitution, and more, all on the grounds of a country that couldn't do anything about it unless they risked betrayal. That's why they employed PMCs.

"Target in sight. Permission to shoot."

"Permission granted," Watcher, Laswell, told you from the safety of the base in the foreign country.

You were primed for a headshot, eyes narrowed to his disgusting mug. You blinked, took a slow breath, and fired as you exhaled, body jolting slightly from the fire. You kept your sights on him as you pulled back the bolt, snapping back when you saw your target fall, his head blown bloody and body slumping forward.

You felt almost proud about ending him, watching his bodyguards scramble around his corpse for safety, knowing that their boss, the one who paid them, was dead and bleeding from a hole in his head on the floor. Some jumped into the car and sped away, others into the building and some ran for cover behind alleys and buildings.

"Target down, Watcher," you spoke loud and clearly into the mic, letting her know of your success.

***

Your next mission with König, around two weeks after the prior one, hadn't gone as your expected. What you thought would be a regular job - Laswell's intel made it seem casual, recon and infiltration - turned to shit, for you at least.

You'd been deployed ahead to let you settle down and mark your sniper's nest for easier extraction, to get into position and cover for KorTac when they landed and started the infiltration. You spent a good 10 minutes covering the ones on the ground - perhaps a bit too much - after taking down the snipers posted on towers and windows to ensure their success. Your constant cover had led you to a rising problem, the enemy would figure out where your nest was and reinforcement would be called or they would send a squad to take you out. You better on the latter, but didn't know when to move; too early would alert them of your position, and too late would come to bite you in the back. The first one was too risky, the second option seemed a bit better.

You'd taken fewer shots, taking more care of keeping them guessing your position until you absolutely needed to move. You had the line open in case of emergencies, if you were caught you'd need to warn them, and let them know that you couldn't support them. You kept your guard up, eyes through the scope and ears open for any clicks or cracks from feet stepping off the rocky debris you littered around the nest.

It was a good idea on your part, as the bolt snapped, you heard crunching and moved quickly. You stuffed the sniper inside its case and swung it over your shoulder, pistol pulled to defend yourself when your buck met the wall behind the entrance.

"This is Owl, I've been made," you hushed through your mic, eyes strained on the blank opening.

Pistol pressed to your chest, and you waited until the first one walked in, seeing his extended hand before his head appeared. The gun was trained on him the instant his head passed the door, your index pulled the trigger and his head jerked right with an explosion of blood and gore. He keeled over and the following enemies all swarmed in.

It was a rush of adrenaline, you're body moved on habit and your mind was keen on killing and surviving, you kicked behind his knee and jammed a knife down the junction of his neck and shoulder, watching the blood spray over your covered face and hand. You pulled his heavy body against yours, using him as a shield as his brother unloaded his mag into him. When he was out, you shoved him forward, corpse toppling over the living soldier with a pained grunt. Dead bodies were somehow amazing weights if you needed them, it was unexpected and the lax muscles that usually held the body up crashed down. You sent a bullet through his head and watched through calm eyes the blood that soaked the floor.

The fear in his eyes when he saw the gun strained on his head, cold and creeping death that loomed over him at that moment before he saw the barrel. Fear was nothing new in your field, fear for yourself, for someone else, or from someone, fear, and death came together in war, as blood and bullets did.

You pushed the image back, quickly stepping over them with a guarded stature, making your way down to find another place to settle down.

"3 down, probably more on the way, moving west," you informed KorTac, hearing grunts and shots from their end.

"Are you all right, Owl?" asked a worried tone.

König, even in this mess, had time to worry about you, voice low with concern instead of his cold, monotone one when he fought. It was sweet, made your connection to him seem more relevant, deeper, and holding more meaning. It made your heart thrum happily.

"Yes," your reply was short since you were busy.

Moving around bodies and reloading behind the hard, cement wall, you sprung forward and shot down two other soldiers, two tapping them for assurance. The number was amassing, it went from three upstairs, one on your way down, and now four near the exit. The inside felt musky and stank of iron, maybe it was from your balaclava being soaked in someone's blood, but the smell permeated from the room, and you could taste the metal tang.

Your eyes fleeted left and right before making an exit, sprinting to the nearest cover and watching for enemies. You moved every time it felt safe, jumping from cover to cover until you reached a tall building far enough to continue your cover. It was safer, or so you thought. Someone in the enemy's beige fatigues grabbed your hands, struggling for your submission.

"Shit-"

Your curse made it to KorTac's ears, they asked for your status, to know where you were. Although you wanted to reply, you were a bit too busy with your struggle for ground when he pushed you down, back splayed on the floor as you tried to angle your gun to him. Your shared grunts were heard through the radio, your hiss from your cheek nicking a rock.

He spoke something foreign, you didn't understand him, hadn't had time to learn Farsi with all the missions you were sent on daily. You ground your teeth, your knee pushing against his abdomen with a groan. Unfortunately, he only huffed and brought the knife from his other hand closer to your face, your struggle wouldn't last long with a man twice your size over you.

From your narrowed eyes, you - both of you - missed the big silhouette of a man entering the room in a rush. A familiar knife was shoved into the man's neck as he was pulled away with beige-tipped gloves and pushed to the opposite side of the room with a raging KorTac operator holding the drowning man a few inches above the ground. His choked gurgles reached your ears as you sat up, seeing König hunched over the limp and dying enemy. He jabbed the knife multiple times into him, breaking the soft walls of the enemy's esophagus. It was a bloody display that would make privates shiver.

"König-"

As his name left your lips, he was immediately by your side, knife sheathed and weapons put aside, his hands were all over you, gripping your shoulders, arms, face, and waist. He was making sure you weren't wounded. You huffed, telling him you weren't wounded, a few scratches and bruises, but that's all. Whatever words you muttered, fell on deaf ears, König's eyes gleamed with worry, dilated and wide.

Getting hurt and dying was part of the job, but that didn't mean anyone wanted to get hurt or die. He knew that, yet the thought of seeing you gone, bleed out, or fallen into the enemy's hands scared him. He worried about you, a being so small and fragile to him, but strong and fierce as you've shown him so many times.

You broke down the barriers he put up, melted the anxiety that he had, and shared your darkest moments with him as he did with you. Your heart beats for him and him, you. It was a dangerous thing, letting one so close that your heart would die if the other was gone. Fear had rushed through him when he heard your grunts, it latched to his back and dragged him back. He couldn't go with the others knowing you were ambushed, he had to turn back and help you. Although he knew you were capable, he just couldn't shake the terror off until he saw you still in one piece.

That's why he left his formation and ran to yours in blinded fear and anger, the latter for the one who stood over you.

Even crouched down, he towered over you, hooded face shadowing you from the sun. Your stomach fluttered every time your eyes met his, the cold and calculative - sometimes murderous - gleam melted to a soft and caring one, warm and comforting as the sun. You muttered again, told how he saved you, that you're alive because of him. You gave him soothing words, eyes locked in a war-torn location.

***

König, however dangerous, was calm and caring, a quiet figure that held your hand and moved with you down the halls. He used to hide in the shadows - he still had the tendency to do it when you weren't with him - and distance himself from others. He used to hide and avoid people, explaining his reasons as to why he would only let you in, close enough to hold hands and share kisses. You liked the thought of being the only one inside, the special someone he let himself be near and touch without freezing up or stuttering.

You remember seeing him sliding through the crowd and vanishing when he ruined the corner or when you blinked, steps so quiet and so purposeful that you thought he was making sure to lose you - he had mentioned feeling you stare at him, wanting to bury himself in a pit for getting your attention, someone he admired and respected.

König was guarded, he protected himself from pain and people, and now, he vowed to do the same for you, to keep you from harm - when he was teamed with you - and from people - although not the jealous type, he didn't want to risk it.

Fraternizing was shamed by some higher-ups, the old coots like General Sheperd, but most didn't care, some encouraged you - Task Force 141 - and König - KorTac - to make due with what you had and reap the best of it. The danger of getting attached ran high, but you two made it work, you watched over him as Owl and you loved and adored him as (Name).

Perhaps, after retiring, you'd buy a house, a small one in the countryside far from civilization to keep to yourselves. To love and grow old together seemed like a beautiful idea to you when König had his drunk, bumbling mess after a can or two while you stayed sober to drive the team back.

You've come far, from brothers in arms to lovers on the battlefield, you've had your fears and your moments, but you always reached for him when he reached for you. Love's a game for two, after all.

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