#the daily life of a reaper

[mulan-3000]

CCC/902 - Amadi (the reaper hugger)

Chara creation concreate - Reaper lord

Amadi is a reaper, often walking around help mostly young and animal to find they way to the other life. He is k now for be one of the funny and playful reaper, his child attitude help him be more listen by the difficult soul of child and wild people. He is close friend of another reper (I will find his name later)

He is famous of the animal soul in every world cause he is an animal guider ... And he often do parcour to grab back soul who try run away.

Despise his young brain style, he is one of the most famous reaper. Know for find back most crazy soul, due to his course style most time his mission are... living and difficult.

He is one of the spirit of the Reaper of more futurist edge. Often in cyber universe and apocalypse one. Cause it's where animal are most lost. Due to the end of nature and electronic area.

His duty as a reaper is to guid souls to the after life. He kinda end up be the larbin of the other reaper, end up calm wild soul who create big red flames monster.

Child and people who cross his road say he smells like spicy.

His clothes was a mix of his proper poor clothe when he was a human before become reper.

Each time he cross road, animal soul come meet him and chat chill with him.

-

[dailycephalopods]

This probably has been asked before but own whos ur favorite little cephelopod guy?

Daily Cephalopod #140

[blabbershere]

When death finds you, may it find you alive.

— Michael Maede

[veiledfox]

@green-x-reaper

Kyuushi's in a mood... She's gonna grab Dead Master, carry her to her bed in the Cathedral lay down with and over her, and just start kissing her repeatedly. Make out session!

[letternotekisses]

overwatch men react to you doing the ‘fake bj prank’ 🫦

Reinhardt pulls an almost adorably curious face when you suddenly drop to your knees in front of him, his mouth open in a small ‘o’ that soon turns into an excited grin once he catches sight of you tying up your hair. His hand instinctively comes to his belt - his cock growing stiff and heavy within moments, although his joy deflates almost instantaneously when you stand back up after ‘finding’ your ‘lost’ hairpin. He covers himself with a nearby sofa cushion and waves you off when you giggle and ask why he’s blushing.

Cassidy immediately gets comfortable, he knows the drill. Stubs out his cigar as quick as a flash and all but slams his Peacekeeper on the table beside him. It’s only when he realises you’re actually reaching for something you’d ‘dropped’ on the floor and not ripping his belt off wildly with your teeth does he stand there like an absolute melon. Don’t even ask him about it because he’ll simply lower his hat in shame and mourn over the loss of his cigar. That was Cuban. But you both know he’d forgo many more just for the chance of your perfect lips around his thick cock.

Genji is actually surprisingly hard to prank. If you try to ‘drop’ something or go to pick something up directly in front of him he’s much too quick to do it for you. Always the gentleman, but it grew almost annoying being unknowingly outsmarted by him every time. You had to get real creative with it - kneeling low and close to fiddle with the loops of his trousers gets him spluttering and looking around wildly for someone in the halls, before you pat his thigh and rise with a smile, claiming the new belt you’d got him looks so nice on. He’s adorably confused for a minute, before he mentally vowed to get you back. Although, you fear he may not get the point of the prank because you definitely had the best orgasm of your life after he was done with you. Sigh it’s the little things.

Hanzo raises a brow to you when you slide smoothly to your knees, your hands bundling your hair up until it’s tied back neatly. His back is stiffening the moment any part of you grazes his thigh and he instinctively reaches out to smooth the stray hair that escaped your grasp, the other hand settling upon the button of his waistcoat until…you’re giggling? And he sits back with a small embarrassed huff at his eagerness, a blush settling high on his sharp cheekbones. You pepper kisses all over his face to make it up to him and his fickle pride, which only makes him flush darker. He won’t stay mad for long, but similar to his brother - he’ll plan on getting even. Usually in the form of overstimulating you until you’re teary-eyed and whining or not letting you cum at all :-)

Junkrat is tittering with excitement the moment you walk into the room, let alone your little prank. As soon as you even try to get near him he’s jumping your bones and growling some nasty shit in your ear - you should have known that his insatiable nature would interfere with this. Oh well, might as well indulge him, hm? You don’t even get your dues either - as he’s too busy shimmying your trousers down your hips so he can get his daily taste of that pretty little cunt you were hiding away from him for so long.

Reaper is…not really the type of man you’d like to prank, but who says you’re any type of normal. It’s why he likes you. He won’t even let you finish your little prank because he knew what you were playing at from the start. He thumbs your head with his clawed gauntlet, a growling laugh low in his chest as his heavy cock rests on your face, pulsing hotly against your skin. Hey - you got yourself into this, but service him well enough and he’ll let you cum this time. Maybe? Who knows. He did like your attempt though! You should try and prank him more often if this is the outcome.

Lucio almost has a heart attack when you get to your knees - he had a concert due in ten minutes! But his cock betrays his best interest when it twitches to life and with ashamed (but not rly) delight he goes to fiddle with his trousers only to find…you were licking your thumb and wiping a smudge off of him. The poor guy actually almost beats himself up about assuming what you’re down there for until you explain to him with little giggles between kisses. You have a little something planned after his concert to cheer him up anyways.

Baptiste is like the largest gentleman at heart, so when you even dare squat down to even try and prank him he’s manhandling you so he can eat your pussy first. It gets weirdly competitive when you try to insist on it (so you can perform your epic awesome prank) so now you’re just 69ing. Wrong method right execution? You can’t really find yourself too bothered with Baptiste’s talented tongue deep in your cunt and his cock buried down your throat. Later, maybe. A man who insists his woman cums comes first is a man. Period.

Lifeweaver is too sweet about it to the point it might rot your fucking teeth out. It almost pains you to prank him because you just wanna suck the soul out of him through his dick. He doesn’t even blink when you’re ducking between his legs, or dropping things on purpose because he’ll just fucking help you pick them up. It’s almost infuriating so you instead take your frustrations out on actually blowing him instead. Niran palms your cheek with hands softer than aloe, his cock bulging your cheek as you swallow him deeper. Curse him and his magical body. You just wanna lick him all over.

Sigma is an intelligent man. You know it, he knows it, the ants on the ceiling probably fucking know it. That being said - he was convinced he’d memorised all of your mannerisms completely. So when he pushed back from his desk to greet you and you immediately dropped to your knees, bundling your hair up, he was happy to make quick work of his slacks. He is both humbled and down-crested to find it was a prank. He bundles you into his lap, murmuring nothings to you in Dutch. It’s enough to convince you to make it up to him - to warm his long cock with your perfect cunt while he works. Perfect. Try not to squirm…too much.

Roadhog yeah that ain’t gonna work on him. Not only does he have a sixth sense for when you (or Rat) are up to mischief, he also knows that you know he much prefers your sweet little pussy to your mouth. He thinks it’s worthy of a little punishment. Nothing too big, just something to keep you walking funny for a few days. (Good luck.)

Ramattra is very much accustomed to your human oddities by now, he’s grown tolerant of you (dare I say fond) enough to be unbothered by whatever you do. Treat him like a giant climbing frame for all he cares, you couldn’t make a dent. He knows exactly what you’re up to, and only when you’re whining for a scrap of his attention does he give it to you. Poor, sweet little human, begging for him? He’ll give you exactly what you crave, but you must remember that you asked for this when the silicone of his cock is buried impossibly deep in your tiny cunt, his cold, metal fingers splayed across the small of your back as he tuts down at you. Squirm all you want, Ramattra insists on taking his time with you.

Mauga won’t let you get off that easy either. He watches you go down with a grin that could rival the sharks back at Samoa. Watching you come back up has that smile dropping and an almost evilly mischievous glint appear in his eyes that has your panties just a tiny bit wet. In retrospect it was a good idea to prank him. In truth, when he has his fat, veiny cock buried down your throat and his meaty fingers deep inside of your cunt? It was a great idea. 10/10. In fact you should do it again.

Doomfist knows something is up the moment you tie your hair up because usually he just holds it back for you while he fucks your fac—oh. He quirks a brow at your giggles, but it’s not long until you’re quickly silenced. He soon has you riding his thigh with an intense desperation in your eyes as he thumbs your lip, cooing mockingly at the wet spot on his expensive suit trousers from where he’d kept you there so long. You cum when he thinks you’ve made it up to him, which might be a while, considering how much Akande seemed to be enjoying it, his chest reverberating with every pleased rumble. You’d think twice again next time about pranking the leader of Talon. (Probably…not.)

Also, PSA, if you don’t like my work, block me! Please don’t be negative and leave hate where it’s not needed.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Charlie, Alastor, God, Lucifer, Lilith, Vox, and Stolas with the Grim reaper reader. He's a total sweetheart and a gentleman, plus the kind of has dead animals follow him around. They're kind of like his pets. He also believes in Charlie's cause.

You'll be the end of me

Charlie

"Do you really think it could work?"

Charlie asked softly, leaning on your shoulder as you stared out at Pentagram city.

It was early morning, you having found your love sat out on the balcony, watching thr sunrise, you quickly accompanying her.

Holding the young lady close, her gentle form against your own, you just hummed, gently petting her hair.

"Well, I've seen a lot in my, well, not life." That got a chuckle from the both of you. "But I've been sheparding souls down here for millennia... never had to shepard one up from Hell though."

You sat in silence for a long time, it clear Charlie was disappointed with your answer.

"But..." You spoke up, smiling softly. "If its you... I have no doubt."

Charlie smiled warmly at your words, leaning in to share a kiss.

Pulling back you just enjoyed the moment, the two of you so rarely got to just be together.

No hotel buisness.

No staff or guests butting in.

No Nifty trying to draw erotica of the two of you.

Just you.

You holding the young lady close, expressing your love for her in soft, simple ways.

You got to share that moment for a long while, making a memory you were sure to cherish when suddenly the sound of gentle wings fluttering caught your attention.

Looking down, you extended a hand, a small skeletal bird landing on your finger.

You gently whistled back, Charlie doing the same, the bird looking over the both of you before fluttering away, the gentle creature off to do whatever it pleased.

You sat there for a long time, listening to the gentle chaos, the sounds of havoc at a distance as Hell endured its Hellish state, the teo of you just enjoying the moment.

With a sombre sigh you stood up, stretching your back you turned to her, pulling her to her feet.

Holding her close, you'd gently cup her face.

"I'm sorry my dear." You spoke with a warm smile, before you shared another kiss.

"It'll be morning soon, and well, you know souls won't Shepard themselves."

Charlie was clearly disappointed, as she always was when you had to leave.

"I understand." She spoke softly, the two of you standing there for a long minute.

"You know I'll be back tomorrow." You assured her, though it was clear it wasn't necessary.

"I know." She spoke warmly. The two of you sharing one last, loving embrace.

You'd turn, watching as the pentagram sun slowly rose on the horizon.

"See you this evening?" Charlie asked, already knowing the answer.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

And so, as you held each other close, you watched the sun rise, and sharing one final kiss, you'd disappear with the morning sun.

Charlie just smiled as you turned into a swarm of butterflies, fluttering off into the air, disappearing with the sunlight

Unnecessarily, but you felt it was a poetic exit for, well, death.

Charlie just chuckled.

"Drama queen." She spoke softly, watching you disappear.

Alastor

Alastor hummed softly, the dapper demon sat in his room as he listened to a pleasant tune.

It'd be as he sipped his tea, the man about to turn a page when a voice suddenly cut in.

"Weeeeeee'll meet again."

"Don't know where. Don't know when."

"But weee'll meet again, some sunny morn'."

Looking up he'd find you, dressed in your usually dapper if dark attire.

Alastor's smile grew, the man quickly rising to his feet.

With a warm smile of your own, you pulled the man into a gentle kiss.

"Hello dear, good day at work?" He asked, always eager to hear of your daily duties.

You just smiled, walking forwards, leaning down to kiss the man.

"A wonderful morning, but we even better evening darling."

You purred, kissing he cheek.

You spent a few minutes speaking back and forth, your hand warmly placed to his cheek as you spoke back and forth.

Youd joke and laugh, voice gentle as you discussed your day apart. Alastor letting you know the chaos he'd caused, you just listening as he went into a performer's detail of the events.

Pulling the man to his feet, you'd dip the man, smirking as you leaned in, Alastor wearing a strained, if entertained grin.

"I've wanted to do this all day."

Biting the man's neck, Alastor couldn't help the moan as you pulled him close.

Flushed, the man would smack you.

"That's was a dirty move." The demon frowned.

You just smiled, kissing the man softly. "You know I love you, especially when your blushing~"

Alastor blushed hard as you snapped your fingers, a jumping tune bumping from the nearby radio.

You pulled the man into a suave little dance, the two of you jumping and jiving like it were 1922 all over again.

You spent a good few minutes dancing and singing, holding the man close as you enjoyed your tune.

Holding him close, the both of you breathed heavily.

"That's a dirty trick." He huffed, breathing deep, that smirk he always wore on his face faltering, his cheeks dark with demonic red. "You know I can't turn down a chance to dance."

You just smirked, holding him to your chest, leaning in to kiss his neck.

"You know, if you weren't death incarnate, I'd put you in your place."

You just smirked, leaning back to tease his chin, smirking down at him.

"Out of all the souls in Hell, you... well, your certainly the most interesting."

That earned you a smack on the shoulder.

"Alright, alright." You giggled. "You are by far the most intersting. You know I adore you."

That earned you a genuine smile from the grinning demon.

Alastor always smiled, but in the arms of you, well, death. How could he not feel particularly smug.

"... I love you, my dapper radio darling."

That got a smirk from the man.

"And I love you... my dapper incarnation of Death.... even as you pretend to be otherwise."

The both of you chuckled, holding each other close, nuzzling your nose to the other.

"Love you darling."

Lucifer

Lucifer, Fallen angel, failed king of Hell and failing father, sat in his workshop.

The man furiously working on his next duck toy, the Devil furiously working on the next plastic squeaker, dead to the world outside.

"Having fun?" You asked, manifesting besides him.

Lucifer frize, thr Demon King breathing deeply.

"Im... good." He hummed, working on the duck.

The two of you stood in silence for several minutes, the air not quite tense, but words clearly sat unspoken.

"... I missed you." He finally spoke up placing his duck to the side, the King of Hell sitting there.

You simply stepped forwards, picking up the squeaky toy, looking it over.

Squeaking the rubber duck repeatedly, the man looked up, finding you sat on an armchair, looking over the toy before turning to him, gently patting your lap.

Lucifer sat there for a moment, taking a deep breath before getting up and walking over to you, collapsing in your lap.

You immediately pull him close, as the two of you sat there, the king of Hell nuzzling under your chin.

"I missed you... a lot..." he spoke, emotions thick in his voice as he pressed his face into your chest.

You just pulled him close, smiling softly as you warmly kissed his golden locks.

"I missed you too my Fallen Angel." You hummed, hand playing with his heair, you other holding him close.

"It was bad today." He spoke softly, you simply looking down at him.

"You know we could always visit her, I'm sure Charlie would be-"

Lucifer cut you off, pulling from your grasp as he stood up.

"I... I wont put this on her..." He spoke sombrely, the King of Hell hunched over, holding himself.

You just sighed softly, gently waving a hand as 3 little ghost duckling appeared, the ethereal little quackers, Lucifer smiling as he held a hand out, the ducks nuzzling his palm.

He had a way with your duck spirits, the feathered little ghosts naturally flocking to him. It always brought a smile to your face.

After a moment however, a new set of quacks break out, the duckling quickly swimming off, the duckling meeting with a larger duck, the three nuzzling its form as they happily swam about.

You sat up, pulling the short king back into your chest, smiling warmly as you kissed his head.

"You trust me with your issues... why not your daughter... we both love you."

Lucifer sighed, eyes lingering on the ethereal ducks as the papa duck nuzzled one of the ducklings. The king sighing, the King of Sins wiping his eyes.

"Alright. I... suppose we could go see her." He spoke softly, the man leaning back against you.

You just smiled softly, rubbing the back of his head as you stood there. The two of you just stood there, holding each other close, a soft, yet hopeful energy filling the room.

"I love you my dark rose." Lucifer purred.

"And I love you, my Fallen Angel." you smiled, the two of you sharing a tender kiss, a warmth in both your dark hearts.

Lilith

Lilith sat back on the beach, sighing softly as she enjoyed her slice of heaven.

The woman sipped her drink, book in hand as she hummed, a sombreness filling her on this particular day.

You appeared besides her, watching the sun set.

"Been a while." She spoke coldly, eyes not rising from her book.

"Yeah... sorry... I know it's been a while, Ive been very busy. Lots to do... my duties and, well, Charlie."

That made her pause, the woman freezing as she was about to flip a page.

"... How is she?" Lilith spoke cooly, keeping her poker face.

You hummed, a soft smile adorning your features.

"She... she's doing well." You spoke softly, cane resting in your hand as you watched the waves, a gentle smile crossing your face as a few ghostly fish jumped from the water, the small school happily swimming, free of worry.

"She's got a hotel now. She... she's trying to help people. Souls." You spoke sombrely, the woman doing her best to stay cool and collected.

You'd sigh, softly sitting on her beach chair, turning to her before gently reaching out and removing her sunglasses.

"Ya know, if your just gonna ignore me the whole time, it doesn't make much sense for you to get mad when I don't visit for a while."

You were teasing more then anything, the woman looking up at you with a cocked brow.

"Look, I get your mad." You spoke, taking her hand into yours. "But I'm here, and I'd like to enjoy my time with you while i have it... please?"

You finished sweetly, kissing her hand.

Lilith would sit in silence for several moments before sighing, the woman shaking her head.

"You always know just what to say, don't you?" She asked playfully.

You just smiled, reaching out to cup her face.

"I've got some experience consoling people." You told her warmly, bringing her hand up to kiss her palm.

"Will you accompany me?" She asked, clearly worried.

You just chuckled, nodding your head.

"You know I'd never leave your side... well, at least when I'm off the clock."

That got a chuckle from Lilith, the two of you just basking in Heavens twilight. You more interested in watching the spirits jump through the water, happy to see them happy.

Vox

Vox grymbled, rubbing his TV face he, slumping back in his chair he lazily stared at the dozens of screens.

He'd grumble, growling to himself.

Hed endured a long fucking day, dealing with Val and Velvette, being left alone with the pair, the two bickering like children as he somehow found the time go manage his media empire.

He'd sit there, looking over important things, sipping his particularly strong cup of coffee when your voice suddenly cut in.

"You know, you keep slouching like that and you'll resemble a question mark more than a Television, right."

Vox perked right up, head snapping to you as you stood besides him. Dapper as ever.

It was well known by this point that you could appear or disappear without signalling his alarms, something that both impressed and frustrated the media mogul to no end.

"Mmmm, I'll keep that in mind." He hummed, loudly slurping his coffee.

You just chuckled, rolling your eyes. "You know, if your gonna be all salty, I might just not give you your gift."

At that Vox perked right up, the man subtly turning to you.

It was a dirty move on your part, but you knew Vox loved gifts and this was the fastest way to get him over his grudge or grump.

He'd never admit as much, but you did get him the best gifts out of everyone he knew, which was a feat in and of itself, so you knew how to use it to your advantage.

"...What ya get me?"

He asked, trying to be subtle as he gave you the side eye.

To which you just chuckled, fixing your attire, acting casual as you glanced down at the man.

You'd just casually look around his large lab, the various screens showing his sophisticated spying network on the various denizens of Hell.

With a cheeky smile you snapped your fingers, a poof of black smoke and a box landed on Vox's lap.

The Television headed demon released a giddy giggle as he tore his gift open, the man pulling it out victoriously.

He'd yank it out, holding it up to reveal a walking stick, looking it over it was clearly made with human bone.

"This... is cool and all but, well, why the bone?" He asked, looking up at you suspiciously.

You'd just smile, stepping forwards, falling onto his lap, sliding it from his hands, you'd tell him simply.

"Well, ya see, I made this lil beauty using the bones from one Mr. Philo Farnsworth."

You spoke casually, looking over the cane.

"Aaand... that means something to me why?"

He asked, clearly waiting for the punchine.

To which you'd chuckle, biting your lip a little before you'd gently bop him on the head with the cane.

"Beeecaaause, one Mr. Philo Farnsworth, was none other then the inventor one Televeision."

You finished with a satisfied little grin, holding the cane out to him.

Vox snatched the vane up, laughing maniacly as he pulled the cane back, staring at the gift.

"Ohohohohoh fuck yeah~" He laughed, staring at the cane.

"Sooo~" you began playfully. "Have I made up for the inexcusable sin of ignoring your calls to a phone I don't have?"

At that Vox popped up, staring at you.

"Wait, what?" He asked, genuinely perplexed by your statement.

You just smiled, raising a bow. "My job doesnt exactly allow mobile coverage darling, far too busy peading souls through the etherial planes."

Vox furrowing his none existent brow, frowing slightly.

"Then who the fuck have I been texting?"

At that you broke into laughter, Vox quickly joining you, the two of you sat there, laughing like idiots as the Techno Overlord held you close, the two of you sharing a warm kiss, the two of you sat there for several moments, Vox sighing softly.

"You have to work again?" He asked sombrely, looking up to show a screen watching the setting sun.

You just sighed, nodding your head. "You know I have too. No vacations for me."

Vox just sighed, nodding his head.

Reaching up, you'd cup his cheek, leaking in to kiss his screen.

"Lets just enjoy the time we have."

Vox just smiled, holding you close, the two of you enjoying your moment together, free from both of your perpetual burdens.

[tonixe]

I dare you to do the darkest, dirtiest, most disturbing shit with Coriolanus peacekeeper

⤑ GRIM REAPER

A/N: I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE! UGHH, I love possessive coriolanus, he is so sexy when he has authority, man I love him.

WARNING: p in the v, non to dub-con, love bombing, gaslighting, fear, hitting, kidnapping, coercion, hair pulling, bondage, forced mudpie, oral sex (male receiving), jealousy, cum eating. *** coriolanus being possessive and obsessive.

PAIRING: Peacekeeper!coriolanus x district!reader

WORD COUNTER: 2.5k

Born into the district—born into a life of hardships and pain...you were luckily born to two parents, and though you weren't financially stable you managed to enjoy a happy with your family. You had 3 siblings you had to look after, and whenever your parents went off to work, life was stressful but every time you got to see their faces smiling you were also satisfied.

When you got older you got a part-time job, at the vendor selling food, it was owned by an old couple who graciously gave you the job, though it wasn't a lot of money you took to support your parents. They asked to take a shift that was deeper into the night, so you accepted the offer, needing the money. Holding yourself up at the cart, waiting as you called out for customers, feeling yourself getting tired as the second. Stretching your arms out, as you looked further into the night. The night there were more Peacekeepers out, inspecting the district, it slightly made you feel apprehensive at the armed men walking through the area.

Your eyes hesitantly look and watch their movements, brushing the dust off your aprons, fixing your hair as your hair stuck to your neck from the humid air. Hearing footsteps inching near you, as you looked up...you felt your heart dropping in automatic dread, at the blonde Peacekeeper in front of you. You cleared your throat before speaking up to him, "Could I interest you, Sir?" you asked, your voice quivering as you spoke just to keep a positive tone. You felt his eyes raking you. He nodded, "I'll have that" He pointed, as you nodded. His eyes looked at you as you wrapped it up, "Have I seen you before?" He questioned, you looked up at him, "I don't think so..." You smiled at him, as you quickly boxed it up. "Enjoy, Sir" You put your hand out gesturing for him to take the box, "Thank you," He said, taking the box from your hand, and you felt his rough hands against yours.

You watched as he took his leave...you finally got to breathe, releasing the pending oxygen in your lungs and exhaling through your nose.

From the simple exchange, Coriolanus found himself visiting you at your vendor stall. Though, your introverted nature, you reluctantly started talking to him. You told him little things about your life, but he was smart enough to connect the puzzle pieces that you told him and connect it back to your life. He found your coquettish antics cute...and after your shifts you found yourself spending time with him, and often the districts were hot and humid, spending time by the lakes.

His sky-blue eyes took the appearance of your disheveled form, but he found you still captivating—from your dress strap falling to your shoulder and your light dress sticking against your wet skin. He wanted to take a picture of you to save the memory...but Time after time, he found himself getting slowly addicted to you...his visits got frequent, and he would deliver little gifts or care packages to you such as medicine, food, or water. You were grateful for him doing this, but you didn't want to feel like a burden to him, at first you were hesitant to take the gifts but he would ensure that it was a gift for you.

You didn't think about the kind gestures he would do for you, but you would always thank him for what he did. Soon, his obsession with you was like a disease, it kept on spreading and spreading over time, every time he closed his eyes, it would be just you, even when he worked on his daily tasks, his mind would be infected with pictures of you. He would always prefer to be stationed somewhere near you, he would be observing you as you worked, he hated when you talked to other men that weren't him, and his obsession with you was unhealthy, It felt like he couldn't last a day without or seeing you, sometime he would show up unannounced with a bouquet of roses in his hands surprising you.

The first time it was a nice gesture, and you loved it but it started again and again, his presence was almost suffocating to you, and when he asked you the question, you felt fear of saying no to him. But you knew if you were to say 'yes' it would get worse, so you told him to give you some time to think about it, he nodded but you knew he was displeased.

You had a plan to just run away, but you knew sooner or later he would catch you, you shivered at the thought. Knowing that your family would be harmed in the invasion, your ear perked at the sound of the door, you dragged your feet to the door, opening it up. It was him, a bouquet of roses in his hands, his Arctic blue eyes staring at you. It was haunting, he cleared his throat before talking, "So..have you made your decision?" every word he said made your heart pump faster, your flight response ringing alarms through your body to run.

"Coriolanus..um" you stopped mid-way, looking at him in his eyes, "I do thank you for what you do for me, but—I barely know you, and I don't think we would..be good together" you finished your sentence, feeling an eerily feeling in your gut, "Why" that all he said, you looked again at him. It looked like a shadow was cast, his bright sky blue eyes that he looked at you with, were darkening as he spoke.

"For all I do for you, you choose to deny me" The volume of his voice increases, and you force yourself to look at him as he yells at you, he laughs for a short while, before grabbing your jaw, "I protected you, I have done everything for you" you eyes watered from his grip, "I think you should leave, Corio" you whispered, it felt like whip when you used his nickname in that sentence, he released your jaw. His hand was in your hair down, pulling you down, as you felt tears threatening to be produced, his rough hands pulling on your hair, making your scalp hurt, "Corio..please!" You exclaimed, he started to say something else, every word uttering from his word was like venom to an open wound. He threw down the bouquet of roses onto the floor

Your knee felt weak as you fell down onto the floor, hearing his footsteps receding, and the sound door being slammed closed. Tears dripping down from your cheek, the bouquet of roses on the floor, as the petals were scattered on the floor, it was some sick remember of Coriolanus. Days passed, and you saw roses on your doormat, every day it would happen, and you felt fear looming over you.

Every time the color would change from pink to a deep red, they varied every day.

But you went back to your job, selling at the stand to the deep of night, noticing the tie, you quickly packed the cart up for tomorrow and rolled it back to where the old couple resided. You sang to yourself as the wheels of the cart rolled against the broken concrete before you knew it, you felt a hand wrapping your torso, and something else like cloth suffocating you, you tried to scream, but it went deaf in your throat, succumbing to the cloth as you closed your eyes, fainting into the strangers hands.

Your eyes fluttered open, as your eyes wandered around your surroundings. You felt your legs numb, as you tried to stand up, but couldn't, looking down at yourself, rope wrapped around your body. You tried not to move from the friction of the rope hurting you.

Your ears perked at the sound of footsteps,. "Your finally awake, my dove" He walked towards you, taking a knee when he got a good look at you. His fingers caressed your cheek, "We were meant for each other, Y/N" He whispered, you started shaking when his hands lowered, and you turned yourself away from him before he withdrew from him. Before he grabbed you by your jaw, forcing you to look at him, "Do I scare you, am I that ugly that you don't want to love me, Y/N" You shook your head immediately, "Then why.." He growled, and you felt tears on your cheeks, "Don't try to use your crocodile tears on me, Y/N" He glared at you.

You looked away from him, as you sniffled, "Fuck, you don't know what you do to me.." he traveled his finger over your lip, parting it, as you stared at him. Before he kissed you, his tongue forcing itself into your mouth, you felt yourself crying more, as you bit down on his tongue. He withdrew from you, the trail of blood on his lips. His haunting chuckle echo in your ear, "You fucking bitch" He held his jaw. He stood up from the floor, looking away from him.

You heard the sound of belt jingling, your eyes widening at the sight, of his cock in his hand, "Corio, no..please' you begged, your felt yourself crying more, his footsteps inching near you, he slapped his cock on your cheek, it was degrading. "Open," He said, and you felt your lips trembling at the size, "N-no" you whispered, and he repeated himself again, you turned away before he pried your lips open and forced himself into your mouth, making you gag. His hands were in your hair, as he dragged you against his cock, fucking into your mouth. Salvia dripping down from your chin, his groans ringing out in your ears.

"Fuck, you're doing so good, sweetheart" He looked down at you, as your tears filled your vision, he smirked looking at your vulnerable form, before he thrust himself into you. You felt his hot load going down your throat, "Swallow" He said, and you obeyed, The bitter taste coating your mouth, his hands caressing your cheek, "Good girl" he smiled at you. Before he released your jaw, your eyes looked down at the floor, before you heard him tucking himself into his pants.

Days passed,

He treated you with kindness, gifting you a rose, and caressing your back as you lay on his lap, but you managed to convince him to remove the rope around your body. He would braid your hair, comb it, and treat you like a doll. It kept on happening, you started worrying about your family if they were currently looking for you. "Coriolanus, can I visit my family, please" He stopped combing your hair, and he down at you, "Do you deserve it?" He asked, "Please" you begged, sitting up as you looked at him. He breathed out, looking away from you.

"I deserve it, you kidnapped me against my own will!" You stood and yelled, he just glared at you, as he stood up. His height towering over you, "You don't need them at all, I..can give you what you need. you don't need them" He yelled at you, grabbing your shoulder as he forced you to look up at him. "No, I never asked for you to do anything, you came up to me. You did this just to do it, Coriolanus" You yelled at him, finally using his full name instead of the nickname you gave me, you felt your cheek throbbing, his hand harshly hitting you, before he grabbed you by your shirt, "I will fucking kill you and your family if you leave me, Y/N..do you hear me" He lowered his voice, you were shaking. His eyes softened at you crying, before he held you not a hug and you held him, his hands rubbing your back, soothing you.

"Just not now, Y/N.." He whispered and kissed your forehead, you felt sick to your stomach. The next day, he apologized to you, and you were forced to accept, he covered you with kisses and love, and gifted roses.

A month passed still being caged by Coriolanus, but you got some freedom from him, but you weren't allowed to leave a tall. he had surveillance on you. He always reminds you that he loved you, did kind things with you, and surprised you with flowers like he always did. Red roses everywhere,

You stared at the window, it was fairly getting dark, and no signs of Coriolanus coming back. You wanted to escape but knowing the consequence would be horrible if you committed the act, before you heard stomping from the door, your eyes looking at the furious Coriolanus in front of you. "How many men, have you slept with Y/N" You got up from your feet, looking at him incredulously, "What are you talking about?" before you felt a sting on your cheek, "Don't play dumb with me" He yelled at you, "How many" He repeated himself, "I —none, I didn't do anything, Coriolanus" you sniffled, before he took a fist of your hair, pulling you towards him, "Don't fucking lie to me, Y/N" He growled, "I'm not lying, please" He hit you a second time, this time it was worse, feeling your nose bleeding from the impact. He started dragging you to the bedroom, where he forced you to sleep, throwing you onto the mattress of the bed, you heard him taking off his belt, forcefully tying up your hands above you.

"Coriolanus, please' you screamed, kicking your legs everywhere, "Please-please, stop" you cried as he got on top of you, taking off your pants and panties in the same quick motion. Aligning himself against, before you felt himself inside of you, it was painful, horrible. He moaned against you, as he forced himself into you and out, thrusting his hips against yours, you screamed at him, hitting him on his biceps to stop.

Your screams were deaf to his ears, as he fucked himself into you, his cock tearing everything inside of you, "Please" you heaved, hitting him, his sky-blue eyes staring at you. Time passed slowly, purposely you felt, before he cummed inside of you, you screamed for him to stop and pull out but he didn't. You lay there motionless, dried tears on your cheeks and naked in front of him, "Don't touch me" you cried, flipping to the side away from him. He called your name again, but you ignored him, holding yourself, you rolled yourself into a ball and cried to yourself until you fell asleep.

When you woke up,, you didn't see Coriolanus, you looked at yourself, your bottom still exposed, a reminder of at the ordeal that happened yesterday. You stood up, putting back your underwear and your pants, before walking out of the bedroom, rubbing your eyes still tired. There was something on the table, as you walked, it was a bouquet of fresh roses and a note attached to it with his handwriting.

You covered your mouth, and you fell to your knee and cried to yourself, knowing that he wouldn't let you go...the roses he gifted you are just a reminder of his torment.

[ut-museum-guide]

Comfort Fics to Soothe the Soul

_In no particular order

4 fics contain dark themes

5 fics contain smut (3 of 5 eventual)

12 fics are reader fics

5 fics are Sans x Sans

.

1. Skeleton Games

By poetax (279k words)

Characters: Muffet, Red, Edge, Reader

Tags: Feuding neighbors, vampire reader

Note: None

.

2. Doom and Gloom All Up in Your Room

by TrashCollector (95k)

Reader (room owner), Dust, Horror

Domestic harem

.

3. A Sea of Hope

By Aylish91 (26k)

Reader (runaway skeleton), Axe (Horror)

Piratetale, Y/N x Axe

Note: abuse recovery

.

4. Poor Little Meow Meow

By Mystique, TallDumbass (58k)

Reader (vet), Killer

Fluff and Angst, domestic, ship

Note: eventual occasional smut

.

5. A Lovely House of Bones

By Green_Heart88 (37k)

@/greenheartart

Reader (host), Sans, Paps, Blue, Stretch, Edge, Red

Domestic living + recovery

.

6. Six Skeletons, One Store Clerk

By mccloudydayz (249k)

Reader, Sans, Paps, Red, Edge, Stretch, Blue +

Harem, Domestic, multiverse shennanigans

.

7. Aggre(g/v)ation

By Llama_Goddess (180k)

Reader, Sans, Red, Skull, later Mobfell Sans

Domestic, lots o’ shippin’

Note: Mobfell’s house onwards is intense

.

8. On the Top of the Bone Pile

By Lyrjok (422k)

Reader (in band), Red, Edge, Blue, Stretch, Gaster Sans

Harem,

Note: eventual smut

.

9. Dirty Laundry

By popatochisp (162k)

Swapfell Sans, Swapfell Papyrus, Reader

Domestic, romance

.

10. Stowaway Bitty

By Historically Dragon (301k)

Bittybones (Brassberry), Reader (broke and making do)

Slice of life

.

11. A Trio of Misfits

By Sabinarius (56k)

Bittybones (Baby Blue, Lil Bro), Reader

Slice of life, money troubles

.

12. Smoke in the Mirror

By Catsitta (76k)

Mobfell Ensemble, Red, Sans

Sans x Sans

.

13. The Killing Kind (Comic)

By @/thegrinningkitten

Geno-Error x Reaper, Sans x Sans

.

14. Papyrus Dates a Bird

By WhatteauYouDoing (70k)

Reader (bird), Papyrus, Sans

Slice of life, magi

.

15. That Danger that Lurks Underwater

By AKA_Indulgence (67k)

Sans (meroctopus), Red (mermaid), Edge (mermaid), Reader (human)

Toxic romance, Sans x Reader

Note: dark themes

.

16. Saving Three Ex-cell-ent Skeletons

By RecklesslyCaffeinated (90k)

Reader, Sans, Red, Horror

Nurse x prison inmates, harem

.

17. Who Done It?

By Catsitta (15k) complete

Mafia Sans, Mafia Red, Mafia Edge, Reader (barista)

Mafia!Kustard, mystery, Sans x Sans

.

18. Cave Bear

By Llama_Goddess (35k)

Reader, Horrorfell Sans, Horrorfell Papyrus

Fall into underground, daily grind

Note: dark themes

Related one shot

.

19. Just Buisness

Catsitta (37k)

Sans, Red

Single parent struggle, sugar daddy red

Sans x Sans (debatable)

Note: dark themes

.

20. Burn Me Down

By Gypsum Lilac (22k)

Edge, Reader

Fast food domestic, mental health

.

21. Storm

By Nilchance

Horror, Sticks (Farmtale Sans)

Hurt/comfort, Sans x Sans

Note: smut

.

22. The Soldier and the Carnal Skeletons

By Writers_War_Zone (113k)

Sans, Horror, Blue, Reader (ex soldier)

Animal instincts, harem, kink

Note: smut

.

23. Little Red

By Spectroscope (53k)

@/spectascopes

Human!SwapPaps, Human!SwapSans, OC bittybones

Bittybones, trauma recovery

.

24. Firsts and Seconds

by Skerb (103k)

Sticks (Farmtale Sans), Bitey/Buddy (Horrortale Sans)

Injury recovery, strangers to lovers, Sans x Sans

.

25. Starry Eyed

By nilchance (90k)

Sans, Red, Edge, Stretch, Gaster (AI)

Prison recovery, soulmates, pirates, outer space, Sans x Sans, Stretch x Edge, Red x Edge

Note: dark themes, occasional smut

.

26. AVA

By Inyahs (356k)

Anomaly OC, bittybones oc, UTMV ensemble

~ Wise crack hermit goes on adventure with grumpy insomniac bitty~

.

From @undertale-museum

[playmiya]

BYS, a MIYA ATSUMU social media au in which you're the editor of the campus newspaper and moonlighting as a vigilante, only second to tokyo's very own spider-man. when a crimewave hits shinjuku, you're given the perfect opportunity to uncover the mystery of his identity to finally establish yourself as a journalist, but will his unmasking his identity come at the cost of your own?

pairing: spider-man!miya atsumu x vigilante!fem reader. updates (almost) daily! warnings: plot-required violence, drinking, unsanitary jokes and cursing content: slowburn, crack, the dates and math do not add up, minimal angst, mutual pining, college setting, everyone's playing volleyball & fluff

playlist: bys by keshi, say by keshi, the reaper by keshi, home is far away by epik high, love story by epik high and iu, summer's over interlude by majid jordan, pick up the phone by young thug and travis scott, love love love by epik high & gen z luv by central cee

index profiles: shinjuku sufferers / am i the asshole? / the lore entities chapter one: the best idea of kenma's lifetime chapter two: when ur whole crew doesn't know a damn thing chapter three: the attack of explosive diahhrea chapter four: +1000 aura for [name] chapter five: fascinated by gambling chapter six: suna has strep chapter seven: a spidey sense for romance chapter eight: i just get so passionate about feminism chapter nine: z-tier bitch chapter ten: the big book of roblox chapter eleven: we’ll fuck chapter twelve: tha greatest moron of our life and times chapter thirteen: #humbleking chapter fourteen: it couple chapter fifteen: the talk & more, COMING SOON

extras moodboards: [name] | atsumu send an ask to be added to the taglist

taglist: @diorzs @egoistars @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @dailyakira @giocriedpower @southernfrogprincesd @iiwaijime @punkhazardlaw @dazqa @gsyche @loverlunaire @milesmoralesluvs @thiisisntlovely @kuroppiii @ihatetakumi @sillygooseymood @writing-for-the-hell-of-it

[nu1lst4rs]

doodled human designs for a few neutral aus! (pt.1)

(click for better quality)

can you tell i lost motivation... thank you to chandr for doing the last 3's lineart for me. legit couldn't get freshs colours to fit with the rest. eugh. its the best you're going to get out of us for these guys.

Nightmares gang, star sanses, neu au pt.2, extras

COLOUR, CLASSIC, PAPYRUS, EPIC and ANY REQUESTS will be in the next neu au post 3_^ so please please request me to draw neutral peoples... gonna open general requests in a separate post.

some hcs under the cut!

warning for alot... i mean.. alot of text..

> Ccino (he/they)

indian... ccino... mbghbgb. MAINLY BECAUSE I WAS EATING GULAB JAMUNS AND I WAS LIKE "huh this reminds me of ccino."

trans masc! you should be more surprised if someone wasn't trans at this point

just for individuality, i feel like he'd have cat features. toe beans, tail, but no ears. personal preference.

hopeless romantic. wants to fall in love so bad, like so bad. but doesn't have anyone to fall in love with.

his AU is a neutral where the player killed all bosses. because of this, ink had offered them a pocket AU with just their cafè. ccino still visits their old au from time to time, but otherwise lives in the cafè.

one of the youngest AU's/sanses, only a few hundred years old

> error (he/they/xe)

spanish + colombian

as a divergence from classic, he maintains a similar body shape. also the fact he eats nothing but chocolate.

^ similarly, his eye is covered by a star glitch. xe never equates this to the fact they were geno, and just see it as some weird cool glitch.

rocks an alliance with both NM and dream, so wears both the stars pin and gangs patch. he always choses the side of who benefits him the most in that moment. neither of the groups are happy about it, but see error as too valuable to deny.

has arthritis and bad joints. his strings usually dig into his fingers, causing scaring and pain. (bsp related: he gets taught how to relieve these pains by nms gang because they all have chronic pains of some kind)

taking strings from his eyes is PAINFUL. its basically his unraveled code and magic combined, glitching and stuttering.

illiterate. he cannot read anything but code.

brother of ink. annoying brothers that HATE eachother. but love eachother at the same time.

> cross (they/he)

spanish. it fits him. and its relatively canon.

cross is indecisive. they've jumped between nightmares gang and the stars several times, easily being swayed. as of my AU right now, they're with the stars.

they're colourblind! their AU was monochrome, and thats how they see everything. everything is just a shade of purple. he's never told people about it, but most people catch onto ir.

autism. cross has horrible sensory issues, and gets overwhelmed easily. also bad at social queues.

THIS MAN IS THE DEFINITION OF DOG POETRY. they would go on pinterest daily and cry about it.

is a great artist. ink taught him the basics when they were stuck in the void, so they built on it. they're really self conscious about it, and keep their sketchbook locked away tightly. (in their bedside drawer)

> reaper (he/him)

egytpian. i feel like he'd embody their idea of dying.

bird claws. bird wings. everything bird.

seen as a parental figure to dream and nightmare because of his extensive knowledge of the universe and balance n all that.

(THE GAY FLAG WAS A MISTAKE) he's bi. and loves his wife. (life)

aroace spec! completely ace, and demiromantic.

sorry guys i dont have the best hcs for him 💔

> geno (he/they)

spanish + colombian

needs a portable oxygen tube to breath. he can live without it, but its really painful to not have it.

some parts of his body are decomposed, while others are held together through determination. practically constant agony.

same reasoning as error for body shape.

> fresh (they/it)

parasite. its ass doesn't have a race nor nationality.

not the hotest with a few sanses. dream and nightmare don't like someone demeanour not being affected in the slightest by the amount of pain and agony they're in. error hates how the code overlaps and glitches. and overall they're just a bit crazy.

wears either heelies or rollerskates. refuses to EVER walk anywhere, and always rolls.

i don't got much for him.

eugh. i am so sorry if the hcs are lazy, i am not good hcing with aus im not familiar with. if anyone wants to input please do! i'd love to learn about them. <3 anyways i am sleeping because i need to stop staying up till 4am..

[thebramblewood]

When your witchy, scatterbrained grandmother secures you a possibly condemned old manor and forgets to send the cleaning service ahead.

Beginning / Previous / Next

Micah: Time to bust the dust.

Naomi: Ugh, gross. Good luck with that. I still say we should book a hotel.

-

[Text of email]

From: Netherworld Department of Death

To: Naomi Uchiyama

Subject: Greetings Grimterns!

Dear Grimterns,

We once again extend a hearty welcome to this year’s cohort! Your grimternships begin Monday at 9:00 am. Scythes and robes will be provided. The Head Reaper has kindly made himself available for day one orientation. As you can imagine, his time is valuable; do not waste it.

Once you have proven your mettle, you will be expected at NWDD five days a week. Each morning, you will be assigned your daily duties at the Scrying Bowl. While field assignments are always top priority, you may also be asked to perform tasks of a more clerical nature...

-

Naomi: [grumbling] Why did I let Grandma sign me up for this shit?

Micah: Because you're a penniless, couch-surfing burnout with no real prospects in life?

Naomi: You're one to talk, sis. You're hardly making a fortune on obituaries. Meanwhile, that San Myshuno Times best-selling novel won't write itself.

-

Pizza Delivery Person: Whoa, you're actually going to live here? This place has been abandoned for years.

Naomi: On account of the creeping mist and other eerie shit, I presume?

Pizza Delivery Person: Yep! Good luck!

Micah: [dry heaves] Do I even want to know how old that fruitcake is?

Naomi: Lookin' snazzy in here!

Micah: Yeah, no thanks to you.

Naomi: Hey, I picked up those groceries!

Micah: Only because you needed more cigarettes.

Naomi: I ordered the pizza!

Micah: And sat there watching me while you wolfed half of it down.

-

Micah: This is good pizza. I should really take a shower, though.

Naomi: You might actually want to burn those clothes. Better safe than sorry.

[mulan-3000]

CCC/901 - Death (the sage reaper)

Chara creation concrete - reaper lord

Death is the reaper 'chief' (even if he hate be call chief) He is as old as the tree sparkle kokoon. He guid soul of every time, place, world.

He is respect of most reaper and entity. Due to his old immortal state he often meet up with the dream creators and emotion entity.

He don't work for any 'god' but more a feelings or big entity of the tree sparkles (as all soul supremacy)

He can seem rough but actually kinda cool, talker and funny, in old joke of edge prehistory but we keep like it. He often see as pet cat each time he go on earth and other universe. He is call 'the cat daddy'.

He is one of the spirit entity, chief or dad of the reapers and deth people order. His duty is to guid all soul to the afterlife. But he change it to 'help people win time before them last breath'

Child and people who cross his road say he smells like 'the fresh grass after rainy night'.

His black dress is actually a wild clothe. He was the first reaper who wear it in old days and keep have it. Cause yes the cat daddy was a new reaper before become a legend. At his first years in reaper life, he breaks all the rules of the hell lord and create the famous identity of reapers in all universe, galaxy and world.

He was one of the first reaper who actually communicate and let people see him.

He is proud of say he play in various movie in the first cinema area as Charlie Chaplin and Fritz Lang movie.

[dailycephalopods]

Daily Cephalopod #176

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

[oceantornadoo]

next time (johnny mactavish x f!reader)

heavy angst

“fuck, i’m hit.” you say into your comms, repeating it along with your call sign. you scramble around the side of the building, desperately looking for somewhere to sit or lay down. too bad the terrorists your team was currently hunting down didn’t think of their guests when they designed their hideout.

you lay down with you back to the wall as you put pressure on your wound, only to see blood dripping through your fingers. you’re bleeding too fast for a normal injury, the shrapnel from the bullet having nicked an artery internally. your vision starts going fuzzy as you suddenly turn desperate. you can see the reaper out of the corner of your eye, the room turning cold. not yet, you beg.

“bonnie, where are ye? come on, come on.”

“south-south side of the building. i don’t know where, i can’t - i can’t see.” your vision is fading, years of professionalism going down the drain as the tears start flooding down your face. out of all the bullet wounds you’ve survived, they’ve never felt like this. final.

you hear a skid of boots and a sharp curse down the hall. he’s here, he found you.

“johnny?” you hiccup, trying to hold your hand to your wound while feeling your strength fade.

“right here, leannan. come on, gotta get ye to exfil.” soap tries to prop you up, strong hand covering your own over the wound, a new source of pressure. you’re trying to stand but you can’t, instead emitting a whine of frustration.

“johnny, i can’t. it doesn’t feel right.” he’s the only thing you can see, tunnel vision creeping from all sides. this lovely man of yours, the one who gets on your last nerves daily but silently accepts your knocks at his door after nightmares. he’s always pushing your buttons, trying to see how far you can both take this push and pull before someone gives in. you know he’s meant for you, know him like the back of your hand because he’s you and you’re him, one and the same. all you wanted was more time, you see that now.

he’s murmuring to you in soothing tones while yelling into his comms for the rest of the team, pleading for backup. everyone is too far away, ambushed by unseen forces. it’s just you and him.

“johnny, johnny. look at me.” you leave a bloody handprint as you turn his chin, exerting far more effort than you physically can. he’s looking at you with love in his eyes, the yearning built up over years and years.

“no. not today.”

“i’m sorry. wanted more time with you. we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

“leannan, no. stop.”

“in the next life, yeah? you’re my man, johnny.”

“yer my woman, leannan. i cannae-“ you stumble and he helps you back to the ground, realizing you won’t make it to exfil.

“cannae do this without you. please.” he’s murmuring silent prayers as you smile weakly, trying to take in his handsome face one last time before your vision goes dark. he pulls your forehead to his and breathes you in, souls entwining.

“next time?”

“always.”

—

inspired by cassian and nesta from acotar in that one scene

[asterdisaster06]

Rottweiler

Summary > the aftermath of the previous mission rottweiler went on

Word count > 1.9k

a/n > i’m back with some more inspiration and maybe a more reliable posting schedule. this time, rottweiler is fighting themselves rather than a faceless enemy

“Are you sure you’re okay to spar?”

“Yes, now will you shut up?” You snarled out to the man in front of you.

“For the record, the doctor recommended you to rest a few more days. Refrain from tearing any stitching out,” Ghost stated, staring deep into your soul - or what was left of it.

You match his gaze, hardened to far worse than the disappointed deadpan he was giving you just now. You knew he was right to some extent. The medical staff did give you a major side eye as they saw you leaving, but they let you check yourself out. It’s unlikely you would have taken no for an answer, following in the footsteps of your fellow teammates. They can’t particularly say shit to you after what they’ve pulled in the past and they know it

Soap, who’s had an entire rusted pole sticking out of him, more shrapnel coating his frame than you thought the human body could ever escape from alive. Blood coagulating on the dusty sand below him, a sick abstract art. An elegy to his role as a demolitions expert - the very thing that might have killed him. Except it didn’t.

He took a fist to the reaper and threw him the middle finger for good measure.

Simon, God, Simon. There was barely anything that boy hadn’t been through. His past was a humourless tale crafted by something far beyond anything comprehensible. There isn’t even a specific instance to describe as death was determined to make his body match his name. A symbol of death, remnanted - left to wander. A sick dance, each touch driving a wedge further and further between Simon and the world of the living. It should have left him wounded, but it only made him a good soldier.

He spat in the face of God and refused an apology from the devil. She shed tears for him, and he turned them to vapour with the heat of his fury.

Gaz, a walking liability to himself - though unintentional. He’s like a ragdoll at the whims of whatever life throws at him. Or, more accurately, where life throws him. It’s a miracle he’s existed this long without a permanent injury given what he’s experiences almost daily. From the small, tripping over himself or running into tables, to the big, falling out of helicopters or over the railings of bridges.

He was made to die, but all he had to say to that was ‘but I’m here to stay.’ He insists, it seems, on living.

Price, he’s experienced a lot. Life hasn’t treated him well, not that it treated any of the other’s with soft hands, but especially him. He’s seen enough to be scarred for ten lifetimes over. The choices he’s had to make might weigh heavier on his heart than the scars littering his body. If Simon is a walking ghost, Price is a shambling corpse.

His life is brimming with sorrow, and it appears as if he has killed his own guardian angel to survive as ours. An ode to those he loves.

“Hesitating like that can cost you your life, y’know,” Simon grumbles, bringing you back to the present.

“So I’ve been told,” You spit, a phantom taste of blood following it.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

He takes calculated steps, circling you like a dog. The dust beneath your feet shifts - seeming to breathe alongside you. You’re stiff, more so than you would’ve liked to be in these sorts of scenarios; it doesn’t stop you though. Bloodshot eyes stare back at you and you aren’t sure if it’s Simon’s or a reflection of your own. A pause. A moment taken out of respect - a silence. An opening.

You jump.

You claw.

You grasp.

A pitiful attempt against someone you couldn’t even beat on your best day, not in a way that mattered. Given a weapon, and an element of surprise, you might have had a chance. Hand-to-hand combat paired with a lack of fluid movement renders you careless and therefore battered into defeat. Simon is like a bear, or a ram, maybe a mountain lion. These are the thoughts that fully occupy you for the moment you’re rushed to your back, thrown to the ground with as much care as he could manage.

“I told you, you aren’t ready.”

“I never was, Simon,” You huff out, ragged breaths choked by the dirt flying in the air.

“You hesitate,” He points out. “You didn’t used to.”

“I didn’t,” You insist. A lie, and you know it.

“Doesn’t matter, you won’t be getting back on the field for another month regardless. Not my decision so save your yapping,” He lets the knee off your chest and offers a hand. You don’t take it.

“There’s nothing interesting for another month, I’ll live,” You shake off his attempt to rattle you.

“Don’t be so sure,” Simon says, bringing down his neck gaiter. You can’t help but stare at the scar across his lip.

“Looking good LT,” Soap’s voice carries across the field.

“I know the last mission diminished my looks, but am I really that bad?” You deadpan.

“Of course not, Rottie. Do I not tell you enough how stunning you are?” Soap adjusts the fabric around your neck, a touch far more gentle than you deserve.

A wry smile creeps across your face. Your boys always let you know how appreciated you are, both for your abilities and appearance. They’re like your little cheer squad sometimes. Gaz and Soap are more vocal about it, but small touches and comments from Price and Ghost always cause a ripple of butterflies in your stomach.

You roll your eyes and reply, “Far too much, Johnny.” You didn’t mean it.

“Get used to it,” He says, giving you a little mock salute.

It brings your attention to the bandage still on his hand, freshly changed. It reminds you that yours likely need to be cleaned and switched at this point, but you feel undeserving of that kindness. A deep sense of guilt washes over you.

“Don’t sweat it, Bonnie.” He always knows what you’re thinking, a skill you wish would’ve lost its accuracy long ago.

“I need a walk,” You sigh, finishing it off with: “Alone.”

Your feet carry you away, far from the discomfort that was growing inside of your chest. An overwhelming, overachiever, though, you weren’t sure whether you were talking about yourself or the resentment felt towards your mangled body and mind. The memories linger beyond the physical flesh wounds, and somehow hurt more. They sink their teeth into your mangy fur, sticking like fleas to a street mongrel. Your thoughts scrape down your flank. Piercing to the bone; brittle and sad excuses of the framework that is your cage.

You weren’t sure how you felt, but you knew it wasn’t a good feeling. It settled underneath your skin like a parasite. It laid on top of it like a tick. You were terrified. That’s what it was. It was familiar, like your mirror years ago. A sick reflection of an even sicker dog. Self pity wells up like tears, pooling like blood, streaming like sweat. You tread further and further, each footfall sounding like bullets to you. Maybe you’re just stressed.

A whole entire month. It gnaws at you, that information. It shouldn’t, but it does. You know your team better than anyone; they’re reliable, resilient, and know how to function without you. They did it long before, and can continue to do so long after. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t hurt. If it didn’t sting like nettle brushing against your fur. It is unlikely that any extreme mission would be put forth while a team member was out of commission, but you never know with the higher ups. It pains you, an ache blooms across your body at the thought of missing out on the danger. Flowering into a debilitating burn inside of you. Afflicting your mind, thoughts run wild with what ifs.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be up and walking, soldier.”

You had walked yourself right into the lion’s den.

“Price,” You greet, nervousness bubbling up in your throat.

“Rottie.”

“They didn’t stop me,” You say as an excuse.

“Unless they wanted to tranquillise you, I don’t think they could,” Price rolls his eyes.

“They’re free to try,” You quip, shrugging.

“That’s the point, nobody wants to.”

“I’m here, I can walk, I’m not tearing any stitches out, I can shower on my own. What else do you want?” You glare half-heartedly at the rugged man in front of you.

“I want you on bed rest and away from any missions, soldier,” Price says, a forlorn tone almost coating his words like honey. It almost makes you want to roll over and submit, licking the taste from his hands. Key word, almost. Your pride won’t allow you to.

“Like hell that’s happening. I really can’t be arsed to follow any of what I just heard,” You snap. You were cold, tired, and going stir crazy. This wasn’t what you needed-

“This is exactly what you need. A step away from this life. Away from us,” Price says, paralysing you. He isn’t wrong, but he isn’t right either.

“Where do you want me to go?” You ask, slipping into the professional nature. Like a hunting dog sent on a mission, following the scent of those above and below itself.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Don’t do that. Don’t treat it like just another mission from your past life,” Price’s tone hardens alongside his face - all traces of softness gone to someone who hasn’t known him. Not like you have. You know it’s like correcting a dog; you still love them, but they need guidance sometimes. You fight against it.

“Where, Price, where?” You ask again.

“Laswell suggested spending some time in the states. Away from all of this. Someplace you’ll be. . . content.” His hollow words echo the word “safe” as if you actively seek trouble these days. Actively sniff out traps yet always seem to get your paw clamped in the snares meant for rabbits.

“Fine,” You say, about to turn on your heel and leave.

“Hound,” Price starts, using your official callsign. “Don’t take this the wrong way, don’t distance yourself again. You’ve worked hard to get here and have earned a safe place-”

“Except for when I actually need it,” You let slip out.

“It isn’t safe here.”

“It’s a hell of a lot safer than where I was before, don’t you think?” You snarl, teeth bared and lips pulled back. Rabid, foaming at the mouth, not a house pet anymore.

“We aren’t kicking you out.” Price says this, but you can’t help but doubt it.

“Okay.”

“I mean it, we aren’t.”

“Okay.”

You find yourself staring at the scars Price lets fly free in the old tee he decided to don today. You helped pick it out. Tearing your eyes away from his chest, you can’t find yourself to meet his gaze, opting instead to stare at the paraphernalia around his office. You linger on the photos of your team a little too long. Logically you know he’s right, this is a temporary precaution. If only it didn’t feel like the quarantine before they lop your head off to test for rabies.

“I’m going to go now,” You speak, knowing it’s not what Price was waiting for you to say.

“Okay,” He responds, his turn now for the small talk.

Turning on your feet, you prepare yourself for the god awful goodbyes that will inevitably have to occur and the temporary gift of life being bestowed upon you. If only it felt that way. If only you could view it as that. If only it didn’t have to happen. If only.