#and immune to fear and bullets

[greenpitbullzombie]

Reading HOA for house I'm considering. Like I hate the concept of spending this much money on something and then a committee telling me what I can and cannot do with it. But this one also has a thing about noise complaints and I'm thinking about those 4 months my neighbor let their dog bark all night long and I couldn't do anything about it bc the city didn't have a noise ordinance.

Hmmm

[sgtgarricks]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i want your hands on me for all my life

simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst, happy ending, mentions of simon's abusive past, talks about death, mentions of soap's death, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie!!, simon lets himself be happy yay

reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3

PREVIOUS PART: your gentle hands are enough

notes: this is the 2nd part for the people that want a happy ending :) this turned out sooo long LMFAO if you want to be sad just pretend this doesn't exist and read the other one! your feedback & comments help <3

Simon had always excelled at compartmentalizing his emotions ever since he was a child.

Growing up with an abusive father and an older brother who has hell-bent on scaring him had forced him to develop self-preservation tactics in order to survive their torment. Dissociating was a daily occurrence in his childhood years — it helped Simon escape the pain and torment that was being inflicted on his body.

Being in the military has not been that different.

He was still dissociating, but he was no longer on the receiving end of thrown punches and insults. He was now the perpetrator inflicting agony on his enemies for the good of the world. To rid the world of filth.

Simon Riley had become the ultimate soldier — lethal, swift, quiet, and was immune to the horrors of war, which was no surprise considering he had spent most of his childhood learning to lock away all the negative emotions. The ability had become innate, bleeding into his daily life and in turn, his relationships.

When Simon walked out the door, he had left all the hurt and sadness in the apartment with you. He trusted you'd keep a part of him safe until he came back and even if he didn't.

Simon had whole-heartedly accepted the risk that comes with the job, fully prepared to lay his life down if it meant a better world than yesterday. In fact, Simon knew death more intimately more than anyone. He'd knocked on death's door multiple times but always seemed to come out alive.

It was easy for him to not think of you. The anxious voice inside his head becomes static as he engrossed himself in the mission. The hard part comes when the dust has settled — when all that remain are cold corpses and bullet casings.

Sitting in the helicopter all bloodied accompanied by the sound of whirring blades wasn't usually bad. It would give him time to sit down and process his emotions. It let him feel the slight guilt that never goes away when taking a life — no matter how rotten.

But with each mission he went on after his abrupt departure, he finds himself constantly ruminating his entire reason for not wanting to get into a relationship with you.

Simon had wanted you to move on from him when he died, eventually. Forget the bruised and battered soldier and find someone whole, someone who could be there for you and love you without causing you anxiety every time their phone rang.

He thought himself selfless for trying to spare you, but his entire reason collapses with every mission he comes back alive.

What was his excuse now? What was he protecting you from?

The voices slink back into his mind the moment he gains a moment of peace. Whispers planting seeds of doubt in his mind, feeding on his insecurity and his fears. They're ruthless and persistent.

You don't deserve them. They're too good for you. You're going to leave them one day anyway, why bother?

He feels a tightness in his chest, as if a phantom hand was squeezing his heart that sends pulses of pain through him. His hand shakes slightly, fingers moving absent-mindedly trying to remember the feel of your skin.

"You alright, Lieutenant?" His captain's voice breaks him out of his trance. Simon is slightly startled but doesn't let it show. He merely grunts.

"'M alright."

Silence engulfs them once more. It goes one for one, two, maybe three minutes. It's suffocating. Simon can read people well enough by now that he knows there are questions lingering in the back of John Price's mind.

A part of Simon wishes he'd just spit it out, but the thought of having to explain seemed worse. Instead, Simon settles with a silent huff as the helicopter continues on its designated course.

The second the helicopter landed, Price simply nods at him, trusting him to get his shit together and walks off to his office. Simon does his usual routine, though instead of rushing through the motions, he's intentionally prolonging each action.

Whereas normally he couldn't get out of this place faster, now he almost dreaded the moment he would have to leave. Staying at the base meant monotonous, dull, predictable tasks. Leaving means he has to choose where to go — he has to actively force himself to not drive straight to your apartment despite the fact that every fiber in his being longs to be close to you.

He feels sick, a kind of illness spreading inside of him that only ever felt better when you were around him. A dull ache inside his body that only lights up when you touch him.

He runs a hand to his now damp hair, content with sitting on a sofa in the rec room. Normally, the place would be bustling with recruits goofing around with each other. But one glance at the broodier-than-normal look on the lieutenant's face had created a force field that pushed away everyone as to not get caught in its storm.

Simon doesn't know how long he sits there, half of him trying to convince himself to not come to you. That you don't deserve the broken man with a penchant for violence.

Chuckling lowly to himself, he shakes his head. What kind of demented higher power decided someone as kind as you be plucked and dropped into his sights?

Fifteen minutes went by as he pities himself in the rec room before a shadow in his peripheral vision causes him to look up.

"L.T.," Kyle nods towards him, leaning on the doorframe.

"Garrick." Simon grunts dismissively, not saying anything more. He hops the sergeant will take the hint on his own and leave the miserable bastard to his own devices.

Kyle worries for Simon. The brooding giant seems more miserable than usual — not more than after the incident, but still. Typically, he wouldn't even be able to catch a glimpse of his lieutenant after coming back from deployment. He'd usually opt to disappear from the base in record time.

The fact that he's here now, instead of wherever he usually hangs around, is slightly concerning.

"You alright, L.T.?"

Simon turns to him, slightly annoyed. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Yes, I'm alright." He huffs. Kyle merely shrugs, unbothered by the icy gaze directed at him.

"Well, seeing as you haven't fucked off from the base yet and it's been," Kyle checks his phone for the time, "Around an hour? I'd wager something is wrong."

Sometimes Simon hated how observant Gaz was. Kyle's always been attentive, even more so now without Johnny's presence. It wasn't a secret that Johnny had been the lieutenant's shadow — always lingering near him, cracking jokes and pulling his leg.

His absence had naturally left a gaping void in Simon, oozing all the pain and hurt that comes with losing a comrade. Simon isn't naive, he knows death comes as a package with being in the battlefield. He's seen his fellow soldiers die, held them as they bled out. It was why he tended to keep to himself. After all, the less people you know, the less funerals you have to go to.

This worked most of the time, anyone who got close to Simon would get his arctic stare and cower off — most of the time anyway. Johnny was a different case. Johnny was a little bit of a nutcase to be honest. A talented, bright, pyromaniac, the youngest ever to pass SAS selection, with an arsenal of jokes in his pockets. The blue-eyed Scotsman got along quickly with Kyle, bantering with each other easily as if they had been long-lost friends.

While Johnny still had reservations about dicking around with the captain, he didn't seem to have the same problem with Simon. Seemingly happy to chatter off in his ear about anything, whether it was about shitty food, a lady he picked up from a bar, or jabs directed at Simon.

Johnny's bright disposition put Simon on edge. He wasn't used to seeing someone not be terrified of him. No matter how many glares he sent him, the bugger wouldn't leave him alone. Johnny would continue to go out of his way to talk to Simon, to sit next to him during lunch, and sometimes, Johnny would even manage to get Simon to open up just a little.

"What's on yer mind, L.T.?" Johnny nudged Simon with his elbow. The two men were both sat at the bar, the TV playing an old recording of a football match. It had taken Johnny ten minutes to convince Simon to go out for drinks and he planned on taking full advantage of it.

Johnny had been talking non-stop for around five minutes about his sister who had just gotten married, waiting for a reaction from Simon who seemed distracted. His eyes had strayed to the other side of the bar a few times, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but Johnny was anything but.

"Nothin'." Simon had grunted, tearing his gaze away. A giant smirk plastered itself onto Johnny's face.

"Ah, been starin' at the sad one across the bar, aye?" Seeing Simon's eye widen a little had made Johnny even more gleeful. "Go on then. Ye have my full permission to ditch me tonight." He teased, winking at his lieutenant.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Johnny." Simon had denied instantly, taking a sip of his drink. A normal person would have left it at that, but Johnny wasn't your average person. He loved starting fires and Simon was a flame he wanted to see lit.

"Ach, come on L.T. what's the harm, eh? A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone." Simon didn't know this but Johnny wasn't going to let this go. It was the first time Johnny had ever seen Simon show interest in someone and he'd do anything to get Simon to at the very least, talk to them.

"They're a civvy, Johnny. Not gonna take any chances." Simon shook his head adamantly.

"That's bollocks! All we do is take risks anyway, at least on this one the worst that could happen is getting a drink thrown in yer face." Johnny chuckles, peering at the person across the bar who was clearly nursing a broken heart. Simon still made no move to get up from his chair.

Praying to whatever God was listening, Johnny hoped Simon wouldn't kill him after what he was going to do. Calling over the bartender, Johnny slid the man a fifty.

"Mate, give 'em a refill yeah? Tell 'em it's from the big bloke over here." Johnny signaled the bartender. Simon, who had finally processed what Johnny was doing, couldn't even get a word in. The bartender hastily took the money and went back to his station, ignoring Simon's call.

Simon could only watch in despair as the bartender presented the drink and pointed towards Simon. He received a shy smile, a mouthed 'thank you', and an expectant look.

"Now you've got to go there, mate. Otherwise you'll look like an arsehole!" Johnny threw his arms up, grinning triumphantly. The sergeant crossed his arms and wiggled his eyebrows.

Simon could've easily ignored Johnny and went back to his drink. But a part of him couldn't deny that he wanted to go over there and maybe talk to someone else that wasn't Scottish for a change. Against his usual logic, Simon decided to stand up from his chair.

"You're an arsehole." A glare was sent Johnny's way, although it had no weight behind them. As Simon began to walk away, he could hear Johnny laughing loudly.

"Yer welcome!"

Simon had never told Johnny you were the person who had been texting him during deployment, but he knew deep down that Johnny already knew. He'd asked multiple times, even tried sneaking a look.

He simply didn't want to admit that Johnny forcing him to talk to you that day had shifted Simon's world. He wished he told Johnny.

"We all miss him, L.T." Kyle's soft voice spoke again. He's closer now, dragging a chair from a table and sitting in front of Simon. Kyle knew he could never fill the giant void that Johnny left, but he felt a sense of responsibility to at least try. Price had become more closed off after his death whereas Simon had slowly been unraveling, little stitches coming loose a day at a time.

"All we can do is make sure it's not in vain." Simon sighs, hearing Kyle's words, knows he's right. That he can't go back to expecting the worst all the time, constantly on edge.

Johnny had breathed life into his ghostly presence, bringing Simon back into the realm of the living. The more Johnny got out of the lieutenant, the more people were able to see that Simon wasn't merely a visage, a ghost roaming the hallway. That he was a real person.

He was throwing away his chance at a second life. Perhaps it was also a twisted way of Simon punishing himself. If he couldn't save Johnny, couldn't save the man who managed to get him to talk to you, then he didn't deserve you. It was a round-about way of him trying to mend off the guilt eating away at him that had inadvertently claimed another victim.

"Thank you, sergeant." Simon stood up. Clapping his hand on Kyle's shoulder.

I see you.

"Don't mention it, sir."

The drive to your house takes around twenty minutes, which means that's all the time Simon has to try and figure out a way to atone for his sins.

They're too gracious to even hold a grudge against you. A small part of Simon tells him. While he hopes that's true, he still wants to apologize and acknowledge how unfair he's been to you. If not to make you feel better, at the very least it will ease his conscience.

He drums his finger on the steering wheel, the radio turned on but on low volume. For once, Simon wishes he had Johnny's ability to get out of problems with his alluring words and his kicked-puppy look.

Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't even realized he's been sitting in his parked car for a few minutes. He clasps his hands when he realizes they're shaking. God, he was so terrified. Not of you, no. He was scared of having to see what he's done to you. Is terrified of really seeing the carnage Simon Riley had tore in you.

He lets out a bated breath and opens the car door. He knows you're home by now, probably cooking away while listening to some indie band. Resting his head on your door, he braces himself once more, and knocks.

He waits, the seconds feeling like hours. The door swings open and he sees your surprised face.

"Simon." You compose yourself immediately, not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him. Something twitches on the corners of his mouth hidden by the balaclava. As if realizing he's still wearing it, he takes it off.

"Can I come in?" He asks timidly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He had no idea how you'd react after him being gone for so long. Even during his three month deployments, he'd sometimes text you once every fortnight. But after the way he left things, he couldn't bring himself to message you at all. Couldn't even stomach the thought of you still pining over him after what he had done. It was easier for him to simply block your number. Photos of sunsets and coffee cups gathering dust in his photo album, unsent.

You didn't even think about it, your body unconsciously moving sideways to let him in. A part of you screams at yourself.

Idiot, show some dignity.

It had been so easy for you to let the man who had left you for six months without a word back into your apartment, into your life.

You felt like an addict. Constantly begging for your next fix and taking whatever scraps are thrown your way. It's pitiful, but you're too far gone, anyway. His dirty boots make contact with your hardwood floor, leaving small specks of mud on them. Simon notices the frown marring your face and begins to unlace his boots.

"Sorry." He apologizes, neatly tucking away his muddy boots at the side of your door. You close the door behind him, making your way towards your kitchen. The plate clatters loudly in the sink as you haphazardly put them away, clearly rattled.

Simon coughs slightly, words stuck in his throat. He'd prepared a small speech earlier yet all the words seem to escape him. All the courage he had mustered for his little speech all had but disappeared into thin air. He feels out of his depths, not used to being vulnerable.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" Your voice sounds so tired. He supposes he was to blame for that.

"Can we talk?" He sends you a pleading look, hoping you still felt a sliver of the love you used to harbor for him — the only thing stopping you from kicking him out.

"Oh, so after blocking me and radio silence for six months you've decided you want to talk?" The bitterness seeps into your words like venom. He can't even make himself physically recoil from the sharp edge of your tone. Simon can feel the thin rope right beneath his feet, one wrong step and he'd be falling off the edge.

He takes a deep breath. "I deserve that."

"Oh, you deserve more than that Simon Riley. I should kick you out right now." You were huffing now, going slightly red in the face. Had he not been so anxious he might've thought you look cute. But right now? He was downright terrified.

"Just-" Simon pinches his nose bridge, calming himself down. "Let me speak for a moment, yeah? After that if you want me to leave, I'll leave." He holds both his hands up.

You were livid, rightfully so. The man you love had essentially decided he didn't want to communicate with you anymore, breaking your heart. The first week you thought maybe something had happened to his phone, broken it maybe?

As the weeks turned into months, the realization dawned on you that he had purposefully blocked you, cut off all contact. At first there was only sadness. You spent your days crying into your blanket, some days barely functioning. The hurt and betrayal had emotionally drained you. Did all those years mean nothing to him?

You knew he had a hard time expressing his emotions, but never in your wildest dreams did you think he would throw you away just like that. Like you were nothing more to him than a good fuck. Despite your head telling you otherwise, the emotional baggage he had left you with didn't leave much option.

It was easier to hate him than to accept maybe he didn't love you at all.

You spent the first few months cursing into the wind hoping it'd somehow hurt him a fraction of how much he hurt you. Afterwards, the pain became a lingering , dull ache, but not debilitating anymore. It became a constant that you carry everyday.

Kicking him out the door was tempting, but you knew it wouldn't do you any good. If anything, the words left unsaid would become a leech — slowly draining away your curiosity until you eventually leave another voicemail.

You give him a pointed stare before sitting down on the couch. Simon slowly approached you, wanting nothing more than to sit next to you but choosing to sink into the other side of the couch. He sees you cross your arms, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"I jus' wanna say that I'm sorry." He stares into your eyes, slouched with elbows on his thighs. Seeing your mouth thin into a line, Simon knows he's going to have to do a lot better.

"When Johnny died..." Your eyes widen, arms slacking slightly. He'd talk about Johnny sometimes but sometime ago had entirely stopped mentioning his name altogether. You had suspected something terrible had happened but you didn't want to believe it.

"I was so angry. It's not fair. He was so young, had his whole future ahead of him. Told me he was gonna see his sister's newborn on his next leave." He breathes out, clenching his fists.

"All of that, gone. We haven't even caught the bastard yet." Simon runs an exasperated hand through his face. Your arms were no longer crossed, choosing to fiddle with the edge of your shirt. You wanted to comfort him so badly, wanted to take him into your arms and tell him everything's going to be okay. But he was still pouring his heart out and you wanted to greedily snatch every piece he was willing to give.

"I had constant nightmares for months. Sometimes, I still do. You're just a heavy sleeper, I suppose." He chuckles and catches the way the edge of your mouth turn up.

"It's never easy, losing someone. It changes you. I used to hear his nonsense almost everyday and now it's just not there. I'm terrified one day it'll be like he was never there at all." Simon looks away, blinking tears away.

"But he was there. I know that. I felt him. He was like the fucking sun, but instead of being 150 million kilometers away, he's next to my ear with his Scottish nonsense." Simon chuckles bitterly, reminiscing the times when Johnny had to translate his gibberish.

You stay quiet, letting him speak freely. You had a feeling where this was going and how Johnny's death had indirectly impacted your relationship.

"If I died tomorrow, would you be okay?" His question catches you off guard. It was a question you've pondered a thousand times before, and every time you only ever came up with one answer.

"No." You answer honestly, because you'd break either way. Whether it was tomorrow or a year from now. You can feel a part of Simon in your bloodstream that if he died, some part of you would die with him.

"I only ever wanted you to be okay." He straightens, testing the waters by moving closer to you. You let him.

"Would you prefer if I never loved you at all?" Your heart was thumping loudly in your chest you worried he could hear it.

"No." His answer was immediate, as if he'd never been as sure before. "Not selfless enough for that."

"Then are you selfless enough to accept that I would want it to hurt?" You put your hand on top of his, gently grasping them within yours. Simon feels the broken pieces of him mending together.

He's quiet, not sure how to respond. He didn't use to understand why people would put themselves on the line, but he's starting to.

"If you died, I'd want it to hurt. I'd want it to take my breath away. I'd want it to keep me awake at night. I'd want every single bone in my body to ache when you're gone, because that would mean I have loved you with all of me."

You don't realize you'd started crying. There was no distance anymore between you and Simon. His thigh pressed against yours as you clutch his hand to your chest.

"I want it to hurt so badly, because I want to love you deeply." Tears were streaming freely down your face you couldn't even stop them even if you wanted to.

"Simon, will you let me hurt for you?"

And he lets you.

"Okay." His hand go to engulf your frame, but you had thrown yourself at him before he managed to. Simon can feel his shirt getting wet, he'd never thought he'd be slightly happy over the fact that you were crying.

Everything's going to be okay.

Your head was now on his collarbone, his palm gently holding you there. You feel a kiss on the top of your head as he strokes it.

Neither of you know how long you simply cried on him, much less when you ended up on his lap. When he heard you stop — tired from the energy you exerted, he slowly rearranges his body so that you are able to lie fully on top of him. His sore back is the last thing on his mind as he sees your peacefully sleeping away.

A pounding headache eventually woke you. You weren't sure if last night really happened or if your mind had conjured a scenario where Simon came back for you. However, the sweltering heat you feel on your midsection proves otherwise.

He really was here.

His eyes were closed, seeming to be asleep. You test the waters, placing your palm on the left side of his face. A hand immediately darts towards your hand and keeps it there.

"Put some pills on your nightstand for the headache." He murmurs, eyes still closed. His face turns slightly, placing a kiss on your palm. Even after half a year away, he still knows you like the back of his hand.

Leaning in, you give him a peck on the cheek. As much as you want to drink in the sight of him, there were more pressing matters at hand. You need the reassurance. You need him to tell you he wasn't going to abandon you again.

"Simon, did you mean it?" You can't get the entire words out, can only hope it was enough to convey your tumultuous emotions. His heart aches that you don't believe him, but he understands.

"I love you, sweetheart." Soft lips descend upon your own, barely brushing.

"'M here to stay as long as you want me here." He sneaks a hand under you, pulling you closer to him. There isn't any part of you that's not connected to him in some way.

He was so warm, scorching you inside out. You wanted his flame to burn every inch of your skin. When he left, everything felt cold to the bone, your life turning into muted blues and grays.

Simon brought warmth into your life, with his little acts of service. With the little trinkets he brings back after deployment because it reminded him of you. With his gentle hands, gentle kisses — his gentle self.

"I love you, Si." You whisper, grabbing him by the neck and lowering your lips onto his. Brushing softly, you were going to pull away when Simon lets out a moan. Heat builds inside of you as you slip your tongue inside his open mouth. He grunts in surprise, holding you still for a second. But you're impatient.

"Need you." You whine, "Want you so much, Si."

"Yeah?" He mumbles against your lips, running his hands through your hair gently.

"Thought I'd be in the dog house much longer than that, love." He teases you. Simon yelps slightly when you retaliate by biting on his lower lip. He grips both your cheeks with his fingers, pushing you away from him.

"That wasn't very nice of you, hmm?" He gently shakes your head, grinning handsomely. "Think you need a little lesson in being nice, sweetheart. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher." He leans in and kisses your puckered lips, working his way downwards.

His hands wander everywhere, working themselves underneath your shirt. You feel goosebumps rise where his fingertips lay, shivering under his hold.

"Missed you so much, Si. Please." Your moans echo throughout the room. He's holding your thighs together as he trails down your body as you writhe.

"Missed you too, love. Fuck, missed you so fucking much." He manages to say. He cups your ass as he mouths at your panty-covered mound. Your juices seep through the fabric, making Simon groan.

"Mmm.. Someone missed me too." He runs his tongue up and down your slit as you cross both your legs behind his neck. He felt you clench your thighs and he feels blood rushing downwards. Turning his head slightly to the right, he nips lightly at your inner thigh.

He'd barely touched you but here you are already begging for it. Simon Riley has you wrapped around his finger and it scares you a little how much of a hold he has on you. You had bared your neck so openly for him and he had bit down the first chance he got.

"Will you let me take care of you, love? Make you feel good." He hums, fingers trailing along your inner thigh waiting for permission. You nod fervently before realizing he can't see you.

"Yes, yes, yes. Need you to take care of me, Si." Your heart was beating fast out of anticipation.

"Yeah? I'll make you feel good, baby." He coos at you as his fingers slowly pull down your panties. Strings of your juices were sticking to the insides. He threw them aimlessly, eyes zeroed in on your wet pussy.

His finger runs through your folds, making squelching noises. "All this for me, hmm?" He tilts his head up, pinching when you don't reply immediately. The sudden sensation makes you whimper.

"All for you, Si. Just for you." You were panting heavily as Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and licks in a circular motion. You thread your fingers in his hair, not tugging harshly.

Simon laps at your pussy like a starved man, burying his entire face in your warmth. He moans between every few licks, the taste of you dazing him. Your eyes glaze over as you see the man you love pleasuring you with earnest. He continues for a while, alternating his focus between your bud and your folds.

When you tug at his shirt impatiently, Simon grunts. He gets up and throws his shirt over his head. Not one second after it's off, you begin to paw at him, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Simon thinks he's never seen such a beautiful sight. Your hair was messy from your movements, eyes hazy as he can feel goosebumps on his body where you stare. He grabs your face and kisses you desperately, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His clothed bulge was grinding messily against your wet pussy as his boxers begin to darken from the wetness.

Simon's whimper fill the room when he feels you grinding upwards to rub yourself on his cock. He pulls from your lips with a string of saliva. Not waiting for him, you scramble to take off your shirt, baring your tits to him.

His eyes drink in the state of you greedily, one hand groping your tits as the other travels down to your pussy. You were beyond wet enough for his cock, but he's determined to make you cum on his fingers first.

Two fingers slip into you gently. The stretch catches you off guard, it's been a while since you've had his thick fingers probing inside you. His fingers were thrusting shallowly as you grind on his palm.

"Fuck, Simon. Feels so good." You babble, barely able to keep your eyes open, the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

"Yeah? Gonna make you feel even better." With that, his fingers thrust deeper into you, massaging your spot. Your back arches as Simon plants his face on your chest, sucking on your nipples.

He crooks his fingers slightly as he continues thrusting, his palm touching your clit with each time. You couldn't stay still anymore, moving your hips back to meet his thrusts.

The room was filled with wet, squelching noises and your combined moans. Your hands were gripping his bicep, feeling the large muscle flex under your fingertips.

His thick fingers continue his ministration as you begin to climb higher and higher. Your walls begin to pulse and constrict his fingers. Sweat drips down his forehead as he continues to drive into your pussy with his deft fingers.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, love?" He teases, placing kisses all over your damp face.

"Yes, oh fuck. Please, please let me cum."

Simon grins against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over. His fingers begin to speed up even faster, hitting your sweet spot with every effort. You feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to build in your core.

Your legs begin to tremble as you struggle to get air inside of your lungs. Panting harshly, you close your eyes as your orgasm starts to reach its peak.

His hand leaves your tits as they begin to rub circles on your clit. The combined assault on your clit and your pussy brings you over the edge.

"Look at me when you cum." Your eyes open immediately as you find him staring directly into yours. Your legs tremble deliciously, hands gripping Simon even tighter as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Mouth agape, your back continues to arch as Simon doesn't stop, overstimulating you with a few shallow thrusts.

Simon's hand was covered in your juices as he slowly withdraws them. Your pussy clenches, feeling empty. He brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. Obediently, you open your lips and let him slide his fingers inside your mouth.

Circling your tongue all finger, your eyes begin to close again. When you blink them open, you see Simon's bare body hovering above yours. His cock was standing proudly, shiny with precum. You feel the urge to take his cock into your mouth. When your hand tries to reach for him, it's stopped by his firm grip.

"Next time, yeah? Need to fuck your pretty pussy, baby." He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wiping them on his hip. He repositions his cock at your pussy, sliding the head up and down your folds.

Tilting your head down, you see Simon's hand grip his cock firmly as it slowly rubs his precum all over your pussy. He groans seeing your juices mix together. Moving your hips upwards, you try to push his head in and he hisses.

He grabs your hips and gently lowers them on the bed. "You just lay there and take it, yeah? Let me do all the work." You preen, more than happy to lay there and see him move above you.

"Put it in, Si. Missed your cock so much." You whimper, pressing delicate kisses on his neck. He nudges your nose with his, capturing your lips into a kiss. Your moan gets interrupted by your own grunt of surprise as the head of his cock slips in.

His cock was thicker than his two fingers, with veins running all over the shaft rubbing your walls deliciously. You link your legs behind his waist, helping him push deeper.

When he's inside you, it's like two pieces of puzzle fitting together. His cock fit so perfectly inside you, as if you were made for him and him for you. You knew Simon was it for you a long time ago, falling head over heels so easily for the grumpy soldier. You weren't happy at how long it took him to come to his senses, but you're glad either way.

He thrusts slowly, going deeper with each shift of his hips. His tongue tangles with yours as wet noises fill the room. You know when he's pushed in to the hilt when you feel him bump against your cervix slightly. Your pussy clenches at the tiny pain, causing Simon to moan out.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so well, sweetheart." He stays there for a moment, grinding his cock inside. You only stop kissing when you pull away to beg him to start moving. Both his hands are placed firmly on your hips when he begins thrusting.

He moves back and forth slowly, the walls of your pussy feeling every drag of his big cock. You hiss against his mouth, the sensation lights up every nerve in your body. You beg him to go faster but he ignores you, continuing to sink slowly.

When you're about to wail at the pace again, he thrusts sharply — his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You gasp, clawing his back when he continues to move slowly but going deep with each thrust. You can hear the sound of his balls smacking against your ass.

Your combined juices were dripping out of your pussy, causing wet noises whenever he moves inside you. You don't know how long he continues his brutal motion, your eyes dazed and breath unsteady.

You've never felt this way before. It feels as if he's everywhere inside you, there isn't a part of you that doesn't feel touched by him. He thrusts as if he's trying to imprint himself in you, trying to permanently leave a mark.

"Such a pretty pussy. Doing so well f' me, sweetheart. You gonna let me cum in you? Gonna let me fill you up nicely?" He grunts, his composure starting to unravel. His cock begins to piston in you messily as he loses himself in your pussy.

"Yes, yes, yes. Fuck, love you so much, Si. Need your cum in me." You cry out desperately, tightening your legs and pulling him deeper inside you.

"So good to me, love. Letting me cum in your pretty pussy." His form begins to shake slightly from exertion. You know his hands were going to bruise your hips from how hard he was gripping them but you couldn't care less.

Your body moves up and down from the force of his thrust. His cock touching your cervix with each delicious thrust. Your pussy begins to pulse wildly on his cock as you feel another orgasm build inside you. When his cock begins to pulse, your eyes roll to the back of your head as it sends you over the edge. You moan out his name loudly, pulling him by the neck to your chest as his arms hug you to him.

You feel his desperation and love when he holds you. He hugs you so tight to him your ribs ache. You never want this feeling to go away.

"I love you so much, fuck." Your orgasm triggers his own, his cock pulsing as his creamy load fills up your pussy. He's so snug inside your pussy the excess cum begins to drip out. When he stops unloading inside you, he moves slowly, thrusting a few times shallowly. A part of him wants to look at the way his seed drips from your pussy but he didn't want to move away from you.

You both pant with eyes closed as your breathing begins to even out. Simon slowly pulls out and you hiss at the feel of his cock leaving you empty. You look down and see his cock covered in his cum and yours.

Your head falls back down to the pillow, eyes closing shut. Simon stares at the ceiling and huff, righting himself. You feel him plant a kiss to your forehead as the bed dips.

"'M gonna go clean us up, yeah? You stay there." You hear him step into the bathroom, going to wash himself and grab a clean towel to clean up your mess. By the time he came back, you had already passed out, judging by the sound of your low snores.

He begins to wipe your thighs and try to dry the surrounding areas as best he can. He'll change the sheets later when you're well-rested. Simon climbs into bed, hugging you to him. He runs his fingers through your hair, slowly unknotting them one by one.

He stares at your sleeping from and grins. Lowering his lips to yours, he keeps them there for a few seconds.

"I love you."

You can only mumble in response, too tired to properly articulate the words.

"I love you too, Simon."

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ⸻ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

⌜HOW MR. MILLER STOLE CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST⌟

genre: christmas, enemies to lovers, romance, fake dating, minors dni

word count: 0.6k

chapter summary: the fireflies are dying one by one and you're desperately seeking a way out.

warnings: age gap, canon typical violence, spoilers for the season one finale

**dividers by @saradika

You smell blood. Feel it almost. The heat, the stickiness of it. Despite the clean walls and the sterile smell you know something is wrong. Something is very wrong—the fireflies are dying. One by one. Their light snuffed out, left to rot. 

You knew this would happen. After all of what you’ve done, what Marlene has done. It was wrong, and karma always hungers after those who wronged her—Killing a little girl to save the world. . . hiding it from her. . . It was the trolley problem come to life. You never could answer that question, never could decide what was deemed right and wrong in that situation. Now, it seemed like all of you had chosen wrong. And you were being punished for it. The Angel of Death sought to claim you all.

At least it’s better than getting infected. At least the bullet would be shot right between your eyebrows and you’ll be dead before you can blink. 

Your finger presses stubbornly against the trigger as you move. You still have the boldness of youth. Maybe you can escape. Maybe you can be free. You wanted out a long time ago, just scared to be out there all on your own. 

Your lips press tightly together upon seeing a body, you don’t know his name, don’t dwell on it as you jump over his corpse and head for the exit. You hear gunshots. Screams. Shouts. You smell blood—such a persistent smell—You smell fear. Death is coming for you. Your footsteps gain momentum, you feel his breath on the back of your neck and the nuzzle cold against your forehead.

Then you see him. Just as you’re turning the corner, heart beating in your throat and sweat beading out of every pore, you see him—the angel of death. 

And fuck—you know you shouldn’t think it, but the mass killer is beautiful. 

Without even thinking you drop your gun and raise your hands. The best way to survive is to expose your neck to the beast. Showing you mean no harm. You don’t kick a raging lion. 

He doesn’t seem to see it though. His eyes stare right past you. He barely blinks, blood of the fireflies coating his already dirty shirt. He cocks the gun and you know he’s ready to shoot, your eyes go wide. You don’t want to die. Not yet. Not without finding any semblance of peace or belonging. 

“Please don’t,” you blurt out. His eyes seem to focus then, dark soulless gaze flitting across your face, noticing your raised hands. “I just want to leave. She’s on the top floor, at the end of the hall—Please don’t shoot.” 

He observes you a beat longer. From the way his muscles tense you think he’s about to shoot, why wouldn’t he? What made you different from all the rest? 

You close your eyes, chest rising painfully. There’s a loud hum in your ear. Maybe it’s the rush of blood? You think about your life, of all the death surrounding you. All you remember is the outbreak. Every memory tainted with curling cordyceps ever since you were six. You remember your mother holding you by the hand and yanking your arm so hard you thought it would be ripped off the socket. Your father trying to protect you both, leading the way—You remembered the day Marlene found you, time spent with the fireflies, the excitement when the immune girl was found. . . 

The train of thought would end with a measly bullet. 

A bullet that never came. A gun that never fired. 

When you open your eyes he was gone. 

You have no idea what it was—maybe it was the fact that you were significantly younger than the other soldiers, maybe it was because you were already out through the door when he pointed a gun at you— no matter what it was you were miraculously spared from the bloodshed.

The angel of death has spared you. 

[hubristicassholefight]

Hubristic Assholes Tourney Round 1 Part 4a

Light Yagami (Death Note) vs Icarus (Greek Mythology)

Propaganda Below Cut (Beware Spoilers)

Light

Thinks he can rule the world single-handedly through fear and a magic notebook. It Does Not End Well.

He kills people for years thinking he's serving justice but really he just ends up serving himself and his ego. Gets so sure of himself that he thinks he's untouchable and that no one could possibly outsmart him (spoiler alert: someone does). Literally thinks he's a god. Spoiler: Gets killed by an actual god because said god just couldn’t be bothered to wait around for him to die anymore.

He decides he should be the God of the New World and that justifies killing whoever he likes for the 'greater good'. This eventually leads to his downfall; Light my baby my skrunkly my most awfulest man ever. If you've been on the internet for more than five minutes you probably already know why he's here but like. He is mister hubris. He is nothing but hubris. He kills people and its okay! Because he's god :) Haven't you heard :) God doesn't have to follow laws. Or rules. Or be a decent human being. And if you say he's wrong then well. You're evil! The way he thinks is so fucked up i want to put him in a jar.

mr thinks he knows everything & is better than everyone gets a magic notebook that lets him kill people from any distance as long as he knows their face and name. decides that means he's god now and kills criminals and people he decides are criminals (including people who were given verdicts of "not guilty"). when someone goes on tv and says he's evil his first instinct is to kill that person instead of, like, taking five seconds to go "is this bait?" (it was bait). he ends the series pathetic and bleeding out because it turns out god isn't immune to bullets.

Icarus

The OG

Most of you know the drill. He and his dad Daedalus get locked up for suspected conspiring against the king of Crete, but Daedalus, clever bastard that he is, builds wings for them to fly away on. Daedalus warns Icarus not to fly too high or the sun will melt his wings, and not too low or his wings will get wet from the sea mist. But Icarus gets basically caught up in an adrenaline high, and enraptured by the beauty and light of the Sun, tries to fly even higher. His wings melt and he, unfortunately, falls to his death. C'mon he's literally The Guy

[dailycass-cain]

As promised many months ago to end this day, here's a 🧵of the insanity Cassandra Cain's "human" body can do due to what David Cain put her through (besides the two obvious ones of body language and various forms of killing he trained her in).

The best issue that showcases that is of course Batgirl Vol. 1 #14 where various government agencies look at the footage Cass got caught filmed in.

The first few pages are literally showcasing how inhuman, but still bordering on human she is due to what David Cain put her through.

This is always fully covered throughout Batgirl Volume 1 and is usually forgotten when writers and editors tend to have their job. Not saying any names or storylines of any RECENT kind where a WAR broke out in GOTHAM.

is still salty YES

We've seen Cass's speed all the time throughout the Puckett run. To just showcase the prior issue's bullet dodging or her issue of Tim (#18) be child's play (along with her taking several shots up close and dodging each one from a certain corrupt government bastard).

Nah the best example of Cass's true "speed" is in #34 facing the mob boss Ving and his gang.

Yeah, you're seeing that right she is faster than a freaking bullet. Surprising how SOME seem to forget that in other comics. 🙄

Something even Batgirls remembered (#15) when Cass was playing shogun dodge with Cluemaster who was trying to shoot her with a shotgun.

But what of Cassandra's strength? Just how strong is she really?

#19 where Cass is faced with the obstacle of three-inch quartz preventing her from escaping a gas chamber. So let's examine just how thick three-inch quartz is.

Well, let's google just that.

A SEVEN on the hardness scale. Further research says that it can only crack due to "extreme impacts" which wouldn't ya know:

As for her body itself, Batgirl/Ghost: The Ressurection Machine #3 suggests this about Cass being immune to A LOT of poisons:

Something Batgirl Vol. 1 "sort of" delves in #50 when both she and Bruce are doused with a new batch of super drug but it turns out they were both immune to it due to them being built differently than normal humans.

This is all the more surprising because a few issues prior to (#46) Cass is doused with a version of it, but you could say given what she "sees" Cass is under A LOT of stress (the building tension with Bruce, Babs breaking up with Dick, Superboy/Black Wind stuff). Plus she does "sort of" snap out of it to beat the bad guys in that issue.

Just like in #51 she avoids the pheromones to Poison Ivy even though she is showing signs of falling under the hormones but snaps out of it due to willpower (something Bruce was almost succumbing to before he fully snapped out of it too).

It really feels like "this anti-poison" ability Cass had was all but forgotten once the series ended. Of course, naturally with a certain "infamous" story ONE YEAR LATER, but also Batman & Robin Eternal as she is affected by Fear Toxin (among other stuff too).

#9 & #59 showcase that David Cain shot Cass regularly so much that she can not even feel it. This could explain also HOW she was eventually able to dodge bullets and become so fast.

#22 also showcases this as well so this is not something simply just randomly put in. This was something the writers wanted to show the sickening lengths David Cain put Cass through.

Again, #14 brought up Cass's metabolism and how off the charts it was. I think something we just overlooked is that in #26 Cass slept for 20 hours a day for four days (or perhaps longer) straight until she fully recovered from fighting Lady Shiva.

That's not even going under the amount of food she consumes. This little detail was first showcased in #39 when Cass ate like she was freaking Goku.

This little bit of detail was brought back in #66 when she ordered THREE burgers (I'm assuming with everything on it) with three sides of fries and a BIG milk.

Amusingly, this detail was recently brought back in Nightwing #106 & #108 where she FEASTED on who knows how many pancakes.

Lastly, I feel this bit is worth mentioning as well from #47 with Doctor Lewis Friedman who started the theory on body language that David Cain made a frightening reality with Cass (shame he was never brought up again after this issue).

All this isn't even counting on the extremely LONG hours of shower time Cass picked up in the Gabrych run that even Willingham's Robin (which went on during this) teased (something again Batgirls kept up on).

So there you have it. The utter anomaly that is the body of one Cassandra Cain.

[northgazaupdates]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.

In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.

In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.

In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.

Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.

Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.

The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,

Will this expected child live in such a broken world?

At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!

Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.

There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.

This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).

Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.

Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼

"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

Let’s help Laila, Bassam, and their children get to safety!

[strike-another-match]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.

In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.

In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.

In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.

Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.

Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.

The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,

Will this expected child live in such a broken world?

At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!

Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.

There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.

This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).

Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.

Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼

"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

Of course I will share and donate. I hope you reach your goal so that you and your family cab be safe soon.

[ibtisams]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.

In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.

In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.

In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.

Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.

Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.

The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,

Will this expected child live in such a broken world?

At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!

Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.

There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.

This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).

Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.

Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼

"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

Hi Laila I hope I can help you and your family 🤍

[timetravellingkitty]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.

In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.

In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.

In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.

Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.

Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.

The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,

Will this expected child live in such a broken world?

At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!

Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.

There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.

This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).

Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.

Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼

"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

this fundraiser has been vetted by ibtisams fairuzfan and fallahifag!

they've only raised €4,187 out of their €45,000 target, please donate!

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic hearts - (10)

<<<Prev Next>>>

---

The fear of falling in love

---

So close, hidden in the dark, this was no child’s play. His ocean eyes calling you to give in, to stop fighting this. You were caught, he knew you well to spot your lies.

“I see it now.”, you whispered to which he raised his eyebrow.

“What?”, he asked, his eyes flitting down to your lips.

“What do you see?”, his voice turning coarse before his gaze found yours again.

“The hold you have over the ladies. Your charm seems to put them in a spell.”, you chuckled but his eyes turned dark with desire.

“Does it put a spell on you?”, he grinned.

This was no child’s play, the thought ran across your mind as his smile captivated you.

“I’m immune to it.”, you held your chin high, your eyes not wavering from his, trying to play the same game he was playing.

“What a shame.”, he clicked his tongue but you were drawn in, your curiosity now wanting to know the reason for his stay.

“Why are you here?”, you narrowed your eyes at him.

“All the way in New York from Los Angeles?”, you edged closer, turning this around into an interrogation in the hopes that you could escape solve the mystery behind why he ended up in jail and in the newspapers.

But it broke the tension and the fun, his eyes widened as though you had opened his Pandora’s box.

You didn’t know everything that had happened. He looked into your eyes and there was no judgement in it. But if only you knew what he did, how he had changed to be bitter and selfish, would you still see him the same way.

“Hey, I was just joking. You don’t need to tell me.”, he heard you as you placed your hand on his arm to break him out of his thoughts.

“I was avoiding you.”, you admitted in the hopes that it might ease him. No friendship could be forged on lies. You had always felt comfortable around him, so maybe it was time to let him in a little.

“Why?”, he asked, his whisper filled with a weight of melancholy in it.

“Because I was scared.”, you admitted and he mustered his courage to find your eyes again.

“I was afraid of getting hurt again.”, you wanted to reach out, to try and touch his cheek.

“But you’re different now, -

He exhaled sharply as he closed his eyes. It was happening again, this was another rejection. Anything that starts with a 'but' was not going to end well. He had known well enough to leave it alone but he couldn't and so was going to get burned by the same flame twice.

“Am I?”, he questioned, his eyes boring into yours as he cut you off impatiently.

“If you think I’m not like the other men here, you’re wrong.”, he spoke, his words were sharp but it wasn’t from a place of anger. You knew it well, it was from unhealed scars.

“I was just as bad as them.”, he said it, he was living in a fantasy, in the sweet innocence of your gaze knowing well that it was only a matter of time before it broke. So he chose to break it now.

“I almost made the Ken’s take over Barbie land.”, he frowned in anger, anger that was aimed at himself.

“All because I was exhausted.”, he exhaled and it felt like he was about to crumble again. The shame still existing within him like tiny shards of glass choosing to tear him open once in a while.

“Of wanting and waiting, only to never get the girl in the end.”, he was working his way through the pain of his past that he had let it ruin him in the hopes he could have a chance to win what he desired, only to destroy it all.

“She chose to be human and I was alone again.”, he admitted but it shocked you that all this had occurred. To know what it would been like for him to let go of the woman he was specifically made for.

“All I am capable of doing, is destroying anything I’ve ever wanted.”, he pushed away from you and you felt the guilt like a bullet in your chest. He was the only one with whom you didn’t have to hide your truest self and yet he was the first you aimed you barrage at.

He knew he had to be detached, to his work and his accomplishments, but love was a drug that never left his system. As much as he would push it away, he will still yearn for it, look for it. And now he was afraid, that taking a chance to love again would make him revert back to his old ways and break the peace he had obtained from being enough on his own.

He caught your eyes in the dark, in the hum of the silence, there was only one truth that beat in his chest.

But I want you, it whispered through the chaos of his mind.

That very thought contended with him. He should not want you, your affection, he was here on a mission so why couldn’t he just seal the deal, finish the business here and wrap it all up. Why was your touch on his arm making him crave more, to want your hands to unravel his tie to feel the smooth panes of his skin?

He grumbled losing sight of where he was when all the old doors opened in his mind.

“All I was ever made for, was to be loved and it drives me insane,”, he snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“That even after everything,”, he ran his fingers through his hair to pull it back.

“I’m still trying to keep you looking at me, Barbie.”, he yelled but only after he had said it did he realize whose name he had said. The flicker of shock to pity on your face was the last gust of wind he needed for his house of cards to tumble.

He needed some time away, to sot out him emotions.

His home lacked the mojo for days like these. He was tired of being played with, his feelings treated like they didn’t exist and all this time, all these years, he walked the streets of this glamorous city only being able to think of you. That he could never get close to any other woman only because none of them were you.

He gave up, he needed to reassure himself and set up boundaries. To remind himself that he was just here to take you back and as simple as it was, he was failing at it.

Because the real world was affording him the luxury to be around you, to let him feel his emotions to the fullest.

He stormed out the door, and it was all in slow motion, how you didn’t have to think about it, how your feet knew to chase after him.

He walked out the entrance and you reached for the hem of his shirt, to get him to stop, losing him all over again was not an option now, but he slipped through your fingers.

“You didn’t let me finish.”, you came to a stop on the sidewalk and hearing you he stopped too, standing with his back still facing you.

“You’ve always been different, Ken. In the way you care and love freely. I’ve known it since the first time I met you at the beach. So you making a few mistakes doesn’t make you irredeemable.”, you said as you caught your breath.

He didn’t turn to see you but by the sight manner in which the muscles on his back relaxed, you could tell it meant a lot.

“And also after I had said that, I wanted to invite you to tea or dinner or both tomorrow, if you would still like to that is.”, you said to which he shuffled his feet but still didn’t give you an answer.

“What is it going to be, Ken Castilian Ryder?”, you chuckled as you said his full name just like he had done which got him to laugh too.

“Fine.”, he said as he turned to see you.

“What was that?”, you cupped your ear and walked close to him as if you didn’t hear his response.

“I said, Fine, does 6pm sound good?”, he playfully exaggerated his response.

“Ok, I’ll see you then.”, you smiled and so did he as he lingered for a second before he turned to leave.

As you stood there feeling the cool breeze of the evening, the soft pastel pink skies made this world feel like Barbieland for a second. You didn’t hear the traffic but instead heard the birds sing. Maybe you had been focusing on all the wrong things.

Maybe you were good enough just as you were.

Maybe the real world could be just as good and beautiful as you wanted it to be.

---

Tags:

@imogen-skye @ateliefloresdaprimavera @meowkid1000 @jokersgrf @linacool13 @oh-kurva @dreamsarenicer @memospacexx @haleysucks00 @ibetyouthinkaboutmefics @tempobaekh @fallingwallsh @whatafreakingloser @lcversrockk @imonmyvigilanteshh @constellationscharts @eddiemunson4ever @freyafriggafrey @neptunelixir @iamruiningmylife @floralsightings @ynbutbetter @lazyboikat @mrharringtonsbae @spookyscellar @harleyquinn03041998 @haydensith @weasleytwinscumslut @bl00dy-murd3r @itstylersblog @papichulo120627 @lee-lee-23 @dazeglitter-blog @urmom24sworld @chaos-in-person @aremos @theoriginalwife000 @undercover-being-whack @puredreamagination @h-l-vlovesvintage @krazyk99 @agustdeeyaa @bluebear19 @porterport @urahara24 @wvndamaximilf

[immajustvibehere]

Are You Afraid of Ghosts, Arthur?

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

summary: You get lost in the forest and Arthur walks you back to camp as you discuss each other's fears.

warning: fluff, slight angst (because fears, you know), fear & comfort

>>> Happy Halloween, basically =D

Masterlist

1700 words, 10 minutes reading time

"Who's there?", Arthur's voice echoed through the dense forest. He raised his lantern so the cone of light would reach the trees that grew next to the little path that travellers and wild animals had created over the course of years. The feeble light struggled to penetrate the thick veil of darkness and for a few moments, there was nothing to be heard besides the rustling of leaves nearby.

"A-Arthur?", your voice was shaky and merely a whimper, but Arthur immediately recognized it to be yours and called out your name. Slowly, a figure emerged from the darkness. Arthur had to dismount his horse and walk towards you, before the light of his lantern was enough to make out your features.

The tear-streaks on your face immediately worried him. You were pale and skittish. Arthur's initial thoughts were that you might be heard or escaped from some Murfrees.

"I thought...I thought I was done for", you whispered, another tear ran freely down your cheek.

"Yer safe. I got ya...", Arthur said and gently put his arm around you and led you to his horse. He fastened the lantern on his saddle before having a proper look at you. "Are you hurt?", he asked with gentle and caring voice.

You shook your head.

"Why are you out here?", Arthur required while getting out of his jacket, which he then caringly put around your shoulders. As he brushed your hands in the process, he found them eerily cold for such a warm night.

"I wanted to-", a sob interrupted you, "wanted to look for some herbs by the river. But I got lost...and then it got dark and-" You swallowed heavily.

"It's okay. We are not far from camp", Arthur explained, looking at you sympathetically. But you didn't answer. Instead, you looked down to your boots for a moment and remained silent, as if you were waiting for something to happen.

Then, all of a sudden, you said something which Arthur hadn't expected: "The trees are talking."

Arthur wasn't someone to be easily frightened, though the way you delivered the words had a slight shiver run down his spine.

"What?", he asked, just to make sure he understood correctly. All the while, he took the reins of his horse and started to lead it forward. It trotted slowly alongside you two.

"I heard the trees whisper earlier...", you said. You knew what you'd heard, and you were convinced of it. There was nobody around, only the forest, and it had surely whispered. The act alone of recalling the memory made you feel sick. But you weren't alone in the dark anymore, Arthur was right beside you.

"Probably just yer imagination. Also lot of wild animals around here...", Arthur commented in an attempt to calm you, again putting his hand on your back. But something didn't sit right with him either, because just a few nights ago, he could have sworn he had heard whispers in the forest. And he had been convinced he was hearing things because it was late and he was tired, in fact, he had forgotten all about it, but now that you've brought it up again...

"It sounded human", you persisted.

"Well", Arthur put his hand on his gun, "Last time I checked, humans aren't immune to bullets so if anything is out there scaring you, I'll shoot it."

"You can't shoot ghosts, Arthur", you said.

"They wouldn't do much harm anyways", he joked, assuming that you had also made a joke. But your face remained strangely stoic.

"Do you believe in ghosts?", you then proceeded to ask.

Ghosts? Arthur wasn't entirely sure, but that's not the answer you needed right now. So he sighed and said:

"No. Believe me, I have killed so many people that if ghosts existed, they'd have hunted me to hell already."

You looked at Arthur, at his sunken-in cheeks, his red eyes. You knew he was sick, even though he hadn't told you about it. In a way, he looked like a ghost. But he surely didn't feel like one, because the hand returned to your shoulder, and it was warm. And his smile was genuine and comforting, though the chill hadn't left your bones yet.

"It's the living ya should be scared of. It's they who hunt you down and seek revenge. Not a bunch of ghosts", Arthur elaborated.

"So is there nothing you're afraid of?"

Arthur thought for a while, before he answered in a monotonous voice.

"Dying…"

"You serious?", you asked incredulous. Arthur looked at you confusedly.

"My teeth are clattering because I got lost in the forest half a mile from camp and I'm moaning about ghosts. Sometimes I screech when a bug launches at me out of nowhere. A damn nightmare had me at the edge of my bed and you tell me you're afraid of dying? Couldn't you have said something like heights or, I don't know, bugs? Just to cheer me up?", you quipped, nervously giggling in hope Arthur wouldn't take offence.

"I-I guess...", Arthur stammered, "Back when we were in Rhodes there were some women marching for their right to vote or something... I thought they'd tear me apart if I said something wrong, that gave me a good fright."

He finally saw a slight smile on your face.

"Or when Miss Grimshaw asks me to do something but I forget…Bless her, but ever since she was young she'd start looking like a monster when she's angry."

You smiled up to him, "Thanks Arthur."

You continued to walk in silence. Every second that passed without conversation, the tension seemed to thicken. There was a pervasive sense of dread that hung in the air that made it impossible to ignore the unsettling feeling that creeped up in you. You both felt it, though neither of you wanted to address it.

The shadows seemed to grow longer and more menacing. Every rustling of leaves had you twitch and even Arthur tensed up when there was a sound that wasn't strictly what one should hear in a forest at night. You felt his fingers slightly dig into your shoulder when there was something awfully similar to a scream, far far in the distance.

Arthur was sort of glad when you broke the silence with a moan and declared: "I won't be able to sleep tonight, that's for sure."

"Then don't. Can offer ya some rounds of cards", Arthur suggested.

"You sure? You just returned from a day's long journey, wouldn't you need some rest?"

"I'm fine, ain't that tired yet anyways", which was a lie, but he figured he'd manage an hour or two of playing cards. Especially if it meant you'd feel better and calm down.

Back in camp, Arthur met you in his tent. He closed the flaps, something which he seldomly did, but he realized how skittish you were around the gaze of Micah's companions, and he understood. Arthur sat on his bed and you took a seat on a chair. Then you started to play.

He noticed that with time, you took longer to play your move, and after your third yawn, you realized that it wasn't polite to impose on him any longer.

"I'm sorry...maybe I should head to my...", you sighed. The thought of going to sleep, of lying alone with no protection from the forest, the whispers, the eyes of Micah's rats, it frightened you. You were afraid of the nightmares you'd surely get.

"Ya can sleep here, if ya want", Arthur offered. He stood up and got a spare bedroll.

"Really?", you asked in disbelief

"Sure. Can't promise the nightmares'll stay outside, but if it helps", Arthur shrugged.

"I-I mean...are you sure?", and when Arthur nodded, you said with a smile, "Thank you Arthur." You hugged him gently, which he reciprocated hesitantly. Quickly, you arranged a spot next to Arthur's cot, bedroll and blanket readily laid out. The fear of nightmares was quickly replaced by warm feeling of excitement. The fact that Arthur had sacrificed an hour of sleep to play cards with you had already sent some butterflies to your stomach, but that he allowed you to sleep in his tent...

It's safe to say that Arthur noticed the big grin on your face when you got under your blanket. He was half-recumbent on his bedroll, looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"You won't scream all night when a ghost appears in yer dreams, will ya?", he asked sceptically.

"Depends", you grinned, "Would you let me sleep on your cot with you if I did?"

Arthur blinked in utter shock and surprise. How you could go from scared shitless and falling asleep to cheekily flirting was beyond him. But he realized quickly that he had lost advantage in the conversation when your question had him speechless for a few moments.

"I'm just kidding", you smiled gently, steering back in case this was an inappropriate time.

"If it shuts ya up, I probably would", Arthur finally answered. The corners of his lips tugged into a cheeky smile.

It was agreed that the lantern would stay on, though its light was dim, it calmed both of you that you were able to make out the shadows of the objects in the tent. If it hadn't been for the two lines of flirting you had just exchanged, which you were busy turning over in your head, you would have been asleep already.

"Thank you for today", you whispered, unsure if Arthur was asleep yet.

"'course. Nothing to thank me for", Arthur replied quietly.

"I'm sorry I can't do anything about your fear...", you said sombrely.

Arthur cleared his throat. He didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't expected you'd worry about it.

"Can I haunt ya?", Arthur asked, "When I'm a ghost, I mean..."

You chuckled: "Oh please. I insist."

"Now I'm kinda lookin' forward to it", Arthur answered and you heard how his lips curled into a smile. For a moment, he lifted his upper body, looking down at you. Then he let one of his hands dangle down, brushing your hand seemingly accidentally. You got the hint and took his hand, holding it gently until one of you was the first to fall asleep.

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 2

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: You have this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of Steve's chest with words alone.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, mentions of being sick (among other scarier pregnancy symptoms), language

Word Count: 3614

Previous Chapter! - Next Chapter!

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Rain slammed against the window panes of the Harrington house like bullets. The cold seeped through the walls and ate straight through Steve’s pajamas, and the cup of coffee in his hands was doing little to remedy it. There was zero hint of sun in the sky, it seemed like there would be none all day, and Steve was really regretting coming out from under his covers. 

Steve had only slept in his own house three times over the past two weeks; he’d made quite the home for himself on your couch, living out of a backpack of clothes he’d stuck in the corner of your living room. You had asked him not to leave you alone, and what kind of man would he be if he had said no to that? He probably wouldn’t even have been able to, anyway.

He didn’t know if he would be allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and he had been too afraid to ask. 

While his father never really bothered to care where his son was, and his mother trusted him enough to let him do his own thing most of the time, he was still expected to show his face at home every once in a while. He’d been stuck with the closing shift last night (even though it was outside of his availability, so thanks for that, Keith), and he knew you’d be fast asleep by the time he made it back to your apartment. You’d called the store after you got home at the much more reasonable hour of six thirty. ‘I think I can live with being alone for tonight’ you’d told him. ‘I’ve got a paper to write, anyway.’ 

Fuck, Steve really needed a better job. Preferably one that paid him more and wasn’t open until eleven p.m. on a Thursday night. 

You worked a big girl job at the Roane County Historical Society museum. You were just a secretary, but you had a salary, insurance, and all that other grown up stuff. Nine to five, four days a week, and they helped with your college tuition, too. Come May, you’d have a History degree and a teaching certification, and word on the street said Hawkins Middle was about to have a need for a  new History teacher. Unlike him, you had the perfect five year plan laid out right in front of you. 

Y’know, as long as Steve hadn’t ruined it for you. 

By the time he woke up on Friday, his father was long gone. It was nearing one in the afternoon, and the big empty house felt extra big and extra empty today. Steve glanced out the window as he poured a second cup of coffee and saw the rain collecting in the bottom of the long-since drained pool in his backyard. A handful of stray leaves sat mixed with the rainwater, some stuck in a brown mass on the bottom, some floating lazily atop the puddle. 

He was startled out of his trance by his mother’s voice and nearly dropped his full mug.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said as she walked into the kitchen, heels clicking along the tiles. “Or, good afternoon, rather.”

Meredith Harrington was the opposite of her husband in more ways than anyone could count. She actually enjoyed spending time with her child, for one, but there had never been an angry bone in her body. She wasn’t immune to frustration, or worry, but it was never unfounded. Yet still, for every wild flame of rage that shot from her husband's mouth, she counteracted with calmness. Or, more accurately, quiet, fearful resignation. Her husband never put his hands on her or their son, but Steve could always tell that she had spent her whole marriage walking on eggshells, waiting for the terrifying moment that he did, as if it was a simple inevitability. 

Steve loved his mom, but fuck, he wished she would just stand up for herself for once.

“God, Mom, you scared me,” Steve responded, leaning against the counter. 

“I do live here, too, y’know,” she poked back with a smile. “When did you get so jumpy?”

If she ever found out the real answer to that question, she would probably never let her son out of her sight ever again.

“Haven’t seen much of you these last couple weeks,” his mother observed. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he insisted. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. She put the pocketbook she was holding down on the marble countertop of the island and crossed the room to lean against it, opposite her son. “I can tell, there’s far too much going on in that big head of your’s.”

Steve snorted at the well meaning insult. 

“It’s nothing mom, I promise.”

“Come on now, you know I don’t buy that,” his mother asked with arms crossed. “Talk to me, kid.” 

“I-I don’t know.” Steve was absolutely, in no way, ready to talk about any of what was going through his head, especially to his mom. ‘You might be a grandma come September’ wasn’t really something he could just drop in the middle of casual conversation.

“Is it a girl, maybe?”

Steve’s quiet was proof enough that his mother was, at least partially, right. She gave her son a knowing smile.

“Tell me it’s not Nancy again, right?” she asked. Meredith was generally a pretty forgiving woman, but Nancy had really broken her son’s heart. So, while she would always show nothing but kindness to the eldest of the Wheeler children, she didn’t have to like her. 

“Oh, no. Definitely not,” Steve assured. “That ship sailed a long, long time ago.” 

“Good,” she replied. “Will I ever get to meet this mystery girl?”

Steve just shrugged, deciding it best to omit the fact that the “mystery girl” had lived across the street for eighteen years and swam in their pool every summer for a decade.

“You should invite her over for dinner some time,” his mother said. She leaned forward and pulled a piece of errant lint off of Steve’s shoulder with perfectly manicured nails. “I’ll roast a chicken. It’ll be nice.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken?” she parroted back. “What kind of person doesn’t eat chicken?”

“She’s a vegetarian, mom,” he explained. 

“Ah,” his mom accepted. “Then I’ll make that broccoli cheddar casserole you like. You know, the one I make during Lent every year? Think she’d like that?”

“Yeah, I think she would.” Steve was trying his best to hide his smile, though he wasn’t doing it all that well.

“Alrighty.” She patted her son’s shoulder as she walked past him and gathered her purse. “Well, I have to go run some errands. You’re more than welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“No, thanks.”

“Right. You’re much too cool to tag along with mom to the grocery store. How could I have forgotten?”

“No! No, it’s not that, I-”

“I’m joking, Steve,” she assured with a smile. “Make sure that cup ends up in the dishwasher, okay? Not just in the sink.” 

“Dishwasher. Got it.”

“I love you! Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone!”

With that, the heavy front door shut and Steve was plunged into the silence of deserted suburbia. 

You were at work, he had the day off with no plans, and the idea of being at all productive sounded absolutely exhausting. He finished his coffee in two big gulps and decided the best way to spend the day would be to crawl right back into bed and wallow in his feelings.

Steve had, very much on purpose, kept most of his thoughts about your current situation to himself. Partially because every time you two did start talking about it, you ended up a slushy pile of tears in his arms. The other reason, though, the bigger reason, was that he was terrified that you would put all of your own wants and wishes to the side and do whatever he wanted you to. The concept of you having a baby you didn’t want just to appease him made him sick to his stomach.

His parents only got married because his mom ended up pregnant at nineteen, and having a baby out of wedlock in 1967 was a social sin of the highest order. So they planned a wedding in two weeks time (a small family affair, exclusively to save face and avoid the questions that arise with courthouse ceremonies), and moved into a big, fancy house so that everyone knew the Harringtons were a normal, run-of-the-mill, perfect American family. His father loved to point out all of the things he didn’t get to do all because Steve came along and got in the way, and his mother. . . 

She loved him. He knew that. He also knew that she had to pack up her life to play house with a man she was always a little bit afraid of, all because of him. His father always resented him for it, but his mom never did. At the very least, she never told him she did. 

The thought of doing to you what his father did to his mom absolutely fucking terrified him, but ‘terrified’ had been his baseline state of being pretty much constantly over the past two weeks.

Steve was no stranger to fear. He’d had extensive experience with the feeling; that sharp heaviness that settled itself behind his ribs and sucked every drop of oxygen out of his lungs. When it came at him hard and fast, that was when he could handle it best. This was not that. This fear was slow and achy, all-encompassing. It sealed itself onto his bones, like some sort of emotional slime. Like a fungus.

And, honestly, most of that fear was for you, not him. The worst thing that could happen to him was that he could end up being a shitty father, and while he would hate that more than pretty much anything in the entire world, it did sort of pale in comparison to your worst case scenario. You could die.

Yeah, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic, but you still could. It wasn’t all that far outside of the realm of possibility. You were already horribly sick, you had been for the past few weeks, and while you had been taking the constant nausea and incessant dizzy spells like a fuckin’ champ, it wasn’t like a positive attitude would be able to save you if you started hemorrhaging. 

Steve really hoped, for your sake, that you had yet to go down this train of thought, but he knew you most likely had. As terrified for you as he was, he understood that you were probably feeling all of it tenfold.

And yet, behind all of that, he was having a very difficult time squashing that tiny inkling of reckless hope that had been planted in the back of his head. He was still a 21 year old dick-head who had zero business taking care of a baby, and he definitely wasn’t allowed to be excited about it. For, like, a million different reasons.

Eventually, he fell back into a heavy-limbed sleep, but was woken up however many hours later by the shrill ring of the phone. A bleary eyed glance at the clock on his bedside table told him it was just passed six o’clock. His mother should be back by now, right? He let it ring.

 A moment passed, and it rang once more. He debated for a moment if he even had the right to answer it anymore, but he begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed and picked it up anyway.

“Harrington Residence,” he grumbled, hoping whoever was on the other side could tell how frustrated he was to be awake. 

“Steve?” Your voice came through the line. It was strained, and he heard you trying your best to disguise the sobs coming from your throat. “It’s me.”

“Hey, woah, what’s going on? What happened?” he questioned, any annoyance gone. 

“Are you able to come pick me up?” you stuttered out between sniffles. “I’m at work. I-I have a flat tire.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course I can,” he said.  

“Okay.”

“I’m on my way, alright? Five minutes, tops,” he told you. He had the earpiece of the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder, and the cord was stretched as far as it could go to reach into his bedroom as he haphazardly swapped his flannel pajama bottoms for a pair of jeans.

“Thank you.” Another sob.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he insisted. “Hang tight, I’ll be right there.”

The rain had slowed back to a dismal drizzle that splashed into the puddles stretched across Steve’s driveway. The drive to the museum was usually short, but the evening rush (as if the barely-there Hawkins traffic could ever be called that) slowed him down just enough for it to be annoying. The museum had officially closed an hour ago, though stray patrons and evening administrative duties usually kept you back after hours. 

Steve saw you shivering underneath the awning that hung over the front doors, comparable to a lost kitten stuck in a thunderstorm. The shoulders of your sweater were soaked through, and as Steve pulled into the parking lot and stopped his car, he could see the angry black rivers of runny mascara that dribbled down your face. 

“What the hell are you doing waiting for me out here in the rain?” Steve asked as he jogged up to where you were standing. He removed his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Why aren’t you inside? It’s freezing.”

“That creepy research assistant is in there and I hate being in the same room as him when there’s nobody else around,” you choked out, syllables broken up by wracking sobs. 

“Alec?” Steve asked, and you nodded. He pulled you tightly against him before adding, “I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

“Please don’t do that,” you squeaked. 

“Let’s change your tire, huh?” Steve said, though he made no move to let you go. “Do you have the spare?”

“That-” your words were cut off by a pitiful sniffle. “That is the spare.”

“Of course it is,” Steve sighed, though he most certainly should not have, because it just spurred on more crying from you. “Hey, it’s alright. I can take you home and we can get a new tire on it in the morning, okay?”

“I just had a really bad day,” you wept into his shoulder.

“I know, baby. It’s okay.”

“I spilled the hottest tea in the universe all over my legs,” you croaked. Steve winced at the image. 

“I’m sorry,” he said into the top of your head.

“And since it was so hot, I accidentally said ‘motherfucker’ in front of a tour group that consisted exclusively of second graders!” you added. Steve would have laughed at that if you weren’t so wildly upset. “And Creepy Alec was being creepy all day long-”

“My offer still stands.”

“And then I came out here and my fucking tire was fucking flat!” you exclaimed, punctuated by another bout of wailing, the kind that made your whole body shake and your voice stutter. Steve took it the best he could, petting the back of your head and holding you tight, wishing he could go into your brain and dig all of the bad bits out. 

“Let me get you home, and we can get you into some dry clothes and deal with your car in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimpered. 

Steve let you go, but when he went to pull you along to his car so the pair of you could leave, you stayed planted right where you were. You lifted your watery eyes to meet his, and he gazed at you from where he stood.

“Steve?” you quietly asked him. 

“Yeah?” Steve responded. A silence fell between the two of you, though the lazy rain and evening downtown traffic poked holes through it.

“I wanna keep the baby.”

You had this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of his chest with only words alone.

“That-” came out of fucking nowhere, holy shit!, he didn’t add. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you muttered over a wobbly lip.

Steve was paralyzed. The soles of his shoes had been superglued to the pavement and his arms had been turned to stone. It was somehow both exactly what he did and did not want to hear all at the same time, because deep down in his gut he knew he wanted that too, but there was a laundry list of reasons why it was a bad idea, why it was irresponsible, why it was maybe everything he ever wanted, and- 

“Steve, if you don’t want to do this, that's okay, but I need you to tell me. Now.” Your voice, shaky and full of fear and yet so, so determined, pulled him up and away from his thoughts once again. 

“I do!” he exclaimed, maybe with a bit too much fervor. He regained his ability to move and closed the gap between the two of you in one wide step. “I do.”

You stood silent with your glassy eyes staring bullets into his. 

“Look, I’m gonna start talking, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop, so if it gets to be too much, just shut me up, okay?” Steve said. He brought his hands up to grace your shoulders.

“What?” you questioned, confusion laced throughout your miserable expression.

Steve had spent the last three and a half years doing everything he could to drown out the sounds of his feelings for you, and Robin was right. It was destroying his brain. 

“I’m really, really in love with you,” he said. “And I have been for a really, really long time. Since way before this, fuck, since before Starcourt, and I’m so fucking sorry for not having the guts to say it until now. I’m the universe’s biggest coward for that-”

“You are not a coward!”

“-And I know you deserve better, but for some reason that still eludes me, you’ve stuck with me through all the bullshit, anyway. You could’ve run away whenever you wanted to, you could’ve gone with your parents when they left, but you didn’t, and that has to mean something, right?”

“Steve,” you wept.

“I promise, there is nothing in this world that I want more than to do this with you, alright? Not a single fucking thing,” he assured you. “I meant what I said. Holding your hand the whole time.”

Steve took your trembling hand into his own, fingers fitting together like lock and key. 

“If you’ll have me,” he added.

Your lips wobbled, you let out another shattered sob, and you kissed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Like you would drop dead right on the spot if not for his lips on yours. Steve kissed back, because he knew he would drop dead if he didn’t, and now he had tears to match your own.

“I’m really, really in love with you, too,” you blubbered after the pair of you pulled apart. You had a hand on either side of his face, fingers ghosting over the junction of his jawline and neck, and Steve had his wrapped delicately around each wrist.

“You really wanna do this?” Steve asked you. “You really mean it? You’re not just saying it?”

“I really mean it,” you said definitively. You were still very much crying, though you were infinitely less miserable than you had been five minutes ago. The pair of you stayed swaying in each other's arms, protecting each other from the cold.

“Good, because I really mean it, too,” he responded. 

The thick, foggy haze of emotion was beginning to dwindle, and despite the warm bubble of affection the two of you had created, you were still standing out in the rain. And Steve was pretty sure he could see Creepy Alec spying on them through one of the second story windows.

“Let’s go home. I’ll make you dinner,” Steve murmured to you, and you nodded in agreement. 

Steve drove you both back to your apartment and made a feast of plain scrambled eggs and buttered toast, because it was all your stomach could really handle right now. Turns out, he very much was allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and after he’d finished doing the dishes in the sink, he joined you under the pile of blankets that adorned your mattress. Your cat curled itself up at the end of the bed as you drew yourself into his side. He didn’t remember you being this cuddly, but it was a change he was more than happy to welcome.

After a few minutes, when he’d thought you had fallen asleep, your voice pierced through the quiet of your bedroom.

“You’re gonna be someone's dad,” you muttered into his pajamas. Fuck. He was, wasn’t he?

“You’re gonna be someone’s mom,” he shot back.

“Weird,” you responded. “I think you’ll be really good at it.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. Definitely.”

And of course Steve was still fucking terrified. Terrified of the monsters, and of his dad, and of all the different ways this could go south, but he had you tucked up against his chest, and he was gonna be someone’s dad, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care about any of the scary stuff. In this moment, for the first time in as long as Steve could really remember, the underlying current of fear that ran along his thoughts was finally overpowered by just how much he fucking adored you.

Tiny Little Taglist: @sheisjoeschateau @hazydespair @damon-loves-pie @pariahsparadise @anislabonis-love @e0509 @alexa4040 @starsforviolet @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @plk-18 @hoesbloated

[nomoreusername]

It's Not Goodbye

Pairing:Newt x gender neutral reader

Summary:After finding out you're not immune, you are ready to get rid of yourself only to be caught by Newt.

It was okay at first. I felt no different than I always did. I was a bit sore from the Cranks, but it didn't matter. I had saved Newt from the one that tried to kill him, and that's what matters. Nobody ever died from a bite when they're immune.

Unfortunately, they do if they're not. It turns out I was one of the unlucky suckers capable of turning into those things.

At first, I didn't even notice it. There was a lot of pain in my ankle, but it wasn't bad enough to say anything. I thought I was just irritable because I was hot and tired. That's a reasonable explanation.

Then, I noticed something. Black veins started growing from the bite. That's when it finally kicked in. I wasn't immune. Now I have two options. I could kill myself or spend my life as one of those things. The choice is obvious.

I didn't tell anybody. I just didn't have enough energy. Apparently, the flare gives you enough energy to harshly shove your friend to the ground though. Minho ended up with bloody elbows after that. I went full force. All eyes turned to me, and it was obvious that everyone was pretty pissed off that I would do that. Everyone ignored me for the rest of the day.

As night fell I thought about it. My last day with them was spent with me holding back tears. I hurt my friend without thinking about it. I was dangerous which meant I had to leave. It was now or never.

Unfortunately, the only gun was in Newt's bag. I cautiously kneeled next to him. Since he was using it as a pillow I used my hand to support his head. By some miracle he didn't wake up, and I had the gun in my hands.

That's when it went wrong. Newt woke up, and in my fear I dropped him and ran. He was quickly startled awake. He looked in the bag and noticed the missing gun. By then I was already out of sight.

I put the gun against my head as my breathing grew heavy. I sucked in as much air as possible and closed my eyes. Then, I went to pull the trigger.

"No!"Newt yelled, snatching it from my hand. I quickly pulled him down and held him to the ground. He groaned in pain, and I realized just how evil I was becoming.

"I'm sorry Newt, but I have to do this. Just give it to me,"I pleaded.

"No. You're not doing this,"He argued, keeping it close to him. I knew it could go off so I took it from his hands. Before I could do anything he knocked it away, and the last bullet was set off.

"No! What have you done?! What did you do?!"I cried, rushing towards it. I did everything to click it over and over as if I could set it off. Nothing happened.

"Why would you do this? How could you do this to me?"I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. By now the others had woken up and came over to see what was happening. I'm sure it was a terrible sight. I was crying while holding a gun, and Newt was frozen in shock.

"You killed me. You killed me in the worst way possible,"I sobbed, biting my lip to hold back my screams. I heard my friends run to my side to figure out what was happening.

"I couldn't let you-"

"I'm infected. Why do you think I've been so angry lately? It's already happening. I'm losing my mind, and you just made it go on,"I explained, my throat sore from the sobbing.

A heavy silence filled the air. I pulled my pant legs to reveal the way veins were growing so it would sink in.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,"Newt uttered, wrapping his arms around me. I just sat there and let him hold me.

"I need another way. I can't live like this."

"What if we can find some way to help? Maybe we could slow it down until we get there,"Teresa spoke up. I sadly shook my head.

"You all saw what I did to Minho. I just did it to Newt. I'd rather die as I am than being hated."

"We don't hate you,"Thomas whispered.

"Not yet. Please, help me. Let me do something. Anything,"I begged. By now even the wind seemed to stop making any noise.

"I found a knife in the mall. It's the only thing I have. I don't think anyone has anything else"Newt whispered.

"It sounds better than being beaten by Aris's bat,"I attempted to joke, giving a sad smile. I was more than thankful when he did his best to return it though it looked like a grimace.

"I'll go get it now,"He said quietly. I nodded my head as he walked away.

As he did my friends, new and old, kneeled beside me. I let them hug me, knowing it would be the last time. By now several tears from them were falling. I didn't have it in me to do that. All I knew was that I would die still being loved. That was enough.

"I'm sorry,"Minho whispered. I just sadly shook my head.

"I think I'd be just as bad if something like that happened to me,"I assured him. Before he could say anything else Newt was back with a tear streaked face.

Everyone moved as he sat beside me. He was trembling as placed the knife in my hand.

"I guess this is goodbye,"He uttered. I shook my head no.

"I don't believe in goodbyes. I'll see you later,"I corrected him.

"Okay. I'll see you later,"He repeated, placing one last kiss on my lips. It was the slowest one we ever had because it was going to be our last for a long time. Eventually, we had to pull apart.

More tears ran down his face which I wiped away. He leaned into my touch.

"I need you to go back to the campsite. Don't turn back tomorrow. Go forward so you don't have to see me like that. Can you do that for me?"I asked.

"I will. I love you Y/N."

"I know. I love you too. Now this is the part where we walk hand in hand."

"And after that?"

"One last kiss, one last I love you, and whatever comes in the next life."

[olovelymoon]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.

In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.

In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.

In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.

Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.

Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.

The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,

Will this expected child live in such a broken world?

At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!

Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.

There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.

This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).

Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.

This fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams and sayruq. Laila's family is in great need, so don't hesitate to donate and share! They need you!

[eruthiawenluin]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.

In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.

In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.

In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.

Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.

Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.

The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,

Will this expected child live in such a broken world?

At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!

Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.

There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.

This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).

Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.

Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼

"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

Please donate here if you can, or share if you cannot 🇵🇸

[fluoresensitive]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/ne9gzx-help-them-to-survive?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.

In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.

In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.

In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.

Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.

Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.

The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,

Will this expected child live in such a broken world?

At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!

Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.

There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.

This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).

Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.

Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼

"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

!!