#and immune to fear and bullets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vesearlee · 4 months ago

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──── 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑬𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆

There were only whispered words of his presence as Zayne slept — you never knew more than he would share. An enigmatic presence that loomed in the hours of the dark that haunted Zayne’s thoughts through the day; the very reason he worked himself to the bone to mend the hearts of the people that were dealt a bad hand.

But even Gods weren’t immune to the darker side of their minds. And it just so happened that you could confront this perceived nightmare on your own.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Dawnbreaker!Zayne x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 1.4k 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── T 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Heavy Angst, comfort, fluff, nightmares 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── HERE + THIS 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ── I needed to give Dawnbreaker!Zayne a damned hug and that's what this turned into. ── This was also inspired by a tiktok that I fell in love with.

─── 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

Dark, dreary, and cold. The chilled atmosphere seeped into every sinew of your body — the muscles in your arm and shoulder ached in protest as you made a fist, while your palm and fingers closed around the cool feel of clean, clinical cotton.

The permeated smell of stale air and antiseptic filled your senses, and you struggled to keep a choked groan behind the seal of your lips.

The homely feel of lying in bed, in the comfortable space that was your shared bedroom with your lover had long vanished. It felt as though a void had crept through the window while you slept, leaving behind the hollow, desolate shell of something devastating.

A small shuffling sound, akin to the ruffle of a thick overcoat came from beside your head. It made you freeze in place — fear settling deep in your chest and it forced your heart up into your throat.

“Don’t move. Your pain will only be made worse if you do.”

Your lashes fluttered open to reveal the dull white ceiling panels of a hospital room. There was no cacophony of steady beeps or shrill cries of machinery alerting the patrolling nurses of wayward patients — it was silent, eerily so. The cracked feel of your lips made you wince, and you turned your head to look for the source of the voice.

A figure, shrouded in darkness from the shadow of the doorway, loomed over you — strands of raven hair moved over his forehead and down to his shoulders. Though his eyes, inescapable in their familiarity and the warmth they held for you in another life, were familiar; it was different, the dark shades of ice covered the forests of green and the gold of the sun rays.

“You–” A heave of air left your chest in a deep cough. He moved fast, stepping closer while narrowing his eyes with concern. A hand covered in scars hovered above your wrist. “You’re not–? What is–” It hit you with the force of a bullet straight to your heart. “This is a dream?”

He nodded once, a small frown on his lips.

“You’re him, you’re the one that–” The tip of your tongue darted out to wet your lips, but it provided no relief.

“Here.” A small glass appeared by your face, and the hand holding it moved it to your cracked lips, urging you to drink.

Slowly, you let the cool liquid flood your mouth and replenish what your body couldn’t. After he deemed you finished, the glass made a small thunk when he placed it down on the bedside cupboard.

“You’re Zayne, but…” The words were whispered, the fragility of them barely able to be touched, and those hazel eyes bored into yours, the depths of them swirling with an untold agony. He didn’t move or allow any emotion to show on his ever-familiar face — there was no warmth there as you were used to, that smile you longed to see would never grace his lips, not while you were here.

“I see you know of me,” he said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I–?” You struggled to your elbows; the lack of response and vitality of your limbs made you grunt with frustration and effort. “This is a dream—I don’t know how I’m here, but it’s you!”

Zayne stared into your face; flickers of gold shone as he took in your determined expression.

“It’s you!” The repeated sentiment had no effect, and your heart sank. “I know you—you’re the one he dreams of, the one my Zayne is afraid of, I–” The sudden movement of his frame jerking backwards made you flinch in surprise. “No, please, please don’t go.”

Your hand reached out towards his retreating figure, desperate to soothe the animalistic fear in his taut features and sharp gaze. “I know. I know you’re hurting–”

“Stop.”

Silence grew and grew, billowing and building in the space between you. His shoulders rose and fell at a stuttered pace, the fear that forced him backwards wounding in his chest and into a corner.

“Stop—enough, please,” Zayne rasped, shying further back. The words sounded as though they tore at his throat on the way out. “I’ve watched you in my dreams. It was you that taught me how to grieve; how I could mourn the loss of everything that could have been and wanted, while you stood right in front of me with him and watched.”

Where your heart thundered so recklessly in your throat only a moment ago, suddenly became an icy cavern. Zayne shuddered and leaned against the wall by the door, a hand covering his face and his shame.

But you could only gape at his shrinking figure, the way agony laced his words like a twisting branch of thorns, sharp in the way they gashed at your thoughts and memories of the man you loved — this version of him in far more pain than you could comprehend.

The sorrow that filled you at the sight of him so defeated compelled you to move.

Slowly, you rose to sit up on the hospital bed, each movement immediately protested by every single one of your muscles, but you quelled them in an instant. Zayne needed you, and there was nothing that could come between you and the few strides to close the distance, not even the man himself.

“My snowman,” you whispered, watching the way he tensed at the sound of your voice. “It’s what I call him, you know? My snowman—I know you know this.” The soles of your feet hit the cold floor — you suppressed a wince. “You would have seen, right?”

Zayne’s gaze burned into you; through you with its intensity and pain. You pressed on, one slow step after another — the similarity of approaching a wounded and cornered animal not lost on you.

“You would have seen that I love him,” you continued, your voice lowered and shaky with the tidal wave of emotion you could barely contain. “You know, don’t you? Because you’ve seen.”

A small, jerked nod was your only reply, but he still did not move. The closer you moved to his seclusion, the colder it became. You persevered, pushing through the walls he was hastily throwing in your way to keep you out.

“Then you would know,” you said quietly, coming to a stop only a pace away from him. At that distance, you could make out the shallow breaths he pulled through gritted teeth; how his shoulders almost went to his ears in a fallible defence. “That no matter who or what my Zayne becomes, I would love him.”

A single step closer. It echoed in the room like a clap of thunder.

“You would know that I have seen him, even when he never wished for it, at his worst. How I patched the wounds inflicted by others and most harshly, himself—how his worst critic is his own mind.”

A slight shuffle of your feet brought you chest to chest with him, and he stood as though carved from the most beautiful, breathtaking marble, decorated with the soft petals of flowers that you imagined as his soft gaze—the way it made your heart stutter and swell with warmth. The hazel-green eyes you loved widened slightly in surprise at your proximity.

“My Zayne…” you trailed off, smiling with the reminiscent love you held for him. “My Zayne holds my heart. And I hold his. Did you know that?”

Zayne’s throat worked, bobbing up and down as he wrestled with the fear and longing welled up in his eyes. “I– I did.”

His shoulders jerked as you reached your arms around his waist, and you placed your ear against his chest to hear the constant, reassuring thump of his heart — it was faster than a rabbit’s from your touch, but you stood fast, immovable in his embrace.

“I know you’re hurting,” you whispered quietly, barely loud enough to hear over the thrum of his pulse. “I know it’s not fair.” Sturdy, strong arms crept from their rigid position at his sides to wrap around your back and shoulders. His broad chest hitched on a stifled gasp. “But I’m here now. I’m here with you.”

“Okay,” Zayne breathed. His arms held you tighter and tighter, unyielding and unwilling to let go of you, now that he had you.

“And,” you said softly, squeezing his middle. “You would know that no matter who you are; a dream, a madman, whatever you will or will not be, you’re still my Zayne.”

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Half-Baked Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Like I said - I love you." • B1 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "It's okay. I've got you." • ALT ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Cold as Ice • I3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Stay a While • ALT ── MASTERLIST ── Tolkien Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Turned to Stone • B3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Hidden Tears • B5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Swallowing Hard • G5 ── MASTERLIST ── Gingerbread Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Dreams Do Come True • I2 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Body Swap AU • B5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Shadows • ALT ── MASTERLIST ── Medical Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Grief • ALT ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt/Comfort Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Reassuring Smile • G3 ── MASTERLIST ── Lyrical Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune • A1 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ When we all fall asleep, where do we go? ── MASTERLIST ── Eclipsing Bingo (@eclipsingbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Suffering in Silence • N5 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt and Comfort Bingo (@hurtcomfort-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Identity Porn • I3 ── MASTERLIST

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sgtgarricks · 1 year ago

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˚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."

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod ghost x reader #simon riley #my writings

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anonymousewrites · 2 months ago

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One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter Twenty-Five

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Five: One Hell of a Gas

Summary: Sebastian and (Y/N) get to have some fun.

Mouse Note: One of the favorite chapters I've written.

"We are merely one hell of a pair." That was damn true.

The moment after Sebastian spoke, (Y/N) leapt into the air faster than the guards could see, and they wildly raised their guns in an attempt to find them. At the same time, Sebastian whipped his hand forward, and several silver knives buried themselves in the guards’ chests.

Sebastian tutted as the guards fired at him, and he leapt onto the walkways that crisscrossed the high ceiling. “The torso is made of resilient material, it appears. That is why even a blow from our gardener could not stop them.”

“No matter,” said (Y/N), vaulting over the edge of a walkway. “I’ll just go for the head.”

They landed on the shoulders of one man, slashed his throat with silver knife, and jumped backwards. Flipping upside down, they tossed three more knives out, and each one hit the head of a guard deadly accuracy and force. Scarlet blood splattered the floor as the guards fell, and (Y/N) landed in an elegant, ballerina-esque pose like a performer of the Danse Macabre.

“Excellent job, darling,” praised Sebastian.

“Care to join me, my love?” said (Y/N), looking up at him, a wild look on their face.

“With pleasure.” Sebastian jumped down, stabbing two forks into the eyes of a mask and twisting. The guard howled pitifully before Sebastian pulled to the side. With a sharp crack, the man fell, neck broken. Sebastian landed on the ground, pivoted, and took out two more guards.

“Douse them in mustard gas!” ordered a guard as panic spread at the display of strength. One turned a wheel, and a fog burst into the room, filling it with a smog that no human could see through. The guards tensed, glad to have their masks securely on. “With no protective gear to shield them, that’s the last we’ll see of them.”

A guard caught farther in the fog flew past them, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. His face—already blank and white with dead—swelled as the mustard gas made contact with it. Footsteps echoed out of the gas, and the guards’ eyes widened.

“Mustard gas is an apt moniker, I must say,” said Sebastian as he stepped from the smog, face reddening slightly. “I thought I recognized the scent. It is the odor of mustard seeds. I was slow to notice as the Young Master does not partake in mustard.” He chuckled.

“I find it fascinating how humanity makes witches into fairytales and enemies and yet use their creations for their own benefit.” (Y/N) looked at Sebastian. “For instance, another name for mustard seed is ‘eye of newt.’ ”

“Really? My, humans are quite fickle creatures,” chuckled Sebastian.

“Why won’t they die?!” cried the German guards while Sebastian and (Y/N) casually conversed. “Has Britain developed soldiers immune to poison gas?!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! The guns went off, but (Y/N) and Sebastian ran forward without fear. Slicing and slashing, they took off the tops of the pistols. No more bullets could be fired, and their prey was ready to be played with. The demons were savoring their fun.

“We are servants of the Phantomhive family.” Sebastian smirked as the smoke flew around his face, and his natural—well, human—face returned to its pristine condition. (Y/N) chuckled, having never allowed the gas to affect them in the first place because they knew it was present instead of being surprised as Sebastian had the first time he encountered it. “It goes without saying we can handle this paltry quantity of poisonous gas.”

The guards’ eyes widened, but Sebastian and (Y/N) were upon them before they had a chance to react. Their preys’ fear was at its height, now it was time to finish the game.

Sebastian threw several forks, taking out guards. He ripped the forks back out, sending blood spraying across the room. (Y/N) jumped into the air, throwing knives downwards. The poor little guards squirmed like insects on an examination table, but their knives pinned them securely. The last thing they saw was (Y/N) descending on them, a smile promising pain on their face.

(Y/N) sprang back up, and Sebastian extended a hand. (Y/N) smirked and took it. Sebastian spun them to him and dipped them. As guards ran at them, (Y/N) carelessly tossed a hand backwards. Knives pierced their skulls, and they dropped like stones. Sebastian chuckled darkly, pulling (Y/N) back up. He spun them, and a hand on their waist pressed their back to his front. He raised one of their hands with their other and swayed. (Y/N) leaned their head back on him, humming to the hellish melodies only they could hear. Sebastian took their hand in his, flicked their wrists together, and a knife landed in a guard’s throat. He choked, spluttered up blood, and fell.

(Y/N) raised their hands, a hand curling into Sebastian’s hair. His hands descended down their sides to their waist, clinging to their body, desiring their skin through the clothes. Lifting them unto shoulder, he spun. With one hand, he supported them, and with the other, he slashed at an approaching guard.

Snapping their wrist, (Y/N) took out more guards, and they flipped backwards, landing on their feet behind Sebastian. As he turned to face them, he took their hand, and (Y/N) spun, slicing the throat of the final guard approaching. Their turn ended, and they faced Sebastian again. Both demons looked at each other with gleaming fuchsia eyes, arms extended as they hands remained entwined. Dead bodies littered the ground, crimson blood staining the clean white floors.

Bowing, Sebastian kissed the back of (Y/N)’s gloved hand. “Thank you for the dance, darling.”

“It was my pleasure, my love,” said (Y/N), pulling his hand towards them to kiss the back after he straightened.

Sebastian let go and looked at the room. “Now, then, it’s time to the handle the dear professor.”

(Y/N) smirked. “I have an idea.” They withdrew a knife.

Sebastian raised a brow. “Oh? Do tell.” He would forever indulge in (Y/N)’s sadism.

“Take the SuLIN samples upstairs!” ordered Dr. Sullivan, gathering as many papers as she could in panic.

“Yes, ma’am!” said her guard dutifully, gathering up the sample and running towards the door.

“The method of synthesis!” Dr. Sullivan muttered anxiously as she packed her papers. “We can mass-produce the gas as long as we have this!”

“A-Agh!”

Dr. Sullivan stiffened in alarm as she heard the sounds of a man dying.

A low chuckle caught her attention, the exhale of the laughter long and sinister. “There are those who preach illogical notions like love and affection. Then there are those who can sacrifice their flesh and blood so rationally. That is why I find humans so amusing.” Sebastian smirked and shut the case with the SuLIN sample.

Dr. Sullivan whirled, eyes wide. “W-Wie haben Sie—” Beep! Beep! Beep! Her gaze snapped to the device beside her. “The poison gas alarm! But why—?”

Sebastian breathed out once more, and all the poison he’d taken in filtered into the air. Dr. Sullivan covered her mouth, eyes already watering.

“Th-This is the smell of mustard!” she cried.

“What do you think?” purred Sebastian. “How do you like your long-awaited taste of death born of the brain you so adored?”

Dr. Sullivan tried to back away, but her legs felt unsteady, and the beeping of the alarm made her head spin. Crack! A silver knife broke the device, and the beeping ceased.

Whirling, Dr. Sullivan came face-to-face with (Y/N) perched on the table. Their legs were elegantly crossed, and they tossed a knife to themself. No smirk was on their face, and Dr. Sullivan shivered at the dark look in the being’s eyes.

“What? Don’t you like this poison?” said (Y/N) as Dr. Sullivan choked and coughed. “You loved it so much that you sacrificed your daughter’s life for it.”

“Urgh!” Dr. Sullivan’s legs shook, and she fell to her knees.

“You used her, and you used witches for your own gain.” (Y/N) sneered down at her like a ruler looking down at a groveling subject. “It’s just like your kind to use and abuse women with abilities beyond your own and then toss them to the side when they no longer serve your purpose. And they say my kind is cruel.” (Y/N) scoffed. “Ridiculous. Humans are the most monstrous beings I’ve ever met.”

“Her mind—It was—”

“Quiet,” hissed (Y/N). “You don’t have the privilege of speaking, you miserable thing, just as all the victims of abusers like you didn’t have a chance to speak.” This was the wrath of a being who had seen too many systems oppress them and others like them. Felis would never stand for it again. They were the power now, and they could make anyone they wanted suffer.

“And do you know something?” (Y/N) leered forward, a cruel smirk splitting their features. “You believe yourself so knowledgeable, but you know nothing of the forces you play with. Allow me to enlighten you.”

Slipping a thumb beneath their glove, they pulled it off. Dr. Sullivan’s eyes trembled as they landed on the pentacle on (Y/N)’s hand. They raised it, and they turned to show Dr. Sullivan their arm. Dragging their knife across their arm, a cut opened up. (Y/N)’s grin widened wildly as scarlet blood dripped down their arm. Their contract mark lit up fuchsia, and the very air of the room trembled with power.

“Hoc sanguine ignem ifernalis evoco.”

Their blood hit the table and ground, and flames burst forth. Dr. Sullivan let out a cry and pulled herself back as fire devoured her life’s work. (Y/N) laughed at her expression, the sound cutting as a knife. Their prey squirmed in fear but was wholly helpless against them, and Felis reveled in it.

“You’re out of your depth.” (Y/N)’s eyes became slits as they smirked. Their shadow morphed, spreading out and creeping up the walls of the laboratory. As darkness took over and engulfed the room, the only light left were their piercing fuchsia eyes, the demonic contract mark, and the summoned hellfire. (Y/N) was wrath incarnate, lording over their victim without a care. “You have no true power in this world. Pathetic.”

Sebastian’s own demonic instincts roared to life as his Felis displayed their power and the echoes of Hell flooded their voice. This was vengeance, pure and demonic. Dr. Sullivan was facing not only the consequences of harming Sebastian’s contract but the consequences of all her actions as she faced Felis. It was intoxicating to watch Felis gaze down on the human like nothing more than an insect, and Corvus’s human form wavered as the purely demonic part of him desired to lunge forward and devour that absolutely seductive power. Corvus wanted to get drunk off them and their display of power, between their legs, on top of them, under them. He could imagine nothing better. Felis’s power was poison and doom to humans, but it was ambrosia and addictive to Corvus.

Dr. Sullivan wept and tried to scream as tendrils of shadows crawled over her, binding and strangling her. She had thought her beloved mustard gas would kill her, and that had plagued her, but this-this was worse. This was something the scientist could not even comprehend, and all her life’s work was meaningless in comparison.

(Y/N) raised their hand, and their sharp nails were highlighted by fuchsia light. They grinned and flicked their wrist. The shadows condensed around Dr. Sullivan, and the final thing her trembling, wide eye saw was a being of evil looming over her, a black tail and ears flicking eagerly at her demise. She let out a strangled cry, and darkness, poison more powerful than anything her feeble mind could dream of, poured down her throat. Thus ended the life of Dr. Sullivan—reduced to nothing but an empty, weak body and a destroyed mind.

The shadows receded, dropping the corpse to the ground to be eaten by flames. (Y/N)’s tail and ears disappeared into the darkness as it retreated to their shadow. The glow of their eyes didn’t fade, though, and that seductive yet destructive smirk remained wide.

Their gaze raised to meet Sebastian’s, and the instant their attention was on him, Corvus surged forward. Fire danced around them, and Corvus seized them, kissing them passionately. Felis tangled their hands in his air, kissing him back with just as much ardent passion. Corvus pushed their legs open, eager to get closer to them on their throne—just a table yet they were so regal and powerful that anything became theirs. He kissed them, lowering his head to their neck to nip at it.

“You were intoxicatingly powerful,” said Corvus, voice dripping with lust. He lifted the arm they’d summoned blood magic with and kissed the wrist. “I would have you over this table in a moment if I could.” Knowing he had to leave to continue with the mission, he had never cursed a contract so deeply as he did in that moment.

Nearly purring, Felis grabbed his tie and pulled it. Corvus groaned as it tightened around his neck deliciously. “Oh, love, I know that,” they simpered with a playful condescension, drunk on power and his desire. “I can have you in any way I wish.”

Corvus gripped their waist tighter at the true words. He raised their arm, eyes dark with lust. Watching their blood roll down their arm, he opened his mouth, and his tongue traced up their arm to their cut, consuming their blood. Corvus barely contained a moan at the addictive taste of magic coursing through him. Their blood spoke of power, a soul that died filled with righteous revenge, a being that overcame all obstacles, and Corvus wanted to consume them fully.

He raised his head, pulled them in, and kissed them again. Corvus did not have time to lavish Felis with the attention he wished to, but he would take their lips for his own at the very least.

“I love you, Felis,” said Corvus against their lips, pushing all his desire into the words. “My Felis.”

“Always and forever,” said Felis, groaning at the taste of their blood on his tongue, ambrosia on his lips. “My Corvus. My love.”

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gallifreyanhotfive · 6 months ago

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Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 72: More Academy and Pre-Leaving Gallifrey Stuff Because Why Not

Sorry I'm in too my pain to come up with a better title right now lmaooo. Mostly about the Doctor because they occupy the mind.

As a small child, Theta Sigma had an imaginary friend named Binker. (Audio: The Abandoned)

Later, the Sixth Doctor claimed that while most people had imaginary friends, he had had an imaginary enemy in Mandrake the Lizard King, which was really a dead lizard pinned to old engine parts that he would battle with his deadly stick. This phrasing suggests that the Sixth Doctor does not acknowledge any imaginary friends his childhood self might have had. (Audio: The Widow's Assassin)

The Rani claimed that sentimentality was the reason the Doctor graduated with "just a Double Gamma." (Audio: The Rani Elite)

According to Sardon, the Doctor is no common criminal because by the latter years of his first incarnation was a distinguished member of the High Council and was widely regarded as a potential President. He was difficult and rebellious, however, and went too far when he quarreled with his colleagues over something obscure over principle. He then stole an old Type 40 TARDIS and fled. (Novel: World Game)

The Seventh Doctor claimed that he had always believed evil to be a genuine force. This had given his young self quite a name on Gallifrey as most of his contemporaries considered the ideas of "good" and "evil" to be archaic and out-dated. They thought his preoccupation with that morality was incomprehensible. (Novel: Strange England)

Before leaving Gallifrey, the Doctor had successfully campaigned for the ban of a special chemical. This chemical was a weapon sometimes called a disruptor agent that acts as a catalyst to convert vertebrate blood into acid. The formula for the chemical stuck in his brain well enough that the Second Doctor was able to later recreate it. (Short story: The Ages of Ambition)

The Doctor had made powerful enemies on Gallifrey on account of his controversial views on the non-interference policy. (Audio: The Beginning)

The Doctor was told stories about the Kin when he was a small boy on Gallifrey. The Time Lords imprisoned the Kin in a complex of small rooms out of temporal phase with the rest of the universe. So long as the Time Lords existed, the Kin would be in their prison. When the Kin got out, there was still a Time Lord left in the universe - the Eleventh Doctor. (Short story: Nothing O'Clock)

In his youth, the Doctor feared that Grandfather Paradox was hiding under his bed or underneath the table in the refectory or making noises he could hear outside at night. (Novel: The Gallifrey Chronicles)

As a young man, the Doctor read about an infection on Gallifrey that had happened over one thousand years before his birth. The Spore - which was actually the von Neumann seeding probe - killed several hundred thousand Time Lords before it was dealt with. The Time Lords engineered an inherited immunity into their genes, so they would never be vulnerable again. Everything organic seemed to be necrotic and decaying to a black gunk. (Please skip to next bullet point if you are squeamish about descriptions of bodies.) When the Eighth Doctor investigated an outbreak, he found a body wearing boots, jeans, and a checkered shirt. Inside the clothes was a mess of bones barely held together by a few pieces of remaining flesh. The skull had a few pieces of white hair, but the scalp and other pieces of soft organic matter were gone as black slime ran out of the cuffs. (Short story: Spore)

The Doctor used to sit by the sea a lot in their childhood, watching and listening to it. He used to think that that was where the dead went, that they were all out there in the sea, and that you could hear them whispering in the waves. (Novel: Matrix)

Three students at the Academy who often conducted rebellious and anti-hierarchical activities include: the Master, whose title was earned from his constant bullying of others, a good cosmic theoretician but but not very good in practice; the Doctor, who often carried out silly chemical experiments with a friend called Drax; and the Rani, who "was brilliant at everything, and chemistry in particular." (Short story: The Legacy of Gallifrey)

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

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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.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller series #hbo the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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hubristicassholefight · 1 year ago

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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

#light yagami #death note #icarus #classical mythology #official #poll #round 1 #hubristic assholes tourney #round 1 part 4a

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dailycass-cain · 1 year ago

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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.

#cassandra cain #dc comics #insane things Cass can do #cass built differently

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lialucis · 6 months ago

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@xoxunhinged besto friendo!!! This is your fault have mine word vomit!!

Nikto would know those eyes anywhere, the small pinprick where you had told him you had played in a closet and got a coat hanger to the eye. A mercy your vision was not damaged, just... Marked.

Marked in a way you were so you, in such a way that even blind he would know it was you. Know the way your lip curled, nose crinkled in defiance... Your nose was straighter than what he remembered, surely your clumsy nature had earned you a strike from another inanimate object.

He would see the way you snarl harder, growl like a hound as you stand over a wounded operator. A gun clutched in your shaky hands, remembering how to hold it. Remembering how he taught you.

Could see the way his head tilted in thought, reflected in those eyes. Could see the faintest hint of uncertainty... Maybe familiarity? In those eyes. Drowned and consumed in that protectiveness you had always oozed. Even trying to fist fight another person for insulting him, your man.

Even now, staring him down. A man clad from head to toe with familiar eyes... Eye. His left damaged by the acid courtesy of one Zakhev... But that is not what matters. Clad in armor, bullet proof, stab proof, but not unkillable. Not immune to the damage that gun in your shaking hands would do...

Those small shaky hands, had they always been this small...? A shout from you, demanding something, going unheard. But the sound of your voice washing over his mind soothing the voices in his head. A balm to his burns and writhing mind. A heavy sigh, almost a ragged growl. A perceived threat to some, but you didn't shoot. Didn't fall to a lesser mans instincts and let your fear snatch the only shot you would be able to take. Always so patient... So wary...

Those beautiful, unmistakeable eyes flicking down to his own bloodied hand as he extended it to you. The way your throat hitched and squeezed and ached. Your eyes widening and looking terrified, no... Mortified... And almost... Hopeful.

"Come... Мой милый дракон... Моя любовь..."

(Come... My lovely dragon... My love...)

You were not a mouse, not a bunny, not a kitten. But his lovely, wonderful, beautiful, untamed, benevolent dragon.

✨✨💖 Google translate used for this unlearn-ed heathen 💖✨✨

#cod #how to tag #nikto cod #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader

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northgazaupdates · 1 year ago

Note

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!

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immajustvibehere · 2 years ago

Text

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.

#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #rdr fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x gn!reader

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timetravellingkitty · 1 year ago

Note

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.

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!

#free palestine #palestine #gaza #save gaza #save rafah #mutual aid #signal boost #donations #all eyes on palestine #all eyes on rafah #all eyes on gaza #fundraiser #gaza fundraiser #gazaunderattack #gaza genocide

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pussyrangersgrandprixracing · 1 month ago

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Tin Drum Confessions

Ao3

Three men, the ones who watched the drums open hunt for whoever is hiding the bodies inside. Valentino and Uccio, run a private investigation company, hoping to end what had been started years ago.

Chapter one.

The office was quiet, filing cabinets locked closed as the sun filtered in. Rossi, Salucci and Co would not open for a few hours, but staff began trickling in. The private detective agency consisted of a small team. Valentino and his childhood companion Uccio had started the agency, a childrens game now their career. The other staff included Valentino's brother Luca and a gaggle of ex-targets that became more than interested in the agency. They also employed two accountants, Gigi and Davide. Both older men working around the coffee machine more than their desks. Uccio managed the case intake, helped by Mig on days the paperwork would pile up. Nobody remembers when or why the moniker was given to the company, but to the locals, Rossi, Salucci and Co was called the Academy.

It made no sense from an outsiders point of view. Why was a Private Investigation company dealing with the homicide occuring in the area. Nobody really knows when the academy took over. Technically they were in a 'joint-task force' with the police, Davide and Gigi on the police's payroll. The story the police told was that due to the influx of criminal activity they required outside help. The words hung in the air, not really settling in the ears of those who listened. Everyone knew that the station was blaming the mafia for their inability to deal with everyday policing. Valentino hated how easily people threw the mafia around to justify their actions. They hadn't seen lives destroyed.

They hadnt been the ones who found Marc.

Vale looked out the corner of his eye, the memory so strong he could see Sete gagging beside him. The body was barely recogniseable, the smell burning into their noses. A tourist, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. By sheer luck Valentino managed to name the victim, a young man by the name of Marc Marquez. They still had no motive behind the attack, everyone assuming the Spaniard had crossed them unknowingly. He shook his head, trying to get the gagged body out of his mind.

There were perks of working so closely with the police, Vale was able to gentle nudge them into hiring Luca as a forensic scientist. It was nepotism but the previous owner of the job, Joan, was incompetent. The man couldn't tell stab wounds from the exit holes left by bullets. Bez and Mig could solve their cases with their unorthodox methods without the looming fear of arrests. It was freeing, the unspoken immunity that Rossi, Salucci and Co had. Well, the detectives, Gigi and Davide were classified as civilians, number crunchers and nothing else.

Life was easy, potential cases would get processed by Uccio. Many of them send by the police commissioner. Alex was a strange fellow, away from home with nobody by him. Vale didn't trust him, his 6th sense screaming that something was wrong. The alarm bells went off in his mind when Alex introduced himself. The pause before he said his last name, Rins, the subtle pause as if Alex was reminding himself. His transfer to the post was done overnight. His predecessor, a strange Frenchman named Fabio, had abandoned his life in Italy. A note was found in his home, stating he had left everything to return to his sick mother.

Piles of manila folders lined the walls of Uccio's office. One by one, each member would claim a file as theirs. Then, if needed, they would pair up, similar cases put together to solve faster. Mig and Bez were no longer able to partner up. The last time they did, an easy money laundering case, ended up with two breakups (technically three), one relationship restarted, a stolen car and one kidnapped son reunited with his brother on accident. Davide and Gigi had spent the next day bouncing between the office and meetings with the police commissioner, trying to justify the stolen car and property damage

Vale took the worst cases, the ones that Uccio hid in the locked filing cabinets. The ones that he refused to discuss over dinner. The academy boys joked that he did this to slack off and annoy Luca at work. Uccio knew why, he remembered the days when they couldnt sleep. The police bootcamp that went wrong. The year that only had three graduates, the rest of the class dropping out. Valentino, Uccio and Sete had somehow stayed in touch via letters. It was a running joke that neither Vale or Sete trusted technology. After graduation, the trio split into their new paths. Uccio and Valentino started their private investigation service. Sete Gibernau settled into a comfortable role as a detective. He was the academy's man on the inside, the one man in the force that they believed was just corrupt enough to help them. Occasionally, Sete would send Valentino a case, a cold case with no leads. Vale would joke that this was Sete getting rid of the boring cases. But the trio knew what this really was. These cases were all interconnected, puzzle pieces in the larger mystery that was the tin drum murders.

Valentino unlocked the front door, a coffee in one hand as he stepped inside. He swooped down, collecting letters that had been posted before making his way to Uccio's office. He sat down in the worn leather seat, letting the sunlights warmth cover his face. "Get out my seat or I'll kick you." Uccio said with no intention to act on the threat. Vale grunted, handing his friend the coffee. He began sifting through the letters, piling the bills up to put on Gigi's desk. Valentino paused three letters in, neat handwriting on the front of the envelope. He ripped it open, interested in what Sete had sent him this time. The letter was short, half a page long and to the point.

Vale.

A journalist, missing for three days. No clue on last whereabouts. Foreign (not sure where). Tell Uccio to look at his computer when you do a house search. No clue if true, but many say he was researching the murders.

Sete

Uccio knocked his knee against Valentino's. "Body?" He asked, hands in his pocket, pulling out a notepad and pen. Valentino shook his head, "missing journalists. Lived here for no idea how long. Sete says you should check his computer. " Uccio nodded, scribbling notes. The sound of a mug shattering broke the silence. Valentino put his head in his hands as Franky popped his head into the office. "Sorry boss, Pecco dropped the mug." Pecco poked his head above Franky's. "Bez broke it, but dont worry it was just the green mug Davide uses." Valentino yanked on his own hair, contemplating firing his staff. He stood up, collecting the bills and walking out into the main area.

Valentino tucked the bills into the collection tray on Gigi's desk, putting a note on Davide's about the mug. He turned, facing the four men he employed as Private Investigators. Pecco sat at his desk, picking his nails as Franky rolled joints with what looked like the weed he had been found at a previous crime scene. Vale vividly remembered Alex instructing Franky to hand over the bag to forensics. He shook his head, looking over at Bez and Mig, who were chucking grapes into each others open mouths.

Vale cleared his throat, all four pausing. "We have new cases, easy ones that can be done alone-" he shot a look at Bez who pouted. "-Uccio and I are following a lead, phones off silent and report back if anything changes." The four nodded as Vale stretched, patting Uccio on the back before he spoke. "- also please keep any receipts. Gigi will have our heads if he cannot organise the expenses. "

With the morning debrief complete, files were handed out, Valentino looking out the window as he waited for Uccio to grab his tools. A figure stood outside, sand blonde hair leaking out from under a red cap. Valentino tried looking at the person's face, a truck blocking his view. The truck passed and the figure had disappeared, as if they were never there.

#adora yaps #pi au #adora and writing

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