#1) Nurse Mercy
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a comprehensive list of scenarios
feel free to combine multiple prompts or add “ + reverse ” to switch roles ! for reference, the one sending in the prompt is the one committing the action.
1. GUEST : for one muse to offer the other a place to stay.
2. STORM : for both muses to find shelter from a severe storm.
3. MEDIC : for one muse to show up at the other’s doorstep injured.
4. SURPRISE : for one muse to come home and find the other already inside.
5. TRIP : for both muses to road trip or travel together.
6. BABYSIT : for one muse to help the other home while they’re drunk.
7. INSOMNIA : for one muse to find the other still awake at 3am.
8. AMBUSH : for both characters to come under attack by the same enemy.
9. DANCE : for one muse to ask the other to dance at a party.
10. STRANDED : for one muse to help the other who’s stranded on the road.
11. SERVICE : for one muse to cover the cost of something for the other.
12. SAFEGUARD : for one muse to save the other from being hit by a vehicle or from some other life-threatening event.
13. DAZE : for one muse to wake somewhere and find the other hovering over them.
14. STOWAWAY : for one muse to find the other hiding on the same ship.
15. TAXI : for both muses to share the same taxi ride.
16. MAKEOVER : for one muse to help the other with a new outfit or hairstyle.
17. LIFEGUARD : for one muse to rescue the other from drowning.
18. DISASTER : for both muses to work together to escape a fire, flood, or other disaster.
19. TRANSIT : for one muse to sit next to the other on a public transport.
20. SPRAIN : for one muse to carry the other after spraining their ankle.
21. EMPLOY : for one muse to be hired as the other’s bodyguard, tutor, assistant, etc.
22. QUEST : for one muse to help the other with a task in exchange for compensation.
23. SOOTHE : for one muse to calm the other during a panic attack.
24. RECOVER : for one muse to return the other’s lost belonging.
25. UMBRELLA : for one muse to share their umbrella with the other on a rainy day.
26. HEAL : for one muse to nurse the other back to health from a sickness or injury.
27. NIGHTMARE : for one muse to comfort the other after a nightmare.
28. REUNION : for one muse to run into the other again after a long time.
29. PRIZE : for one muse to win the other a prize at a carnival.
30. NUDE : for one muse to walk in on the other while they’re changing.
31. BED : for both muses to wake in the same bed, naked or fully clothed.
32. TRAIL : for one muse to notice the other has been following them.
33. EVADE : for one muse to pull the other into an alleyway to escape their pursuer.
34. THIEF : for one muse to confront the other after having something stolen by them.
35. CAUGHT : for one muse to walk in on the other singing / dancing.
36. FESTIVE : for both muses to decorate for a special occasion.
37. PRESENT : for one muse to give the other a (birthday) gift.
38. WEARY : for one muse to wake up after falling asleep on the other.
39. CAPTIVE : for one muse to hold the other against their will.
40. SNAP : for one muse to yell at or push the other out of frustration.
41. SLEEPOVER : for one muse to stay the night at the other’s place.
42. TRESPASS : for one muse to trespass on the other’s property.
43. BREAK-IN : for one muse to discover the other robbing their place.
44. MERCY : for both muses to come across an injured animal.
45. UNKNOWN : for both muses to wake and find themselves in a strange place.
46. ACCOMPLICE : for one muse to assist the other at the scene of a crime.
47. ASTRAY : for both muses to take a detour and lose their way.
48. RELAX : for both muses to share a hot tub or hot spring.
49. MUSE : for one muse to model for the other's art project.
50. ACCOMPANY : for one muse to give the other an extra ticket to an event.
51. SALVAGE : for one muse to retrieve the other's belongings from a thief.
52. MEAL : for both muses to prepare and share a meal together.
53. CEMETERY : for one muse to find the other at a gravestone.
54. REFUGE : for one muse to shelter the other from enemies.
55. ARRANGED : for both muses to date or marry out of convenience.
56. FAVOR : for one muse to owe the other a favor.
57. VACATION : for both muses to book the same hotel on vacation.
58. DEFEND : for one muse to save the other from one or multiple assailants.
59. CATCH : for one muse to return the other's pet that escaped.
60. RESTRICTED : for both muses to sneak into someplace they're not supposed to be.
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Protector pt. 2
Paring: Simon Ghost Riley x f!reader
Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, protective Ghost, smut 18+ mdni (nothing hardcore. I’m not good at writing it)
Words: 16.5k
Synopsis: Ghost will always protect you...
Part 1
A/N: there are literally no words for me to describe how appreciative and happy it makes me that so many of you guys liked the first part. I wanted to reply to all of you but it would’ve been too much so I hope that this second part will be enough as thanks ❤️ this is for my 1000 followers.
Thank you guys for being so patient with how long this took. I’m so sorry for the wait.
A sob followed by fast breathing made Ghost's eyes snap open immediately.
His heart pounded against his chest as he searched frantically around the room for you. Memories, flashes of your beaten body in front of him begging for mercy, crying and screaming out for somebody to help you, for Ghost to help you and he couldn’t.
Ghost failed you. He let you get hurt again, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep even though it had felt so peaceful with you sleeping beside him. He should’ve been awake to make sure that you were okay, to make sure that the doctor and nurses had been on time to give you more medicine so you didn't have to relive those awful memories again.
It made him panic. He had to help you, he had to make sure you were safe.
He couldn’t think straight, the medicine had worn off and the pain clouded his mind while the sleep was wearing off, and he forgot where you were.
The medicine had worn off for both of you, but you didn’t know that it was safe. You were confused and the pain didn’t help especially when you couldn’t move, it only made panic set in, which made you feel even worse.
“Ghost…” You sobbed and he gripped the edge of his bed so tight the scabs on his knuckles reopened.
“I’m here.” He pushed off the bed to try to get to you and nearly fell when stepped down with his injured leg. He clenched his jaw so tight and forced himself to stand up by using the bed for support. “You’re okay.”
The machines tugged him back and he nearly yelled with anger before he ripped everything off him, the EKG screaming out a beep from being disconnected. He didn’t pay attention to it, his eyes locked onto you as he tried to move forward but collapsed against the wall in pain. Hot pain flushed from his leg and when he looked down he could see red staining the bandages that covered the bullet wound.
“I’m here-” He went dizzy from the sounds and the pain, unable to keep himself upright as he fought so hard to just get to your bed.
You were crying, there were tears running down your face as you writhed in pain and near hyperventilating. He wanted nothing more than to grab you and pull you into him, to wrap his arms around you and hope that it would be enough to make you feel safe again.
How could he let this happen? Was he really that cold hearted, that cruel to make you suffer like this? You didn’t deserve this, you were too good for pain like this.
Ghost didn’t even notice the rushing nurses and doctor until he felt someone grab his arm tightly, causing him to jump and look down to see a nurse looking panicked.
“Why are you out of bed?” She asked incredulously and he ripped his arm out of her hold, glaring at her.
“Help her.” He demanded harshly and she took a few steps back. “She’s in pain, do something!”
“They’re helping her now, you need to get back in bed.”
Ghost groaned, his fists tightened before he looked back at you to see the doctor and the other nurses quickly trying to administer medicine again.
His vision got worse and he stumbled forward. He felt the nurse grab him again and tried to pull him back to his bed but he fought against her, not wanting to go back until he knew for sure that you were going to be okay and that this wasn’t serious, that you had just woken up out of a panic and that you weren’t about to code.
The nurse barked something in his ear but he wasn’t paying attention. He watched your face contort into pain, your chest heave from heavy breaths and your tears roll down your cheeks.
He hated it. He hated to see you like this.
“Sedate him and I’ll fix his stitches.” He managed to hear the doctor order and before he had any time to react, he felt the nurse stick something into his arm.
It must’ve been a powerful sedative or he had exhausted himself out as his vision went dark almost immediately, the last thing he remembered was being put back onto his bed.
Ghost jolted awake a few hours later. He had been lucky that his induced sleep was dreamless though he was still exhausted.
He blinked the drowsiness from his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The bed was a lot less comfortable now that the pain meds were wearing off again and he struggled to keep himself still as the hard mattress dug into his sore thigh. It made him huff and he rubbed his eyes with irritation as he tried his best to ignore it before he glanced towards you.
His eyes widened ever so slightly when they connected with your drowsy open ones. They were hazy, a sign that the pain meds given to you were working and that they had calmed you down from before.
You had been staring at him. There was a soft look on your face, one that couldn’t be achieved by the medicine, when he had turned to look at you. A look that should’ve been reserved for watching someone less rugged and violent than him especially after what he had done to get you here.
It locked him into his place on the bed. He couldn’t move as your eyes raked lazily over his face, taking in every detail that had once been a mystery to you.
You were looking at him as if there was something good to see. You were drinking up the scars, new and old, that peppered his skin like he was a beautiful piece of art made of soft paint rather than blood and gunpowder.
Why were you looking at him like that? It had to be the drugs, your mind was taken over by substances that made your thinking unreliable. You wouldn’t normally give him such a softness if it weren’t that.
Ghost had to tell himself that or else he would have to come to terms that he liked the way you were looking at him now. He wanted you to always look at him like that despite being undeserving of it especially after what he had put you through.
A smile, weak but warm, stretched across your face and he felt his heart skip a beat.
“Hey.” You barely spoke above a whisper but he heard you through your hoarse voice. “Never seen you sleep, kinda weird.”
“How do you feel?” He knew the answer to the question but it was difficult for him to think of anything else to say when you looked at him like that.
“Like I’m high off so many drugs.”
You let out a breathless chuckle and sluggishly rubbed your eyes, taking a moment to look away from him.
Ghost quickly pulled his mask on, finding the courage to do it when you were looking away from him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to see his face, quite the opposite if he was being honest, but right now it was too much for him. He felt safer with his feelings under the mask.
You let out a short sigh, your sides spasming as you found it difficult to take a deep breath. The pain was gone for the moment but your body still understood it was damaged and Ghost knew what the pain was going to feel like when they wore off.
When you looked back at him, your face fell with disappointment. He swallowed thickly and averted his eyes to look somewhere else on your body, opting to look at your bandaged fingers that mimicked his due to your similar injuries.
“I like your face.” You blurted out which caused his eyebrows to knit together as he looked back at you. “Should've guessed you were blond from your eyelashes.”
“Used to be blonder when I was younger.” He said and watched another smile pull at your lips when you thought of a young Ghost.
“Bet it was platinum.”
“Close to it.”
Ghost indulged in your normal conversation. He didn’t want to speak about what happened to you right now, not when you were the most conscious he had seen you since before you both had been captured. He wanted to give you a moment's reprieve, to understand that right now you were safe from harm both within your mind and outside of it.
Your body would hopefully heal without many complications but your mind would take time, a lot longer than what you would want and what he wished for you.
He would be there for you though. He always would and he hoped you knew that. Even if he wasn’t sure how he would help you, rarely even able to help himself in a way that made him feel better, but he would try for you.
He also selfishly enjoyed this, the normal conversation distracted him from all the horrible thoughts he could be thinking about. Having you talk to him this way was something he always enjoyed and he liked that even now you were still doing it.
“Are you okay?” You asked him so softly yet his eyes narrowed as if you had accused him of something.
“M’fine.”
He barely gave you a chance to continue when he sat up. Pain flushed over him, more than ever since he hadn’t moved his body for a few hours. The stiffness in his muscles turned to soreness which made his entire body ache as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. His wounded leg screamed with pain and he was careful to not rip the stitches open this time as he pressed his foot on the cold ground, suppressing a shiver and any outward sign that he was in pain.
No one would’ve been able to tell he was injured if it weren't for the fact that he was getting out of a hospital bed. He stood tall and completely unbothered with the same tired eyes as always, hidden beneath his mask.
He was a beast afterall, as Soap put it. He could’ve had more injuries sustained from the capture and he still would’ve carried you out of there. The soreness he was feeling now was nothing compared to previous injuries he’s had in the past. They were an inconvenience now, one that he wished he could get rid of but unfortunately he was still human and that meant he would have to wait.
Even so, that wasn’t going to stop him from doing as he pleased and focusing on you.
He huffed when the machines connected to him made it difficult to move. Without a second thought he ripped the wires off him and unplugged the machine before it started to alert the nurses again, causing you to gasp.
“Ghost!” You scolded him but he just ignored you and grabbed the glass of water Soap left.
You watched him intently, noting the way he had a slight limp as he walked over to you. You tried to sit up on your elbows, but you were far too weak to even get your shoulders off the bed.
Ghost wrapped an arm around your shoulders and very carefully pulled into his side when he sat on the edge of your bed. He held onto you to keep you sitting up straight and let you lean on him for support, nearly sighing with relief when he finally felt your weight on him again.
You were like glass in his arms, fragile and handled with immense care as if you would break if even an ounce of pressure was placed on you. He raised the water up to your lips to let you drink it and you managed to tilt your head back as he tipped the glass forward.
He made sure to tip it slowly so as to not spill any of it on you. He watched your eyes flutter shut with relief when you began to drink the water and he subconsciously began to rub circles into your arm with his thumb.
When you finished he went to refill the glass but you managed to have enough strength to grab onto his shirt.
“Stay.” You were breathless, having exerted all of your energy to sit up on the bed. “Please?”
You needed him. A sense of safety had washed over you when had pulled you into his warmth and when he had moved to leave, your stomach dropped. You knew that he wasn’t going to leave you and that he would come back but you didn’t want him to leave at all, not right now.
Ghost stared down into your exhausted eyes that begged him to stay put for just a little longer and his chest tightened. He couldn’t say anything, the words lost to him again as he fought the urge to lean down and place a kiss anywhere that you would allow him to. An attempt to tell you all the comforting things he wished he could say, to take away the pain with a simple touch against your skin and let you rest as if the world outside of this moment didn’t exist.
Instead, he nodded and set the glass down. He kept his arm around you and when you rested your head on his chest he stiffened for only a moment. When he realized that he liked having you against him like that, he dared to pull you just a little closer.
He listened to you soft wheezing and was reminded of how much worse it had been before. It made him glare up at the ceiling and regret that he had killed the weapons dealers already.
If he hadn’t been trying to get you out of there and it had just been him, he would’ve left them so he could find them again. He would’ve spent little time finding them and would’ve made them suffer ten times worse than you had for even thinking about putting a hand on you.
Ghost wished he could take your pain and inflict on himself so you wouldn’t have to suffer so much. You didn’t deserve to be punished for him doing his job, for keeping his mouth shut, for being too tight-lipped about worthless information. He should’ve just told them what they wanted and broken out before they killed you both so you didn’t have to go through this now.
How were you not repulsed by seeing him? How were you resting your head on his chest like this, acting as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t breathe, the reason why you were going to lose sleep?
The guilt festered in his stomach and boiled into his throat. He wanted to push you off of him despite how desperate he was to have you against him.
He felt you weakly tug on his shirt. His eyes softened ever so slightly when he stared down at your heavy lidded eyes. He could tell you were getting drowsy which prompted him to hesitantly place a hand on your waist so he could move you back into bed.
You hummed, your eyes falling shut for a moment and pressed your face into his chest more. You took a deep breath and your muscles loosened, your arms hanging by your side unmoving.
“Thank you.” You whispered with the intent to show gratitude but all it did was make him feel worse.
He couldn’t accept it. He didn’t deserve it, not when you could barely stay awake for more than thirty minutes. Not when you couldn’t move on your own and certainly not when you had to be pumped full of meds to even speak without feeling like you were dying. There was no reason for you to thank him for anything that he did.
“You should sleep.” He kept a steady and soft voice as he wrapped his arms around you. “Doctor will be back soon. Probably run some tests.”
“‘Kay.”
Ghost moved you with ease. It was as if you weighed nothing to him, even when his muscles were sore, as he laid you down back in bed. He treated you so gently, like you were a porcelain doll being put away as he pulled the blanket up to your chest.
He stared down at you with narrowed eyes that concerned you yet you were too tired to say anything. He moved your arms over your stomach before he moved his hand to hold onto your wrist, his finger pressing into your pulse to feel it go steady, a much better feeling than when it had been weak.
Your eyes fluttered shut at the contact and you placed your smaller hand over his, your thumb sluggishly caressing his scarred knuckles.
“Sleep.” He repeated, causing you to hum.
He moved his hand away from your wrist and limped back to his bed. He kept every wince in, feeling that his pain was nothing compared to yours, that he had the audacity to even express that he was hurting around you.
He sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t care to hook himself back up to the machine or to plug it back in as he stared at your now unconscious form. He gripped the bed tightly under him and clenched his jaw as he watched you sleep.
Ghost wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, staring at you completely enamored by you again yet his heart hurt a lot more than normal. He wondered if this would be the last time you would get actual sleep and doubted that a few days from now you’d be able to stay on the meds. He dreaded the moment he would have to hear your pained cries again, just the memory of it making him feel sick.
A sigh left his chest as he heard approaching footsteps that brought him out of his thoughts.
More tests, more pain, and nothing he could do to help you.
~
You weren’t sure how to react when you felt your lieutenant’s stare on your back as you walked into the training room.
On one hand, you didn’t mind having him watching you.
It was Ghost, you had worked with and known him for a few years now. You knew his mannerisms, his little ticks and what he was feeling when you watched him, finding out that he was actually very expressive for someone who hid their face as much as he did. You had managed to befriend him over the years and though he would never openly call you his friend, you both had some sort of connection between you.
That connection ran deep, into the way you both found solitude together in both quiet and loud moments. On missions you two talked to keep each other in check, to understand what mindset you both were in and if it was one you could work with.
Jokes, little things done for each other whether the other person asked for it or not, and on the rare occasion talking about what was really wrong with you both is what kept you both close.
It shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise to you as it had been when you found out you were in love with your lieutenant, it was obvious when you thought back on it. To the moments where you would practically confess your love to him through your eyes, the little touches you gave him so you could just have a tiny taste of the warmth that radiated off his body, the need to be there for him and to listen to him when he gave you the honor of opening up.
You wanted to believe that the moments you spent with Ghost were that of friends, of co-workers because that’s who you’re supposed to be. But to you it was much more than that now.
So you were happy to feel his eyes on you as you wrapped your hands in preparation for a sparring match. You liked when he watched over you because you knew that you were safe when he did.
On the other hand, this was a stare that wasn’t exactly kind.
In reality, Ghost was glaring at you. His eyes were narrowed, pointed on you as he watched every movement you took, every twitch in your muscles. He was almost like a predator waiting for its prey to drop its guard to attack.
He was pissed and you noticed it the moment your eyes met when you walked into the training room. He wasn’t trying to hide it either, especially when you offered a smile and a wave, he just stood there glaring at you.
You knew why.
It had been a month. A month since he had carried you to safety and a week or so since you had been discharged from the infirmary. You were still healing, your ribs hadn’t fully healed and you got frequent headaches from your concussion still. Most of the cuts had been stitched back, leaving scars across your skin, the most prominent one being a nasty gash that stretched from your left temple to eyelid.
You weren’t supposed to be super active, the doctor ordering you to take walks instead of train until you were back to full health, but you were going a little crazy. The walks weren’t enough to keep your stiffness or the restlessness away and you were desperate to get back into your old routine.
Today was a good day, with barely any bad thoughts and no panic attacks or crying spells. You were lucky to still have those good days and every day day you had made you more grateful for when you were okay.
You glanced back at Ghost.
He was still glaring at you. You wanted to tell him to stop and that you were fine but ever since you both got back, he seemed to believe that you were still in constant pain. More like soreness but he was insistent that you followed doctors orders and made sure you didn’t do anything at all, almost making it so you could even go on your doctor ordered walks.
However you would take the glare instead of the pitiful look he gave you most of the time.
“You could spar with me if you’re that worried.” You offered, which made his eyes narrow at you even more.
“I want you to leave.” He demanded and you had to suppress a laugh.
“You can’t force me to sit in my room all day.”
“I can.”
You gave him a look but he didn’t falter which made you shake your head.
Ghost was in a particularly bad mood today which meant he was more stubborn than usual. Usually his bad moods helped fuel him to get through missions with precision and efficiency since it was a good way to get it out of his system. He rarely ever let himself get into a bad mood and was able to control his emotions pretty well, but recently his patience had run thin.
You wondered if he was going through what happened too, it only made sense. He had been beaten to shit too.
“I know my limits. This is just going to be a warm up.” You explained to him but he shook his head.
“If you knew your limits you wouldn’t be here.” He argued. “You haven’t given your ribs enough time to heal.”
“Did you give your leg enough time to heal?”
You gave him an expectant look but he only stared back at you. While he was busy watching you all of the time it gave you the chance to watch him as well and you noticed that he still had a slight limp. You also noticed the way he would flex the hand he broke, most likely trying to get the stiffness to go away.
You could only assume the reason why they were still acting up was because he had walked out of the infirmary a week before you which had not nearly been enough time to heal his wounds.
It was a little hypocritical in your mind and made you just a little annoyed. You appreciated that he was looking out for you and honestly it made your chest warm a lot more than it should've, but you were starting to feel smothered.
You were still strong.
“I’m a big girl.” You said and you saw him fight an eye roll. “I’ll be fine.”
You didn’t give him the chance to argue further as you walked towards the sparring mats. You eyed a lot of the rookies who were training today under Soap’s supervision with curiosity, noting that many of them were being sloppy in their forms.
You almost wanted to point that out to Ghost since if they were being this bad at sparring, it would be a walk in the park. You’d be surprised if you broke a sweat.
“How the fuck did any of ya get here?” Soap yelled being the most annoyed you had seen him in a long time.
“Rough day.” You commented and he groaned, causing you to give him a small smile.
“Price must have it out for me, I’m losin’ my head here.”
You chuckled and found that your attention stayed on him rather than the rookies in front of you. You found that looking at your fellow sergeant was a lot more calm than watching the sparring matches in front of you. Now that you were up closer, you could see that even though the rookies were sloppy with their moves, they were still being rough as they normally would be.
Soap kept you calm despite the fact that often he was the one who had the most energy. Usually you would feed off of it, but lately you hadn’t felt well enough to keep up with him. Now anytime you were with him he seemed to be more on the lowkey side which made you wonder if he was doing that on purpose or not.
“L.t. know you’re here?” Soap wondered and you hummed.
“Yeah, he knows.” You muttered, not looking back because you knew he was still watching you judging by the fact you could still feel his eyes on you.
“And he let you stay?”
You sent him a look but he only looked worried at you. It made you shift uncomfortably in your spot and you wanted to look away from him but there was nowhere else for you to look.
You didn’t know how to react to everyone’s extreme worry for you. It wasn;t a surprise that they cared for you but with the amount that they expressed you wondered if maybe they believed you were never good enough for this job in the first place.
So what if you had been tortured? It’s a rare occurrence for everyone who works in this field but it did happen and it wasn’t like you were the first person to get beat to shit. It made you feel like maybe you would always be this way, that there was no way you were going to recover.
“He wants to kick me out.” You said and Soap let out an amused huff.
“You gonna let him?” He wondered and you gave him a small smile.
“No.”
A rookie slammed another rookie on the sparring mat and you flinched. Your heart rate picked up as they wrestled with each other and you crossed your arms to hide the slight shakiness in your hands, finding it hard to continue watching them. Instead, you tried to direct your attention to someone else, only to find that any sight of sparring was making you nauseous.
You felt exposed, like everyone was staring at you, like everyone could see adrenaline running through your veins and you wanted to hide.
An image of a dirty room, the smell of copper stuck in your nose, the sound of your struggling breaths and the body of the one you loved bound to a chair spitting out blood.
Approaching footsteps, terror, the scramble to try to escape but not getting anywhere, the pleas for it to stop.
The pain. The searing hot pain that made you want it all to end.
“Y/n.”
Ghost’s voice was right next to and pulled you out of the horrendous images, leaving you clammy and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.
You blinked a few times and when you moved to look at him, you could feel the tension in your muscles slowly dissipate as you remembered where you were.
There was a soft look in his eyes that made your heart slow down. He extended his hand hesitantly and brushed his knuckles against your arm so lightly that if it weren’t for the tingling sensation that was left behind from his warmth, you would’ve thought he hadn’t touched you at all.
It was the most comfort you assumed you could be given by him, whether that be because you both were in public or because he couldn’t give you anymore, but it was enough to make you realize that you were safe.
No matter what happened to you, you would be safe because of Ghost. He would do anything to keep you safe and you knew it, the fact that he had completely ignored his injuries to carry you said more about that than any words could.
You let out a deep breath and some of the panic went with it.
There went the good day.
Ghost had that pity look in his eyes and everything went sour. Even with the mask on you could see it, you could see the way his eyebrows tensed together as he wondered about the poor state you were in.
You were fine.
Your eyes narrowed and you looked back at the sparring mats, determined to find someone who was waiting for their next match. Not only could you prove to Ghost and anyone else who must’ve thought the same way that you were capable, this would be a good way to take your mind off of what just happened.
Your eyes landed on a rookie who was drinking some water.
He was much taller than you and a little bigger, but that didn’t mean he would be any better than you. In fact, judging by the way his shoulders slumped he seemed to have a shy demeanor.
“Rookie!” You called out to him and he looked up at you with surprise. “Want another round?”
“Sure.” He set down his water and made his way onto a free space in the mats.
You went to meet him before a firm hand grabbed your arm, causing you to clench your jaw when you looked back at Ghost.
“Sergeant.” His tone was as much of a warning as his hardened eyes were. You were one bad experience away from being thrown out of the training room and he made sure you understood that.
You didn’t falter and you knew you were playing a dangerous game by defying your lieutenant. It was almost a shock to you at how insubordinate you were but then again he hadn’t ordered you to get out yet, all he had done was give you warnings or concerns from a place of friendship rather than a place of work.
“You sure you want to fight ‘em?” Soap eyed you with concern causing you to groan. “I don’t think-“
“Will you two stop it?” You ripped your arm from Ghost. “I’m fine.”
You glared at them both and as much as you wanted to tell them off, to yell at them so they would get the point and to get your frustration out but you couldn’t. There was no point in that, it wouldn’t solve anything in fact you were sure it would make things worse by pushing them away for both you and them.
You had to tell yourself they were trying to help, even when they were being this overbearing.
Instead, you let out a huff and sent them a short glare to get them to back off before you made your way to the rookie.
“Go easy, yeah?” Soap called out to you both but you didn’t say anything.
You stood in front of the rookie with a smile in an attempt to shake the thoughts from your head and to ignore the stares you were getting from the sidelines. You took a deep breath when he returned the smile and shook out any of the nerves that you still had.
The rookie seemed friendly, especially when you directed him to take a stance in front of you and fixed his form for him.
“Let’s not do anything rough.” You told him because despite the fact that you wanted to prove yourself, you did know your limits.
“Yes ma’am.”
You snorted and shook your head, finding it almost sweet that the rookie would be that respectful to you, before you threw a punch towards him. You almost laughed at the expression on his face when it connected with his chest, the light punch being barely a tap, before you went to hit him again.
The rookie tried to dodge but wasn’t fast enough. Every punch you threw landed and with each movement you felt yourself slowly start to feel back to normal.
Each dodge from the rookie's fist made you feel alive again, you were breathing heavily but it felt good, there was barely any pain and the rush from being untouchable made you confident. It was almost as if nothing had happened and that made you feel so much better about yourself than a month's worth of recovery had.
The rookie got sloppy the longer you went. He seemed to be worn out with how quick you were, being unable to catch a break from your relentless punches. If this was a normal spar, one where you weren’t pulling your punches and going easier, he would’ve been out already and that fed your ego more than it should’ve.
His eyebrows were knitted in concentration and a flash of determined annoyance across his face. He seemed to change his entire demeanor as he got tired of you playing with him and he suddenly turned serious. His punches held weight to them that yours didn’t and he had managed to throw them at a faster speed that you were having trouble keeping up with.
You managed to hit him one more time without getting hit yourself and it must’ve set him off, causing him to throw out a punch far too quick for you to dodge.
His fist slammed into your side and your vision went white.
You couldn’t breathe and your abdomen spasmed from the hot, burning sensation prickled up from your lungs to your chest making it tighten. Your eyes watered as you tried to gasp for air and you clutched your side unable to hide the fact that you were in immense pain.
You collapsed onto your knees and your head connected with the mat as you keeled over in pain, rendered completely paralyzed with pain.
Panic rose in your chest the longer it took to breathe. The only thoughts that ran through your mind to keep you from falling into panic attack were you’re safe, Ghost is here, you’re safe.
The rookie knelt down in front of you and you flinched away from his touch when he rested a hand on your shoulder.
“Are you okay-”
“Get away from her!” Ghost demanded, his voice laced with anger only someone with fear could have.
You managed to lift your head off the mat to see him and Soap rushing towards you.
Ghost grabbed the rookie’s shirt and yanked him back with enough strength to throw him across the mat with ease. He sent a bone chilling glare towards the terrified man now as he created a protective barrier with his body as he stepped between you and the rookie.
His heart raced and he stood there as if to challenge the rookie to even think about trying to help you.
He clenched his fists tight, too tight as his newly healed hand ached painfully before he let Soap take care of the rookie. He kneeled in front of you and grabbed your shoulders to keep you steady.
You blinked the tears away and took a deep breath, letting lungs fill with air as you heaved from the sudden release of tightness in your abdomen. The air burned and felt warm in your throat and though you could finally breathe once more, the pain in your chest wouldn’t go away. The rookie had somehow managed to hit you in one of your more sores on your side and though he could’ve hit you a lot harder than he had, it was enough to make you feel like your ribs were stabbing into your lung every time you took a breath.
Ghost looked into your eyes with that pity look behind the anger. He was shaky, you could feel it in his hands and see him trying to control it as he narrowed his eyes. They bounced around your face and he quickly cupped your cheek with his large hand as your head dropped forward.
“I’m okay.” You rasped out to try to get him to stop worrying and to get rid of the look he had. “I’m fine.”
“Then get up.”
His voice sounded sharp and almost indifferent to how much pain you were in but you knew better. You could hear the worry deep within it especially with the way he was looking at you as you tried to gather strength to stand. He wanted you to get up, he wanted you to walk it off because if that were the case then you were okay.
You tried to. You tried to push yourself off the mat to walk it off like you used to do with any injury you may have gotten but you felt too heavy, like you couldn’t even support your own weight.
The strength you had wasn’t enough. You couldn’t push past the tightness or the stabbing in your lung that made it difficult to take long breaths. The pain spread everywhere and was too unbearable to even let you move on your own.
You were hurt. You were broken just like Ghost had thought.
You shut your eyes and your head hung with defeat.
“I can’t.”
~
You sat on the edge of a hospital bed in the infirmary with an ice pack pressed against the spot the rookie had punched. You were hunched over since it was the only comfortable position you could be in at the moment, even though there was still a dull ache left in your abdomen. The ice pack helped deter some of it along with some high dosage over the counter pain meds given to you by a nurse.
It had been hours since you had arrived in the infirmary. Ghost had to carry you to it and when you arrived they immediately began to check to see if your ribs had been broken again or had gotten worse. The tests took hours and spanned well into the early evening, making you miss out most of the day.
The tests had come back half an hour ago and you were lucky that your ribs weren’t broken again, only bruised just a little more. Unfortunately, that meant that more time was added to your leave which you had the luxury of being told when Price scolded you after he heard about what happened.
You were exhausted. Everything that happened today had taken it out of you and you were just ready to go to bed in the hopes that you could get some uninterrupted sleep after this. You doubted you would, you had come close to two panic attacks today and horrible flashbacks that you were sure you were going to be plagued by nightmares tonight.
You really had no one to blame but yourself for this. You could’ve listened to Ghost when he told you to get out, to go back to your room to rest but you were too stubborn to do that. Now you were dealing with the consequences of that.
He had been right that you hadn’t given yourself enough time, though that didn’t make him any less of a hypocrite in your book, but it definitely worsened your mood a lot more than what you wanted.
You didn’t really want to believe that you were that broken but you were. You couldn’t train without having a near panic attack or getting messed up by one punch. You could barely even do the mundane things in your life without feeling out of breath or sore in most places. There was nothing you could do without being reminded that you were practically below the average soldier in your job at the moment.
A huff left your mouth as you waited for the doctor to come back to release you from the infirmary. You were sure why it was taking so long but you hoped things would move along faster soon so you wouldn’t stew in your own thoughts anymore.
You heard footsteps approaching and you glanced up to see Ghost heading your way with a water bottle in his hand. You ignored the narrowed look in his eyes as they landed on you and instead you stared at the floor.
“Here.” He offered the bottle and you took it from him, taking a few sips of the cold liquid with a nod. “Still in pain?”
“Just sore.” You screwed the cap on and rubbed the spot on your ribs with your fingers.
“What’s the damage?”
You glanced up at him to see him still staring at you. You chewed on your inner lip when you made eye contact with him again and for a moment you saw his anger falter. His eyes turned soft and you watched as they bounced around your face.
You wondered what exactly his face looked like at the moment, whether his eyebrows were pulled together or if he had a scowl. His eyes were always expressive and you would never want that to change yet after you had seen his face, though it was hard to remember many details since you weren’t exactly sober, you wanted to always see it. Especially now when it was hard to tell if he wanted to chew you out for insubordination or to make sure you were okay.
Truthfully, all you wanted was for him to show his face. There was something about seeing him without the mask that made you feel infinitely better. Maybe it was the fact that you had looked at it while he carried you to safety or that he let you see it without a care, you weren’t sure, but you knew that right now you would feel a lot less tense if you saw him again.
“Bruised, not too bad but enough to extend my leave.” You explained and he nodded.
“Gives you more time to take care of yourself.” He said and though he wasn’t wrong it still made your eyes narrow.
“More like rubs it in my face that I’m fucking useless.”
You weren’t looking for pity, in fact you hadn’t meant to let that slip out but you were extremely frustrated with yourself. It made you cringe but that was taken away when Ghost’s eyes fell that pity look and all of the frustration built up inside of you burst out of you like a broken pipe.
“Can you stop looking at me like that?” You snapped and caught him off guard. “I don’t need your pity on top of everything else.”
“Pity?” He stared back at you offended and you rolled your eyes with a scoff.
“Yeah, you don’t hide it as well as you do with everything else.”
You glared at him and watched as he stared at you incredulously, the look setting off more anger in you. It was one thing for him to express it blatantly through the way he looked at you but it was another to lie to your face when you called him out on it.
He could at least own up to it. It still wouldn’t make things better in your mind, but he was usually an honest and direct person. This kind of behavior was unlike him and at the moment it bothered you more than it worried you, being too clouded by your own frustration to think anything different.
“You were hurt and you expect me not to care?” He snapped back, his voice raising ever so slightly as he loomed over you.
“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m dead weight!” You weren’t intimidated by him as you hopped onto the floor, completely disregarding any soreness you felt as you did so.
“After all that happened, you think I think of you as dead weight?”
Ghost scoffed and rolled his eyes, causing you to clench your jaw tightly. He glared down at you, the comforting dark void that were his eyes now turned to coldness as he tensed up. His body was rigid as if it pained him to even stand there and argue with you yet he looked as if he was angry enough to forget about that.
You were waiting for his emotions to take control of him, for him to yell at you to stop berating him but he still seemed to choose his words carefully.
It made you almost jealous how he rarely ever lost control when you were a mess of emotions bottled up that could explode with just a minor inconvenience. Even when he did lose control, it seemed he always put his anger towards something else rather than picking fights like you were doing right now.
What you didn’t know is that Ghost would hate himself more if he lost control of himself like he had in the base. He hated to argue with you, he hated to argue with anyone if he were being honest, but sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. What could be avoided was letting himself make the mistake of letting his anger speak for him.
That anger wasn’t him, he didn’t like it, not even when he killed the weapons dealers, and you didn’t deserve to have it directed towards you.
Ghost took a deep breath and though the anger didn’t leave his eyes some of the tension in his body did. He looked you straight in the eyes with his narrowed one and made sure that he was the only thing that had your attention.
“I don’t pity you.” He stated firmly as if that would end the argument once it was said.
As irritated as you were, you still had enough sense to see that he was telling the truth. You could see it in the way he never once looked away from you as he said it and when you let the words sink in, some of the anger slipped away. However, as you continued to stare at him it only left one question in your mind as you thought back to every moment he looked at you that way.
“Then what is it?” You huffed and still sent him a slight glare.
You wanted answers and frankly you deserved them. If he was going to say he wasn’t pitying you but he was going to act so protective over you then you had to know. You couldn’t keep letting this happen unless you figured out what exactly was making him act so strange.
He didn’t say anything, he only stared at you and to anyone else they wouldn’t have seen the nervousness that flashed in his eye for a split second but you caught it. You caught onto every little nervous tick he had; the way he would square his shoulders to make himself look bigger, stronger and intimidate whoever was making him feel that way to go away. His muscles would tense and his eyes would go alert as if he were waiting for something to attack him.
You were worried now. Why would it make him so nervous if he hadn’t been trying to hide it in the first place? He had told you the truth just now but when you wanted to know the real answer, he was suddenly back to keeping it from you.
If it wasn’t pity then what else could it be? He had only begun to look at you that way when you woke up in the hospital bed for the second time and despite the meds you could remember how his eyes went sad as he told you to go to sleep. You knew that he had been worried for you but at the time and even now you knew it was more than that.
You stared at him and looked deep into his eyes, noticing the way the nervousness grew worse when his eyes landed on the scar you had. That’s when it hit you.
It wasn't pity.
It was guilt.
Your chest tightened and you nearly felt tears begin to form as you looked at him with a kind of anguish you didn’t think you could feel. You scolded yourself for even thinking that he pitied you when really he was most likely putting himself through hell because of the guilt he had.
It made you want to cry because how could he ever blame himself for your pain when he never hurt you? He had saved you, you were alive standing in front of him. Never once did you ever think to place the blame on him for what happened and yet he was the one carrying that burden when it should be the weapons dealers who were rotting six feet under.
“You don’t…blame yourself for what happened, do you?” You hoped that maybe you were wrong and that it had been something else entirely.
Ghost’s eyes widened slightly and he shifted away from you. He finally broke eye contact from you and though he stayed silent his actions said a lot more than any words ever could.
Your face fell and you placed a hand on his arm to try to comfort him.
“Simon-”
“Alright, sergeant.” The doctor called out as she walked up to you while looking at the papers in her hands. “Sorry for the wait.”
Ghost took it as an opportunity to leave and pulled away from your touch. He didn’t say anything to you as he made his way out of the infirmary, his usual long stride making it easier for him to disappear from your view too quickly for you to say anything.
There were no words you could say that would help the situation at the moment. You could hardly pay attention to the doctor as you stared at the doors, foolishly hoping that he would come back just because you wanted him to when you knew he most likely was in his room by now, hidden from everyone including you.
When you were finally able to leave the infirmary, you went to your room instead of going to his. You knew better than to pressure him into talking about something he didn’t want to, especially when he was worked up. It would get you nowhere and make things worse for you both.
Instead, you took the time to take a long shower. It would give you enough time to gather your thoughts for when you went to go talk to him and to give him enough time to be by himself.
The hot water running off your skin pulled you deep in thought. It was clear that Ghost didn’t want to talk about this to anyone but most certainly not to you and that had to do with the fact that he rarely ever talked about his issues with anyone, but you wondered if maybe there was another reason too.
Was he afraid that you blamed him? Did he think that you resented him for what happened?
The mere thought of that made you feel sick. You couldn’t let him think that you hated him when that was far from the truth. You hoped that you hadn’t done anything to make him think that, but if he already believed it then that was the case. However, you were determined to at least clear the air with him. You weren’t going to let the pain inflicted on you ruin your life even more by pushing you both away from each other.
You got out of the shower and dried yourself off, making sure to put on comfier clothes since you knew you weren’t going anywhere else tonight, and made your way to his room.
Ghost’s room was far from everyone else’s. It was no surprise to anyone that this was the case since he was a private man but it did mean that it was out of the way when you wanted to visit him. That never really stopped you, but you had only been to his room a handful of times before this moment since both of you were often together that you rarely ever went there to see him.
You stopped in front of his door and hesitated to knock. There was still a chance that he wouldn’t want to talk about it and for a split second you wondered if it would be better to wait until tomorrow before you shook your head. You wanted to clear the air now.
You knocked softly but loud enough for him to hear. You held your hands close to you as you fidgeted with them, your eyes glued to the door as you waited for a response.
“Ghost.” You called out after a long period of silence.
There was no response but you heard him approach the door and you took a small step back. The door opened and you looked up at Ghost to see him wearing more comfortable clothes as well along with his black balaclava, an outfit you liked almost more than what he wore on missions.
His eyes softened when he looked at you, they bounced around your face and his shoulders relaxed as he gave you a small nod. He seemed to be in a better mood than he had been the entire day and you judged by the way he looked at you, he wanted you to be with him at the moment.
“What do you need, sergeant?” He wondered and you bit the inside of your lip.
“Can we talk?”
Ghost gave another short nod and he stepped out of the way to let you in, his eyes never leaving as you entered his room. He closed the door behind you and stood in front of you expectantly without saying anything.
You opened your mouth to say something before you closed it. You were still playing with your hands as you tried to come up with the right words to say. It seemed like everything you had thought of in the shower had disappeared the moment you had laid eyes on him.
The silence between you both made your stomach churn ever so slightly and that never happened. Clearly something was going on since you never had an issue with being in silence with him before.
“I’m sorry about snapping at you earlier.” You decided to try to ease into the conversation in hopes that it would make it easier for him.
“Get to the point.” Ghost disregarded the question and you sent him a look.
Now he wanted to be direct.
“Why do you blame yourself for what happened?”
Ghost’s shoulders tense up again but he stayed put. He took a deep breath and this time you couldn’t see nervousness when you looked into his eyes, instead you saw his professional, cold stare he used often on the battlefield.
“As your lieutant, it’s my job to keep my team safe and I fucked up.” He said and your eyebrows knitted together. “And now you’re paying the consequences for my mistake.”
“We both fucked up.” You reminded him.
“Doesn’t matter. It was my responsibility and I failed.”
You felt your heartache as you saw the guilt creep into the anger he had. You watched his hands ball up into fists and watched how he began to breathe just a little heavier than before. It hurt you to see him beat himself up so harshly for something that wasn’t his fault, especially when he had suffered through the same torture as you.
You carefully placed your hand on his wrist and watched for any sign of discomfort in his eyes when you did.
His eyes neither softened nor did they show that he hated the contact, instead he watched your every move, every microexpression across your face as you slid your hand down.
You managed to slip your fingers through the fist he made, your soft skin gliding over his palm in an attempt to open his hand without you asking him to do it. When he let go of the fist he had made, you held his hand and caressed his scarred knuckles with your thumb while you stared up at him.
There was something else he was hiding and he was using the mask to keep it secret. You knew that it was a security blanket for him, not only to keep himself safe and to keep the persona he created for himself but also to create a barrier for vulnerable moments like these. It made him feel safe but it also pushed him down, drowning him in his pain and causing him to bottle it up until it was released on the battlefield. Now it was being used to block you from trying to ease his mind from the pain that your near death caused.
You placed your hands on his shoulders and stepped just a little closer, making sure to check if he was okay with you getting in his space. You felt him place his hands on your hips, his fingers gripping them ever so slightly as he pulled you almost into his chest.
Your fingers found the edge of his mask and you ran them along the hem of the fabric without looking away from his eyes.
“Can I see you?” Your voice was soft as if he would be scared away if you spoke any louder.
Ghost hummed an approval and watched as you rolled the fabric up in your hands before you slowly pulled it off his face, giving him enough time to change his mind if he truly did not want you to look at him.
When the mask was finally off of his face, your chest tightened even more when you could fully see the sadness that was etched into the scowl he wore on his face. Every scar, old and new, that peppered his face weighed him down more as he stared at you with eyes that were determined to keep hold of the anger he felt.
But it quickly disappeared when you gently place your hands on his face. Stubble scratched your fingers and you watched as his eyes widened ever so slightly from the sudden contact before they softened so much you thought you saw a few tears well up in them. Your thumb traced a new scar on his cheekbone and you caressed his cheek as you moved your hand to the nape of his neck. You ran your fingers through his messy hair and watched as his eyes fluttered shut.
Simon let out a long breath and leaned into you, holding you by your hips. For a moment you didn’t want to break the silence as you also found peace within it. You liked the way his hair felt on your fingers and you liked being this close to him, especially when his thumbs were rubbing small circles into your hips. You liked that in this moment you both were able to enjoy touching each other in softer ways than what either of you were used to.
You had to break it however. You couldn’t let him stay in pain.
“I never blamed you.” Your voice was still soft and he opened his eyes to look at you. “I would never in my entire life blame you for this.”
Simon’s eyebrows knitted together and he shook his head. He nearly pulled away from you but didn’t let go of his face. When he tried to look away from you, hurt and anger flashing across his face, you made sure to keep his attention as you continued to play with his hair.
“It’s not your fault, Simon.”
He stared into your eyes, searching for a hint of something that would tell him that you were lying but you were being the most honest he had ever seen you before. You were so sure in believing that he wasn’t at fault for what happened to you that he nearly believed it himself.
This time you did notice how his eyes got misty and you were prepared to watch a few tears fall but they never came.
Instead, Simon pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around you, careful to not put pressure against your ribs as he did so. He leaned his head down and rested his forehead against yours, looking deep into your eyes as he waited for you to reject him.
When you locked your arms around his neck and kept him as close to you as possible, he sighed with relief. He didn’t hesitate to turn his head to the side and press his lips against yours.
They were rough just like he was but he kissed you with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of. Each time your lips moved against his, your breath was stolen from you as he pressed you against him as much as he could, almost like he wanted to absorb every part of you into his body.
You melted into him, your arms locking behind his neck as you pulled him against you to get more of him if it was even possible. You shuddered when his warm hands ran up your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine with the ghost of touch through your shirt. The feeling set a fire in your stomach and even when his hands moved back down to your hips you could still feel the remnants of his touch.
Simon broke the kiss and snaked his arm under your knees. He picked you up with ease and held you close to him as he quietly caught his breath, his face slightly flushed while his dazed eyes stared deep into yours.
There was a deep desire within them heated by the weight of you in his arms. He could hold you like this forever if he wanted to and if you would let him. It made him feel strong enough to take the brunt of anything physical that dared to try to reach you without even flinching. It fueled the fire in him, it made him want you in ways that he only let himself think about when he was alone in the confines of his room with the image of you behind his eyes.
You felt the same way having his strong arms hold you up steadily with confidence. You weren’t worried he’d drop you, even when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned closer to place a kiss on his lips again. You hummed when he held onto you tighter and he let out a soft grunt as you took his lips into your.
He could carry you wherever he pleased and do whatever he pleased to you this way which made you dig your fingers into the nape of his neck.
He deepened the kiss. He held you almost the same way he had when he carried you to safety, protective and full of comfort that you would never be able to get from anyone else but that was okay but you didn’t want to get it from anyone else. You only wanted it from him, you only wanted him.
Simon moved towards his bed where he laid you down on top of it. He didn’t break the kiss as he climbed on top of you, pushing his leg between yours and slipping his tongue inside of your mouth. He tasted like tea with the faintest hint of cigarette smoke that made you hungry for more of him.
You let out a soft moan when his hand roamed down your side, his fingers leaving a tingling sensation across your skin when he moved it underneath your shirt. You arched your back into his warmth when he palmed your breast, his thumb rubbing across your nipple. You gripped his shirt tightly to keep him close to you and pressed your body into his, your mind already muddled from the minimal contact as he trailed kisses from your mouth to the underside of your jaw.
Your skin flushed with heat when he sucked the spot gently, earning another moan from your throat. You gasped when he bit your skin, a whine leaving your mouth when you felt a slight sting that was remedied by the swipe of his tongue over the spot.
You felt crushed underneath his weight in the best way possible, especially as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, his large hand squeezing and playing with the plump flesh as he pleased but it wasn’t enough. You could feel yourself ache for him to touch you in other places, you need more than just his hand on your breast, you needed both of them to hold you, to feel you in a place you only dreamed of before this moment.
You rolled your hips along his thigh to get some kind of friction, the snag from his pants against your aching cunt gave you enough to make you sigh with relief.
Simon grabbed the hem of your pants, stopping you from moving your hips as he gave them a tug. You didn’t hesitate to slip them off with his help and a moan escaped your mouth when he palmed you through your underwear which was already damp from your slick.
“Fuck.” He grunted in your ear before he began to leave more marks on your neck.
His fingers rubbed your clit through your underwear, making it more soaked as you moaned from the friction. Your hips moved up to meet his hand, small moans leaving your mouth as he put the right amount of pressure against you.
He grabbed your hips and pushed his leg on you more. He left kisses on your neck before he sat up to look down at you and you whined with a slight pout from the absence of his hot breath against your skin. However, that was quickly pushed away when he gently guided your hips along his thigh, the friction becoming more intense because of the removed layer. You rolled your hips along with his movements, the feeling of his pants against your clit through your underwear making you a noisy mess.
Simon watched you fuck yourself on his thigh with dark eyes full of desire. Each moan and gasp you made had him pushing you down on his thigh to add more pressure so you could get to your climax. His chest heaved up and down as an almost primal need to make you feel good overtook him.
You could see it in his eyes and it made you ride him harder, the familiar tug of pleasure building up. You chased it, your underwear now soaked and spreading to his pants as you gripped his arm for extra support. Your eyes were lidded as you stared up at Simon and you clenched around nothing as you saw just how much he liked seeing you come undone like this, how much he liked that you were using him for something good.
A tightening pain began to creep in your sides and you clenched your jaw. You were starting to get breathless but not in the way that you wanted to be. Your sides were spasming from the exertion and the spot where the rookie punched you stabbed into your lungs, making your chest heave. You were determined to keep going as you fought for the pleasure you felt against the pain in your lungs.
However, a particular bad stab against your lungs made you wince and stop. Heat flushed your face as you shut your eyes, placing a hand over them in an attempt to hide yourself as you huff with frustration.
“Fuck…I’m sorry.” You shook your head as your throat tightened.
“It’s alright.” Simon shushed you and pulled your hand away from your eyes, placing soft kisses against your lips. “You’re okay.”
He positioned himself overtop of you so he could keep kissing you as he began to move your hips on his thigh again. He went slow at first, giving you time to catch your breath as the pleasure began to build again. His grip was more gentle this time but he kept the same pressure against your cunt, nearly identical to the way you had been doing it before.
You were still tense, the soreness in your side still there as he moved your hips for you. You were struggling to hold onto the pleasure while trying to ignore the fact that you had given up, your body so tense you felt like a rock.
“Let go.” His voice was soft against your ear as he placed slow kisses on the marks he made on your neck. “I’ve got you.”
Those words, he had repeated to you over and over again when he had held you in his arms. They had been reassuring for him in the moment, to tell himself that he was strong enough to save you but now they had a different meaning. Those three words were to let you know that he was there for you, that he would always be there for you especially when you were damaged like you were. He could be strong for you, he could help you, he wanted to help you and he wanted you to accept it because he wanted to be there even when you were better.
They sunk into you and you slowly let go of the tension in your muscles, slowly stopped focusing on the pain and instead focused on the pleasure that he was giving to you.
You fell into his warmth and the friction against your clit began to cloud your mind again to the point you couldn’t control the sounds you were making. Your moans were like a song to Simon and he sighed deeply as he left another mark on your neck.
You were close and he could feel it. Your thighs began to twitch and your breaths were short as you grabbed his shirt tightly. You managed to get back enough strength to move your hips along with his hands again. Your eyes began to flutter shut and he kept a steady pace.
“That’s it, just like that.” He cooed in your ear when the band in your stomach finally snapped and your body tense as your orgasm washed over you.
The comforting praise from him made you feel more warm as you were out of breath again. You were still coming off of your high but you were still aching for him, you wanted more of him.
Dazed, you ran your fingers through his hair, giving him an impatient tug that made him leave a kiss on your shoulder, a way to tell you to wait for you to catch your breath.
“It’s okay, ‘m not going anywhere.” Simon assured you as he massaged his fingertips into your thighs.
You nodded, unable to say anything as you played with his hair, your fingers shaky from exertion and from your orgasm. It took a moment for you to start breathing normally and when you finally caught your breath he hovered over you.
Simon looked down at you with soft eyes still full of desire but there was something more within them. They bounced around your face as he brought his hand up to your cheek, brushing his knuckles across your heated skin so softly like you would fall apart from his touch.
He cupped your face, using his thumb to caress your soft skin with calloused hands that have committed violent acts yet he touched you as if he were someone completely different. He took you in, your hair slightly damp from sweat and your lips plush from being kissed, and thought that this is what heaven looked like. He looked at you as if you were the most important thing in his life, like you were something that needed to be worshiped beyond what he could provide, a divine figure worthy of everything good in life.
You leaned into his touch and reached out to caress his face as well. Before you had always wondered what his face looked like, making up random features to put a face to the rough man you worked with everyday, but you were happy that nothing of what you thought had been right.
He was beautiful beyond anything that could be thought of. You were sure he’d disagree, even if he joked that he was handsome, saying that the scars made him ugly but you could never agree with him on that.
Simon leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on your temple. He kissed your scar down to your eyelid and placed one on top of it. He moved to the rest of your face, peppering slow kisses all over it while he continued to caress your cheek with his thumb.
Your chest warmed and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close in a hug that warmed your chest. You ached even more for him, the affection making you roll your hips up into him causing you to gasp when you felt his erection through his pants.
“Needy.” He grunted and gently squeezed your cheeks with his hand.
“Please.” You begged barely above a whisper as you rolled your hips against him again.
His eyes darkened and he locked you into another passionate kiss where he let his hands roam down to your shirt. He grabbed the hem and caressed your skin with his fingers before he pulled your shirt off you, tossing it on the floor somewhere far from the bed. He ran his hands over your breasts tweaking your nipples as he placed kisses down your chest, biting and licking to mark you.
“Can’t say no to you.”
Simon kissed a few more times before he leaned back to get a good look at you but he froze.
You were covered in bruises. Most of them had faded and were almost gone from your skin, but there were a few that still held that unhealed darker shade to them. The spot where the rookie had hit you had already formed a fresh bruise that was the size of his fist. It was just the bruises either, it was the cut marks and the burns that were forever etched into your skin.
You had looked at them before this moment a few times, not dwelling on them for very long since you would like to keep your indifference to them in tact.
You looked up at Simon with concern as you noticed the guilt creep back into his eyes. It made your heart ache but you reached out and placed a hand on his cheek making him look back at you with those sad eyes of his.
A soft reassuring smile spread across your face as you caressed his face in an attempt to give him some sort of comfort.
“It looks worse than it is.” You said but he didn’t look convinced.
You took one of his hands and placed it over your new bruise, watching as he looked at you hesitantly, almost as if he were begging you to not make him touch it, but you didn’t listen. You gently pressed his hand on it, the pressure only making your eye twitch as most of the soreness seemed to only come when you were moving.
Simon spread his fingers across your skin, barely touching it with a ghost-like touch that nearly made you squirm. He stared at your bruise for a few more moments before he leaned down and tentatively placed a kiss on top of him. He moved to the others, giving them all a soft kiss as if it would make them disappear.
He rubbed his hands over your sides down to your thighs. The petting and the kissing warmed your skin again and you moved your hips up to meet his again, a satisfied hum leaving you when you felt that he was still hard even after he saw your marks.
He hummed deep in his chest before he held your hips down, continuing to leave kisses all over you. His stubble scratched a certain spot on your stomach and you couldn’t suppress the shudder that went through your body before a soft giggle left your mouth.
You felt him smile, a very small one, as he looked up at you and your face flushed hot.
“I’m ticklish…” You admitted and watched as a mischievous look flashed in his eyes that made your eyes widened.
“Noted.” He pressed more kisses as he trailed down to your underwear, taking the time to occasionally rub his chin in spots that made you squirm.
“Don’t you dare.”
“‘nother time, love.”
You blinked at the pet name and how easily he seemed to say it that you almost looked past the fact that he just threatened to tickle you. You were about to scold him for it when he dragged his hot tongue over your soaked underwear, taking away any words that you may have said.
A whimper left you as he licked you through the piece of clothing again, his eyes never leaving your face which contorted with pleasure the more he drenched them with his mouth.
Simon played with you like this as you let out soft mewls and whimpers, fueled by the way you squirmed underneath him until the taste of you through your underwear wasn’t enough. He pulled them off of you, not wanting to waste anymore time before he swiped his tongue slowly over your soaked cunt.
He groaned. It was loud and from his chest, as if it had been ripped out of him without a chance for him to even keep it in. He laid your legs over his shoulders and held onto your hips to keep you in place as he shut his eyes to taste you, letting out another groan as he did so. He started out slow but it didn’t last long because as soon as he got the taste of you in his mouth, on his tongue along with the beautiful sounds of your moans, he was lost in the primal need to have you.
He licked you as if he had been starved of this, as if this was the only time he’d ever get the chance to taste you again. His tongue worked on your clit, circling it until it was puffy from the overstimulation and made you whine. He sucked it while his tongue lapped of the juices and he opened his eyes to watch you fall apart so easily from his mouth.
The west sounds from his mouth and from your cunt were sinful, almost pornographic as he added a finger inside of you. Your heart was in your ears as you watched you eat you out with the determined ambition he had when he was on missions. The serious look in his eyes that was so full of desire it made you throw your head back onto his pillow and gripped his sheets so tight your fingers went sore. Your moans were loud no matter how hard you tried to restrain them and you wondered if maybe he was doing that on purpose.
You were already close to your second orgasm again by the time he added another finger. Your thigh squeezed his head as the pleasure tightened in your lower stomach but he didn’t move away, in fact it seemed to make him eat you out faster.
You came in his mouth as a loud moan ripped through your throat. Your back arched off the bed as your eyes rolled the back of your head, your muscles spasming from the intense orgasm and from the continued licks from Simon. He helped you ride it out and you expected him to let you catch your breath but you were wrong.
He didn’t stop once, not as you orgasmed or it left you, causing you to whimper and whine. His eyes were locked onto you as he pushed his nose against your clit while he fucked your hole with his tongue.
You were breathless. It felt like all of the air was being squeezed out of you as your moans became uncontrollable. You didn’t care if anyone else in the base heard you as the pleasure you felt was enough to make you feel like your entire body was floating. You were at his mercy as you writhed underneath him and he was relentless, only taking a millisecond to catch his breath before he was back to eating you out like a wild animal.
Your next orgasm hit you so quickly that your vision went out. Nothing left your mouth as your mouth was open in a silent scream as your body shook and lifted off the bed. You gripped the sheets for dear life, them being the only thing that was keeping you grounded as your mind went completely blank. You couldn’t even tell if you were breathing or not as he continued to lick your overstimulated cunt.
Simon didn’t stop until you were twitching and trying to move your hips away from him, your whimpers and whines sounding too pained for his liking. He sat back, panting heavily as he stared at your limp form, feeling a little too proud of himself as he placed kisses on your inner thighs.
He removed his clothes down to briefs, throwing them away as if they were something undesirable, before he climbed on top of you and trapped you underneath him.
You tasted yourself on his tongue when he locked you into a kiss. You moaned into his mouth as your hands ran down his back, tracing any scars you came across while he played with your raw nipples.
Despite the throbbing soreness you felt in your cunt, you still wanted more of him. You wanted to feel all of him and to have him buried deep inside of you until you couldn’t feel anything anymore. It made your stomach flip as you tugged on the band of his briefs, wondering what he could do with his cock if he could make you fall apart so easily with his mouth.
“After all that you still want my cock inside you?” He huffed a laugh in your ear as he went back to attacking your neck. “Dirty thing.”
You nodded, unable to say anything as he rolled his hips into you, his hard cock rubbing against your puffy clit which made you whimper. He held you by the chin and forced you to look at him, his eyes hooded and as he shook his head.
“Use your words.” His other hand pinched your nipple and you whined.
“Please.” You pleaded as you pulled his briefs down his hips. “I want your cock inside me, please.”
“Anything for you.”
Simon pushed your hands away before you pulled his underwear off, his cock finally springing free from its confines. It was red and puffy, the tips leaking beads of precum that you would’ve licked away if you weren’t so needy to have him inside of you. You weren’t surprised by his size. Someone who was as big as Simon Riley had to be packing something as big as his cock was and it only made you want him inside of you more. You were ready to feel all of him, to feel full even if you couldn’t take all of him.
He took his cock in his hand and pumped it a few times before he rubbed the tip on your clit, spreading precum all over you and getting your juices on him. You both hissed at the contact and you arched your back into him in order to feel more of him. You were breathing heavily with anticipation as he pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance.
You gasped and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Your fingernails dug into his skin as he held you close to him before he slowly began to push himself inside of you. You moaned as his cock stretched you wider than you ever had been before and even with how wet you were it wasn’t enough to take away the pain. You blinked away any tears as you felt Simon rub comforting circles into your hips with his thumb while he kissed your shoulder.
He let you get used to him before he pushed more of him inside of you, letting out a few grunts of his own as your walls stretched to fit him. Every time he moved, he made sure to leave kisses on your skin and to rub his thumb into your hip to keep you relaxed as you adjusted to his size. Before long, he bottomed out leaving you both breathless as you held onto each other.
You hugged him close to you and he wrapped his arms around you protectively. You both stayed like that for a moment, the full and heavy feeling of his cock inside of you enough to have you flutter around him. You wrapped your legs around his hips and kissed his neck, leaving a few marks of your own which made him shudder.
It wasn’t until the pain had subsided to a dull ache that you rolled your hips into his at a slow pace. Soft whimpers left your mouth as you buried your face in his neck, the sensation almost too much for you to handle.
Simon whispered encouraging words in your ear, rubbing circles into your shoulder blades and back as you set the pace. He was breathing heavily in your ear, letting out soft grunts as he left hot kisses on your shoulder. He kept you in a secure hold with his arms wrapped around you, the warmth from his body being the only other thing you could feel.
Eventually your body betrayed you and you felt the all too familiar stabbing pain in your ribs, but where you left off, Simon picked up. He rolled his hips into you at a steady but gentle pace. He focused on the way you reacted, the small gasps and moans you let out as he moved against you, making sure to keep himself in the right angle so you could feel every good feeling he wanted you too.
The pace made you breathless and had you whimpering, slowly building the pleasure again but it wasn’t enough. You knew that he was capable of more than what he was doing but he was holding back. He didn’t want to hurt you and though you didn’t want him to be too rough, there was another time for that, you could handle more than what he was doing right now. As much as you liked how caring he was being, you wanted him to ruin you in the best way possible, to open you up like no one else has before and make you his.
“Simon,” You moaned and his breath hitched as he looked down at you. “Harder, please.”
“No…”
He kissed you and though he was being gentle with you, you could tell he wanted to go harder, faster than he was so he could chase both of your highs. It was sickeningly sweet how a man who seemed so cold could be this kind to you, even when you both wanted more. His control was impressive though he seemed to have too much of it at the moment.
“I can handle it.” You assured him and he pressed his lips together. “Please, I need you. I need to feel you.”
“Fucking hell.” He groaned and stopped moving, causing you to whine.
Simon ran his hands up your thighs and held you behind your knees. His fingers gripped your skin firmly and you looked up at him expectantly. He had a serious look in his eyes as he stared at you before he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes going slightly soft as he sighed deeply.
“You have to tell me to stop if it gets too much.” He warned and you nodded as your stomach flipped.
“Promise.” You kissed him tenderly and rolled your hips into his, causing him to groan.
Simon kissed you back just as passionate before he moved against you. He started out slow again, letting you get used to it before he picked up the pace. His cock slid in and out of you with ease as he nearly pulled himself out all of the way only to slam back into you. He kept your legs in place as he watched your breasts bounce from the force, somehow getting harder at the sight.
You threw your head back and dug your nails into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace hitting the most sensitive spots inside of you. Every thrust knocked the wind out of you and you became a writhing mess underneath him as he didn’t relent for anything. The sounds of your moans mixed with the wet sounds of his cock slamming inside of you and your mind went completely blank. You couldn’t even think to move your hips along with his, so drunk off his cock already that all you could do was lay there and take it.
His cock hit the spot inside of your walls that made you open up for him to go deeper and you begged him to keep going. You lifted yourself up from the bed to feel more of him and nearly cried when the head of his cock kissed your cervix. It felt like he was inside of your stomach and you couldn’t breathe again as your walls clenched so tight around him he let out a moan.
He would’ve laughed at how close you were already but it only made him feel pride in himself that he was the one making you feel this good. He was the only one who got to see you come apart like this, he was the only one who could make you orgasm like this.
“C’mon.” He grunted as he moved to hold your hips, holding you down. “Give it to me.”
He hit that spot on your walls over and over again, even when your legs began to shake. Your vision went blurry from tears and you gripped his arms so tight you were sure you left marks on them as your moans went high pitched. The pleasure became so much that when the orgasm hit you saw stars as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your body shook uncontrollably. You went completely limp as you moaned, whimpered and cried out with pleasure that a few tears rolled down your cheeks.
Simon didn’t stop and helped you ride out your orgasm before he smashed his lips against yours. He bit your lip as you cried, licking away your salty tears as he chased his own high that was now starting to build up inside of him as well. He was breathing heavily and you writhed underneath him from overstimulation but he wasn’t going to stop, not when he could feel another build up inside you.
You wondered how long he could go for before he hit that spot again, taking out any thoughts you had as you fell back onto the bed. You were reduced to nothing but cries of pleasure again as he pounded into you.
You were so vulnerable, so beautiful and crying the way you should be crying, out of pleasure, from something good and not from something out of fear. Not only was he keeping you safe he was making you feel better, he was making you feel good. So good that you had already cummed on him four times already.
“No one’s ever gonna touch you again.” He grunted under his breath before he latched his mouth on your neck, sucking your bruised flesh. “Never letting you get hurt again.”
“Simon.” You sobbed and he thrust into you harder.
“I’m here, love.”
His thrust began to turn erratic as he felt himself close to the edge. He was pushed further towards it when you clenched around him again and he found the spot that made you a mess, using it to chase his own high as well. His breath was ragged and he couldn’t help the groans that escaped him when he felt you shake underneath him.
“That’s it, one more. Just one more.” He slurred his words as you clung to him for dear life.
Another orgasm hit you and this one completely ripped through you. It was as if you had an out of body experience, you were floating in the sticky air, gone from Simon’s room as his voice sounded so far away from you as he repeated your name like a mantra.
He thrust into you a few more times before you felt him release hot, sticky liquid inside of you. He gripped the sheets beside your head as he pushed all of his cum into you before he went still, his chest pressing against yours as you both panted like you had run a marathon.
For a moment, you both laid there in each other's arms in silence. Your skin was hot and sticky from your sweat and from Simon’s, but you didn’t mind. You were content with burning your face into the crook of his neck and falling asleep this way as exhaustion caught up to you again. You managed to wrap your arms around him to pull him into a hug that he returned immediately.
Simon regained his breath a lot quicker than you. He pushed himself off you and looked down at you, his eyes going soft as he saw the exhaustion in your eyes. He worried that he went too hard before you gave him a smile. He placed his hand on your cheek and kissed you one last time before he slowly pulled out of you.
You whimpered from the movement and you were left feeling empty without him.
You watched him get up from the bed and walk towards the bathroom with heavy eyelids. You shut your eyes when you heard the sink run, finding that his bed was actually pretty comfortable compared to yours, though without him beside you, the chill from the air against your damp skin made you shiver. Time seemed to go by slowly as you waited for him to come back yet when you heard him return you didn’t have any energy to open your eyes until he placed a gentle hand on your thigh.
When you opened them, you saw him use a towel to wipe up the mess between your thighs, causing you to wince from the contact and him to rub his fingers into your skin.
He got up to leave again and you scooted over on his bed to make room for him. The bed was small and you weren’t sure how comfortable either of you would be if you slept together, but you didn’t want to go back to your room. When he came back he laid down on the bed beside you and pulled the blankets over you both before he pulled you into his chest, maneuvering you in a way that your head rested on his chest.
You placed a hand on his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist.
“I’m going to be okay.” You said after a long period of silence. You looked up at him and he stared down at you with certainty. “Eventually.”
“Still doesn’t mean I won’t worry.” He sighed and you felt him flex his broken hand on your waist.
“You can worry, I just want you to know I’ll be okay.”
You took his hand in yours and pressed your fingers into his palm. You massaged the places between his knuckles, his fingers and anywhere else that might be stiff, working in firm circles to make sure that the job would get done while he watched you with tired eyes.
Simon placed a soft kiss on your forehead and pulled you closer.
“Okay.”
~
Long after you fell asleep, Simon laid there watching your chest rise and fall in the darkness. He held onto you to keep you close to him as studied how relaxed your face looked as you slept peacefully beside him. This wasn’t the first time he had committed the image to memory but after tonight, this would always be burned into his mind until the day he died.
He never expected to sleep with you but he didn’t regret it. Not when you looked at him like you loved him and not when he felt his heart pour so many emotions into the way he had made love to you. He hoped that when you woke up or in the future he could share more moments like this with you, moments where he could lay down beside you and be there for you whenever you had a nightmare. There was so much more he wanted to show you, so many feelings he still had to tell you without saying a word but you need to sleep.
Simon would always carry some guilt inside of him for what happened to you, but knowing that you never blamed him helped him move on from a lot of the self hatred he had towards himself. If you didn’t blame him, then maybe it was okay if he didn’t blame himself.
He dared to place a hand on your cheek, loving the way that your skin felt against his before he placed one last kiss to your forehead.
He let his eyes flutter shut as he listened to your soft breathing, something that he could always fall asleep to but never really had a chance to until now and maybe in the future if you kept him around.
It didn’t matter if you didn’t or not.
Simon would always be there to protect you.
~
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Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised. Psalm 48:1
Recently, I had a fall and I fractured my hip. I had to undergo surgery. While I was lying in the hospital bed all I could think of was, how good the Lord Jesus has been in my life. Great is His faithfulness!
I experienced the love of Jesus through the expert care of the doctors, nurses and the hospital staff, and furthermore through the overwhelming love, care and support of my family- my husband, my children, sisters cousins, aunts and friends. They prayed for me and rose up to meet my physical needs as well.
The LORD is good to all; His compassion rests on all He has made. Psalm 145:9
As finite beings, we can scarcely comprehend what is going on in our lives especially when crisis hits. But we can rest assured, that we are safe in the hand of Jesus and that He will carry us through. And through it all, His love, mercy and grace will enable us to praise Him at all times. " Great is our Lord!"
#bible verse#daily devotional#christian quotes#bible quotes#inspiration#daily devotion#christian quote#christian life#scripture#bible#hospital#the fractured but whole#sickness
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Who did this to you...? 1
Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader
Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.
Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, Fluff,
Word Count: 2.2k
a/n: Requested by anonymous.
Part 2
A deep silence descended upon the land. The ocean was calling, singing, and chanting. Oblong clouds obscured the waxing moon. Creatures cried out and escaped the shelter of the rising shadows. The door was shut and a low prayer escaped her quivering lips.
The wounds pained terribly, crimson oozed, a narrow river and the stabbing pain in her side made it impossible to form a clear thought. Helplessly, Y/N banged on the door. Peggy must be in the house, Y/N thought to herself, saw a faint light flickering in the living room and, listening closely, she thought she could hear the sounds of a sewing machine.
Footsteps echoed again, and the flame of hope awakened. The light was blinding and Y/N squinted her eyes, stumbled back, and cursed like a sailor.
Peggy whispered Y/N´s name. Her eyes were wide, threatening to fall out. Hands clawed into the holey material of the filthy coat, pulling Y/N into the depths of the house. Peggy gulped, and closed the door, locked it, had looked earlier to see if anyone had followed her best friend. Her lips parted, could not speak, dared not to ask questions, feared the worst, the answer. The young woman swallowed and stared at her hands. A liquid clung to her trembling fingers, and cursing, Peggy realised it was crimson. Y/N's blood. It was warm and dripping down onto the carpet. A cry escaped her, pacing, wondering what to do, had never seen so much blood. It was too much blood, Peggy thought to herself, knew it.
Guiding Y/N towards to living room, Peggy tried in vain to get information from the beaten woman, but Y/N stayed in silence, unable to answer, to speak, to pray nor to curse. Carefully, fearing to hurt her even more, Peggy guided Y/N to the sofa and pushed her down, ignoring the fact the reddish liquid would soak into the pale material of the sofa opposite of the table with the sewing machine.
"What happened? Y/N talk to me! Who did this to you?" Peggy asked hysterically.
Mud, dried, and fresh, stuck to shoes and coat. The red lipstick was smeared and a horrible blueness spread over the flesh, like ice, shining faint but Peggy saw the wounds clearly in the dim light. She prayed again. Warily, she placed her trembling fingers on Y/N´s and repeated the question she had asked hundreds of times.
"Why are you here? The Shelby's can help you more with this. I am not a nurse! I am a seamstress, Y/N/N.", "No." was all Y/N found strength to say.
Promptly Peggy understood, remembered the stories shrouded in shadows. No questions escaped Peggy and helped her good friend out of the ruined garment, once a beautiful coat. Peggy turned hesitant, freed Y/N´s arms and narrowed her eyes. Shocked, she noticed Y/N was not crying, but staring into the void, not reacting in any way when she accidentally brushed against the gaping wounds.
Eyes grew. Marks pale as the moon, hoary footprints spread across the torn blue dress, and Peggy could not believe her eyes, thought for a moment it was a terrible dream from which she would awake, but then as the sticky crimson dried on her skin, she realised it wasn’t a dream. Urgently Y/N looked up, didn’t look at her fingers, feeling the awakening pain in her chest yet she felt empty, couldn’t scream, having screamed too much, pleading for mercy.
"I won't call anyone, I understand, you can stay with me, they won't look for you here, no one will find you. No one followed you, I looked. I'll take care of you; you don't have to worry." Peggy breathed, trying to speak as calmly as possible.
The torn fabric fell to the ground. Peggy knelt down and played with the laces of the shoes, freeing Y/N's feet from the clutches of the uncomfortable looking shoes.
Suddenly eyes shot up.
“...did they?" Peggy couldn't finish the sentence.
"No.", "I told you from the beginning that this family would bring you nothing but pain. I would kill your parents; they should be ashamed of themselves and if I were them, I wouldn't even leave the house. They sold you out. Shame on them! Bloody pigs." Peggy yelled indignantly.
Swiftly she rose but Y/N did not answer, glancing after her as she disappeared with hasty steps through the open door into another room and after a few moments in which the only sound filling the room was her heavy breathing she returned cursing with a first aid kit in her possession.
"Talk to me.", "Tell me what happened." Peggy urged in an almost imperious yet loving tone.
Peggy needed to hear what happened, but again Y/N shook her head, wishing to stay in silence, fearing the words resting on the tip of her tongue, trying to ban the memories from heart and mind. Y/N clawed her fingers into the ragged dress, felt the fibres threatening to cave in, the fibres tearing. The memories rolled in waves, overtaking her like an army, but Y/N knew she had to be strong, that she didn't have a strong shoulder to lean on.
Firmly, she pressed her lips into a line. Sickening sensations spread through her mouth. The nasty taste of copper spilled into her mouth, but Y/N suppressed the urge to spit, to puke.
"They were waiting for me. They know who I belong to. I couldn’t do anything. They didn't want to kill me, but I think I'm about to die. I won't make it through the night. Today was my last day at work, they waited across the street, followed me and then chased me down like an animal, a deer." Y/N whispered.
Y/N felt like a fool and took a deep breath. White dots danced. The reek was sickening, but no complaint crossed her lips as Peggy wiped the crimson with the damp cloth away. She breathed a low excuse and continued to clean Y/N´s arms and legs.
"I have seen them once or twice, in a bar with Thomas. I know them.” she continued.
“What happened after?” Peggy asked hesitantly.
She knew the answer, saw it clearly, the cuts and deep traces.
“They dragged me into an alley. There were five of them. I didn't stand a chance; they were too fast, too strong, I tried to fight, I really tried, but they." Y/N mumbled.
She closed her eyes, saw the men lunge at her like ravenous barbarians, laughing as tears escaped, hands clenched into fists, cursing and shouting, and when the man noticed more and more blood oozed, they stopped and fled as quickly as they had come.
Peggy glanced up. Flashes of flame blazed, seeing the memories Y/N's eyes reflected, but she continued with her work, disinfecting the deep wounds with the cloth, applied ointments and bandages, hoping it would be enough.
"Why hasn't anyone picked you up. I would. Why did nobody pick you up? You are a woman, you need protection. I hope you know how I mean it. Yes, you are strong but not strong enough to fight with your fists. I rarely leave the house alone and I am not associated with the Shelby’s. What will you tell your husband? Won't he be looking for you?" Peggy asked.
Y/N laughed dryly. Her head fell back. She bit hard on her lower lip as Peggy apologised for the pain she was causing.
"Thomas Shelby may be my husband but he doesn't love me. His heart is hard as a rock. He married me because I'm a good catch. His family, every one of them hates me, even the women but the children are nice. They like me, I think or they feel sorry for me." Y/N gasped as the ointment burned into her skin.
Laughing, it sounded bitter, full of pain, Y/N looked down at the ring Thomas had given her, a sign of loyalty, endless love and trust, but Y/N knew as well as Peggy that this was not the case.
"But what can I do. If it was up to him, he would throw me out of the house. He doesn't need me. My father is a good lawyer, he doesn't care about me and I won't talk about my mother." Y/N breathed, so softly, unsure if Peggy had heard the answer.
She closed her eyes, felt tears travelling down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away, let them flow in narrow streams.
"That's why I came to see you. What am I supposed to do there?" Y/N laughed bitterly.
Y/N imagined the situation when she would enter the house, she couldn’t call home.
"I might also be told that it's my fault. I shouldn't have been on the streets. Maybe they will say I need to dress differently. Can I stay at your place tonight? I don't feel like walking to the Shelby's nor my parents, they probably wouldn't even open the door for me." Y/N said.
She did not doubt her words for a moment.
"Of course, you can stay here Y/N, you can stay as long as you want, you can move in for all I care. Don't you want me to call him? Won't he be surprised if you don't arrive tonight?" Peggy said.
Carefully, she placed her hand on Y/N's knee and slowly lifted the hem of the dress to inspect the blueness more closely. Y/N shrugged her shoulders, knew the answer, knew it well, but the words didn't escape but she was sickened by her own thoughts, by the truth.
"I don't care, you don't have to call the Shelby's, it's not necessary, but I won't stop you, I want to protect you, don't be surprised if no one cares, but maybe the kids will come to see me. There are days when he doesn't even come home. Maybe he visits local houses. I don’t know, but I suspect it.” Y/N answered.
“Y/N/N, if you want you can stay for the rest of the week, my parents won't mind and if you don't want to be alone, you can help me with my work tomorrow, you can help me with the dresses." added Peggy, almost joyfully.
Weakly, Y/N nodded, already looking forward to spending time in the presence of a friendly person. She had almost forgotten the pain, but whenever she thought it had faded into nothingness, an unpleasant twinge spread through her chest, bearing hundreds of arrows.
"Would you like to come to my room? My bed is big enough for both of us, and I'll have a better conscience than leaving you down here alone." Peggy asked, looking up and immediately noticing the tiredness spreading across Y/N´s features.
"No, I'm staying here and I don't think I'll be able to make it upstairs. Don't worry about me and as you said, no one followed me and I know no one will look for me. At the end of the day, who am I? They don't need me, if I disappear my father will continue to work for them, he never liked me, I'm not his blood after all, I'm just a replacement and my mother, I don't even know when we talked together in peace. And even if I were lying there in the alley, it would be more likely that a dog would find me and lie by my side than one of them fearing for my safety." Y/N spoke.
Satisfied with her work, Peggy placed the ointment and the plasters on the table and rose from her place on the cold wooden floor. Her hair was curled in rolls and a long bathrobe in shades of dark green covered her long frilly nightdress. Peggy took a few steps, picked up the blanket folded on the dark armchair, and lowered it onto Y/N, covering her legs and upper body and placed a soft pillow at her side. Y/N breathed words of thanks and smiled weakly.
"It will be best if I drive you home tomorrow. It will be better. When do you want me to take you home? Probably not until the afternoon. I'll cook us something delicious for dinner and I'll make you a new dress. I have a very lovely fabric, the colour will suit you well.", “I don't have a home. Thank you, Peggy, I don't know how to thank you, I'm very grateful for what you do for me. Go to sleep, I'll rest too." Y/N whispered brokenly.
Stillness descended and Peggy wanted to embrace Y/N, hold her tenderly as she witnessed the pain blazing in her broken eyes and it was at that moment Peggy realised the woman, a few steps away from her, was only a shadow of her dear friend.
#cillian x reader#thomas shelby x y/n#peaky blinders imagine#michael gray x reader#thomas shelby x you#tommy shelby x reader#arthur shelby x reader#thomas shelby#peaky blinders fanfic#thomas shelby x reader#john shelby#tommy shelby fic#tommy shelby x you#thomas shelby fluff#michael gray#tommy shelby one shot#thomas shelby imagine#arthur shelby#peaky blinders x reader#john shelby x reader#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinders#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinder headcanon#tommy shelby fanfic#cillian murphy imagine#peaky fookin blinders
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Tignari & Cyno
Reader as kind of a sugar daddy/mommy [the atmosphere while typing this is so fcking awkward 🥲]
Warning:NSFW,
Apologies advanced: I'm sorry if you didn't want to use a strap, but right now, I'm not in the mood or have enough energy to write a separate one for F! reader and also F! Reader strap, it has fake cum as she has a button to release it.
This is the backup writing for you to enjoy since im going to take like more than a week to write the flirty villain [kinda?], Creator writing.
Characters: Tignari & Cyno.
Content/parts:
First: crack with sugar daddy/mommy reader. [Kinda?]
—NSFW—
(1.) Cyno's punishment [you're here!]
(2.) Cyno with tignari and care taker Reader. (Or nurse/doctor reader)
(3.) Tignari aphrodisiac mushroom
(4.) Tignari's heat.
(5.) Cyno & tignari x Eremite Reader
Note for content: cyno & tignari x Eremite reader. Ik, it sounds random, but the idea from it was: HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE EREMITES? THEY. ARE. H0T. 😳 YOU CANT SAY NO, THEY AREEEE. PLEASEE. I WOULD LITTERALLY GO ON MY KNEES FOR THEM—
[That what my friend told me to put. Honestly, I would do the same...]
— ○ —○ — ○ —○ — ○ —○ — ○ —○ — ○ —○ — ○ —
Tignari + Cyno
Cyno litterally makes 10x more jokes than usual around you. Even though it doesn't really make you laugh, you think it's enjoyable. While Tignari....not so much- Which he is glad at. Oh, his reaction is so cute and funny when you gave him limited edition cards. Except when he said that he'll pay for it even though it's a gift...
"This...is for me? W- wait! I'll pay you 1 million mora tor these!"
"Cyno. It's a gi—"
"2 million mora?"
"...." *friendly but firm holding of his shoulders*
"It's. a. gift."
"..."
"..."
"2 million, 500 thousand mora—?"
"Cyno, if you keep talking about giving me mora for a damn gift, I will literally go around Teyvat and even sell my f-cking soul to get more."
"Yes ma'am/sir-" *feeling shivers down his spine. Although....why does he feel hard down there—*
Dang. He made sure he'll never make you mad. Tignari is just mentally slapping himself on the forehead at this. You still give him the limited edition cards everytime it was released.
Tignari always thanked you for your kindness for playing supplies to do what he needs as a forest watcher. Although you still pay and give him stuff even though he has more than enough already....
"Ah, [name]. I already have more than enough. Thanks for offering though—"
"Accept. It."
Tignari with trembling hands as he accepts your forceful gift. Yeah, he ain't going to be on your bad or evil side. Hope to the archons that Cyno doesn't go too far.
....At least he can spoil himself with your gifts.
~`♡°•—~`♡°•—NSFW—~`♡°•—~`♡°•
(1.)
CYNO'S PUNISHMENT
"Hah....how many times have I told you, don't touch yourself?"
Cyno whined. He struggled trying to get free from the ropes and touch you. "M' sorryy!" and "Please!" Comes out of his mouth.
"If you keep whining with that mouth of yours, I'll gag it."
Cyno immediately shuts up when you say that as your hand tightens around his thigh. Letting out a whimper as a plea.
"First, you went home injured without even stopping to get a doctor or even at Tignari's. His house is way closer! And now you're breaking our rules? Touching yourself without permission. Now that's not what good boys do."
Cyno whined, wanting to beg for your mercy and forgiveness, but you didn't let him. He choked on a moan as he felt your knee rubbing against his crotch.
"Aren't you enjoying this too much? Maybe I shouldn't touch you for a whole week...."
Cyno cried a plea to keep touching him. He leaned onto your shoulder, sobbing in pleasure as it overwhelmed him.
Suddenly, Tignari came in. He paused as he saw the sight of Cyno tied up on your bed, and you pinning Cyno down on it. You turned around seeing tignari cover his drooling mouth as his ears slightly tilted downwards. His face is red as his ears twitched.
Tignari just stands there, watching the lewd scene of Cyno panting as he begs to have your touch. Tignari snapped out of his thoughts when you told him to come here. He kneeled beside you, gripping his pants in hopes you don't know. You rub his ears as he softly moans. Biting his lips to refrain the noise further but failing. His ears twitched when he saw Cyno already looked fucked out when you finally start stroking him as you finger him, kissing his prostate. You can feel his hole tightening and his cock twitching for attention, knowing that he'll cum.
"P- please? Wan- Na- cUuM!!"
Tignari tried helping him get over the edge, but you stopped him by tugging his tail, which maid him yelp as pre-cum sticks onto his pants. Cyno's eyes shot wide open as you stopped your movement, edging him. He squirmed as he clenched around nothing. He started sobbing, spreading his arms open and closing and opening his hands, wanting you to come over to him and touching him :(
He was laid down on the bed as Tignari got on top of him. Leaning in to kiss him. You let what Tignari wishes and desires to do with Cyno as you watch in amusement. Cyno pants in heavy blush, silently whining at Tignari to touch him already. Tignari easily gave in his pleading, taking off his pants and undergarments. Pumping both of their cocks.
Tignari's ears twitched as the fully tilted downwards. Cyno's legs started to tremble as he covered his mouth. They both rolled their eyes, saliva running down their chin as they both looked fucked out. Tignari finally fell on Cyno as his body gave up, supporting him.
Cyno flinched when he felt a cold medal going into his hole. He moaned into the sensation as he squirmed. It was a butt plug. You started fingering tignari as he whined but didn't stop you. Instead, he slowly tried thrusting back to make you go deeper as his head was thrown back when he felt your fingers abusing his prostate.
"Ngh— [name]...! Stop teasing me and put it in already– UgAhhH~!"
He felt his mind gone blank when you started pistoling his hole. He bit Cyno's shoulder to refrain his desperate moans, leaving a mark. Cyno soon felt pleasure overridden pain, whimpering in pleasure. Cyno watches everything drowsily with lust as he gets hard again. He kissed Tignari, making out with him.
"Mnm~ ah!! W- wait, slow down! I'm cuMinG!"
He came, ears twitching as Cyno grabs him and kisses him. The last string snapped when Tignari clenched around you, making you cum in him as he whined from being do full
F! Reader: You decided to finally give him his little reward [unlike Cyno, who broke the rule] pressing the button as Tignari drooled at the feeling of being so full
You put Tignari on the other side of the bed. Cyno starts to kneel on his knees, obediently waiting for you. He laid his head on your legs, eyes practically saying that he wants to have his turn to be ruined and fucked.
He teased you and tried to rile you up by showing the butt plug you put in him.
"Please....I've been good, haven't I?"
Pouting for your attention. You pretended to be thinking about it even though you'll give him a reward anyway.
I- I'll ride you! Pleasee? I just want you in me!!"
And here he is, riding you like it's the last time. He felt so full of you, touching the bulge that was caused by you, made him closer to the edge. You put your hands on his hips, helping him get to his climax as he cries a silent scream. He flopped onto your chest as he snores and slept soundly. You should probably wash them early in the morning, but for now, they will sleepily cuddle you.
#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin x reader#genshin x dom reader#genshin x male!reader#genshin x male reader#genshin x f!reader#genshin x female reader#genshin x gn reader#genshin impact x male reader#genshin impact x female reader#genshin impact x gn reader#genshin impact x gender neutral reader#genshin x gender neutral reader#sub genshin x dom reader#sub genshin#sub genshin impact#sub cyno#cyno x reader#cyno x male reader#cyno x fem!reader#cyno x gender neutral reader#genshin x you#cyno x you#sub tighnari#genshin cyno#genshin tighnari#tignari x reader#tignari x gn reader#dom reader
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If requests are still open I’d like to request a fic where Maegor marries Aenys’ second oldest daughter, after his death.
A/N: I hope you like this! Requests are always open!
pairing: Fanon!Maegor Targaryen x Reader
summary: Maegor marries Aenys’ second oldest daughter, after his death.
Word count: 2,5K
Warnings: Angst, forced marriage, a little rape, smut
Masterlist 1
Masterlist 2
You trembled under the heated gaze of your uncle ceasing you up along with your mother and siblings. He had just usurped the throne for himself instead of letting your brother Aegon take it who was currently stuck along with your sister Rhaena in Casterly Rock.
"That crown is not yours to wear!" Your mother glared at him. He only smirked and turned to look at his mother standing stoically beside him. You were the second child of your father and mother being only a year younger than Rhaena and two older than Aegon.
"And it is your child of a son's?" Maegor asked crossing his legs with his ankle on his lap. He looked intimidating enough without having to try with his height and muscles but seeing him with your grandfather's crown on his head and wearing his amor he looked deadly.
"Yes!" Your mother screamed. Your younger brothers Viserys and Jaehaerys sought safety in your arms. You held them close to your body with a hand on each of their backs trying your hardest to comfort them but it was hard when you were scared yourself. Alysanne was in the arms of her wet nurse also shaking in dear.
Your heart dropped when your uncle's eyes trailed to you. His eyes had an evil glint in them that made you want to hurl yourself out of the window in fear.
"Hmmm, I have a solution" He said turning back to look at your mother. She straightened her back as politics took over her mind.
"What could excuse this behaviour?" She asked. Her arms crossed in front of her and her eyebrows pinched closer to one another, she was more Queen Alyssa than your mother in that moment.
"Wed your second eldest to me and I will let you leave in peace" He answered. Rolling his neck a little to look at his mother who nodded approvingly. You took a step back pulling your brothers with you. Your mother turned to look at you noticing the fear in your eyes and the tears streaming down your face already over losing your father. Her gaze hardened however when she looked at your siblings. You begged her in your head to refuse.
"And the throne?" She turned back around to look at Maegor. Visenya's eyes trailed to you, you were young and naive. She would enjoy watching how her son will fair with a wife like you.
"Will go to the heir produced off this union" He answered. He uncrossed his legs leaning forward a little. The maester standing in the corner muttered under his breath of this abomination, first your siblings wed and Maegor had two wives now he wanted to get a third wife who was his niece as well.
"What if one of your other wives produced an heir first?" Your mother uncrossed her arms. She stepped closer to Maegor.
"Mother" Your voice was filled with horror. She was ready to sacrifice you for her own safety and your siblings instead of finding a solution to save you all.
"Hush child" It was Visenya who spoke to you. Your eyes watered even more. Now it was you leaning on your brothers with your arms around their shoulders for support.
"They will be behind our children in line" Maegora assured her. You gulped when his eyes glanced at you. You could feel the cruelty creeping off of him. He was no man, he was a monster.
"Deal" Your mother's voice rang through your head, the sound of diplomacy. Her words echoed in your head as the maids forced you into a dress meant for a Valyrian wedding. Her cold stare made you shiver as Queen Visenya officiated your wedding to your uncle. Her quick and cold hug made you cry before she and your siblings left you to the mercy of your uncle.
"Endure it" Was all Visenya said before leaving you alone in your room. She had helped you change from the ceremonial dress to a sheer night gown. You felt exposed and dirty. Your uncle had forbade the bedding ceremony, saying you were of blood of the dragon and no one should see you in that state.
Your blood ran cold either way when the doors to the room opened and your uncle stepped inside. Your eyes did not leave your own reflection in the mirror as you brushed through your hair. You wanted to stay there and then, imagning it was your warm mother doing it instead of the cold one who had left you earlier that day along with your siblings.
"You look breathtaking, ābrazȳrys" Wife. Your uncle's voice dripped arousal. Your hand holding the comb froze but you kept your gaze on yourself feeling self pity rise in your chest.
"Aren't you going to answer your husband?" He questioned. His large hand rested on your shoulder squeezing almost painfully. You finally found the courage to raised your gaze and look at him through the mirror. He looked the part of a tyrant as good as he played.
"Thank you, valzȳrys" Husband. Your voice was monotone but still you could hear the fear in it. Your mother had told you how it went after marriage, what was expected of you and the act to produce an heir that was very much need being a huge part in the deal between your now husband and your mother.
"Much better, zaldrītsos" Little dragon. His hand trailed down around your neck showing just how big he was and how easily he could overpower you if you even though to disobey. Then it trailed down over your breasts giving each one of them a squeeze, painful enough to make your eyes tear up.
"Shhh, zaldrītsos, uncle will take care of you" Little dragon. He whispered. He enjoyed watching you squirm in pain. His hand trailed down to your middle cupping your cunt. In one swift move he stood up straight and pulled you to your feet.
"Answer me!" He glared heatedly at you. Every nerve in your body twitched with fear.
"Sorry, valzȳrys" Husband. You whimpered. He smirked darkly like he just won a prize. His hand bunched up your night gown and pulled it over your head and threw it some where in the room.
"Much better, zaldrītsos" Little dragon. He pushed you against the wall beside the vanity table. Your eyes widened as he made quick word to undo his his belt and pushed down his trousers. Your mother said it should be in the bed but you were nowhere near it.
"Jump" He ordered. You were confused having never down or seen anything like this. Your gaze was locked on his shaft seeing how big it was, normal for a man his size.
He huffed annoyed wrapping his arms under your thighs and pulled you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. He leaned his head on your shoulder sucking harshly, he wanted to mark you and show everyone who you belonged to. His sucking moved up your neck and then moved to the other side of your neck. You could not help but feel pleasure form the action.
"Uncle" You moaned as he bit down on your pulse point. Fingers running through his short silver-blonde hair the same color as yours.
"Yes, let the whole keep hear, niece" he pulled back to smirk at you. Your eyes widened when he lined his cock with your entrance.
"You're wet" He pointed out. You had not realised that his actions had aroused you. You gulped looking down watching as his head pushed. He paused his movement to pull your head up so you would look at him instead.
"Look at me, keep your eyes on me" he ordered. You nodded loosing all ability to speak from the fear. Your eyes watered as the pain hit you when he pushed fully in breaking your maidenhead.
"It hurts" You cried not daring to take your eyes off of him. A tear rolled down your cheek but your uncle was quick in licking it off your cheek. Only then when he was the one to break eye contact did you allow your eyes to close and leaned your head back against the wall.
"It will go away" He promised, surprisingly gentle. He held you close as he moved off the wall cock still deeply seated inside of you. He laid you down on the bed seeking your comfort. You opened your eyes to look at him with acceptance.
"Move, valzȳrys" Husband. You gave him permission not like he needed it, he could have gotten what he wanted already but chose to wait for you. Maybe this marriage would not be the worst thing you had to live through.
"Oh is my byka ābrazȳrys, needy?" Little wife. He teased. He pulled out slowly eyes never leaving yours. Your hands snaked around his neck and then down his back feeling every muscle there flex under your touch. A moan emitted from your lips as he pushed back in.
"Needy syt ñuha rōva valzȳrys" Needy for my big husband. You found enough confidence to tease him back. He threw his head back as he laughed at your words. His pace also grew faster but not enough for him to be slamming in you but more like rocking back and forth.
"how scandalous byka ābrazȳrys! nyke gōntan daor gīmigon īlē such iā witty byka run" How scandalous little wife! I did not know you were such a witty little thing. He leaned his head down to mouth at your chest. Your nippled pebbled as his tongue licked over them. He latched and sucked hungrily.
"Qogralbar nyke hae ao nūmāzma ziry, valzȳrys" Fuck me like you mean it, husband. Your urged growing frustrated with his slowly and calculated moves. He did not respond too busy sucking on your nipple but he pulled out of you slowly but slammed back in roughly making you cry out.
"Hae bisa?" Like this? He questioned pulling away far enough to see your face. You nodded your head eagerly. Pleasure coursed through your body with each stroke of his cock inside your warm and velvety walls.
"Sepār hae bona" Just like that. You whimpered. He picked up the pace slamming into you painfully but you loved it. A scream of his name ripped through your throat. One of your hands trailed up to his hair needing to hold onto something while the other one trailed down to his bottom almost as if you wanted to assist him with his movement.
"Jurnegon rȳ nyke" Look at me. He ordered, tone growing harsher and more king like. You understood now why Maegor would be a much better king than Aegon or maybe you were just brainwashed by his cock.
"Open aōha relgos sweat ābrazȳrys" Open your mouth sweet wife. You obeyed, sticking out your tongue for good measure. He smirked before pursing his lips and spitting on your tongue. You moaned when you felt the warm liquid touch your tongue but kept your tongue out either way. His hips slammed at a faster pace inside of you.
"Swallow" He said in the common tongue. You obeyed again like a puppet on a string. He groaned feeling his peak closing in on him.
"Valzȳrys kostilus, mirros iksis happening" Husband please, something is happening. Your moans sounded heavenly in his ears. He was sure the entire Keep could hear you two, hear how good he was fucking and how good your cunt was receiving him.
"Cum dōna ābrazȳrys" Sweet wife. Was what made the damn break. Lips touch your ear with each letter, breath tickling your neck and then his tongue licked a strip down to your breasts. His cock hammered inside of you despite your screams of pleasure. Your juices gushed out, squirting onto Maegor's cock, abdomen and the bed, some of it was a pinkish colour having been mixed with your maidenhead blood.
"Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys" My perfect wife. He moaned his release washing over him as well. All his movement stopped and he stilled inside of you shooting rope after rope of his hot seed into your womb.
"Kessa cum isse nyke, nūmo nyke se mazverdagon nyke hōzigon lēda aōha riña, uncle, valzȳrys, ñuha dārys" Yes cum in me, seed me and make me swell with your child, uncle, husband, my king. You moaned feeling aroused still despite squirting only moments ago. Maegor's cock surprisingly did not soften after his orgasm. His stamina was not shocking at all.
"Oh pāsagon nyke kesan, kesan qogralbar ao lēda hen ñuha cum ēva aōha belly swells hen se amount se skori ao jiōragon ziry mirre hen aōha belly would iēdrosa sagon lēda hen ñuha vok zaldrīzes blooded riñar, dōna ābrazȳrys, niece, ñuha dāria" Oh believe me I will, I will fuck you full of my cum until your belly swells from the amount and when you get it all out your belly would still be full of my pure dragon blooded children, sweet wife, niece, my queen. Maegor never imagined that his sweet, naive and innocent niece would be this twisted.
You clenched around him feeling a second orgasm wash over you with only a couple of strokes but it was his words that had made you peak and not his cock.
"Kesan sikagon ao hae naenie heirs hae jaelā, iā gār se olvie tolī lo ao jaelagon" I will birth you as many heirs as you want, a hundred and much more if you wish. Both of your hands were on his ass now pushing attempting to push him deeper inside of you. Your mind was filled with two things only, him and his cock.
"Sȳz ābrazȳrys" good wife. His voice sounded strained, he was still sensitive from the first orgasm and was holding back with all his might to not spill inside of you again until you had reached your peak a third time.
"Fuck!" Your body shook when his finger reached down to your numb rubbing it gently unlike his cock's movement. Your head fell back on the mattress and your eyes rolled back. Feeling possessed and unable to stop the shaking when you felt his hot seed spurt inside of you triggering your third orgasm.
"Īlon're isse syt iā Bantāzma, ābrazȳrys" We're in for a long night, wife. Maegor chuckled. Hums left your lips sounding like growls from your chest as you came down still shaking with each movement. You cried out when he pulled his cock out.
"Iksan mirre aōhon" I'm all yours. You whispered finally having some control over your body. Maegor smirked sitting back on his knees and pulled your hands away from his bottom before leaning back down to hold them with of his above your head.
"Se nyke'll mazverdagon sure tolvys knows bona" And I'll make sure everyone knows that. He grinded his hips against you, rubbing his hard erection against your sensitive hole. Your body jolted at the touch whining with fear and excitement of what was to come.
"Skorkydoso glaesā iēdrosa qopsa" How are you still hard. Your question made him laugh darkly. He leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss for the first since this entire ordeal began.
#maegor x reader#maegor x oc#maegor the cruel#maegor targaryen#maegor imagine#hotd#hotd imagine#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon#maegor smut#house targaryen#house of the dragon imagine#aenys targaryen
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HEY HEY CAN I REQUEST INTIMACY PROMPT ONE WITH BILLY BATSON SJJSBDJS PLEASE AND THANK YOU
Intimacy prompt #1: hugging them from behind, laying their heads on the other shoulder.
It wasn’t hard to find Billy when he was cursing up a storm from his place in the living room alongside Eugene, who was blazing through the level without much hassle, where as Billy was struggling to get through his whilst trying to not get shot or blown up like his past two attempts.
However the game they were playing wasn’t known to be merciful for first time players as Billy’s character was subsequently killed as his side of the television became a shade of blood red as the bold lettering of ‘you died’ flashed on screen with the ‘restart level’ and ‘go back to main menu’ were sprawled beneath it in smaller, missable lettering. Billy sighed defeatedly as he put down the controller onto the coffee table, taking the headphone from his head before placing them next to the controller, as he hauled himself out of his armchair muttering about getting a drink from the fridge.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself Billy,’ you told him as you joined him in the kitchen, ignoring the fact that you heard him scoff, ‘you’ll get the hang of it in due time and soon you’ll be a pro like Eugene.’ You gestured back to the living room, where Eugene had already made it past the last level of the game, was now watching the final cinematic cutscene play out whilst nursing his cramped hands. ‘Don’t fake sympathy for me y/n, I know I’m shit and I doubt I’ll be able to get on Eugene’s level of expertise in gaming.’ Billy replied, taking a sip from his drink as his gaze was firmly lock on the window just over the kitchen sink, that looked out into back garden; Still a tad upset over his amateur loss.
You sighed, already having expected this typical response from him, and moved across the room to cage your arms over his chest, pausing briefly when his muscles stiffened be so your touch before relaxing again as you then tested your head comfortably on his shoulder, where you nuzzled his cheek. ‘What will make you feel better then hmm?’ You asked him softly, your thumbs subconsciously rubbing his sides in reassurance. Wanting nothing more then to provide him a safe place to open up and be comfortable in doing so.
Billy sighed, putting his bottle of fizzy drink down on the counter to put his hands over your own, rubbing the back of them out of habit. ‘I’d like it if you kept holding me like this a little while longer.’ He said, feeling a tad embarrassed of being so open about how he felt after repressing his emotions for so long, he was still a little rusty but with your help Billy had been able to become a lot more accepting of letting others lending him their aid, without feeling as though it was all just transactional. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to move to somewhere more comfortable?’ Billy’s hands tightening on yours when he felt them began to pull away, bringing them back to where they once were.
‘No, standing here with you is fine enough for me.’ He replied in a soft tone. A smile spread across your lips as you made yourself more comfortable by pressing yourself further into his back, arms holding onto him tight. ‘Okay, don’t blame me when your feet start to ache from standing here for too long, or when Freddy starts belting his rendition of ‘my heart will go on’ by Celine Dion.’ You warned Billy playfully as he could only chuckle, moving his head so he could press a kiss to your forehead, whispering against it, ‘I’ll take my chances.’
#dc imagines#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fic#dc fanfic#Shazam imagines#Shazam imagine#Shazam x reader#Shazam x you#Shazam fic#Shazam fanfic#Billy batson imagines#Billy batson imagine#billy batson x reader#Billy batson x you#Billy batson fic#Billy batson fanfic
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WIP Wednesday
All The Fics Lead Back To You by @itsmaybitheway (book-verse)
@zwiazdziarka: Alex (who is of course 100% straight) reads AO3 fics about him and Henry so this fic is really a double treat - we get both Alex going crazy about fanfics AND the fics he reads. Dissonance between fic versions of Alex and Alex who's reading them is everything and so is Alex's mental acrobatics to explain why he reads all that and why he has so many feelings about it.
Tinder Mercies (series) by @absoluteaudacitywrites (book-verse)
@na-dineee: Pez convinces Henry to sign up for Tinder and – jackpot! From Alex's first DM onwards, the two of them are totally gone for each other - and as a reader, you follow along step by step. Henry and Alex are two completely normal people in their mid-thirties, but there are also many canon-typical similarities and parallels, and canon-typical problems are also discussed. Part 1 (Ignite my heart) is completed, part 2 (Burning love) is a WiP.
False Dichotomy by @cha-melodius (book-verse)
@heybuddy-drabbles: It's the You've Got Mail we've all been waiting for!! I've waited for this for so long and it's finally here and it doesn't disappoint. Come along for the ride. Split POV which will be SO fun in the future! And, of course, tons of emails!
light the lamp by @kill8a (book-verse)
@na-dineee: Set in New York, where Alex studies and is a successful ice hockey player in the college team and due to an injury, he meets nurse Henry in the doctor's office. At first sight, Alex is so blown away, he could die ... The story is told very gently and calmly, but also, a lot of canon-typical problems are addressed. Wholesome!
the killing kind by @saintlynomenclature (book-verse)
@na-dineee: Alex is the most famous rock star in the world, Henry a successful actor. After a whirlwind of an destructive relationship, there was (more or less) radio silence for a while, until now... This is a completely different approach to our favourite love story: fatal attraction, closedness, repression, heavy fighting, unhealthy coping mechanisms - Alex and Henry have a lot to unpack here! Not told linearly.
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Hi. I just wanted to say thank you for being so stalwart in your pro-life stance, and for talking about how some abortion arguments are incredibly ableist.
My situation is completely different from yours, but I have a particular distaste for pro-choice arguments that run along the lines of, "oh, the baby could be born with or develop a disability or disease! Don't you want to save it that suffering?"
I have type 1 diabetes, which is based in genetics. With genetic testing and mapping nowadays, it would be possible to see whose children can develop the condition.
The argument that abortion should be used for diseased or disabled babies out of "mercy" never sat right, because it starts with conditions like Down Syndrome (which causes cognitive issues and frequently shortens lifespans), but can easily reach to other conditions such as autism, bipolar, depression, congenital heart defects, and, yes, diabetes, because people are so conditioned to expect perfection.
But I have one of those conditions. I have type 1 diabetes. I know that any children I may have will have an increased risk of developing this condition, because I not only have the dormant gene like my parents did, but I have the active, awakened genetic effect.
Should I have been aborted? Should all of my siblings have been aborted? Should I abort my children because they might get this condition and therefore to deny them death in the womb is "cruel?"
No. I love my life. It has ups and downs, and I've been having trouble lately, but I want to live. I want to get married and have children, to keep birds and have a garden and travel to Japan. I want to be a nurse.
And I want my kids to have that potential, too, if I ever have any.
Nobody can decide whose life isn't worth living except for the person living it.
So, thank you for your stance and for being so outspoken. I hope that I can someday get comfortable enough to speak out on it outside of Anon, too.
May God bless you, and I hope you have a good day.
~ chickanon
Thank you for sharing your story. 🫶🏻 human lives have intrinsic value no matter their genetics, disabilities, age, or size. Humanity could do with a lot more compassion
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Hi! Can you give us a huge insight of Tatiana Nikolaevna's personality? I would be interested in some rare quotes said by someone who met her! (cos she is my favorite royal like ever and I'm hopeless obsessed with her 😫)
Hello! Of course, here are some of my favourite rarer quotes about Tatiana - or from Tatiana herself - which I think give a great insight into her personality....
"Tatiana Nicolaievna had holly different… character. Less serious than her elder sister she was also more positive. In her could already be discerned a strong tendency to dominate to impose her authority coquette. She saw and noticed everything, and often made observations to her sisters, who because of it nicknamed her ‘the governess'… she took great care of her appearance and was it was said that she resembled her…”She's already a woman," said the Empress about her that year. She was the favourite in the family. She was very superstitious. One day she wrote to a graphologist, a fortune teller, to ask that she inform her about the destiny in store for her. By an intermediary, the other had sent to her a note couch in these terms: "A fatal destiny awaits you" Thereafter, the Grand Duchess never stopped bombarding her tutor, Petrov with questions such as "What does that mean? How am I to interpret this letter?"" - Alexander Spiridovich, Last Years as Tsarskoe Selo, volume 2
"It was Tatiana Nicholaievna who would call N.P. Sabline by telephone to transmit ‘Papa’s’ order to come with his friends to play tennis." - Alexander Spiridovich, Last Years as Tsarskoe Selo, volume 2
"As for poor Alexei Nikolaevich, he was as if rooted to the armchair the whole time [unwell]. It was touching to see his sister, Tatiana Nicholaievna, lavishing attention on him before the luncheon." - Alexander Spiridovich, Last Years as Tsarskoe Selo, volume 2
"In [Alexandra's] eyes, as well as in those of her sister, Tatiana Nicholalevna, all that was Russian was superior to all the rest. To try, even jokingly, to lower something Russian in favour of something foreign was to expose oneself to losing her sympathy forever." - Alexander Spiridovich, Last Years as Tsarskoe Selo, volume 2
"Russian was taught by Peter Vassilievitch Petrov, whom I had had myself as a teacher at the Pavlovskoe military school. Petrov was already an elderly man, very gentle, and very good hearted. He held the Tsar's children in affection and they, in turn, were attached to him as if to a kindly relative. Often, when they were alone with him, the Grand Duchesses used to play with him, shouting, laughing, pushing him, and generally hauling him about without mercy. It was Tatiana Nicholaievna, graceful and agile as a gazelle, who would always give the signal on these occasions and direct the games. She was, at that time, a very pale little girl. One day, Petrov asked Olga Nicholaievna to name a white object for him.
My blouse, replied the Grand Duchess.
And a black object?
My slate pencil.
And a green one?
My sister Tatiana.
That really was the tint of her complexion." - Alexander Spiridovich, Last Years as Tsarskoe Selo, volume 1
"[Alexandra] herself taught them sewing and needlework, her best pupil being Tatiana, who had an extraordinary talent for all kinds of handwork. She not only made beautiful blouses and other garments, embroideries and crochets, but she was able on occasions to arrange her mother’s long hair, and to dress her as well as a professional maid." - Anna Vyrubova, Memories of the Russian Court
"Suddenly [whilst watching a cinematograph] the bigger girl [in the movie] snatched a toy from the little one who, however, held on to it and refused to give it up. Foiled in her attempts, the elder seized a spoon and pounded the little one with it, who quickly relinquished the toy and began to cry. Tatiana wept to see the poor little one so ill-treated, but Olga was very quiet." - Margaretta Eagar, Six Years at the Russian Court
"One of the under-nurses was married last year. She had come to the palace straight from her school, at seventeen years of age, and was there for nearly seven years. She was naturally very much attached to the children, and when her last day came was in floods of tears all through the day, and the children were terribly distressed to see her in such grief. The little Grand Duchess Tatiana told her she could stay on if she liked, she knew we all loved her and would be sorry to part from her ; and then she came running to me to beg me not to send dear Tegla away. I answered that she might stay if she liked, but that she had promised to marry Vladislav ; it was her own wish, and I did not think she would like to break her word. The other girls gave a little party to celebrate her leaving us, and the young man was amongst the guests. When the girl heard that he had arrived her grief broke forth again. She realised that the time of parting had come, and the children cried most bitterly. Little Tatiana Nicolaivna took a sheet of paper and a pencil, and wrote with great difficulty a letter which I translate : " Vladislav, Be good with Tegla. Tatiana." She placed this letter in an envelope and printed in large letters on the envelope, Vladislav, and sent it to him by the housemaid. I went in later to speak to the man and wish him happiness. He pulled this letter out of his pocket, and with tears in his eyes begged me to thank the little Grand Duchess, and assure her that he would never forget to be good to Tegla. All the more, because it was Tatiana Nicolaivna' s wish. He always carries the letter about with him. She came to visit us several times after her marriage and was very happy. Whenever she writes she always sends a special message to Tatiana to say that Vladislav is very good to her, and the little one looks so pleased and says, " Well, I am glad."" - Margaretta Eagar, Six Years at the Russian Court
"After coffee, I went for a walk with my pupils… They really liked to go to the shops and buy everything. Anastasia Nikolaevna was especially attracted to stored, where they sold doll shoes of various sizes… Tatiana Nikolaevna did not always accompany since the doctors found her heart was weak and she went with the Empress to take baths." - Sofia Ivanovna Tyutcheva, A Few Years Before the Catastrophe
"Alexandra's 594th letter to Nicholas, Sept 19 1916: …I do so want to get quicker well again, have more work to do & all lies upon Tatiana’s shoulders." - Joseph T. Fuhrmann, Nicholas and Alexandra: The Wartime Correspondence
The following are from Correspondence of the Russian Grand Duchesses: Letters of the Daughters of the Last Tsar by George Hawkins:
Tatiana to tutor PVP - 10 July 1906 - "Dear Petr Vasilievich! …Why did you write that I was not good? You mustn’t do that, you must write that I was a very good girl. Your devoted Naughty girl, Tatiana." -
Tatiana to PVP November 6th 1909 "…On these few lines I had 10 errors… I am so ashamed when I think about it"
Pierre Gilliard to Tatiana 25 May 1916 - "...It seems that purple is his [Dmitri Pavlovich] favourite colour… Alexis Nikolaevitch says that it is also yours…"
Letter from Alexandra to her brother and sister-in-law: 2 September 1911 …[after Stolypin's assassination] Tatiana came home very tearful and is still a little shaken whereas Olga put on a brave face throughout." - The Correspondence Of The Empress Alexandra Of Russia With Ernst Ludwig And Eleonore, Grand Duke And Duchess Of Hesse
Note from Anastasia to Tatiana - "1913 Aug. 4. My sweet Tatiana, please find out all about us and let us know through Shura about tomorrow, will we take off our caps for breakfast? Your Anastasia. Don’t forget." - Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings
Letter from Pierre Gilliard to Anastasia, Spring 1916: "…I already wrote a long letter to Tatiana Nikolaevna yesterday, but I don’t think I shall send it, otherwise I would not dare to go back to Tsarskoe Selo, I would fear for my life." - Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings
"4 December. ...The general atmosphere that lords over [us] nowadays does not inspire peace. As soon as dressings end, Tatiana Nikolaevna goes to do the injection, then sits down with K [officer]. The latter is constantly restless, first sits by the piano, playing something with one finger, chats a lot and fervently with the charming child. Varvara Afanasiyvna is appalled, what if Naryshkina walks in on this scene, Madame Zizi, she would die. Shakh-Bagov has fever, is in bed. Olga Nikolaevna sits by his bed constantly. The other couple also moved there, yesterday [they] sat by the bed and looked at a photo album. K. is being so coy. Tatiana Nikolaevna's small dear child's face cannot hide a thing, [it looks] pink, excited, Isn't this closeness, the physical contact harmful[?]. I feel scared. The others are jealous, angry, and I imagine they spread all sorts of [rumours] throughout the city and later beyond." - From the memoirs of V. I. Chebotareva
"Today Tatiana Nikolaevna walked with me upstairs after dressings, to do Popov’s dressing. The poor child is terribly embarrassed; grabs my hand: “So awfully embarrassing and frightening… one never knows whom to acknowledge and whom not to.”" - From the memoirs of V. I. Chebotareva, Sister of Mercy
"To the right of me sits the Grand Duchess Tatiana. She's a grand princess from head to toe, so aristocratic and regal. Her face is pale matte, only the cheeks are slightly rosy, as if pink satin is trying to escape from just under her thin skin. Her profile is flawlessly beautiful, as if cut from marble by a great artist. The widely set eyes provide uniqueness and originality to her face [...] The nurse's Red Cross kerchief is more flattering to her than to her sisters. She laughs more rarely than her sisters. Her face sometimes has a focused and stern expression. In those moments she looks like her mother. On the pale outlines of her face are traces of deep thoughts and sometimes even sadness. Without any words I feel that she is special, different from her sisters, despite their common traits of kindness and friendliness. I feel hers - is a wholly secluded and unique world." - From the memoirs of Sophia Ofrosimova, Sister of Mercy
The following are all from Tatiana Romanov, Daughter of the Last Tsar: Diaries and Letters, 1913–1918:
"9th June. Tuesday. Today our Mary [Vishnyakova] left us, our nanny who was with us for 16 years. She left because it is time for Aleksei to be transferred into male hands so she will not have anything to do here anymore, so she left. I feel so sorry for her."
"28 February 1916. Tsarskoe Selo. Dear Mama, Would you not want to try to put this piece of fur to your cheek? Olga . . . gave it to me when I too was suffering from headaches. It is from the grave of the orthodox Semyon Verkhotursky. Try it, maybe it will help you. If not, then return it to me tomorrow. I hope that the Lord will help you, and all will be well with you. May God bless you. 1000 kisses from your very own daughter, Tatiana."
"6 April. On Wednesday, I will have my dreary Committee, and even the thought of it makes me sweat. I do not like these horrible committees."
"22 September. My meeting is on Wednesday at 2 o’clock in the Winter Palace in Petrograd. And that knave, Neydgart —he wanted me to read something at the beginning of the committee [meeting], but darling Mama said there was no need. To think, [he wished that] I would read such idiotic, stupid things in front of 14 people! Ah!"
"13 December. I have the great pleasure to go to the Petrograd Committee today. Oh! Not wanting to [go] at all."
"...the dear children worked until the 8th hour. Tatiana Nikolaevna cut her finger with a scalpel, quite a lot of blood flowed, and although the blade was clean, perhaps dust might have ended up in the wound. Melik-Adamov and Shakh-Bagov were sitting nearby. What poetic sympathy Tatiana Nikolaevna brings! How warmly she responded when called to the telephone and was read the telegram about his injury. What a good, pure, and deep girl she is! Youth is attracted to youth, and how her eyes sparkle! Awfully nice!" - Memoirs of V. I. Chebotareva
"Before they left we kissed each other good-bye, and we all had a dim feeling that this was a crucial moment. We had been marched away separately at every previous change from boat to train, but this seemed to be different. Tatiana Nicolaevna tried to take the matter lightly. "What is the use of all these leave-takings? We shall all rejoice in each other's company in half an hour's time!"" - Sophie Buxhoeveden, Left Behind
"I was presented to the Emperor and to two of the young Grand Duchesses, Olga and Tatiana. The latter, to my idea, was the prettier of the two; but both had the simplicity of manner that is the greatest charm in every person and especially in anyone who holds such a position as theirs. They were not blasé in the least, and their faces shone with pleasure and excitement... The eldest, Olga, was very intelligent and gay and had a heart of gold; but she was also rather timid, so that her sister Tatiana, who was much more sociable, was easier to get on with at first." - Olga Voronva, Upheaval
"The Grand Duchess Tatiana was as charming as her sister Olga, but in a different way. She has been described as proud, but I never knew anyone less so. With her, as with her mother, shyness and reserve were accounted as pride, but, once you knew her and had gained her affection, this reserve disappeared, and the real Tatiana became apparent. She was a poetical creature, always yearning for the ideal, and dream- ing of great friendships which might be hers. The Emperor loved her devotedly, they had much in common, and the sisters used to laugh, and say that, if a favour were required, ''Tatiana must ask Papa to grant it." She was very tall, and excessively thin, with a cameo-like profile, deep blue eyes, and dark chestnut hair... a lovely "Rose" maiden, fragile and pure as a flower." - Lili Dehn, The Real Tsaritsa
"The Tsarevitch was a lively, amusing boy, with a wonderful ear for music, and he played well on the balalika : like Tatiana he was shy, but, once he knew and liked anyone, this shyness vanished." - Lili Dehn, The Real Tsaritsa
"October 24 - Today, Tatyana Nikolaevna first came alone: "After all, I'm going here, as if to my second home," and, indeed, she was so sweet and comfortable. She ran with me to the kitchen, where we prepared bandages. The empress laughed and said that Tatyana, like a good house dog, got used to it." - Diaries of Vera Chebotaryova
"In her physical appearance and her serious and ardent nature, she most resembled her mother. "She was also the family's manager and organizer, and possessed, more than her sisters, a highly developed sense of her position as the daughter of the Tsar." Tatiana was very different from Olga in temperament and interests. She was more confident of herself and more reserved, with more perseverance and balance. Slender, with auburn hair and clear gray eyes, she was strikingly good-looking and enjoyed the attention her beauty commanded. As the Empress became more and more an invalid, Tatiana, eighteen months younger than Olga, took over much of the responsibility for the younger children and the household. Had her life run its natural course, she would have graced many a ball." - The private world of the last Tsar, in the photographs and notes of General Count Alexander Grabbe
"Her Imperial Highness is President of the Committee for helping War-ravaged Russia, and is fully explained on the opposite page by M. Czerniewski. She is no mere figurehead, but takes the deepest and most constant interest in this splendid work." - British newspaper article
"Of the persons left behind [at Tobolsk] Tatischeff was the senior; and of the remaining part of the imperial family, Tatiana was considered senior in the place of the Grand Duchess Olga." - Examination of Sidney Gibbes, The Last Days of the Romanovs
"The Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicholaevna was very thin. You could hardly imagine anybody as thin as she was. She was twenty-one years of age, was tall, darker than the rest of the family, and elegant. The colour of her eyes was dark grey. Her eyes made her look different from all of her sisters, who showed their souls through their eyes. She was reserved, haughty, and not open hearted, but she was the most positive. She was also religious, but the motive back of her religion was: "It is my duty,' while Olga Nicholaevna had it in her heart. She was always preoccupied and pensive and it was impossible to guess her thoughts. She played the piano and played it better than anyone else in the family. However, she had only a better technique and did not show feeling in her music. She painted and embroidered well. She was her mother's favourite and the one in whom, of all the daughters, she confided the most. If any favours were to be obtained they had to be gotten through Tatiana Nicholaevna." - Examination of Sidney Gibbes, The Last Days of the Romanovs
The Grand Duchess Tatiana was about twenty. She was quite different from her sisters. You recognised in her the same features that were in her mother — the same nature and the same character. You felt that she was the daughter of an emperor. She had no liking for art. Maybe it would have been better for her had she been a man. When the emperor and empress left Tobolsk nobody would ever have thought that the Grand Duchess Olga was the senior of the remaining members of the imperial family. If any questions arose it was always Tatiana who was appealed to. She was nearer to her mother than the other children; and it seemed that she loved her mother more than her father... All of them, including Tatiana, were nice, modest and innocent girls. There is no doubt they were cleaner in their thoughts than the majority of girls nowadays." - Examination of Commissar E. S. Kobylinsky, The Last Days of the Romanovs
"Tatiana looked like the czaritza. She had the same serious and haughty look as her mother. The other daughters : Olga, Maria and Anastasia,* had no haughtiness about them. One had the impression that they were modest and kind. I also can not describe the way they dressed, as I did not notice it." - Examination of Commissar Yakimov, The Last Days of the Romanovs
"Two other commissaries went to Tobolsk to remove the remainder of the family — Tatiana had been left in charge of the invalid and household. Olga, the eldest daughter, did not enjoy her mother's confidence in the same degree. She took far more interest in literature than in the practical affairs of life, and would hide herself in a comer with a book or tell stories to the soldiers, utterly forgetting domestic trifles. Anastasia, still a child, and rather backward, could be left in Tatiana's care." - Narrative of the editor, The Last Days of the Romanovs
Happy reading! I hope this helped :)
#q#ask#answered#Tatiana Nikolaevna#Tatiana Romanov#sources#otma#history#russian history#imperial russia#romanov family#romanov sisters
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Monster Spotlight: Mngwa
CR 7
Chaotic Evil Large Magical Beast
Bestiary 5, pg. 173
These terrifying man-eaters are a far cry from their original form found in folklore and fairytale, existing only to kill, torment, and punish a particular person, group, or community which has despoiled or disrespected the spirits of the primeval jungles of Golarion. They are hatred embodied, but it's not an indiscriminate hate. No, each Mngwa is born with a Focus of Hate, a creature or group of creatures (up to and including whole cities in some cases) marked for death by the spirits which crafted the shadowy cat, and its these creatures that the Mngwa focuses its wrath upon, ignoring all else unless its murderous spree is interrupted. The Mngwa always knows the exact distance and direction of the closest Focus of Hate, unerringly tracking them so long as they're not shielded by any effect which could block scrying... but a Mngwa is not a stupid, mindless beast. If its focus is shielded magically, then it will track them mundanely, following their scent and the trails they leave behind, stalking them from the shadows when they believe themselves protected, with even the prepared and paranoid often ill-equipped to spot the prowling beasts until its fangs are tearing through their throats.
When I say that Mngwa are nearly impossible to detect in the darkness, I say it completely without exaggeration. Their darkened pelts give them a +23 to Stealth checks when in forest or jungle terrain, and their Jungle Stealth allows them to utilize their full 40ft speed without compromising that intimidating number. They have a constant Feather Step effect allowing them to ignore difficult terrain entirely, and can use both Chameleon Stride and Pass Without Trace at will, the former bringing their Stealth to +27 and making them nearly invisible unless you're standing right next to them, the latter allowing them to evade any attempt to track them without magic. Not that tracking them would do much good, because these beasts are Creatures of the Night and literally stop existing when the sun rises (and are rendered temporarily powerless by Daylight and similar), reappearing near the site of their creation the next night with the benefits of a 15th-level Heal spell nursing whatever wounds they sustained and allowing them to continue their reign of terror.
But doling those wounds out in the first place is difficult, as one must survive the surprise round. As one may expect from a big cat, a Mngwa that has spotted its prey prefers to get the jump on them, which it almost always will, sometimes even allowing its prey to fall asleep first just so it drag away and dispatch the weaker and more vulnerable first like the horror movie monster it is. Once the redshirts are gone and people start staying awake every night, Mngwa charge in with Pounce, allowing them to make their Full-Attack which, predictably, is a Claw-Claw-Bite. The bite deals 2d6+7 damage, while each claw deals 1d6+7 and inflicts 1d6 bleed damage... and all three attacks can Grab onto whatever they hit, and any creature that remains grappled during the Mngwa's next turn can be freely Raked by two additional 1d6+7 + 1d6 bleed claw attacks, letting the beasts swiftly shred anything they get their mouths on. Most creatures targeted by the Pounce rarely survive failing their first Escape Artist check to break its grapple, because that's 6d6+42 damage PLUS 1d6+4 bleed, typically enough to dispatch any creature hovering around 5 Hit Dice even without critical hits.
"1d6+4?" Correct! The Murderous Claws of the Mngwa adds a flat +1 bleed damage to a bleeding target every time they hit, to a maximum of 1d6+7, so even escaping their grapple won't stop the pain, AND it allows the shadow cats to track victims much more easily if they can't staunch the flow. The only mercy offered by the Mngwa's melee is the fact it's got only 5ft of reach, rather than the 10 of a typical Large monster (it still has 10ft of space, though!), so it can only Full-Attack creatures it's standing right next to. Disengaging it repeatedly to force it to step back into melee makes its damage more manageable... provided, of course, you avoided its three grapple attempts when it first Pounced.
Unlike most big cats. Mngwa aren't glass cannons. They have 20 AC and are shielded behind DR 10/Magic, which may as well make them invincible if they're stalking a bunch of level 4 or 5 idiots who have no idea what they've done. Even managing to bypass their DR and cut them down to size does nothing but delay the horror, because so long as the Focus of Hate exists the Mngwa cannot permanently die, returning to life 1d4+1 days later once the sun sets. There are only two ways to prevent the creature's nightly hunts: every single Focus of Hate must die, or the spirits which created the creature in the first place must be appeased somehow.
In the case of the former, depending on what the crime was and how many creatures the Mngwa is focused on, the players may just help the jungle cats in their quest. Of course, ANYONE can be stuck with the jungle's curse, from a dickish thieving invader, to a group of otherwise innocent locals who made a terrible mistake, to the player characters themselves, so this is often not an option. Appeasing the spirits is usually the way to go, so a big part of the Mngwa Mystery is figuring out why it's here, which typically involves finding out precisely who among a crowd it's targeting and getting some answers out of them. Even in a higher-level campaign when the Mngwa isn't a direct threat to the PCs, its relentless inevitability make them a danger to NPCs the party may be tasked with trying to protect.
One way or another, the players have to figure out who it's trying to kill, why, and how to undo whatever they did to enrage the jungle. Mngwa cannot communicate their desires, so some intense detective work is needed! ... Just be careful not to make it TOO intense, or else you may end up with a situation like the most chilling one in it's lore: some unfortunate bloodlines have been haunted by these creatures for generations, the cats passed down from parent to child like a living curse as memories of why the thing is hunting them are gradually lost to time, leaving entire families without the knowledge of why the night itself grows claw and fang to hunt them.
You can read more about them here.
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The Seven Archangels in "Hazbin Hotel"
We can probably make an educated guess of who the angels in this image are, based off of the Seven Archangels in Biblical folklore:
Michael, Archangel of Mercy ("Michael the Merciful")
Gabriel, Herald of Visions, and Archangel of Justice
Uriel, Guardian of the Garden of Eden, Archangel of Knowledge and Wisdom
Chamuel (Camael), Archangel of Hope
Raphael, Archangel of Peace and Healing
Jophiel, Archangel of Beauty and Art
Zadkiel, Archangel of Kindness (likely replacement for Lucifer)
Of these, most are male, but Uriel is sometimes feminized as "Urielle, Eurielle or Orielle". I could see Jophiel, Chamuel (Camael), and Zadkiel being female, nonbinary, or agender, depending on design.
The main four are Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Chamuel:
"And the Lord said to Gabriel: 'Proceed against the bastards and the reprobates, and against the children of fornication: and destroy [the children of fornication and] the children of the Watchers from amongst men [and cause them to go forth]: send them one against the other that they may destroy each other in battle: for length of days shall they not have.'" — 1 Enoch 10:9
[...]
"And he said to me: 'This first is Michael, the merciful and long-suffering: and the second, who is set over all the diseases and all the wounds of the children of men, is Raphael: and the third, who is set over all the powers, is Gabriel: and the fourth, who is set over the repentance unto hope of those who inherit eternal life, is named [Chamuel].' And these are the four angels of the Lord of Spirits and the four voices I heard in those days." — Enoch 40:9
From this, we can discern that Gabriel, Archangel of Justice, likely authorized the exterminations of Hell under Adam and Lute.
My thoughts are that each of the Archangels governs one of the Seven Paths, which "winners" can devote themselves to in Heaven:
Michael - Path of Mercy (Heaven's bureaucrats)
Gabriel - Path of Justice (Adam, Lute, Vaggie)
Uriel - Path of Wisdom (Heaven's scientists + philosophers)
Chamuel - Path of Hope (Heaven's priests + therapists)
Raphael - Path of Healing (Heaven's doctors + nurses)
Jophiel - Path of Beauty (Heaven's artists)
Zadkiel - Path of Kindness (angels who help humanity)
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel theory#hazbin hotel speculation#seven archangels#book of enoch#lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer
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Remedy
Pairing: Modern!Surgeon!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader
Warning: bike accident, description of injury, talk of surgery and death
Summary: After a bike accident your life lies in a stranger's hands.
Part 1/9
Series Masterlist
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When your best friend told you it was a bad idea to go mountain biking with her boyfriend and little brother you didn’t listen. But you should have. You drove down a slope when the back wheel lost grip and slipped away. You fell out of the curve and downhill. You rolled down and hit rocks and bushes till you hit a tree with your stomach. Everything went black after that.
“Heartbeat?” “Faint but there.” Baela’s leg was bouncing up and down as she saw you laying on the aid car gurney. Blood was everywhere, she didn’t really know where it came out. Tears streamed down her face. She was scared to lose her oldest friend.
The ambulance stopped and the first aid responders opened the door so the doctors could get in. She didn’t see her boyfriend’s cousin standing off at the side as he was told what kind of injuries you had sustained. A medic came up to her and took her in their arms. “Let’s bring you to the waiting area. Your friend is in good hands.” Baela could only nod.
Aemond POV
The medic listed off the injuries of the patient. He told me to be careful when we would remove the helmet as they didn’t know if the patient sustained any head injuries. I nodded the whole time. My assistant taking notes. We move as fast as we can to the operating room.
The patient and I are prepared for surgery. My team is already waiting for me. I walk in and nod at the assisting nurse to start my playlist. ‘The Devil is a Gentleman ‘ by Merci Raines started to play. I parked out orders and began to save the life of the woman in front of me.
Hours after she was stable he began to close her minor internal injuries. Everyone breathed a sigh as he finished his work. One of his medical students closed up the opening in the woman’s stomach. “Good work, everyone.”
He walked out of the OP and shed his scraps. He washed his hands before he walked out to inform the next of kin about the successful surgery. He walked over to the waiting room and looked in. He stopped in his tracks. “Fuck!” He whispered. His cousin Jace and his girlfriend he couldn’t remember the name of sat in the waiting area. He shook his head and walked into the waiting area. He called out your name and both sprang up.
Baela rushed over to Aemond with pleading eyes. “Is she alright?” Her voice was raw and panicked. Probably from crying. “She will recover. She had minor internal bleeding we could stop immediately. Her left leg will need more time. It is broken and she will need physical rehab.”
Baela breathed out a sight. “Oh thank you!” She didn’t care if this was the asshole cousin her boyfriend always talked about when he had a family dinner. She had to hug him. He saved her best friend.
Aemond was taken back. He thought his cousin told his girlfriend to hate him like he did. Looking at his cousin, Jace was glaring at him. “When can she receive visitors?” Aemond looked at his Apple Watch, “Maybe tomorrow at ten p.m. She is still in a coma so her stomach can heal.” Jace nodded at him. “Let’s go, Baela. We have to tell Luke, Y/N is fine.” The girl tearily nodded. “Thank you so much. You saved my best friend.” Aemond smirked, “It’s my job.”
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#aemond fanfiction#soft aemond#aemond targaryen headcanons#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen modern au#prince aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#prince aemond x you#prince aemond fic
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Something that I've been processing since Errand of Mercy is that line of Kirk's about being used to the idea of dying. I take it to refer to his experiences on Tarsus IV rather than a willingness to die for Starfleet/some loyalty-to-the-death type deal. Like, he saw a leader make themselves into a dictator in a time of famine and suffering, and said dictator used "personal eugenics" on the people he was meant to aid. Kirk himself was selected to die. Regardless of if Kirk was a young child or teenager when it happened, that event has shaped him (and I can not believe no other writers for the show used it explicitly to develop his character, so now I get to feel like the Pepe Silva It's Always Sunny meme always. It's fine. It's cool. It's fun, even. Thank god for fanfic writers).
But in the episode before Errand of Mercy, The Devil in the Dark, Kirk says that--as individuals--Spock and himself are expendable. The implication is the chain-of-command based on Kirk's rank as Captain and Spock's rank as First Officer. Should Kirk die, Spock assumes command and etc. If both are killed together, there's a larger ripple effect in the chain and more issues to get positions filled, so Spock and Kirk together as a pair are not expendable. (To say nothing of the larger risk of endangering two lives vs one and Kirk takes calculated risks.)
I point this out because in Operation: Annihilate, Kirk doesn't give a single care about the chain-of-command and who is expendable once Spock is made host to one of the creatures.
(As an aside: yes, I know the usual considerations. Inconsistent writing on the show's part. Nobody would want to work under Kirk if he didn't care deeply for the safety of his crew. Etc.)
Nowhere in Operation: Annihilate does anyone suggest a replacement first officer (despite idk the weirdly vivid memory that it was a conversation Spock and Kirk had in the episode? Did I write my own fanfic while watching the episode and give myself a case of the Mandela effect? I have tried rewatching it and reading transcripts, and I am getting no such scene and I am feeling truly insane, oh my brainworms have gotten worse) after Spock is made a host to the creatures. McCoy comes close in wanting Spock to stay in Sickbay rather than go out to collect a sample, and McCoy also reminds Kirk that Spock is "the best first officer in the fleet" before they put him under enough light to rival the sun and fry his optic nerves, leaving him (temporarily) blind.
(As another aside, while it is one big facepalm that these 3 geniuses in their respective fields failed to conduct their experiment properly--Nurse Chapel, you are due for a promotion!--dare I say that it is still a compelling and entertaining drama? The time-crunch scenario of if Spock can't withhold the pain and insanity anymore, of if Kirk's nephew wakes up, and of when the creatures will successfully leave the planet to infect a new one, so they will gamble and risk Spock's eyesight rather than enact a plan that would kill 1 million people.)
It's just. Interesting to me. Almost as if Kirk believes that so long as he and Spock are together, regardless of what may injure them, they can do anything.
#star trek tos#spirk#errand of mercy#the conscience of the king#the devil in the dark#operation: annihilate#incurable spirk brainworms as always#but like. compelling the way these two just do what they do#ntm the vague parallel between spock ready to kill the horta to save jim vs jim prying the creature off of spock without hesitation#these two have their own beliefs they operate by but they toss them aside the second the other one is in danger hmmm 🤔#trek meta
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May Day Parade: May 1-5: Morbid Month of May {May King Mordred}
My contribution this time is a short story. You can read it under the cut or here. Happy birthday Mordred!
I
The night Mordred was born it was very cold. Colder than Mays should be, I was told. My mother's labor was harder than ever before, harder than it should have been. I was old enough to remember the baby girl, and later the baby boy she had had a few years ago: they were so small and so soft, and mother looked very happy. I remember my father, so proud of his children, of his healthy seed and his strong wife. But this time it was different. Mother labored for more than a day and I could hear her struggling from the corridors. The castle was so quiet, and it was raining outside, so there was nothing for us to do but to wait, and wait. My father, in his throne room, waited, at first calmly and later pacing frantically. He had dismissed all of his barons and gathered all of us, his children, with him. Gawain busied himself with painting a wooden horse for Gareth (he has always been the type of person who cannot keep his hands idle), and Gaheris clung to me, begging me to play with him. Back then I thought I was too old to be playing games, so I just stared at the rain falling outside and patiently waited for Gaheris to tire himself down. The little ones were also strangely quiet, as if they knew better than to be noisy, with Clarissant dressing up little Gareth as if he was a doll, combing his hair, and only an occasional faint laughter from her and a low protest from him when she pulled his hair too hard.
Night fell and still no midwife had come out of mother's chambers. Men and children were not allowed in the room, but my father was desperate so he sent Gawain to get news, to no avail. The nurses came to take Gareth and Clarissant, though Gaheris insisted on staying a little longer. Father seemed deep in thoughts. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed much older than ever before. Years had instilled into him after his war with uncle Arthur. During that year I had not seen him, and when he was finally back home, he seemed different: thinner, greyer, a slowness in his steps, and a new scar under his eyebrow. He was still a handsome looking man but this type of suffering, of lingering melancholy, did not suit him. He seemed to me a different person from the father I had known before. Knowing he would have a new baby had taken color back to his cheeks and yet, now he was becoming a shadow of himself again: only the silhouette of his tall figure seemed to remain and the rest was impenetrable in a somewhat pitiful way.
“Take Gaheris to bed, Ailie.” He told the nurse. She obeyed quickly, though the child did not. He was already so sleepy, but fought like all children do when they are commanded to do something they should be doing. Father stared at us with a very serious face, Gawain and I stood very straight. We had not talked too much since he came back from his honorable defeat and his glorious capitulation. When he saw us for the first time after his war, he had hugged us very tightly, said my fine, fine boys, and with a kiss, he sealed any attempt at explanations and never mentioned anything of what had happened again: nothing about how he left for fighting, how we fled and begged uncle Arthur's mercy, how the little ones had stayed behind while Gawain and I swore allegiance to Arthur on a bended knee. But this time father was not looking at us with unshed tears in his eyes and an untold story in his throat. Rather, his eyes were hollow and his voice cracked like a crow's.
“Gawain,” he said carefully, then his gaze came to me “Agravain, come here.” We approached the throne slowly, and stood side by side like little soldiers. Father was about to take our hands in his, but hesitated. Instead, he put one of his palms against the other, rubbing them with a nervousness that was completely unlike him. These were not the imperturbable yet somewhat sardonic mannerisms of the father I knew, and I could not help but think with contempt of how much he had changed. “My boys... You are old enough to understand this: your mother might not make it through the night, neither your new sibling, so pray if you find it in your heart. God always listens to innocents the most.” He smiled a little at that, then he could not resist resting his right hand on Gawain's shoulder. “Go to bed now. It's been a long day, yes?” Gawain nodded, reluctantly. Father pressed my hand lightly against his, feeling the ring he had given me the year prior as a birthday present, right before we left Lothian's court. I had been told I was the one who resembled him the most, and I thought it must be true because it seemed to me he was looking for something in my eyes that, in the past, he must have found within himself.
Gawain said some prayers and fell asleep murmuring barely audible words, snoring a little, maybe crying a little too. He always slept soundly; I suspected it was a way that his body compensated for the extra strength he had during the sun hours. Soon he would have his own room, and Clarissant would also move out of the children’s room very soon because she was the only girl. But I would still be sharing a room for some more time. I envied them, able to be alone with their thoughts and their secrets, no snoring brother beside them. No need to hold back any tears or any other ugliness. Would I miss Gawain? We were so close in age that we had always been together. I could not wait to sever myself from him, maybe prove something myself.
I didn't sleep that night. I thought of mother, and what father had said. What if I went to sleep and when I woke up, mother was gone? The mere thought made my heart beat faster and my stomach ache. When I had been away from her, the first few nights, I had to force myself not to cry. It felt so unfair how we had to leave mother and father. I could not even think of what it would be like not to ever see her again. And what of our new brother (for I was sure it would be a baby boy), what it I never got to meet him? I would have prayed, but I was never good at it. Father said innocent prayers are better, but none of mine ever were. Was I innocent just because I had done as I had been told? Had I not betrayed my father with my actions, fulfilling mother's orders? But my mother had done what was reasonable: she protected us because she loved us. And my father loved us too. Now I wish I had rejected my mother's ideas and went to war with father regardless of the consequences, but the night Mordred was born, I did not yet know that I would never in my life get the chance to fight alongside our father so the though barely crossed my mind. I did not know how little time we had left, and I was still too young to fight a real war. I refused to think of my dying mother and instead thought of my baby brother: what would he look like? Tall and blond like the rest of us, for sure. Would he be shy or outgoing? Clever or strong? I certainly hoped he could beat Gawain in a fight... Suddenly, I heard noises, and stood right up.
“Is it a girl?” Father asked, in a loud voice, as he rushed to mother's chambers. He really wanted more daughters. He had been delighted when Clarissant was born. I knew why: they said too many boys in a house was guaranteed trouble, and we were already a boy too many. I woke Gawain up.
When we arrived, father was just entering mother’s room. The baby was a boy, I heard the midwife said. Father smiled and approached mother, closing the door behind him despite seeing us, so we were forced to wait outside as the last few busy maids left with their dirty clothes. A lot of dirty clothes. Gawain and I exchanged a look. I leaned into the wooden door.
“Don't eavesdrop!” Gawain scolded me, hitting my arm with his flat hand.
“Shut up, I'm trying to hear. Don't you want to know why father closed the door?” I whispered.
“Of course I do. But this way you'll only get us caught, idiot. Mother speaks too low to hear anyways.” The door was thick, so I admitted defeat with some reluctance. Perhaps I could sneak into mother's room and read the letters father had sent her, and the midwife's daughter liked me. Midwives always hear this type of stuff. Clarissant walked towards us, with Gaheris following behind, holding Gareth. He struggled. Although Gaheris was tall for his age, Gareth was now beyond the age of being carried in arms. He was rubbing his sleepy eyes and seemed to have cried, probably upset with being woken up. Finally, father opened the door. Outside it was breaking dawn and light was filtering through mother’s window.
“Say hello,” he said in a soft voice “and then let your mother rest.”
The room smelled like blood and filth –sweat, excrement, a lot of things I did not identify—with a vague hint of milk. It was obvious that the maids had done everything possible to clean up mother and make her presentable, but her hair was wet and the stench was difficult to bear. She was very, very pale, and obviously at the limit of her strength. Father took the baby from her trembling arms while she gave us an apologetic look, shy, and she would have blushed if she could. She was always very careful of her image and in any other circumstances, she would have never let us in the room. But this time she had to see us, had to hold our hands, feel us, like a matter of life and death. The maids had badly tried to cover bloody sheet after bloody sheet, and Gawain and father aptly maneuvered the youngest to spare them the worse views. And then there was the baby: he was very small, but according to my mother, he had roared and suckled like a lion. He was a wrinkled little thing with reddish skin and still some white sticky substance clinging to his hair and between his wrinkles. Until then I did not know what newborns looked like (both Clarissant and Gareth had been pristine clean by the time I first met them), but Mordred was there, right in front of me, freshly out of my mother’s flesh, not beautiful at all, but raw and ugly. It was fascinating. And for all of us, reunited after so long, it felt like a triumph.
II
It was late September when they took him. An unusually hot September, it seems to have been. Gawain joked that Mordred had dragged the summer along with him. Uncle Arthur then sent a message: every noble-born woman was to send their children born in late April to mid-May to Camelot for a massive blessing. My parents could have done what other families did, what I would have done if I were them, and send any other child instead. Mordred alone had two milk mothers that could have swapped their sons for our brother. But my parents had no reason to mistrust uncle Arthur, mother’s brother, father’s new ally. He was High King and it was not strange for noble born children to be raised in other courts –especially the children of defeated kings. So they trusted, and gave away Mordred. Little Mordred who was an absolute delight, who was fat and cute, and always smiled at strangers like life was a delightful discovery.
We lost him just two days later. The ship sunk, they said, no survivors, they said, a terrible loss and an even more terrible miscalculation, there was no one to blame but the bad weather. I did not believe a word (where were the adults? Why sail in such bad weather when all other days had been so sunny?), and I told Gawain, but he did not seem to hear me. He stared through the window, into the sea, very quiet, like in a trance.
Only the roaring waves and my mother's wailing could be heard, and they were everywhere. She wailed, wailed, wailed. She called on every god, pleading, just to curse them later. Where is my baby, she said, where is my baby? She was completely out of her mind. Her pain was unbearable, maddening, the kind of grief that births demons. All good manners were gone, and only the desperation remained. Father tried to hold mother, to contain her, but she refused to be contained. And my father... my father had been taken by a freezing, calculating rage that cut like a knife, a grief thick with blood, an anger that would burn nations to the ground.
When Mordred was born, I learned that it is always love that gives way to the greatest nightmares.
“we begin in the dark
and birth is the death of us”
---Anne Carson / Sophokles, Antogonick
#this is not proofread so apologies in advance for any typos/mistakes!#may day parade#this is like the third story i write about Mordred's birth yes you could say i'm obsessed#my writing#death mention //#arthuriana
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remember it once - epilogue
Fandom: The Artful Dodger
Pairing: Jack x Belle
Rating: E
Chapter: 8 / 8
Word Count: 2816
read on tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
Will it be the same? Belle wonders this, not in her mind, but in her limbs. She drags her heavy tread up the steps, her tired body aching to be swept from the ground by Jack’s arms. She tugs at the fingers of the tough leather gloves that cover all the way to her elbows, rubbing her chafed skin once they’re off, yearning for fingers that will slip gently between her own. Will either of us be the same?
Belle leaves it in her body’s hands—that if there’s any back to get back to, her body will find the way when the time comes, will walk the old paths again, will find the high hills with the clear views and feel what it is to be home.
In the meantime, her mind bends to science, to medicine. She works from the morgue long enough to discover a method for stabilizing the wounds, burning away necrotic skin and halting the symptoms’ progression, though not reversing it. Thankfully, it neutralizes the aggression, drastically reducing the risk of patient attacks. The military maintain their perimeter, but slowly, slowly, Prof, wielding his rusty authority, is able to convince them to let in new patients as their others calm.
While in the hospital, she wears the long gloves, cutting up and sewing more pairs for Sneed and the nursing staff, all made from fine, barely-worn boots and hunting attire her father scavenged from Government House. They are protection from the patients’ nails and teeth; Belle deduces, by the comparatively generous development of her own symptoms, that she could only have been scratched. Small mercies. Used to reading her body as another would a book, she learns and records her limitations. She rests as often as it feels right and necessary to, applying herself to her study of the disease at all other times, at the odd hours they have all adopted at the hospital that feels like an island surrounded by the hazy waters of a dream.
Belle conducted her preliminary experimental treatments on Sneed. She would’ve done them on herself, but he stopped her, reminding her of her condition. As though she did not feel the weight of her belly, bearing it with her feet, back, and hips—another process she leaves her body to manage, trusting it to see her through. But she conceded, and so he exhibits the most breath-stealing scars. He was off his feet and wearing a single boot while he recovered, adapting readily to making his rounds of the wards in a wheelchair as he had done after Fagin shot him.
Because she has been able to help, because the disease is no longer spreading within the hospital walls, because, after treating Sneed, she treated herself, Belle recognizes when it is time to leave the morgue. She’s many months into her pregnancy, and her fathers—she’s found she has two—insist that she carry on with her experiments from the home laboratory Jack set up, always planning for it to be something they shared.
In the transfer, Fagin and the Governor driving the carriage with Belle stowed inside, they are beset. The Governor is yanked from the carriage and bitten. The teeth marks are close to his heart, as Belle has been, he tells her softly, since the day she was born. Since even before. She tends to him in the parlour of her home with what supplies Jack has not taken with him onto the ship, feeling Fagin’s watchful presence at her back. They were going to return to the hospital, to bring the rest of what she needs. Fagin is reluctant to go back alone—not out of fear of what’s out there, but that Belle will be in danger from her own father in here. Eventually, she forces him out, the weeping that threatens to break from her body like water from a dam too clear in her voice. He goes. He returns. She tries and tries, but her father worsens. She did not start soon enough, he is not a young man, he has had a fondness for drink.
There is no violence, no confusion of mind. There is no time.
Quietly, Belle’s quantity of fathers drops back down to one.
She can’t always trust her mind, which sometimes forgets. If she thinks, if she makes herself remember too clearly after a hazy waking, it seems so daunting to just… go on. The dread grips her and pins her to the bed. So she doesn’t think; she works, and her body wonders. Her lips and her wrists and her hips miss the one who would comfort her most, because she forbids it of her mind. She puts her ring away.
Following the death of the Governor, Belle dismisses Fagin. Well, she tries. She dismisses him several times a day: when he comes poking around the second-storey laboratory, when he nudges plates of plain crumpets along the table at which she labours. Infuriatingly, he stays. Weeks become months and she quits trying to convince him not to. Thank god for it, because he cautions her against testing solutions on her skin before they’re truly ready, keeping her whole as she inches towards a cure. He’s there to hear her, just down the hall, when she cries out twice in succession. The first time, it is in pure joy. The second, in shock at the sudden gush of fluid over her slippers.
—
Jack is aware of his flaws. The quick thinking and even quicker hands demanded by his profession have not made him a patient man. His history has meant he is kind by effort, not by nature. Both his patience and his kindness are tested continually onboard the ship. Some days feel endless. He has the people he’s brought, and those who brought him. Hetty’s presence steadies him; Fanny’s reminds him of Belle in the oddest ways, at the strangest moments. Mostly, it is tense, but they are living, and so it’s difficult to complain.
They make port with great wariness, taking on supplies but never new passengers or crew. Jack often goes ashore; it breaks up the tedium. He always takes his sword. What he observes is that some towns appear unaffected by the disease, others have discovered methods of containment, and still others are so spookily empty that they are underway again without bothering to disembark. He doesn’t know what’s happened in those places, whether they’re empty because the people were smart and fled, or…
Due to their extreme care and the sharp orders of Lady Fox, who doesn’t allow anyone’s guard to lower, all onboard remain healthy. Except for the seasickness. But that is manageable and endurable, and bringing water to the green-faced passengers gives Jack a feeling of usefulness when he stalls in his research. He and Hetty have been at work in the captain’s quarters, transfigured into their floating laboratory. They have their meticulousness in common. He conducts thorough (if slow) experiments, and she notes everything down to ensure they do not repeat their mistakes. They work so seamlessly together that the only thing Jack ever gets cross with Hetty about is the fact that she’s not doing something as Belle would, that she’s not reading that case in the medical text in Belle’s voice, that she’s not Belle.
But they form a community. They sew and read and play cards to pass the time. Children cavort on the deck in clear weather. Of course, beneath it all, as surely as the hull of the ship, is the grief. The fear and anxiousness. There are no complete families here, only siblings without parents, mothers without daughters, men without their wives. For the most fortunate, it’s temporary; there is the hope of reunion upon their return to Port Victory. If Jack ventures from the lab, drowsy and stretching his arms high over his head to crack his stiffened back, someone will inevitably inquire about his progress. Charlie has taken to attempting to shield Jack from these questions, but whacking the members of a closed community in the shins with his crutch is an untenable solution. Occasionally, Jack must try to come up with answers to How’s it coming? Anything new? When might we see home again? and How do you think they’re getting on without us?
The trouble is that it’s all wrong. Until they met, Belle was very much the expert on the theoretical side of things, Jack the hands-on experimenter. Now, Belle is back home, confronting the disease every day in the flesh while Jack drifts with the tides on a ship full of people who are perfectly well. He can’t advance by active testing; he must puzzle things out with his mind alone. At some point, Fanny joins him and Hetty. She’s been privy to her sister’s methods, though she didn’t pay them the strictest attention at the time, and if there’s anything she can do that will lead to her sister being helped, then she’s prepared to do it. Especially as the theoretical process rather appeals to her for its distinct lack of blood and guts.
So it is just their minds, their three minds, until. Until. They are finally close enough that Jack and Hetty both go ashore at the next docking (Jack won’t, can’t, risk Fanny). They’ve never done so before, afraid to send the two people with the greatest medical expertise, but they’ve traveled as far as they can—almost literally, upon the waves for many long months—and they need a human subject. They’re in search of someone who isn’t too far advanced, someone who can still give conscious permission, someone who understands that this isn’t a guaranteed cure, though they do promise to return with one when they can.
After their first small triumph, they change the ship’s heading. With each successive bit of progress, they advance towards home. All along the coast, they apply measured treatments, docking longer so they might observe their patients. This makes their passage back to Port Victory a crawl. They hunker down rather than attempting to beat bad weather, they hug the shore and avoid the faster currents farther out. They watch symptoms halt. They watch people get better. One man, a tradesman turned doctor by the circumstances, improves so quickly that they decide to invite him aboard. Apparently, the man has delivered five babies since the current state of affairs began—three to the same woman without losing a single soul. Jack tells the man there will be a place for him at the hospital (if the hospital still stands—it is horrifying to let his thoughts linger too long), that he has hoped to hire more talented doctors, no matter that he didn’t go to Oxford like Sneed (Jack even misses Sneed). Jack also sees how Hetty is with this man, how he is with Hetty. He longs for Belle more than ever. The nearer their journey comes to its end, the more he fights the urge to dive overboard and swim to her.
It's been years since Jack last saw Port Victory from the sea—and then, he never saw it and thought, Home. Nor did he feel it deserved its name, but he feels differently now. He’d survived so much when first he reached that port. He’s done so once again. It is a victory to have protected these people, to have worked alongside Hetty and Fanny to devise a treatment, a cure. Really, it’s a victory to be alive. He stands on the deck as the blue sky blanches, giving way to the orange and gold that will accompany the sun to its rest. For the second time, he is filled with joy and dread, doubly flooded, too much emotion for one person to hold. Will she be waiting for him as he once waited for her? Will either of them be the same?
—
Belle stirs, waking. Even with Fagin living downstairs, she’s become a fearfully light sleeper, her fragile oblivion shredding like a cobweb at the slightest sound. Groggy, she sits up to find there is still some light seeping through the bedroom curtains. What was it this time? Fagin banging around in the kitchen? A soldier at the door wishing to issue the report she demanded on the state of the hospital? The baby?
In case it is the latter, Belle makes herself get up. Her memory is still a project for her, improved through effort, but at the moment, it will not yield the location of the robe she removed before climbing into bed. No matter. It isn’t as though Fagin has never seen her in her nightgown. Her slippers are next to the bed, so she dons them. She pads across the hall.
What would this room have been, had the house belonged to another man? For Belle, it is a sanctuary. Because of the hour, she doesn’t bring a candle; even in darkness, she would know her way, having fallen asleep here many nights over the past several weeks since giving birth. There are no surprises in the weight of the door she now eases open, in the welcoming creak of the boards beneath her feet as she steps inside. What startles her is herself: an involuntary sound leaves her as she takes in the shape of a figure standing over the crib. He sees her at the door and turns.
“I hoped this might become the nursery,” he says.
Belle stumbles across the floor and into Jack’s arms, blinded by tears of love and relief, heedless of the baby’s confused cry at the sound of her mother’s distress.
For several minutes, she has less to say to him than she has since they first made each other’s acquaintance. The sun slips peacefully away as they hold each other harder than they ever have. Jack is scarcely more composed than she is, and promises that everyone who boarded the ship is fine, that her sister and mother are fine. Hiccupping her words, she tries to tell him about her father. He hushes her and holds on all the tighter; Fagin explained when he let Jack into the house. She doesn’t need to say. Jack is here now.
“I should probably keep going, see the hospital,” he says before sighing his regret into her hair.
Belle draws back a little.
“But—”
“We found a cure,” they say together.
The baby’s cries are rising into a blaring, ripping wail, obscuring her parents’ words. They look at each other with confusion, unsure of what they heard.
“You didn’t.”
“We did.”
“So did we.”
After the attack that introduced the disease into her body, they have been careful about their contact. Even through affection, rather than violence, there was a risk of Belle infecting Jack. She has yearned for so many months to be kissed as he kisses her now. Her fingers delve into his hair, his grip into her waist through her nightgown. She has made herself think of nothing but what was necessary to find a cure, then, once that was accomplished, what was necessary to preserve the life of their daughter. Now, the kiss is thought as well as feeling, every memory of his touch reinstated in her mind. Every look, every brush, every closing of his hand over hers as he guided her scalpel on an incision.
They separate and a high laugh leaves Belle. She bends over the side of the crib, collecting their child, easing her body into the bouncing sway the baby prefers. Jack begins and begins again, trying to tell her of their methods for combatting the disease. She hears enough to understand that they’ve found two different cures, arrived at two different solutions, both sound.
“Incredible,” she breathes.
“Yes,” he agrees, but he’s looking at the small, soft creature in her arms.
“Oh, yes,” Belle says. “Your daughter.”
Jack does not appear ready, but neither was she; she offers the baby and helps him correct his hold until he has her tucked against his chest.
“Daughter,” he chokes out. And this makes him cry like nothing else has.
“Norma,” she provides.
Jack nods, sniffling. She wipes the tears from his cheeks.
“Like the opera,” he says. “The music you had Fanny play.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Belle releases a heavy sigh, pressing a hand to her heart. “I didn’t realize how worried I was that you might think it was some derivative of ‘Norbert.’”
“A PERFECTLY GOOD NAME!” Fagin calls up the stairs.
Jack cranes his head away from the baby before shouting back, “QUIT LISTENING IN!”
“I’LL JUST MAKE US SOME TEA THEN!”
Jack looks at Belle with an expression of exasperation and he is here, and they are whole, and it is just as it was before.
Norma shrieks as though tacking on instructions for how she takes her tea.
It is, inarguably, even better.
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