#the trauma is still there but with the good memories he's a lot better
Text
Night & Day
Summary: Jason's night doesn't go as planned. As a result, neither does yours.
Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader
Words: 4,365
Content/warnings: profanity, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood
PREV
Jason wakes in a sweat.
He’s had this dream before; his body throbs, slick and sticky with blood. Each hit of the crowbar jerks his body.
He pushes himself up from the bed, his feet meeting the cold wood floors beneath him. He huffs, his head falling in his hands as he slumps towards his knees.
There’s no blood. Hell, there aren’t even the scars to prove what he went through anymore. It’s just Jason trapped in his own mind. The laughter echoes in his ears long after he wakes up, but the pain eventually fades into the back of his mind, a lingering nagging as he tries to grip onto reality and find something to distract himself.
Lines of light fall across the floor from the streetlamps pouring in through the venetian blinds. He’s been meaning to get curtains. He feels too exposed, even if the blinds are always shut.
When he was first resurrected, there were only so many memories he had to comfort himself with. Anything from his life with Bruce was immediately off limits, so he usually sought out Talia. The comfort she’d managed to offer him after all of that just by showing a little kindness.
A few days ago, he met you. You’d been kind to him too.
He told you to just call a ride instead of taking the train. He knew what happened in this neighborhood at that time of night. But you didn’t listen.
Jason knew you weren’t going to get onto that train without a hitch. He chose following you over the stupid drug bust. He figured there’d be time to take care of them later. He’d been right, of course, but after that, he froze.
You hadn’t been intimidated by him at the shop. But you’d seen him—the real him—and flinched. Not that he can blame you. It was a hell of an introduction on his part, barrel of his gun up against some guy’s head. In a city like Gotham? God, he could have been any creep.
But he’s him. He’s the same he’d been at the shop, but you don’t know that. And you can’t.
That doesn’t stop him from thinking of you. As he wakes from his nightmare, you’re there, and he’s not entirely sure why. Maybe because your kindness is so straightforward. It’s not shrouded by trauma and odd gestures meant to translate to kindness. You talked with him, laughed with him. You got him food that you insisted he eat.
You’re better off without him. There’s a natural path for the two of you to never see each other again. It’s more work to not lose contact with you. Even with every part of him saying no, Jason makes the effort.
How’s your tattoo healing?
It’s still dark out, but it’s nearing 6 am now. As he sends the email, he hopes you get the idea he’s some sort of early riser. Maybe you think he’s less of a mess than he is. He’d let you think that, if you wanted to.
Part of him also worries about you. Not in some wild way, but after your close call with the guys at the train station, he doesn’t want you to be scarred for life. That may be overdramatic, but the point remains. That’s normal shit for him, but that’s not something you signed up for. That’s just the bi-product of living in Gotham.
His body collapses back into bed in a heap, his breath finally evening out. He’ll try to fall back asleep for at least an hour before he realizes it’s probably hopeless and gets up.
Mornings like this, he cooks. It passes the time. Dealers aren’t making deals this early. The shop doesn’t open until ten, but he sure as shit doesn’t want to be sitting around dwelling in his thoughts for longer than necessary.
So when Jason finally rises out of bed, he goes to the kitchen. He pulls out eggs and bread. Bacon, tomatoes, and cheese. Good salt, the salt that costs extra. He doesn’t have a lot of good these days, so he takes it where he can.
The Gotham underworld is lucrative, no surprise there. Jason has access to things he never would have as a kid. The sort of stuff he was introduced to at Wayne Manor. Except now Jason has them on his own terms. He didn’t need Bruce for it.
Bacon is on the stove sizzling as Jason’s old coffee machine gurgles. He’ll drink most of the pot by the time the sun rises. By now, there’s enough for him to focus on that he can push the dream to the back of his mind. He doesn’t need to think about the past. That’s why he has his plans. He has a future to look forward to. And if he has to be alive again, he’s going to make something of it.
Just the light above the stove is on. Jason likes the dark. Old habits and all that.
He fries up an egg until the ends get crispy. Toast, egg, sharp cheddar, bacon, and hot sauce. He takes a mug of coffee and his sandwich over to the small table up against the window and watches as the city wakes up.
It’s the most normal his day is going to look. These moments where his brain isn’t completely fixed on the job. He’s not trying to parse through whatever lying scumbag is coming into the shop. There’s no blood. It’s quiet.
The quiet is nice until it isn’t. Until it’s too quiet, and there’s nothing besides the quiet.
When he woke up, buried six feet under, it had been quiet. Except for his breathing. The claustrophobic weight. The crushing weight of the dirt as it pressed against him, as he fought to the surface.
You reply while he’s out taking his smoke break.
The tattoo itches, but it looks good, you say. I’ll send a picture once it’s healed.
His second appointment of the day, the one he goes to after he sees your email, is the type he usually sees. Some asshole that wants a skull on his arm to prove he’s tough. Someone who definitely isn’t you. But it’s not his place to wish it was. He feels ridiculous being so attached to you like a lost little puppy.
He wants to think of an excuse to see you again, but his mind is blank. Can’t just lure you to a dark alley for a chat like the people he’s normally trying to get in touch with. Yet again, just trying to be a regular person, he falls short. He doesn’t know how to navigate this. He spent the years he was supposed to figure this shit out in a box beneath the earth. As much as Talia taught him when he came back, he didn’t get flirting lessons.
There’s so much he doesn’t know about you. Sure, he could dig around and fight out a thing or two. That’s what Bruce would do, but he’s not Bruce. He doesn’t want to do that with you. He wants to just be Jason in your eyes, so that means keeping Red Hood as far away from you as possible.
Are you taking care of it?
It’s not flirting. It’s not smooth, either, but it does keep the conversation going.
During his next appointment, he has to push you to the back of his mind. The guy ends up being a small-time dealer. A guy who works for a guy who works for a guy sort of dealer. His license was scanned when he came in for the tattoo, and that means Jason has his address. There’s a lot he can learn from a license, assuming it’s real. Lucky for Jason, the dealer wasn’t smart enough to use a fake. Now he’s got a new lead, more heads to bust.
After the shop closes, he goes home. As he’s researching, he gets another response.
Yeah, I’ve been going swimming every day and using dish soap to keep it clean just like you said.
He smirks. You’re a smart-ass. That’s part of what he likes about you.
As he eats the leftover fried rice he heated up to the light of his laptop, he thinks about your appointment. The way you’d laughed over your dinner. The mischievous look in your eye as you teased him. He wished he had paid closer attention to that look because when he thought of you now, he saw that look of fear. That look directed at him. Guilt sat heavy in his chest because of it. You couldn’t trust him when he said he wasn’t going to hurt you. It was a good instinct. As much as it hurt, he wasn’t going to blame you for it.
Tonight, he’s going to kill. Becoming a crime lord isn’t pretty work, but he’s not about to shy away from it. If he has to spill blood, that’s what he’ll do. But he isn’t willing to risk that colliding into his memories of you either.
You’re separate from all of this.
Jason doesn’t regret being there for you at the train station. How could he? But at the same time, now you know, and that’s a liability. He doesn’t think you’d go around asking everyone, but he also doesn’t know you, and that fact remains even when his mind runs away from him to focus on your skin. Sure, Jason’s got the training to be able to read someone, but he’s not one to get too comfortable about such things.
This whole thing is still new. It’s precarious. Jason’s been back in Gotham weeks. There’s still plenty to be done, and he doesn’t need to be distracted.
Jason’s night doesn’t go as planned.
The dealers he’d been meeting with had gotten sloppy. A crew that got way too comfortable talking about sales in public. Batman got wind of it, but Jason was one step ahead. He got out minutes before Bruce arrived, and he didn’t leave anyone left alive to talk to. It’s messier than he’d like, but he doesn’t leave evidence. Whatever trail Bruce has picked up through them will run cold.
Just when he thinks he gets away without a hitch, he runs into the boss of the men unlucky enough to cross his path. He gets a shot in, but not before the boss grazed his thigh with a bullet. It bleeds, but it doesn’t go deep. Still, he can’t ignore it. He takes shelter in a residential area. He can keep a lower profile here if Batman is in the neighborhood, so he finds a dark alley to lick his wounds. He steams over how much carelessness has set him back, when a door slamming breaks his concentration.
And there you are.
You don’t see him in the darkness. You’ve got a bag of garbage in your hand heading towards the dumpster just a few feet away from where his back is pressed against the wall. It’s only a matter of time you see the faint glow from his mask, and he’ll see that same startled look on your face. He doesn’t want you to look at him in fear again.
The bag of trash clamors into the dumpster as you toss it in. You turn over your shoulder and freeze at the sight of someone standing just out of sight. And there’s that look. That same startled, caught in headlights look that’s been haunting him since he left you at the train station. He can’t stand it. So he raises his free hand and gives a small wave.
“Just me,” he says.
Recognition crosses your eyes as you fully find him in the shadows. “Oh,” you say, the sound getting drowned out by the light rain falling. Unconsciously—at least, he hopes—you take a half step away from him.
Yeah, maybe Jason should have thought this through a little more. So careful when he’s making his big plans, but all of the sudden, with you, he’s got his foot in his mouth and his brain where it shouldn’t be. Last you ran into him, he had been hidden out of sight, appearing suddenly to come to your rescue. And maybe doing the same thing outside where you presumably live isn’t a good look.
He should have gone on a rooftop somewhere.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he says.
It’s not a lie, but it’s not like the full version of the truth would offer you any comfort. I don’t think you’d like to hear that he’s on the run from Batman for killing a few guys. But is you potentially thinking he’s stalking you any better?
Your body is still rigid, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of your coat. “What are you doing down there?”
He wonders if you’ve got your pepper spray on him. You’d know better than to use it against him from your first run-in, but maybe you’re holding it now as a comfort. He’s not going to humor himself by believing you trust him. Even if he knows you’re safe with him, you don’t.
“Seemed like a good spot for a rest,” he replies.
The shadows across your face make it hard for him to really see where you’re looking, but he sees your back stiffen.
“Is that blood?” you ask, and now he’s sure your eyes are on his leg, fixed to the spot he was grazed. The concern is evident in your voice. Your eyes grow wide, and Jason all but sees the internal spiral happening on your face.
“Don’t worry, it’s mine,” he replies.
You stand, open-mouthed for a moment, the features of your face twisting further into confusion and worry. “Don’t worry?” you ask in disbelief. Your voice pitches slightly.
“Relax, it’s just a bullet graze. I’m fine.”
A moment of silence passes. Jason waits for the bleeding to slow a little. But once time passes without any sort of response from you, he looks up to catch your eyes wide in disbelief. Which is probably fair. At best, he sounds like an asshole being so casual about something like that. Sure, it’s Gotham, but even that’s a little much. Your obviously freaked out, and here he is acting cavalier.
Jason nods once. “Sorry. The people I’m usually around don’t get bothered about that sort of thing.”
You nod once, your arms crossing over your chest. “I bet.”
God, this is such a mess.
Your eyes flicker up from his wounded leg to the glowing white space where his eyes are beneath his helmet. Jason wishes so desperately to know what’s going on in your head. Do you see him as some sort of monster? Is there any bit of Jason you see beneath the helmet, even if you can’t actually know it’s him? Or has he blown all of this?
“Are you...okay?” you ask.
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about me.” He thinks it’s silly you would in the first place. People have never worried about Jason; he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You shouldn’t be the first one to take on the hopeless task of worrying for him, especially not over some graze. Especially not some graze relative to all of the other things that’s happened to him.
If this is what happens when he a bullet grazes his leg, he can’t imagine what you’d think of everything else.
“So...what’s your deal?” you ask cautiously.
“My deal?” Jason replies, even though he knows exactly what you’re asking.
“Yeah. I mean...what kind of guy in a mask are you?”
There’s a rough, modulated laugh from behind the helmet. “Well, I scared off those guys the other night, didn’t I? What kind of guy does that make me?”
“You scared them off with a gun.”
“And? They didn’t hurt you either way, right?” Maybe there was no room for you to see anything in Red Hood, and maybe he was foolish to think otherwise. He wonders if that still leaves any hope for you and Jason.
“And you conveniently are in the same place as me at the same time. I’m not sure what to make of that.”
“So you think I’m stalking you, huh?” he asks with a light laugh.
“I don’t see how that’s funny,” you reply.
You don’t trust him. There’s no hesitancy to voice your skepticism. He has to admire you just a little bit, even if it is a stupid idea to be arguing with the guy you know is carrying a gun. Now he’s the one who’s going to start worrying about you, as if that wasn’t already the case.
“You live in a shitty neighborhood. You’re gonna see guys in masks around here.”
“It’s Gotham. Most of the neighborhoods are shitty. Are you always this evasive?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
There’s a pause as you look him over carefully. Even if you don’t trust him, Jason doesn’t want that to be the case. He wants you to believe that he’s not a threat to you. Not on purpose, at least. He showed up at the train station because the thought of those guys laying a single hand on you made his stomach roll.
He wants you to trust him now like you had trusted him with your skin.
“Listen, I was working in the area. Swear to god, it was a coincidence. I needed someplace quiet to patch up. I didn’t know you were here.”
You don’t seem totally pleased with the answer, but he can tell you could maybe eventually buy it. Again, you watch him carefully for a minute. Gotham is singing her usual song around you, sirens and rain hitting the rooftops. Somewhere a few blocks away, Jason swears he can make out a fight.
“Are you blinking under there?” you ask, sounding a little unnerved by the constant glowing where he can see what’s going on.
He laughs lightly. “Yeah, I’m blinking under here.”
“I tried to thank you the other day, but you were gone already,” you finally say. “So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Jason replies, even though he had heard it. When you were focused on the train rolling in, he’d slipped back into the shadows, waiting until the sounds of the train had long died down just to be sure there wasn’t anything else that was going to interrupt your trip home.
There’s another beat before he speaks again. “So are you okay?”
You look at him, slightly surprised. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just glad you were there when you were.”
Jason nods. “Yeah, me too.”
“Are you okay?” you ask, your eye darting nervously back to his leg.
“I already told you, I’m fine.”
Your weight shifts. You’re hesitating, still not ready to accept his answer. “Do you...need anything?”
He wants to tell you not to offer help to guys like him. You’re being too nice, and not every guy is going to be like him. Maybe he’s just flattering himself, but he gets the idea this isn’t a universal openness. You’re testing the waters, weighing everything he says and does. He thinks about how you must be putting together one hell of a pros and cons list in your head right now.
Jason imagines what would happen if he said yes; maybe you would scurry up to your apartment. You would come back with three towels even if you thought he only needed one. You’d get him water or some food to keep his energy up. What would you bring out to share with the stranger who has a gun?
But Jason shakes his head. “I’m all set,” he replies. “Jacket’s got a lot of pockets.”
Thunder cracks overhead. You startle from the sound, gaze turning towards the sky as rain starts falling down harder around you both. With Jason’s helmet on, he’s not much bothered beyond the drops blurring his vision slightly, but you’re exposed.
“You should get inside,” Jason says, nudging his head back towards the door you came out of.
And, of course, you pause. He sees the way your eyes flicker nervously to his wound.
Jason shakes his head. “Don’t do it,” he says.
“Don’t do what?” you ask indigently.
“Invite me in to be polite and all that.”
You scoff. “Invite you in? Are you kidding me? You’ve given me next to no information about yourself. You’ve openly admitted you hang out with people who aren’t phased by getting shot--”
“’Hang out’ is an overstatement--”
“I am not inviting you up to my apartment. I’m sure you have dangerous friends you can stay with.”
With the helmet, you can’t see, but Jason smirks. You are warming up to him. The you from the shop is getting pulled out little by little. He’s glad to see you again.
When he doesn’t respond, you turn towards the door a little. “Well...good luck with your leg,” you say, fishing through your coat pockets. The movement picks up a little more, followed by a soft curse under your breath.
“Locked out?” Jason asks. He doesn’t bother to hide the pleased tone in his voice.
“I left my keys inside,” you grumble.
Jason rises to his feet, careful to stay off his wounded leg as much as possible. “Bummer,” he says. “Want me to pick the lock?”
You turn back over your shoulder, looking like you’re trying to suss out whether he’s joking or not. With the helmet on, he’s sure it’s hard to tell.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he reminds you. “Just gonna get the door open for you, and then I’m out of here. Promise.”
A bright flash of lightning illuminates your face, and you nod. “Okay.”
You take a step back from the door, letting him at the lock, gnawing on your lips nervously. “What if someone catches you?”
“I’m not worried about it,” he replies.
“And if someone catches me with you and I get evicted? I’m a little worried about that.”
“I get I’m not exactly at the top of the list of trustworthy individuals, but I’m going to need a little more confidence from you.”
There’s a crash of thunder. The rain gets even just a little bit heavier as Jason fiddles with the lock until it opens. It only takes him a few seconds, but you don’t comment on it. He’s not sure if it’s because you’re not surprised he can do it that quickly or because you’re exhausted with everything you’ve learned about him in the past few minutes.
You look at the open door, then back at him. “Thank you,” you say. It’s a little reserved, but he sees the echoes of you sitting in his station at the shop. A hint that maybe his chances aren’t so doomed as he worried.
“You’re welcome. Stay out of trouble.”
One last time, your gaze drops down to his thigh before looking back up. “You too,” you reply, letting the door slam shut behind you.
He should take this as his sign to leave, but he lingers a minute. It’s long enough for him to just barely hear a window slide open overhead.
Above him, he sees your head peek out over the ledge of your fire escape. Your building has the old kind, the wooden ones that are without a doubt a safety hazard. When you see him looking up at you, you quickly disappear out of sight again. The shyness is a little endearing, he has to admit. Not that he’s been doing a great job fighting it to begin with.
He can’t tell what you’re doing, but he knows you’re still out there. The top level is about as tall as the tracks above him. You live close to the station. That makes him feel a little bit better about your trip home after your tattoo. At least the time you were exposed to more trouble was cut down because of that.
There’s a little movement up on the fire escape. You hang something off the edge, but he can’t quite make out what. He sees the top of your head as you climb back through your window, and then the faint glow coming from your window goes dark.
Jason waits one second longer, trying to decide whether he’s meant to see what you’ve left him or not. He decides he is, and makes the trek up the rickety ladder. Some steps give a little from rot. Even if his leg isn’t wounded too badly, he does feel it each of the steps up. He wonders if you left everything up on the fourth floor where you live to spite him for being so nonchalant about getting hit.
When he finally makes it up to where you’ve left him a surprise, he sees your curtains are drawn shut. There’s no sliver of light peeking through. He wonders if you turned the lights off so he couldn’t see you trying to stay hidden while getting a look at him.
Hung over the railing is an umbrella. One he knows you didn’t have with you when you were out with him. You put it out here for him, even with his helmet on. Maybe as a thank you for helping you inside. Maybe as a way of toeing the line of you saying you won’t invite him in.
He could be anyone, but you gave away where you lived. He’d done enough for you to trust he wasn’t going to take advantage of this knowledge. But as the rain starts to get a little harder, he leans up against the brick of your building and opens up the umbrella. He can keep his leg dry until the rain lets up, at least.
Sitting out of the rain in the safety of your rickety fire escape, Jason makes the decision he’s going to ask you out for a drink tomorrow morning. Not him, Red Hood, but the tattoo artist. He knows for certain he’s not going to be able to keep you off his mind now.
He hopes tonight, he dreams of you.
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a reblog 💛
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Casey Jr should live with the turtles and be happy!” NO!!! Casey Junior should go back to the future, except that it's a good future now where he's happy and grew up with his mom and BE HAPPY!!
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#save rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#tmnt#rise of the tmnt the movie#rise casey jones#future casey jones#in the future a baby is born. he's jr. he's happy. casey adopts him and calls him casey. he grows up with the turtles#then when he's the age hes in the movie he remember everything and forgets everything else for a small wjole#while*#its like he vanished and woke up in the future#a few days later he has this life's memories back#the trauma is still there but with the good memories he's a lot better#it's gonna be hard but he deserves to be happy#avis talks
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
bff!roomate!simon has nothing left to lose. and it's time to face the music. (part 11/?)
more bff!roommate!simon
word count: 3.5k
cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, aNGST, mean!simon, toxic!simon, depictions of simon's canon trauma, pet names (luv, sweetheart, kitty), lots of angsty pov shifts, possessive!simon (not healthy), allusions to smut (18+) ��️🔞
large blocks of italicized text are flashbacks.
he found a box of tipped-over memories some time ago. at the back of your closet, between the hastily tossed clothes, a box had fallen onto the floor. when he picked it up, pictures fell from it, scattering at the bottom of the closet as he set the box down.
he leaned over, picking up the polaroid pictures.
he had his head down as he walked. there was a sound--as the doors opened, a plethora of cries and happy calling of names surrounded him. families seeing their recruits after the grueling weeks away at basic training.
this was supposed to be reprieve. the chance to see sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, cousins, aunts, uncles--to see the people they loved ever since they had been cut off from the outside world as they learned to build themselves from the ground up.
he didn't know what that felt like. he didn't know what it felt like to look into a crowd for familiar faces. to search for his father and mother in a sea of happy, supportive people--that wasn't something he understood. when other recruits talked about their families, about the partners they had left behind, simon didn't really understand.
this was his escape. this was the place that felt normal. duty, subservience, the act of giving off control and finding it in the job you were given to do--it had been comforting.
but now he was back on the outside. now he was back to remembering how dysfunctional and unusual and lonely everything had been before this. so he kept his gaze on his feet as he pushed through the laughing crowd of warm smiles and excited voices. he just needed to get out of here. he just needed to keep walking, to not think about--
"simon?"
his head shot up at the call of his name, and he turned to look to the left of him. a few people shuffled out of his way, and then he blinked when he saw someone waving at him from just a few paces away.
it was you. you had your purse slung over one shoulder, in a simple pair of light blue denim and a soft cardigan. he swallowed, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut before opening them again to look at you, to make sure that you were still there.
"simon--" you pushed through a few other people before you came in arm's reach, and simon didn't hesitate. a rough hand wrapped around your elbow, tugging you forward, and you squeaked when he forced you into his chest. your eyes closed when his other hand dropped the backpack he was holding, and you let out a shaky sigh when that hand wrapping into the back of your head, into your hair, crushing you in a warm hug.
you tucked yourself into his chest, your cheek pressed to the fabric of his uniform, and you sniffled as your hands found purchase on his sides and squeezed him close.
"simon--"
"luv..." he breathed, and you pulled back, standing on your toes, your lips kissing his cheek as your arms came around his neck. simon felt his knees almost give out when you pressed your forehead to his, your hands sliding down to cup his cheeks. "i...i-i...missed you--"
"missed you more," you whispered, wiping a shaking hand along your face to rid the happy tears you shed. "'m so proud of you, simon."
"you came."
"wouldn't have missed this for anything."
one of your hands fell, tracing the lapels of his new uniform. he looked so good in it. he looked older. he looked so much better--stronger, more confident, eyes not so dark and dull and sad. he had put on some weight, and there was something so nice about feeling the solidity of him.
"hey! smile!"
both of you turned to see someone holding up a camera, waving at the two of you. you shuffled, breaking into a big smile, and you posed for the picture. you cradled simon's face to your own, pressing your lips to his cheek, and you giggled after you heard the click of your picture being taken. you were handed the photo back, and you shook it gently to develop the ink.
and there it was--fuck, it was so obvious. you were looking at the camera as you kissed simon's face, a happy shine in your eyes, bright and easy and soft.
he couldn't be bothered to look at the camera. all he could focus on was you.
he didn't really know what he had been waiting for. it would never be a good time, a right time. he had been at death's door more than once, and every time he was there, all he thought about was how much he regretted not knowing more about you, not taking more, not giving more.
in his room, alone, in the barracks of a place he no longer saw as he home, he thought about you there, too. thought about your soft skin and your pretty curves, the weight of your breast in one hand, how solid and grounded and real the space between your thighs was. he thought about how difficult it had been to find the meaning and the love that sex could be with another person, and how easy it had been to sink back into that place with you.
he didn't see pain behind his eyes when he tasted you. he didn't feel the burn and sear of some other memory when he thought about spreading you wide, giving you his burly fingers, fucking you senseless with his trigger-happy hands. those memories were erased. they were numb and far away, and he dreamed about saying thank you for making him feel just a little more human again.
maybe that was why he hadn't really fucked you yet. maybe that was why he hesitated every time he thought about sinking his cock inside of you, taking that soft, drooling pussy and making it his own, really his own--maybe he thought twice before getting that far because deep down he knew this would happen.
he knew he would lose you.
it was spring. flowers getting their color. soft sounds in the trees. sunlight warm against your face. it was too bad it was doing nothing to soothe the ice in your chest.
it was so heavy. it hurt, it was painful. in a matter of weeks, more like days, you had lost every person you had ever loved.
your second mother. the warmth of a brother. the kiss of loving sister, the soft hands of a nephew. the truth of it, the reality of it, was that they were your family. not by blood--chosen, because you chose them, and they chose you.
a friend. the love of your life, you thought. no, you knew, because the depth of what he left in you was too deep to be anything else.
it felt trivial to call him your soulmate. it felt stupid to call him your lover. it was more than that, you knew it was. now that you thought again, it didn't even feel right calling him the love of your life--what the fuck do you call the better part of what you are?
what do you call the thing that has always been the same? what do you call the constant, the unchanging variable, the thing that makes your sky blue? what the fuck do you call the thing that pumps your blood and kisses your scars and always makes it back home?
every terrifying goodbye. all the letters sent back and forth, the late night phone calls, the whispers of i love you that you knew were more--why didn't you just tell him?
why didn't you just tell him that this was what you felt? why didn't you just confess every suffocating feeling?
because now he will never know. he will never come home, he will never hear you tell him you miss him--fuck, did he think about me? when they killed him too, did he have time to think about me? did he think about tommy? did he think about what would happen to me, did he wish he could say something, too, do you think he had his own regrets?
because it was real, wasn't it? he loved you. he had to have loved you, because you loved him, you knew this, and you still do, and it hurts, and i want to die, too. and you hate him now, because he did this to you, and there was nothing you could do.
your hand shook as you shoved the key into the lock. you turned it, opening the door and closing it behind you.
you hadn't been inside of your apartment in a long while. it wasn't safe, they told you. but now, it didn't really matter to you. dead, alive, you weren't either anymore. you were somewhere in between, and you would rather be one of them then none of them.
and dead felt like it might be relief, too.
it was dark. every surface with a thin layer of dust, the curtains drawn, locking out the spring. it was still winter inside of here, a moment in time that you wished so badly you could go back to. when they were here. when he was here.
you blinked when you saw the sway of the curtains. a soft ray of sunlight peeked through them as they moved with the wind, and you swallowed hard.
you had left it closed.
when the fabric pulled back, you held up a hand to block the glare of the sun. you stepped backwards, back into the dark, and when the curtains fell again, you rubbed your eyes before opening them to focus.
no. that wasn't right. a figure stood there now, standing tall and imposing. big shoulders, a solid chest, the gait of someone you once knew, but not anymore.
a ghost. i'm seeing a fucking ghost.
you stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak. for a second, you could pretend it was someone else, but as your gaze adjusted back to the dark, you met those eyes. eyes, his eyes--you would recognize them anywhere.
he wore a mask, but he couldn't hide from you. not anywhere.
"si...simon?"
fuck, you couldn't stop the break in your voice. the bloom of something horridly happy in your chest--because your family was gone, but fuck, fuck, fuck--
sobbing. you were sobbing, dropping your things, running because even a second longer without him, and you would lose your mind. you shoved the table out of your way, kicked the chairs, you heard something crash onto the floor and shatter--but then your arms were around him.
he called your name, but you didn't respond. you cried out again, and when you tried to jump, he couldn't catch you. he fell to his knees with you in his arms, weak from injuries you couldn't see, but he didn't complain about the pain. he held you just as tight, cradling you to his chest, and you both fell to the floor in a messy, tearful embrace of two people who couldn't believe their blood-soaked luck.
because you had lost your family, but hadn't lost each other, and even though it sickened you to feel happy, you did, and you couldn't care yet about what that might mean.
"i thought...i thought they..." you had never heard him this way. his voice so low, so hoarse, and you knew what had happened. he had accepted your undoing, just as you had, and he was struggling with the mix of nauseous happiness and deep-set guilt. "thought they had you, luv--"
you shook your head, cupping his head, smoothing your fingers over the mask. you did not ask about it, not about why he covered his face or what he had gone through to get back here.
they can't kill him. he's mine, they can't take him from me, they can't, they can't, they can't--
you didn't remember how long you laid there. how long you spent with him draped over you, his head buried in your neck, the sounds of his shaking breaths.
you love him. i love him. he loves me. but you don't tell him that. and he does not tell you.
he lied. over and over again, he lied to you, and you never batted an eye. and there had been moments when he knew that you knew--you would look him over, knowing what you were hearing was not the truth, and yet you stayed.
accepted the keys to a shared apartment. wrapped his wounds after he had let go of the anger, sinking it into soft, supple flesh of revenge that had tasted so good. when you washed his clothes and saw the water run red, you did not blink twice. all he remembered was you nodding to his pants and telling him that cold water and peroxide would do the trick.
bonded. that was what you were. bonded, through trauma and death and blood and the look in your eyes when he ate your pretty pussy. the naked, glorious truth of you, it was cruel, and now you weren't here.
an empty room. pictures he couldn't bring himself to burn. a mug he won't throw away, the hairbrush still rattling in the bathroom drawer, the shoes you left in the hallway. you were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and he was fucking sick.
he ached. he hated; hated what, he didn't know, but he hated something, and he wanted to tear it apart. there was someone he loved in another place, and he needed to bring her home.
she needed to come back to where she belonged. needed to come home. needed to lay on his bed and listen to him apologize, and he needed to fucking have her.
he was going to bring you home. whether you liked it or not, whether you believed what he said, whether or not you would forgive him, you were coming home, you were coming home, you were going to fucking come home.
he waited for you. you could see him from down the street, sitting there on the steps, elbows resting on his knees. you stopped walking, skidding to a halt, and you adjusted your jacket as you turned to look around the street.
it was empty. and you were just desperate to get back to your apartment. you took a shaky breath before moving again, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.
you tried to walk past him. tried to sidestep him as you walked up the steps--but that was stupid. he reached over and grabbed ahold of your shin, holding you back, and you huffed as you gripped the stair railing for balance.
"let go."
the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall when you heard the low chuckle, and then--"no."
you kicked his hand off, turning to face him, looking down at him.
"how did you find me?"
"not a fuckin' corner of the world y'can go without me findin' you, kitty."
"what did i say about calling me that?"
he shrugged. "dunno."
you gritted your teeth, "get the fuck out of here, simon. i won't ask you again."
you were forced backwards when he stood up, to his full height, and although he was a step or two below you, it only made you at eye-level with him. you glared nonetheless, trying not to let his size intimidate you.
"i don't want to see you. ever again. leave--"
"no," simon muttered, and he narrowed his eyes under the mask. "not goin' anywhere, kitty. i came to get you."
"i'm not going anywhere with you," you spat. "fuck you."
you blinked when all you saw was the crinkle of his eyes, the tell-tale sign of a smile. your heart squeezed a little at the sight of it. it was unsettling. it didn't make sense.
"i told you--not ready for that," he said lowly. "now go get your things. we're leaving."
you leaned in, shaking your head. "i'm not going anywhere with you, simon," you repeated. "leave. get out of here. i...i don't want anything to do with you, i--"
"liar--" he snapped. you jerked back at that, and before you could respond, he reached up and cupped the expanse of your throat with the meat of his hand. you gripped his wrist to relieve the pressure, but it was no use. simon had an iron grip on you, and he pulled you closer, the front of your lips pressed to the mouth of his mask. "you're lyin'. it's olright, sweetheart."
"simon--"
"no, you listen t'me," he growled, and your lips trembled. you couldn't decipher the feelings you were having. fear, uneasiness, arousal--it was all at once, and it confused you. "y'didn't let me fuckin' talk before, but you will now."
you whimpered, clawing as his gloved hand, but he clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
"made a mistake, didn't i?" he hummed. "wrecked the only good thing i ever had, yeah? 'cause i'm a right bastard, kitty, but you knew that, hmmm?" he smoothed a rough thumb over your bottom lip, and you spat, but this only made the crinkles around his eyes grow. his smile, fuck you. "shagging girls i don'even know, fuckin' them, 'cause i was angry--" he tsked, shaking his head, "dunno wot i am...wot i was thinking. was just...so fuckin' angry."
"fuck you!" you breathed, your eyes watering. "i hate you."
"y'don't, luv," he whispered. "y'don't hate me, and that's what bloody kills you, yeah? y'never could. not after everything."
your lips trembled, and your face scrunched up in pain as you started to cry.
"it's not fair, simon," you gasped. "i-it's not fair. what did i do wrong? what did i do?"
maybe that was the cruelest part of this. simon had been the one to make a mistake, but somehow it was supposed to be your fault?
simon had let you go for too long--you were thinking, and he couldn't have that. you were thinking too much, letting your mind fester and spill over and make a mess of what really was the truth.
you just needed to come home. that was all.
"nothin'," he murmured. "did nothin' wrong." he pressed the face of his mask to yours again, harder this time, a kiss that took your breath away. "could never do anythin' wrong, kitty. somethin' wrong with me, th's all."
"i-i can't--" you sobbed. "i-i can't do this--"
"'m not leaving without you," simon growled. he reached behind with his other hand and gripped your hair roughly, shaking you, biting against your mouth. "not fucking leaving, you understand me? i will follow you wherever you go."
you cried, and all he did was hiss, shaking his head.
"simon--"
"you could run all you want, kitty, but i will fuckin' come for you--" he cupped your face with both hands, making you look at him. there was something in his eyes. something insane, something unhinged, and you wanted to be afraid, but simon would never be able to scare you, not really. you were shaking, tasting the saltiness of your tears, but you stared right back at him. "y'can even die, kitty..." your eyes fluttered shut, and his breath was warm. "i'll crawl into your fuckin' grave and pull y'out. n'if i can't get you then, i'll find y'in every other life y'live--" your mouth fell open, slack-jawed and wide open, just like always, just like he knew you would be, "--i'll follow y'there, and i'll bring y'back. bring y'home."
when you opened your eyes, he was still staring down at you, and your gaze found his immediately. maybe simon wasn't the other part of you. maybe he wasn't the love of your life; maybe he wasn't what made the stars align or the pieces match up.
maybe this was fuel to fire. a cup that never goes empty, one that simply overflows. the igniter to something that neither of you would be able to control.
but when the fuck did you ever care about control? maybe you just needed to let go.
if he took from you, then you should take from him. steal and take and bite and growl and make him bleed, because that was what he did to you, and you wanted it, too, i want him to beg, too, want him to lose his fucking mind the way i do, because it isn't fair, and i deserve it, and it is what i'm owed.
for the first time in your entire life, you saw the same in his eyes that you knew was inside of your own. something hungry and territorial and fucking angry--and i am sick and tired of burying it.
simon was yours. yours. and you were going to fuck him until he understood that, too.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut
516 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Room Away
Requested Here!
Edit: Part 2 Here
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader
Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.
Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)
Word Count: 4.2k+ words
A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
Picture from Pinterest
Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.
Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings.
“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.
“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”
“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.
Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”
“I know.”
Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.
“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.
“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.
“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”
“Either should work.”
“That’s your number.”
Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”
“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.
“This isn’t Craigslist.”
“Semantics.”
Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.
✯✯✯✯✯
Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.
You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.
By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.
Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.
“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.
Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.
“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.
As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”
She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.
✯✯✯✯✯
Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.
An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.
“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.
“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”
“I won’t tell you that, then.”
Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.
“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”
You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”
She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.
“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.
You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”
Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.
✯✯✯✯✯
You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.
It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.
Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.
✯✯✯✯✯
You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles.
Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.
“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.
“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”
He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”
“I’m okay. Thanks.”
“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”
“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”
Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.
Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.
“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.
“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.
Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.
The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.
“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”
Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”
Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.
You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”
Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.
“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.
You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms.
“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”
Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.
Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.
Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.
“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.
“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.
You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.
“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.
“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”
“I’m sorry,” you repeat.
“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
You nod before saying, “My ex.”
Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.
After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.
“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.
“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.
“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”
Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.
“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.
“Why’d she move to LA?”
“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”
Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”
Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.
“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”
“How do you know that?”
Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.
Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.
✯✯✯✯✯
Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.
“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”
“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”
“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”
Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.
“Your ex?” Tim asks.
You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.
✯✯✯✯✯
Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.
“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.
“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.
Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.
“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”
Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”
You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.
“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”
“Have you?”
You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.
“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”
Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.
“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.
Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.
“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”
“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”
Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.
When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.
“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”
“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.
✯✯✯✯✯
Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.
Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.
Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.
You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.
“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.
Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.
After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.
“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.
Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”
✯✯✯✯✯
You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.
“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.
You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.
“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.
You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.
“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.
Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.
“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.
Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.
“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”
Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”
“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.
“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”
“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.
Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.
“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.
Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.
“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.
You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.
“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.
Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.
“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.
“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.
Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.
When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.
“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.
“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”
“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”
✯✯✯✯✯
When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”
“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.
Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.
“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.
You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”
Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone.
#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford x fem!reader#tim bradford fluff#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford the rookie#tim bradford#the rookie#requests
503 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!
Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3
If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.
The Dark Sun
Word Count: 1.6K
Rating: Teen
Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.
None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.
It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!
Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.
Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child.
Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices.
The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.
Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.
So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again.
***
The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days.
He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies.
Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came.
Tav’s tent. He was sure of it.
Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves.
Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong.
Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects.
Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace.
They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance.
Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence.
Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply.
Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart.
“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear.
“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.
Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek.
Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.
“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned.
Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face.
“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling.
“And why ever not?”
“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”
“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”
Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”
Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders.
“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek.
“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”
Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face.
That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him.
Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought.
He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.
Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms.
“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”
“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”
They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.
“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised.
And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion.
And he was not afraid.
#dancingbirdiewrites#astarion bg3#bg3 astarion#baldur’s gate astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion#astarion x mc#astarion x tav#bg3 astarion fic#astarion x reader#astarion x you#baldur's gate fanfiction
951 notes
·
View notes
Note
HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)
love ur works, hal ❤
A Good Man
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.
Word Count: 3.1k
Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV
A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.
Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details.
Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost.
A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch.
The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter.
Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow.
Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace.
His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better.
It had been a long few months.
Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days.
Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.
There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth.
Hell, he really must be tired.
“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough.
A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home.
He was just Simon to you.
Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks.
Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.
As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before.
“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face.
Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.
How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly?
Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful.
But he was a stiff man; a stoic one.
He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.”
Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow.
Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech.
“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?”
You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office.
There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer.
All of it is uneventful.
He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three.
One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.
Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.
Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.
“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.”
The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top.
‘Save for Simon.’
The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?
He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly.
With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet.
The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine.
“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen.
Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.
“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”
Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.
“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.”
“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.”
Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home.
He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”
She’s warm.
His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily.
“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second.
“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.”
A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper.
By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points.
Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.
Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened.
The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.
—
When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.
This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.
“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?”
The lie comes easily.
“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression.
“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…”
He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception.
Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two.
It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it.
“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision.
“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?”
“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?”
“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”
You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe?
Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul.
You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.
The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away.
Coated in fear and lies.
Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up.
You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt.
Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life.
With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.
If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.
TAGS:
@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce
#simon ghost riley#ghost#ghost x reader#cod x you#cod mw22#cod x reader#cod#mw2 fanfic#mw2 x reader#mw2 2022#mw2#call of duty modern warfare 2#modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#modern warfare#cod fanfic#cod fic#cod mw2#x female reader#cod fandom#female reader#modern warfare x reader#modern warfare x you#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#mw x reader#call of duty mw2#ghost mw2
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Platonic!Yan batfam with young adult reader. Part 5
[Part 4]
Note: Reader is 18-22 years old. Gn reader
Content warning: being treated like a child, being looked down on, obsessions, soft yandere but still a yandere, reader has memory issues and it's ambiguous as to why, delusional batfam, batfam as a whole basically view you as a child younger then Damien despite you being older, dissociation, abduction, drugging, so many lies
Focus Bruce Wayne (all his POV)
-----
Bruce hadn't wanted you to ever see the cruelty of the world. It's why he and your siblings worked so hard to prepare a room for you in the manor as swiftly as they could. You were too good for Gotham, maybe even the world. He wanted your integration into the family as seemless as possible. Painless too. But maybe he should have listened to his youngest after that first visit of his.
Damian had been insistent you couldn't handle life on your own. That you needed them to care for you, which he agreed with! He just also knew he couldn't just take you. They were heros they couldn't just abduct you. He told Damian and the others to treat you like a feral cat. Stay close but give you space, step in when need be and let you warm up to them. And look what happened.
You were barely here mentally. The trauma haze and shock yet to leave you, if not made worse by the lie *he* told you. You'd forgive him once you were better, you'd realize he was just doing what he had to do as your father. The risk of you going home was too great now.
He remembered the panic when you woke up in the room the family had made for you in the cave. He had been there in costume. The sight of him had managed to calm you. He was glad for that, it meant you thought of him as safe. You shouldn't considering he lied to your face.
The lie was simple one, easily kept up by the entire family. The mugging you had seen planted a target on you. The woman you tried to save, her parents were well-known crimelords in Star City, and they blamed *you* for their daughter's death. A hit was out on you; so you had to stay here with them until it was safe.
The news had made the shock you were in worse, making your mental state deteriorate more than when you'd first arrived. But he was happy to see the moments where the fog lifted, where you opened up to them again. Once he was sure you were attached, he'd let them all meet you outside of the costumes but that was a while away.
By the third day you'd gone from a husk to a crying mess. They'd all tried to consol you even himself. He made a promise that soon things would get better. And they would! You'd join the family, he'd spoil you with anything and everything you could dream of. You'd be in the manor properly and not in the cave.
Your sadness was a knife in his heart. Like any good parent, he just wanted you to be safe and happy. Bruce knew that for now, safety was key. Still he wouldn't lie again and say he wasn't envious when one of your siblings got you to smile. So far Damian and Jason had been the ones managing to get you to relax best. The nickname Sparky had taken over among all of them.
There were a few moments where your panic would rise up, you'd demand to know when you could go home becoming hysterical at the idea of losing your job and subsequently your home. He knew you wouldn't lose your home since it was here with them as for a job? You were still so young you didn't need one. Still, you'd work yourself up so much that whoever was near had to drug you. The tranquilizer was a gentle one. You were only out a few hours and much calmer when you came to. The downside is you forgot a lot that happened, though for now, that was a blessing.
He couldn't wait for you to meet his father figure, your grandfather Alfred. Sure, you'd met him when you first got here, but you didn't remember it. It's probably for the best, considering you'd likely have put the 2 and 2 together before he was ready for you to have that information.
Bruce reached over to your resting form and fixed the blanket that had fallen off of your shoulder. Soon, you'd take your place in the family, and no one was having an easy time waiting for it.
652 notes
·
View notes
Text
Safe haven
Pairings: Leon x Reader
Wc:4.0k
Summary: How Leon deals with his ptsd over the years.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, depressive thoughts, suicidal intent, Leon hating himself.
An: This one follows the cannon order, so it starts with r2 Leon, r4, r6, vendetta, ends with Death Island.
Denial
Since Leon returned from Raccoon City, nothing has been the same. You've seen the man you knew die day after day, his personality changing like water to wine. And he knew it, he knew it better than anyone.
You still remember perfectly when he arrived, covered in blood, with a bandage on his arm, a face with the most terrified expression you could imagine.
The horrors he had witnessed in that place were simply out of this world. What should have been a simple first day at work turned into a living hell. There were things he wouldn't erase from his memory, the way he had to kill all his co-workers, the way he saw everyone around him die. He felt bad, guilty, even though he had no control over it.
It was a lot for one person, a lot for him to process.
A night that would mark him for the rest of his life.
In order not to involve you too much in the subject, he never went into too much detail, just briefly saying something or other. But you could imagine, the way his fear was clear on his face, his lips trembling every time he tried to talk to you about what had happened.
You saw the way he woke up every night, covered in a layer of sweat, whimpering and almost screaming in his room. He never slept properly, always woke up in a state of sheer panic, and it only got worse as time went on. It wasn't something he could control, not even he himself could believe that he had come out of that nightmare alive.
And he often wished he hadn't.
All he forced himself to believe was that it would be something momentary, an event that he would forget or at least get better with the passage of time.
But it didn't.
He beat himself up every day, unable to forget a single second of that night. He could have helped more, he could have done more, maybe he could have saved more people.
Deep down, he knew it was impossible. A simple situation where a hundred were sacrificed to save one.
There were days when he couldn't even leave the house, and he also begged you to stay with him. A panic attack that haunted him almost daily, he needed you to be there. At least he knew you would be safe by his side, and he needed you, as if you were the air he breathed.
All this was due to the fact that he couldn't cope on his own, if you didn't sleep next to him every night, he wouldn't even try to close his eyes. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to doze off for a single moment, not that he'd ever get a good night's sleep.
He often refused, refused to believe that it was real, refused to believe that it had ever happened. But every time he closed his eyes and heard the screams of agony echoing in his head, he remembered the painful reality.
It was almost customary for him to try to recover from everything he had experienced, to lift his face, wipe away the tears and force an expression from someone who was fine.
But you and he knew it was just a lie.
Everything took a turn for the worse when he was interrogated and basically forced to work for the government. It was a 'deal', he would work for the government in exchange for the little girl safety, a little girl called Sherry, who he found and saved in the middle of the chaos that night.
Although he didn't want to, he didn't think it was fair to let a girl as young as her suffer in a laboratory, maybe it was crazy to compromise his life for someone he barely knew. But that was him, the guy who put others before himself. So he accepted the 'agreement'.
He just wanted to be someone normal, to forget about that damn trauma, to forget about the pain of that night and to put all those events behind him.
But he couldn't, and maybe he wasn't ready for that fact.
The Leon of before no longer existed, maybe a small sketch left, but he would never be able to get back on his feet and be like before.
Never.
Anger
Leon's life began to turn upside down even more, after the hell that happened in Raccoon City, he was forced to go to military training, supposedly to serve the government. Even years after what happened, the night was still incredibly vivid in his mind. Every detail was stagnant in his memory, a mark he couldn't remove.
All he felt now was anger, all hidden in that sullen face that had become his usual expression. He hid behind it, hoping you wouldn't notice how cold and indifferent he was becoming. It was the only way to protect himself that he found.
And he hated that things were this way.
What he didn't expect was that he would become an agent working for the President. Everything that had already happened to him was enough, and he still seemed to be getting worse and worse.
Like a bottomless pit, he just fell lower and lower.
At this point he no longer cared about much, he was becoming more and more stressed with work and that damn training.
You lost count of how many times he came home scratched, bruised, with some part of his body purple. One time he even arrived with a broken rib, and he didn't even try to explain to you what had happened.
He just did his bandages silently, with your help. And he didn't even say a single word about it, and you worried like crazy. You didn't even know if he would arrive in one piece the next day.
It wasn't difficult to assimilate all the abuse he was suffering in that place, you had already heard a few times the way some of his training partners spoke to him on the phone. They weren't friendly at all.
All he did was hide what he felt with that sulky face, more and more you saw him becoming closed off. It was rare that he talked about his training, or his day.
Even he had become increasingly discreet about his nightmares, or even his anxiety attacks. He always thought he could handle it on his own, it was his problem. That he had learned to cope, or at least he thought he had.
Because it was the same story as always. Just a man doing what he hated, reliving the past and charting a hateful future.
And that couldn't be avoided.
And well, nothing got better when he was called to a mission in Spain, looking for the President's daughter. He didn't feel excited about the situation at all, he didn't even want to go. However, there wasn't much of an option.
He tried to warn you, in fact he didn't warn you, he just said he was going to Spain, just like that.
It wasn't hard to imagine that this caused a small fight between you, since he could at least tell you what it was about. But he didn't say.
"Don't pressure me, don't even try to look into things that's not your business." Leon hisses at you, turning his back and leaving you behind with tears in your eyes. All you heard after was the door slamming, and he disappeared for a few days.
Surely he knew the shit he had done, and every moment that passed he felt his heart tighten. His anxiety reaching its worst peaks. As he began to understand what was happening in that old village, he felt terror wash over him once again. The fear of not being able to return terrified him, he doesn't even know how he managed to stay upright in the face of all that.
He felt trapped in a nightmare again.
Another hell, he didn't even know that he would go through a situation similar to Raccoon City again, but to his displeasure it happened. Once again he doesn't know how he came out alive, he was terrified of witnessing death several times in a row. The only thing he thought about was going home, he needed a place to call home. And he needed you, in a way he couldn't put into words. So many words he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, especially seeing more people around him die. After having done everything he did to survive.
He needed someone.
Everything he had planned to tell you went down the drain as soon as he got home, the first thing he saw was you lying on the sofa, wearing one of his shirts.
It didn't take long for him to take off his boots, and walk towards you, he was shabby, a complete mess. It was no surprise.
He gently gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, so as not to wake you, and sat down on the floor next to you. He intended to spend the night there, as he certainly wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how hard he tried.
With his fists clenched, his face set, a strange feeling running through his body. Once again he felt like it was a tantrum, but it wasn't.
A single tear wet his cheeks, followed by several others.
And then he realized, the reality of the facts caught up with him.
And the terrifying feeling returned.
Understanding
A few more painful years passed, and it was indeed optimistic to say that things had improved. It was as if everything was exhausting, he couldn't have fun with the things he liked.
As if his life was in a loop where he couldn't stop, he couldn't get out of it. It just kept going again and again, it shouldn't be like this.
But was.
It wasn't hard to notice how grumpy he had become. He was no longer someone of many words, and now he was even more closed off. If it was possible.
The grown beard that only showed how disinterested he was in his own appearance. He was at a point where he barely looked at himself in the mirror, his dark blond strands falling down his face. And he didn't even bother to trim his hair and leave it the way he liked it.
He didn't even look in the mirror, he hated every time he saw his own reflection. He learned to hate every one of his scars, every mark that remained from his missions, he hated with all of his heart. It was an otherworldly aversion, he shouldn't feel this way about himself, but that didn't matter. Not now.
He learned to hate himself.
He hated the way that even after all these years his traumas still haunted him, the way he still had those terrible nightmares. He hated the way he treated you, so cold and distant.
So different from what he once was.
Since it all started in Raccoon City, he always knew that the part of the soul he lost there he would never recover. But he didn't imagine things would be this bad.
It was as if no moment was good, as if everything revolved around his work and the problems that came with it. He became such a focused person that he would sometimes go days without showering, with his hair all messy and his face completely tired. From someone who hadn't had rest in days. And that person was exactly him.
He would often make minimal effort to talk to you, try to start a conversation and tell you how his day was going. But who said he could? The poor man got so used to keeping things to himself that sharing it was complicated.
The words tumbled in his mouth, he couldn't form a sentence that made any sense and didn't sound desperate. But he failed as soon as he said the first word, and just ended up changing the subject.
Therefore, he learned that nothing would be the same as before, even after all these years in which he hoped that things would change, for the better. But to his chagrin this didn't happen, and everything went downhill.
He tried his best to come to terms with all of this, since he was already someone who had seen a lot, and had already done a lot as well. But that didn't stop him from feeling bad, from feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
And it wasn't?
At that point he ignored what he felt, if he was called to a mission he would simply go, even though he was extremely upset about the matter. Because in those moments he realized that he was just an object of the government.
A powerful weapon that was capable of stopping the crap that happened here or there, and that was it. Just it.
Nothing more than a weapon.
What else could he expect? The turn things took only made the government's intentions clear, and he didn't approve at all. He was always against it, but who said he was listened to?
He had already accepted this, a cruel fate from which he had little option of escaping. He had already dealt with it.
He forced himself to believe those words.
All he could do was hate himself more and more, every time he came home tired and saw you, his heart broke.
How did he still have you by his side? How the hell was such a sweet person still willing to stay by his side. It wasn't fair.
He deserved to be alone.
Day after day he found himself looking for things to get rid of the bitterness that his life had become, what he found was drinking.
One of the few things that let him breathe, even if just for a few hours. It started slowly, but he needed to increase it.
It was an obligation, it was either that or get home and feel like the worst person in the world. This addiction started slowly, in a subtle way.
However, it then got out of control, and once again he found himself in his worst state.
"There's no turning back.." A whisper coming from him, drunk and completely out of his mind.
His life was a dead end, and he had no hope that it would get better.
Another day of remorse, another day living in his shoes.
Depression
The only consolation he found now was drinking, at least it helped the pain go away for a moment. Even though at some point he had to increase the doses more and more, he needed it to take effect.
If at any point he had tried to have some closeness with you back, that had ended in the last few months. He couldn't even take care of himself, let alone take care of you.
He was a different man, and not in a good way.
At that point he already accepted that he had lost himself, that he no longer had salvation, his mind was torturing him.
It was suffering just to be alive.
The fact that he always lost people around him, that he had to kill his own team because he wasn't able to save them. How the hell was he supposed to survive with this? How could he say everything was fine?
Everything around him was dying, like he had a curse around him or something. Not even he wanted to understand this. The weight of the years he lived in this torture was catching up to him.
And nothing could be done, once again.
The nightmares, the weight on his conscience, the memory of each of the missions. It was an unhealthy cycle he was trapped in.
Certainly an addiction wouldn't solve the situation, but what would? Pay nicely as always? Hold his head up and follow orders like a puppy?
"Piece of shit." That's what he mutters when he sees himself in the reflection of his cell phone, disappointed with the way everything is happening. How he was dealing with all of this. His appearance was different, hair more swept to the side, a longer beard. Clothes that not even he knew he would wear at some point.
But what would be the other way? How?
Disappointment, anger, depression, all mixed up in his head. He didn't know what he should do with these bottled up feelings that were haunting him day after day.
All the missions, all the people he lost, everything he experienced. How could someone go through so much like that?
How could he have gone through this and still somehow moved on?
This time he didn't even bother trying to hide from you the displeasure he had created for life, he rarely spent time at home, and when he did it was all day grumbling or drinking.
A great guilt invaded him when you cried because nothing you tried to do seemed to help, but this wasn't about you.
It was about him.
His mood only worsened when Chris called him to another mission, actually it wasn't really a call, more like a statement that he was going to another mission.
This was his life for the last few years, mission after mission, without even a moment for himself, not that he was going to do anything other than drink in the meantime.
What could have happened special this time? Another mission where he comes close to death several times, where he simply doesn't know if he'll return home in one piece. And he could swear he didn't care about it or not.
At least he thought so.
But perhaps the fact of working with people close to him this time made him see that things could be worth it again. Although it wasn't the friendliest place to think this, he couldn't deny that it gave him some comfort since he worked with people he knew, especially Chris, who was one of the few people he liked at work. Despite grumbling a lot.
He appreciated the fact that things ended well this time, for the first time in a long time.
There was still a little light in the good things, in the little daily things. Sometimes things didn't always have a bad ending.
The people around him wouldn't always fade away or betray him, that wouldn't always be the course of things.
Maybe now he was ready to start improving a little, maybe yes, maybe no. He would only know if he tried.
Once the madness of the mission was over, all he could think about was you, he could only think about seeing you one more time after everything that had happened. It was a desire so big that it couldn't fit in his chest.
You can bet he was counting the minutes until he got home, he needed to feel your presence again. He needed to know that he had people who were there for him.
He needed your comfort, your reassurance.
Once he got home the first thing he did was look for you, it was more than a desire, it was a need.
Without you even realizing it, you see him leaning against the kitchen counter, with an almost unremarkable smile. You even surprise yourself, since it had been a good few months since you had seen even a trace of a happy expression on his face.
"I'm back.." He says in a whisper, looking at you gently for the first time in a while.
You look at him a little hesitantly, wanting to give him a hug, not knowing if he wanted that or not.
A simple gesture but one that made your day, he opened his arms to you, waiting for you to do what you wanted.
Without a shadow of a doubt he needed this as much as you did.
Maybe there's still a way out. Maybe there is still a way.
Acceptance
Leon was trying, he was trying his best to be a better man. You could tell that, the way he was cutting back on alcohol, the way he was trying to be more attentive to you.
These little things indicated an effort on his part, he didn't want to hate himself anymore, he didn't want to feel so indifferent anymore. Maybe it was time for a change, he didn't need to be like this anymore.
He had people he could count on, and after all, he had you. That even after his coldness in recent years, you never left him, it was time to reciprocate.
And of course there were things he couldn't let go of so easily, especially his problems with trauma, and he already knew that it was a weight he would carry for the rest of his life.
He would never forget.
But he was also trying to learn not to be like that anymore, things could still have a good side. He could still have hope, even if it was a mere drop.
Life had been hard on him from the beginning, but he needed to find some motivation. He couldn't live regretting forever, putting himself down every time.
It was time to rise again, time to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Little by little, and of course he would never be the same as before. But he could be a better person, and he would do everything he could to make that happen.
You could notice this drastic change even more, since he came back from the last mission, he was different. So proof is that, as soon as he got home he hugged you, and spent a good ten minutes like that.
Probably feeling overwhelmed with yet another mission, duties that seemed to never end. But he wouldn't think about that now.
He wanted to try to be happy. At least one attempt.
Small efforts, for example trying to open up to you, saying few things, but it was a great start. He knew that if he continued like this he would be able to share his problems with you, it certainly wouldn't weigh so much on him if he could share them with you.
His mind was still a mess, but he was trying to organize himself, put his thoughts in order. It was a long and difficult road, but he wanted to bet that he would make it.
It was the glimmer of hope he had.
Leon now went out with you, took you for rides on his motorbike. He begins to realize that life could go beyond work, that not everything needs to be so bad.
You could see him smiling more, he had even gone back to making those corny jokes that never failed to make you laugh. Most importantly, he seemed content, sometimes even at peace with himself.
The desire he had to disappear, little by little was fading, and he began to gain a little more zest for life. Things wouldn't always go wrong, and he could relax a little, even try to let his guard down whenever possible.
Even once you caught him laughing like a fool on his cell phone, only to see him having fun watching a video of a dog, which in his eyes was incredibly funny.
Seeing this, you decide to give him a pet on his birthday. And you almost cried once you saw the joy in his eyes, that sparkle in his eyes that you missed so much.
"I love you." A shy and low voice, accompanied by the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. How long has it been since you last heard this? The sweet way the phrase slid across his lips.
A moment so subtle but so sweet, and one that you hoped would be repeated more and more.
Life was worth it, he would make it worth it again.
#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy#leon x reader#leon x y/n#leon x you#leon resident evil#death island leon#leon scott kennedy x reader#resident evil 4 leon#resident evil 2 leon#infinite darkness leon#leon vendetta#di leon#vendetta leon
504 notes
·
View notes
Text
better than revenge | chapter two: practice?
Lorenzo Berkshire x Slytherin!reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)
Series trope: Fake dating
Chapter two summary: As with any good fake dating scheme, you’ve got to have rules and perhaps a little bit of practice.
Warning: Kissing, mention of cheating, no use of y/n
♡ main masterlist
series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
“We have got to come up with a nickname, something like Operation Freedom,” Enzo says, leaning back at his desk, using his hands to support him.
I look up at him from the chair and snicker, “cute but kind of obvious. Wouldn’t work if we want to keep our arrangement a secret. Hmm how about calling it an ordinary item like shoes?”
“Because of how we’ll walk over Mattheo’s patience?” Enzo quips.
I grin, “or a broomstick because of how we’ll beat his sorry ass for cheating on me and all the brotherly trauma he has no doubt caused you.” It was fun hating on Mattheo with someone who gets it.
Enzo laughs then suddenly gets concerned, “So he cheated on you, huh? I never expected much from Mattheo but what a shitty thing to do.”
I curl my fist, “well, what we’ll do will help me get my revenge. I don’t think we can keep mentioning shoes and broomsticks though, let’s keep it simple like,” I scan his dorm, “the book! Since this all started in the library.”
“So every time we talk about The Book, people will think it’s an inside joke between us,” Enzo says.
I nod, “let’s go over the rules one more time. Rule number one, no more hiding from Mattheo. It’s time for me to reclaim my space. Number two, we hang out at areas where he would be 50% of the time so he would see us a lot but not all the time. Just enough to rub it in his face.”
“We do have a life, after all,” Enzo adds. “Number three, I tell my father I am smitten by a wonderful lady,” he says gesturing to me with his hand, “who also happens to come from a powerful family.”
I mock curtsy in the chair, waving both arms to fan my imaginary dress and raise my chin.
“And we have to attend a ball together,” he adds. “I know you hate them, but I promise I’ll make it fun.”
I nod and continue, “Number four, only we know about the arrangement. Now officially called The Book. And I think that’s it.”
“Nope,” Enzo shakes his head, “there’s one thing we haven’t discussed yet. Kissing,” he says playfully.
“Kissing?” I ask, blushing. I look into his dark eyes. He may be smirking but he’s looking at me intently.
“All this may be fake but I don’t hate the idea of kissing a beautiful girl like you to really sell our story. One of the perks of The Book,” he says.
“I haven’t kissed anyone since Mattheo,” I admit and I hate it. I hate that Mattheo is still the last person I kissed. I hate that I miss the way he used to kiss me like his life depended on it. My lips would be haunted for hours by the ghost of his lips on mine. Now all that haunts me are the memories. I need to do something different, to feel different.
“No pressure, we will only do what you’re comfortable with” he raises his hands and flashes me a kind smile.
“You know, you’re not bad yourself,” I stand up and move towards him. “Maybe I don’t hate the idea of kissing a pretty boy like you too.”
“Practice?” I ask, standing on my toes to move closer to him.
He moans his agreement and closes the gap between as he presses his lips on mine. He kisses me gently and I feel something like butterflies in my stomach. It feels nice to be kissed again and to kiss him back. As our lips move in a steady rhythm, I move my hands up his soft hair and he takes this as a cue to pin me against the wall behind us.
I feel his body against mine, he’s so warm and nice. I take his lower lip between my teeth and I’m rewarded with a moan as the kiss deepens.
He places his hands firmly on my waist, his grip strong and reassuring. He licks my lips gently and I open my mouth to accept his tongue. I feel warm and electric from the core of my stomach all the way down my toes.
Theo suddenly opens the door, “Enzo, would you tell your brother he can’t just—”
The kiss ends way too soon as Enzo looks at his roommate, face flushed and hair disheveled. I stare at his angular jaw and admire how good his side profile looks. I lucked out with my fake date.
“So you really did get a room,” Mattheo’s voice breaks my gaze from Enzo, sounding amused. He enters the dorm behind Theo and I move to leave but Enzo keeps his reassuring hold on my waist. He shoots me a meaningful look, reminding me I no longer have to run away.
“You’re killing my game,” he tells Theo. “Either leave or we will continue even with you around.” Enzo looks at me with a mischievous smile and resumes our kiss. I smile on his lips and close my eyes, drowning out the world around us.
His kiss is hungry this time, committed to the show. When he trails kisses down my jaw and neck, an involuntary moan leaves my lips and I raise my chin to give him more access. My body feels alight with fire. As I tilt my head, I notice Mattheo staring at us, his jaw clenched and murder in his eyes.
I move my hand back to Enzo’s hair as Theo turns to leave, pushing Mattheo out with him.
When the door closes, Enzo takes another second to kiss my neck, gently biting the skin. My toes curl.
“That was — wow,” I say out of breath when he moves away, putting more space between us.
“Yeah,” he says equally flushed, grinning. “And to think we’re just getting started.”
series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
♡ main masterlist
Author's note: Thank you for all the positive feedback on chapter one! Feel free to comment if you’d like me to tag you when the next one goes live.
I told myself I would publish weekly, but here I am just days later. I didn't expect to write as fast as I have! I have six chapters written and am nearly done with the seventh one. More or less, there will be eleven chapters in the series.
Enzo was the first Slytherin boy I liked and I was frustrated there wasn’t enough fan fics of him. A lot of this is for my fellow Enzo girls (and guys or them). The next chapter will be for Mattheo lovers, it's my fave one so far!
Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz
#mattheo riddle x reader#lorenzo berkshire x reader#slytherin boys#mattheoxreader#mattheo riddle x you#lorenzo berkshire x you#enzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire imagine#mattheo riddle imagine#harry potter fanfiction#hp fanfic#enzo x reader#mattheo riddle#lorenzo berkshire#mattheo x you#enzo berkshire#slytherin x reader#slytherin x slytherin#amongemeraldcloudswrites
213 notes
·
View notes
Text
Random Legend Headcanons that haunt my brain at stupid hours <3
He has a big sweet tooth, but less so for sugary things and mostly more for fruits
greatest seemingly "irrational" fear is dogs, he has never liked them even since childhood, and the only dog he can stand is the old sheepdog his grandparent's kept to keep track of the goats
Sky is his favorite. Sky is real with him and doesn't dismiss him as an asshole = automatic favorite. They also share a lot in common
he and Sky like gossiping when no one is paying attention to them. Not about the other heroes necessarily, they just both find it fun
oral stims: he likes his hands free, but chewing/sucking on things helps him focus better and stay calm. He refuses to admit how many times he's found himself chewing on his medallions
he loves puzzles. You'd think he'd gotten enough of them in his adventures, but nope! Hes been doing this long enough that going WITHOUT puzzles to solve actually makes him feel bored. He likes the challenge of it, it keeps his brain ticking
history nerd. A lot of Hyrule's culture/history/tradition was lost because the people were just trying to survive after Ganon killed the hero, so Legend really likes trying to hunt down the pieces of the past to put together what it was like. It's a big puzzle for him, and he loves talking about it if he feels he'll actually be listened too
he knits. He doesn't know many patterns, but he knows some basic stitches and the repetition calms him down
good at most needlework, sucks at embroidery. He likes it, it's just too stressful for him. He's in awe of the fact that Sky's so good at it.
he actually loves the sea I know most writers have him scared of it, but he's got far more happy memories than bad ones, so while it's bittersweet, he still enjoys being near the water (as log as it's not storming)
hates lightning storms with a passion. Storms in general make his arthritis worse, but the lightning trauma sucks a lot more
actually enjoys light rain showers. it still effects his pain levels, but not super bad, and it's worth it to him
has the most un-attractive laugh ever. He tends to snort and cackle like a madman. He does have a "polite laugh" but it's far less genuine.
he CAN cook, he just doesn't care to. Food is an annoying requirement and necessity for him most of the time, and more of a chore than he's willing to admit
he has the biggest soft spot for kids, partially because of Gully, partially by nature
the most susceptible to Baby Therapy (the effect of feeling at peace, content, happy, or relief while holding a small child) Ulli figured this out early on and now abuses it.
he loves stargazing. Stars are a constant no matter where he goes and they're like old friends (got this from the manga)
he's an artist and a perfectionist, his preferred medium is paints, but he does carry a sketchbook
loves physical contact, but is hesitant about others boundaries, so he rarely initiates or maintains it
I have more, but yeah, this is getting pretty long :')
212 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dark Moon | Chapter Eleven
Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader
Word Count | 2,7k
Warnings | 18+, a lot of guilt, beginning of Stockholm syndrome, blood, kidnapping, violence, insults and beatings, torture, hints of abuse and trauma, MC is bound with handcuffs, Jimin understands what to do, don't interact if you are a minor or the yandere genre is not for you.
This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.
I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.
This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.
Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.
⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.
And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.
That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.
He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.
➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys ❤️
After the last chapter full of twists and turns, here is what happened next, let me know what you think, it is very important to me ❤️🥰
Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse, @jiminismine4ever
Taglist is open!
Chapter List - Previous - Next
It had been days, she could always hear someone in the house, someone leaving food behind the door, giving her time to take the food and then closing it again.
It was definitely one of Jimin's companions, it was nice that they didn't want to starve her, a little less that they didn't inform her about Jimin's condition.
Was he okay? Was he serious? Would he recover?
He was her kidnapper, he had separated her from her younger sister, he had bought and raped her, but she couldn't help thinking about him, she felt guilty, she felt like a monster. She thought she was better than him and then...
She shook her head, looking around.
It was a nice room, perfect for a young woman like her, he had not made her lack anything, she had no complaints about that, plus she did not have to lower herself for other men.
Maybe... maybe if she had accepted her new life earlier nothing bad would have happened, Jimin would not have forced her to take him like that and she consequently would not have stabbed him in that mental blackout she had locked herself in.
Now she was all about the unknown that made her legs shake.
She had a bath in her room, she had washed herself in panic, staring at the blood mixing with the water in the drain with horror, she still felt dirty despite all the showers she had taken, that memory would remain indelible in her mind forever.
Suddenly she became aware of other noises outside her room, at first she thought it was always the man's friends, but the voices they started to discuss were too loud, usually they were quite quiet, this time it seemed different.
She squinted at the door with a bad feeling in her stomach, she clutched at it more tightly as the handle began to jiggle, after all the room was closed and the Bangtans knew it, and now she was certain, it was not the Bangtans.
She nervously picked up the first object she came across, a frame depicting a sunset, and hid it behind her.
The doorknob stopped moving for a few moments, then a terrible thud made her wince with her heart in her throat.
The door opened slowly and fuck, she felt naked under the dark eyes of the two men who were squaring her from head to toe.
One of them whistled in surprise as he entered the room.
"From a locked door in Park Jimin's house, I expected money, weapons ... important documents, and instead we find a harmless, trembling little girl."
The comrade sneered, "Little girl? I only see Park Jimin's personal whore, bro," he also entered, coming dangerously close to her, who clutched her improvised weapon behind her back, "If he's keeping her here and not in that brothel it means she must have a magic pussy."
"He's got it all to himself," agreed, "What do you say, honey, you let us taste it? We won't hurt you."
"Go to hell, both of you," she huffed like a cat, causing the two men to laugh.
"After we disembowel you a little," he hummed, coming just close enough to make the young woman tense up in a bundle of nerves, she felt with disgust the man's breath on her neck, but it was not the right time. Even if she had hit him, the other was blocking the exit.
"Is that how you talk to a woman when you plan to fuck her?" she asked nauseatedly.
"Only when that woman opens her thighs to a human garbage like your man," that phrase directed at Jimin made her light up inside.
"Maybe you're referring to you and your partner," she spat acidly, the smiles disappeared from their faces, and soon the latter came dangerously close as well, slapping her in the face that for a few moments made her breathless.
"Watch what you say, for a prostitute you talk too much," he hissed, making her smile.
"And you for a thief are a real idiot," she said, leaving them interjected, but it didn't last long.
With a lightning snap of her arm she violently shattered a corner of the frame in the head of the first man who had approached, the sensation of an object in her hands penetrating the flesh of something alive was not new to her, the only difference was that she enjoyed listening to the screams of that swine, the companion from his side tried to grab her badly, but she ducked just enough to run out, toward the front door.
With relief she noticed that no one had changed the access code, she did not know how those two had managed to get in, but she still knew how to get out. She had mentally jotted down the code as Jimin used it to get out, remembering the movements of his fingers when he thought he was not seen, she had come to guess the sequence of numbers.
134340.
She ran out of the apartment amid the screams and curses of the two of them, looking around she noticed that everything had been meticulously cleaned of Jimin's blood, trying not to think about it because the idea almost made her lose her strength, she took the emergency exit again, this time she went through it, without anyone stopping her, everything was familiar and different at the same time.
She exited the building finding herself in the quiet and isolated neighborhood she had seen that first and only time, if she had followed the path perhaps she would have found someone who could-
"What?" she said before collapsing to the ground holding her head, she stared up wordlessly, a man older than her was staring at her with indifference.
He had hit her hard on the head, small white dots invaded her vision.
"Minhyun! Did you get her?!"
The man's face filled with annoyance, he turned to the other, who had previously been chasing her, reproachfully.
"Don't shout my name like that, you idiot."
"Sorry, but this bastard pissed me off, she broke Jae's head!" he said irritably, looking at her with hatred.
"Who would that be?" the older man did not seem to care about his colleague's condition, rather he was more interested in her.
"I don't know, I think she is the bitch who opens her legs for Jimin in the house."
The man named Minhyun smiled lasciviously.
"If she is the bitch I think she is, the boss will be very happy."
After that, Y/N definitely lost consciousness.
"I want to know everything about her, Namjoon.... Family ties, friendships, educational qualifications, every fucking thing."
"Jimin..."
"Even if she gave us a false name you still took blood from her and took her fingerprints when she arrived, didn't you? Use those to trace her family, they must live here, she and her sister were running from someone."
Maybe he had gone crazy, he just had to think about recovering since seeing himself in a hospital bed depressed him disgustingly, but he couldn't stop thinking about her and the last words they had said to each other.
Something bad must have happened to her to bring up such a trauma, a trauma that had caused her to alienate herself from reality, managing to hurt him in that way.
He was not the most empathetic person in the world, but he knew how to recognize the symptoms of past abuse, something that happened in childhood. Oh, he knew that kind of thing very well....
Namjoon for his part would have liked to beat up his friend, he was as pale as a corpse and the clinic uniform didn't really suit him, he still had machines attached to his body with tubes to measure his oxygen levels and the health of his physique in general, but even in that condition he hadn't stopped for a moment, barking orders to his comrades and intimating them not to touch that girl, and to take care of her during his absence.
"She almost killed you."
"That was not her intention," he replied confidently and determinedly, shocking the other man once again, "I forced my hand too much, her reaction was also all too understandable," he laughed bitterly, shaking his head; he had already had her by force several times, but that had been too much.
"Why do I have the feeling that if it had been someone else, you would have tortured and killed without thinking about it?"
Jimin did not answer, because it was all true.
Finally, the older man sighed wearily, "All right, I'll dig into her past even though the tests we do are only to see if the girls are healthy, not to spy on their past lives, and the fingerprints are only to find them in case they escape," he pointed out, as if to say that that would just be extra work.
"I thank you, Nam."
The latter made to leave the room, but the door was pushed open first by a rather nervous Jungkook.
"Jungkook? I didn't think you would come today, weren't you busy with your students?"
"Hyung..." there was guilt in his gaze, Jimin and Namjoon looked at him with confusion, "It's about Y/N, Taehyung hyung called and said she's missing" maybe it hadn't been a good idea to tell the person concerned, but they all knew that if Jimin didn't learn about it right away, he would create chaos.
Jimin, if possible, whitened even more than before, questions, thoughts and horrible scenarios began to swirl in his head.
"Did she escape? How did she do that?" asked Namjoon, astonished, but the younger man shook his head.
"There are signs of burglary in the house and the door handle of her room was broken from the outside to get in, Taehyung and his team also found a frame with blood on it."
Jimin's heartbeats increased exponentially, the machine signaled the sudden increase in the heart sequence, he was pissed, no, he was furious and fucking worried too.
"Jimin!"
"Get me out of here!" he exclaimed as he began to peel off all those tubes and the IV.
"Stop! You're not in the right condition to-"
"Now!" he thundered with a black abyss in his wide, crazed eyes, "Warn Seokjin, immediately! I want you to find her now, immediately!"
It was his fault, damn.
He had left her alone with his comrades, comrades who would rather see her die than look after her, he felt somehow lost.
Why?
Why would the idea that she might be hurt destroy him? What had happened to him during all that time they had spent together?
There was something about her that reminded him of himself, perhaps that was why he had raged so hard against her; she was naïve, weak, desperate, and broken, qualities that had doomed Jimin in the past, he hated weakness, and she should not allow herself to feel it, because she was surely like all the others, she was like that woman, and he could not allow himself to get involved with Y/N, even though she seemed the opposite of everything he had become accustomed to over the years to protect himself from feelings.
But he wanted now... he wanted to have her back in his arms, to hold her as he had never done before... why did he want to do all this just when the irreparable had happened?
It had all been wasted time, his piling on her because of his demons suddenly seemed like bullshit to him.
Namjoon saw that change and sensed how things really were. He, like the others, had witnessed what had happened to Jimin and how he had started to react to fight his demons, but Y/N was the exception, she made Jimin feel new emotions, emotions that his friend had always shied away from in the past, she was different.
"Jungkook, prepare your team as well, Choi Minho has crossed the line," he said harshly, the other nodded casting a cautious glance at Jimin. He held his head in his hands, not daring to show his face, otherwise they would have been all too clear about his torment.
"Welcome back among us, princess."
Y/N opened her eyes with difficulty, a terribly bright light was shot straight into her face, her wrists and ankles were burning, and her parched throat gave her no respite.
Shortly thereafter her lucidity returned and she finally became aware of her condition.
She was tied to a metal table, arms and legs immobilized in a position that made her at the mercy of everyone.
"Fuck you," was the first thing she said when she recognized Minho; it was only an instant and a fist slammed violently against her jaw, causing her to roll her eyes in the back of her head from the overwhelming, suffocating pain.
She had tasted Jimin's hands in more than one way, but never had his blows been so beastly.
She stood before a true heartless beast.
"Go away, Minhyun! You didn't mean to offend me, did you, love?" the smile on Minho's face contrasted with the stoic expression of the man who had managed to capture her, but Y/N knew, they were perfectly the same.
"Jimin will kill you," he said with difficulty, remembering the hatred that leaked out of the Moor when he had met Minho.
The latter snickered harshly.
"For a little bitch like you? Don't make me laugh," but Y/N shook her head bitterly.
She knew Jimin was not interested in her up to that extent; he himself was probably thinking about how to take her down, only to learn of her disappearance with a bored snort.
"No, not for me... You sent your people to his house, his territory, and if you remember correctly he didn't react in the best way when you showed up at the Dark Moon, let alone how he might react now," she giggled, a deep bruise was already taking shape on her abused face.
Minho lost his smile, "You seem to know him more than you want to admit, how about telling me more? Think about it, tell us about Jimin and the Bangtans, and I will give you back your freedom."
Crazy bastard.
She had traded her freedom for money, once at the Dark Moon you never leave it again except in a sack. The woman was not stupid, Minho's promises were the promises of a greedy, lying snake, but she would not be his Eve.
"I have nothing to say about that."
"We'll see about that, baby," with a fairly clear glance at Minhyun, Minho walked out of the place that was dark to her, but to which she would soon become accustomed.
"You made the wrong choice, bitch," the man said as he grabbed her throat, "Park Jimin must have trained you well, but you'll collapse with me," he hit her in the face again.
And then again, and again, and again.
She wriggled through her tears trying to dodge his blows that meanwhile came to injure every area of her body, her wrists and ankles continued to rub against the handcuffs until they flayed her thin skin, causing blood to spill.
She gasped for breath, gasped for air under those heavy and cruel hands, hands of a man who knew no mercy; she had already been under similar hands in her childhood and cried more for that wickedness.
She fainted and came to several times, each time with the same question breathed on her face.
"Where is Park Jimin?"
And each time always the same answer pushed between her teeth.
"Fuck you."
She imagined Jimin was at that clinic where she had been admitted, but she did not know the exact spot, and even if she did, she would not tell him.
Even if she was suffering worse than a dog, she would not give up the pleasure of ruining that monster's expectations.
"You really don't care about your life, do you?"
Y/N laughed with blood at her mouth, what life?
Had she ever had one in the first place?
She had lost her innocence too soon, snatched away by a man identical to Minhyun.
Y/N had been wrong; Jimin was not the monster.
"Perhaps using another method will convince you?"
Minho came out of the shadows of the room, had he entered when she was unconscious?
"I hate to see a beautiful woman in this condition," he sighed in annoyance before approaching further.
He lasciviously caressed the chest of the young woman, who was invaded by nausea immediately.
"We'll pick up where that bastard left off, okay?"
#yandere jimin x reader#bts x yandere#jimin fic#jimin fiction#jimin imagine#jimin ff#bts fanfic#bts#bts fanfiction#jimin smut#bts smut#yandere bts smut#bts yandere smut#yandere bts#yandere bts x reader#bts x you#jimin x you#bts dark fanfiction#bts smut yandere#bts yandere#bts x y/n#jimin x y/n#yandere jimin x y/n#seokjin fanfic#namjoon fanfic#yoongi fanfic#hoseok fanfic#jimin fanfic#taehyung fanfic#jungkook fanfic
117 notes
·
View notes
Text
Here’s another one that is So Canon To Me that I forget I’m not on the same page as everyone else about it:
Katara gets elected Chief of the Southern Water Tribe and Sokka pretty much never goes back
Let’s please give Katara something permanent to do oh my god. Aang is the Avatar, Toph ends up a cop, Sokka is involved in the running of Republic City. Can Katara please get another role other than Avatar’s Wife Who’s Also A Good Healer??
We’ve seen in the show that she’s a very inspiring leader with a huge sense of loyalty. It seems to me like she’d be a natural at politics and strategically a great choice to lead because of her relationship with the world’s other leaders. Also as the last Southern Waterbender and a great healer, she’d have a lot of respect in the tribe as a warrior and as someone also knowledgeable about spiritual matters.
She’s always had a strong connection to her people and her culture and she’s still living there during Korra. I think she trained to be chief under Hakoda and she and Aang and their family split their time between Republic City and the SWT at first. She probably gets elected a few years later and they live there more permanently, then when her term ends they focus more on RC for a while. I think when Aang dies she’s so happy to move back permanently, having moved away due to duty but her heart has always belonged in the South and its next generation of benders.
Sokka meanwhile… We’ve talked about his trauma. I made a post about this somewhere before I think he’s one of those guys that definitely prefers to visit back home than to spend time there permanently. The memories of losing essentially both his parents and being responsible for all his people’s survival… I don’t think he ever fully deals with those. He’s always had a more global outlook on life and I think his skills in engineering and diplomacy would be better used in the Fir Nation and eventually Republic City. I know we hear him called Chief Sokka in I think S3 of Korra but it’s always made way more sense to me that he would be appointed chief of the Water Tribe folks living in the United Republic, which would reconcile the role we see him in on its council.
Also with his disability later in life… the cold weather in the South would probably not be great for him at all…
I do see a lot of stuff about Sokka being chief post-canon and then Katara just kind of fades into oblivion and I mean we know why that is but consider this instead.. ^^
#is that a decent enough explanation do I make myself clear idk#atla#text#headcanon#Sokka#chief katara#katara#greatest hits#100
221 notes
·
View notes
Text
Had a great idea for a Spirit Halloween fic!
Ok so I know people tend to write the Infinite Realms as being connected to all dimensions, so imagine when FlashPoint Paradox occurred (it created a completely different timeline for the DC universe before it was corrected by the Flash, one in which Bruce Wayne died in the alley) the ghost of Bruce Wayne came into existence in the infinite realms.
Clockwork is aware that reversing the changes to the timeline will destroy ghost!bruce but he uses his power to protect him and keep in existence. Because ghost!bruce has to exist so he can be in the right spot so when a portal opens up he can fuse with a boy named Danny and save his life.
DP canon proceeds for the next year or two, by this point Danny has revealed his halfa status to his parents but he’s still unaware that he’s bonded to a ghost (maybe the bonding event knocked ghost!bruce unconscious?) and after some time and a lot of talks they’ve come around to the truth that ghosts are actually sentient and just like humans some are good and some are bad.
Unfortunately the GIW are still around and with years of public ghost appearances and battles, all the footage and proof they’ve built up leads to the government deciding to expand the GIW. More agents, better training and more weaponry. Their mission statement goes from discovering ghosts weaknesses and studying them to complete extermination.
Some big fight between Phantom and some agents happens and maybe there were some bystanders killed, maybe Tucker and Sam or the rest of the Fenton family? And the sheer trauma of the event as well as the injuries Danny gets pushes through his bond and wakes up ghost!Bruce.
Because of the bond Bruce is aware of Danny’s memories and has subconsciously been learning with him as well as “aging” (he might just be subconsciously shapeshifting to match Danny’s age).
And now Danny is starting to hear a voice in his head, trying to comfort him, promising that he’ll never be alone. Freaked out, Danny travels to see Frostbite thinking he’s finally going crazy but gets waylaid by Clockwork, who finally reveals this whole convoluted plot he set up to prevent Danny’s death from the portal and ensure that Danny Phantom would come to be.
*I’ve always liked the idea that Clockwork aims every dimension toward the timeline with the best outcome, but Danny’s has always been difficult to see clearly so clockworks mostly making plans on the fly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I have no clue what happens next because my brain went straight to Danny and ghost!Bruce working together to figure out how to split, and eventually starting to grow feelings for each other the longer they’re aware of each other.
Eventually, something’s leads them to going to Gotham (I imagine Danny is in his mid 20s at this point) and they decide that with the GIW growing more dangerous they need to actively search for allies, ghost!Bruce doesn’t have super clear memories of his living life, probably doesn’t even really remember his name, but he does have a memory of a voice saying something along the lines of “Wayne’s always help when they can” and hey Bruce Wayne is Batman’s auger daddy, maybe he can get them an in with the JLA?
#imagine the chaos of the batkids seeing a young ghost version of their daddy dearest#one who uses awful puns like Nightwing#and apparently knows how to actually use his words#danny phantom#dp x dc#dc universe#danny fenton#dc x dp#batman#bruce wayne#Spirit Halloween#bruce x danny
298 notes
·
View notes
Text
"He did WHAT?" - one piece guys dealing with your toxic asshole ex - headcanon
Summary: lots of people have one - the toxic asshole ex boyfriend that did some horrible stuff to you. You told your new OP bf about what your previous relationship was like after some time to explain some of your more unusual behaviours. What might happen when they get the chance to serve that dick some revenge?
A fluff collection of headcanons about Law, Sanji, Zoro and Luffy giving that bastard what he deserves.
And check out my headcanon masterlist
Cw: mentions of unspecific abusive behaviours and trauma responses, and of course, comic violence like it happens in the show.
That said...Enjoy some revenge fantasies! Share in the comments what you want them to do to your asshole ex!
Disclaimer, I feel I need to say this) : I am no psychiatrist! This is just some silly headcanons and in no way a real help. If you feel that things people did to you years ago still haunt you, get professional help, it's really good!
Law
When he first hears the story about how you have been treated, his expression darkens. "I am here now, he's gone" is what he tells you - and himself, too. But it gnaws at him. He hates manipulators that put people in literal or psychological cages. And he hates that it happened to you.
When they meet in person, Law will rearrange your ex's body and is open for your suggestions. Why not replace his head with a cannonball and take his dick as a trophy? He doesn't need to spew abusive bullshit anymore and no one needs his sexual attention anyways.
Law will sleep better, knowing that he did to him what you wouldn't have because you are too good a person
He is not one for elaborate compliments and he is no therapist, but he will try to help healing the wounds you sustained by being the most supportive and positive boyfriend you ever had. If you need his shoulder, he is there. If you feel bad, he will do anything to make you feel better. He will not make you do anything you don't feel comfortable with.
Sanji
As you casually tell him about your past relationship he catches fire and has to run around the ship a few times to cool down. He switches between pampering you extra, extra EXTRA nice and angry mutterings to himself. He promises you if he ever meets that guy, he is going to kick him through all the grand line and back again
When the moment comes, Sanji switches into total ruffian mode. You have never heard that string of merciless trash talk from anyone before and it doesn't take long until he has totally set off your ex, luring him into throwing the first punch. It is, of course, futile, but Sanji takes his time to finish him off. He should, after all, learn that no one should hurt his lady.
He is visibly relieved to have finally gotten revenge for the unacceptable things that guy did to you. He is awaiting your praise eagerly.
Since he knows what it feels like first hand, he feels even closer to you and tells you his stories if you want to hear them. You will heal together, in time. The memories will fade and be replaced with better ones you make together. You support each other in breaking through the self harming behaviour you developed.
Zoro
His initial reaction to your explanations about why you still feel uncomfortable doing certain things is total helplessness. He cannot fathom that someone would ever take the time and effort to systematically destroy their partner. He believes you, but it is so far out of his own experience that it is hard to grasp for him.
It makes him angry, however. Because that dickhead insulted you you feel insecure? What can be broken can be fixed is Zoro's motto, so he will comment positively on everything every time. Even though he is not very creative, his compliments come from the heart, and you feel it.
When he finally meets the guy he is a bit disappointed. That is no worthy opponent. He doesn't honor him with the use of his swords. Zoro will grab him by the collar and throw him off the next cliff. "For what you did to y/n, you coward."
The job is finished, no need to talk about it anymore and forget the bastard ever existed.
Luffy
When you merely tell him about it he will think you got over it just like he doesn't stay angry for long. But when you cry the first time or refuse to do something fun because of him he realises that you are still affected by what happened to you. He will not have it.
When they meet and your shitty ex makes a mean comment? Luffy gets his murder expression and punches that guy to the other side if the city.
You get luffys hat whenever you need emotional support. No questions asked. You get to sit in his favourite spot whenever you want to. You even get the last bite of delicious food if it's what you need.
#i am a bad person and very petty and i wish my ex all the worst#one piece fanfiction#one piece x you#trafalgar d law x reader#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law x y/n#trafalgar law#trafalgar one piece#zoro x reader#law x reader#law x y/n#trafalgardwaterlaw#sanji headcanons#trafalgar law headcanons#one piece headcanons#law headcanons#zoro headcanons#one piece#vinsmoke sanji#roronoa zoro#zoro roronoa#zoro x you#zoro x y/n#op zoro#op sanji
768 notes
·
View notes
Text
Together (Epilogue)
Warnings: Mentions of hospitals, injuries, kidnappings and death
Summary: Life moves on whether or not you want it to.
A/N: This is it my lovelies! It's lowkey been two months since I first released my baby into the world and you've received her with nothing but love. Thank you so much for all the support you've shown, it truly makes me want to write more and better.
I hope you enjoy the final part of this series. This has been so much fun and quite a wild ride. Lots of emotions, I won't lie, some parts really got deep but when you read this, it'll all be worth it. 🤍🙃
Did I lie about the fluff? ... I'm so sorry, I just couldn't resist😭
Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist
Black was not your favourite colour.
Some said it nicely complimented your red hair and you kind've looked badass but you couldn't see it. Besides the fact that it was slimming when you wore it, you tried to avoid the colour as much as possible. You much preferred the dark navy and greys instead.
That's why you hated wearing your dress uniform, even if it was for a joyous occasion.
Fixing the black suit, you sighed. According to your lawyer, showing up in uniform created more empathy and so not only were you wearing your uniform, but Jay too.
And Will… Well that was another conversation.
It had been two months since the kidnapping and things were, things were definitely different.
Due to circumstances, the trial had been pushed back a little. Well, their sentencing had, the trial went off without a hitch and all of Intelligence could attest to that but today was the day everyone found how for how long exactly they were going to be jailed.
Everyone had been bitter and rightly so.
Stepping back from the car door, you finished fixing your hair in the car window, happy that no baby hairs were sticking out and the gel was doing its job. You were asked for professional and so a bun seemed fitting.
Going around the car, Kelly joined you by your side but dressed casually. He wasn’t directly involved and your lawyer didn’t make a specific request. According to her, things could go sideways and things needed to look good on your side.
You envied the lack of black your boyfriend was wearing. And what annoyed you even more was the Jay’s uniform was more of a dark blue.
Jay fully healed over the past two months, no injuries for the naked eye to see but the scar was still there on his thigh, the trauma burned into his mind forever after. Similar could be said for you but while Jay was back on duty, you were still taking it slow and doing admin work at the firehouse after being a bored mess at home alone.
Therapy wasn’t much help. Your psychologist wasn’t the problem, in fact she was a darling, but not all things could be fixed. You eventually came to terms with the fact that this would never leave you. As a team, you’d have to turn a new page and keep on going, with the hopes that it became a distant memory no one had to recollect.
“Y/N.”
You could never get tired of hearing his voice, the tranquillity it brought you needed to be studied. His loving face sent you a soft smile, his eyes scrunching up in attempt to keep you calm and collected.
“Jay messaged me, they’re waiting inside.”
With a sigh, you interlocked hands and let Kelly lead the way inside the courthouse. Anxiety weighed down on you heavily, making it feel like you were walking through a sentient sludge that kept trying to pull you down.
A smile graced your lips but at the sight of your older brother in his dress blues, his entire crew by his side, your smile faltered. As soon as it began wobbling, your eyes burned as everything started to go blurry.
Your chest hurt too much, it suddenly felt like you were having a heart attack in the middle of the courthouse.
“Oh Y/N.” Jay sighed, enveloping you in his arms not a moment later. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry.” You croaked out, huffing into the crook of his neck, being mindful not to mess up his uniform. “Gosh, I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“Stop that, don’t apologise.” Jay chided, tutting alike to how Will would whenever you two got into trouble. Whenever Will did that, you knew his annoyance wouldn’t last long, he loved you and Jay too much to hold a grudge.
Shit, now your tears were rolling down your flushed cheeks and making small marks on Jay’s shoulder.
“Do you think he’s okay?”
Jay didn’t say anything for a long time. You were almost scared he wouldn’t answer you like last time. The more time past, the more you knew he wasn’t going to say anything and the same exact scene from two months ago flashed before your eyes, almost sending you into a fit of gut-wrenching tears. But Jay proved you wrong.
“I don’t know what to think anymore Y/N.”
*****
Maggie sighed, shoulders deflating as she sat on the hospital bed. It had been a long day.
Whenever she wanted a break from the ED, she usually found one of the rooms in the ICU where the patient was usually either unconscious or in a coma. The peace and quiet provided her the time and space to get back into tune with her thoughts before going back to being the charge nurse of the bustling emergency department.
Looking at this patient, she didn’t need to look at the chart to know what happened, she’d been in this particular room every single day since their arrival. This patient had a certain pull that made her want to know everything about their condition.
“Thought I’d find you here.” Sharon said, her voice calming as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. “Everyone was waiting downstairs, you missed it.”
“I know.” Maggie replied solemnly, her hands readjusting the blanket around the coma patient. “But they did it, right?”
“They did it.” Sharon confirmed as she moved to stand on the other side of the bed. It was great news, news that should’ve resulted in tears of joy but the charge nurse barely moved an inch.
“Life without parole.” There was a pause, beeping and the whooshing of machines filling the silence. “They weren’t going to settle for anything less.”
“Good.” Maggie replied, her lips pulled tightly together.
Neither of them said anything afterwards. There was still so much that needed to be discussed but the right people weren’t in the room currently. The one big question loomed heavily over them like a stormy cloud just waiting for the right moment to start raining.
“Take a break Maggie. Eat a little something before you join the rest of them.”
Without waiting for a reply, Sharon turned and left the room, mumbling she had a meeting in a few minutes when in reality, she hated being in this room as much as the next person.
Maggie stewed in her thoughts, too many flying all around the place for her to properly take a break.
“Still no change?”
Maggie’s silence was more than enough of an answer. She truly hated her job sometimes, especially when she had to break the news to waiting family members.
“No movement since you left last night.”
Jay’s eyes still filled with tears every time he was given news.
“Are we- Do you think we’re doing the right thing Maggie?” Jay tumbled over his words from where he stood in the doorway, too scared to enter the room. The sadness laced in his words made him sound so innocent and childlike, Maggie just wanted to hide and protect all three Halstead’s from the horrors of the world.
But looking at the coma patient on the bed, Maggie knew her words were biased.
*****
One week later
You were going crazy. You didn’t know how much longer you could handle this. You hated playing the waiting game.
It was in the middle of shift when you got the call. You were finally back to full time firefighting, Crocket deeming you fit and healthy two days ago to work again. The happiness that followed his news only lasted so long.
Your emotions were haywire. When you entered the ED for what felt like the billionth time, you felt your heart physically stop at the sight of a red eyed Maggie. From beside you, Jay was scarily silent, not breathing for a good minute.
But then she smiled, dimples and all.
Connor was supposed to tell you but he was rushed into an emergency surgery and entrusted the charge nurse to tell the two most important people in Will’s life the news.
“Will’s going to make a full recovery. There’s going to be quite a bit of rehab and physical therapy but he’s going to be just fine.”
And for the first time since their initial reunion in the warehouse just over two months ago, all three Halstead siblings would be together again.
It was going to be a long and difficult path to recovery. You and Jay had your own struggles and having Will in a coma only made it harder. But now, Will had the love and support of his baby brother and baby sister, the two people he did all of this for.
And yes, maybe Jay would reem his for being a stupid bastard, protecting them from literal criminals with his life. Obviously, you would chime in when necessary but the big goofy smile on your face did nothing.
All was well now. The future was looking bright for the most of it, guaranteed it be a bit rocky in the next coming weeks that would consist of a gruelling recovery process but at the end of the tunnel, you were all coming out stronger than ever.
Series Masterlist:
@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale @iamasimpingh0e @lanea-1 @swidkid @jamie0515
#one chicago x reader#one chicago imagine#jay halstead x reader#onechicago#chicago fire#chicago med#chicago pd#will halstead x reader#halstead sister#halstead brothers#kelly severide x reader#jay halstead x sister!reader#will halstead x sister!reader
150 notes
·
View notes
Text
Unwanted: Chapter 20, Uninhibited - Pt. 1
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader
Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.
Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, vomiting, mentions of speculation of poisoning.
Word Count: 562
Previously On...: You confronted Bucky for sleeping with Jade. He was full of apologies and tears, but you'd had enough of both.
A/N: We now officially begin the third arc of the story! While the betrayal is done, there are still going to be a lot of dark themes that will be explored. You are warned.
NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!
Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!
Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!
Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43
Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc
The rest of the week was awful. You distracted yourself as best you could, practicing your dance routines on the pole Tony had reluctantly transferred to your new, temporary space. Thank goodness you’d kept yourself in shape over the years; you’d forgotten how much core and upper body strength pole dancing required. Yet the movements came back to you with ease, muscle memory that allowed your mind to wander, which wasn’t always necessarily a good thing.
You were still vomiting, though not as severely. One early morning, after nausea had pulled you from a restless sleep and you were hanging your head, exhausted, over the toilet bowl once more, you had the terrifying thought that Jade had been poisoning you this entire time, deliberately, to take you off the mission with Bucky so she could insert herself. You wondered, horrified, if she and Bucky had been in on it, together. If it had been their plan all along to get you out of the way.
You shook your head, dispersing the ridiculous thought. Bucky was careless with your heart, but you didn’t think he actively hated you. Emotionally, he obviously didn’t give a flying fuck how much pain he caused you, but he wouldn’t physically harm you. Carthage, on the other hand, well, you thought her entirely capable of such a thing. But how would she have the access without ensuring others were getting sick, too?
No, your overtired imagination was getting the better of you, and you were more than eager to paint Jade as the villain in any circumstance that might present itself. The truth of it was, she’d already done enough damage; you didn’t have to invent more.
You tried your best to avoid Bucky, but as Wanda and Nat had warned you, it was easier said than done. Though Tony had allowed you to restrict access to your new floor to ensure Bucky couldn’t follow you to your room, he still managed to always be around every time you ventured out throughout the Tower.
He only tried to engage with you once, two days after your storage closet confrontation, but you’d turned and immediately walked in the opposite direction. Everything was too raw, the pain too new, for you to be near him at the moment. Just the sight of him broke you apart all over again. The sooner you were out of the Tower for your mission, the better.
You’d warned him that if he couldn’t stay away from Carthage, you’d ice him out in such a way that he’d long for the warmth of Siberia. It was only fair for him to experience the consequences of his own actions.
As your birthday approached, you felt even worse. Before everything had gone to hell, Bucky had talked about taking a trip, just the two of you, to celebrate, but like all his other honeyed promises, it turned out to be nothing but bitter lies. You resented him for taking away any excitement you’d felt for your upcoming party, for destroying your chance to feel an emotion even close to resembling happiness, even with something that had nothing to do with him.
So, you stayed confined to your room as much as possible, practicing and researching, hoping that, with enough time, you’d finally manage to bury all of the pain beneath enough layers of ice to numb yourself.
<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#james bucky buchanan barnes#james buchanan barnes#mcu bucky barnes#james barnes
117 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
