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pretty-little-mind33 · 1 month

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James Potter x fem!girlfriend!reader

Summary: When your long-term boyfriend is slipped a love potion—he loses his memory of you.

Genre: Angsty Fluff (happy ending)

Warnings: intense swearing, violence, being drugged/spiking someone's drink, mentions of blood, vomiting, crying, a suggestive joke, James kinda has light trauma

~ again—to the kind anon that had this idea—thank you! ~

Everyone knew it was you and James. It has always been you and James. Ever since the third term of your second year when he'd stolen you an absurd amount of chocolates and candies from Honeydukes because you had failed an exam and were sobbing in your dorm, you knew he had you hooked around his pinky. Luckily, you had him wrapped around yours just as well.

He was yours as you were his.

It didn't worry you that you hadn't seen your boyfriend all day because N.E.W.T's were coming up and as much as he pretends not to study or care, you've never met someone more desperate for success.

James had even left you a little note signed "only yours" telling you he'd be in the library today, so you used this time to spent the day with the girls instead.

However, you didn't expect to see what you did when you walked into the Great Hall that evening.

Remus, Sirius, and Peter look just as dumbfounded as you when James stands from his usual seat, his arms outstretching towards another girl.

Your smile falters and you freeze up, your stomach sinking as his hands find the girl's waist and he spins her around.

"What the fuck?" Marlene mutters from next to you, her arms crossed.

"Who is that?" Mary asks, unhooking her arm from Lily's as she sympathetically touches your shoulder. You blink, unable to look away from whatever nightmare is happening.

James would never cheat on you—especially in public like this.

Never.

"Amerie something, she's in my Potions class," Marlene whispers but her gaze is hard.

James's grin is wide and the girl—Amerie apparently—holds him closer. She's beaming as her manicured hands finds his cheeks and your entire world shatters when she presses her lips to his. James leans into her kiss, one hand at her waist while the other runs in her dark curls.

Marlene breaks at the same time as Sirius does and they march up to the couple. You're stunned, your eyes watering as you replay how your beloved boyfriend kissed another girl in front of everyone. Including you.

James would never cheat on you—right?

Lily takes your hand and guides you towards where everyone had gathered. Marlene is being held back by Mary, but she's furious as she screams at James and Amerie. Sirius stands next to James, his arms crossed as he stares at his best friend.

When his gaze flickers to you all calm crumbles. "James," Sirius says, interrupting Marlene's shrieks, as he sounds unusually serious, "This is wrong. What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

James has never looked this confused in his life. "What are you talking about, Pads?" he asks innocently, his eyes scanning all his friends and their upset expressions.

They skim over you as if you were nothing to him— as if he hadn't held you close to his heart just yesterday and whispered how much he loved you into your hair.

Amerie leans into James, her hand on his chest, and even Remus scoffs.

"You can't be serious, James?" Remus says. He stands and puts his hand on your other shoulder as Lily holds your other arm. He stands tall and looks stern, clearly unamused by whatever sick joke he thinks his best friend is playing.

James's eyes widen but even Peter squeaks, "You have a girlfriend," as if to remind James.

"I know!!" James exclaims and turns to Amerie as he smiles like a love-sick fool. You feel like you're going to vomit all over your uniform. "Aren't I allowed to kiss my lovely girlfriend?"

Chaos ensues as Amerie holds James closer, her icy-blue eyes staring into yours with venom and malice as Marlene lunges for the two of them.

Marlene is pulled away by Mary and Lily and Sirius and Remus speak up with confusion as they jumble out accusations and disbelief.

You stand there, frozen, as your boyfriend looks right through you.

"She is your girlfriend, you dimwit!" Lily shouts and points to you. "Not this minger," Marlene adds with a hiss at Amerie, eyes dark.

James finally looks at you and your breath hitches when you see the look in his eyes. There is no remorse or shame, just a blank expression as he looks you over.

"Who?" he asks as he turns to his friends with a genuine look of confusion on his face. His question brings silence to the group and you feel warm tears brim in your eyes.

Some part of you screams at you that the confusion is real. You know James and you know how he lies. But his voice rings in your ears as pain caves in your chest and you turn, breaking into an embarrassing jog as you run away.

James would never cheat on you—right?

Lies.

* * *

A few hours later, when Lily comes into the dorm with news that James is in the Hospital Wing, you don't want to care but you do. Just the mention of James in pain hurts you and Lily doesn't even have to convince you to come see him.

You walk into the room and your eyes instantly widen. Dumbledore and Amerie stand in one corner. Amerie's eyes are bloodshot and she's pleading with Dumbledore—who looks absolutely furious.

Lily pulls you to the main dilemma and you see James sitting up in a bed, a bowl in his lap as he's encouraged to vomit. He's surrounded by Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Madame Pomfrey.

Remus sees you and Lily and he walks up to you.

"Is he okay?" you ask, your voice small and hoarse from your crying.

"Love potion," Remus doesn't waste time as he glances at Amerie in the corner, his jaw clenched, "she slipped it in his drink when we went to lunch. I lost him this afternoon after that but I thought he'd gone to find you. It's strong, well made, but Madame Pomfrey is convinced she can reverse the spell it has on him."

You let out a shaky breath, shoulders relaxing as you take in his words. A love potion? It had all been fake.

You turn to look at Amerie and anger swims through you. She'd drugged your boyfriend and taken him from you. You clench your fist.

If she wasn't with Dumbledore, you'd punch her.

"But Y/n," Remus interrupts your violent fantasies and Lily takes your hand. Lily clearly knows the news Remus is about to break and it doesn't sound good. "The reason he didn't remember you is that the potions—well he was already in love with you so the potion messed up that chemistry and it was so strong it reversed all those emotions to Amerie. Erased any memory of you completely."

You feel like you can't breathe.

"Madame Pomfrey doesn't think she can fully reverse his memory loss," Lily whispers and tightens her grip on your hand, "Obviously, he won't be in love with Amerie anymore but—we don't think he'll remember you either."

You can barely hear her. Your eyes water as your eyes glaze over and you look behind Remus at James. Your James, who is puking his guts out and who doesn't have a clue who you are. He has no more memories of you. No more midnight secrets or scandalous touches. No more sweet confessions or fleeting arguments. Nothing.

And it's all her fault.

You storm up to Amerie, ignoring the Headmaster's presence, as you see red. You grab her by the shoulder and punch her in the nose.

The sound resounds around the room as she falls back, a broken cry leaving her mouth as she holds her nose. Blood runs down her mouth and chin, her tears mixing with the crimson liquid as nurses rush to her.

Your voice is unemotional when you snarl, "Stay away from him, you psycho cunt."

* * *

You sit in the common room, bandaging your bruised knuckles, as you let your tears fall freely. Your heart feels broken and crushed into absolutely nothing.

You don't even care about the detention Dumbledore was basically forced to assign you. "Violence, no matter how deserved, is never the answer," he had said and perhaps he had a point because breaking Amerie's nose didn't really make you feel any better.

She'd still taken your heart away from you.

All you want is to reverse time and prevent James from leaving so early in the morning and slipping through your fingers. You hate yourself for not finding him in the library that afternoon. You should have studied with him—maybe then you could have prevented this.

You unclench your fist and stare at James's crumbled note from a few hours earlier.

Early morning for Quidditch then I'll be in the library studying. You can always join me, lovie, or go to Hogsmeade with the girls, I know they miss you. I can't always be selfish and have you all to myself, can I?

I love you, my darling.

Only yours,

You choke on another sob and you resist the need to scream.

"Hi," a familiar voice suddenly whispers from above you and you look up. Color has returned to James's cheeks and he's standing in front of you. He's so familiar and so different.

He doesn't look at you the same and you want to cry harder. He looks down at the note in your hand and holds out his hand when he sees a glimpse of his own chicken scratch.

You hand it to him without a word, leaning back on the couch as you wipe your tears with your palms. You shut your eyes, feeling the cushions dip as James sits next to you and you can feel the tension in the air. You peek at him as he shakes the note and says, "So, this is real, hm? It's not some messed up nightmare? I- I don't even remember writing this. I remember this morning but—you aren't in the memory," his voice sounds shaky.

"It's okay," you whisper, unable to say much more or you'll cry.

James turns to you and shakes his head. "No. It isn't okay. I want to remember you," he whispers and takes your hand.

Your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sudden warmth of his touch. James puts the paper in your palm and closes it, squeezing your hand, "I obviously loved you a lot, and I think you loved me too—"

"Love," you whisper, looking him in the eyes, "I haven't stopped."

James makes a pained grimace and his hand loosens around yours. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could remember. I wish this never happened. I know I don't know you anymore or well, my brain doesn't know you but I still can't stand you being hurt because of this," he sighs, "Sirius told me everything. I have so many pictures of us in my room—my sheets smell like your perfume—I– I wish I could remember," he sounds so lost and your heart breaks.

You can't help yourself. You cup his cheek and lean your forehead onto his like you'd a thousand times over the last years. James doesn't pull away. Instead he leans into you, as if your touch sparked a distant muscle memory.

"It's okay. It's not your fault. I-" you pause and then say, "I can help you remember, if you want?"

James doesn't hesitate and he nods, his breath unsteady, "I do. I don't understand why but my heart, well it misses you. I want to understand why."

Your heart flutters at his words and you smile. You pull away and smile at him. His smile is weak and you know him all too well to let that slide. "What's wrong, James?" you ask and when his eyes shift, you can tell he's feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry you lost your boyfriend. You didn't deserve that."

You sigh, "It's not your fault, okay?" you look him in the eyes and wait until he nods solemnly. "If we're meant to be, we'll figure this out, yeah?"

"Yeah," James whispers in agreement.

* * * Six Months Later * * *

The snow falls around you as you and your friend return from The Three Broomsticks one Sunday evening. Sirius and Remus walk much faster than you and James as Sirius rambles wildly about this new muggle band Remus helped him discover, and Peter loiters behind you all as he hurries to finish reading his Transfiguration book due Monday morning—he seems quite discouraged considering the snow keeps ruining his pages.

You are snuggled up against James, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he adjusts your scarf and presses a kiss to your head. You sigh, continuing your conversation about how very clearly chocolate is the superior ice cream flavor, and James just listens even though he has no clue why you're talking about ice cream in the dead of winter.

Suddenly, your voice dies down and you tense when you see who's walking towards you. She's with three of her best friends—snotty Ravenclaws with egos larger than their brains—and you feel sick as all those horrible feelings come bubbling up again.

Amerie had been suspended for six months after what she had done to James and while you and your friends insisted she be expelled, your outburst of violence had inevitably lightened her sentence.

Dumbledore didn't want a scandal on his hands and Amerie's parents were well off—surprisingly more so than the Potters.

James senses your tension and he looks up too, his stomach sinking. Amerie is staring at you both and her friends are whispering. You look between her and James, sensing how uncomfortable he is with her presence and anger boils inside you.

Six months. Six months of peace and time you had to rebuild your relationship with him. Six months you spent taking him to all your favorite places, reminding him of all those secrets he had already earned, and telling him stories he should remember.

Six months to catch up on six years, all because of her.

You feel James's gloved hand find yours and he squeezes it, pressing his lips into your hair near your ear and he murmurs, "Ignore her, my love." His voice sounds a little strained and you look at him, the warmth of his hazel eyes calming you.

You nod and press a kiss to his lips. You can feel Amerie's eyes on you as you pass but you just walk faster. Once she and her friends are behind you, you squeeze James's hand too. "Are you okay?" you whisper.

James had been very open with you about how much what had happened scared him and still does. There were times he remembered snippets of you from before, but mostly nothing, and that scares him. I never want to lose you again, he had said three months into the six and you knew he meant it.

When James Potter loved, he loved hard, and it became very obvious his feelings for you had returned even stronger than they had been.

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice small.

You pause, turning around and taking his cheeks in your hands, encouraging him to look at you. "Baby, it's okay if it made you feel uncomfortable to see her. It's normal," you say, kissing his forehead and leaning against it.

James holds you close and kisses the crook of your neck, which causes you to giggle.

"I love you," he mumbles and you grin.

"I love you," you say and kiss his lips again.

James runs a hand in your hair and sighs, lifting his head and watching Amerie and her friends disappear down the road. "As much as I hate her for what she did, I am sort of grateful," he whispers.

"Oh?" I ask, caressing his cheek lovingly.

"Mmhm—it was an absolute pleasure falling in love with you all over again," James says sincerely and your heart flutters at his words.

You laugh and ruffle his messy hair. "You're such a dork," you chuckle.

James laughs now too, "It's true!"

Suddenly, you shriek lightly when you feel cold snow glide down your neck from inside your scarf. You and James spin around at the same time, catching Sirius as he makes another snowball and barks out a laugh, "Ooops."

Sirius smirks and as if on cue, James bends over and pats down his own snowball to throw at Sirius in your defense.

"Keep your grubby snowballs away from my girl, Pads," James shouts in between his laughter as he runs after his best friend. You hear Sirius mumble something that sounds like, "Ooh, kinky," before James shoves snow into his mouth.

You just smile, your heart feeling completely full.

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klemen-tine · 1 month

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No Prince Charming

(Batfam x Mom!Reader)

Anonymous asked:

Hello, I really like your work.

I saw that you have an open request, so I want to share an idea that has been sitting in my head for a long time.

Reader married Bruce for convenience. (In my head, the reader is a woman, but I'll leave it to your taste) The wedding takes place shortly before the appearance of the first Robin. Bruce and reader have a cold relationship. Reader comes from the wealthy population of Gotham. Therefore, reader is well educated and intelligent. So after a while, when Dick already appears, reader understands what her husband does at night. But reading doesn't say anything about it or hint at it. The reader doesn't want to get involved in any of this, it scares her. And although the reader is planning a divorce, she takes care of all the members of her new family. And although she is neglected in the family, the reader becomes a parental figure for children. But the children won't admit it. When Damian appears, the reader doesn't say a word to Bruce. But Damian treats reader very badly. And that becomes the trigger. The reader slips Bruce the divorce papers.(not to mention that they are getting divorced, since Bruce is likely to protest) and when Bruce signs them, he leaves the estate, leaving the divorce papers and the wedding ring on the bed when no one notices. And only then does the family realize what they have done with their neglect of reader. Their yandere trait is waking up in them and now they need to somehow find their reader.

Sorry if it's too much.

And I apologize for the English, I am writing with a translator

❤

Warning: Non-consensual drugging, not descriptive sex. It's just mentioned, no details. Hinted at Dick's trauma with his sidekick.

It was a marriage of convenience. That's all it was. Bruce Wayne knew Y/N L/N since childhood, and while they weren’t close, Y/N was the only one who never treated him any differently after his parents were murdered. Maybe it's because her own father was murdered, and she understood that sometimes the greatest support was to act like nothing changed.

Fast forward to young adults, Bruce Wayne was now Brucie in public, and Y/N was the unstoppable woman leading her own company by the reins. Bruce had come to her with an offer, one that had her brows raised and painted lips smirking. For Bruce Wayne, this will help solidify his position as someone who was not Batman, and for Y/N it would finally silence the hecklers that gnawed at her heels and bit into her shoulders.

A frigid marriage, filled with cold greetings, Brucie still entertaining women, Y/N still controlling her company with painted lips, and rumors surrounding them. Despite the coldness, Y/N knew a lie when she saw one. She knows a front when she comes face to face with one, and it is why when she saw Batman in the hallways of Wayne manor, staring at her in shock and apprehension, she rolled her eyes and continued to sip her wine as she made her way back to her office.

“Please don’t stain the carpet. Alfred just shampooed them.” They never brought it up again. Bruce was no Prince Charming, despite the front he put on for strangers. There were no whispered promises, no flowers, no gifts, nothing but ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes.’

Then, along came Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson. A child who had blinked up at her with large blue eyes, and Y/N could feel her heart crumble. She had welcomed him with open arms and smiles. She had welcomed all of the Robins in. Her manicured nails getting shorter each time, so she doesn’t have to fear hurting one of them, and her smiles became softer. Y/N had never tried to replace any of their mother’s, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like one.

But it was Bruce they had a closer bond with. Which is why they started following his behavior towards her. Clipped words and rolling of eyes were common, as were the cold shoulders and tense silences.

“You’re not my mom! So stop asking how school was!” Y/N stared at Jason in shock and curiosity about where that outburst had come from. Alfred was the only one to say anything. A stern, “Master Jason,” and a look that had even Bruce cowering had the young boy apologizing. Y/N ignored the way her heart slowly broke, as the quirky child full of smiles, sass, and who loved classics, turned his back on her.

As if she wasn’t the one to introduce those books to him.

Y/N doesn’t blame them for their cold behavior towards her. She doesn’t blame Dick’s disregard, Jason’s hurtful words, Tim’s cynical looks, Steph’s taunts, and Damian’s heated actions.

Y/N had cried at Jason’s funeral, she helped Bruce fight for custody for Tim, she had consoled Dick after some of his own traumatic experiences, and she sat there and listened as Damian compared her and Talia. Talia, of all people. She had met the woman once, and Y/N had nodded at her. Y/N never judged Bruce for sleeping with the woman. Hell, Y/N would have too. Y/N can recall the day Damian came to their manor, and the short look Dick had given her when she and the child made eye contact.

Y/N doesn’t know if it was a look of concern or mockery, but she knows he did look.

She was there for Richard when his trauma with his sidekick happened. He may have never told her, but Y/N is a woman. A woman who has known people that have suffered the same way Dick has. That are still suffering like he is.

“I’m sorry Richard.”

“What do you even know?! You know nothing! Absolutely nothing so just butt out!” Dick glared at her with blue eyes that had put the arctic water to shame. Y/N stood there and took it all. She stood proudly with her shoulders back and chin up.

In public, she was a stoic mother keeping the children in check while Bruce goofed off. She was the woman who failed her children, because she chose to continue running her business. Her very, very, very successful business. A business that had taken her and her mother from the bottom of High Society, to the top 10%. A series of great investments, smart marketing, and pretty words have lined her pockets with money that she could easily retire on.

Yet, all that money couldn’t save her mother. The woman died of a heart attack, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing Y/N could do besides bury her mother.

“Bruce please.”

“I am busy.”

“I know but Bruce, this is my–”

“Ask Alfred.” He had turned his back and Y/N was stuck staring at the retreating man with a new feeling of heartbreak. The tabloids ate up that she was alone at her mother’s funeral. A private event that no one was allowed into besides close family and friends.

When she came back, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, Damian had picked the time to make his disdain known again, “–and my mother would have never let herself go like that. You look horrid, unbefitting of a Wayne. A disgrace.”

Blank E/C eyes stared into raging green and she sighed, “Thanks, Damian.” She spared him no glance after that, and she walked towards her bedroom to take a hot shower. It was there, under the hot spray of water that she finally cried. She cried for the last part of family she had, and the years she lost from marrying a man who didn’t even like her enough to attend a godforsaken fucking funeral. She cried for the children she couldn’t even call her own.

She cried for the life she missed by marrying Bruce fucking Wayne.

“Honey, are you happy?”

“Of course Mama.”

“You never could lie to me sweetie.” Her mother kissed her forehead and looked into E/C eyes with nothing but love, “You’ve worked so hard, sweetie.” That acknowledgement alone had her almost in tears, “But please start working for yourself now.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N hopped out of the shower and called her lawyer. Divorce papers were in her hands within 24 hours, and her bags packed in 3.

She stood next to Bruce, ignoring the scowl on his face as she ‘disrupted’ his work. Y/N kept her face neutral, because if she smiled it would give it all away, and handed him the page he needed to sign.

For a billionaire and for a vigilante, he sure didn’t read the damn paper. Which is fine. Great even, because now, after being here for over a decade, Y/N is free. She laughed in her room, laughing so hard that it almost tore her throat. Leaving a copy of it on Bruce’s bed once he was gone, she grabbed her suitcase and accidentally ran into Alfred on her way out the door.

The old man took a look at her clothes, her bags, and her expression before sighing, “Shall I drive you for the last time, Lady Y/N?” Y/N smiled, bitterly at the thought of leaving Alfred, her only solace in this cold mansion.

“To the airport, please.” The ride was silent, and Y/N didn’t look back as they left the gates of the mansion. It wasn’t until they were halfway there that Y/N spoke up, “My lawyer will call in a few days, just to hash out the details.”

“Is that so?”

“There’s nothing I want. No assets, no money, nothing will be taken, I just want a divorce.” She just wants the law to recognize that she is not a Wayne. That she will never be a Wayne.

“Lady Y/N, perhaps a check for compensation for the emotional strain would be nice?” Y/N laughed, bitterly and sad, “I don’t want his money. I want nothing to do with him anymore.”

“And the kids?”

“They don’t need me. They never did. I doubt they will even notice.” Gotham International Airport wasn’t crowded, and that may be because it was 1pm on a Tuesday. Alfred helped her with her bags, and the old man stared at the woman before him. He remembers meeting her for the first time, a confident young woman who had a way with words and was unfairly intelligent. Matching wits and able to speak confidently in a room of people who thought little of her.

It's good to see some of that coming back.

Y/N hugged Alfred, “Thank you, Alfred. For everything.” The older man sighed and watched as the woman took her bags and walked away. Not once did she look back and Alfred decided to stay until her form disappeared in the building. He sighed heavily and when got back in the car, he dialed a number he knew by heart. It only took three rings before the voice of the man he raised answered, “Alfred, is everything okay?”

“Master Bruce, I fear you may have lost something precious, and I do hope you, and the young masters, have a plan to make this up to them.” He hung up afterwards as he merged into traffic, and he hoped his message finally hit something within his son’s dense skull.

When he returned back to the manor, he began the preparation for making dinner. All was silent throughout the manor, until the door opened and the rush of the footsteps began marching towards him.

“Master Richard, I urge you to not run.”

“Bruce told me there was an emergency and to hurry to the manor?” Alfred sighed, “While it is an emergency, it is not one you can fix on your own.” No, this was something for Bruce to fix seeing tha all the problems stemmed from him.

Dick raised a brow, “What kind of emergency is it?” Alfred pursed her lips, “Miss Y/N Wayne is now Miss Y/N L/N once more.” He turned to look the man he has considered his grandson in the eyes, and he could see the revelation sink in.

“Y/N divorced Bruce?” Alfred nodded, “The papers have been signed.”

“Bruce would never sign those papers.” Alfred raised a brow, “They are signed and waiting for him to read.” Dick slowly walked out of the kitchen, “Is she still here?” Alfred turned back to the food and Dick began speed walking towards Y/N’s room. As a child it never occurred to him why they would they never slept together, but as he got older he understood.

He knocked on her doors, calling her name like he used to as a kid.

Dick had always understood that Bruce’s and Y/N’s relationship was not one of a couple in love. He also understood that Y/N’s treatment in the manor by the residents of the manor was unfair. Whenever he could, he would correct Damian’s harsh words, but even he himself couldn’t fully bring himself to be all that kind to her.

He tried. He desperately tried, because he saw all that she did for them behind the scenes. He saw the mistreatment and judging looks others would give her as her ‘husband’ was out fooling around.

Dick saw the blank look she had given Damian after her mother’s funeral. The one none of them had gone too.

“What do you mean you didn’t go?” His voice panicked as he talked to Tim, “I didn’t go. I was under the assumption someone else would go.”

Y/N could have been Gotham’s biggest bitch, but not even then would she have deserved that. What made it worse was that Y/N was not a bitch. She wasn’t cruel, or unkind. She was as much of a philanthropist as Bruce was. Always aiding those whose needed it and desperately trying to make Gotham a better place.

Dick opened her doors and was greeted with an empty room. Gone were the picture frames, and the closet was empty along with the bathroom. Her prized jewlery, the things she took care of almost obsessively, all of it was gone.

He could remember beng 9 and sitting next to her as she cleaned one of her sapphire earrings. Thin fingers with long nail held the earring next to him, a scrutinizing look on her face before she would break out into a grin, “As I thought, nothing could ever compare to our Dickie’s sapphire eyes.”

“Holy shit.”

“What’s going on- why is Y/N’s room empty?” Tim looked throughout the room, and Dick could see the wonder across his younger brother’s face. Right, between all of them, Tim and Y/N had the least amount of time spent together.

Dick stared at his brother as the image of Y/N smiling at a string of pearls entered his mind. She had explained to him when he asked that pearls, while feminine, also symbolized new beginnings. She had gotten it when Tim’s custody was signed over to the Waynes.

“She’s gone.” Tim met Dick’s eyes, “Like… taking a vacation gone?” Dick gave a humorless chuckle, “She divorced Bruce, Tim. Y/N is gone.” This must have been what Alfred saw when he broke the news to Dick. The confusion and then realization coming to light in those blue eyes.

“Bruce would never sign those papers.” Dick had said the same thing, and yet here she was. Gone. As if to emphasize his point, Dick made an exaggerated expression and motioned to the empty room.

Tim looked around and he could feel a headache forming, “Bruce is gonna be pissed.” Dick groaned, “Fuck Bruce for a second, the only stable-mentally healthy-adult figure that isn’t Alfred is gone, Tim.” The boy didn’t look all that bothered, “Well, if she’s happier then I don’t mind.”

Of course he doesn’t mind. Why? Because this little stalker most likely knows where she’s going. Tim did a good job hiding it, but Dick was raised by Bruce. He is trained to spot the mciroexpressions of people, and even if they are his own siblings.

Tim is panicking. The very thought of Y/N leaving had not once occurred to them, and for Tim who loves planning, this was not once ever in the plans.

Not once. Y/N had been a staple within the manor, and to imagine her not being here was rough. Evenw hen she left for business trips, it was fine because they all knew she was coming back. SHe would come back with souvenirs, handing each of them something that reminhded her of them, before running upstairs to get out of the family’s judgemental line of sight.

“Fucking hell.”

++++

Bruce entered the condo with ease. His steps light as he walked through the dark room, noting the all the furniture. There was no Y/N in the living room or kitchen, but when he looked out the balcony door, he could see her back. She was leaning against the edge of the infinity pool, without doubt a hot tub of some sorts because it was too cold to be swimming in a regular pool.

She didn’t even turn around to look at him, her attention focused on the view of the snowy mountains and raging seas in front of her. Bruce could see the wine bottle left on the side of the pool and the glass that looked like it was finished only a short while ago. When she did turn around, E/C reflected the stars and dimly lit light around the pool, making them shine and sparkle like they were the galaxy.

Bruce isn’t blind. He knows Y/N is an attractive woman who had many people lusting after her even when they were married. Talia even made a note of it, “You should see if she wants to join next time.” He should have known that his clipped response was a sign.

It was all there, and yet he did everything within his power to ensure that he would not fall in love with her. Falling in love has always been out of the question, and when Y/N came into his life, Bruce made it his mission to do just that. The woman before him had never complained, and she never seemed to fault him for it, but he could tell there was resentment. If he couldn’t have allowed himself to fall in love with her, he could have at least offered her friendship. One that made life more bearable for the both of them, and set a good example for the kids.

“What are you doing, Bruce?” She didn’t seem shocked that he was here, let alone in her vacation condo. Bruce took off his shirt and pants, stripping down to his boxers before joining her in the hot tub. He had grabbed two glasses of wine before doing so, handing her one and taking a sip from the other.

“Is it wrong of me to want to join my wife on her vacation?”

“Ex-wife. The documents are signed, and besides this is a girl trip.” Bruce re-read those documents and kicked his foot for not fucking reading them when he first signed them. He should have known she was up to something.

“Y/N, come back to the manor.” He stared into E/C eyes as she took another sip of the wine. Bruce had come with a speech prepared, ready to convince her to come back with him, but it was all lost as he stared and observed the woman in front of him drink delicately from the glass. Y/N L/N has always been a woman of class, even when she was near the bottom of high society. It wasn’t her good looks that landed her in the top 10, possibly even top 5%, and like every classy woman, she was only allowed to regret a few things. Their marriage is one, but leaving is not even an option on the list of things she wants to regret but can’t.

He knows this. She knows this.

And yet, Bruce could only focus on how beautiful she looks, and how beautiful she would look sprawled on the silk bed sheets. Y/N has aged like fine wine, looking even more beautifully and worth more and more with each passing year. Aging gracefully and beautifully as the years passed and still catching the attention of others.

It's a shame his younger self was more into whiskey than wine.

He wonders how different their relationship would be if he had gotten to know her before and during the early years of their marriage. Without a doubt it would be easier to talk to her. Easier to convince her to come back to a manor that now misses her.

“And why should I?” It’d be easier to answer her with a compelling reason, one that would have her actually debating on whether or not to come back. Bruce reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and he’s shocked that she even let him do that. She didn’t flinch, nor did she lean into his touch. Y/N stood still as he moved the H/C lock behind her ears.

“The manor misses you.” He’s never heard her laugh the way she did in that moment. Throwing her head back and exposing unblemished skin to the night air as she laughed, and continued to laugh. Her shoulders shaking from the force and slightly distilling the wine.

Once she was done, her cheeks were red from the laughter and she was gasping for breath, “Yeah, okay. So Alfred misses me, I’ll make sure to give him a call then.” She turned her back to Bruce and began walking towards the edge of the pool.

“The boys, girls, and I do too.” Chateau Petra was on his lips and the feeling of cold wine hitting his face and upper chest had him closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Y/N’s wine glass was empty and on her face was a hard expression. Cold E/C eyes glaring into his as she pulled herself out of the pool, and grabbed the rest of the wine bottle.

“Sleep on the couch. You’re going home tomorrow.” Her steps quiet as she stalked into her home and she headed for the bathroom. Bruce sighed, and stared at the night sky with a new look in his eyes, ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’ He would like to believe that he is above this. He wants to believe that this was the worst case scenario happening and therefore this needs to happen.

Has to. The very thought of Y/N being away caused an itch to form under his skin and a burning fire in his chest. A fire he never knew blazed in him until it went out. Now, more aware and protective of it, Bruce found himself craving the warmth in ways that had his mouth foaming and muscles tensing. He looked down at the water and saw the red wine diluting and sprawling throughout the pool water, looking like blood for only a second.

A smile curled on his lips and he pulled himself out of the pool water, drying himself off before making his way into the shower with his ‘ex-wife.’ They may have never been lovers, but they were two adults living under the same roof.

So, of course they have had sex.

Hate sex is the best and worst sex. It is the best because Bruce can go as hard as he wants to and Y/N will love it. It is the worse because hate sex is all Y/N will see this as. Y/N will only see it has hate sex and not for the love Bruce feels for her. She won’t feel it in the way he caresses her skin or in the way he leaves his bite marks on her thighs. All Y/N will see this as, is hate sex.

Which is fine. If hate sex is what Y/N needs to see this as to work then Bruce will take it. He has time. He has plenty of time to show her how much he cares and loves her. Those divorce papers will be long gone, every single one of those copies non-existent. He loves her. He loves her in the way a cactus loves the sun, or how the stars love the moon.

Bruce was so enamored by her, that he couldn’t help but to fall deeper. Her soft hands, that have never broken a bone but have broken many hearts, cradling scarred shoulders and sharp cheeks. She didn’t flinch when his own rough hands gripped her’s, bruising and secure, and she didn’t flinch when intense blue eyes met hers. In fact, she smiled, like this was all a joke he was the butt of it.

It pissed him off that even she could have secrets and inside jokes that he doesn’t know about. As she laid there, her eyes now closed and body relaxed, Bruce pulled out a syringe filled with something that will keep her asleep. Only for a few days. Barbara is already working on getting rid of the divorce papers and the kids were preparing for her return.

Bruce kissed her forehead, smiling down at his Sleeping Beauty. If need be, the manor will be her castle and the kids her vines covered in thorns. Bruce, in all his daunting and terrifying glory shall be the dragon, keeping her locked within her castle because nowhere was safer than the castle. Only she could keep him calm, and only she could make him feel human.

Batman was never Prince Charming.

_________________________________________________________

Not my best work in my opinion... but I still like tbh.

@problematicreblogger

@kurai-hono-blog

@rosecentury

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #platonic yandere #batfam x reader #platonic batfam #batfam #platonic batman #bruce wayne #batman x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #alfred pennyworth

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bi-writes · 3 months

Text

so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

#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 #dark!ghost #dark!simon riley #dark!simon

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walpu · 3 months

Text

pre-relationship stage with them

characters - Gepard, Aventurine notes- gn!reader, pining, light angst but mostly fluffy, a bit of hurt/comfort. I love blonde preservation men okay. no beta we die like the economy in my country

Gepard

Poor poor Geppie.

He pines so much. Treats his love for you like a tender flower. Even his feelings for you is something so precious to him, he's happy to simply be in love with a person like yourself.

I feel like this poor man willd try so much to do everything for you without giving away how deeply he cares and how intense his feelings are.

"Aw, lil' Geppie, you care about y/n so much!"

"I- I do not. I mean, of course I do! But- There's nothing surprising about it. After all, it's my duty as a Captain to care about every citizen. And, of course, it's my duty as a friend to care about y/n.

Sure, Gepard. Sure.

He would never say something like this to your face though. After all, he simply can't lie to you.

Oh but how he adores you. His face literally lights up when he sees you, the most gentle smile blooms on his face when he watches you doing even the most trivial task.

Tries to act like his usual self around you but it's pretty evident to everyone that you're his weak spot.

Would gently scold you if you would ever put yourself in danger or break any rules.

If you would get seriously hurt would actually lose his mind. Would blame himself even if the situation has nothing to do with him. Beats himself up, asks for your forgiveness and does his best to help you.

Despite the popular belief that he would prioritize his work over his beloved, I don't think it's true. Sure, he takes his duties seriously, but he would always find time for you. Would make sure to see you at least two times a weak, would answer your texts and calls. If you need him, would certainly be right by your side. Even if it means he would have to work overtime later.

Tease him a bit and he's all red. Doesn't try to stop you though, secretly adores your attention.

Would be oblivious to the fact that you like him back. Like. Really dense about it.

He's just so used to giving, to protecting, he simply doesn't expect anything in return. He has silently accepted the fact that you may never love him back, but he will be there for you regardless of it, no matter what.

Plus, he feels like he may not be the one for you. Like you need someone who doesn't have to constantly put their life in danger, who can always be by your side, who won't break your heart. Because he's painfully aware that each fight may actually be his last. That he may not come back to you.

Speaking of that. He would make sure to say a proper goodbye to you before every battle or expedition. Nothing too sappy or depressing, he doesn't want to make you worry, after all. Would probably tell you to take care of yourself, to sleep well and to eat healthy food lol. He really just wants to make sure that he got to see you before heading straight into the battle.

If you're a Silvermane guard as well, would restrict himself even more, not wanting to use his position or to be pushy. However, would still be worried sick, even more so. Would still talk to you before every battle, asking almost begging you to be careful.

Loves giving you head pats.

Generally the goodest boy. Just make sure to make the first move because otherwise he would be satisfied with just being your loyal puppy.

Aventurine

Good lord.

This man is such a mess.

Be ready for a mindfuck but not because he's manipulative towards you or something like that but because there's so many layers of trauma in him.

You have to be patient with him okay.

I feel like pre-relationship stage would be so confusing to him. He had flings in the past, okay? Short ones, meaningless. Something to distress, to feel another person's touch, to feel some sort of connection, no matter how shallow it is. He knew he uses those people and that those people use him in return. Not once he asked them to be gentle or caring.

But with you it's so different. Doesn't matter if your relationship started sexually and developed into something more or if it was mostly platonic/slow since the beginning. He still feels something. And he's not sure if he likes it.

Sometimes it feels so good to be seen, to be addressed as a person, not just as a tool. But sometimes it scares him. After all, this man hasn't been vulnerable with anyone for a long, long time.

I'm sorry but I feel like he would try to pull away from you a bit after realizing how much you actually mean to him.

Oh but he will crumble if you reach out to him, okay? He simply can't ditch you like that, not when you see him for him and want him for him.

Even if it's scary.

Would slowly relax around you. Don't expect him to open up easily but still, the more time you spend together, the more his cocky mask will slip away.

Will randomly and out of the blue tell you small details about his past. You two may walk down the street together and he will see something that reminds him of Sigonia so he will share this memory with you.

It may be the smallest thing but it means a lot to him that you listen. Even this tiny moments of vulnerability are hard for him.

On the more positive note, he's so fun to be around. Would tease you and cling to you all of the time. If you tease him back, he would pretend to be offended but would actually enjoy the playful banter a lot.

Just don't tease him too much about him becoming more and more clingy with each passing day.

Spoils you rotten. New clothes, jewelry, watches, shoes, anything you may want or need. He still can't quite get rid of this idea that you have to be convenient for someone to be valuable. It's not like he's trying to buy your love but... Maybe subconsciously he does. Once again, be patient. This man is so used to the fact that all of his alliances are build on mutual benefit that it's still hard to accept that you're really here for him.

Spoiler even when he will feel more stable in your relationship and his mindset will turn more healthy, gift giving will still remain one of his love languages.

Just like Gepard, would care greatly about your safety. He may be careless about his own life but never with yours.

Loves, loves, loves physical contact. As I said before, gets very clingy, putting his arm over your shoulder or tugging on your sleeve. If he's feeling down, would crawl to you side and subtly brush his shoulder against yours or lean to your side. He may still have his confident smile but those small gestures show that he wants you to be the one holding him this time.

Invades your personal space a lot actually. Texts you constantly too lmao.

LOVES SILLY NICKNAMES. Would call you his dearest darling in the sweetest voice during the most inappropriate time and then laugh at your reaction. Would settle for something more casual like "baby" when he's not trying to be a pain in the ass. Still tries to play it off as something teasing. Deep down yearns to call you this without having to pretend that this is just a playful banter between two friends.

Oh and he would dance around the topic of dating, throwing hints but never having the courage to ask openly. So good luck with him.

#hsr #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine #aventurine x reader #gepard #gepard landau #hsr gepard #gepard x reader #walp's writing

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yawnderu · 2 months

Note

I'm sorry but being with simon at the beginning of a relationship would be so awkward.💀

Like...

You can't take pics, you can't know about his routine, you can't know about his work and so goes on.

So or are you with him for the cock or because you have the syndrome of falling in love with strange men

>This turned into a mini character study. 😔🗣️

Good dick has taken you places you wouldn't even go to with a gun.

Simon is a kind man. Truly, he is. He's just... slightly strange. You don't know much about him other than the fact that he has served in the military— something he never even told you, you simply guessed by the dogtags he never takes off and the plethora of scars adorning his pale body, a privilege you didn't get until he realized he could trust you... for the most part.

For a man like Simon, vulnerability was nothing but a highly-desired privilege. Something he wouldn't allow himself to have ever again, hiding his face under different masks that caused the reactions he was looking for— intimidation and fear, the skulls doing nothing more than serving the purpose of representing all he was, a ghost. A man who died a long time ago, way before he was tortured by the greedy, cruel hands of Manuel Roba.

It's not that Simon doesn't love you, he simply doesn't know how to allow himself to be vulnerable. How to put down the walls he spent a lifetime building, serving as shelter from his father's abuse, nothing but a mere way of shielding the broken pieces of his soul, not allowing anyone to trample what little he had left.

... not until you came, at least. Sweet little thing, never moving away from his side even when Simon told you nothing good comes from men like him. Perhaps it's unfair, yet Simon only warned you once. Had a long chat with you about how you could do better— only for you to find yourself already tangled on his web, unable to leave even if you wanted to... and good for him, because the idea of leaving him never once crossed your mind no matter how difficult he could be.

For you, it was a test of patience and care, wanting to peel every single layer of the man Simon Riley is, yet for him, it's a new chance at life. The holy light, in a way, guiding him into a path he never found himself roaming, a path he never even thought he'd have the chance to see, not when he was such a tainted, dirty man, sins that would last him a lifetime easily forgotten the moment your arms wrap around him, holding him with such tenderness one would've thought he's made of expensive fine china rather than scar tissue and trauma.

It's not like Simon is a bad partner— quite the opposite, truly. He has a way with words, reassuring you that there'll be a time where he's able to reveal more about himself and what he does, having a scheduled delivery of flowers and food almost every day he's gone, wanting to keep you happy even when he's on the other side of the world, gaining more enemies by the day.

... And yet he is not afraid anymore. His enemies die with Ghost, by his punishing hand or that of an ally. The moment the mask comes off, he's your Simon. Yours and only yours, never even allowing himself to look at other women, he has the most gorgeous one by his side, one that loves him with all she has, making him feel like a proper lad for the first time in his life.

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minswriting · 1 month

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SPENCER REID NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare

spencer is so good at aftercare!! after any session, he’s holding you, giving you kisses, or you’re doing that to him. he’ll see if you need anything while giving you the softest of smiles. he just loves you! and wants you to be taken care of!

B = Body Part

spencer’s favorite body part on himself are his hands and fingers. he loves to finger you, making you cum with nothing more than just his hands. however, on you, he loves your waist. he likes to grip it during sex or to just pull you to him by your waist while you’re walking down the street together.

C = Cum

when spencer cums, he cums a lot. and it has everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t have a lot of time to jerk off. so he really only ever has release when he’s with you. he will literally paint your whole entire body with his cum and then use it as lube to fuck you.

D = Dirty Secret

spencer is a switch (it’s not the secret) and would love for you to tie him up and blindfold him while you’re riding his cock. it’s the idea of being at your mercy every once in a while that really gets him going. but being who he is, he’s just too shy to mention it.

E = Experience

i don’t think spencer has a lot of experience at all. but due to his intelligence level, he’s a fast learner and loses his virginity with the knowledge of already knowing how to make you cum. once the two of you are comfortable with one another, it’s literally the best sex ever.

F = Favorite Position

spencer’s favorite positions definitely are missionary, riding, and one where you’re on your stomach lying down and his front is pressed against your back while he’s fucking you. it’s just so sensual and deep and just feels oh so good.

G = Goofy

depending on the mood, i think spencer can be a bit goofy. but it’s not like being funny. it’s just things to lighten the mood like a little giggle here and there or a comment about how beautiful you look while he has the softest smile on his face.

H = Hair

spencer most certainly had a happy trail and is actually very well groomed down there. he likes to maintain it simply because he likes to look clean. on you, however, he doesn’t care. so even if you have a bush, he’s eating you out like a starved man.

I = Intimacy

he’s very intimate when you guys have time to take your time. he’s maintaining eye contact with you, holding you close to him while he’s fucking you or you’re riding him, and regardless, he’s telling you how much he loves you and how beautiful you are. intimacy is like the norm for him when it comes to sex.

J = Jack Off

it’s very rare for spencer to jerk off but when he does it’s when he’s in the shower and he’s pumping his cock hard and fast in order to get some sort of release. this usually happens when he’s on long cases and he’s unable to stop thinking about you and your cunt.

K = Kink

okay so he’s got quite a few. when he’s feeling more subby, he’s lowkey got a mommy kink. but when he’s in his dominant mood, he wants you to call him sir. i feel like spencer is also very huge in body worship. he’s got a huge praise kink (giving and receiving) and a huge degradation kink (giving and receiving). also lowkey he’s into somnophilia.

L = Location

he prefers to have sex in the comfort of your bedrooms. however, you guys have definitely fucked in the restroom at the bureau. and at a few bars. and in the car. and in the kitchen. and in the living room. honestly you guys have fucked in every room in your apartments.

M = Motivation

you. just simply you. he’ll take one glance at you while you’re working on something and he would start imagining you on your knees in front of him. or him on his knees eating you out while you’re doing your work. he just wants you wholeheartedly.

N = No

this definitely stems from the trauma of his profession but anything that hurts you or is a risk to your life in any way, shape, or form is a big no for him. he can do choking but not enough for you to actually lose your breath.

O = Oral

HE LOVES IT!! spencer is such a munch. he will eat you out for ours and make you cum at least twice on his tongue before he does anything else. he is also big on receiving it too. 69 all the way baby 😏😏

P = Pace

definitely depends on the mood. when he’s stressed and just needs release, you guys are fucking hard and fast. but if you both just want to feel close to one another, you guys are fucking slowly and sensually, clinging to one another for dear life.

Q = Quickie

loves them. especially early in the morning right before he has to get ready for work. you wake him up by riding his cock and he’s whining beneath you. god it’s his favorite thing. he also loves bending you over the counter and taking you from behind.

R = Risk

spencer likes to think he’s modest and would not take any risks. but he’s lowkey an exhibitionist and gets off on the idea of being caught at some point. so he’ll fuck you in places like the bathroom or fitting rooms.

S = Stamina

depends on the day but usually he has enough stamina to do two rounds. when he’s exhausted though, he can only do one.

T = Toys

loves them! especially when he’s away, he wants to call you while you’re fucking yourself with a dildo, imagining his cock inside of you. he absolutely adores using vibrators on you to tease the hell out of you too.

U = Unfair

dom spence can be so unfair. he loves to overstimulate you and do orgasm denial. but he also loves it when you do the same to him. deny his orgasm until he can’t help but cum without your permission. or overstimulate him until he’s got nothing left.

V = Volume

he’s very vocal. he’s a whiner, a whimperer, a moaner, a groaner. he’ll praise you, talk dirty to you, talk you through it. and he loves it when you reciprocate it. he’s not afraid to make noise with you.

W = Wild Card

spencer loves getting pegged.

X = X-Ray

i think spencer is just above average. he’s about seven or eight inches but his cock is skinny, not girthy. especially due to his thin and lean build. but he knows what to do with it. and regardless, you’ll be cumming on his cock.

Y = Yearning

i think he’s someone with a high sex drive but with immense self control. he wants you 24/7. but he knows to control himself because sex isn’t as big of a priority as is making sure you’re both happy and thriving.

Z = ZZZ

depends on the day but spencer will always do aftercare before falling asleep. so i would say he would fall asleep at least a half an hour after sex.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminals minds x reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction

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showtoonzfan · 4 months

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I am really getting tired of fans responding with “everyone responds to trauma differently” to dismiss criticism Viv gets for how she portrays abuse and SA in her shows. Yes, everyone does respond to trauma differently, that doesn’t mean there’s not a right and wrong way to portray it in media. As a writer you can always improve your stuff and make it better than what it is now, there’s nothing stopping Viv from looking to improve. Feedback from others (especially from people who have been abused and/or SA’d) is important.

If Vivziepop was a normal person who didn’t see critique as a personal attack on her, she could actually use what people over the internet are telling her as a larger scope so she gets a better perspective of how other people feel, that way she can emotionally reach to multiple audiences in her work, instead of picking sides, dismissing and demonizing anyone who disagrees with her and assuming what she’s crafted is perfect with zero flaws.

Her major problem with how she portrays abuse as a whole is that she can’t make up her mind on what’s bad and what isn’t. In Helluva Boss, Blitz verbally abusing his employees is funny, but Stella verbally abusing Stolas is bad. Sexual harassment from Blitz, Stolas and Angel Dust are funny, but from Val it’s bad. Loona abusing Blitz is funny, but Stella abusing Stolas, Valentino abusing Angel, and Crimson abusing Moxxie is bad.

Then you watch livestreams of her talking about Stolitz and Huskerdust, and it really feels like she can’t tell the difference between genuine love and blatant sexual harassment, cause she talks as if the couples are lovey dovey when in reality they’re not. Then she has the issue of not reading the room, at times she can’t let a serious scene happen without cracking a joke or just letting the scene breathe. Moxxie’s abuse isn’t taken with the full respect it deserves, after he’s hit we cut to a dildo joke, then go from that to a sexual harassment song we’re supposed to find funny. Then the writers can’t even let him cry without a joke about Blitz and Chaz being loud during sex. This is the same woman who prides herself in how she wrote Angel Dust, an SA victim.

She comes off as an excruciatingly insensitive writer who can’t make up her mind wether she finds SA hot, or abuse funny or not. People genuinely look up to her, but she’d rather argue with people on Instagram/twitter who find her work dense/uncomfortable. She’s not even trying to make an effort in her writing cause she’s convinced it’s perfect, and it’s just wrong, especially to silence those who want to speak up about how she dealt with a serious topic, topics that deserve care and respect, not just “haha sex”.

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #anti vivziepop #helluva boss #Vivziepop #Hazbin hotel

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toshidou · 2 years

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lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

#☁︎⋅writing #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #ghost x you #dear lord #this derailed so quick #i wanted soft ghost #i got soft ghost plus nearly 2k of soft ghost smut #i ruined myself #anyway enjoy SLDFS

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kamiversee · 2 months

Text

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 50 || The Sad Backstory

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, heavy angst, childhood trauma, heavy mentions of violence/abuse, & death mentioning.

[ { A/N } ] ➤ The family dynamic isn’t canon to the anime/manga at all, in case that wasn’t obvious before now. So, the relations depicted here are simply made up for fanfic purposes. (Just wanted to put this disclaimer out there just in case)

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.2k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——IT WAS SILENT for the first few minutes. Aside from the heat blowing onto the two of you, there was this sense of distance and coldness in the air.

Was that due to the rain? Was it the weather that’d brought such a despairing feel to the two of you? Or, was it truly that distance and coldness were approaching?

You didn’t know what to say just yet and neither did Choso. The thoughts in his brain had slowed and he was organizing how he should go about this while wondering if you’d just come out and explain yourself.

Who should start this tough conversation, he or you? Does it matter? If you don’t start, does that silently say something about you and what's been done? If he doesn’t start, does that make him seem upset with you? The two of you collectively felt the same thing and you both didn’t know what to do.

You weren’t used to getting to this point in a conversation. What you’d grown accustomed to was nothing but confusion on top of vague explanations that further clouded your blurred assumptions of the truth. Gojo had done that to you far too many times for you to know what to do now.

How… What’s the right way to tell Choso everything? Are you going to tell him everything? Is it best that you do? What if he hates you like how you hated Gojo? It wouldn’t be weird after all, you hated Gojo and loved him at the same time— whether or not you’d like to admit it.

What about Gojo-, wait what? What about Gojo? Why are you considering him right now? Are you worried that if you explain the story of the list, it’ll put this negative stigma on Gojo? Who cares?

You do.

You hate that you do but it’s true.

You’ve seen too many sides of Gojo for you not to care about painting him as some big villain when, at the end of the day, even villains have tragic stories that molded them into the person they are now. That doesn’t excuse the man but since you know nothing of the truth about Gojo, you can’t see yourself making him seem like a bad guy anymore.

He has his issues, sure. But, you don’t know why. That’s what makes this all so damn difficult.

How can you tell Choso that the other person you fell in love with is the reason you slept with Sukuna? What would Choso think of that? Would he pity you or would he blame you for not coming to him sooner?

How the hell are you going to-

“Baby,” Choso calls out, ripping you from your thoughts completely. You’d zoned out and didn’t even realize you had tears in your eyes until you blinked them away and turned your head to Choso.

His hand reaches over to you and he places it atop your thigh. You look down and notice your leg has been bobbing up and down excessively. Were you that anxious?

This won’t go badly, right? Why are you panicking? Are you-

“Relax,” Choso whispers, and his thumb swirls over your thigh, trying to soothe you. “Whatever you’re thinking, ignore it.”

You swallow and stare at the man with widened eyes, “But-“

“It’s just you and me right now,” He says, forcing a soft smile on his face, “Get outta’ your head.”

You take a deep breath and sniffle, batting your eyelashes as you try to rid your eyes of the tears. Choso lifts his hand from your thigh and in a way that seems to be second nature to him, he wipes away the tears from your face.

“It’s just me ‘nd you, baby,” He murmurs, “Stop being so nervous, okay?”

“Choso,” You hum, watching the way his gaze softens.

“Yes princess?” He replies. His voice is so gentle now that it’s making you feel guilty for some reason.

You exhale carefully, “What if… W-What if I tell you everything a-and you…” Your eyes water all over again, “What if you hate me-“

He cuts you off with the sound of your first name leaving his lips. His tone is still light but there’s this sternness to it, almost as if he didn’t like what you just said, “There’s no truth you can give me that’d make me hate you.” Choso reassures you, leaning closer just a bit, “I love you. Everything that’s you, I love.”

Your nerves are still unsettled, “E-Even if-“

“The worst thing you could say to be is that you’re in love with Sukuna,” He tells you, scoffing a little.

You shake your head no and your face twists up, “I’m not.”

“Alright then.” Choso shrugs, “I told you, I’ll love you no matter what. In a dark room, you’re my light, no matter how dim that light may be.”

You frown, “Cho, you really did lie, you’re just fine with words.”

“Only at times like this,” He murmurs, “When uh, when it’s you I guess…”

You lift a hand up to your face, pulling his hand away and turning to it. Choso watches you as you shyly kiss his palm and he swallows down the tsunami of loving feelings that threatened to drown him. Such a simple action and yet it made his mind blank for a second.

Then you move away from his hand, “Okay,” You utter, “Where uhm…” Your eyes trail back over to him, “Where should I start?”

You release his hand and he retracts it from you simply. Thinking for a minute, Choso does that thing where he studies your eyes, losing himself in them. Then, he lets out a sigh when he comes up with something.

“What if we uh,” He moves to adjust himself in his seat, “What if I ask you questions and you just answer?” Choso suggests.

You blink, “You… You don’t want me to just tell you everything?”

“No,” He sighs, “There are certain things I don’t think I’d want to know.”

By that, it’s meant that you may give him details that he just doesn’t want in his brain. Choso wants the truth, yes, but only parts of the truth that won’t make him feel sick. Knowing that you had sex with Sukuna is already enough, he doesn’t need more details surrounding that. Hence the offering of asking questions.

“Okay,” You murmur.

“But,” Choso’s brows knit together and he faces forward in deep thought, “Well, I don’t know if maybe I should just tell you everything first.”

You turn to face forward as well, your eyes dropping down to your lap as you toy with your fingers, “Well, that’s up to you I guess. Is it better for you to tell me everything so that I have it in mind or is it better to know all I’ve done as you tell me everything?”

He swallows, “The first, I think.”

“Did that even make sense?” You breathe out to yourself, worrying that you may have confused him-

“Yeah,” Choso says, “Yeah it did. T-That’s uh, that’s actually better than what I suggested.”

“Is it?” You ask, glancing at him.

He nods, “Mhm, I think if I tell you everything, you may understand the reactions I’ll have to certain answers you give me.”

A sigh slips past you, “Okay, tell me everything then.”

There’s a hint of a smile there on his face but it lingers for only less than a second before that, and every ounce of emotion is drained from his face. Choso’s face goes completely expressionless.

“Where do I even start…” He mutters.

Your voice is soft with him, “Wherever feels most comfortable.”

“Everything about what I’ve experienced with Sukuna is uncomfortable.” He huffs out, “And… I’ve never told anyone about it.”

“Not even…” You bite your lower lip for a second but then you ask anyway, “Not even Yuki?”

“She learned more about Sukuna in that cafe than she has during her relationship with me so, no.” Choso explains, “I don’t like talking about him.”

“I understand.” You say, nodding, “And that’s alright, I’m not going anywhere so, take your time.”

“Alright,” Choso sighs heavily, “Well…”

He starts slow, careful even. It was clear by the way he shifted in his seat and put his words together in a well throughout manner.

Choso began by explaining when he met Sukuna. Because they’re step-siblings, they only share one parent and in this case, it was their father. Choso explained how his dad was a complicated man who found himself having two different women in which he went back and forth between.

Choso met Sukuna when he was five years old, Sukuna being eight at the time. From first impressions, Choso tells you that he thought it was cool to have an older sibling and that he looked up to Sukuna. At five, only Eso was born and not yet Kechizu.

Given that, Choso knew what it was like to play the role of an older brother and he loved it so he thought it’d be amazing to have that experience for himself. Only, Sukuna was the worst thing to ever happen to him. Choso describes in vivid detail how eight-year-old Sukuna looked. For one, the resemblance to the later-born Yuji is uncanny, one would mistake them for twins if they were the same age.

Even so, Sukuna’s appearance was odd. He was only eight and yet he had a bruised lip and a look of pure hate in his eyes. At the time, Choso thought it was cool that Sukuna was hurt but seemed unfazed by the pain and even wanted to be like him.

But, the second five-year-old Choso found himself alone with the older boy and made the mistake of commenting on his bruised lip, praising it in an attempt to connect with him, Sukuna punched him.

One hit was all Choso needed to realize, even at the age of five, growing up with Sukuna wasn’t going to be as pleasant as he thought. And it sure as hell wasn’t, there was nothing pleasant about growing up with Sukuna, especially when Choso’s mother later passed away during the birth of Kechizo.

She was a soft-spoken woman who hardly spoke up for herself in regard to her husband who had an entirely different family so, when she passed, Choso remembers being sad but the emotion didn’t remain long. Anger clouded Choso more than anything at the time and to make matters worse, he and his two younger siblings moved in with his step-family.

It was torture. The process of raising his two younger brothers while being beaten up and ridiculed by an older brother simply made Choso’s life hell. Violence seemed to follow him everywhere. From Sukuna hitting him whenever he felt like it to watching Sukuna’s mother beat up on his father, Choso became very well acquainted with abuse and violence.

Because he knew no better, he never really stood up for himself either. In the slim chance he did, Sukuna would proceed to simply bully him— locking him in a dark room for hours knowing it scared Choso, beating him with items, some sharp, some dull, he doesn’t remember, it all hurt the same.

This hate that burns in Choso’s heart for Sukuna just built up over the years more and more until Yuji was born.

Choso tells you he never knew why but when the kid was born, Sukuna softened up on him for a while. Choso was nine when Yuji was born so for four years before that, he’d been bullied, outcast, and abused by his family, safe from his younger siblings of course.

Maybe it was the way Sukuna softened up after his youngest brother was born that Choso found himself catering to Yuji more than anything. Perhaps it was an act of thanks as Yuji felt like his savior when all he did was be born.

Even so, as much as Choso denies it, Yuji was his favorite. Not at first though, when he initially saw the bright pink-haired baby, he was repulsed, thinking this would be Sukuna in smaller form. Said repulsion remained until the first time Yuji smiled at him.

It was different. Sukuna never smiled so, Choso knew then that Yuji would be nothing like his older identical sibling.

Even so, years passed and Choso continued to endure abuse for his now three younger brothers. Sukuna never laid a hand on any of them since he had Choso to beat up on and for a while, Choso was okay with that.

But of course, that only lasted until their parents passed. A car accident was all it took to strip all five children of their parents. But, by that time, Sukuna was eighteen and immediately put in charge of his four other siblings. It was unjust, of course, as no eighteen-year-old should have to raise four siblings by himself.

Choso tells you how he doesn’t remember how it all worked exactly but, Sukuna managed to convince those of the law to have him become their parental guardian. The man got a well-paying job, god knows what it was too because he had so much money, he made sure that all four boys were able to continue to attend school, etc.

Basically, of all this care and parenting, what Choso couldn’t understand is why Sukuna did that. He didn’t know why Sukuna didn’t simply allow the four to go to some orphanage and part ways, it’s not like he ever showed love to them anyway.

But, Choso eventually learned the answer as Sukuna treated all four of his younger siblings as his servants— forcing them to do whatever he needed, regardless of the wrong behind it or the difficulty. Choso lived with Sukuna as his parental figure in that big house he now throws parties at for years.

And for some time, he really believed Sukuna couldn't get any worse. That was, until at age seventeen Choso witnessed with his own eyes Sukuna knocking a woman out.

“He what?” You scoff.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It was already a lot to take in but the most unbelievable part of it was Sukuna’s treatment of women, especially after you think back to how he treated you.

“You heard me,” Choso hums, shrugging, “He knocked her out cold. Hell, I thought she was dead.”

Your lashes are batting in disbelief, “He just… He just punched this random chick?”

“W-Well, no, of course not,” Choso goes to explain further, “From what I remember, that was his girlfriend…”

You scoff, “You’re joking.”

“I’m not, she used to come over all the time before that,” He tells you.

Then, Choso explains the entire day to you.

How that day Sukuna came home late in the afternoon covered in bruises, cuts, and blood. Choso tells you he tried to ask Sukuna what happened but, naturally, all he got was a simple fuck off from his older brother. Of course, Choso didn’t need to be told twice and he did that.

Barely twenty minutes had gone by and the doorbell rang. Choso was in another room but he heard Sukuna go to answer it, followed by the sound of his girlfriend’s voice. Choso tells you it sounded like they were arguing and it was so loud and heated up until the sound of a slap echoed throughout the house.

Choso had gotten up from where he was and went to go see what happened and just as he neared the corner, he heard the sound of a punch, followed by a slight crack, and then a thump. When he rounded the corner, he saw Sukuna standing over his girlfriend who was out cold on the ground with what seemed to be a broken jaw.

You’re told that this was the only time he’d ever seen Sukuna act so oddly because although he couldn’t see his face, Sukuna’s fingers were trembling and he was breathing heavily. Then, Choso thinks he imagined it but he swears he saw something wet fall from Sukuna’s face.

“I think it was blood though,” Choso says, “I can’t imagine that man crying but, he did stand there for a while.”

“So, he knocked his girlfriend out and just stood there?”

“Yeah, for at least five minutes just staring down at her, almost like he was waiting for her to get back up,” Choso proceeds, “And when he did move, it was to look back at me. I was scared he’d take his anger out on me like always but, he didn’t.”

“What did he do?”

“He told me that if there’s anything he wants me to learn from him,” Choso slowly looks at you, “It’s that I should ‘never let a woman destroy what makes me a man’.”

“I see.”

“Either way, Sukuna changed again after that.” He goes on with his story, having grown more comfortable with opening up to you, “He went back to hitting me, threatening to hurt Eso and Kechizu, never Yuji though…”

You listened again, nodding and taking in everything given to you.

Choso explains that this continued until he turned eighteen and Sukuna was twenty-one. Choso didn’t hesitate to move out and in doing so, he was soon able to gain custody of his brothers, just not Yuji.

He hated that he couldn’t take Yuji with him as he moved out but, he thought maybe it’d be okay since Sukuna never touched Yuji. Choso hates thinking back on it now because he wishes he fought harder.

Even so, Sukuna just had his way over those in law, or maybe connections, Choso wasn’t sure but he somehow managed to keep Yuji under his guidance. That’s when Choso requested one thing from Sukuna, that request being that Yuji is actually taken care of and never touched.

Less than a month after Sukuna agreed to this promise, Choso came over to check on his youngest sibling, and lo and behold, the kid had a black eye. Choso had never felt such a murderous intent rile up in him the way it had that day.

He and Sukuna fought later that day, Choso not only lost said fight but also knew that because of it, he’d never be able to win custody over Yuji since Sukuna pulled the self-defense card.

Either way, to wrap things up, Choso tells you that since then he’s been back and forth between school and court trying to win custody over Yuji. He’s still struggling with it but he’s trying his hardest. Choso tells you he’s lucky enough to have his other two brothers, who reside in a distant relative’s place now.

Even with the tiring processes of legal proceedings and court battles, Choso explains he’ll keep trying until he physically can’t anymore because he refuses to allow Sukuna to harm Yuji forever. Plus, that bright smile of Yuji’s is what keeps Choso motivated.

It was like Yuji knew his big dark-haired brother would help him out eventually. And even if he didn’t, Choso points out to you how Yuji talks like he didn’t mind fighting with Sukuna and that he’s managed to sneak a few hits on the guy before.

In the midst of all that, there was that day Choso ran into you.

“Like I said, violence follows me everywhere so it’s kinda funny how we literally ran into each other,” Choso exclaims, his face brightening back up for the first time since this convo started. “I was… I dunno, enamored by you? I mean, I’ve had crushes and girlfriends before but just that small first convo with you was everything to me.”

“I’m glad I was feeling talkative that day,” You joke, “Normally I would’ve picked my stuff up and ran off, especially since you’re hot.”

Choso can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, “Mhm, same here. Those shoes you were wearing really caught my eye though.”

“Yeah and your face tatt’ caught mine,” You explain, smiling to yourself as you both recall it, “It’s kinda sad to find out you only got it to cover a scar. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

Choso shrugs, “It’s fine now. I uh, I actually feel better now that I’ve said it all out loud.”

“Really?” You ask, tilting your head a bit.

“Mhm.” He hums, “I mean, it wasn’t easy to explain, sorry for stuttering so much by the way, but I’m still glad it’s all out now.”

A wider smile spread across your face and despite the tragic story just heard you’re thankful, “Thank you for opening up to me.”

“Thank you for letting me,” Choso replies.

The two of you look at one another. It’s a long gaze, a connecting gaze, a telling one. Sounds of rain hitting the car are heard but it’s all a blur as you both simply take in one another.

That was until you utter his name, “Choso.”

“Yes?” He whispers, his voice slipping out so small as if the next thing you say could make or break him.

Your hand reaches over and his eyes drop to it for a moment as it goes to his face and you shift in your seat so that both of your hands can cup his cheeks in your palms. Choso blinks, wondering what exactly you are doing until you pull him close and lean in.

When close enough, you stare right into his eyes and carefully speak, “In case you haven’t been told enough,” You start, “And, in case you don’t know, you didn’t deserve any of that.”

He nods, “I know-“

“You deserve love, Choso.” You claim.

He swallows hard, worried about where this is going.

A sigh slips past your lips, “And I’m not a perfect person but…”

Choso’s brows raise, “But…?”

“Uh, I don’t know if I can give that to you.” You warn.

He couldn’t believe what you just said, “What?”

“In the way you deserve.” You quickly clarify, “I can love you Choso b-but I’m no better than-“

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Choso cuts off, “Whatever love you want to give me I’ll take it happily.”

Now you’re nervous and almost insecure given what you know and have done, “What if it’s not enough?”

“We’ll make it enough.” He argues.

You frown, “Choso…”

“I’m serious. I’ve explained myself to you already, I hope it’s understandable that any love you give me I’ll take and cherish for as long as you’ll let me.”

“But you could find so much better-, so much more.”

“I don’t wanna search anymore,” He hums, “And what better is there for me to find? What’s more than you?”

Your brows pinch together, “Someone who can love you better than me-“

“That person doesn’t exist.”

“Yes they do-“

“Well, I don’t want them.” Choso cuts off. Nothing you say will change his mind.

You roll your eyes, “You need to raise your standards.”

“Why?” He almost smiles, “My standard is you.”

You scoff, “My point exactly-“

Just as quickly as he nearly smiled, he got serious again, “You make me happy and feel like I’m wanted. What more could I ask for?”

“Certainty.” You tell him.

“We’re certain now, aren’t we?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Choso tilts his head at you, “You said earlier that you thought about changing what we are…”

“I know but then everything came out and-“

“And nothing changed.” He interprets, “My feelings for you didn’t change.”

The way he won’t hear your warnings makes you nervous all over again, “Well let me get the rest of the truth out and see if it does.”

“It won’t.”

Sighing, “You don’t know that.” You say.

“I’m telling you, it won’t.” Choso refutes.

“Choso-“

“Baby you could kill someone and I’d still love you.” He claims dramatically.

You blink repetitively, “I-“

His eyes close for a moment as he takes in what he just said, “I know that sounds crazy but, I’m serious.”

It’s hard to wrap your head around but you try, “Why?”

“Because I can’t get rid of it,” Choso explains vaguely.

“Rid of what?”

“These feelings I hold for you.” The way he clarifies everything after a simple question is so refreshing for you, “They don’t go away. No matter how angry or unsure I am, it’s always there. Even when I left you, I wanted to come back because I still loved you.”

“Choso, this is-“

“I told you I’m good at waiting. If the truth from you is poison then let me intoxicate myself. Let me feel the pain that is loving you if that’s what it is.”

“Y-You really need someone better-“

“Why?” Choso isn’t getting it in the slightest and he does not plan to, “Are you not perfect for me?”

“No, I’m not.” You explain.

“I think you are.” He shrugs.

“You’re delusional.”

“Very.”

Yeah, there’s no getting through to this man. He’s in love with you and hopelessly blinded by it too. Thank god you’re not some manipulative bitch because it’d be disastrous for this man if you were.

Choso then moves to comfort himself in his seat again and you do too. “Anyway,” Choso says, “Now that I’ve explained myself…”

You swallow this thick lump of nerves in your throat.

“Can I ask you the first question I have?” He requests.

“Of course.”

“How many?” Choso questions vaguely.

“How many, what…?”

“Guys,” He glances at you, “How many guys have you slept with since knowing me?”

Yep.

You’re fucked.

It was only the first question and you already didn’t want to answer.

But, he deserves to know right?

Choso deserves to know…

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

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