#the trauma is still there but with the good memories he's a lot better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bi-writes · 7 months

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bff!roomate!simon has nothing left to lose. and it's time to face the music. (part 11/?)

more bff!roommate!simon

word count: 3.5k

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, aNGST, mean!simon, toxic!simon, depictions of simon's canon trauma, pet names (luv, sweetheart, kitty), lots of angsty pov shifts, possessive!simon (not healthy), allusions to smut (18+) ⚠️🔞

large blocks of italicized text are flashbacks.

he found a box of tipped-over memories some time ago. at the back of your closet, between the hastily tossed clothes, a box had fallen onto the floor. when he picked it up, pictures fell from it, scattering at the bottom of the closet as he set the box down.

he leaned over, picking up the polaroid pictures.

he had his head down as he walked. there was a sound--as the doors opened, a plethora of cries and happy calling of names surrounded him. families seeing their recruits after the grueling weeks away at basic training.

this was supposed to be reprieve. the chance to see sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, cousins, aunts, uncles--to see the people they loved ever since they had been cut off from the outside world as they learned to build themselves from the ground up.

he didn't know what that felt like. he didn't know what it felt like to look into a crowd for familiar faces. to search for his father and mother in a sea of happy, supportive people--that wasn't something he understood. when other recruits talked about their families, about the partners they had left behind, simon didn't really understand.

this was his escape. this was the place that felt normal. duty, subservience, the act of giving off control and finding it in the job you were given to do--it had been comforting.

but now he was back on the outside. now he was back to remembering how dysfunctional and unusual and lonely everything had been before this. so he kept his gaze on his feet as he pushed through the laughing crowd of warm smiles and excited voices. he just needed to get out of here. he just needed to keep walking, to not think about--

"simon?"

his head shot up at the call of his name, and he turned to look to the left of him. a few people shuffled out of his way, and then he blinked when he saw someone waving at him from just a few paces away.

it was you. you had your purse slung over one shoulder, in a simple pair of light blue denim and a soft cardigan. he swallowed, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut before opening them again to look at you, to make sure that you were still there.

"simon--" you pushed through a few other people before you came in arm's reach, and simon didn't hesitate. a rough hand wrapped around your elbow, tugging you forward, and you squeaked when he forced you into his chest. your eyes closed when his other hand dropped the backpack he was holding, and you let out a shaky sigh when that hand wrapping into the back of your head, into your hair, crushing you in a warm hug.

you tucked yourself into his chest, your cheek pressed to the fabric of his uniform, and you sniffled as your hands found purchase on his sides and squeezed him close.

"simon--"

"luv..." he breathed, and you pulled back, standing on your toes, your lips kissing his cheek as your arms came around his neck. simon felt his knees almost give out when you pressed your forehead to his, your hands sliding down to cup his cheeks. "i...i-i...missed you--"

"missed you more," you whispered, wiping a shaking hand along your face to rid the happy tears you shed. "'m so proud of you, simon."

"you came."

"wouldn't have missed this for anything."

one of your hands fell, tracing the lapels of his new uniform. he looked so good in it. he looked older. he looked so much better--stronger, more confident, eyes not so dark and dull and sad. he had put on some weight, and there was something so nice about feeling the solidity of him.

"hey! smile!"

both of you turned to see someone holding up a camera, waving at the two of you. you shuffled, breaking into a big smile, and you posed for the picture. you cradled simon's face to your own, pressing your lips to his cheek, and you giggled after you heard the click of your picture being taken. you were handed the photo back, and you shook it gently to develop the ink.

and there it was--fuck, it was so obvious. you were looking at the camera as you kissed simon's face, a happy shine in your eyes, bright and easy and soft.

he couldn't be bothered to look at the camera. all he could focus on was you.

he didn't really know what he had been waiting for. it would never be a good time, a right time. he had been at death's door more than once, and every time he was there, all he thought about was how much he regretted not knowing more about you, not taking more, not giving more.

in his room, alone, in the barracks of a place he no longer saw as he home, he thought about you there, too. thought about your soft skin and your pretty curves, the weight of your breast in one hand, how solid and grounded and real the space between your thighs was. he thought about how difficult it had been to find the meaning and the love that sex could be with another person, and how easy it had been to sink back into that place with you.

he didn't see pain behind his eyes when he tasted you. he didn't feel the burn and sear of some other memory when he thought about spreading you wide, giving you his burly fingers, fucking you senseless with his trigger-happy hands. those memories were erased. they were numb and far away, and he dreamed about saying thank you for making him feel just a little more human again.

maybe that was why he hadn't really fucked you yet. maybe that was why he hesitated every time he thought about sinking his cock inside of you, taking that soft, drooling pussy and making it his own, really his own--maybe he thought twice before getting that far because deep down he knew this would happen.

he knew he would lose you.

it was spring. flowers getting their color. soft sounds in the trees. sunlight warm against your face. it was too bad it was doing nothing to soothe the ice in your chest.

it was so heavy. it hurt, it was painful. in a matter of weeks, more like days, you had lost every person you had ever loved.

your second mother. the warmth of a brother. the kiss of loving sister, the soft hands of a nephew. the truth of it, the reality of it, was that they were your family. not by blood--chosen, because you chose them, and they chose you.

a friend. the love of your life, you thought. no, you knew, because the depth of what he left in you was too deep to be anything else.

it felt trivial to call him your soulmate. it felt stupid to call him your lover. it was more than that, you knew it was. now that you thought again, it didn't even feel right calling him the love of your life--what the fuck do you call the better part of what you are?

what do you call the thing that has always been the same? what do you call the constant, the unchanging variable, the thing that makes your sky blue? what the fuck do you call the thing that pumps your blood and kisses your scars and always makes it back home?

every terrifying goodbye. all the letters sent back and forth, the late night phone calls, the whispers of i love you that you knew were more--why didn't you just tell him?

why didn't you just tell him that this was what you felt? why didn't you just confess every suffocating feeling?

because now he will never know. he will never come home, he will never hear you tell him you miss him--fuck, did he think about me? when they killed him too, did he have time to think about me? did he think about tommy? did he think about what would happen to me, did he wish he could say something, too, do you think he had his own regrets?

because it was real, wasn't it? he loved you. he had to have loved you, because you loved him, you knew this, and you still do, and it hurts, and i want to die, too. and you hate him now, because he did this to you, and there was nothing you could do.

your hand shook as you shoved the key into the lock. you turned it, opening the door and closing it behind you.

you hadn't been inside of your apartment in a long while. it wasn't safe, they told you. but now, it didn't really matter to you. dead, alive, you weren't either anymore. you were somewhere in between, and you would rather be one of them then none of them.

and dead felt like it might be relief, too.

it was dark. every surface with a thin layer of dust, the curtains drawn, locking out the spring. it was still winter inside of here, a moment in time that you wished so badly you could go back to. when they were here. when he was here.

you blinked when you saw the sway of the curtains. a soft ray of sunlight peeked through them as they moved with the wind, and you swallowed hard.

you had left it closed.

when the fabric pulled back, you held up a hand to block the glare of the sun. you stepped backwards, back into the dark, and when the curtains fell again, you rubbed your eyes before opening them to focus.

no. that wasn't right. a figure stood there now, standing tall and imposing. big shoulders, a solid chest, the gait of someone you once knew, but not anymore.

a ghost. i'm seeing a fucking ghost.

you stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak. for a second, you could pretend it was someone else, but as your gaze adjusted back to the dark, you met those eyes. eyes, his eyes--you would recognize them anywhere.

he wore a mask, but he couldn't hide from you. not anywhere.

"si...simon?"

fuck, you couldn't stop the break in your voice. the bloom of something horridly happy in your chest--because your family was gone, but fuck, fuck, fuck--

sobbing. you were sobbing, dropping your things, running because even a second longer without him, and you would lose your mind. you shoved the table out of your way, kicked the chairs, you heard something crash onto the floor and shatter--but then your arms were around him.

he called your name, but you didn't respond. you cried out again, and when you tried to jump, he couldn't catch you. he fell to his knees with you in his arms, weak from injuries you couldn't see, but he didn't complain about the pain. he held you just as tight, cradling you to his chest, and you both fell to the floor in a messy, tearful embrace of two people who couldn't believe their blood-soaked luck.

because you had lost your family, but hadn't lost each other, and even though it sickened you to feel happy, you did, and you couldn't care yet about what that might mean.

"i thought...i thought they..." you had never heard him this way. his voice so low, so hoarse, and you knew what had happened. he had accepted your undoing, just as you had, and he was struggling with the mix of nauseous happiness and deep-set guilt. "thought they had you, luv--"

you shook your head, cupping his head, smoothing your fingers over the mask. you did not ask about it, not about why he covered his face or what he had gone through to get back here.

they can't kill him. he's mine, they can't take him from me, they can't, they can't, they can't--

you didn't remember how long you laid there. how long you spent with him draped over you, his head buried in your neck, the sounds of his shaking breaths.

you love him. i love him. he loves me. but you don't tell him that. and he does not tell you.

he lied. over and over again, he lied to you, and you never batted an eye. and there had been moments when he knew that you knew--you would look him over, knowing what you were hearing was not the truth, and yet you stayed.

accepted the keys to a shared apartment. wrapped his wounds after he had let go of the anger, sinking it into soft, supple flesh of revenge that had tasted so good. when you washed his clothes and saw the water run red, you did not blink twice. all he remembered was you nodding to his pants and telling him that cold water and peroxide would do the trick.

bonded. that was what you were. bonded, through trauma and death and blood and the look in your eyes when he ate your pretty pussy. the naked, glorious truth of you, it was cruel, and now you weren't here.

an empty room. pictures he couldn't bring himself to burn. a mug he won't throw away, the hairbrush still rattling in the bathroom drawer, the shoes you left in the hallway. you were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and he was fucking sick.

he ached. he hated; hated what, he didn't know, but he hated something, and he wanted to tear it apart. there was someone he loved in another place, and he needed to bring her home.

she needed to come back to where she belonged. needed to come home. needed to lay on his bed and listen to him apologize, and he needed to fucking have her.

he was going to bring you home. whether you liked it or not, whether you believed what he said, whether or not you would forgive him, you were coming home, you were coming home, you were going to fucking come home.

he waited for you. you could see him from down the street, sitting there on the steps, elbows resting on his knees. you stopped walking, skidding to a halt, and you adjusted your jacket as you turned to look around the street.

it was empty. and you were just desperate to get back to your apartment. you took a shaky breath before moving again, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

you tried to walk past him. tried to sidestep him as you walked up the steps--but that was stupid. he reached over and grabbed ahold of your shin, holding you back, and you huffed as you gripped the stair railing for balance.

"let go."

the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall when you heard the low chuckle, and then--"no."

you kicked his hand off, turning to face him, looking down at him.

"how did you find me?"

"not a fuckin' corner of the world y'can go without me findin' you, kitty."

"what did i say about calling me that?"

he shrugged. "dunno."

you gritted your teeth, "get the fuck out of here, simon. i won't ask you again."

you were forced backwards when he stood up, to his full height, and although he was a step or two below you, it only made you at eye-level with him. you glared nonetheless, trying not to let his size intimidate you.

"i don't want to see you. ever again. leave--"

"no," simon muttered, and he narrowed his eyes under the mask. "not goin' anywhere, kitty. i came to get you."

"i'm not going anywhere with you," you spat. "fuck you."

you blinked when all you saw was the crinkle of his eyes, the tell-tale sign of a smile. your heart squeezed a little at the sight of it. it was unsettling. it didn't make sense.

"i told you--not ready for that," he said lowly. "now go get your things. we're leaving."

you leaned in, shaking your head. "i'm not going anywhere with you, simon," you repeated. "leave. get out of here. i...i don't want anything to do with you, i--"

"liar--" he snapped. you jerked back at that, and before you could respond, he reached up and cupped the expanse of your throat with the meat of his hand. you gripped his wrist to relieve the pressure, but it was no use. simon had an iron grip on you, and he pulled you closer, the front of your lips pressed to the mouth of his mask. "you're lyin'. it's olright, sweetheart."

"simon--"

"no, you listen t'me," he growled, and your lips trembled. you couldn't decipher the feelings you were having. fear, uneasiness, arousal--it was all at once, and it confused you. "y'didn't let me fuckin' talk before, but you will now."

you whimpered, clawing as his gloved hand, but he clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"made a mistake, didn't i?" he hummed. "wrecked the only good thing i ever had, yeah? 'cause i'm a right bastard, kitty, but you knew that, hmmm?" he smoothed a rough thumb over your bottom lip, and you spat, but this only made the crinkles around his eyes grow. his smile, fuck you. "shagging girls i don'even know, fuckin' them, 'cause i was angry--" he tsked, shaking his head, "dunno wot i am...wot i was thinking. was just...so fuckin' angry."

"fuck you!" you breathed, your eyes watering. "i hate you."

"y'don't, luv," he whispered. "y'don't hate me, and that's what bloody kills you, yeah? y'never could. not after everything."

your lips trembled, and your face scrunched up in pain as you started to cry.

"it's not fair, simon," you gasped. "i-it's not fair. what did i do wrong? what did i do?"

maybe that was the cruelest part of this. simon had been the one to make a mistake, but somehow it was supposed to be your fault?

simon had let you go for too long--you were thinking, and he couldn't have that. you were thinking too much, letting your mind fester and spill over and make a mess of what really was the truth.

you just needed to come home. that was all.

"nothin'," he murmured. "did nothin' wrong." he pressed the face of his mask to yours again, harder this time, a kiss that took your breath away. "could never do anythin' wrong, kitty. somethin' wrong with me, th's all."

"i-i can't--" you sobbed. "i-i can't do this--"

"'m not leaving without you," simon growled. he reached behind with his other hand and gripped your hair roughly, shaking you, biting against your mouth. "not fucking leaving, you understand me? i will follow you wherever you go."

you cried, and all he did was hiss, shaking his head.

"simon--"

"you could run all you want, kitty, but i will fuckin' come for you--" he cupped your face with both hands, making you look at him. there was something in his eyes. something insane, something unhinged, and you wanted to be afraid, but simon would never be able to scare you, not really. you were shaking, tasting the saltiness of your tears, but you stared right back at him. "y'can even die, kitty..." your eyes fluttered shut, and his breath was warm. "i'll crawl into your fuckin' grave and pull y'out. n'if i can't get you then, i'll find y'in every other life y'live--" your mouth fell open, slack-jawed and wide open, just like always, just like he knew you would be, "--i'll follow y'there, and i'll bring y'back. bring y'home."

when you opened your eyes, he was still staring down at you, and your gaze found his immediately. maybe simon wasn't the other part of you. maybe he wasn't the love of your life; maybe he wasn't what made the stars align or the pieces match up.

maybe this was fuel to fire. a cup that never goes empty, one that simply overflows. the igniter to something that neither of you would be able to control.

but when the fuck did you ever care about control? maybe you just needed to let go.

if he took from you, then you should take from him. steal and take and bite and growl and make him bleed, because that was what he did to you, and you wanted it, too, i want him to beg, too, want him to lose his fucking mind the way i do, because it isn't fair, and i deserve it, and it is what i'm owed.

for the first time in your entire life, you saw the same in his eyes that you knew was inside of your own. something hungry and territorial and fucking angry--and i am sick and tired of burying it.

simon was yours. yours. and you were going to fuck him until he understood that, too.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut

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fluentmoviequoter · 8 months

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A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings.

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles.

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms.

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks.

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests

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leahkentwriter · 25 days

Text

Backstories for girls and women in stories that *don't* involve sexual assault.

I beta read a lot, and am involved in writing communities of various kinds, and I briefly taught English way back in the day, and I consume storytelling media in general - and one of my biggest pet peeves is sexual assault backstories. While I think this is improving, it's still annoying to me that a lot of writers (of all genders, but particularly men) fall back on a sexual assault backstory whenever they need to make a girl or woman in a story complicated or haunted or fucked up in some way.

Unless your story is dealing with the topic of sexual assault in some way, please don't use it as a way to give a character depth or angst.

Here are some prompts, just to get you started with some ideas.

Why would a woman be trying to escape her past? Why would she be seeking a fresh start?

She hated her small town; the people there didn't understand her and she never felt like she fit in - she's queer, she has a weird birthmark, she's got unique interests, she has magical powers, etc.

She's a criminal - she robbed banks or stole cars and she wanted a fresh start

She was an addict and hurt people, and she wants a fresh start now that she's sober

Her parent is a criminal or an addict and she's trying to outrun the stigma of being related to them

She didn't get along with a stepparent and skipped town as soon as she turned 18

She had big dreams of being something else, and left to pursue them

Her childhood home was haunted, but no one believed her

She got married young then divorced, and wants to start over somewhere that no one knows her

Heartbreak of any variety - she's leaving a place that reminds her too much of someone she lost or couldn't have

She wants better; maybe more money, or a career, or simply a higher quality of life

Some other violent tragedy occurred - a school shooting, an explosion at the plant, police brutality, her best friend was killed, etc.

Her hometown no longer exists (climate change, the main factory shut down, it was overrun by rabid squirrels, etc.)

What would make a woman distrustful of others?

Heartbreak; being lied to, cheated on, left for her best friend, etc.

A big betrayal - her former best friend told everyone a secret about her, someone weaponized her trauma or her past or a major flaw she's sensitive about, etc.

She witnessed a traumatizing event as a child

Her mother was a grifter and used her as part of her scams

One parent cheated on the other and broke up the family

Her older brother isn't dead after all, he was disowned for being gay and now she's questioning everything her parents ever told her

She has problems with her memory, and is never quite sure what the truth is

She's bad at reading people and has been taken advantage of

She finds out a dark secret about someone she loves and is having trouble processing it

She gradually comes to see that someone she idealized as a child is not at all what they seem

Someone she thought was a good, kind, and genuine person is arrested for a terrible crime

Spiritual abuse - the worldview she was taught was right turns out to be exploitative, represses women, etc., so she leaves

What would cause a woman to have mental health issues?

Any form of abuse - doesn't have to be sexual

Her parents had really high expectations that she couldn't live up to

It simply runs in the family

Survivor's guilt - she survived something that someone else did not

She was bullied and no one protected her

Her parents were very controlling and destroyed her confidence

Her sibling was the golden child and she was the scapegoat

She's had issues since childhood but her parents refused to admit there was anything wrong with her, so she didn't get help

Being a part of any oppressed group of people who experience discrimination - she's a person of color, she's an immigrant, she's got a disability, she's queer, etc.

Any major trauma, either witnessed or being a part of - weather events and natural disasters, infrastructure collapse, crashes and accidents, fires, a shooting or a murder, etc.

You're a writer - get creative. There are lots of ways to traumatize and haunt a girl/woman character without having to resort to a sexual assault backstory. You can even make her the problem! Maybe she's the one who did something bad and is trying to outrun the guilt.

Let's also let go of the idea that it's meeting and falling in love with a man that saves her from her trauma. Let her have a healing arc that doesn't involve a man - a love story can still be there, but it can't be the magic healing balm that fixes her. Make her have to save herself. Give her autonomy to both make her own mistakes, and improve her own situation. Don't let your man go into savior mode - let him get frustrated with her. Let her push him away without him clinging to her in a desperate bid to show her what unconditional love is. Don't let him be a martyr to her trauma.

Women are complicated for many reasons. We have trauma for many reasons. We have mental health issues for many reasons. We may want to escape our past for many reasons. We're angsty and weird for many reasons.

Please pick literally anything other than sexual assault.

#writing #writing prompts #writing women #writing girls #how to write women #how to write backstories #backstories #writing advice #how to write #writing tips #writing characters #writing help

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robbyrobinson · 2 months

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Bill's really complex despite literally being two-dimensional. Hirsch does a good job at presenting a villain that the audience can feel some sympathy for while the work itself does not shy away from the fact that he still committed horrible crimes and has himself to blame in the end.

But, still, a lot of Bill's mannerisms make so much sense now that we know he did not intend on destroying his dimension. It reinforces what The Axolotl had said about how Bill "says he's happy" but is really lying to himself. Everything from Bill committing numbers of atrocities through the multiverse and Weirdmageddon, can all be recontextualized as Bill's desperate attempt to further separate himself from the incident he caused.

Bill misses his home and probably would want nothing more than to return. But that would come with the heavy realization that not only was it through his own fault, but he had a laundry list of crimes to his name. Sure, he likes to say that he is happy, but it is apparent Bill is doing all this to try to keep his mind occupied by appealing to his hedonism. Perhaps Bill really did derive satisfaction from being evil, but he's still haunted by the ghosts of his past.

Add onto that, Bill is one trillion and twelve years old, a preteen. This incident traumatized him, likely stunting his growth, thereby contributing to how incapable Bill is of taking accountability. Some part of his brain simply refuses it because doing so brings the dark memories back in full force. Unlike Stanley, Bill never was able to grow up to have the mentality to fix his mistakes.

Despite everything, I couldn't help but feel on some level that I did want Bill to atone once he was sentenced to the Theraprism because surely, trying to atone for all your past sins would be worth it, right? Sure, you may come back as a cloud of fungal spores or a butterfly, but it would be infinitely better than attending mandatory meetings and puppet time.

But that is the problem: Bill is too narcissistic and set in his ways to ever try or let alone want redemption because, again to me, that would entail having to relive the trauma of accidentally destroying his dimension and confronting the fact that he is to blame for everything. As a result, Bill would rather stew in his own self-denial for eternity than ever accept reality.

It is kind of sad, but it is a fate that is fitting for this monster.

#gravity falls #theraprism #gravityfalls #bill cipher #book of bill #disney #character analysis

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dancingbirdie · 1 year

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hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!

Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3

If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.

The Dark Sun

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.

None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.

It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!

Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.

Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child.

Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices.

The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.

Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.

So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again.

***

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days.

He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies.

Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came.

Tav’s tent. He was sure of it.

Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves.

Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong.

Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects.

Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace.

They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance.

Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence.

Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply.

Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart.

“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear.

“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.

Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek.

Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.

“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned.

Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face.

“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling.

“And why ever not?”

“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”

“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”

Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”

Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders.

“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek.

“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”

Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face.

That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him.

Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought.

He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms.

“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”

“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”

They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.

“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised.

And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion.

And he was not afraid.

#dancingbirdiewrites #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate fanfiction

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teojira · 3 months

Note

Hi! Do you think you could write some head cannons for Pota Maurice, like reader trying to befriend him and wanting to be around him a lot (platonically)

have a nice day :)

[Maurice and reader friendship headcanons!]

Summary: Maurice comes to accept you as a loving companion despite his previous doubts.

Warnings: None! Platonic friendship with Maurice!

A/N: I was so excited to see this request that I immediately did it. Whoops. I hope this is good!! I love Maurice so bad, I see him as a friend that kinda takes on the role of dad.

Maurice out of the entire ape council is the best suited to become friends with.

He has his fair bit of trauma related to humans and at first, he is hesitant to let you near him, he respects Caesar undoubtedly, but the deep rooted fear still exists within him, the abuse and punishments still fresh in memory.

But the orangutan has a good sense of character, so when you're taken in by the colony per Caesar's allowance, it's only natural that he places you with the calmest of the apes.

The way to win Maurice's favor is easy, treat him with respect and treat the small apes he teaches with respect. That's really all he asks.

Don't touch him without permission, and don't try and be forceful. He'll come to you when he's ready. He knows you have good intentions!

You can not buy his friendship, but finding him berries and herbs that he can eat will soften him to you and eventually boom, you're one of Maurice's friends now.

He doesn't care for meat like the others, so the fact that you've gone out of your way to help him find stuff to his taste makes him warm up to you all the more.

He doesn't mind that you tend to cling to him. Honestly, he's gonna see you as a kid. He can't help it. You're new to the colony, no friends or family, so he decides he'll be the one to be your family.

He'll drag you along to classes he teaches, asking for your help. You, of course, know a lot more human words than he does, and with your help, teaching goes a lot more efficiently, more apes learn the better.

Maurice expects you to eat with him at dinner, waving you over with his hand when he sees you awkwardly stand around. You have him. You're fine.

It's usually Maurice and Caesar who dine together and they can smell the anxiety radiating off of you, so they try and make conversation for your sake, their hands sign slow for you to read with ease.

'Take more berries.'

"I'm fine! This is plenty, than-"

Cue Maurice giving you a look that is pretty much saying it's not up for debate. Take the damn berries. You're not gonna go hungry.

Fast forwarding to War, everyone knows you as Maurice's companion, and it's due to you that Nova is able to travel with you all.

Maurice can't help but see parts of you in her, small and alone, just like all those years ago.

You, Malcolm, and his family have proven that the cruel and sadistic humans that he once dealt with were a minority.

So he gives Nova a chance and is happy when you accept her without thought, immediately forming a friendship with the young girl.

It makes him ever wonder why he disliked humans before then, the circus and the army soldiers being long forgotten due to you.

#MAURICE I LOVE YOU #all my best friends know of maurice if they know nothing else about pota #teddy asks ♧#teddy loves apes ☆#planet of the apes x reader #planet of the apes #pota #pota maurice #Maurice #maurice x reader #pota x reader #platonic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details.

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost.

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch.

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter.

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow.

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace.

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better.

It had been a long few months.

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days.

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth.

Hell, he really must be tired.

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough.

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home.

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks.

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before.

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face.

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly?

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful.

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one.

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.”

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow.

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech.

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?”

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office.

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer.

All of it is uneventful.

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three.

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.”

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top.

‘Save for Simon.’

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly.

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet.

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine.

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen.

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.”

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.”

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home.

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily.

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second.

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.”

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper.

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points.

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened.

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?”

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression.

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…”

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception.

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two.

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it.

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision.

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?”

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?”

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe?

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul.

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away.

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up.

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt.

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life.

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce

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josnhoes · 1 year

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Platonic!Yan batfam with young adult reader. Part 5

[Part 4]

Note: Reader is 18-22 years old. Gn reader

Content warning: being treated like a child, being looked down on, obsessions, soft yandere but still a yandere, reader has memory issues and it's ambiguous as to why, delusional batfam, batfam as a whole basically view you as a child younger then Damien despite you being older, dissociation, abduction, drugging, so many lies

Focus Bruce Wayne (all his POV)

-----

Bruce hadn't wanted you to ever see the cruelty of the world. It's why he and your siblings worked so hard to prepare a room for you in the manor as swiftly as they could. You were too good for Gotham, maybe even the world. He wanted your integration into the family as seemless as possible. Painless too. But maybe he should have listened to his youngest after that first visit of his.

Damian had been insistent you couldn't handle life on your own. That you needed them to care for you, which he agreed with! He just also knew he couldn't just take you. They were heros they couldn't just abduct you. He told Damian and the others to treat you like a feral cat. Stay close but give you space, step in when need be and let you warm up to them. And look what happened.

You were barely here mentally. The trauma haze and shock yet to leave you, if not made worse by the lie *he* told you. You'd forgive him once you were better, you'd realize he was just doing what he had to do as your father. The risk of you going home was too great now.

He remembered the panic when you woke up in the room the family had made for you in the cave. He had been there in costume. The sight of him had managed to calm you. He was glad for that, it meant you thought of him as safe. You shouldn't considering he lied to your face.

The lie was simple one, easily kept up by the entire family. The mugging you had seen planted a target on you. The woman you tried to save, her parents were well-known crimelords in Star City, and they blamed *you* for their daughter's death. A hit was out on you; so you had to stay here with them until it was safe.

The news had made the shock you were in worse, making your mental state deteriorate more than when you'd first arrived. But he was happy to see the moments where the fog lifted, where you opened up to them again. Once he was sure you were attached, he'd let them all meet you outside of the costumes but that was a while away.

By the third day you'd gone from a husk to a crying mess. They'd all tried to consol you even himself. He made a promise that soon things would get better. And they would! You'd join the family, he'd spoil you with anything and everything you could dream of. You'd be in the manor properly and not in the cave.

Your sadness was a knife in his heart. Like any good parent, he just wanted you to be safe and happy. Bruce knew that for now, safety was key. Still he wouldn't lie again and say he wasn't envious when one of your siblings got you to smile. So far Damian and Jason had been the ones managing to get you to relax best. The nickname Sparky had taken over among all of them.

There were a few moments where your panic would rise up, you'd demand to know when you could go home becoming hysterical at the idea of losing your job and subsequently your home. He knew you wouldn't lose your home since it was here with them as for a job? You were still so young you didn't need one. Still, you'd work yourself up so much that whoever was near had to drug you. The tranquilizer was a gentle one. You were only out a few hours and much calmer when you came to. The downside is you forgot a lot that happened, though for now, that was a blessing.

He couldn't wait for you to meet his father figure, your grandfather Alfred. Sure, you'd met him when you first got here, but you didn't remember it. It's probably for the best, considering you'd likely have put the 2 and 2 together before he was ready for you to have that information.

Bruce reached over to your resting form and fixed the blanket that had fallen off of your shoulder. Soon, you'd take your place in the family, and no one was having an easy time waiting for it.

#platonic yandere batfam #batfam x reader #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #yandere dc

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shinxeysartgallery · 1 month

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J is kind of an asshole and I think we all realize that especially after what she did in Episode 8. Still think she's being hated on a bit too hard though.

She knowingly sided with Cyn, despite knowing what she was responsible for, and that's obviously not a good thing. However, do keep in mind that all of the affected Elliot Manor drones are just traumatized children at the end of the day. Cyn put all of them through immeasurable horrors. Even without Cyn's influence, the drones were treated horribly by the humans (other than Tessa). And based off the scratched-off armbands that we saw N, V, and J have that also match Cyn's armband, there's strong implications that all three of them are also "zombie drones" much like Cyn is herself. We don't know what they were subjected to before being tossed into the dump and later being found by Tessa.

As J and V are fighting, J makes an interesting comment that sheds some light on her motivations. "...It tricked me, too." Obviously, that was never elaborated on, but it strongly implies that she had made some sort of a deal with Cyn for an unknown reason. We got confirmation that V also had made a deal with Cyn, which was basically that she'd do whatever Cyn wanted as long as she wouldn't hurt N (and then would leave them both alone). Don't know if N also made a deal, but he's likely there as a part of V's deal.

So it makes me wonder, what exactly did Cyn promise J? Did she tell her that she could bring back Tessa? Promise to not let her die again? Something else entirely? Based on her comment to V, SOMETHING was definitely promised that ended up being a lie. Everyone reacts to trauma differently. Saw a post a while back (will hyperlink it later if I can find it again) by another user doing a very good breakdown of how they perceived the drones' personalities changed as a result of their trauma. N became a doormat because he kept getting hurt or hurting others every time he stood up for himself or someone else. (They also add that V's coldness towards him contributed to it and made him lose a lot of self-confidence.) V became rather cold because she was basically forced to turn off her emotions to cope with what she was doing. And she was purposefully mean to N to chase him away as an attempt to protect him from Cyn. J became a corporate bootlicker because she was terrified of being discarded again, so now she feels like she has to prove that she's useful.

And I think those theories all definitely hold some water here and help to explain why J still chose to side with Cyn, even after realizing that whatever their deal was was a lie. It's likely that she realized that if she decided to side against Cyn, Cyn would've just killed her straight-up. And that's really not out of the question, considering what she did to N and V once she realized that those two had asked too many questions and realized that she was the bad guy they wanted nothing to do with. If J had also gone against her, she'd just be replaced with either a clone that had its memories wiped (as evident by Cyn's comment to N in Episode 7: "your clones will forgive me") or a personality shift, or just flat-out a completely different drone altogether. There's also her comment towards V during their fight. "I promise it's better on the winning team.", which implies that J had full belief that Uzi wouldn't have been able to stop Cyn and Cyn was going to get her way no matter what. That paired up with the personality shift might imply that she felt trapped. Cyn preyed on her vulnerability and fears of being discarded and weaponized them against her. She believed that Cyn was going to win no matter what, and if she went against Cyn, she was going to be discarded again. Despite knowing she was tricked, she probably stays loyal to Cyn because she's terrified of that outcome. She doesn't want to die, she doesn't want to be thrown away again. But the only person she feels she can get that security from is the same one that basically caused all of her problems. That same person is practically the equivalent of a god in the universe and seemingly NOTHING can stop it. What choice does she have in that perspective?

I still feel like she's an incredibly tragic character. Horribly mistreated by humans, forced to watch (or participate in) her best friend's death at the hands of the one she despises the most, sees the same bestie be horribly mutilated and disfigured, be forced to commit horrible atrocities herself, and be manipulated and lied to. She deserves a redemption arc.

You're obviously allowed to still hate/dislike her, but that's just my thoughts on it!

#murder drones #murder drones spoilers #murder drones episode 8 #serial designation j

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hispg · 1 year

Text

Safe haven

Pairings: Leon x Reader

Wc:4.0k

Summary: How Leon deals with his ptsd over the years.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, depressive thoughts, suicidal intent, Leon hating himself.

An: This one follows the cannon order, so it starts with r2 Leon, r4, r6, vendetta, ends with Death Island.

Denial

Since Leon returned from Raccoon City, nothing has been the same. You've seen the man you knew die day after day, his personality changing like water to wine. And he knew it, he knew it better than anyone.

You still remember perfectly when he arrived, covered in blood, with a bandage on his arm, a face with the most terrified expression you could imagine.

The horrors he had witnessed in that place were simply out of this world. What should have been a simple first day at work turned into a living hell. There were things he wouldn't erase from his memory, the way he had to kill all his co-workers, the way he saw everyone around him die. He felt bad, guilty, even though he had no control over it.

It was a lot for one person, a lot for him to process.

A night that would mark him for the rest of his life.

In order not to involve you too much in the subject, he never went into too much detail, just briefly saying something or other. But you could imagine, the way his fear was clear on his face, his lips trembling every time he tried to talk to you about what had happened.

You saw the way he woke up every night, covered in a layer of sweat, whimpering and almost screaming in his room. He never slept properly, always woke up in a state of sheer panic, and it only got worse as time went on. It wasn't something he could control, not even he himself could believe that he had come out of that nightmare alive.

And he often wished he hadn't.

All he forced himself to believe was that it would be something momentary, an event that he would forget or at least get better with the passage of time.

But it didn't.

He beat himself up every day, unable to forget a single second of that night. He could have helped more, he could have done more, maybe he could have saved more people.

Deep down, he knew it was impossible. A simple situation where a hundred were sacrificed to save one.

There were days when he couldn't even leave the house, and he also begged you to stay with him. A panic attack that haunted him almost daily, he needed you to be there. At least he knew you would be safe by his side, and he needed you, as if you were the air he breathed.

All this was due to the fact that he couldn't cope on his own, if you didn't sleep next to him every night, he wouldn't even try to close his eyes. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to doze off for a single moment, not that he'd ever get a good night's sleep.

He often refused, refused to believe that it was real, refused to believe that it had ever happened. But every time he closed his eyes and heard the screams of agony echoing in his head, he remembered the painful reality.

It was almost customary for him to try to recover from everything he had experienced, to lift his face, wipe away the tears and force an expression from someone who was fine.

But you and he knew it was just a lie.

Everything took a turn for the worse when he was interrogated and basically forced to work for the government. It was a 'deal', he would work for the government in exchange for the little girl safety, a little girl called Sherry, who he found and saved in the middle of the chaos that night.

Although he didn't want to, he didn't think it was fair to let a girl as young as her suffer in a laboratory, maybe it was crazy to compromise his life for someone he barely knew. But that was him, the guy who put others before himself. So he accepted the 'agreement'.

He just wanted to be someone normal, to forget about that damn trauma, to forget about the pain of that night and to put all those events behind him.

But he couldn't, and maybe he wasn't ready for that fact.

The Leon of before no longer existed, maybe a small sketch left, but he would never be able to get back on his feet and be like before.

Never.

Anger

Leon's life began to turn upside down even more, after the hell that happened in Raccoon City, he was forced to go to military training, supposedly to serve the government. Even years after what happened, the night was still incredibly vivid in his mind. Every detail was stagnant in his memory, a mark he couldn't remove.

All he felt now was anger, all hidden in that sullen face that had become his usual expression. He hid behind it, hoping you wouldn't notice how cold and indifferent he was becoming. It was the only way to protect himself that he found.

And he hated that things were this way.

What he didn't expect was that he would become an agent working for the President. Everything that had already happened to him was enough, and he still seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Like a bottomless pit, he just fell lower and lower.

At this point he no longer cared about much, he was becoming more and more stressed with work and that damn training.

You lost count of how many times he came home scratched, bruised, with some part of his body purple. One time he even arrived with a broken rib, and he didn't even try to explain to you what had happened.

He just did his bandages silently, with your help. And he didn't even say a single word about it, and you worried like crazy. You didn't even know if he would arrive in one piece the next day.

It wasn't difficult to assimilate all the abuse he was suffering in that place, you had already heard a few times the way some of his training partners spoke to him on the phone. They weren't friendly at all.

All he did was hide what he felt with that sulky face, more and more you saw him becoming closed off. It was rare that he talked about his training, or his day.

Even he had become increasingly discreet about his nightmares, or even his anxiety attacks. He always thought he could handle it on his own, it was his problem. That he had learned to cope, or at least he thought he had.

Because it was the same story as always. Just a man doing what he hated, reliving the past and charting a hateful future.

And that couldn't be avoided.

And well, nothing got better when he was called to a mission in Spain, looking for the President's daughter. He didn't feel excited about the situation at all, he didn't even want to go. However, there wasn't much of an option.

He tried to warn you, in fact he didn't warn you, he just said he was going to Spain, just like that.

It wasn't hard to imagine that this caused a small fight between you, since he could at least tell you what it was about. But he didn't say.

"Don't pressure me, don't even try to look into things that's not your business." Leon hisses at you, turning his back and leaving you behind with tears in your eyes. All you heard after was the door slamming, and he disappeared for a few days.

Surely he knew the shit he had done, and every moment that passed he felt his heart tighten. His anxiety reaching its worst peaks. As he began to understand what was happening in that old village, he felt terror wash over him once again. The fear of not being able to return terrified him, he doesn't even know how he managed to stay upright in the face of all that.

He felt trapped in a nightmare again.

Another hell, he didn't even know that he would go through a situation similar to Raccoon City again, but to his displeasure it happened. Once again he doesn't know how he came out alive, he was terrified of witnessing death several times in a row. The only thing he thought about was going home, he needed a place to call home. And he needed you, in a way he couldn't put into words. So many words he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, especially seeing more people around him die. After having done everything he did to survive.

He needed someone.

Everything he had planned to tell you went down the drain as soon as he got home, the first thing he saw was you lying on the sofa, wearing one of his shirts.

It didn't take long for him to take off his boots, and walk towards you, he was shabby, a complete mess. It was no surprise.

He gently gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, so as not to wake you, and sat down on the floor next to you. He intended to spend the night there, as he certainly wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

With his fists clenched, his face set, a strange feeling running through his body. Once again he felt like it was a tantrum, but it wasn't.

A single tear wet his cheeks, followed by several others.

And then he realized, the reality of the facts caught up with him.

And the terrifying feeling returned.

Understanding

A few more painful years passed, and it was indeed optimistic to say that things had improved. It was as if everything was exhausting, he couldn't have fun with the things he liked.

As if his life was in a loop where he couldn't stop, he couldn't get out of it. It just kept going again and again, it shouldn't be like this.

But was.

It wasn't hard to notice how grumpy he had become. He was no longer someone of many words, and now he was even more closed off. If it was possible.

The grown beard that only showed how disinterested he was in his own appearance. He was at a point where he barely looked at himself in the mirror, his dark blond strands falling down his face. And he didn't even bother to trim his hair and leave it the way he liked it.

He didn't even look in the mirror, he hated every time he saw his own reflection. He learned to hate every one of his scars, every mark that remained from his missions, he hated with all of his heart. It was an otherworldly aversion, he shouldn't feel this way about himself, but that didn't matter. Not now.

He learned to hate himself.

He hated the way that even after all these years his traumas still haunted him, the way he still had those terrible nightmares. He hated the way he treated you, so cold and distant.

So different from what he once was.

Since it all started in Raccoon City, he always knew that the part of the soul he lost there he would never recover. But he didn't imagine things would be this bad.

It was as if no moment was good, as if everything revolved around his work and the problems that came with it. He became such a focused person that he would sometimes go days without showering, with his hair all messy and his face completely tired. From someone who hadn't had rest in days. And that person was exactly him.

He would often make minimal effort to talk to you, try to start a conversation and tell you how his day was going. But who said he could? The poor man got so used to keeping things to himself that sharing it was complicated.

The words tumbled in his mouth, he couldn't form a sentence that made any sense and didn't sound desperate. But he failed as soon as he said the first word, and just ended up changing the subject.

Therefore, he learned that nothing would be the same as before, even after all these years in which he hoped that things would change, for the better. But to his chagrin this didn't happen, and everything went downhill.

He tried his best to come to terms with all of this, since he was already someone who had seen a lot, and had already done a lot as well. But that didn't stop him from feeling bad, from feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

And it wasn't?

At that point he ignored what he felt, if he was called to a mission he would simply go, even though he was extremely upset about the matter. Because in those moments he realized that he was just an object of the government.

A powerful weapon that was capable of stopping the crap that happened here or there, and that was it. Just it.

Nothing more than a weapon.

What else could he expect? The turn things took only made the government's intentions clear, and he didn't approve at all. He was always against it, but who said he was listened to?

He had already accepted this, a cruel fate from which he had little option of escaping. He had already dealt with it.

He forced himself to believe those words.

All he could do was hate himself more and more, every time he came home tired and saw you, his heart broke.

How did he still have you by his side? How the hell was such a sweet person still willing to stay by his side. It wasn't fair.

He deserved to be alone.

Day after day he found himself looking for things to get rid of the bitterness that his life had become, what he found was drinking.

One of the few things that let him breathe, even if just for a few hours. It started slowly, but he needed to increase it.

It was an obligation, it was either that or get home and feel like the worst person in the world. This addiction started slowly, in a subtle way.

However, it then got out of control, and once again he found himself in his worst state.

"There's no turning back.." A whisper coming from him, drunk and completely out of his mind.

His life was a dead end, and he had no hope that it would get better.

Another day of remorse, another day living in his shoes.

Depression

The only consolation he found now was drinking, at least it helped the pain go away for a moment. Even though at some point he had to increase the doses more and more, he needed it to take effect.

If at any point he had tried to have some closeness with you back, that had ended in the last few months. He couldn't even take care of himself, let alone take care of you.

He was a different man, and not in a good way.

At that point he already accepted that he had lost himself, that he no longer had salvation, his mind was torturing him.

It was suffering just to be alive.

The fact that he always lost people around him, that he had to kill his own team because he wasn't able to save them. How the hell was he supposed to survive with this? How could he say everything was fine?

Everything around him was dying, like he had a curse around him or something. Not even he wanted to understand this. The weight of the years he lived in this torture was catching up to him.

And nothing could be done, once again.

The nightmares, the weight on his conscience, the memory of each of the missions. It was an unhealthy cycle he was trapped in.

Certainly an addiction wouldn't solve the situation, but what would? Pay nicely as always? Hold his head up and follow orders like a puppy?

"Piece of shit." That's what he mutters when he sees himself in the reflection of his cell phone, disappointed with the way everything is happening. How he was dealing with all of this. His appearance was different, hair more swept to the side, a longer beard. Clothes that not even he knew he would wear at some point.

But what would be the other way? How?

Disappointment, anger, depression, all mixed up in his head. He didn't know what he should do with these bottled up feelings that were haunting him day after day.

All the missions, all the people he lost, everything he experienced. How could someone go through so much like that?

How could he have gone through this and still somehow moved on?

This time he didn't even bother trying to hide from you the displeasure he had created for life, he rarely spent time at home, and when he did it was all day grumbling or drinking.

A great guilt invaded him when you cried because nothing you tried to do seemed to help, but this wasn't about you.

It was about him.

His mood only worsened when Chris called him to another mission, actually it wasn't really a call, more like a statement that he was going to another mission.

This was his life for the last few years, mission after mission, without even a moment for himself, not that he was going to do anything other than drink in the meantime.

What could have happened special this time? Another mission where he comes close to death several times, where he simply doesn't know if he'll return home in one piece. And he could swear he didn't care about it or not.

At least he thought so.

But perhaps the fact of working with people close to him this time made him see that things could be worth it again. Although it wasn't the friendliest place to think this, he couldn't deny that it gave him some comfort since he worked with people he knew, especially Chris, who was one of the few people he liked at work. Despite grumbling a lot.

He appreciated the fact that things ended well this time, for the first time in a long time.

There was still a little light in the good things, in the little daily things. Sometimes things didn't always have a bad ending.

The people around him wouldn't always fade away or betray him, that wouldn't always be the course of things.

Maybe now he was ready to start improving a little, maybe yes, maybe no. He would only know if he tried.

Once the madness of the mission was over, all he could think about was you, he could only think about seeing you one more time after everything that had happened. It was a desire so big that it couldn't fit in his chest.

You can bet he was counting the minutes until he got home, he needed to feel your presence again. He needed to know that he had people who were there for him.

He needed your comfort, your reassurance.

Once he got home the first thing he did was look for you, it was more than a desire, it was a need.

Without you even realizing it, you see him leaning against the kitchen counter, with an almost unremarkable smile. You even surprise yourself, since it had been a good few months since you had seen even a trace of a happy expression on his face.

"I'm back.." He says in a whisper, looking at you gently for the first time in a while.

You look at him a little hesitantly, wanting to give him a hug, not knowing if he wanted that or not.

A simple gesture but one that made your day, he opened his arms to you, waiting for you to do what you wanted.

Without a shadow of a doubt he needed this as much as you did.

Maybe there's still a way out. Maybe there is still a way.

Acceptance

Leon was trying, he was trying his best to be a better man. You could tell that, the way he was cutting back on alcohol, the way he was trying to be more attentive to you.

These little things indicated an effort on his part, he didn't want to hate himself anymore, he didn't want to feel so indifferent anymore. Maybe it was time for a change, he didn't need to be like this anymore.

He had people he could count on, and after all, he had you. That even after his coldness in recent years, you never left him, it was time to reciprocate.

And of course there were things he couldn't let go of so easily, especially his problems with trauma, and he already knew that it was a weight he would carry for the rest of his life.

He would never forget.

But he was also trying to learn not to be like that anymore, things could still have a good side. He could still have hope, even if it was a mere drop. Life had been hard on him from the beginning, but he needed to find some motivation. He couldn't live regretting forever, putting himself down every time.

It was time to rise again, time to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Little by little, and of course he would never be the same as before. But he could be a better person, and he would do everything he could to make that happen. You could notice this drastic change even more, since he came back from the last mission, he was different. So proof is that, as soon as he got home he hugged you, and spent a good ten minutes like that.

Probably feeling overwhelmed with yet another mission, duties that seemed to never end. But he wouldn't think about that now.

He wanted to try to be happy. At least one attempt.

Small efforts, for example trying to open up to you, saying few things, but it was a great start. He knew that if he continued like this he would be able to share his problems with you, it certainly wouldn't weigh so much on him if he could share them with you.

His mind was still a mess, but he was trying to organize himself, put his thoughts in order. It was a long and difficult road, but he wanted to bet that he would make it.

It was the glimmer of hope he had.

Leon now went out with you, took you for rides on his motorbike. He begins to realize that life could go beyond work, that not everything needs to be so bad.

You could see him smiling more, he had even gone back to making those corny jokes that never failed to make you laugh. Most importantly, he seemed content, sometimes even at peace with himself.

The desire he had to disappear, little by little was fading, and he began to gain a little more zest for life. Things wouldn't always go wrong, and he could relax a little, even try to let his guard down whenever possible.

Even once you caught him laughing like a fool on his cell phone, only to see him having fun watching a video of a dog, which in his eyes was incredibly funny.

Seeing this, you decide to give him a pet on his birthday. And you almost cried once you saw the joy in his eyes, that sparkle in his eyes that you missed so much.

"I love you." A shy and low voice, accompanied by the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. How long has it been since you last heard this? The sweet way the phrase slid across his lips. A moment so subtle but so sweet, and one that you hoped would be repeated more and more.

Life was worth it, he would make it worth it again.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #leon resident evil #death island leon #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 leon #resident evil 2 leon #infinite darkness leon #leon vendetta #di leon #vendetta leon

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green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle · 19 days

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AVENTURINE NSFW ALPHABET

(+18 content under cut)

General masterlist

Aftercare

Gets overstimulated during sex and can't stand being vulnerable and naked for long after it (he is traumatised, ok?), so he won't cling to you naked for hours. Instead he prefers to take a quick shower with you, follow expensive skincare routine (yes, he shares his products with you) and sleep together with just your hands touching. If you let go of his hand in your sleep he will wake up immediately and reach out for you. You have matching pyjamas.

If you are too tired for any of this he will put a blanket over you and bring his cats so you can cuddle them while he sits on the bed next to you and whispers sweet nothings, playing with your hair. If you ask him to read a book to you he will do so happily, he didn't get many chances to read in captivity. If you share your favourite books with him he will be over the moon and your connection will be so much deeper.

Body part

His body is full of painful reminders of his past. Scars litter his beautiful skin, marks from cuffs covered with his bracelets and watch, teeth he had to replace after years on not being able to take care of them and this stigma burned into his neck. He has a hard time looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes are both all he has left of his people and the excuse for others to hurt him, like a bullseye pointing out his origin and shit he went through. His left hand a sacred part of his body and reminder of a blessing he can barely take, life poisoned with survivors guilt.

Still, his hands are the most favourite part of his body for Aventurine, he decorates them with rings, bracelets and good quality gloves. At first he avoids touching you with his left hand and with bare hands, but if you give him some time this will change.

In your body he likes your curves and your hands as well. He was raised in harsh conditions, it was hard for anybody to gain weight, so for him it's a sign of health. It doesn't matter if you are chubby, muscular or just an average looking person, as long as you look nourished and in good health he will like it. If you have any of those: tendency to blush, thick hips or thigh, voluminous and strong hair, prominent breasts / muscular chest, strong build or exceptional height - he will get obsessed with it.

He loves your hands for how gentle you are with them when you touch him. Has a thing for artists hands, if you sculpt, draw or even crochet he loves to watch you work.

Cum

If you are fertile and able to bear a child he's scared of knocking you up because of how much prejudice he goes through, afraid that his children will be treated in the same way. So he makes sure to end either on your body or inside condom. If you are infertile/ unable to bear a kid he actually prefers to cum inside to not make a mess.

Dirty secret

Before becoming a dominant (more about it in kinks part) he wanted to experience how it is to be on the other side of dynamic to see why people submit. The only person he trusted enough with this was dr. Ratio. While being a sub is not something that comes easy to Aventurine due to his trauma and need to be in control for once in his life, he learned a lot about himself and didn't hate the experience. It made him a much better dom and helped him open sexually.

Another dirty secret of his is cumming in his pants during foreplay when he let you lick your slick from his fingers after fingering and you kissed his aventurine ring.

Experience

In times of his tragic youth he saw a lot of abuse in captivity, including sexual abuse. Most of those things he only witnessed but as a beautiful person from disadvantaged background he experienced a lot of disgusting behaviors and comments towards himself as well.

Once he became Aventurine he used seduction to manipulate people but his memories of people who fetishised his helplessnes made him rather closed off so it was all talk and nothing more. He doesn't want anybody to see him naked and weak, desperate and not guarded. So he avoided getting close to people, with exception of Doctor Ratio with whom he found deep mutual understanding and enough common respect to let another human touch him.

To sum up, he doesn't have much of an experience and doubts intentions of anybody who lusts over him. Also your boyfriend kinda has a boyfriend too. It's just my headcannon, don't cancel me.

Fav position

At first he used to put you in positions that made it impossible for you to see his face such as prone bone or doggy. He couldn't stand the thought of somebody watching him lose control and give in to pleasure. Later he introduced more positions, you need to let him do that in his own tempo. Including blindfold in your sex life helped with it a lot once, now he just allows you to see him come undone.

Goofy

Might seem playful before you guys start and during foreplay, but once you guys actually get down to business he is fully concentrated and serious.

Hair

Like his whole body, it's perfectly taken care of. He prefers to keep it either short or completely shaved off.

Intimacy

At first he avoided intimacy at all costs, he used to bind your wrists above your head so you can't touch him cause after years of being deprived of closeness he was so touch starved that sensation of your skin on his overstimulated him in seconds so he fucked you with all his clothes on - just letting his pants slide down.

With time he allows you much more, enjoying your tender caresses over his body, but he will never fully let go of his guard and needs to be in control to be able to concentrate on pleasure.

Jerk off

Despite having lots of pent up tension he does that very rarely, usually he's just too tired after working so hard or he falls asleep while working late. When he has some time for himself he prefers to call you for help instead of doing it on his own, it's more fun like that and he doesn't have to be alone with his own thoughts after he finishes.

If he masturbates it's very quick and almost mechanical, imagines you giving him a blowjob under his desk to get off faster.

Kink

Aventurine always needs to have complete control over situation as a result of his trauma. He is a 100% dominant. At least with you. Can't stand being vulnerable and unable to decide what is happening to him to a full degree. So he will use soft bondage on you, tying your hands with pretty cords (never with cuffs or anything that could hurt you or bring him bad memories) so you can't touch him unless he allows you to (he doesn't want you to know he's so touch-starved that being touched almost hurts), he will put blindfold on you to control how much of his desperation and desire for you you can see and will make you beg for his touch so you know just how helpless you are compared to him. So you know who is in charge. Years of his captors putting him down planted insecurities in his brain and hearing you pray for his touch is helping him deal with his fear of rejection.

If you decide to worship his body later in relationship when he trusts you enough to give you freedom of movement, he shakes with pleasure. He loves when you are soft with him, because for so long nobody was. Roughness he can take, he is used to that, but this? Your gentle hands make him weak but he won't ever admit that to you.

Has a thing for expensive lingerie that he will himself choose and buy before the evening. He likes finer things in life now that he can afford them and he will make sure you can enjoy them as well. He's the type to buy you diamond necklace and ask you to wait for him with only the necklace on.

He would also want you to dress as a catgirl if you don't find it cringe. He just loves to surroundings himself with adorable things. When you cosplay a cute pet he also feels more in control, cause kittens are weaker than man and at his mercy, meant to be loved by him. He doesn't mean it in creepy way, it's just a display of harmlessness and trust to him.

Location

He might tease you a lot at the casino but will never undress himself or you anywhere else than his apartment.

Motivation

He hates to be alone, Aventurine is very touch starved and lonely person, with almost nobody to trust in this world full of people hating him for being Avgin or trying to undermine his career to take his place. Having sex is the way to get close to somebody without having to bare your soul to them, even if having somebody take a look on his body littered with scars is pretty close to it. He desires your body but still invites you over cause he wants to have some company, sex is just the excuse. If it makes you attached to him, that's even better.

Would never be submissive. He is unable to let go of his defenses, needs full control and you are happy to give it to him after he had control over his life taken away for so long.

He gets flashbacks at sight of any chains and cuffs so he won't use them on you, he strictly uses soft and harmless tools for bondage like silk cords.

Won't cause you any pain or force you to do anything, he saw enough of that in his life. He won't do things that in his opinion are a bit to close to abuse or aggressive, he won't even spank you too much or too hard.

Isn't a big fan of marking you with bruises tho he sometimes leaves a hickey or two. Prefers to do so with jewelry.

Don't you even dare to call him Master in the bedroom. Brings bad memories.

He won't let you decide when you introduce new things to bedroom, of course he will respect if you say no to something, but be very careful to not suggest too many new things or he will get distant. He's not half as open as his flirting suggests and really needs time to get used to changes.

Oral

Likes when you give it to him and prove that you care about his pleasure too. He will be in complete control of your pace the whole time. He won't go rough, wants you to enjoy as well. Likes when you worship it, kiss all over the length and take it between your breasts. He wants you on your knees.

He is fair person so he will return the favor times three, but you need to earn it first. He is very willing to show you just what can this silver tongue do, french kissing you down there with fervor.

Pace

Aventurine feels empty inside and tries to feel that void with intense thrills, by playing high-risk games and living fast. So when he fucks he tries to make it hard and fast, but makes it up to you by getting you off faster than anybody else before.

When it's you taking care of him he wants you to take it slow, he doesn't want to lose control over himself completely. You are supposed to be gentle and treat him like royalty.

Quickie

Not a big fan, whatever he does he is always going all the way in. With this all or nothing mentality he despises half-assing his job as your lover. So if he calls for you expect to be up all night.

Risk

Absolutely will not take any risk. While he might gamble with his life on daily basis and is very used to risking everything, he will not bring that persona to bed. He doesn't want to be seen naked by anybody but his most trusted people. He won't show his scars to just anybody so don't even suggest doing anything in public.

Stamina

He has tendency to overdo things and it doesn't get any different in bed. How many rounds can he last? He's already used to pulling all-nighters in work, might as well sacrifice whole night of sleep for your entertainment. How many times can he make you cum before he gets anywhere close to his own release? At least twice.

Toys

Will buy you a good toy to have fun with when he's busy. Of course, it's shape is entirely based on Aventurine's own member. He commisioned it just for you.

Unfair

He can tease you a lot to parade his control over you, make you admit nobody can do you like he can and edge you many times, but he will never humiliate.

Expect him to make you count a pile of coins, not letting you cum the whole time until you are done. All while sitting on his dick.

Volume

Aventurine is not comfortable with you being aware just how desperate you made him so unless he tries to manipulate you with his moan to forgive him or cum instantly he will be rather silent. He's good at that. To let you know you are doing well he praises you with his words.

The only exception is when you worship his body, than he releases quiet but beautiful and slightly high pitched moans.

Wild card

Due to his innate high emotional intelligence, if he dominates you for a long time he learns your body language and expressions in such detailed way you might think he can read your mind. He knows just how to touch you and has perfect timing for everything. Once you had Aventurine no other man will be good enough.

X-Ray

Average size and thickness, but when he rails you it feels much bigger. Nice deep pink color. Curved with not much bigger tip.

Yearning

Would probably be higher if his job didn't tire him out so much. Expect him to invite you for the night around one or two times a week.

Zzz

Keeps an eye on you all the time and will not fall asleep until you do. Nothing against you, just an old habit. Don't get creeped out. If you point it out your chances of returning to his place go down significantly.

When he isn't alone at night he will have nightmares less often, your company brings him tranquility. If you notice him having nightmare don't wake him up or he will get PTSD response, trying to fight you before noticing it's you who startled him. If he gets scared that he can hurt you he will cut you off.

Aventurine's face if you try to steal his catcakes:

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #honkai aventurine #aventurine x reader #x reader

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amongemeraldclouds · 7 months

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better than revenge | chapter two: practice?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Slytherin!reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)

Series trope: Fake dating

Chapter two summary: As with any good fake dating scheme, you’ve got to have rules and perhaps a little bit of practice.

Warning: Kissing, mention of cheating, no use of y/n

♡ main masterlist

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“We have got to come up with a nickname, something like Operation Freedom,” Enzo says, leaning back at his desk, using his hands to support him.

I look up at him from the chair and snicker, “cute but kind of obvious. Wouldn’t work if we want to keep our arrangement a secret. Hmm how about calling it an ordinary item like shoes?”

“Because of how we’ll walk over Mattheo’s patience?” Enzo quips.

I grin, “or a broomstick because of how we’ll beat his sorry ass for cheating on me and all the brotherly trauma he has no doubt caused you.” It was fun hating on Mattheo with someone who gets it.

Enzo laughs then suddenly gets concerned, “So he cheated on you, huh? I never expected much from Mattheo but what a shitty thing to do.”

I curl my fist, “well, what we’ll do will help me get my revenge. I don’t think we can keep mentioning shoes and broomsticks though, let’s keep it simple like,” I scan his dorm, “the book! Since this all started in the library.”

“So every time we talk about The Book, people will think it’s an inside joke between us,” Enzo says.

I nod, “let’s go over the rules one more time. Rule number one, no more hiding from Mattheo. It’s time for me to reclaim my space. Number two, we hang out at areas where he would be 50% of the time so he would see us a lot but not all the time. Just enough to rub it in his face.”

“We do have a life, after all,” Enzo adds. “Number three, I tell my father I am smitten by a wonderful lady,” he says gesturing to me with his hand, “who also happens to come from a powerful family.”

I mock curtsy in the chair, waving both arms to fan my imaginary dress and raise my chin.

“And we have to attend a ball together,” he adds. “I know you hate them, but I promise I’ll make it fun.”

I nod and continue, “Number four, only we know about the arrangement. Now officially called The Book. And I think that’s it.”

“Nope,” Enzo shakes his head, “there’s one thing we haven’t discussed yet. Kissing,” he says playfully.

“Kissing?” I ask, blushing. I look into his dark eyes. He may be smirking but he’s looking at me intently.

“All this may be fake but I don’t hate the idea of kissing a beautiful girl like you to really sell our story. One of the perks of The Book,” he says.

“I haven’t kissed anyone since Mattheo,” I admit and I hate it. I hate that Mattheo is still the last person I kissed. I hate that I miss the way he used to kiss me like his life depended on it. My lips would be haunted for hours by the ghost of his lips on mine. Now all that haunts me are the memories. I need to do something different, to feel different.

“No pressure, we will only do what you’re comfortable with” he raises his hands and flashes me a kind smile.

“You know, you’re not bad yourself,” I stand up and move towards him. “Maybe I don’t hate the idea of kissing a pretty boy like you too.”

“Practice?” I ask, standing on my toes to move closer to him.

He moans his agreement and closes the gap between as he presses his lips on mine. He kisses me gently and I feel something like butterflies in my stomach. It feels nice to be kissed again and to kiss him back. As our lips move in a steady rhythm, I move my hands up his soft hair and he takes this as a cue to pin me against the wall behind us.

I feel his body against mine, he’s so warm and nice. I take his lower lip between my teeth and I’m rewarded with a moan as the kiss deepens.

He places his hands firmly on my waist, his grip strong and reassuring. He licks my lips gently and I open my mouth to accept his tongue. I feel warm and electric from the core of my stomach all the way down my toes.

Theo suddenly opens the door, “Enzo, would you tell your brother he can’t just—”

The kiss ends way too soon as Enzo looks at his roommate, face flushed and hair disheveled. I stare at his angular jaw and admire how good his side profile looks. I lucked out with my fake date.

“So you really did get a room,” Mattheo’s voice breaks my gaze from Enzo, sounding amused. He enters the dorm behind Theo and I move to leave but Enzo keeps his reassuring hold on my waist. He shoots me a meaningful look, reminding me I no longer have to run away.

“You’re killing my game,” he tells Theo. “Either leave or we will continue even with you around.” Enzo looks at me with a mischievous smile and resumes our kiss. I smile on his lips and close my eyes, drowning out the world around us.

His kiss is hungry this time, committed to the show. When he trails kisses down my jaw and neck, an involuntary moan leaves my lips and I raise my chin to give him more access. My body feels alight with fire. As I tilt my head, I notice Mattheo staring at us, his jaw clenched and murder in his eyes.

I move my hand back to Enzo’s hair as Theo turns to leave, pushing Mattheo out with him.

When the door closes, Enzo takes another second to kiss my neck, gently biting the skin. My toes curl.

“That was — wow,” I say out of breath when he moves away, putting more space between us.

“Yeah,” he says equally flushed, grinning. “And to think we’re just getting started.”

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♡ main masterlist

Author's note: Thank you for all the positive feedback on chapter one! Feel free to comment if you’d like me to tag you when the next one goes live.

I told myself I would publish weekly, but here I am just days later. I didn't expect to write as fast as I have! I have six chapters written and am nearly done with the seventh one. More or less, there will be eleven chapters in the series.

Enzo was the first Slytherin boy I liked and I was frustrated there wasn’t enough fan fics of him. A lot of this is for my fellow Enzo girls (and guys or them). The next chapter will be for Mattheo lovers, it's my fave one so far!

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz

#mattheo riddle x reader #lorenzo berkshire x reader #slytherin boys #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x you #lorenzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #enzo x reader #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo x you #enzo berkshire #slytherin x reader #slytherin x slytherin #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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vinomino · 2 months

Text

After Terror

Continuation of this

Featuring: Sakura.H x gn!reader

Contents: sfw, angst w/comfort, sakura’s trauma, mention of past injury

Everyone knows something that they themselves have not experienced yet. Sakura knew what love was since he was a child, even if he himself did not receive it. He knew what love was from watching other children embrace their parents, get praised, and be surrounded by people. Love was a good feeling, sweet and warm, he could sense that just by watching it.

His parents who toiled to bring him into this world abandoned him. He clung onto the tightrope, clinging onto life. Shunned and isolated, sneered and jeered at, that was all he knew until he moved to Makochi. Children are impacted by the environments around them, so Sakura expected to receive the same treatment everywhere he went in the world. What did he even want to do with his life? He didn’t have a plan– a future or any goals aside from becoming the top of Furin.

Class 1-1, his first year at Furin. He met a lot of people. Nirei, who can’t even throw a punch. Suo, who teases people at every chance he can get. Kiryu, who can be carefree and calculating. Tsugeura, who is suffocating. Sugishita, who…Makochi was where he met all these good people, where he also met you. Love; that sweet warmth you gave him, he started wanting more and more, he wanted to protect it. Sakura wanted to protect you, but he never imagined having to protect you from himself.

Where does he even begin to find the cause– the root of this issue? Who did he see? Who did he confuse you for? His old classmates? His old teachers? He doesn’t want to dream anymore.

Another sleepless night spent periodically drifting in and out of sleep. He didn’t notice the beads of perspiration on his forehead until he felt one roll down his cheek and onto the pillow. The room wasn’t hot, in fact, it was slightly cooler than what it usually was. Another bead rolled into the crevice of his eye, he grimaced and blinked. The frame squeaks slightly as he sits up on the double bed. While it was dark, he can still make out your figure. If he looked closely enough, he could see the scab through the strands of your hair. Sakura makes his way to the bathroom down the hall instead, not wanting to risk waking you up. Cold water washes the sweat off him, his fingers feel numb from how long he’s been touching the water. Memories pour into the front of his head as the skin on his hand wrinkle.

The time from before Makochi had drifted away, being blurred out by new memories, so he doesn’t understand why he dreamt about it again that night. His lone personality had made others believe he was an easy target. Young boys want to prove themselves strong, and what better way to do that than to win against another?

“Teacher! We were just playing around!”

“He started it!”

“Sakura started hitting us!”

“Sakura Haruka, there is absolutely no excuse for raising your hand against another person. Didn’t I tell you last week to dye your hair!?” The teacher ridiculed him. Those grimy hands trying to inspect his hair and eyes, he hated it, he wanted to break their bones.

But they started it– “You” are the ones who started it! He didn’t do anything to them, is it because he looked unusual? He didn’t ask to be born this way! What does that have to do with being alone?

Of course you had no idea, you only wanted to wake him up from his nightmare. “Haru— wake up.” “GET OFF ME!!!” Sakura flails, trying to get rid of whoever was touching him. He sees in slow-motion of you crashing into the nightstand and falling onto the floor. Please, don’t look at him with those eyes. If he had thrown you any harder– he tasted flecks of bile coming up in his throat. The tingling numbness in his temples intensified. Scrolling on his phone, he searches up “how to fall asleep without dreaming”. Opening the first link. HEALTH WITHOUT THE HYPE: SUBSCRIBE NOW TO STAY IN THE KNOW. Tapping on the little x, closing the ad, he reads all the steps to stop having vivid dreams. Ensure good sleep hygiene, take steps to reduce stress, use relaxation methods, and seek professional guidance. With a groan he shuts off the device at the useless search. Drying his face off, he heads back to the bedroom. Passing by the dresser in the hallway lined with photos and memorabilia. His graduation photo with Umemiya and the other third years who were graduating at the time, his own graduation photo, and a plethora of others. He stops by the photostrip of your first date with him at the arcade. Kiryu had suggested he take you there, right next to it was the plushie he spent numerous tries trying to get. His insides feel funny when he looks over every item on the dresser.

Making it back to the bed, he uncaps the petroleum jelly on the nightstand, rubbing some of it on the tip of his finger. Brushing your hair out of the way, he gently applies it over the scabbing wound. He doesn’t want there to be a scar to remind him of what he had done. It causes you to stir awake, opening your eyes, you slowly blink at him. “Haruka…?” You rasp out, throat dry. “Go back to sleep.” He shushes you. The clock reads five, it’s five in the morning. Sitting up, you clasp his hand, lowering it down. “What are you thinking about, sweet boy?” That sweet warmth returns back to him, his pupils shake as he takes in your smile. How can you still smile at him?

He locks his eyes with yours, “I’m sorry...”

“I know.”

“You don’t– what I did was unforgivable!” Sakura’s face scrunches up and he bites down on his lip.

It’s heavy, he feels heavy. You rub his hand, tracing your fingers over his knuckles. He tenses up. You’re able to see his shoulders tremble. Raising your hand, you flick at his forehead, making him yelp bewilderingly. “There, now we’re even.” Sakura looks at you like you’ve grown horns. “N-Nothing about this is even...” He grumbles. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him down onto the mattress. The dark eye bags under his eyes make you sigh, you’ve been with him long enough to pick up on changes in his mood. “Do you want to talk about it?” Whispering out to him.

“I thought you were someone else– I ended up hurting you.” Different colored eyes scan your face, but he’s not even sure what he is scanning for. Hatred? Disbelief? You don’t hold any of that. “It’s alright,” speaking softly to him, you want him to feel your sincerity. “Let’s rest now, yeah? I’ll make you omurice in the morning…and then we’ll run errands together.” A domestic suggestion and he wants nothing more than it. Sakura nods, his hair ruffling against the sheets. The two of you will wake up like you usually do, make breakfast, and then spend the whole day together. No longer able to keep his eyes open, they drift shut, you can feel his tense muscles relax and his breathing evening out. Pulling the blanket over his body, you hold him close to you, trying to lessen his burden.

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #sakura haruka x reader #mino.drabbles #mino.writes #fueled by wasabi peas #my nose is burning #more sakura haruka comfort please

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